#enemies plots

[suntails]

true love

[pretend-i-don-t-exist]

sy trying to create a pidw au would be so funny

i feel like he'd actually commit to it to spite airplane. at first, it garnered attention bc it was from the peerless cucumber, notorious critic and biggest pidw hater, so ofc they're all curious how pidw would look like in his eyes. it was surprisingly (well not really, considering the tens of paragraphs peerless cucumber wrote during his rants, all of which have immaculate grammar and spelling— bc ofc he can't let anyone find something to nitpick on his review so they're forced to see the point!) well-written and definitely more plot-focused.

majority of the readers disappeared after the first few chapters, mainly because of the lack of smutty scenes, but those that do remain are very engaged. one of them is airplane's burner account, when he needs to separate himself from his airplane persona. he's really, really curious as to what his hater is doing to his work.

he... he actually likes it. it's not really the novel he envisioned when he was first working on pidw, nor does it contain all the elements of his original draft, but it was good. he likes it a lot better than what pidw turned out to be.

airplane spent so much time contemplating and considering before finally saying fuck it, and dms peerless cucumber to see if he can work as a co-author with him and they can rewrite pidw together. he even sends parts of the original draft (what was left of it, anyway) as incentive!

it takes a long week before even peerless cucumber replies, and by then he has written a novella detailing how much better the original draft was and him screaming very informally at why airplane had to cast it aside.

lol i need money bro im broke af and porn sells, airplane answers.

it takes another week before peerless cucumber finally answers. then live with me, his message reads. no rent. i'll pay for whatever food you want. and whatever bills you have. just write a good fucking novel, i swear to god.

airplane thinks it's a joke, until he receives the address. an actual penthouse. in the richest streets of guangzhou. there is also a request to meet up (seeing as they don't actually know each other, and sy's brothers are very intent on not getting him murdered in his sleep) and airplane, after much, much thinking, accepts.

airplane does not really know what to feel when he finally meets and talks to shen yuan— pampered third son of a very wealthy family, with two protective older brothers and an even more protective little sister— and sy is just. well. he's exactly airplane's type. the beautiful, ice prince who apparently has only shown this much emotion around airplane. sy's meimei had told him cheerfully and then threatened to gut him if he so much as steps a foot out of line. airplane is starting to feel like he's just met a mafia family.

shen yuan's family aside, airplane is actually living his best life. he no longer has to worry about money. he lives in a luxurious (gods he has never seen such a large bedroom before wtf) penthouse without needing to pay rent (!!!) and utilities (!!!) and even food (!!!). he can write as much as he wants. this must be what artists felt like when they're taken care of noble families in exchange for their art.

he does... well. he and peerless cucumber are friends now. they work on the rewrite together. airplane keeps finding out many things, like how shen yuan likes his tea with a lot of honey, dislikes milk chocolate, and prefers drawing over writing. he also runs hot during the night, when he sleeps.

how does airplane know that? well. bros gotta do what bros gotta do. it's a good thing they both like to cuddle.

[strialternatives]

bonus:

:inhales and slams hands on the desk: akechi. palace. pitch.

disclaimer: the setting for this is all about vibes and aesthetics, it kinda got away from me when i started hashing out the plot around it two months ago so now we're here. in hell. (i'll probably have to make a secondary post i made wayyy too many concepts,)

yes i made an ost for this idea, here is a youtube playlist of chill european jazz

AU details under the cut-

Akechi Goro's palace is "Ampitheatrum Doloris”.

KEYWORDS: Akechi Goro, Tokyo Highcourt, Amphitheater

Akechi's psyche is a massive collection of locked doors, puzzles, and contradictions. He wants to be seen but not understood—heard but never known, ect. This makes his palace infiltration a waking nightmare (affectionate).

His palace is made up of five main layers. They each mirror a stage of grief:

1) There is the outer layer of with the appearance of a Venice-esque water canal maze, there is a door that must be opened to reach the entrance to infiltrate the second layer underneath the amphitheater. The puzzle's actually pretty sentimental and revolves around Akechi's interest in literature.

(This layer is depression, Goro mourns what he lost and the fact that the choices he made for the sake of revenge ultimately led to nowhere. This is reflected in how desolate/meandering the outer layer feels, it is the largest and most time consuming part of the palace for this reason. It takes weeks to finish. AKA, Akira and Morgana have a terrible, no good, very bad month of May.) 

2) The Labyrinth under the amphitheater; it is full of shadows for the arena champion to use as fodder for the enjoyment of the masses. ‘Loki’ resides here—this layer’s theme loosely plays on the Minotaur myth. 

The only way to escape is through a pulley/elevator mechanism which leads to the surface after shattering the Champion’s chains by force. Loki taunts in Old Norse, but gives Akira (and the party by extension) genuine hints on how to escape.

(This layer is anger, Goro is always angry, about the hand he’s been dealt, the futility of his own actions, and the fact that his life has always been a dead end, written in the stars.)

3) The Audience Stands; full of human cognitions and Akechi’s former clients and fans, despite everything, like Sae, he sees them as ‘people’ and is disgusted by them. Their compliments are shallow and empty, surface level like Goro’s facade. Cognition Sae is delegated to a middle manager-type role, and leads Akira and Co. through puzzles.

Different cognitions from Akechi’s shitshow of a childhood throw riddles based around philosophy and the nature of justice at the party, if the answer is ‘wrong’, there’s a mini-boss fight. Answering everything correctly yields a prize—a key, this process is made difficult by all of Robin’s ‘hints’ (which the Thieves can directly ask for) being lies.

(Bargaining. Goro always thought he could still salvage his revenge despite his enemy being essentially invincible, even now deep down he thinks he can salvage all the effort and sacrifices he put in.)

4) The Stage; Robin Hood appears proper instead of in cameo appearances, this is the lead actor's stage. To earn the right to stand with him, Akira has to have to prove his worth in one-on-one combat while showing the crowd a rousing show. The goal is to use the key obtained in the bargaining layer to unlock the Performer's cuffs.

(Denial, Goro doesn’t believe he needs or deserves saving or a life outside of his revenge, he believes there is no other way forward.)

Hereward and the 'treasure' are in the Imperial box area, which I'll save for part 2 of this I think! The second half of this'll have less focus on the environments and more on general plot and character design.

EDIT: here's part two

[ruporas]

birthday party (id in alt)

[stargirl230]

moonlighting 🌚✨

i’m so rusty from not drawing for a whole semester (sobs) but its ok now because kaito's here

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated!)

[dicklessthewonderclown]

forget “enemies to lovers” this and “friends with benefits to lovers” that. i need enemies with benefits to lovers. they’re rivals. they hate each other with the fire of a thousand burning suns. character a is a massive fucking flirt, because they like how angry it makes character b (because they’re into it but mad about it). in a fight, character b has character a pinned up against a wall or something, they’re both all bloody and out of breath. the tension snaps and they have angry kinky hate sex. oh no, something has changed fundamentally changed in their dynamic and they’re both trying their best to ignore it. obviously, it doesn’t work; they hook up again. they’re angry and rough and talking shit about each other while balls deep in each other. they start hooking up more and more frequently, and it’s no longer spur of the moment shit anymore. no, they’re meeting up in secret to fuck. some tragedy strikes— it’s fanfiction, we all know how this works. and then bada bing bada boom they’re in gay love

[speakviolence]

I'm you, sweetie. Just...give it a little time. / I'll never be like you.

[cubbihue]

Do peri and irep still get along? They were friends in school but what about now?

(Btw I absolutely adore your iddie bitties (?) au, it's amazing )

As of current? They're enemies once again.

Going to Boarding School forced their hands to become frenemies. It's a bit difficult to hate each other when they had to share a dorm room!! Their truce ended the moment they graduated.

Although Irep and Peri has had much less interactions since they both have very demanding jobs now.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[sallufix]

OPEN ARMS!

I'm back with my short dumb reel things except it's Epic the goddamn Musical. I haven't drawn humans in so long why do they look decent...

[silverbriseis]

Harry: In order to date me, you have to beat the seven evil horcruxes after me, yes they're also my exes, yes all of them. Yes, they're also Voldemort's horcruxes. Yes I dated his horcruxes, why do you ask?

Cedric/ or literally anyone: you dated WHAT?

[mixxzxzx]

BETWEEN THE LINES - LEE HEESEUNG.

❝ Hate looks a lot like love when you stare at it for too long. ❞

𓂃 ୨୧ PAIRING — Lee Heeseung x Fem!Reader 𓂃 ୨୧ GENRE — Academic rivals to lovers, enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, drama, humor, written format. 𓂃 ୨୧ WARNINGS — 18+ smut, swearing, alcohol consumption, tension, teasing, rough sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, minor manipulation, jealousy, possessiveness, brat taming, light dominance, dacryphilia, power play, marking (hickeys, bites), dirty talk, praise & degradation mix. Fictional work. Do not romanticize real-life toxic behaviors. MINORS DNI.

✎ SYNOPSIS — You always thought Lee Heeseung was your worst enemy. The two of you have been competing for years—class rankings, debate club victories, even the last iced coffee at the café. Every interaction was a challenge, every glance a silent battle.

But when you’re forced to work together on a year-long research project, the tension between you reaches a breaking point. And it turns out, Heeseung is a lot more dangerous when he’s not fighting you—but flirting with you.

At first, it’s a game—sharp words and lingering touches. But when you realize he’s not just messing around, when your heart starts racing at the sound of his voice… who’s really winning now?

𓂃 ୨୧ TAGLIST — Open! Comment or send an ask to be added. 𓂃 ୨୧ STATUS — Coming Soon.

✦ ✦ ✦

CHAPTERS:

🖇 PROLOGUE 🖇 CHAPTER 1 (Coming soon!) 🖇 CHAPTER 2 (TBA) 🖇 CHAPTER 3 (TBA)

(More updates soon…)

✦ ✦ ✦

© mixxzxzx. 2025

[predestinatos]

warm enough for you | CL16 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: charles has a special way of getting under your skin, especially when he insists on staying after the party is over. chapter 1 of an ongoing series.

tags: enemies to lovers, smut with a bit of plot, cocky!charles, bratty!yn

word count: 3.6k

minors dni ──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! warnings & note underneath

warnings: smut, drunk (tipsy) sex, oral (f!receiving), penetration, unprotected sex.

author's note: first time attempting at writing smut and posting anything so please keep up with me. currently working on part 2.

Everyone was slowly leaving your apartment, the party reaching its natural end. Bottles were scattered across your living room, but apart from that, the flat was not as messy as expected. The party was more of a get together, given the small venue where you lived.

You were dizzy, the alcohol getting to your head and body, but conscious enough to decide that you could still clean things up before going to sleep. You waited for everyone to leave, and as you were getting ready to finally let out a deep breath you seemed to be holding the whole night, you notice someone standing, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “Fuck you scared the shit out of me,” you start. His tall figure contrasted with the multicolored shadows of your living room, still dancing to a rhythm that was no longer there.

Then he chuckled. You knew it was him, he did not have to make a sound for you to recognize his frame, the way he always crossed his arms when he looked at you, as if in constant judgment. But if you had any doubts, that sound gave you all the certainty you needed. It was the chuckle he let out before a snarky remark. “I’m sorry, princess, I didn’t know you were so sensitive…” and there it was. The pet name used solely to annoy you, the tone that clarified his only purpose was to get under your skin.

“I would argue with you, but honestly I just want to clean up so please leave, thank you.” It was true. You enjoyed entertaining this back and forth, feeling him getting more and more irritated yet pleased with himself. But you were not in the mood for it, at least not now. Your head was softly spinning and taking your mind off of things is exactly what you need.

As you walk past him to the living room, in an attempt to showcase how you were not going to even acknowledge him, let alone join him in his games, he pushes himself off of the doorframe. “Just thought you could use some help.”

This was ridiculous, and you let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. Since when does he want to help you? Ever since the day you two met, he made it his mission to be as unhelpful as he could, rolling his eyes at everything you said, giving counter arguments to your opinions even if he agreed with them, all whilst smiling towards you with the look of pleasure over someone’s anger. You tried your best to avoid him, but it was impossible to do so, since your friend group was the same. Wherever you went, there he was, and vice versa. Eventually, obviously, you started acting the same way towards him as he did with you, and this just amused your friends even more. That was why he was here, in your apartment. He comes with the friends package, whether you like it or not.

Once again, apart from the laugh, you said nothing else. Instead, you leaned down and started picking up the empty bottles from the floor, whilst the lights kept changing colors from blue to purple to red. To your surprise, you hear him do the same, although he stumbles on himself a bit more than you. “Lightweight” you say, smirking, making your way towards the kitchen to put the bottles in a trash bag. That, and because the silence in the living room was too loud, made it too tight for both of you to fit.

As you placed the empty bottles carefully in the bag, avoiding the loud noise of glass on glass to heighten your soon to come headache, you feel a hand on your waist. His hand. His grip was tight and soft at the same time, sending shivers down your body which contrast with your annoyance. “Excuse me” he said behind you, almost whispering in your ear. His hand left your waist as fast as it got there, an indication of how he was aware you wanted more. “Was this less scary?” he asked, ironically.

You turned to look at him, almost ignoring the fact that you were trapped against the balcony as his body. You could feel his gaze on yours, and while you tried to hold it, you realized you couldn’t. The best you could do was run a hand through your hair in an attempt to disguise the tension running through your body. “You’re such an asshole” you said.

He finally looked away while smiling to himself, staring out the window. You took a second to notice the way his throat bobbed up and down, his hair was messy and careless due to the alcohol on his system which lowered his inhibitions. “You like it though.” Before you could turn away, his gaze stared at your again. His breathing was heavier than usual, the drunken smirk on his face juxtaposing with his furrowed eyebrows and darkened eyes. His face was so close, too close, for you to think straight. You looked at his lips, breaking eye contact once again, letting him win once again. “You wish” was all you could reply.

Without moving, his voice asked in defiance, “so what if I do?” You could feel his eyes exploring your body, his chest rising and falling in deep, steady, too controlled breaths. The red light in the living room shone behind him, highlighting his shape hovering above you. “That’s rich coming from you” you snickered. As much as you were feeling the tension between you both, as much as your teasing and bickering was reaching to a degree of immense repressed desire every time you two were in the same room, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You couldn’t.

The first time you two met, he went out of his way to drunkenly inform you, at a club, that you two “would never happen” and that he “would never fuck you.” To this day you fail to understand where the comment came from, to this day you don’t understand why he hates you so much but insists on making his presence known to you.

At first he seemed confused at your comment, his eyes searching your face for an explanation, but soon enough they widen in realization. Letting out a soft laugh, Charles ran his hands through his hair, making it even messier. “You still think about that?”

It was a ridiculous question, and he knew it. It was hard to hear something like that from someone who you basically had just met, even though he was drunk when he said it. You had not even had time to consider any sort of thing happening between you two and he had already declared it impossible. It seemed unbelievable that someone could be so full of himself to the point of declaring he was not going to bed with you, even before you showed any interest.

You pushed him away softly, and he did not stop you, despite his clear disappointment. That emotion was quickly replaced by a raising of eyebrows as he saw you open the door to the fridge and taking out two cold beers, handing him one. “You don’t seem to be leaving anytime soon, so help yourself.” Was all you could say.

This behavior could be explained by the alcohol running through both of your veins already, by your tiredness over the night, or the sheer need for company you had been needing for a while. You moved towards the living room again, slouching down on the sofa, and you needed not look back to know Charles was following you.

He lifted your legs, which were resting softly on the couch, only to sit down and place them on his lap carefully, with a grin splattered across his face. His side profile revealed a certain rigidness, his jaw tight and tense, but his eyes were soft and calm. “Did you mean it, though?” you asked. You seemed to have interrupted his thoughts, because his expression was lost at your sudden break of silence in the dark room.

“What do you think?” he asked back, never willing to give you the upper hand or satisfaction of a normal conversation. You tried to distract yourself from his cold hand caressing your leg, mostly because you did not know how much of it was intentional. He seemed to be doing it so nonchalantly and carelessly, you wondered if most of it was just instinct.

You tried to calm your voice before you replied, even though the first word that came out of your mouth sounded deeper and higher at the same time, uneven and nervous. “Well- I think, according to what you said that nigh-“ you started, but couldn’t finish. He did not allow you to, interrupting you and turning his face to you for the first time since you two sat down. “I know you’re not that dense, princess.”

Even in the darkly lit room, you felt his gaze burning your skin, focusing on your lips, then your neck. Meanwhile, you stared at his hand, moving slightly up your leg, sending shivers throughout your whole body, shivers you wish he did not notice, but knew, deep down, he was aware of. He knew the effect these had on you, he knew how to please, because that was his reputation. And you hated it at first, hated that he was so confident in his skills and so utterly arrogant about them, but now it only aroused you even more. You took a big sip of your beer, in an attempt to cool your now burning body.

That seemed to remind Charles he was himself holding a bottle of beer in his own hand, because upon seeing you swallow the liquid, he looked at the hand which was holding it. Moving it in order to hold it by the neck, grinning to himself in proud arrogance, he brought it close to your skin, your body hissing in pleasure at the temperature. You closed your eyes and exhaled softly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much this seemingly simple action affected you, but also not wanting him to stop.

He whispered your name, the request for you to look at him implicit in his voice, and you complied. His movements did not stop, a slow game he seemed to be playing with you, in an attempt to see how far he could go. “You look so fucking hot,” he breathed.

Your body was aflame with lust, and so was his, you could tell. You could see him struggling to even speak clearly, to move clearly, trying his best to control his movements which threatened to unleash themselves. “Careful, Charles, you don’t want to break your promise,” you teased, as you slowly moved closer to him, both in defiance of his actions and tempting him to proceed with them.

He freed both of his hands as you placed yourself directly in front of him, sitting on his lap, feeling his erection through his jeans. “You’re making it very hard for me not to do it” he murmured. “Am I?” you asked again. You were feeling bold, enjoying how both of you were toying with the thin line between hate and desire, between forbidden and allowed. Charles merely nodded hungrily, his hands placed on your hips, caressing them softly.

Your pulse quickened at the touch, but also at his greedy and dark expression. You moved your hands towards his shirt, which you start unbuttoning slowly, revealing more and more of his skin slowly. Before you could move to the fourth button, he abruptly grabs a hold of your wrists and pins you to the sofa, underneath his frame. “Stop being such a fucking tease,” he demanded with an aggressive ardor in his voice. With that, he guided your hand which he was still holding towards his erection. You realized the agony he must be in, how his cock must be throbbing underneath those layers of fabric. You felt weak yourself, with an intoxicating need to undress, to ignite the fire that was visibly about to burst into crimson flames.

“You deserve it” you replied with a smirk. It didn’t seem to convince him, this attempt of yours at seeming stronger and unaffected by what was happening. You and him were playing a game but it was getting too real, too intense, too tempting. Letting go of your hand and getting closer to you, his lips mere inches away from yours, he placed a hand between your legs, feeling the pooling wetness growing. Your whole body shuddered at this, a moan escaping your lips and giving you away. “You’re just making it harder for yourself,” he whispered smugly, lips brushing against yours.

Desperately you pulled him in for a kiss. His kiss was filled with intoxicating craving, a groan escaping his lips at the sudden action, his hips grinding against you in frenzied movements. Breaking your kiss, his lips moved towards your neck, softly biting it and leaving wet marks as he kept going down. You undid the knot holding your short dress together, thanking yourself for the easy-access choice of wardrobe.

As he kissed your stomach and paused at your navel, looking up at you as if asking for confirmation. You looked at him and saw how he looked: disheveled and flushed, his cheeks red and messy hair. He looked absolutely mesmerizing, the mix of complete submission but demanding attitude affecting your body through a quickened pulse. You could only nod your permission, finding yourself at a loss of words. He did not hesitate to pull down your lacy underwear, leaving you exposed to him, feeling his warm breath against you. All at once, his lips were exploring your opening, followed by his tongue, moving with ravish.

You cried audibly in pleasure, your back arching against him in untamed pleasure. Unable to hold his own need for pleasure, Charles unzipped his jeans and began stroking himself. His ragged grunts made your body melt in jolts of bliss, and watching him touching himself as he ate you out sent you completely over the edge.

He raised his eyes at you as he kept savoring you, some of his hair sticking to his forehead, his gaze filled with contrasting innocence and total control over you. He pulled his lips away from you, placing himself above your frame, making you look so small in comparison to him. He hovered over you, shirt completely unbuttoned, hand still pleasuring his cock, visibly throbbing with need. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight of him, face wet from your juices and his saliva, chest rising and falling incoherently. “I knew you’d love it” he breathed out.

It was admirable, really. How he still teased you and made it his mission to get under your skin, even like this. “That’s all you’ve got?” you replied, eyebrows raised, eyes half closed in unspoken defiance. “You’re jerking yourself off like a desperate teenager and I’m the one ‘loving it’?” you were testing him. Trying to see how much you could push him over the edge, annoy him, how he would take it out on you – or not.

“God you’re such a fucking brat” he hissed, holding your body with ease and turning you around, lying on your stomach. With his knees, he spread your legs apart and positioned himself between them. You felt him lower himself down, preparing yourself to be filled up, to quench the thirst growing at every passing second but- nothing was happening.

“What the fuck-“ you complained, annoyed. It was slightly embarrassing, your frustration over how long he was taking, and when you turned your head around slightly to see what was wrong, you saw that he had won. He was doing it on purpose, despite his own desperation to bury himself inside you. Amused, he chuckled bringing his hand to your back, caressing it as if to ease your pain in mocking comfort. “You have to tell me what you want, princess.”

“You can’t be serious” you hissed back. But he was, and you knew it. You had gotten this far already, and yet he would not let this go, and you did not know why he insisted so much. You had no idea how much it turned him on to see that only he could affect you like he did, to see how much control he had over you.

Rolling your eyes and doing your best at a monocordic voice, you complied “fuck me, Charles.” Yes, you were being bratty and petty, and yes, you would do anything just for him to fill the emptiness you were feeling inside you.

“You’re such a brat,” he growls as he thrusts himself into you. Your instantly arch your back in pain ad pleasure, feeling his whole body vibrating into you with untamed hunger. His hands grip your waist and force you to switch from a lying position to all fours, allowing him to access you easier. He continued his thrusts as he left bites on the back of your neck, and you filled the room with your cries.

He was not being soft or sweet about it. Charles was completely immersed in his need to have you, so much so that he could barely see anything apart from you, back arched in pleasure for him, the switching lights illuminating every curve of your body in sensuous effect. He dreamt about possessing you like this so often, thought about how good you’d feel so many times, that what was happening seemed to him unreal. He felt himself close to coming as you clenched around him, but before he could so, he pulled himself out of you.

 “Not yet,” he started. His voice was husked and lazy, a reflection of how much restraint it was taking him not to fill you up already. You were about to protest, being so close yourself, but as you turned around you found yourself mesmerized by the sight of him. His green eyes were glossy, his face completely flushed and sweaty from withhold pleasure. As you stared at him, he raised an eyebrow and gave you a half-smile. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, doing nothing to fix it, but it didn’t matter. He seemed almost shy about how you were looing at him, which was insane and ridiculous, given what you were doing, what you were.

 “I want to look at you” you said. This caused Charles’ eyes to widen in surprise, not expecting your bluntness. Even you were shocked at what you said and how demanding you sounded, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Holding one of your ankles and placing it on his shoulder, Charles entered you with unleashed violence, his gazed interlocked with yours. You thought about how pornographic the view must be for him as well, your swollen lips, some tears of pleasure running through your cheeks, and a sloppy smile plastered across your face. You feel absolutely lightheaded, almost drunk with ecstasy. “Putain, j'aime quand tu me regardes comme ça” he said, French escaping his lips as he loses all capacity to form coherent thoughts. This just made your pulse quicken, your skin bursting with fulfillment.

 His pace fastened even more, as he grunted and throbbed with how good he felt inside you. “Your cunt feels so fucking good” he kept repeating, his eyebrows furrowed as if attempting to delay his orgasm. “Charles, I- I’m gonna cum” you try telling him, between breaths and moans. “Fuck, fuck, look at me” he demanded, holding your face so it wouldn’t move away from his gaze. With that, you erupted in pleasure, completely undone beneath him, body trembling.

The view was so overwhelming, Charles couldn’t help but come as well, filling you up with fervent ardor, his body falling limply on top of yours. He remained there, his breathing uneven and erratic, just like yours.

You both lost track of time as you lay there, together. You could have fallen asleep like that, maybe you had, there was no way to tell. He felt warm and comfortable against you, and you felt so close and secure to him that neither of you dared to move.

After a while, his fingers starting drawing small, invisible designs on your still sensitive skin, causing you to giggle. For some time, you two just existed together with nothing else retraining your behavior, your own hands playing with his soft hair, a tired smile on his face.

You wake up with light filling your living room, giving you momentary blindness. The headache was done with its threat to show up, now attacking you with full force, limiting your movements and thoughts. Despite everything, you remembered the night before. Even if you did not, there was evidence that something had happened – or, better, there wasn’t any, and that’s what caught your attention.

The living room was pristine and looked untouched. You were fully dressed in some comfortable clothes, and the TV was on despite the fact that its volume was almost fully off. It seemed as if this was an ordinary day, but you knew it wasn’t.

You grabbed your phone and stared at its screen empty of any sort of texts, notifications or messages. Nothing to prove the night before. You knew it was a mistake to do so, but you couldn’t help typing out the text:

To: Charles (Asshole) Hey, got home safe? (11:33am)

All you got back was a small text underneath yours, which said ���Read (11:47)”

[anythingbyadriannelenker]

jeeves runs a menswear blog with a 1000 followers where he criticizes the cut of politician’s suits (a la derek guy) while bertie posts fit checks that border on thirst traps with the most flamboyant color and pattern combos that make you dizzy and they each get 200k likes

[mercurycft]

𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 — 𝐋𝐁

## lucy bronze x reader !!

Enjoy this cheeky little something something while I perfect the next chapter of ‘OFF LIMITS’.. This is probably my favourite thing I've written in a while, as well as the longest too! Love always! - RG! x

can you tell im a sucker for a ‘forbidden love’ type fic? contains: softtop!lucy. age!gap but i promise its entirely legal. thigh riding, fingering, praise, finger sucking.

3.3k words.

CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT & LANGUAGE 18+

“I swear on my life Leah, It isn’t a big deal!”

“And I swear on my life, I will volley him over the bar!” She slurred, pointing a firm finger in the direction of the ‘handsy’ bartender. Before the situation could get any more embarrassing, you pushed her away and towards the table with a timid and apologetic smile back in his direction. Alcohol tended to brew confidence in Leah. Her usual calm and quiet demeanour slipping away with every sip of her drink throughout the night.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head and patting her shoulder. “Sit down, before you get yourself in trouble.” You mumbled, raising your eyebrows to the other girls who sat around the table as Leah slumped herself next to Alex and started ranting. The other girls were tucked neatly around the booth - all of their faces plastered with an amused look as they watched on, disregarding their own conversations to try and listen in.

Most of her words were drowned out by the music, bass bouncing off the walls. From what you could hear, a slightly tipsy Leah had read the situation wrong - assuming the bartender had started flirting and ‘pushing his luck’ as she put it, when you had leaned in to hear him better. You shook your head and tried to stifle a laugh when she started defending herself, encouraged by the rest of the group who were highly entertained by the whole thing.

Leah was a funny drunk, a table-top dancer, shot-encourager and very clearly protective. It was admirable, but so funny. It was funnier, however, listening to her explain to the rest of the group. Her voice cracking and jumping octaves as she tried to shout over the music - throat becoming hoarse.

You stood from the booth after a few minutes, leaning across the back of the booth to pat Alex’s shoulder, bringing your lips into a tight line and holding in your laughs as she you left her stranded with a fuming, blonde companion. Making your escape and b-lining for the dance floor, where the rest of your friends were.

Leah, by nature is protective. The captain of the team, and now headed towards being a european champion. But before all of this, she was a big sister. Your big sister. You were only a year and a half younger but she made it her life mission to protect you and this wasn’t a role she took lightly. She looked after you, steering you out of harms way and at times, getting herself in trouble instead. Just like tonight.

You had been around football, and most of the girls, for a majority of your life. It was Leah’s passion, and it filled you with pride as she got to live her childhood dream. As a result, you and the rest of her teammates had spent a lot of time together - and you got on like a house on fire.

You went to most training sessions, filming content. You went to almost all matches, and her friends quickly became your friends. So when the group had gone out for celebrations, following the match that shot them straight into the semi- finals, naturally you were invited along.

You were now in the midst of the crowd of bodies. Drink in hand and arm in the air as everyone sang, no massacred, a Kings of Leon banger. Stomping their feet and dancing along, screaming. You were stood laughing between Lucy and Jordon - who were surprisingly joining in the chorus, arms strung around each other.

Waiting until the song ended and the room filled with cheers to poke your head between them both, shouting “Can I steal Lucy for a sec, mate?” Jordon simply laughed, leaning back in to reply with an ‘of course’ and shuffling away towards another group of the girls.

Before you could speak, her mouth was pressed to your ear as she tried to reach a hearable volume. “Tenner on your sister two-footing someone tonight!” You couldn’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes and shoving against her.

“That’s because you lot encourage her!”

“I do not! I simply tell her to express her anger how she sees fit!”

“Oh so in other words, encouraging!” You laughed back, sarcasm lacing your words. Lucy was always easy to talk to, a familiar face. Leah and Jordan spent a lot of time together, which meant Leah, Jordan and Lucy spent a lot of time together. It wasn’t unusual to find the three scattered around the living room on a Sunday, practically dead to the world, often after a particularly messy night.

“Tenner that we’ll be the ones carrying her back to her room later as well!” You added, clinking your glasses together as another song reeled through the speakers - greeted by a crowd of screams and cheers.

—————————

You were right, though you always were when it came to Leah. Now you stood inside the lift, Leah with one arm draped over your shoulder and the other over Lucy’s. You both tried to hold her up as best you could, which was hard when she was pretty much falling asleep between you.

It felt like three hours had passed when the three of you, four if you included an also drunk Jordon who was trailing behind the group with her head tucked into her phone, had finally made it their shared room. Scanning Leah’s key-card and dragging her through the door and getting her on the bed.

Fifteen minutes later, her makeup was off and pjs on. Though that was mostly the work of you, physically having to peel her clothes off of her body and replace them without any help on her end as she dead-weighted against you. You did all this while Lucy put her phone on charge, and made sure she had a water bottle beside her bed for the night.

When you had finally put her to bed, Lucy spoke up from behind you. “Does this mean I owe you a tenner?” you scoffed at her remark, turning to face her.

“If that was the case, you owe me about a grand in bets since we met!”

“Oi, don’t even! I have definitely paid that back in all the takeaways I buy you and your bloody sister!”

“Touché, Bronze,” you grumbled back, turning to place a kiss on Leah’s forehead and say goodnight to Jordan, who was laid beside her and almost asleep before you had even left the room.

When you got outside and shut the door behind you, you looked towards Lucy to thank her for her help and apologise for ripping her away from the party, but were met with her hand already lifted to stop you. “Don’t even say it, you know I don’t mind.”

You smiled at her, taking a deep breath and checking the time on your phone. “Shit, I need to get an uber. I’ll text you in the morning?” You said, looking up periodically from your phone whilst typing in your address.

“Why don’t you just stay here? I don’t think I like the idea of you in a taxi alone this late,” She started, checking the time on her phone. “It’s past 2, absolutely not.” She confirmed, shaking her head and pulling out her own key-card. “Just stay with me. I’ll get you a taxi in the morning,”

“It’s fine! I’ll just hop in with the girls-”

“If Leah finds out I let you get in a taxi, she will actually punch me in the face.”

“You do have a point..”

The pair of you had started walking through the hall by this point, still arguing lowly at the idea of you in a taxi alone. Lucy didn’t take no for an answer, swiping her card and unlocking her room. “If you don’t go and get in that bed right now I will call your mother.” She pressed, teasing. Her accent seemed to get thicker with the presence of alcohol in her system.

“Oh really..” You shot back folding your arms together across your chest, challenging her. You watched as she fumbled with her phone, mumbling some sarcastic comment under breath while pulling up your mum’s contact and hovering her finger over the call button.

“Don’t make me wake Amanda up..”

“Fine!” You caved, scurrying into the room and holding your hands up in defence. She followed close behind, pleased with herself and shutting the door behind her.

Once in the room you sat on the bed, undoing your shoes and chucking them in some direction away from you - you didn’t care, as long as they were off. You got up to wash your face, wincing when the soles of your feet met flat on the floor. “Fucking heels,” You whispered, walking to the bathroom in a huff.

When you emerged back into the room, Lucy was already changed. Shorts and a sports bra now adorning her tanned body, you had to shake yourself out of the moment as you stared at her back. Admiring the toned muscles as she dug through her suitcase, turning briefly to throw something towards you.

“Put that on,” It was short, but sounded sweet and made you smile internally. Turning back towards the bathroom to strip and put the shirt she had given you on. It was a football top with ‘BRONZE’ plastered across the back of your shoulders, but it did the job and was comfier than your outfit previously.

You stood in the bathroom for a few moments, pulling your hair into a ponytail before shutting off the light and making your way back to the bed. “Left or right?” You questioned.

“What?” She looked at you, her glasses now perched on the bridge of her nose snd you swore you felt your insides shift.

“Uh- Side of the bed? Left or right?” You stammered, pointing towards the sheets.

“Whatever tickles your fancy, I don’t have a side,” She shrugged back, trying to contain her smirk when she caught you looking at her for a second too long.

You made a fake disgusted face back to her, scrunching your nose. “You’re such a freak, who doesn’t have a side of the bed?”

“Me, obviously.” She retorted, rolling her eyes sarcastically.

You had opted for the side closest to the window, walking around the bed with your back to Lucy. She had to stop herself from audibly groaning at the sight of her name printed across your shoulder blades, unable to tear her eyes away. Lucy would be lying if she said she didn’t find you attractive, because you were and she did.

When you had rounded the bed, you pulled at the linens. Yanking them up and over your body as you got comfortable in the bed, sinking into the mattress and sighing when your head hit the pillow - facing the other side of the bed which was yet to be occupied.

—————————

The bed dipped beside you after a few minutes,and Lucy shuffled under the covers next to you after faffing about the room. Flicking the light switch above her bedside table to turn off the lights, your phone now the main source of light.

You lowered your phone to shine in her face, smiling when you were greeted with a smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a Williamson in my bed,” She quipped, winking dramatically as you faked a gag.

“Gross! I’m going to tell then you told me that,” you replied, laughing and turning to place your phone on the table beside you. You faced the window, the curtains closed but still allowing some light from a lamp outside to peak through. With your back now to Lucy, she had a full view of her name once again. “Goodnight Lucia..” You whispered into the dark, sighing contently into the silence.

“Goodnight,” She replied, still scanning your back. Noticing how the shirt sat bunched above your hips, revealing a slither of your back and the lace of your underwear - sucking in a breath at the sight alone. You felt her hand skim gently across the letters on the top, smiling into your pillow.

She had gotten closer, her arm now slung across your waist and holding you against her. Time had passed but still you were awake, and you knew she was too. The loud thrumming in your chest prohibiting any chance of sleep, when you felt her presence beside your ear.

You could feel her breath on your neck as she leaned in towards you slowly, whispering a small “Is this okay?” as her lips lingered over the skin below your ear, awaiting your answer. You nodded and she moved closer, pressing her lips against your neck softly.

They were tender but calculated and you breathed heavily out into the room when she kissed along your shoulder, dragging her teeth over the material of her jersey. You waited a few more minutes before turning over to face her, flushed. Taking a deep breath and looking into her eyes, your faces were close. Closer than you realised. So close you could see every groove, every line and feature. Lips no more than centimetres apart.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

That was all she needed, bringing her lips to press against yours. Hand still gripping your waist and guiding your frame to lay flush against hers as your hands moved to cup the back of her neck and head, lips moving in sync.

The next few minutes were a blur of movement and small, breathy giggles and now you sat on her lap - straddling the top of her thighs with your mouths still connected. The kiss was now a mixture of desperation and yearning, hands grabbing at whatever skin they could find beneath the sheets.

Her head dipped, kissing and nipping at the skin of your jaw and along your throat. You couldn’t help but whimper when her teeth grazed a particularly sensitive patch of skin, right where your neck and collar bone met. You could feel her smirk against you, which only made the feeling in the pit of your stomach worse.

—————————

You had tried to remove your top, well her top, but were met with a protest telling you to keep it on. Her skin on fire at the thought of you wearing her name as you sat now desperate on top of her.

Your hair was now down, and one of her hands sat roughly in the roots. Tugging at the stands to guide you against her mouth, when she felt you start to rock your hips against her. Eliciting a guttural moan from the back of her throat.

She used the hand still on your waist to slow your movement to a stop, moving to lift you up and over until you straddled one of her thighs. The only barrier between you both was your underwear, and when you shifted your weight she felt your wetness graze against her. Smirking and pulling away to look at your face.

“You wanna ride my thigh, darling?” She whispered, eyes locked on yours as you enthusiastically nodded. Eyes glazed over, and eyebrows furrowed with need. She smiled at the action, moving her fingers to push your underwear aside and lift her thigh to meet your warmth. Groaning when she felt you coat her thigh.

You moaned at the contact, your clit already sensitive and throbbing. You didn’t know how she did it, how she had you wrapped around her finger and laying in the palm of her hand but you loved every second of it. Mouth falling agape when she began guiding you up and down the length of her thigh, rocking your hips against her.

“Does that feel good baby?” She asked from your neck, her lips stopping their sloppy kisses for a second. You whimpered in response, nodding slowly. Her hand met your jaw in a swift but gentle motion, pulling you to focus on her. “Use your words, love.”

“Yes it feels good, Luce..” You whispered, licking your lips. Head falling back as you worked her thigh, the sound of your wetness protruding through the quiet of the room and accompanied by the sound of laboured breathing from below you.

“Good girl..” She added, jaw clenched when she attached her lips to your neck again. You savoured the feeling, the delicious feeling as you dragged yourself against her skin moving to tuck your head into her neck.

“Need more, Luce..”

“Hm? What’s that?” She was egging you on, hands moving to squeeze at the flesh of your thighs. Helping you rut against her.

“Want your fingers..” You confessed, dragging your own teeth along her shoulder now - biting down against the skin when you felt your face flush.

She had you flipped in seconds, now towering over you as you laid flat against the bed helping her shimmy your underwear off. Once gone, she spread your legs - moaning at the sight of your juices dripping and now covering the inners of your thighs. You blushed at the sound, biting your lip to muffle any noises you were concerned about making in response.

You felt her fingers next, sweeping through your folds and drawing tight circles around your clit. Moaning when she pressed the pads of her fingers harder into the bundle of nerves, finding it humorous as your body responded to her touch.

“Please,” You begged, hips rising off the bed in a desperate act for more friction. She shut the down quickly, using her free hand to pin your hips back to the mattress.

“Please what, darling..” Lucy stalled, slowing down to an unbearable speed. “What do you want..?” She added lowly, coaxing you out of your shell.

“Want you to fuck me.. Please..” You squirmed, knees now bent and sat on either side of your hips - inviting her in. You felt as she slowly and carefully slipped in a single finger, watching your face contort before she added another.

Stretching you out perfectly and starting to move them methodically inside you. Pulling out the perfect amount before pushing them back inside, curling up against your tight walls to press against your g-spot.

Her pace and pressure increased with the volume of your sultry moans, back arched into her touch and face buried in your arms as her fingers pressed perfectly inside of you. Bringing her thumb to toy with your clit, salivating as she watched you take her.

She could feel you squeezing around her fingers, becoming breathless as you chased your orgasm - chest rising with every thrust of her fingers. “You gonna cum for me?” She asked, her free hand lifting to the side of your face to force you into eye contact.

“Y-Yes,” You stuttered, eyes rolling into the back of your head when her fingers curled. Mouth hung open and hips riding against her fingers.

“Show me how you cum, baby..”

That was all it took for you, orgasm crashing through your body and shaking through your limbs. Legs thrashing around her hand as you came, back arched and screaming out her name - which caused her to smirk, watching you intensely.

Lucy let you ride it out, only stilling her thrusts when your back finally laid against the bed again - catching your breath when you heard her chuckle deeply. Bringing her fingers up to your mouth and slipping them past your lips, admiring how you took them and started working against them. Pulling away with a pop when you felt they were clean, and looking up at her.

A deafening silence engulfed the room, as Lucy fell beside you on the bed. She turned on her side to face you and handed you a towel she had grabbed, which you accepted gracefully and did what you could.

“Jesus..” You whispered, testing the air.

“That’s not my name..” She threw back, earning a weak laugh. There was the normal Lucy you had grown to love, you thought whilst lifting your hand to swat at her chest.

“Let’s maybe not tell Leah about this..”

“Agreed.”

[ladystoneboobs]

no, but the way, cersei brushes sansa's hair with her fingers after telling her ilyn payne will kill her if stannis wins his battle, so they can all die together. this intimate, almost maternal gesture following a death threat. and then later a similar gesture is used with her actual child, when intimidating the king himself, her youngest, after threatening to have his whipping boy brought in to be beaten before them. just as she scared sansa, she scares tommen, also thought to be meek as sansa was. cersei only knows how to rule through fear but in these certain cases, she can sometimes mix in acts of tenderness too for a particularly unsettling combination.

[boundinparchment]

Blasphemous Rumors - IX

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year. A marriage of convenience. Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.”

Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality. Slow burn. Semi-enemies to lovers. Available on AO3 here.

Obscured half-truths should have been easier to spot.  Was it mere convenience that caused me to overlook such details or the notion that if she lasted this long under Pantalone’s reign, she was likely a safe candidate?  Worse still, was it because I find her to be one of the only tolerable individuals to deal with?

She wasn’t lying about her father, the change in circumstance, a decision to utilize her skills away from home.  Not only was it obvious merely from her demeanor at dinner the other night but she had little reason to hide such motivations to begin with.  Her candor prior to this arrangement was a refreshing surprise in comparison to the layered considerations from my colleagues.

Her father’s health failed and although she did her best to keep the books tidy, they slipped into the red when deadlines were not met.  Some months were just above water only for the subsequent ones to sink again.  In most cases, Agents were sent to take care of such matters, but circumstances required the Regrator’s personal assessment.  They were denied an appeal and had little choice but to declare bankruptcy; subsequently, their credit was ruined, financially and socially.  Sneznhayan winters were bearable with a collective community, with every individual playing their part.  When one could not contribute, however…

To give up one’s resources and time and energy for another.  Only the Eremites showed me such sentiments provided I pulled my weight in return.

I leaned back in my chair and rested my boots on my desk, tossing aside my mask to press the heels of my palms into my eyes.  Ridiculous.  Had I truly overlooked her personnel and public records all for the sake of this experiment?  A mistake I would have made centuries ago, not now.  Emotion certainly didn’t drive this decision, for we had no such bond.  And although I’ve had fleeting thoughts of what her body might feel like, I was not a creature of hungry lust.

Exploring a purposeful relationship was enticing, a new adventure, and I was never one to turn down an opportunity.

How foolish.

Such circumstances in life naturally led to the decisions she has made for the rest of her career.  The Fatui, while hardly beloved, offered enticing pay and there were plenty of enemies to sell information to.  She had gone to the postal service before the bank that day I saw her in town and she has a knack for searching for details beyond her station.  It was the only thing that made sense. 

She was hardly the first I have observed to turn to such desperate measures.  Treason was reserved for the betterment of the people at the cost of oneself, but if she were to be arrested or killed, who would care for her loved ones?  Given previous conversations, she hardly expected anything from me in this regard.  Which meant she gave little thought to the consequences of her actions or had terrible foresight.

There was little else in the file.  The Regrator would have approved her resume and background and thus must know she may not be as trustworthy as others.  I, for one, preferred to have different minds on various projects to identify other ways of thinking.  But the Ninth was not one for dissonance, and either he hired her out of ironic pity or he gave no second thought to those he financially fucked over.

Somehow, the latter would not be surprising in the least.

Despite it all, I found myself intrigued.  Did she have a plan?  What was her endgame? 

“This is rather amusing, Prime,” Omega crooned, papers fluttering as the Segment tossed the files back onto my desk.  “I would have thought Zeta to be the one to be wrapped up in such a dramatic tale.”

“I resent that,” came a second voice, off to the right of my desk.  “Besides, we need a little excitement amongst ourselves on occasion.”

“Neglecting a background check on a future spouse you barely know outside of a professional capacity is careless.  I am aware all of us manage to get along with her but you must not be thinking,” Omega continued.

“All of us know what he was thinking when he caught her touching—”

“Enough,” I barked, splaying my hands out as I glared at the two Segments.  “This is a golden opportunity if managed correctly.  Insight into a common life experience and gaining information not first disseminated from the Marionette or the Regrator.  She’ll be an asset if used correctly.”

“She’s either the stupidest person in existence or the bravest,” Zeta chimed in, gleeful.  “Treason right under a Harbinger’s nose for years and now she’s gone and married said Harbinger’s higher ranked colleague.”

The silence of my inner mind was deafening as every part of me came to the correct conclusion: we stood to lose a great deal if she flew too close to the sun.  Setting aside Pantalone’s bet and putting everything at face value, the spouse of a Harbinger found to be a spy would cast my own credibility into account.  And I have worked far, far too hard over these centuries.

Damn it all.

“A solution will be found,” I stated, the familiar confidence settling the stirring of the Segment network.

I rose to my feet and straightened my sleeves, erasing the traces of uneasy thoughts.  Before me, Omega and Zeta remained unconvinced, their own arrogance and perception too sharp, too much like my own.

But it was not them I needed to concern myself with.  My meeting with Pantalone this afternoon was more pressing. 

As I dismissed the others and locked my study, Omega turned back and said, “This is your experiment, Prime.  But do let us know if you need a…helping hand.  She’s our wife, too.”

I gritted my teeth, fighting back the urge to remind Omega that I created all of my Segments as tools of perception, functioning individuals separate from myself.  A waste of breath.  Whatever eventuality was inevitable with my Accountant, there was little reason for it to include being woven into a web of my Segment’s antics.

The office was quiet when I arrived upstairs, the faint sounds of a group lunch mingling with those of a client conversion and a series of clicks from a typewriter.  Boring and slow and enough to stir my mind to madness if I were subjected to such an environment; the briefest stint in the Akademiya archives sorting organizing copies of theses with little to no consequence on the greater world was enough to solidify that. 

Her old office was nothing but a series of file boxes and a bookshelf, not yet re-occupied.  It seemed far smaller than I recalled it being.  An observation worth analyzing later.

The Accountant was now found in the office just outside of Pantalone’s double doors, a wide vista spanning out behind her and room enough for a small sitting area, tucked out of view from the half-windows that lined the front of her new office.  So far, she had only managed to place a few of the familiar knick-knacks from prior business trips as personal marks.  She was deep in conversation with an Agent, their hood down as they stood just inside the threshold, speaking.  Something in my ribcage ached at the sight of her, sun painting her from behind as she idly played with the letter opener.  Distantly, I could still smell her perfume, a testament to its quality.  The scent had lingered in the dressing room this morning, warm, a little musky, sweet in afternote. 

Rationality kept its hold on me but memories of pressing her against the wall, impulsive and opportunistic, burned my eyes every time I blinked.  Such need would be dealt with later.  It held no place now.

Briefly, I considered her high shoulders and legs ankles as she feigned casualty, leaning against her desk.  Part of me thought to rap my knuckles against the wood paneling and startle the rambling Agent.  Just as I raised my hand, the Accountant’s head turned slightly, eyes shifting and meeting mine.  She gave the smallest shake of her head before returning her attention to the Agent, as if nothing had happened.

I bit back a smirk.  How well she knew my curiosity for reactions.

Not bothering to knock on the Regrator’s door, I slipped away and shoved all thoughts of her soft skin to the recesses of my mind.

Pantalone barely looked up from his desk at my presence, bemusement sitting in his brow.  A chill ran through the office, the window behind him cracked open despite the whipping snow dancing down from the rooftops.  He claimed it was for fresh air, regardless of the season.  I once argued the inefficiency of such behavior and, upon my next visit, he’d purposefully gone out of his way to make it colder fully knowing one such as myself was used to cold desert nights.

I contemplated pacing to keep the rampant thoughts of frustration at bay but instead settled into one of the nearby sofas.  The leather was supple, more giving than at first glance, disarming.  Propping my elbow up on the back, I rested my head on my fist before crossing an ankle over my lap.  This meeting would be a waste of time, as it usually was, and the Segments were not helpful in sorting thought priority.

“You appear to have returned from an expedition, not a honeymoon, old friend.  Don’t tell me marriage doesn’t suit you already,” the banker crooned.

Already laying landmines?  How droll.  Beneath my mask, my eye twitched.  This meeting was supposed to be about several other matters, the most important of which was gauging how much he knew already regarding the topic the Accountant dropped in my lap.  He had to be aware of the pattern, but whether he intended to do something about it...   

I waved a hand.  “Unexpected occurrences in the lab in my absence.  We had a fine time away.”

Pantalone chuckled as he rose from his desk, picking up his walking stick as he went, the thing little more than a prop.

“I would have expected you more…relaxed, is all.  You’ll need to be a little more convincing than just watching from a distance, Zandik.”

Amused, I tilted my head.  “Whatever are you talking about, banker?”

“You played your role at the wedding well enough.  But what about the bedroom?”

Pantalone took his time, the tip of his cane thumping into the plush carpet as he went.  He was practically in time with the ridiculous clock in the corner, ticking away.  Truly, he was wasting both of our times prying?

“Get to your useless point already,” I glowered.

“Apparently, the both of you were never quite out of sight, seemingly glued to one another but not in the…traditional sense.  More like friends than eager lovers.”

With a smile, Pantalone continued, pacing as he went.

“That was not the tell, though.  It may have been beneficial to let the staff do their job instead of insisting on making the coffee yourself.  The housekeeper and cook might be in your pocket but they do enjoy chatting with the groundskeeper.”

“What happens between my wife and I is no one else’s business.”

The words were pure fact but that was yet another blind spot I’d overlooked.  Beneficial, perhaps, to the farce of a happy marriage on the surface.  To any outsider, it might appear that way.  But it was unlike me to forget my position, one I had overcome death itself, in a sense, to achieve.  In the depths of my mind, Omega chuckled.

Pantalone ceased his peacocking and finally settled onto the other end of the couch, thumb idly playing with the design of the cane’s metal top.  “It is when you’re a Harbinger, my friend.  We might above the nobility but that does not mean people won’t talk.”

My mind lingered again on unspoken expectations, the peripherals that mattered little to an experiment focused on a single goal but were imperative to a proper union befitting my station.  Even if this agreement was only for a year at minimum, eventually we would need to tackle nonsense such as intimacy, at least feigning it, let alone legacies…

They wouldn’t, not if this didn’t last.  And she…why would she agree to more than a year with me?  She’d practically thrown herself at me but that didn’t mean much in marriages such as this.  He was not entitled to her physicality, nor was she to his.

And only a fool would consider throwing children into a paper-thin union.  Genetics was always such a fascinating field, the potential born from random sequencing in a particular order, uncovering the result only as the subject grew…

Just long enough to win the bet.  That was all they needed.  Nothing less, but nothing more, either.  She would get what she was owed from their agreement and even as a divorcee of a Harbinger, she would be a viable candidate for another, purely out of a strategic alliance. 

She would be fine.

“You certainly put on a show at the wedding but now it’s time to continue proving it,” Pantalone said, his golden eyes boring into my mask.  “And distantly watching your wife or allowing ridiculous rumors to circulate about her is not in your best interest.  Nor is an unsatisfied partner.  At least for your sake.  You look as if you’re going to snap in two.  Get it over with, would you?”

“Why don’t you concern yourself with your own affairs, Regrator?  It’s not as if you fare any better in solitude.”

“Touche.  As you said, no one else’s business.”

“Then drop it.  I came to discuss something else.”

The other man raised a thin eyebrow in silent query, leaning back into the arm of the sofa.

“You’re aware that Northland is not the only source of my funding,” I began.

“Naturally.”

“A few of my investors happen to be within the nobility.  Recently, Omega reported that some of them are claiming financial hardship and they’re unable to come up with the rest of their capital.  I’m curious if the same has occurred for Northland itself, if there’s been increase in bankruptcies or other defaults as of late.”

Pantalone raised his head slightly, eyes leaving mine for a moment in consideration.  So, Northland’s capital, which came from the very money deposited by its customers, was more vulnerable than it seemed.  Had he done a poor job of hiding it?  Or was it intentional? 

“I imagine they’ve been crumbling under the new tax laws and tariffs as of late,” the Ninth supplied.  “But they must understand that their roles as nobles are to take the higher ground and sacrifice for those with fewer means than themselves.  How else are we meant to bridge the gap, hmm?”

And yet, the Accountant made it seem so…

His words were too dismissive, too easy.  I may not dabble in economics but for her to be so concerned, to consider it information critical enough to examine, there had to be more to it. 

But it was clear that was all I was going to get, even if I resorted to pushing back against him by pulling rank.  I rose to leave, ready to be done with this waste of time, and Pantalone did the same, closing the distance between us.  As I neared the door, he put a hand on my shoulder.

“Omega will receive his funding, one way or another,” the banker smiled, his eyes closing in congeniality.  “I’m sure Tartaglia would be more than happy to manage a few small collections, the Rooster said the boy is going stir-crazy as of late.”

“I’ll consider it.  Such actions may not be necessary.”

He patted my back, the action patronizing.  “You need only ask, dear friend.  Moving forward, another will be handling your accounts and budgets; can’t have your wife balancing your books, can we?

“Surely you didn’t move her merely because of her change in station?  She’s not one for taking credit where none is due,” I replied, glaring over my shoulder.

“Since it needs to be said, her promotion was both earned and acts a way to keep her from the rest of the nonsense.  There’s a betting pool for her resignation, another for when she begins to take sick days and wears looser clothing.  Her colleagues are just as vicious as ours, I saw no need for her to be subjected to it.”

“Betting pools started by you, undoubtedly,” I shot back.  “Considering your prying nature.”

“I’m wounded, old friend,” the Regrator pressed a hand to his chest, his expression sullen.  It changed as suddenly as it began, his usual stoicism settling in.  “But do consider what I’ve said.  Showing up to your own dinner party with this much tension will undoubtedly raise more speculation than quell it.”

Easy for you to say, you don’t have multiple versions of yourself in your head, I thought bitterly, opening the door and slamming it behind me.

I attempted to ease the tension in my jaw by focusing on the corridor and not the motion off to my left.  The slam caused her to flinch and look up, unused to the proximity of those whose blood pressure rose leaving the Regrator’s office. 

Looking at her did nothing to help with that.  The expression on her face was too similar to what I remembered from that morning, lips parted in ecstasy she thought was private…

Taking her on her desk, where Pantalone could hear every sound, would shut the other man up for good.  Would shut everyone else up for good.  But that required him to be a different man, one driven by base desire alone, with no respect for the set-up of the experiment.

And she wasn’t mine to have.  Not really, marriage laws be damned.

The experiment needed to continue unclouded.  Marriage was more than lust, more than sex, more than physical intimacy.  Her suggestions for trying to get along and know one another, as much as he would let her, would certainly lead to more success in that regard.

The moment passed as quickly as it came when I entered her office, her hand still poised mid-calculation.

“Thank you for not interrupting earlier,” she said, returning to her work.  “They were rather informative, all things considered.  And I shouldn’t have to say that I don’t need a knight in shining armor.”

“I never claimed to be one.”

“Wouldn’t suit you anyway.”

Selfishly, I allowed myself the thought that kissing her would feel sublime, regardless.  Not an hour went by where I didn’t feel her lips on mine, a ghost of the stolen kisses from weeks ago.  If I was struggling with this, it stood to reason she might be as well.  And with the new information from this morning, I’m beginning to understand just what kind of position she put herself in, marrying me: she was not unlike Tyr, putting her arm in the mouth of Fenrir, as the old Khaenriahn myths went.

“Take an extended lunch and come to my workshop,” I said.  “We need to discuss a few details.”

She watched me, wary, but as I walked away, I heard her shuffling papers and gathering her belongings.  I did not pause in my stride when her office lock clicked and I felt her keeping pace beside me.

Resting my hand at the small of her back, I ushered her along amid her colleagues’ glances.  My skin burned.  Not even the thoughts of her being a political problem, a traitor and the biggest wrench in my plans, kept the sensations at bay.

I needed to get this experiment back on neutral ground as soon as possible.