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sugurugetoshairbrush · 2 months ago

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Personal Trainer!Toji Fushiguro—”Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?”

req by: @sumbarbietingz tyty hope u like <33

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 6 AM.

By now, working out is muscle memory—a chore you tick off your list without much thought. You’re not aiming for an Olympian’s physique, nor do you dream of flipping tires or crushing quadruple-digit squats. For you, fitness is about balance, not obsession. The gym is filled with the usual suspects: frat bros showing off one-armed pull-ups, bodybuilders flexing between sets, and athletes moving like they own the place. You don’t envy them, nor do you aspire to join their ranks. In truth, their antics are more intimidating than inspiring.

But lately, something’s shifted. You’ve grown restless with your go-to routine: treadmill sprints, a quick core workout, and stairmaster till failure. It gets the job done, but there’s a whisper in the back of your mind, daring you to try something new. Maybe it’s time to add weights to your regimen. Maybe it’s time to sculpt those glutes and finally chase the coke-bottle figure you’ve been daydreaming about.

For weeks, the squat rack has been your Everest. You’ve watched others load up the bar, their muscles taut with effort, and wondered if you could do the same. It’s not fear holding you back—more like the memory of too many gym bros turning innocent glances into unwelcome conversations. At this gym, you’ve perfected the art of blending in. Headphones in, eyes down, immersed in the personal concert blasting through your ears. The only human contact you entertain is a nod and a quick smile for the woman at the front desk.

Today, though, is different. After your core workout, you finally approach the empty squat rack. Your heart races—not from exertion, but from the thrill of trying something outside your comfort zone. You set down your water bottle, lift the bar experimentally, then add two 20-pound plates on either side. It feels doable. With a deep breath, you duck under the bar, letting it rest on your shoulders. A hype Sexyy Red track thunders in your ears, spurring you on as you knock out your first set.

The burn in your thighs intensifies with each rep, but you keep going, driven by the mental image of your future self: confident, curvy, unstoppable. Sweat beads along your forehead, catching the fluorescent lights above and glistening on your skin. By the time you hit your second set, you’re locked in, laser-focused—until a firm hand lands on your shoulder, breaking your concentration.

You freeze mid-rep, your eyes snapping to the mirror in front of you. A tall, broad-shouldered figure looms at your side, leaning in close enough to be unavoidable. Your stomach twists with annoyance. Of course. Another unsolicited interruption.

Lowering the barbell with a controlled motion, you let out a sigh, already steeling yourself for the usual spiel. You tug your headphones down to your neck, the music fading into background noise as you prepare to deliver a polite but firm rejection. Why is it always men who think mid-squat, drenched in sweat, is the perfect time to chat? And why, without fail, are they never the gym’s best-looking prospects?

Before you can speak, a gravelly voice cuts in.

“Damn, ma, you tryna go deaf? I could hear your music from all the way across the gym.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. The irritation brewing in your chest falters, giving way to reluctant curiosity as you turn to fully take him in. You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead, collecting the beads of sweat rolling down your neck, letting your gaze rake upward.

Crisp white Air Force 1s. Baggy black sweatpants slung low on his hips. A fitted white compression shirt stretched tight over a chiseled torso. Broad shoulders, thick biceps—his entire frame is a testament to strength, and the shirt does little to hide it. You swallow, willing yourself not to gawk, though it takes effort.

When your eyes finally reach his face, restraint becomes even harder. Fine as hell doesn’t do him justice. His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and the scar slicing through the corner of his smirking lips paint a picture of rugged perfection. Jet-black hair falls messily over his forehead, accentuating dark, brooding eyes that seem to hold an unspoken challenge.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly waiting for you to respond. Too many seconds have passed, and you hastily clear your throat, scrambling to collect yourself.

“And that compelled you to approach me?” you ask, arching a brow of your own. A teasing smirk plays on your lips. “Don’t tell me you’re a fellow Sexyy Red fan?”

His smirk deepens, and he crosses his arms, leaning casually against the squat rack like he has all the time in the world.

“Me?” His voice is low and gravelly, carrying an almost teasing edge. “Nah, can’t say I’m also bumping F My Babydad. In fact, that song’s been used against me in the past. Strongly recommend shuffling your playlist.”

The implication makes you blink. He’s someone’s baby daddy? You glance at him again, and yeah, it tracks. His whole aura screams DILF.

You laugh, breathless from both exertion and his audacity. “My heart goes out to you, but that’s not enough to turn me off the song. It’s keeping me pumped.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest. His eyes sweep over you again—this time lingering on your two-piece set, the biker shorts and zip-up jacket hugging your frame. You feel a flicker of pride, knowing the pump is definitely doing its thing. But you quickly remind yourself not to encourage him, no matter how good he looks.

“I noticed,” he says, straightening. “That’s actually why I came over. Hope I’m not overstepping, but your form could use some tweaking. You’re targeting hamstrings more than glutes right now.”

Oh. So he wasn’t hitting on you? Maybe he’s just one of those older gym vets who genuinely want to help. Reluctantly, you concede, eager for the guidance. “Damn, is it that bad? I’m tryna build a dumpy for real. Any tips would be great.”

His brows knit briefly. “A what?”

You grin. “A dumpy. A dump truck. A fat ass. Come on, oldhead.”

His scowl deepens, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Toji. Use my name, not that.” He rolls his eyes, moving to strip the weights from your bar. “But that explains the Sexyy Red. You’re out here tryna Skeeyee or go to Pound town, huh? Don’t worry—I got you. Grab the bar.”

Snickering, you follow his instructions. “Absolutely not. Just help me with my form, Toji.”

Satisfied with your correction, he places a hand on your back, guiding you into a squat. “Wider stance,” he instructs, nodding as you adjust. His hand trails lower down your spine, encouraging you to drop further. “Lower. If you don’t hit a 90-degree angle, you’re not getting the full range of motion.”

You comply, biting back a shiver at his touch. He stays beside you, squatting to observe your form. “When you rise, drive through your heels and tense your glutes—lightly. Not too much.” His hand rests briefly on your hip as you rise, and your focus wavers dangerously.

Somehow, you power through the adjustments and complete your next set, his guidance making all the difference. By the time you finish, you’re drenched in sweat, thighs trembling from exertion, but the burn feels… good.

“You’re a quick learner,” Toji says, lifting the bar off your shoulders and racking it. His tone carries an edge of approval that makes your chest swell. “How’s it feel?”

“Sore, but good.” You glance in the mirror, a grin spreading as you take in your reflection. The pump is real. “You’re a lifesaver. You could seriously be a personal trainer.”

His smirk returns, and for a moment, he almost looks proud. “Good thing I am one. Imagine if you’d said I was trash.” He pauses, then extends a hand. “Hey, doll, this might sound out of line, but I’ve never trained someone on a glute-dominant program. Most of my clients are bodybuilders or boxers, but this could open doors. If you’re down, I’ll train you for free so I can develop a structured workout regimen. What do you say?”

You blink at him, stunned by the offer. Free sessions with this hunk of a man? The decision is a no-brainer.

“How could I say no to that big guy?” You swat playfully at his arm, earning a chuckle. You retrieve your phone from the ground handing it towards him, “I’m in. Here, give me your number.”

Toji takes the device from your hand, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. His grin is almost teasing as he hands it back. “Demanding,” he murmurs with a grin. “I like that. I’ll text you over the weekend. We’ll start Monday. That work for you?”

Though you agree, the wait over the weekend feels endless. You check your phone obsessively, half-convinced you’d imagined the whole interaction. But finally, a notification pops up while you’re leisurely sprawled out on the couch, half-heartedly scrolling through your timeline.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Wassup, ma. How about 6 AM on Monday? Tues-Fri, I’m booked mornings, but anytime after 2 works.

You grin, slightly confused by the contact name he’d given himself, but already planning your reply.

You Bet, I’ll be there. We can do 3 PM the other days—I get off at 2.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Bet.

You I gotta ask… what does YHPT mean in your contact name?

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) 🤣🤣🤣 Young Hot Personal Trainer

You Young?! Sorry I asked. Lemme fix that.

Toji Fushiguro 👴🏼 (PT) Not too much on me, ma. 😒

On Monday, you start to wonder if Toji even needs to develop a new glute routine. He seems to already have it down to a science. When you meet him outside the locker room, he’s surprisingly professional, carefully explaining the plan for the day.

He considers your current fitness level but warns that he won’t go easy on you. “If you want results, you’ve gotta work for them,” he says.

Back at the squat rack, you steal a glance at his backside, confirming your suspicions: Toji definitely practices what he preaches. His ass is… impressive. Bubble butt levels of impressive. If this workout built that, you’re sold.

The session starts with barbell walking lunges. Toji adjusts the weights slightly heavier than you’re used to, staying close as you move through each step. He’s comfortable in athletic shorts and a pullover, barely breaking a sweat while you’re already glowing in your two-piece set. His hands are steady and deliberate when tweaking your form, his words always encouraging.

By the time you’re on weighted step-ups, you’ve shed your zip-up and tee, left in just your sports bra and shorts. When you transition to hip thrusts, you play coy about your familiarity with the exercise. It pays off deliciously as Toji demonstrates.

He drags a bench over, slides a barbell onto his lap, and gets into position. His thighs flex, the barbell pressing into his hips as he slowly thrusts upward, his voice low as he explains the importance of balance and control. But honestly, you’re too distracted by the sight of him—muscles taut, skin glowing under the gym lights, his bangs sticking to his forehead.

“Got it, ma? I’ll hand it over to you in a sec—might as well finish this set myself.”

That breathy ma and the half-lidded look he shoots your way? It’s lethal. You fidget on your feet, suddenly aware of how warm the gym feels.

When it’s your turn, you do your best to mimic his movements. To dispel any awkwardness, you wink at him. “How’s my form, big guy? I’m giving you all I’ve got.”

Toji chuckles, his grin playful. “Someone’s catching on quick.” He places a firm hand on your knee, his voice dipping, returning your wink. “That thrust is second to one.”

You end with sumo squats, a challenge given their deep range of motion. Determined to achieve those coveted “Megan knees,” you complain to Toji, who looks at you like you’ve sprouted a second head.

“Alright, hold up. I know you can nail this—let me help.”

He positions you in front of the mirror, his presence towering behind you. When he steps closer, your breath hitches, his chest brushing against your back as he adjusts your stance.

“Open your legs wider. Angle your feet out,” he murmurs, his hands warm on your thighs. The heat of his breath on your neck nearly sends you spiraling, but you focus on the squat, sinking lower under his guidance.

“Atta girl,” he says softly, his tone making your heart race. “Just like that.”

It hits you then—there’s no way this is just standard training. Especially as you’re keenly aware of the firm press of his body behind yours.

“Toji, how many more? ‘M so tired,” you mumble, struggling through another rep.

“Two more. Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?”

His hands guide your hips, and you somehow manage to finish the set. Resting your hands on your knees, you catch your breath while he smirks, handing you a water bottle.

“Good girl,” he says.

Your brain short-circuits.

By Tuesday, you’ve settled into the routine, though Toji remains as hands-on as ever—literally. His physical guidance feels less like training and more like testing your resolve, especially when he throws in casual touches that linger just a bit too long.

The workouts are brutal, but Toji’s encouragement and relentless banter keep you going. You learn snippets about his life, mostly centered around his middle-school-aged son, Megumi—a tech-obsessed, angsty tween with whom Toji is actively struggling to connect with.

You start caring about how you look for these sessions—styling your hair, spritzing perfume, even picking out your cutest gym fits. You tell yourself it’s just motivation, but deep down, you know you’re becoming weak to Toji’s charm.

And Toji? He’s an enigma—a hot, muscular DILF who knows exactly what he’s doing.

On Friday, you meet Toji outside the locker room as usual. His unusually upbeat demeanor is paired with an announcement: he’s reserved a private room upstairs, equipped with advanced machines and, most importantly, a touch of exclusivity to let you experiment with new moves in peace.

“If you wanted to get me alone so badly, you could’ve just said that,” you tease, poking a playful finger at his cheek.

He smirks, catching your hand mid-air before letting it drop. “Can’t a guy be a gentleman and save his moves for later? But if you’re looking for forwardness…” He leans in with a wink, the grin on his face equal parts charming and incorrigible. “I won’t hold back.”

Rolling your eyes, you laugh. “Sure, big guy. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I took your advice,” he says, leading you up the stairs, his hand warm on your back. “Set up Discord for Megumi. Now the kid can actually game with his friends without me being the middleman. Thought I’d reward you with an advanced workout for that stroke of genius.”

You scoff, withdrawing yourself from his grip to cross your arms. “Reward? Sounds more like a punishment.”

He grins wider. “You’ll thank me later, mama. And if you’re not satisfied, you can choose your own reward.”

Inside the private room, your eyes roam over the space. Polished mirrors line one wall, reflecting sleek machines—a leg press, rowing machine, power bike, and more. A faint scent of disinfectant lingers, blending with the promise of an intense workout. Toji tosses his duffel bag near a large speaker in the corner.

“Look at that—a speaker. Gonna cut on some throwbacks so I can put you onto some real music.”

“Still not helping the oldhead allegations,” you quip, shaking your head as he connects his phone.

His smirk widens. “I’m whatever you want me to be, doll. That’s the business I stand on.” He points skyward with dramatic flair.

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. “Toji, your usage of slang is deteriorating by the minute.”

Stretching side by side, his 90s playlist humming through the speaker, you fall into the familiar rhythm of the glute routine. The effort is paying off; you swear you’re already seeing results.

Between sets, you’d even started pestering him for diet tips—anything to build that elusive shelf.

But as always, your attention drifts. During hip thrusts, your eyes wander to Toji’s defined arms, the way his shoulders shift as he mirrors your movements. During squats, you can’t help but notice his hands lingering on your hips, guiding you down with whispered encouragements.

“Drive through your heels, mama,” he murmurs near your ear, his breath warm against your neck. You’re panting by the final rep, equal parts exhausted and electrified.

When the set ends, Toji steps back, his absence leaving a surprising chill. He crosses his arms, eyeing you with that ever-present smirk. “You’ve mastered this routine. How about graduating to mine? Fridays are upper body days. What d’ya say?”

You trail a finger down his arm, tracing the veins. “And get jacked like you? Obviously.”

His grin softens into something almost fond. “Bet. Just try not to distract me too much, yeah? It’s hard enough maintaining my professionalism around you.”

You laugh as he pinches your cheek, only to retreat and yank off his tee, leaving him in a fitted black tank. He leads you to the dumbbells for bicep curls, and you challenge yourself with heavier weights to avoid ogling his sculpted frame.

“Look at you,” he says approvingly as you curl the weight. “Getting stronger every day.”

“Thanks, coach,” you reply, though your arms burn with effort.

Toji hoists a 45-pound dumbbell with ease, and your curiosity gets the better of you. “How much can you bench, anyway?”

He pauses mid-rep, considering. “Good question. Haven’t checked in a while. Wanna find out?”

Before you can answer, he’s clearing the bench, stacking plates with casual efficiency. Three 45s on each side—a total pushing 300 pounds—makes your jaw drop.

“Damn.”

He meets your stare, the bar balanced on his lap. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Come spot me.”

You circle behind the bench as Toji reclines, gripping the barbell above his chest. His muscles coil with tension, veins slightly raised under his skin. As you hover your hands just above his for support, you give a small nod for him to start.

Toji pushes the bar upward, arms locking at full extension before lowering it with precision. The rhythm is steady, his breaths growing heavier with each rep.

“Fuck,” he exhales, voice low and strained.

A laugh bubbles up from you, and you instinctively place your hands on his shoulders, feeling the solid swell of muscle shift beneath your touch.

Toji glances at you, eyes narrowing with playful admonition. “What’d I say about distracting me, huh, ma? Cut me some slack.”

Setting the bar down with a controlled thud, he looks up at you, dark locks falling across his face. His smirk is wolfish.

“I don’t think anything could really distract you,” you counter, grinning. “You’re benching 300 pounds like it’s nothing. Feels a little… superhuman.”

“Damn right.” Toji sits up briefly, flexing his arms like a bodybuilder and striking exaggerated poses in the mirror, whistling at himself.

You snort. “Alright, don’t let it go to your head now, big guy.”

He lays back down to begin his second set, but you’re feeling bold. Moving swiftly, you straddle the bench, swinging one leg over and settling into his lap.

His eyes widen briefly as he lowers the bar back to his chest, but he recovers fast, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

“Guess you’ve got a better view from there, huh?” he murmurs. “You don’t mind counting these out for me, do ya?”

“Not at all.” You plant your hands on his stomach, the fabric of his tank top taut against the solid expanse beneath.

He starts again, pressing the bar up with ease.

“One… two… three… four,” you count, smirking. “You think you can hit twenty?”

“Easy work,” he grunts, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

But you’re feeling mischievous. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, fingers grazing the hard ridges of his abs. The contrast of warmth and strength makes your breath hitch.

“Five… six… seven…eight…” Toji’s steady rhythm falters as you increase the pressure of your movements. His eyes narrow at you, daring yet pleading for restraint.

You relent—for now—your hands sliding to rest firmly on his hips as he recovers.

“Nine… ten… eleven… twelve.” His reps slow significantly, the strain visible in his taut muscles.

Sensing an opportunity, you lean into his weakness, grinding your hips down against him deliberately, the friction drawing a sharp hiss from his lips.

“Shit, ma,” Toji mutters through clenched teeth, sucking in a deep breath before lifting the bar again.

“Thirteen,” you murmur, your voice laced with mischief. You rotate your hips in a slow circle, reveling in the way his eyes squeeze shut and his breath hitches.

“‘s not fair—you’re playing dirty,” Toji rasps, lowering the bar with a groan. For a fleeting moment, you envy the steel weight—it holds all his focus while you fight to claim just half of it.

But it doesn’t matter; his body betrays him. You feel him harden beneath you, the friction growing deliciously intense through the thin layers of clothing separating you.

“Toji,” you gasp, biting down on your lip to stifle the sound as heat pools low in your stomach. Your movements become instinctive, grinding against him in search of relief.

And yet, Toji—ever determined—continues his reps, each lift of the bar accompanied by a subtle grind of his hips into you, fueling the dangerous tension.

“Sixteen—shit… seventeen—mhm… ah—eighteen… n-nineteen…” Your counting falters as you ride the edge of control, each syllable more breathless than the last.

“Mf—ma… I can go to thirty,” Toji growls, his voice thick with desire. “Take it out. Use me. Make yourself feel good.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you scramble to shed one leg of your shorts, fumbling with his waistband. Relief blooms when you find him bare beneath his sweats. You flick his chest, the movement playful yet teasing.

“Slut.”

Toji’s eyes darken, the weight of his gaze making your pulse race. “And what does that make you?”

His voice is a low rumble as he lifts the bar again. “Keep counting, doll.”

“‘Kay,” you breathe, positioning yourself above him. The thick head of his length presses against your clothed center, and the sensation draws a near-whimper from your lips.

“Twenty… fuck—twenty-one… Toji—shit… twenty-two…”

You grind down harder, your movements desperate as you pump him with trembling hands. The feel of his shaft, hot and solid, against your slick sends you spiraling. Toji twitches under your touch, his breath ragged.

“Twenty-three—ah…”

A sharp, obnoxious buzzing cuts through the air, snapping you both out of the haze. The speaker blares with Toji’s ringtone, and he fumbles to set the bar down safely. The sudden motion sends you toppling to the floor in an undignified heap.

You blink, dazed, trying to make sense of the abrupt interruption as Toji curses under his breath. He hauls you back onto the bench, his movements rushed but gentle, before striding to his phone.

“Fuck, it’s Megumi,” Toji grumbles, glancing at his phone connected to the gym’s speaker. He picks it up, the ringtone still blaring. “Kid’s got the worst timing.”

You nod in acknowledgment, adjusting your shorts and ignoring the visible wet patch at the crotch. Toji answers the call, his tone shifting to frustration as he paces.

From his clipped responses, you catch snippets about school, carpooling, and a very annoyed Megumi. Toji sighs heavily, muttering a half-hearted apology before ending the call with a gruff, “See ya soon.”

“Mama,” he starts, turning to you with a weary look. “Forgot it's my turn to pick up Megs and his friends this week. In my defense, he deliberately didn’t remind me this morning just to get me caught up.”

You laugh softly as he digs through his duffle bag, pulling out another pair of sweats. Approaching you, he presses them into your hands.

“Here. Can’t have anyone else noticing the strong… impression I left on you,” he teases, his grin cocky. “Next time, I’ll double it.”

You step into the loose pants, tying the drawstring snugly around your waist. “Next time,” you echo, smiling up at him.

Toji hesitates as if it pains him to leave. He briefly embraces you, firmly squeezing your ass, and planting a wet, lingering kiss against the side of your neck before jogging toward the door.

Hooking up with your personal trainer. Immoral? Yes. Professional? Not even close. Hot? Absolutely.

But hey, it’s still exercise. Gotta see it through.

don’t try that freaky bench press position at home, take spotting seriously—not everyb got a heavenly restriction LOL

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starfinss · 10 months ago

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ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴀᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇᴅᴅʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇʟᴜꜱɪɴᴇꜱ — ᴡʀɪᴏᴛʜᴇꜱʟᴇʏ

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Genshin Impact

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Wriothesley + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 12,925

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: After beginning work as a doctor at the Fortress of Meropide, Siegwinne decides you and the Duke are a good match, and will do anything in her power to get you to together, even if she has to take drastic measures.

Or, alternatively, Siegwinne adds a little something extra to the Duke's tea. Chaos ensues.

As soon as the suture needle so much as touched the man sitting before you, he was already flinching away.

“That hurts!” He cried, “please, doctor, be gentle with me.”

It was almost laughable, really. Monsieur Phillip was a hardened criminal, or so you’d been told. He was a career criminal, you remembered the Duke remarking, and he’d been sentenced to serve time in the Fortress of Meropide for a myriad of things, such as assault, and even attempted murder, but here he was, a hulking mass of a man, whimpering in pain at the slightest prick of a needle.

“Hush,” you said, tutting gently, “the quicker I start, the quicker it’s over. Now hold still.”

He flinched back again, eyeing the needle like it was out to get him. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Please try and relax. I can assure you, I did go to medical school.”

Before he could say anything else, you made the first stitch, carefully, but quickly enough so as not to cause him too much pain. Even with the numbing gel you’d applied, it seemed that the patient’s pain threshold was quite low. It usually removed enough sensation that any leftover pain would be no more than a pinch, but even with that, you could see tears beading at his lash line.

A hardened criminal, indeed.

You finished the sutures quickly before bandaging the injured shoulder and giving Phillip some care instructions.

“And,” you said, “no more getting into altercations about work times, okay?”

Phillip sighed, casting his eyes away from you.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smiled, kindly. “That’s doctor to you.”

It wasn’t wholly unexpected. Men tended to have lower pain tolerances than women did. You’d given stitches to many people before, and when it came to whining, the men tended to be the most common offenders.

After Phillip left, you checked up on a woman who was resting in one of the infirmary beds, and after taking her temperature and walking away with your clipboard, you nearly tripped over Siegwinne, who had somehow snuck into your path without you noticing.

“Archons,” you exclaimed, a hand flying over your heart, “I need to put a bell on you.”

Siegwinne ignored your remark. “May I see the patient’s chart?”

You handed it to her. “The patient shows signs of improvement. Her fever has broken, and her delirium has started to clear up. She should make a full recovery.”

Siegwinne hummed meaningfully. “Very good. I was worried about that one. I am glad to hear she is healing well.”

You nodded, then turned, starting towards your desk, but before you could make it, Siegwinne called your name, making you pause.

“Yes?”

Her expression remained impassive, eyes curious, unsuspecting, and she tucked the clipboard under her arm as she closed the distance between you.

“Have you seen the Duke today?”

There it was. You didn’t know what you’d been expecting aside from this. Ever since Siegwinne had caught onto the fact that you’d developed a crush on the Duke, she’d tried to do everything in her power to set you up with him. In the beginning, that was all it was. A crush. It was a crush in the same way one would develop an infatuation with a colleague or schoolmate, based on their appearance or the limited positive interactions they had with them. It was no secret that Wriothesley was an attractive man. He was tall, and handsome, anyone with eyes could see that. You’d heard the whispers among female inmates and guards alike. You were not unique in feeling some form of attraction to him.

But to Siegwinne, your silly crush was an opportunity.

“You’re a good woman,” she told you, “and His Grace is always stressed. I fear for his health. I think you would be the right person to keep him company. You are a good match. Your influence and affection would do him much good.”

Siegwinne came to you with this a few months after you’d started work at the Fortress, completely out of nowhere, stunning you to silence. You had no idea how she’d caught on to your feelings, and when you expressed as much, she went into a rambling tangent about human behavior, something about the dilation of pupils, and how she’d been taking notes, and that was when you cut her off.

“Absolutely not.”

But nevertheless, she persisted.

Siegweinne’s matchmaking attempts rarely ended conclusively, since she tended to see things as a logical cause and effect, and did not at all fit the way any normal human would attempt to court another. They mostly involved putting you and Wriothesley into situations that forced you to speak or interact with one another, with little to no regard to how much said situations were an inconvenience to you. Her first attempt, as such, embarrassingly enough, involved telling the Duke you’d had some kind of accident with an inmate, and when he came to the infirmary to check in, finding you unharmed and working at your desk, all that ensued was a lot of confusion. You wondered why he’d come all that way to see you, and he was surprised to find you not laying on one of the infirmary beds.

But, what her attempts did do, was make the way you felt about Wriothesley, which was no more than a passing fancy at first, grow into something more.

And despite your best efforts, that only made Siegwinne latch on even harder.

“Hello?” Siegwinne said, shaking you from your thoughts, “I believe it is polite to answer a question when asked one, or have human customs changed?”

You brushed off her unintentional rudeness, instead answering what she’d asked you.

“No,” you said, “I have not seen His Grace today. He’s a busy man, Siegwinne. You know that.”

“Well, you should go see him.”

You sighed, leaning down to take your clipboard from under her arm, then crossing to your desk.

“I don’t have a reason to go see him,” you said, sitting down, “and like I said, His Grace is a busy man.”

She didn’t push after that, simply going back to work as you did yours, and you tried to put it out of your mind. You and Wriothesley were friends, you’d say. Even though you usually found yourselves meeting in less than normal circumstances, you were still fond of him. You enjoyed his frank, matter-of-fact personality, and dry sense of humor, and he seemed to enjoy your company as well. Your relationship was as casual as it could be between you and a man who was technically your boss, and friendly enough that you had conversations outside of work related matters. You’d never let Siegwinne know this, but her repeated and clumsy attempts at setting you up were not without some benefits.

That was fine, you supposed. You’d bonded over Siegwinne and her antics, and built a friendship over a shared love of tea, as well as an author you both enjoyed, among other common interests. But that was it. As much as Siegwinne, and, begrudgingly, you, would like to say otherwise, you and The Duke were only friends.

And, it seemed, as you settled into that fact quite comfortably, Siegwinne only grew more brazen in her attempts at Melusine style matchmaking.

Her latest attempt involved trying to shut you in a locked room with The Duke, which failed when Wriothesley produced the master key in order to open the door. It happened a little over a week ago, which made you nervous, because Siegwinne didn’t like letting too much time pass between her less than gentle shoves. You were almost completely certain that Wriothesley knew what was happening, he’d have to be stupid not to, though he hadn’t said anything about it. This was probably to spare you from any further embarrassment, which you appreciated.

The situation was hopeless. You knew that well. But Siegwinne didn’t, and that was beginning to become a problem. You didn’t know why you’d let her get away with this for the handful of months that you had, but maybe, deep down, you hoped that something would actually come from all her meddling.

And apart from that, you had a certain degree of professionalism to uphold. Wriothesley was your boss, and you were both his employee and his doctor. As much as you found yourself wishing otherwise, pursuing your feelings, even if that was an option, just wasn’t ethical.

But still, you could dream, you supposed. Dreaming was harmless.

“I need you to run an errand for me.”

You turned in your chair, raising an eyebrow at Siegwinne, who was staring over at you innocently, a thermos in her hands. You looked at it, then back at her, puzzled.

“Siegwinne, I’m not in the mood.”

She frowned. “To do your job? How unbecoming. I’m simply asking you to deliver this tea to the Duke. His Grace is suffering from a headache. I delivered some to him this morning, but the problem still persists.”

You glanced at the thermos again. “Tea? What’s in it?”

She immediately became defensive, and for a moment, you almost felt guilty for doubting her.

“Medicine!” She cried, “what do you take me for? I’ve brewed a painkiller into the tea. It should help with His Grace’s headache. If you don’t trust me, you can take a sip yourself.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why can’t you do it?”

Her brows pinched together in annoyance, and maybe a little indignance. “I have to go see a patient, thank you. A young man is complaining of nausea, and finds it hard to stand because of it, so I am going to see him in his cell. Now, will you bring His Grace the tea, or not?”

You sighed. In your own mind, your hesitance was completely justified. Siegwinne had tried to trick you into being alone with Wriothesley many times before this, but then again, if the Duke was actually feeling unwell, and you refused to bring him medicine, what kind of doctor would you be?

And so, you relented. With another sigh, you stood, snatching the thermos from Siegwinne’s outstretched hand.

“Fine,” you said, “I’ll be back as soon as I drop it off.”

If Siegwinne was disappointed by this, she hid it well. She simply nodded, then crossed over to her desk to busy herself with her medical bag. You glanced over a few more things at your own desk before scooping up the thermos and leaving the infirmary after calling a quick few words of parting to Siegwinne, who only nodded.

You shivered a little as you left the infirmary. Siegwinne tended to keep it warmer there, with a space heater sitting in the corner to combat the cold dampness of the rest of the Fortress of Meropide. It was better for the patients, she said, if they had somewhere nice and warm to rest and recover. You were fairly certain she also said something about humans and their preference for warmth, but that wasn’t important at present.

The clang of your boots against the metal floors rang out as you walked, head held high, thermos in your grip. The air smelled of iron and brine, a scent you’d grown used to in the time you’d been working in the Fortress. Artificial light cast everything in a sort of ominous hue, and the low strength of it left everything in partial shadow. It used to make you nervous, not knowing what hid behind them, using them like masks. Now you knew that whatever was waiting for you was something you could handle.

You glanced down at the thermos in your hands. It was warm, likely just brewed. There was no way Siegwinne would have you serve the Duke cold tea. The thermos was plain; unassuming. It was slate gray, probably stainless steel. You turned it over in your hands, studying it. It was just tea. You had no reason to think it was anything other than that. But with Siegwinne, you’d learned to expect the unexpected.

Absently, you stepped into the elevator to take you down to the administrative floor. The car jerked, and with a mechanical clank, began to move. You turned the thermos over in your hands again. It’s just tea. For the Duke. Your poor, ailing boss. You twisted your mouth. It was fine. There was no way Siegwinne would ever do anything to actually harm Wriothesley. You tapped your nails against the surface of the thermos, almost jumping from your skin when the elevator came to an abrupt stop as it reached its destination, jostling you where you stood and ejecting you from your tangled thoughts.

You sighed as you left the elevator, tucking the thermos into your arms and against your chest. Everything was fine. If Siegwinne took anything seriously, it was health. You’d caught her staring intently at you on many occasions, and when you asked her about it, she told you she was making sure you were healthy, in a very matter-of-fact tone, like it was obvious. She may be odd, but she wasn’t going to try and harm anyone.

As you reached the doors to the Duke’s office, you reached into the pocket of your skirt, digging out the key to the lock. Because of the Fortress’s status as a prison, it was only natural that important areas such as the office of the warden would remain locked. The only way to get in was if you had a key or if you were invited by Wriothesley himself. There was also the off chance that the Duke left the doors unlocked, but that was uncommon. Regardless, before you put the key in the lock, you raised your hand, knocking on the door with a great clang.

“Your Grace?” you called, though it was unlikely he heard you through the thick steel, “I’ll be coming in now. I have some tea for you.”

And with that, you pushed the key into place, twisting. With a grunt of effort, you pushed the doors open.

It was as you were opening the door that you heard him, calling to you. It was muffled under the mechanical clank of the doors, making you only vaguely aware of his call of your name, and you hurried to close the door to answer him. The lock clicked as you did, signifying that the mechanism had reset to its previous locked state.

You expected Wriothesley to call out to you again after your lack of response, or even possibly to come see you. It was unlikely that Siegwinne would send you on an errand without previously announcing your arrival. But instead, you were met with silence. You gripped the thermos more tightly, hesitating.

“Your Grace?”

You heard something else then. A soft intake of breath, only able to be heard because of the complete lack of noise, save for the quiet hum of machinery from beyond the doors. Then, you could hear him clearing his throat.

“Yes,” you heard Wriothsley say, from up the stairs, “up here.”

You sighed, relieved, as you made your way up the curving staircase and into the main office.

And as for things you expected to see, this was not among them.

Wriothesley was sitting at his desk, but he looked more than a little disheveled. His coat had been discarded, draped over the back of his chair, and his tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck. His waistcoat was also unbuttoned, as were the top two buttons of the dress shirt he wore underneath the garment. His gloves had also been removed, laying out on his desk beside an empty teacup. His hair was tousled, more than usual, and his face…

You furrowed your brows, suddenly concerned. His face was flushed, a deep pink settled in the apples of his cheeks, very evident against his usually pale skin. Breath, feather soft, expelled itself through parted lips, almost too quickly, as he looked over at you, brows pinching together, as if pained or troubled before the expression calmed. Wriothesley straightened, clearing his throat again, and he was hurriedly fixing his clothing, deft fingers doing up the buttons of his shirt, smoothing back over his hair.

His eyes fell to the thermos in your hands, lingering, before sliding up to your face.

You stared at him, your concern growing more by the second, and after a beat, you crossed to the desk, setting the thermos down.

“Your Grace,” you said, “I’ve brought you painkillers for your headache, but you look… May I examine you? You do not look like you’re feeling well.”

“Examine me,” he repeated, then took a slow breath, squeezing his eyes shut before shaking his head, as if clearing away a fog. He swallowed, raking a hand through his hair, and it was then that you spotted sweat beading on his forehead.

“Yes,” you said, gently, already in doctor mode, “please, let me help.”

He cleared his throat, for what was probably the third time, and you narrowed your eyes. You were rapidly beginning to get suspicious in addition to concerned. There was something he wasn’t telling you. Absently, you found yourself mentally scolding yourself for neglecting to bring your medical bag.

“I’m fine,” he said, though he certainly didn’t look fine, “please, don’t trouble yourself. You’ve come all this way for me, so would you at least sit with me for a cup of tea?”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. It was fine, though, you supposed. Staying around wasn’t a terrible idea. It would give you a chance to more closely study the Duke’s behavior, and try and figure out what the problem might be. And so, you stepped to the table off to the side, picking a clean tea cup from the collection displayed there.

“I don’t need any, really,” you said as you leaned over to take the thermos from the desk, “Siegwinne made this for you, for your head. I am happy to sit and talk with you, though, if you want me to.”

Wriothesley smiled easily. “If you like, I can brew you a cup from my personal collection of teas. What do you like?”

You flushed, feeling special, and you turned to busy yourself with arranging his cup of tea to hide the pink in your cheeks.

“You already know my preferences, Your Grace,” you said, over your shoulder, “just a cup of earl gray is fine.”

You heard shuffling, then the sound of a drawer being pulled open, and you knew the Duke was rifling through the collection of teas he kept stored in his desk. Shifting your focus, you removed the small travel cup attached to the top of the thermos, then unscrewed the lid. Immediately, you were hit with the scent of the tea. It was unexpectedly sweet, and sort of floral. It certainly wasn’t the Duke’s usual style, that was for sure. You took another lungful of it, and could make out notes of various medicinal herbs, including rosemary and feverfew, both known to help with headaches. You could also smell a hint of lavender. But there was still that floral, sort of rosy scent, undercut by the bitter, citrus aroma of the feverfew. It smelled a bit like rainbow roses; of petrichor and morning dew and sweet fresh petals. It certainly had herbs in it, some of which were known to help with what the Duke needed, but the combination of them that you were able to discern was puzzling to say the least.

You put it out of your mind, chalking up the roses to being there to help with the bitterness of the feverfew. With a sigh, you poured the steaming liquid into the teacup. It was sort of a deep rouge color, bordering on purple. A nice color, you decided, and not entirely unexpected with what was contained in the tea. You placed the cup on a saucer, then carried it, alongside the still half filled thermos over to the desk, setting them before the Duke. In exchange, he handed you the tea bag you’d requested, which you accepted gladly.

After you’d filled a cup with boiling water, which the Duke always seemed to have on hand in any nearby kettle, ready for a quick cup. You added the tea bag, as well as a few spoonfuls of sugar, then took your seat on the couch by the tea table.

Wriothesley’s face twisted as he took the first sip from his cup, seemingly troubled.

“It’s very sweet.”

You tilted your head. “Is it not to your liking? I’ll be sure to tell Siegwinne to tweak the recipe.”

Wriothesley waved a dismissive hand. “No,” he said, “I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s not my usual style, but I don’t dislike it.”

You nodded meaningfully, blowing over your tea once more.

“How are things over in the infirmary?” He asked, and you sat up straighter, engaged.

“Fine. The usual. I had a man who was scared of needles just before I came over,” you said, “I’d barely touched him before he was telling me to stop.”

Wriothesley laughed, amused. He took another swallow of tea.

“Oh, really?” He said, “Monsieur Phillip, I suspect? That man always gets into brawls, but is terrified of medical treatment. And he never wins those brawls. The gardes always have to pull the other guy off of him.”

You hid your smile behind your teacup. “I know,” you said, “Siegwinne is always scolding him when he comes in for being reckless.”

Wriothesley rested his head on a closed fist, thoughtful, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Maybe a few rounds in the Pankration Ring would do him some good,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t go putting any ideas in his head,” you said, “he might become a permanent resident of the infirmary if he starts entering into any matches.”

Wriothesley made a face, pale blue eyes moving to rest somewhere in the depths of his teacup. “Maybe he’d pick up a few things about proper combat, though.”

It was your turn to laugh. “Maybe, but at the cost of his health.”

You enjoyed this. It was hardly the first time you’d been invited to stay for tea, in addition to being personally invited to tea a handful of times before. Wriothesley’s presence was pleasant and inviting, despite his intimidating stature and appearance. His height dwarfed many other people, and you’d seen few as tall as he was, save for the Iudex, who was far more slim than the Duke was. Where Monsieur Neuvillette was tall and lithe, Wriothesley was broad and powerfully built. His sheer size alone, made only more prominent by the bulky coat he wore around his shoulders, was enough to intimidate anyone.

But despite that, he was an amicable and good-humored man, earnest and straightforward. He made you feel at ease, and your growing affection for him settled low and warm in the spot behind your heart.

His face was getting more pink, you noticed, with a start. You took another sip of tea, watching him closely. His brow furrowed, just briefly, and he was fiddling with the bands of leather around his throat, as if they were suddenly too tight. He shifted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Your Grace?” You said, and he seemed to snap out of whatever had overtaken him, regarding you with raised eyebrows and an expectant expression.

“Sorry,” he said, “what were you saying?”

You studied him, eyes narrowed, and he laughed, a little awkwardly.

“You’re doing that thing Siegwinne does,” he said, “the thing she does with her eyes. I don’t know how you replicated it so perfectly. There’s nothing wrong, I promise. It’s just suddenly kind of hot in here. Do you feel that?”

You shook your head. In fact, to you, the room was cold. Just as cold as the rest of the Fortress, save for the infirmary. It was the reason for the thermal lining in the pale blue overcoat of your uniform, the color that marked you as medical staff, as well as the reason for the thicker uniform fabric worn by the majority of the other general staff.

“No,” you said, and Wriothesley looked puzzled.

“Oh,” he muttered, puzzled, “I was warm earlier, but I’m starting to get… hot now. I don’t suppose that’s normal?”

You cracked a smile at that. “No, I don’t think so.”

A spell of silence passed before your mind snapped back to what he’d just said.

“You were feeling overly warm earlier? When did that start?”

Wriothesley furrowed his brows, considering your question before answering. He took another sip from his cup, then poured more of the contents of the thermos into it.

“This morning,” he said, “I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but it was maybe shortly after I had a cup of tea.”

You snorted, amused. “You realize how little that narrows it down, don’t you? You drink more tea than anyone I know, Your Grace. I need a measure of time, not cups of tea.”

He chuckled at that. “I apologize. I believe it was after Siegwinne delivered the tea she made for my head. Which is feeling much better, by the way. I think what I’ve been drinking while we’ve been chatting has helped kick the rest of it. I’m almost finished with the thermos.”

Suddenly, you made the connection.

Almost robotically, and with learned efficiency, you went over the contents that you’d smelled in the tea, along with their uses. Feverfew, maybe some lavender, and rosemary. All of those had various uses, though they all had one thing in common, which was pain relief. Finally, there was the rainbow rose. The petals and buds were used for medicinal purposes, and could be used as such, similarly to common red roses, for anything ranging from headaches to a sore throat.

Something was missing. Something was wrong. The scent itself had been off.

“The tea,” you said, “from before. Was it sweet?”

Wriothesley nodded, taking another gulp, and finally, pouring the last of the contents of the thermos into the cup. “This brew is sweeter, though.”

You stood, then reached for his teacup, bringing it to your nose and inhaling. You caught the same things as before, but as you mulled them over, something else clicked.

Siegwinne wouldn’t. Would she?

“It’s really hot,” Wriothesley said, and you could see the sweat beaded at his hairline, sticking the hair at his temples to his skin, cresting down his cheekbone.

You reached out, and when the back of your hand made contact with his burning forehead, he flinched, making a soft sound in surprise and alarm.

“Why is your skin so much colder than mine?”

Your skin wasn’t cold. In fact, your body was at an average temperature, kept warm by the layers of clothing you were wearing. By your own assessment, your hands were probably relatively warm. You frowned, reaching into your pocket and withdrawing your penlight, circling the desk to situate yourself closer to the Duke.

The way he was looking at you when you drew closer was strange. Almost hungry. Famished, ice blue hues swept over your form, and you watched as his hands, previously resting on the desk, folded in front of him, over his lap.

You moved closer, leaning halfway over to him, hand making contact with his face to tilt it towards you. He flinched at your touch, breath shuddering, and you studied his eyes closely before muttering a warning and shining your light into his face, instructing him to follow the light with his gaze.

“This isn’t… necessary,” he protested, weakly, and you ignored him. His pupils were blown wide, dark pits in the center of the sky blue of his irises.

“Mydriasis,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him as you switched off your light and pocketed it.

Your hand dropped from his face to just under where his jaw met his throat. You pushed aside the leather straps, just enough to access his pulse point, pressing two fingers to the spot. His heart was racing, quick and erratic, and you felt him shudder, breath heavy, his jaw setting tightly as your hands drifted across his skin, probing and searching. His skin was burning with heat, feverishly so, and coupled with the elevated heart rate, the blown pupils, and the way he seemed to flinch whenever you made contact with his skin directly, you could only make one conclusion.

“So,” you said, backing up to stand up straight, “this started after you had the first brew Siegwinne dropped off, yes?”

Wriothesley nodded. “It did.”

His voice. It had dropped several octaves in the time you’d been examining him, and you cursed the effect it had on you, coursing hot through your bloodstream. It felt so deeply unprofessional for a doctor to even think of her patient in the way the brief thoughts that fluttered through your mind suggested you do.

“Is it worse after this second batch?” You forced yourself to say.

He huffed a laugh. “You could say that.”

And it was then when you noticed, from where you were standing, that Wriothesley’s belt was undone. Rosy hues colored your cheeks as you yanked your gaze away.

“You need to tell me all of your symptoms,” you said, “spare no detail.”

Panic briefly flashed across his face as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.

“Hot,” he said, “I feel far too warm. Do I have a fever?”

You narrowed your eyes. He was purposely hiding the truth, but nonetheless, you answered.

“Yes,” you said, “but I believe it’s because your body is overheated and not because you're fighting an infection. I just said not to leave anything out, Your Grace, please tell me everything. As your doctor, I–”

“I’m… Archons, I don’t want to say it,” he paused, searching, almost frantically for something else to focus on. “What was in that tea?”

You swallowed, leaning back to rest against the desk.

“Herbs,” you said, “rosemary, feverfew, and lavender. All meant to help with pain and headaches. But I could also smell rainbow roses.”

Wriothesley brightened. “Yes, I thought that was what I tasted. It brings such a unique flavor to the table, don’t you agree?”

You fought a smile, endeared by him, but now was hardly the time. You needed to figure out what was wrong with him, not to discuss tea.

“Yes,” you said, “but it was strange. Too sweet. It only gets to that level when the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose are included alongside the powdered roots of a rainbow rose, in which case the combination can make–”

Oh. Oh.

As you were talking, it clicked into place. The scent, which you’d thought was much too sweet before, suddenly made sense. Sumeru rose must have been the final ingredient. It was flavorless when consumed, but smelled quite sweet. When combined with rainbow roses, the scent of the two grew overpoweringly saccharine. Unless diluted, it would almost resemble a syrup. If the rainbow rose petals were boiled alongside the powdered roots of the Sumeru rose, it could become a powerful medicine able to soothe a bad cough. But if the roots of both plants were powdered, the results were…

You cursed yourself for being so stupid. Of course, Siegwinne would see nothing wrong with this. Medicine was medicine, regardless of what the outcome of its ingestion spelled, so long as it got the desired result. To her, the suggestion of something unbecoming would be taken with great offense.

“‘Can make?’” Wriothesley supplied, and were already imagining the ways in which you were going to rip Siegwinne a new one.

“I need your symptoms. Now. I am a doctor, Your Grace, I promise I will be as non judgemental as possible, just please–”

“Damn it,” he interjected, face hidden in his hands, “I’m aroused.”

Anything you’d just been about to say left your mind, swept away by dread, because you knew what was happening.

Siegwinne was evil. You could already picture her expectant, innocent face, asking just how her little ‘experiment’ had gone, and it filled you with boiling rage.

Though, there was also the fact that she could simply be misinformed. Melusines had different reactions to some medicines than humans did, and it was equally possible that she simply thought that, if dosed with the tea, the Duke’s feelings for you, if he had any, would just be made more prominent. For her sake, you hoped it was the latter.

“Aroused,” you parroted, trying hard to stay professional and failing miserably, because this was unethical on so many levels, “tell me more about that.”

He made a strangled, startled sound. “You want to know more?”

You wanted to melt into the floor. “I need to know how strong the dose you’ve been given is.”

“Dose?!” He said, “of what?”

You refused to look at him. “When mixed together, the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose and a rainbow rose create a powerful aphrodisiac. I believe the first dose you received was a weaker version, and this one is much stronger.”

Silence followed as Wriothesley took in the information, then cleared his throat.

“Do you have an antidote?”

You raised your head to look at him properly. He looked almost haggard, the flush from his face creeping down his neck.

“There… kind of isn’t one.”

Wriothesley made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat, hands raising to card through his hand, and it was then that you noticed it. Now that his hands were no longer hiding it, you could see it, there, outlined against the dark fabric of his slacks.

He was hard.

A wave of suffocating, shameful arousal washed over you, and you forced yourself to look away, to ignore it.

You could only begin to imagine how he was feeling. The way you were feeling was nothing compared to him, his condition undoubtedly much more intense than your own physical reaction in response to his arousal, and you could feel his eyes on you as you scrambled to find a solution.

“What am I going to do then?” He asked, “it’s getting… I’m sorry, It’s getting rather unbearable. I tried everything. It’s impossible to ignore, and I know I can’t use my hands.”

You spared him a glance. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, “I was already trying that. It wasn’t enough.”

Oh. The unbuckled belt. His disheveled state when you’d walked in. He’d already been dealing with the effects of the first dose, or at least attempting to. The call of your name, as you were entering the office. The silence before he summoned you up to the second floor.

Fuck. He’d been thinking of you.

That had to be one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, professionalism be damned. Arousal rolled over you like a breaking wave, making you bite into your lower lip.

You knew what needed to happen. You knew the effects of this particular drug would take, and you knew that the only way to relieve his symptoms was either to very painfully wait it out or to… find relief. In this case, that entailed another person.

“You need to have sexual intercourse,” you said, “or you can wait it out.”

Wriothesley cleared his throat. “Wait it out,” he said, “right, I can do that. How long will that take?”

You twisted your hands together. “It… depends. You were likely given a pretty strong dose, even for someone your size. By my estimate, it would probably take several hours for it to work its way out of your system.”

He chuckled dryly, humorlessly. “Great.”

You cleared your throat. “Do you have someone I could… call? A girlfriend?”

He snorted, as if amused by the idea. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

That would make sense, you supposed, if he was calling out your name, and not the name of another woman.

“We both know what Siegwinne is doing,” Wriothesley said, “not just with this, but for the past few months. I can’t pretend I’m not fond of you, and neither of us can pretend there isn’t something between us.”

It was like the ground dropped out from under you at the sheer brazenness of his admission. You stared at him, thunderstruck.

“You… what?”

A cavalcade of thoughts crashed together as you rapidly attempted to process what he meant by that, but he barely gave you any time before he started speaking again.

“Look,” he said, “if you don’t feel the same, I can accept that. I’ll wait it out, and we can pretend this never even happened. But if you do, are you even… slightly interested in um… helping me? Because honestly, I feel like I’m about to explode.”

Heat coiled low in your stomach, threatening to overtake you as the lovely rasp of his voice made any of your logical thoughts close to meaningless. This was so vastly unprofessional. He was your boss, and you were his doctor. But something dangerously close to want was settling neatly over that space you usually reserved, that you looked to for reassurance about your professional standing with the Duke, to tell you that your feelings for him, ever growing, were improper.

And when you turned, watching his face, the way his hungry gaze traced your body through your uniform, something in you snapped, and you threw caution to the wind.

Head lowered, face flushed, you swallowed your rationality and any remaining hesitance you had left.

“I suppose,” you said, “I could use my hands.”

Wriothesley’s body jolted in anticipation, and his eyes betrayed his hesitance, darkened to steel blue with lust as he nodded once, then once more.

“Hands,” he repeated, “yes, hands are good. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

You found it touching that he was at least trying to take your comfort into account, even when he was drowning in desire, and you took a slow step forward as he shifted, pulling his chair out enough to allow you room to situate yourself on the floor in front of him. As you took another step, he took his coat from the back of his chair and laid it at his feet, another gesture you appreciated.

Once you reached him, you knelt down between his thighs, and he watched you with burning eyes, flinching when your palms smoothed over his clothed thighs, jaw tightening. Medical curiosity echoed briefly in the back of your mind, taking note of just how sensitive the drug had made him to the simplest of touches, how he shivered as your nails grazed against the insides of his strong thighs.

Fuck, he was radiating heat. So much so that it was beginning to affect you, and you shifted back on your knees to remove the overcoat layer of your uniform, leaving you in the blouse and underskirt beneath it. Wriothesley’s eyes followed your motions with rapt attention, and when you moved forward again, settling, you felt him jolt when your palm met his leg once again.

This close up, you could see it, just how much he was straining against his trousers, his erection pressed against his zipper, and hesitantly, you cupped it in your hand.

The Duke gasped at your touch, fingers twitching where he’d curled them around the armrests of his chair, then tightening in a white-knuckled grip as you ever-so-gently squeezed. He twitched against your palm, and you removed his belt entirely, dropping it to the floor with a clatter before you were unfastening his button and zipper.

You palmed him through the fabric of his underwear, and you could already feel how big he was just from that. A sort of eagerness threaded its way into the burn of your arousal as you pushed away any remaining layers, pulling him free.

Fuck. He was so thick, and when you slowly wrapped your hand around him, your fingers just barely met. He was long, too, though you supposed it made sense for a man of his size. He was flushed red, painfully hard, and when you squeezed, you felt him twitch once more, his body tightening like a coiled spring. His hands tightened their grip on the armrests, flexing, and you felt his hips shift forward, unconsciously.

The first stroke made his head roll back, the sound he let out one of relief, just from that simple touch alone. It made you squirm in place, the sound of his voice and the stricken hitch of his breath causing the desperation of his arousal to bleed into your own building need. Precum was beaded at his tip, and you almost wanted to lean forward to lap it up, especially as more leaked out in response to the way you were stroking him in slow, even movements.

Heavy breath expelled through clenched teeth, followed by a low, low groan as your thumb found his tip, rubbing in slow circles, and it was then that you leaned forward, giving into temptation as your tongue pressed to the underside of the head of his cock in a slow lick.

“Oh,” he gasped, “oh, you don’t have to– oh, fuck.”

He cut himself off as you lapped at his slit, groaning through his teeth. He was already completely lost to pleasure as you pumped the base of him, and when you took him into your mouth, sucking on the tip, you heard him curse, a sound drawn out with a low, decadent groan.

“You said your hands– oh!”

Arousal was settling low and smoldering hot in the pit of your stomach, pooling between your thighs, and you whined as he whispered your name. You released him from your mouth, hands moving to rest on his thighs, and you dragged your tongue up and along the underside of his dick, gathering up any precum that had dribbled down. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his slacks, lips grazing the side of his shaft, and he repeated your name, louder, voice twisted with an urgency that made your blood sing.

It was embarrassing, just how quick you’d gotten like this, punch drunk on the reactions he gave you, the way his body reacted to your touch. It filled you with an addicting sort of power, one that threatened to overtake you if you weren’t careful. But right then, all you wanted was to add fuel to the ever growing fire. And, with the way he was breathing, rough and ragged and broken, you doubted he’d be opposed to that.

Your tongue flicked out, against the fold of skin just below his tip, and he tensed, crying out helplessly. When you finally took him in your mouth, fully, his head fell back against his chair, a feral groan tearing itself from his throat as your tongue pressed firm against him. Your hand moved from his leg to encircle the base of him again, squeezing and stroking in tandem with the slow bob of your head, and making the Duke gasp at the sensations.

When you sucked, just a little, Wriothesley babbled a string of curses, hips twitching up towards your mouth, and when you ducked down, bobbing your head, one of his hands flew from the armrest to the back of your head. You thought he’d push, or maybe take control, but all he did was lace his fingers into your hair, unmoving. His body shuddered under the roll of your tongue, under the press of your free hand to his stomach, creeping under the layers of clothing covering him, his skin fever hot against your own.

You took him deeper, and he twitched, hips jumping as you hollowed out your cheeks, drawing back before surging forward once again. You relaxed your jaw further as his hips bucked, and he muttered an apology, breathless and feverish. His head pitched back as you rubbed your thumb against his base, and he twitched again, sharply. When you looked up at him, through your lashes, he was gazing down at you with hooded, burning eyes. There was desperation in his cool blue hues, a wordless plea for anything, everything you could give him.

And with everything you had, you delivered.

You dropped your jaw, swallowing as much of him as you can, drinking in the sound of his breath shuddering, tapering off into a low moan. You sped up, gradually, and the sounds he made were so madly erotic that you found yourself aching to reach between your thighs and take care of your own growing need, but you could hardly focus on anything apart from taking him as deep as possible without choking. The sheer girth of him was enough to make your jaw sore, and when you moved forward again, he hit the back of your throat, making tears catch in your lashes.

“Fuck,” he groaned, drawing the word out with the sound, long and low and you kneened around him, making him curse and buck.

The hand not tangled in your hair raised to his face, balling tight, and he bit down on his fist, stifling his uncontrolled cries of ecstasy, eyes squeezing shut, brows pinching in concentration. He was trembling beneath your touches, twitching against your tongue, and when you moved back to suck on the tip, slow and indolent, the noise that left his mouth was nothing short of pornographic.

“Yeah,” he seethed, voice breathy, needy, “fuck, yeah, don’t stop.”

Not a chance in hell you were doing that. You clamped your thighs together, squeezing around nothing, and you knew you were soaked, evident in the way your panties were sticking to your skin, your thighs tacky with sweat and the soak of your own arousal. Your hand curled into a fist where it rested on his stomach, then flattening once more and flexing, searching for anything to anchor yourself. When you took him into your mouth once more, fully, he bucked his hips, groaning with no regard for volume. He was close, teetering on that edge, evident from the way his grip on your hair grew tighter, the way you could feel the muscles in his stomach tensing, and when you took him deep and sucked, he moaned, long and low, the sound almost forced from his fraying lungs. The sensitivity had to be maddening, you decided, and you’d use that to your full advantage.

Slowly, you pulled back, lapping at the leaking tip, hand working tirelessly at the base of him, and you barely had any warning before he tipped over the edge, back arching, breath all but leaving him. You shifted back in surprise, reflexively, and cum painted itself across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the seam of your lips. You closed your eyes in an attempt to keep anything from getting into them before you were hurrying to take him in your mouth, sealing your lips around him. His hand was fisting in your hair, and the sound he made, a low, breathless groan, was one of sheer, debauched relief.

You sucked, and he let out an obscene moan as you swallowed down his cum, hips jerking, the hand previously fisted between his teeth flattening against the desk, palm slamming down, just once, and you heard the rasp of wood under fingernails as he moved to grip the edge.

You slowed, working him through the intensity of his orgasm, as he twitched and throbbed under your touch, the sheer volume of cum surprising you. It leaked from your mouth, down your chin, and you did your best to swallow as much of it as you could. He slumped, boneless, against his chair, and when you moved to clean him with your tongue, you got to listen to the delightful sound of him gasping from oversensitivity.

“Fuck,” you heard him say, dazed and utterly breathless, “fuck.”

Slowly, you drew back, and his eyes followed you, breath hitching and gaze darkening as he took in your appearance. The sight of you, knelt before him, covered in his cum, was enough to make him groan aloud, cheeks flaring pink.

“Archons,” he said, “that has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let out a short, breathless chuckle.

“Do you have a rag or something?”

He nodded, once, and you stood on shaking legs before leaning sideways against the desk, and he pulled you closer, gently wiping your face clean with a tissue before depositing it in the trash situated under his desk.

“How do you feel?” You asked, and he huffed what may have been a laugh, nearly disbelieving.

“That was… Incredible. But I’m still, um…”

You crooked an eyebrow, watching him, expectantly.

He looked almost guilty. “I’m still hard.”

Oh. Oh.

You weren’t completely surprised. You didn’t know if a blowjob alone would be enough to work the drug from his system, and clearly, it wasn’t. Not that you minded. Your own arousal was a steady pulse below your skin, working like a second heartbeat. Desire coursed through you, and you pressed your thighs together once more. You wanted it. You already knew that. You wanted him.

“Alright,” you said, and what was left of any phantom of resolve, or the shreds of your until recently professional relationship with him all but vaporized, “sit back.”

“You don’t have to,” he started, the protest as fragile as glass, but you cut him off.

“I want to. I’ve… wanted this– you– for a while. So please, Your Grace– Wriothesley. I want it all. If you’ll have me.”

That was all it took. With a low, shuddering breath, a signal of his rapidly fraying restraint, he was yanking you forward and into his lap, his fingers working the buttons of your blouse open, hurriedly shucking it down your shoulders once undone. He made quick work of the ties fastening your skirt to your body, and you briefly shuffled off of him to drop it to the floor, along with your stockings, before resituating yourself on his lap.

“If I’ll have you?” He rumbled, the low, rough ombre of his voice sending prongs of lightning down your spine, and he yanked you closer, mouth dragging along the curve of your jaw.

“How could I possibly refuse?”

And then, for the first time, he was kissing you.

His lips were burning hot against yours, and your fingers found his hair, threading into messy locks, nails dragging against his scalp. He huffed a sigh into your lips as he nudged his tongue between them, tilting his head to slot his mouth more firmly against yours, and when his tongue dragged against yours, you moaned, low and soft, into his mouth. He kissed you slow and deep, almost a juxtaposition to the way he was feverishly running his hands, large and calloused, down your body, and when his fingers grazed over the patch of nerves just where your lowest rib met the curve of your waist, you shuddered in his hold.

You could taste the tea he’d been drinking on his tongue, cloyingly sweet, and it was almost too much when mixed with the heady, spiced smell of his cologne. Everything about him was overwhelming you in the best way possible, rendering you pliable and soft in his hands. Fuck, Wriothesley needed his own warning label. It was almost funny, really, just how riled up you were when he was the one who had been drugged with an aphrodisiac.

His teeth caught your lower lip as he drew back, tugging, before he was diving back in, hands planted firmly on your hips, and you let out a stuttering gasp as he pulled you forward, his bare cock pressing against your stomach.

The way he shuddered at the contact was enough to make your head spin with arousal, and when you shifted forward once more, just to see what he’d do, the grip on your hips grew to nearly bruising.

“You have no idea,” he husked, low and rough, the very threads of his sanity slipping from between his fingers, “how hard you’re making it to hold back.”

His words shot straight between your thighs, and you rolled your hips again, loving the way he stiffened. You felt his palm, dragging slowly up your body, then finally moving to cup your breast through the fabric of your bra, squeezing. You arched your chest into his touch, his name whisper soft on your lips.

He unfastened your bra after some fumbling, his coordination clearly beginning to become impacted by the drug. Once the garment was discarded, he barely gave you time to breathe, and you gasped when his head dipped down, mouth dragging across the valley of your breasts, skating along the side of one before his lips found one of your nipples, drawing it into the heat of his mouth.

He groaned at the taste of you, indulgent, as he laved his tongue over your flesh, hands sliding up to grip your waist, holding you in place, allowing him to explore the newly exposed skin with his mouth as much as he pleased. He was strong, his grip like iron, but it didn’t prevent you from slowly rocking your hips, rubbing your clothed cunt against his bare cock, and the way he groaned into your skin was a sound of delirious pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, almost disbelieving, “fuck, I’m a lucky man.”

His tender words made your heartbeat quicken, and you squeezed him closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers catching on the buttons of his shirt, and you quickly unfastened them, pushing the cloth away to smooth your palms over his bare skin. Gently, you pushed him back against the chair you were both situated in to look at him, and the sight before you was almost too much.

You already knew he was muscular, that much was obvious by just looking at him. But beneath his clothing, among thickly corded muscle was a patchwork of scarred flesh. You’d known about some scars; three of them crept up over the collar of his shirt, partially hidden by the straps he wore around his throat. There was also a collection of them on his arms, and of course, the one under his right eye. The ones that were hidden wove their way across his chest like a roadmap, some of them faint, and others more prominent, pale threads across his already pale skin. You laid your palm against him, tracing the one closest, and he shuddered, leaning into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. Your fingers skimmed down his chest, to his trim waist, and when your thumb caught in the deep v at his waist, he let out a soft grunt.

One of his hands moved from your waist to your hip, squeezing the plush flesh, then migrated to the apex of your thighs, and when his middle finger rubbed you through the sodden fabric of your panties, a high, breathy whine tore itself from your throat. He pressed harder, and your back arched, eyes falling half-lidded when he circled your clit through the fabric.

Then, without warning, he was pushing the cloth aside, and the feel of his calloused finger dragging across your entrance was enough to make you jerk in his hold.

He dipped his head, forehead making contact with your shoulder, and it took you a moment to realize he was watching himself, observing the sight of his hand between your legs. When your hips twitched, he used his opposite hand to hold you steady, effectively forcing you to stay in place as he did what he pleased with your body.

“Please,” you whispered, and that was all it took for him to tire of his teasing, sinking his finger inside you with a slow, indulgent movement.

You gasped, the sound bleeding into a moan when his finger curled inside of you, and he pushed you down, forcing you to take him to the knuckle. You whispered his name as he curled his finger again, and when he added a second finger, you squeezed your eyes shut. He groaned at the sound it made when he thrust his fingers into you, the lewd, embarrassing schlick of you around him, and you had to take a moment for your jumbled thoughts to catch up with you. His fingers were so much thicker than your own, not to mention longer, and he was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. He thrust again, and you cried out, hips twitching, causing him to tighten his grip.

The curl of his fingers hit a spot inside of you that made you see stars, and when he felt the way it made you tighten around him, he began to abuse it with everything he had.

“Oh, Gods,” he groaned, “you’re so wet.”

You could do no more than gasp as his palm ground against your clit, and he held you there, forcing you to take it as he pressed in slow, maddening twists of his wrist before replacing his palm with his thumb.

It was arousing how easily he could manhandle you, and you had absolutely no desire to fight against him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were getting close, embarrassingly quickly, and you could do nothing to stop yourself from hurtling towards that end, walls throbbing and contracting around his fingers.

One of your hands shot between you, encircling his thick wrist, and you weren’t sure what the purpose of that was, either to push him deeper or simply to find purchase, but you did know that your desperation made his dick twitch where it was pressed between you, forcing him to stifle a groan.

You convulsed in his hold, hips jerking in his iron grip, his name on your lips, and with a final press of his thumb against your clit, you came hard around his fingers, biting down into his shoulder, and he worked you through it with slow thrusts that made stars and celestial bodies dance across your closed eyelids. You called his name, urgent and drawn out, yet high and needy, and he replied with a groan of his own, his free hand flying from where he was holding you in place to wrap around his own cock, palming it, thumbing the head, forcing a moan from between his teeth.

You slumped heavily against him as you fell from your high, and when he withdrew his fingers, you let out a shuddering breath, the sensitivity sending your thoughts into nonsense. Your head was spinning, thoughts in a daze, and all you could feel was him as he panted for breath.

Seconds of silence, only interrupted by heavy breathing, passed before you rose on unsteady legs to discard your panties before you were settling over him once more, and he watched with hazy eyes as you shifted forward, pressing your bare cunt against the underside of his shaft in a slow grind. His mouth fell open in a silent cry, brows pinching upwards, the sensitivity clearly unbearable. Suffocating, maddening lust worked its way through your bloodstream like a toxin, and you knew he needed more, from the way his hips rutted up in halfway thrusts as you rubbed against him.

“Fuck,” he choked, head falling back as the tip of his cock caught against you, “I wanna–”

You rocked forward, and his entire body jolted, tearing a groan from deep in his chest.

“What do you want?” You asked, breathless, and he lifted his head to look at you, the fog of desire in his eyes downright sinful.

He yanked you close, trapping his cock between your bodies, and into a frenzied kiss, his restraint all but gone as he unabashedly moaned at the feel of your skin.

“I want,” he husked, mouth pressing open kisses against your jaw, and he stopped, breath hot against your ear, “to be inside you.”

Your breath left you in a rush, and you drew him into a deep kiss, one he returned with vigor, hands smoothing down your body to grab at your hips, pressing you forward and against him once more, and when you pulled back, his eyes were wild with desperation and maddening lust.

“I don’t have protection,” he said, and you shook your head, dismissing him.

“I’m on birth control,” you said. Siegwinne made the tonic you took, something she supplied even to female inmates to help with lightening periods. But right now, it would be used for its intended purpose. Wriothesley nodded as he took this information in, seemingly relaxing a little.

“Please,” he mumbled, and you blinked, surprised to hear him beg for anything, but you were hardly going to deny him, “I’m going insane. I need you.”

You took a shuddering breath as you shifted up, using one hand to brace yourself as you took his cock in your hand, pressing him against you. You both cried out in unison at the feeling, even the slightest whisper of much needed friction enough to make you feel lightheaded, and you felt his hands grasp your hips, urging you downwards.

You sank down, slowly, and even the tip of him was a stretch, a dull ache blossoming as you pressed closer. Both hands landed on his shoulders, breath heavy, and he groaned lowly at the sensation.

“Slow,” he said, fighting for control, “c’mon, you can take me. Relax, deep breaths.”

You nodded, once, as you did as he instructed. Your knees shuffled as you pressed yourself down, met with more resistance, and forcing you to stop, gasping for air. He was only halfway in and you already felt full, stretched to accommodate him. It was unfamiliar and new, and you weren’t used to this, but his grip was tightening, and with a deep breath, you thrust down, taking the rest of him in one quick motion.

The sting of the stretch danced across your frayed nerves like a livewire, and you grit your teeth, head slumping forward as Wriothesley let out a long, low groan, both of his hands rushing to your hips, squeezing, keeping you in place.

A string of curses left his lips as his head fell back, and you could feel him throb inside of you, so deep you could hardly believe it, stuffed full to the brim.

“Just– oh, or you could just take it all. Fuck,” he quieted, breathing heavily, before speaking again, “are you– did that hurt you? Are you okay?”

The pain wasn’t horrible, and you hesitated to even call it pain. It was just an ache, dull and unpleasant, but you’d been wet enough that taking him hadn’t caused you any actual damage. You sat still as you adjusted, the aching burn of the stretch rapidly fading into something maddening, replaced by a desperate need.

“I’m fine,” you said, voice strained, “I’m okay.”

He nodded, once, before drawing you close, linking your mouth to his in a kiss far more gentle than you’d expected. You felt him throb, and when you squeezed, you got the pleasure of hearing him groan your name.

“You’re so tight. Please, please– yeah–”

His head fell back as you rocked your hips, lifting yourself up, only to sink back down, and when you repeated the action, he groaned helplessly, a string of almost nonsensical praises spilling past his lips, only serving to make you want to wreck him even further.

Sheer, uncontained relief was tangled inextricably with every sound he made, his hands squeezing your hips as you took him again, and again, and again, and oh fuck, you felt like you were being split open, impaling yourself repeatedly on his fat cock. The burn from before turned into pure ecstasy, the stretch of him inside of you intoxicating, and you buried your face into the crook of his neck as you moaned out his name. He wasn’t even bothering to stay quiet, not that it mattered, nobody could hear from outside the heavy office doors, which was an advantage right then.

You keened as his hips rose to meet you, the base of his dick rubbing against your clit. You sank down, taking him fully, ejecting any rational or sensical thought from your head, grinding in deep, easy circles, and you could feel blunt nails digging into your hips as he held you in place, totally drunk on pleasure.

His grip eased as you slid back up before taking him again, and he was kissing you frantically, one of his hands flattening against your breast, rolling the nipple under the rough pad of his thumb, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Faster,” he hissed, pulling back to meet your eyes, “faster, ride me faster.”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, using them as leverage to move yourself faster, arching your back as the new speed made you see stars, and you whined, burning pleasure shooting through you at the grind of his cock against your clit.

“Good girl,” he groaned, dizzy with pleasure, “yeah, just like that.”

You could feel yourself getting close again, and you groaned his name as you swiveled your hips. Your thighs were beginning to burn with the exertion, even with just the short time you’d been moving at this pace, and when he felt you shudder, his hands found your waist, helping you along.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” Wriothesley panted, “that’s it, fuck me just like that.”

He was moving you with his own hands, easily, and you tried your best to move along with him, swiveling your hips whenever he bottomed out, and his head fell back in rapture, gasping for air.

Your orgasm was approaching fast, and you were helpless to its pull as you sped up, chasing after it frantically, the sound that filtered through your clenched teeth one of desperation. You felt like you were losing yourself, and when you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his throat, an unrestrained groan fell past his lips, his hips bucking up with enough force to make you see stars. When his thumb pressed against your clit, you tipped over the edge hard, stilling as you clung to him, sobbing his name into the curve of his shoulder.

You tightened to a vice grip around him, throbbing as your climax crashed over you, and you heard him growl at the sensation, hips bucking, still working his cock up into your messy cunt. Before you could even start to come down from your high, you were moving, and the frigid steel of the floor met your back, rapidly heating from contact with your skin. One of his hands gripped at your leg, tucking beneath your knee and holding it up, and then he was driving forwards, hips slapping against yours as he filled you once more.

He paused, shaken by the intensity of the sensation, before his head pitched forward, breath heavy, and he was thrusting again with a renewed vigor, nails digging into your flesh.

His name was the only thing on your tongue as he fucked you, so good it made you feel like your head was emptying itself out. His mouth found yours as he leaned forward, supporting his weight on his forearm, laid beside your head, giving him more freedom to do what he pleased with his hips. The base of his dick was rubbing against your clit once again, and you whined, squirming beneath him, but he wasn’t letting up.

“Wriothesley,” you gasped, head fuzzy, completely cock drunk as he broke the kiss to mouth at your neck, “deeper.”

He groaned, low and indulgent, and when his hips snapped forward, filling you completely, your back arched against his chest.

“Deeper?” he repeated, the baritone timbre of his voice lowered to an uneven bass, “you want it deeper? That what you want, gorgeous?”

“Please,” you sobbed, “please, give it to me.”

A low, rough chuckle was the only warning you got before he was thrusting forward, hips flush against yours, and he repeated the action, again, and again, and again, making you bite your lip to keep from wailing at the intensity of it all.

“Oh, fuck,” you heard him gasp, stricken, indulgent, “fuck, yeah, that’s it.”

It felt so good you could hardly think, and when you babbled his name, lust drunk and fucked dumb, he pressed soft kisses along the column of your throat, almost like a reward, a thank you for letting him do this to you.

His pace was growing sloppy, but he showed no signs of letting up, and in the back of your mind, you figured was probably just going to keep on going, even if he came. It was rapidly beginning to become far too much for you, and you moaned, high and breathy, when he rammed himself all the way in, grinding his hips before pulling out less than a quarter of the way, then thrusting back in. He was so deep, and you writhed under him, fingernails scraping against the floor before you were clinging to him. He was moaning, low and breathless, the way he was moving causing you to helplessly spasm around him, forcing you violently over the edge when the base of him rubbed just right against your aching clit.

You could feel tears, beading at your lashline as the sensitivity became maddening, but he wasn’t letting up, even as you arched and bucked and wailed beneath him, the intensity of your climax rendering you incoherent. He knew exactly what he was doing, just how to push every button he needed to, and you were halfway between deliriously begging for more or sobbing at the sensitivity.

A string of curses left his lips as he came, gushing hot and thick inside of you, but he wasn’t even pausing, even as his groans tapered into breathy moans from the way he was overstimulating himself. You could feel him, throbbing, pulsing inside of you as he filled you, uncaring of the way his cum dripped out of you. The sound of it, combined with the slap of skin against skin, was unbelievably lewd, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even think, let alone be any kind of embarrassed. If anything, it only drove you higher.

“Fuck,” Wrothesley cursed, low and broken, “I need it again, please, again– fuck!”

He shifted back, grabbing at your legs and pressing them down beside you, and you thanked the Archons you were flexible as he continued, leaning forward once he had you in the position he liked and taking your body with abandon. He was hardly bothering to hold back his strength as he hammered into you, and your head fell back against the floor with a soft thud, eyes rolling back.

You’d never felt like this before in your life. Your legs were growing sore, and your back was going to be stiff from the way he was fucking you into the floor, but you didn’t care, not as you got to listen to the way he was saying your name like a prayer, how he was caressing and kissing your body like it was sacred. Exhaustion was a heavy weight against the blurred edges of your mind, and all you could do was lay there and take it as he chased after what he so desperately needed.

It didn’t take long for him to grow close again, and he whispered your name as his end quickly approached. You yanked him into a kiss, which he returned with a groan of ecstasy, and then, with a final, deep, shuddering thrust, he was cumming. The force of it made his entire body tremble, and the sound he made was one of satiated, relieved bliss as he emptied himself out inside of you, the heat of him almost suffocating, burning you from the inside out.

His hips jerked with unconscious movements and spasms as he drifted down from the staggering height of his climax, his breath heavy, and he slumped, weakened, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. His mouth pressed lazy kisses against your skin, and you lifted a hand to run it through his hair as he finally, finally began to grow soft inside of you.

The two of you lay there, still joined, for what felt like hours, bathing in each other’s warmth and the afterglow of it all. His breath fanned across your skin, feather soft as he lifted his head to join your lips together, before he slowly pulled out, rolling off of you, dazed.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice hoarse, and you arched your back, flexing your body. You winced at the soreness. You were undoubtedly going to have bruises from how hard he had been gripping you.

“I’m fine,” you said, “are you–”

He snorted.

“Yeah,” he said, “that uh… that did the trick.”

You laughed, a little breathlessly. You didn’t know how you’d be able to stand after that, genuinely. Your legs felt like jelly, and a deep, all consuming exhaustion was settling over your senses.

“You think it’s gone?” You asked, “the drug, I mean.”

He looked at you sidelong. “I don’t feel uncontrollably horny anymore, so I’d say so.”

Wriothesley sat up, flexing his shoulders. He tucked himself back into his pants, and then he was gathering you into his arms, rising to his feet.

“What are you doing?” You asked, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Taking you to the bath,” he said, “I have a bathtub, in my living quarters.”

You relaxed, settling into his arms. “Oh.”

His living quarters were attached to the office, through a door you’d somehow never noticed before. You were far too tired to take in any of the details of it, instead opting to close your eyes and rest your head on the nearest comfortable spot on Wriothesley’s chest, which he didn’t seem to mind at all.

He set you in the tub, and after the water was run, you were surprised to see him climbing in along with you. It wasn’t unwelcome, and seeing him completely bare was hardly a bad thing, and you were pleasantly happy when he began to gently wash you, and once he was finished, he tugged you back, settling you against his chest.

The bathroom was silent, save for the musical sound of running water, and you allowed yourself to close your eyes, settling into the comfortable atmosphere.

“I meant what I said, you know,” Wriothesley said, and you opened your eyes to look up at him.

“What?” You asked.

“About being fond of you,” he said, “you’re… an amazing woman. I want–”

You leaned up, kissing him, and effectively giving him an answer to his thoughts. He sighed into the kiss, content, one large hand rising to cup your face, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.

“I guess Siegwinne succeeded,” you said, and Wriothesley smiled, amused.

“I guess she did.”

You stayed in the bath much longer than you expected, until the water became cold, and once that happened, Wriothesley whisked you off to the bed, tucking you under the covers after supplying you with one of his shirts to wear. You smiled when he joined you, now dressed in a pair of sweats, chest left bare, and curled up beside you, tucking you close to his chest.

Sleep came quickly after the lights were switched off, the exhaustion from before spreading over you like wildfire.

And, when he thought you were asleep, you felt him, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his body relaxing against yours.

BONUS:

You were agonizingly sore. Your stiff muscles had stiff muscles, and while Wriothesley was sheepish, and apologetic, and promised he’d treat you to dinner to make it up (which you would be taking him up on), it made walking back to the infirmary the next morning a little difficult.

What was even worse was the look on Siegwinne’s face when you entered, ruby red eyes knowing as she watched you approach.

“How’s the duke?” She asked, and you handed her the accursed thermos without saying anything.

“Fine,” you said, slumping down into your chair with a sigh.

She smiled. “Good. Are you seeing him again tonight?”

You turned, brows furrowed. “How did you know about that?”

She shrugged, unbothered. “Someone saw you leaving his office this morning. I suppose what I put in the tea worked a little too well.”

You stared at her. “Siegwinne, you put an aphrodisiac in his tea.”

She paused, concerned. “No I didn’t. I put a supplement to further enhance his desire for you. If we’re being frank, it’s closer to a love potion. Just to get rid of any inhibitions. It’s medicine. But it isn’t meant to cause anything like–”

You rolled back your sore shoulders. “Yeah, well, it did.”

Her face went pale, but she briefly covered it up. “I… suppose I miscalculated.”

You laughed, then. Really laughed. It startled Siegwinne, who stared at you with growing concern.

“It’s fine,” you said, “whatever, Siegwinne. At least you don’t have to keep going with trying to set us up. Focus your energy on making ‘love potions’ that aren’t aphrodisiacs in humans, okay?”

She flushed, quiet, then nodded, once, her eyes taking on a determined look. You were beginning to regret saying anything.

With a smile, and a good natured nod, she put her hands on her hips, ever the dutiful nurse.

“I’ll get right on that.”

Fin.

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rafesfavgirl · 11 months ago

Text

belly piercing — r. cameron

pairing: bf!rafe x fem!reader

context: you got a belly button piercing and rafe sees it for the first time.

words: 652

warnings: fluff, mention of smut

it was a bright and sunny day when rafe convinced you to take a ride in topper's new boat with him, topper, and kelce.

you had recently gotten your belly button pierced and hadn't told rafe about it yet, so you quickly threw on one of his oversized shirts over your bikini before meeting them outside.

"hey, pretty girl," he holds a hand out to you when you reach the end of the dock to help you step into the boat.

"hey, y/n," kelce and topper both greet you as you join them, topper at the steering wheel, and kelce sipping on a bottle of beer.

"hey guys," you throw them a smile, as rafe wraps an arm around your waist and gives you a peck on the lips.

topper steers the boat away from the dock and starts heading out towards the marsh.

—

topper had anchored the boat to a stop in the middle of the marsh half an hour ago, so you were all now chilling under the sun.

you were perched on a lounge chair on the opposite side of the boat's deck from rafe, topper, and kelce, who were sitting on the L-shaped couch, sipping on their beers, and talking about some girl kelce was trying to get with, while you read your summer romance book.

all three guys had lost their shirts some time around noon when the sun reached its peak, and now that it was beating down hard and causing sweat beads to scatter across your skin, you consider taking off rafe's oversized shirt to just sit in your bikini.

you contemplate it for a second, unsure of what rafe might think about your newly pierced navel, but after persuading yourself that he was probably too distracted talking to topper and kelce to even notice it, you hop up from the lounge chair to pull his shirt over your head.

little did you know, he watched your every move from the moment you stood up, his eyes trailing over your body as you took his shirt off, the diamond encrusted ring in your belly button reflecting the sunshine and immediately catching his eye.

a smirk comes across his lips as he stood up to walk over to you in the middle of topper's sentence, and sat down at the edge of your lounge chair, facing you.

it didn't take you long to notice exactly what he was staring at, as he pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth.

a newfound confidence washes over you when you realize that the look on his face meant that he was loving the new piece of jewelry on your body. "you like it?"

he tilts his head up at you, his piercing blue eyes twinkling as he reached out to grab the back of your thighs and pull you closer to him, your navel directly in front of his face. "it's sexy, baby." he glances at it again, bringing a finger up to play with it. "does it hurt?"

"it's a little sore, but nothing too bad," you tell him, your hands tangling in his hair as he tilts his head up to look at you again.

"so it wouldn't hurt if you rode me?" he kinks an eyebrow at you and pulls you into his lap so you're straddling him, your thighs on either side of his legs.

"is that something you'd like?" you tease, his face inches away from yours now.

"very much," he nods, placing his lips on yours as his hands on your lower back pushed your body closer to his.

"hey lovebirds!" kelce calls out to the two of you, and you both snap your head towards him and topper on the couch.

"get a room," topper adds, sipping his beer.

"jump off the boat and go for a swim then," rafe tells them, causing you to snicker. "give us ten minutes."

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

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#rafe cameron #rafe #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #obx #outerbanks #outer banks #rafe one shot #rafe cameron one shot #rafe fluff #rafe cameron fluff #cute rafe #boyfriend rafe #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe blurb #rafe cameron blurb

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ckret2 · 10 days ago

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Chapter 87 of human Bill Cipher in drag as his cishetsona, Sexygirl McGovernment-Seducer: in which he attempts to get intel out of Agent Powers during a dinner date using the feminine wiles he's totally pretending to have but definitely doesn't.

Spoilers: he's not going to help Powers solve the mystery.

(warning this chapter for some mild sexual content, although it's all non-explicit and nothing happens on screen.)

####

Soos drove Bill to Greasy's Diner half an hour before his scheduled date. Before Bill got out of the truck, Soos put a hand on his shoulder. "Dude. Wait a sec."

"What."

Soos opened his mouth, and then didn't say anything.

"What?"

Soos nervously wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Uh..."

Oh, come on. Teeth gritted, Bill snapped, "What."

Soos rummaged around in his cargo shorts, pulled out a slightly sweat-damp envelope, and offered it to Bill. "Here. Just... just in case."

"What is it?"

"Um."

Bill peeked in the envelope. Oh. Protection. Intimate protection. Not like he'd asked for it, but—yeah, sure, Soos was the only human in the house currently getting any action, of course he was the only one with supplies. Bill nodded solemnly. "Message received." If the possibility came up, it might make for a useful persuasion tool.

And besides that, Bill needed it. Not as ravenously as he'd needed it two or three weeks ago (something to do with this stupid body's stupid hormones, no doubt), but he needed it. His little tryst with his worshiper last weekend had only served to whet his appetite. Having been reminded said appetite existed—and that there was a slim chance he might finally get it satisfied—he could feel it low in his abdomen. It felt like someone had emptied a can of soup, heated the empty metal can on a stove until it was red hot, and then teleported it into Bill's flesh beneath his small intestine: searingly hot and empty—

Bill pushed aside his discomfort and tried to cover it by making someone else even more uncomfortable. He shook the envelope. "But you think I'll need six?"

Soos looked out the windshield, studiously avoiding Bill's gaze. "Um. I thought, 'hey, uh... better safe than sorry,' right?"

"Sure." Better than pleading with his captors for a pharmacy trip. He checked his dress for pockets, found nothing, and stuffed the envelope in the folds of his umbrella instead. "Better add more to my part of the grocery list. Ya know, for the future," he said. "Ribbed. With that tingly lube. If they don't have any with that lube, just throw in a poblano and I'll figure it out myself." If he was going to have a sex life in this body, he was going to enjoy it properly.

Looking out the windshield wasn't enough, Soos was staring at the truck's roof now. "Okay," he said weakly. "You got it, dude."

Bill knocked his umbrella on the passenger door. "Now let me out of this sardine tin."

####

"Bill Cipher is on a date," Ford said. "With a government agent who's privy to all kinds of classified intel. Totally unrestrained and unmonitored. No supervision. No magical handcuffs." He took a deep breath. "And I'm fine with it. I'm just fine."

Stan glanced over from the TV. Ford was laying on the sofa, perfectly straight, hands laced over his chest, staring at the ceiling, like he was expecting a heart attack any minute and had decided he might as well prepare his body for the casket. "I can tell," Stan said. He elected not to try to reassure Ford until the next commercial break. Cash Wheel was on, and it was nice to be able to get in some guesses without Ford blurting out the answers first.

Sitting on the floor with Mabel, Dipper said, "It's not the first time Bill's been outside without restraints. The handcuffs came off during the eclipse, and he didn't cause any trouble."

"Plus," Mabel said, "he just escaped the shack and came back voluntarily! Because he trusted us not to kill him! We can show him a tiiiny bit of trust in return, right?"

Ford groaned, pulled the baby blue doily off the back of the couch, and covered his face with it.

"Besides, he's not totally unsupervised!" Mabel held up her phone, beaming. "Let's just say, there's a good reason I made sure he'd go to Greasy's."

####

Every time the restaurant door opened, Pacifica's head whipped around to see who was coming in, and so far she'd only been disappointed. She'd picked up an extra shift this evening just because Mabel had texted to say her personal makeup project would be taking his date here, and so far all she'd gotten was lumberjacks and some of Spiderwebs' weird prison gang pals.

She was busy passing out plates to the elderly throuple that came in twice a week when the door opened and Pacifica finally caught a flash of golden hair from the corner of her eye. There they were. (Ooh, and the government agent was tall, too.)

Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw Lazy Susan approach them first. "Heeey, I haven't seen you two before! Welcome! Booth for two?" Susan turned slightly to glance over her shoulder at Pacifica.

That woman was a treasure. Pacifica nodded subtly—yes, this was the couple she'd been talking about all afternoon.

Susan nodded back, and led the couple to Pacifica's half of the diner. "This way! Your waitress will be with you in a minute. What can I get you two to drink in the meantime?"

While Pacifica was wrapping up with the throuple and passing their salad dishes to the kitchen, Susan had brought out their drink orders, and now was saying, "Say! Have you got a funny eye too?" She lifted her eyelid with a fingertip. "Wink!"

Goldie laughed. "Yeah, and they take turns being funny." He switched which eye he was squinting shut. "Wink."

"Really? Oh how silly! Mine stays on the same side." Susan left their table. "You two enjoy yourselves!"

Voice low, the agent said, "I meant to ask yesterday if you'd hurt your eye, when you were wearing an eyepatch."

"Nah, it's a condition! If I use 'em both for too long it gives me a migraine. Usually the eyepatch is for afternoons," he rested his chin on his laced fingers and batted his eyelashes, "buuut I wanted to look nice for you." (For which Pacifica was grateful—she hadn't spent several hours teaching Goldie and Mabel just for him to smear his eyeshadow under an eyepatch.)

Finally, she'd offloaded her plates and could rush over to their table. "Hee-eeyyy guys, my name's Pacifica, welcome to Greasy's I'll be your waitressss." She gave them both her best waitress smile.

Goldie's brows shot up in surprise—Mabel must not have told him she worked here—but the agent squinted at her in concentration. "Aren't you the Northwest girl? Pacifica Northwest?"

Pacifica froze. Her parents worked with some government people; she didn't know whether this agent was one of them. With no change to her singsong customer service tone, she said, "Please don't tell my parentssss." She gave them both her stiffest waitress smile.

The agent shook his head. "None of my business."

The agent ordered the meatloaf; Goldie ordered a club sandwich with fries, and Pacifica kicked herself for not advising him on proper dinner date etiquette. Girls should order salad on the first date, her mom had drilled that into her head, guys don't want to watch a girl actually eating. If you didn't think you could survive the night on a salad then you ate before the date so you could pick at your lettuce without looking ravenous—and of all other options, a sandwich was the worst, crumbs all over your hands and it was so inelegant to tear off chunks of bread with your mouth... She uneasily remembered Goldie's sneer as he told her she was one wrong jab away from an eating disorder, and decided he probably wouldn't have listened to her advice about proper date foods anyway.

Still, she had no idea what to make of the fact that Goldie had also requested maple syrup, grape jelly, and "the hottest hot sauce you have" on the side. She prayed this wouldn't be a disaster. She was invested now.

As she left, she heard Goldie gush to his date, "So tell me all about your investigation...!"

####

"This isn't public knowledge," Powers said, "but as a matter of fact, there is a little more to the investigation than a few power surges and a couple of gravitational anomalies."

Bill nodded, the perfect picture of fascination. "You don't say?"

"Perhaps I should... tell you a little more about my work," Powers said. "The Bureau of Covert Investigations isn't exactly a secret agency, but it isn't widely advertised to the public. We don't even have a website. We don't accept job applications, either; the only way agents join is by being recruited from other departments."

He decided not to point out that he already knew way more about the eagles than Powers was telling him—including the fact that they were under the Department of Cover-Ups, which was top secret. (Of course, Powers was covering that part up.) "Sounds pretty elite! Where'd you get recruited from? FBI? CIA?"

"The Criminal Investigations department of the IRS."

Bill choked back a laugh.

"We're dedicated to investigating reports of potential domestic threats within the United States that seem... too absurd for other departments. Including reports that might be considered... paranormal."

"So, when you say there's more to your investigation than a few power surges... I take it you're not talking about checking the local power plant for OSHA violations."

"Precisely," Powers said. "Most of the time, our work consists of uncovering hoaxes, or finding natural scientific explanations for supernatural-looking phenomena. But this one..." He lowered his voice, leaning further across the table. "I've been working the Gravity Falls case for years. It was my first assignment when I joined the bureau in the 80s—and I became convinced that something odd is happening in this town, just under the surface. Over the next few years, my investigation uncovered irregularities in the town's historical records, strange localized effects on magnetic fields, a disproportionate amount of reported sightings of things like Bigfoot or UFOs, occasional tourist disappearances far above the statistical average for this part of Oregon... The original case I was assigned to investigate went cold, but I remained certain that Gravity Falls is the key to something big."

(Uncovered irregularities in the historical records? So the bureau hadn't just told him about the irregularities. He really wasn't part of the Trembley cover-up. Bill nodded enthusiastically, go on.)

"But the anomalous power surges stopped, and I was forced to put the Gravity Falls case on the back burner for lack of any new evidence," Powers said. "Until last summer. When we picked up readings identical to the ones we detected in the 80s. We discovered that they coincided with localized fluctuations in gravity, as well. At last, I had the resources and manpower to pursue the case in earnest."

Bill considered cracking a joke about Manny Powers's manpower, then decided there was no point if Powers wouldn't even find it funny. "And what happened then?" With the core of their knowledge of the case having been ripped out by the memory gun, Bill was really curious how the agents remembered that whole incident.

Powers looked embarrassed. "Well... we... didn't find anything, I suppose." He cleared his throat. "But—in spite of last summer's... lack of success, I'm sure something is happening in this town. If anything, I'm more convinced now than ever before."

"Really? More convinced?" Talk about a backfire. Ford might've been better off erasing the eagles' memories of the entire case... but then, once they got home, whatever information they still had on file at their headquarters would've reactivated their memories. In this situation, there really was no winning with the memory gun, no matter how carefully tuned it was—with so many people involved and so many disparate sources of information, the Pines couldn't have kept everything secret. "How come? Didja find any evidence?"

"Nothing concrete, but..." Powers made a noise of irritation. "The locals seem normal enough, they'll tell you there's nothing strange about their town—but talk to the visitors who pass through, and they all seem to feel that something eerie is going on."

Bill considered that, trying to find an angle to nudge Powers away from Gravity Falls. For a man employed to investigate the paranormal, he seemed like a pretty rational, logic-driven guy; maybe a logical argument? "I did say the town feels spooky to me too, but... if even you couldn't find any evidence, I've gotta wonder if it's just a psychological trick making us think Gravity Falls is a bigger deal than it is."

"How so?"

"Think about it: how many reasons do people have to visit this place? The one road into town dead ends at The Club—which I'm convinced is only visited by locals and the Northwests' business guests—so they're not getting traffic through town. There's the lake, but there are plenty of other lakes around more popular tourist towns in the Mount Hood area. (Personally, I'm fond of Pyramid Lake—no particular reason.) If you want a mall, you'd get more bang for your buck driving a couple hours to Portland than going to Gravity Falls'. The Tent of Telepathy shut down in under two years. Nobody's gonna visit the history museum unless they're already in town. So the biggest draw in town is... the Mystery Shack. You hit the turnoff for the shack before you even reach the town. It's no wonder tourists feel like something weird's going on!" Bill scoffed, "Maybe that's the real reason your anonymous tipster said there's someone 'dangerous' in the shack. They coulda been talking about our pal Sascrotch."

"You do make an excellent point," Powers said. "But reports about the town's strangeness extend beyond the tourists. Truckers who stop in at the Triple Digit Truck Stop claim that this stretch of Route 14 is haunted. And out-of-town loggers say that the loggers in Gravity Falls are... skittish."

"Oh, that's just Dan," Bill said. "Tough guy, but he's nervous about the things in the woods."

"You know Dan?"

Right, Bill was supposed to just be a tourist. "I've been in town long enough to notice him. Hard not to notice him, he's built like a bonfire!"

Powers nodded slightly, accepting that. "But don't you think it's odd for a lumberjack to be nervous around trees?"

Bill didn't have time to think of a response to that before Pacifica came by with their meals. "Here you go, one meatloaf and one club sandwich. Everything great so far?" She directed the question toward Bill.

He flashed her a bright grin. "Terrific. Thanks."

She looked relieved. "Great! You two just let me know if you need anything."

"Will do!" He could use a break for dinner, anyway. He'd hit a dead end; he needed to think up a new angle.

But he'd find something. He always did.

####

From the far end of the restaurant, Pacifica clapped her hands over her mouth in horror as Goldie drizzled maple syrup over his fries. The agent stared in silent fascination as he added grape jelly and hot sauce to his club sandwich. What was he doing. No wonder this guy was friends with Mabel, he was just as silly as her and twice as oblivious to it. He was ruining everything.

As Pacifica watched, he emphatically offered the maple syrup to the agent, who looked dubious, but tentatively drizzled a tiny bit on his mashed potatoes and tried a bite. He looked pleasantly surprised. Huh. Who'd have guessed.

They had their dinner; Pacifica took care of her other customers and checked in on them a few more times; and as Pacifica took their plates back to the kitchen, Susan, who was sweeping behind the counter, asked, "Sooo? How are the lovebirds doing?"

"I... guess not bad." She had to admit that Goldie looked like he had that agent wrapped around his finger. The agent's gaze hadn't strayed from Goldie's face once. Which was impressive, since Pacifica had learned from experience that when Goldie was looking at you, making eye contact felt like trying to stare down the sun. "I mean, I know my makeup tips were good, but I'm really surprised Goldie's doing this well."

"Oh? Why's that? I thought she seems nice!"

Pacifica winced. Frankly, because—in spite of his reassurances that the agent was into him—she still couldn't quite believe that the agent wasn't grossed out by the fact that he was fat and had weird eyes. But that also described Susan; so instead, Pacifica said, "Ummm... Because she's... kinda weird?"

"Oh, well that's fine!" Susan said. "Guys like girls that are a little bit out there, haha."

Pacifica had to fight to smile instead of grimace. "Yeah... sure." Guys really didn't, though. And Pacifica wasn't sure Susan was qualified to talk about what guys liked, considering she'd never been married or anything.

Lazy Susan was really a sweet woman. She'd immediately taken Pacifica under her wing when she was hired as a waitress—teaching her stuff like the regular customers' orders and how to balance tall drinks and heavy foods in the middle of the tray. She always intervened to take the creepy customers, keeping them away from Pacifica's tables; and she helped out behind the counter whenever the usual counter waitress's trucker fiancé made a rare trip into town for lunch, so she could slack off and talk to him. She'd never been weird about the fact that a few months ago Pacifica's weekly allowance had been more than the restaurant's weekly profits, unlike some of the other employees, and she was patient with Pacifica's clueless rich girl moments. She never had anything snide to say when Pacifica was a little naughty and ordered chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks for her mid-shift meal, and whenever Pacifica was going from the restaurant to her ranch instead of home, Susan insisted she take a slice of marionberry pie.

But, for all her virtues, Pacifica had to reluctantly admit that Susan had some blindspots, insensitive pun unintended—particularly when it came to her own appearance and understanding how your appearance affected how other people treated you. Sure, it was a nice break for Pacifica to get out from under the scrutiny she got around her mom, but Susan wasn't doing herself any favors with that obliviousness. Pacifica would love to help her overhaul her wardrobe someday, as thanks for everything Susan had done for her; she just needed to think of a way to offer it that wouldn't insult her. Not everyone was a former pageant kid who could take Pacifica's blunt critiques and be just as blunt in return.

Susan slid a slice of cherry pie across the counter. "You should give 'em a slice of pie! On the house! Dessert's romantic! And those government guys just love the pie here." She leaned on the counter and said in a loud conspiratorial aside, "There's one slice and two forks so they have to share!"

At least that was a sound idea. It was a flirting tactic her parents would look down on, but Pacifica knew sharing a dessert was something commoners found romantic. "Thanks, Susan." She put on her customer service smile and carried the plate over to their table.

####

In the past two hours, the only "fact" Powers had "learned" about Bill was that he was in town for the summer and had rented a cabin in the area, and Bill had only offered that lie to justify why he'd been able to immediately recognize another couple of names Powers had mentioned. Powers didn't notice he hadn't learned anything else about his date; it had only taken a little prompting from Bill and he'd been all too eager to just keep talking about the case he was enthralled with.

No, not enthralled. Obsessed.

"I feel as though there's a... a hole, right in the middle of everything I know about Gravity Falls." Powers was hunched forward with his elbows on the table, brows furrowed, rubbing his forehead as though he could reach into his brain and grope around for the missing piece. "If I can just fill in that hole, then everything will fit together. But..."

But. Unfortunately, there was a hole in the middle of his knowledge—a Mystery Shack-shaped hole—and Bill could not let him figure that out.

Most victims of Spectacles's memory gun never questioned the gaps in their recollection; usually only the ones with damage as extensive as Specs himself ever even noticed there was something missing. But Powers was different. As he told Bill about his case—as he bumped up again and again against the things he didn't know—it was clear just how aware he was of the information he should have but didn't. He knew he'd gone undercover several times last summer to conduct his investigation covertly, but he couldn't remember what exactly he'd been looking for that required such subterfuge. He remembered that he'd come to town with Trigger to conduct the initial investigation, and then had called in a whole team for backup... but he couldn't remember what he'd thought he needed so many people for. He remembered attending Northwest Fest—he even remembered that the party had been attacked by a ghost—but he was almost positive encountering the ghost had been a coincidence and he'd been at the manor to investigate something else... but what?

It was fascinating, watching this human groping around the edges of his damaged memory, like a blind man feeling along the cliff above a canyon, looking for a bridge to the other side that had been burned down.

The mind of a typical memory gun victim simply frayed around the ragged edges where the missing memory had been snipped out, slowly unraveling further over time. Bill had seen that damage in its most extreme form, a fully unraveled mind whose loose threads cut at Bill like razor wire.

But from what Powers had told Bill about the case, it seemed that over the past year he'd mentally run around and around and around the place where his missing memory had been, so much that he'd inadvertently hemmed the loose edges of his mind. He'd defined the edges clearly enough to recognize the negative space. He was so close to realizing that the hole in his recollection wasn't something he just hadn't yet learned about the case, but something he'd forgotten.

What Bill wouldn't give to be able to hop into Powers's head and prod around the damage himself, see what was happening inside his brain. His mindscape had to be fascinating.

Bill took advantage of Powers's distraction to shake a little pepper and hot sauce onto the cherry pie slice and steal another bite. "Maybe you can't fill that 'hole' because whatever you're looking for isn't in Gravity Falls? Whatever's happening here might just be a small part of something bigger happening in other places. If you look for patterns—maybe other places with power surges..." Humans loved patterns.

But Powers was already shaking his head firmly. "No, I'm sure it's here," he said. "With everything else you know, I suppose there's no point in hiding what we're looking for in the Mystery Shack. Last summer, we... misplaced the flash drive with all our ongoing reports and case notes."

"Misplaced?"

"It should have been taken back to Washington by one of my superiors. But it must have been dropped—dropped or stolen—because we picked up its signal in the Mystery Shack. The signal's gone today, but..." He sighed. "Maybe if I could look over our reports from last summer, I'd notice something I missed."

(Boy, Bill bet he would.)

"I just don't know why we hadn't already submitted those reports. We're supposed to submit daily reports and back up all documents at headquarters. The only reason I'd ever ignore our usual filing procedures would be if, per agency guidelines, we were dealing with an emergency of sufficient magnitude that we couldn't waste any time on something as trivial as filing. But...?" He flung up his hands in frustration. "I don't remember any emergencies! I don't know what I was thinking. Was it the summer heat? Am I just getting old?"

"Hey, don't say that," Bill said reassuringly. "You're not that old. I'm sure you've still got a good nineteen years left in you, maybe even nineteen and a quarter!"

"I appreciate it."

Bill was beginning to suspect he wasn't getting Powers to leave town. Without more time, resources, and allies than Bill had at his disposal, he didn't stand a chance of convincing him there was nothing going on in Gravity Falls. His next best chance was convincing Powers something was going on, but it was something other than it really was. But what?

How he missed who he was supposed to be. This should have been easy for him. If he had all his billions of borrowed eyes, if he had a clear view of the whole expanse of the future and all its shining branching timelines, if he had a body made of light that could slip into Powers's dreams... He wanted to claw off his skin, shed this burden of a body, rise up electric and perfect.

That would probably be a dinner date faux pas. He distracted himself from the urge by drumming his scarlet fingernails on the table. He needed to buy more time.

"Is everything alright?" Powers asked.

"Fine, I'm fine. I'm just puzzling over this mess, too," Bill said. "I think it'll drive me crazy until we figure out what's happening in this town."

"I'm sorry for burdening you with it." He shook his head. "I spent all dinner talking about work, didn't I?"

"Because I kept asking you questions!" Bill waved off the apology, "Don't worry about it, I love a good mystery. I bet I could even help you solve it!"

"Do you?" He considered that; then sat forward, lacing his hands together on the table. "Do you have any relevant skills?"

This guy loved collaborating with local informants. "I know a little something about just about everyone in town. I know gossip about some of 'em they don't even know themselves! I'm pretty well-versed in local history. I'm an expert in cryptology—"

"Really? How much of an expert?"

"Enough of one to know that there's a cryptogram stitched in the back of your jacket that says 'Government property: if found, please return to the Bureau of Covert Investigations, P.O. Box..."

Powers started. "How—?"

"You adjusted your jacket when you sat down! I got a glimpse of it!"

"That could only have been a split second. You must have decoded it instantly."

"It's just a simple substitution cipher! It reads like plain English to me." The better question was why they'd encoded the instructions on how to return a lost coat. Probably the end result of a long bureaucratic decision-making tree involving a dozen people who didn't talk to each other. It was a problem in any government department, but especially in a department where all the employees were trained to keeping secrets—even from each other. "Like I said, I'm an expert. Cipher's my last name."

"Isn't the phrase 'middle name'?"

"Sure, whatever."

Powers stroked his chin. "I might have to take you up on that. A surprising amount of this town's founding documents have passages written in code, and I don't currently have a cryptologist with me. We could use the help."

Ah, good old Quenty and his proclivity for hiding important information behind codes and treasure hunts. One of humanity's greatest and most unappreciated geniuses. He'd been ahead of his time. (And his time wouldn't come until Bill finally got Weirdmageddon going again. Bill really hoped Quentin survived that long; humanity's psychopomps were so stodgy, and getting a spirit out of one of Earth's afterlives was a bureaucratic nightmare he'd rather not deal with. He'd do it, but what a pain.)

Bill said, "Say, you've got some kind of case file on this town, right? I don't mean that drive you mentioned. You must have had records back at headquarters from the past thirty years—plus whatever you found on this trip. If I'm going to help you, maybe I should see everything you already know."

At that, Powers finally looked uncertain. Apparently telling Bill all about his case was fine, but showing him classified documents was beyond the pale. "I uh, don't have it with me," Powers said. "I left it in my motel room."

"Did you." He laced his fingers together and propped his chin on his hands. "I would," he said, "love," he said, "to see that file."

It took Powers a moment to raise his gaze to meet Bill's. When he did, the look in his eye—the disbelief, the hope, the eagerness—

He graced Powers with the tiniest smirk; and Powers's eyes widened and cheeks reddened as he realized he hadn't misunderstood Bill's offer.

Got him. A lonely, affection-starved man would do whatever it took to feel like he was wanted for a few hours.

(A lonely, affection-starved triangle would, too.)

####

Bill flashed Pacifica a thumbs up as he passed, his umbrella cane hooked over one arm and the other arm conspicuously looped around a rather flustered-looking Powers's. As soon as the door shut behind them, she whipped out her phone.

PACIFICA: Ok stop blowing up my phone, they just left.

MABEL: How did it go?????

PACIFICA: Really good, I think. I don't think the government guy can smile? But he didn't stop looking at Goldie and they talked the whole time.

PACIFICA: And he left a big tip. Always a good sign.

MABEL: 😻🎉🎉🎉

MABEL: Did you hear what they talked about?

PACIFICA: Mostly his work I think?? Which is fine, guys like to talk about themselves on first dates. I didn't get the details.

MABEL: That's great!

MABEL: Soos said he was gonna wait for Goldie down the street where the agent won't see him. (LONG story! 😹) Can you let Goldie know where to find him?

Pacifica slid into a booth to peer out the window. There he was, across the street and about two blocks away. But as Pacifica watched, Goldie looked toward the truck, made direct eye contact with Soos for several seconds, and then wordlessly turned away from him as the government agent let him into the passenger seat of his own car. (The agent had a crummier car than Pacifica had expected.)

PACIFICA: Actually, he and the government guy left together.

MABEL: Ooooh.

MABEL: Cool cool cool

MABEL: did they say where they're going?

PACIFICA: No clue.

MABEL: That's fine!!! I'm sure it's fine.

####

The last time Bill had paid attention to this corner of Gravity Falls, this block had been occupied by the Twin Bed Motel. Since then, the long one-story log building had been replaced by a two-story brick building, the Roamin' Holiday Motel. As they drove into the parking lot, he saw a car in the parking lot with two bumper stickers: one from Gleeful Auto Sales, and a simple black and white one with no text—a flat horizontal line followed by four triangles, starting short and obtuse but growing progressively taller until the sequence ended in an equilateral. Well, well. So this was where his gals were staying. Good to know.

Powers parked his own Gleeful Auto junker at the far end of the building. "Well. Here we are," Powers said.

"Here we are!" Bill agreed.

"I could bring the case file out to the car." Powers swallowed hard. "Or, if you'd like—perhaps it might be more comfortable for you to come inside...?"

What a gentleman, giving Bill one last chance to turn him down—but it wasn't gonna happen. His body had caught on to his brain's plans, and during the seemingly interminable drive from Greasy's to the motel, the metaphorical metal soup can in Bill's abdomen had melted down into a crucible of liquid aluminum that threatened to leak out and set the car on fire. He ground his knees together as though that would help contain his anticipation, and he tried to ignore how the movement had been automatic in spite of how alien it was. "I'd love to come in!"

While he waited for Powers to open the car door, he double-checked to make sure the envelope Soos had given him was still stuffed in his umbrella.

####

It wasn't the best human-on-human action he'd had in the last ten thousand years, but it wasn't the worst. It was certainly better than some cramped backseat fumbling.

Bill missed hearing my god, my god, my god; and he missed the taste of tears. But at least this human wasn't afraid to touch Bill's body. Longterm

And he was happy to let Bill take the lead. Powers hadn't had a longterm relationship since college, had given up on dating in his 40s; he was so lonely, so sure he'd be lonely forever, so grateful for the attention; he probably saw some pretty gal eagerly taking control, and mistook it for being wanted instead of being used.

####

"There's something wrong with this town." Even at a whisper, Powers's voice was clearly huskier than it had been earlier. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, only half re-dressed. "I can feel it whenever I'm talking to the townspeople—as though they're hiding something. Do you know what I mean?"

So many humans could rub together a couple of poorly-placed flesh accessories for an hour and suddenly feel like they could trust each other. Like baring the most secret parts of their bodies was equivalent to baring the most secret parts of their souls. It was so funny.

So useful.

It was like a dam had broken; and Bill was keen to see what came pouring out.

He was sitting in the center of the bed, legs crossed lotus style, the sweat still drying on his skin, staring at Powers's back. He hadn't bothered to redress yet; he was hyper aware of every cubic inch of his alien body, and covering up wouldn't fix that, so he might as well take advantage of the temporary socially-sanctioned excuse to not bother with human clothes. "I know exactly what you mean. I swear, it feels like they're all in on it. I don't think you can trust anyonein this town." The manipulation came easily; he didn't need to slip into Powers's skull to know how his words would rattle around in his mind, like knocking a pool ball around a table until it finally fell into a pocket. "Have you asked anyone if anything weird happened here last summer? Try it. They act like they didn't even hear you. It's strange."

Powers sighed deeply, evidently relieved that Bill hadn't simply dismissed him. "HQ thinks I'm getting paranoid," he muttered. "They almost didn't let me come back."

(That was news to Bill. From all the signals Powers was giving off, Bill had thought he'd resented being sent back to Gravity Falls. He thought the only reason he was trying to solve the case was so the bureau would let him move on from it.)

"I'm afraid this town has... done something to me. Done something to all of us. All us outsiders."

Slowly, Bill slid to the edge of the bed to sit beside Powers. "Something like what?"

"Last year we came to Gravity Falls to investigate some odd power surges and gravitational anomalies—just like this year—and... nothing. It's not that we found nothing, I just... I can't remember anything we found out. I can remember being in town, where I stayed, what I ate, people I spoke to, places I went undercover—we all can, I've talked to all the agents that were assigned to that investigation—but—but it's as if I didn't find anything useful out for weeks." A frustrated growl entered his voice, "But I know I must have found out something! I don't remember not finding anything, I would remember if I'd not found anything—but I don't know what I found! No one from that investigation does! We handed our files, all of them, over to a superior officer—and when we returned to HQ, we were asked where our files were! And we couldn't name who we'd handed our flash drive to! Who knows where he went, I've checked all the agency personnel records that I have clearance to view I don't know how many times..."

"Did he have any distinguishing features?" Bill asked.

"I... He had a black coat, that's all I can remember." (It was something of a relief to know Powers hadn't counted the fingers, either.) "It's as if our entire team just... zoned out on the job for several weeks! All to be told by some superior officer we can't remember the name of that we'd been wasting our time chasing a meteor shower!"

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "We were heavily reprimanded—myself in particular, which I deserve, given that I was in charge. They almost took me off the Gravity Falls case entirely. Goodness knows I want to leave this accursed town behind. But I can't, because something happened to me here, and—I—need—to—find—out—what. But the only leads I have are the power surges, an anonymous tip saying there's someone dangerous in the Mystery Shack, and the signal from our missing flash drive."

He fell silent. Bill leaned against his side, sliding a hand onto his shoulder, reassuring (possessive, controlling).

Voice almost inaudible, Powers said, "Frankly, I'm terrified. At the thought that something might have been done to my mind."

"Of course you are." He ran his hand through Powers's thinning hair. "I can't think of anything more terrifying than having someone else's fingers inside your head, pulling the strings."

Bill almost felt bad for the big dummy. He was no great genius explorer-researcher, no intrepid paranormal investigator flying by the seat of his pants, no shaman nor scholar nor wizard nor psychic. He was by the books, methodical. He obeyed the rules, he filed his reports, he was patient with bureaucracy and trusting in the government.

He wasn't the kind of man who traveled to the bottom of a deep dark cave seeking a god of fire and sunlight who offered enlightenment. He wasn't the kind of human who called for Bill Cipher.

And yet... he had the potential to be an interesting person—and Bill did like to bring out people's potential. As staid and businesslike and dull as Powers was, buried beneath the tedium, he had that spark of curiosity that made a few humans so charming. The way he talked about Gravity Falls—the way its mysteries had pulled him in from the start, before it had scared the bejeezus out of him—Bill thought Powers wasn't driven to stamp out the strange, the way some eagles were. He just wanted to record it, quantify it, put it down in a little official report—see it.

Powers might appreciate a friendly muse pointing the way to the cave's exit and showing him the sunlight.

Unfortunately, there weren't any friendly muses in town. Just a dead triangle who didn't want to die again.

Powers put his hand over Bill's. "I'm glad I found someone I can trust."

"So am I." Bill leaned his cheek on Powers's shoulder, paying attention to the angle he tilted himself at, careful to seem natural. "It's good to have you here, Manny."

"Please... I—I want you to call me by my real name," Powers said. "It's—"

"Gary, isn't it?"

Powers turned to stare at Bill's face through the dark. "Yes. How did you know?"

"You know... I'm not sure."

Bill had a plan now.

And he wasn't about to help Powers find a way out of the cave into the sunlight; he was just reflecting fires in funhouse mirrors to dazzle his eyes and lead him deeper underground. This was what he was good at.

It would be fun. Bill would enjoy himself. Still, though—it was almost a pity. He mighta liked to get to know the guy. He might've been a fun toy to play with a little longer before he broke it.

######

(Some chapters you finish; and some chapters you stick in the queue to force yourself to stop editing them. This is the latter kind.

Once again, the only significant TBOB-related alteration to this chapter was clarifying Powers's department's relationship to other departments. Initially I had specified it was separate from the Department of Cover-Ups; now that we know his bureau handled the Trembley case, I put it under the Department of Cover-Ups.

Anyway this is a chapter I've been greatly looking forward to getting to, so I'm eager to hear y'all's thoughts!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #agent powers #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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littleprinces · 10 months ago

Text

The Night of Passion

IVE Liz x M! Reader

The night was dark, and the music was loud. The club was packed with people, all dancing to the rhythmic beats. I scanned the room, looking for someone who caught my eye. That's when I saw her. Liz. She was standing by the bar, sipping on a drink. She had long, wavy blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and curves in all the right places. I couldn't help but be drawn to her.

I made my way over to the bar, ordering a drink as I tried to think of a way to approach her. As I sipped on my whiskey, I noticed her gaze lingering on me. I took the opportunity and approached her, trying to think of a smooth line.

"Hey, I noticed you from across the room. You seem like the kind of girl who'd be up for a little adventure," I said, flashing her a charming smile.

She looked at me for a moment, her green eyes full of curiosity. "Is that so? What kind of adventure did you have in mind?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I leaned in close, my lips brushing against her ear as I whispered, "I was thinking something a bit more...private. Are you interested?"

Liz gave me a sultry smile and nodded, her eyes full of excitement. We made our way out of the club and into the cool night air. I led her to my car, where I had a surprise waiting for her.

"I thought we could have some fun in here," I said, opening the trunk to reveal a collection of toys and props.

Liz's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing with heat. "I've never done anything like this before," she admitted, biting her lip.

I reached into the trunk, pulling out a set of anal beads and a buttplug. "Well, there's a first time for everything," I said, handing them to her. "Why don't you try these on for size?"

Liz hesitantly took the items from me, examining them with a curious expression. I could tell she was nervous, but I knew we were going to have a good time.

I reached for the vibrator, pressing the button to bring it to life. "Now, let's get started. I'm going to fuck your pussy with this while you play with your ass," I said, sliding the vibrator inside of her.

Liz moaned softly, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the sensation. I watched her intently, my cock throbbing with anticipation.

"Now, take the anal beads and insert them one by one," I instructed, watching as she slowly pushed the beads into her tight ass.

Liz's breathing became ragged, her body trembling with pleasure. "Oh god, that feels so good," she whispered, her eyes locked on mine.

I grabbed the buttplug, lubing it up before pushing it into her ass. "And now, let's add this little toy to the mix," I said, watching as it disappeared inside of her.

Liz moaned loudly, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. "Oh fuck, that's so intense," she gasped, her body writhing in ecstasy.

I reached for the BDSM gear, attaching a leather collar around her neck. "Now, let's take this to the next level," I said, my voice low and commanding.

Liz looked up at me, her eyes full of trust and desire. "Yes, Sir," she said, her voice soft and submissive.

I led her back to my car, where I had set up a makeshift sex dungeon. I strapped her to the bed, her arms and legs spread wide. I took a moment to admire her body, my cock throbbing with anticipation.

"Now, let's get to work," I said, reaching for the anal beads and buttplug.

Liz moaned loudly as I removed the toys from her ass, her body trembling with pleasure. I slid my cock into her tight pussy, fucking her hard and fast.

"Yes, fuck me, Sir. Harder, deeper," Liz begged, her voice hoarse with desire

"Fuck liz, you are so dirty slut, you are gonna be my pet" i moan softly

"Yes Sir, fuck me, claim this dirty slut as yours" Liz moan harder

I gripped her hips tightly, pounding into her with all my might. "You like that, don't you? You like it when I fuck you hard," I growled, my voice full of lust.

Liz moaned loudly, her body shaking with pleasure. "Oh god, yes, fuck me harder," she gasped, her eyes locked on mine.

I reached down, grabbing her legs and pulling them up to her chest. I plunged my cock deep inside of her, fucking her with reckless abandon.

"Yeah, that's it. Take my cock like the dirty little slut you are," I said, my voice full of lust.

Liz moaned loudly, her body trembling with pleasure. "Oh god, yes, fuck me like that, Sir," she gasped, her eyes locked on mine.

I reached down, grabbing her clit and rubbing it roughly. "Are you ready to cum, you little slut? Are you ready to cum all over my cock?" I growled, my voice full of lust.

Liz moaned loudly, her body trembling with pleasure. "Oh fuck, yes, I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum all over your cock, Sir," she gasped, her eyes locked on mine.

I could feel her pussy clenching tightly around my cock, her orgasm ripping through her body like wildfire. I fucked her hard and deep, my own orgasm building inside of me.

"Yeah, that's it. Cum for me, you little slut. Cum all over my cock," I growled, my voice full of lust.

Liz moaned loudly, her body trembling with pleasure as she came hard. I pumped my cock deep inside of her, my own orgasm ripping through me like a tidal wave.

I pulled out of her, cum shooting out of my cock and splattering all over her pussy. "Yeah, that's it. Cum all over my little slut," I growled, my voice hoarse with lust.

Liz moaned loudly, her body trembling with pleasure as my cum dripped down her pussy and onto the bed.

"God, that was so intense," she whispered, her eyes locked on mine.

I smiled, my cock still throbbing with desire. "I told you we were going to have a good time," I said, my voice low and commanding.

Liz smiled, her eyes full of satisfaction. "Yes, Sir. You definitely delivered," she said, her voice soft and submissive.

I reached for the anal beads and buttplug, attaching them to my cock. "Now, let's see how you like it when I fuck your ass," I said, my voice full of lust.

Liz moaned softly, her eyes full of desire. "Yes, Sir. I want to feel your cock in my ass," she whispered, her voice hoarse with lust.

I positioned myself behind her, my cock ready to penetrate her tight ass. I pressed the head of my cock against her asshole, slowly pushing my way inside.

"Oh fuck, that's so intense," Liz gasped, her body trembling with pleasure.

Liz moaned loudly, her body trembling with pleasure. "Oh god, yes, fuck me in the ass, Sir," she gasped, her eyes locked on mine.

I gripped her hips tightly, fucking her ass with reckless abandon. "Yeah, that's it. Take my cock in your ass, you little slut," I growled, my voice full of lust.

I reached down, grabbing her clit and rubbing it roughly. "Are you ready to cum again, you little slut? Are you ready to cum all over my cock?" I growled, my voice hoarse with lust.

Liz moaned loudly, her body trembling with pleasure. "Oh fuck, yes, I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum all over your cock, Sir," she gasped, her eyes locked on mine.

I pulled out of her, cum shooting out of my cock and splattering all over her ass. "Yeah, that's it. Cum all over my little slut," I growled, my voice hoarse with lust.

Liz moaned loudly, her body trembling with pleasure as my cum dripped down her ass and onto the bed.

And the night will be so long for us

#ive smut #liz smut #girl group smut #kpop x reader #female idol smut

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enhypencores · 5 months ago

Text

Eat The Rich

Jay X Y/N

Genre: Romance/Angst/ Fluff

Word Count: 4K+

Warning: extremely suggestive, profanity, hatred against the rich, discusses the male gaze, violence and possession.

Synopsis: As your boyfriend, Park Jongseong, takes you to one of his high-stakes business events, you find yourself enduring the pretentious, cutthroat atmosphere of the dinner. You're determined to maintain his reputation, especially since he's trying to win the favour of a powerful chaebol. But things become hazy when the blonde chaebol's gaze lingers on you for too long.

<3<3<3<3

The large dining hall was illuminated with ambient candles and dim yellow chandeliers, an aura of sophistication and formality enveloping the expanse. Blue orchids occupied every table followed by a bottle of champagne, wine glasses and plates full of rich seafood such as smoked salmon with caviar and potato pancakes. The air was disturbingly thick with branded scents wafting off people, mixing with the smell of fish and flowers.

The massive hall suffocated you, making you clench your purse tighter.

High-society events had always sounded uncomfortable, but nothing could have prepared you for this trainwreck. It felt like a battle of the wealthy: women draped in brands you'd never heard of, exchanging fake laughs and snide remarks as they clung to their cashmere shawls, beaded with pleated gold—at least, that’s what you were told. If you had the choice, you’d never again breathe near these oblivious, high-nosed women, flaunting their lavish lifestyles, all thanks to their hardworking husbands.

They seemed untouchable, speaking the language of arrogance. They reminded you of your felines—aloof and haughty, exuding an air of superiority but ultimately ignorant.

As you sat there, dolled up in your tight-fitted dress, the thought of eating the rich lingered in your mind. You'd come across the phrase on social media and analyzed it through the lens of an unbiased journalist, but now, you couldn’t help but draw drastic conclusions.

Their world felt grotesquely split—luxury on the surface, emptiness beneath. They wore their generational wealth like a costume, but without it, they were nothing more than overgrown children in oversized suits, throwing around big words with small minds. Theatrical, pretentious, drowning in self-importance. Strip away the pretence, and they were exposed—hollow, unremarkable, and utterly unaware of how insignificant they truly were.

You desperately avoided these events. So what if your boyfriend, Park Jongseong, is one of the businessmen, featured in Times magazine as the hottest emerging entrepreneur in South Korea? A mere student of journalism, unfamiliar with the highs and lows of elitist culture, surely adds nothing to such obnoxious events.

But this time, he dragged your misfit ass to accompany him and formally introduce yourself to the crowds.

Jay was required to attend such events and ever since he told you about the women throwing themselves at him, you couldn’t help slip into an elegant dress and rush to join his side.

You paused, lips thin against the rim of your glass as you caught sight of your boyfriend in a black suit, wearing a blank expression on his face as a domineering aura surrounded him. You could tell he liked the gathering just as much as you did with the way his gaze was stoic and lips sealed.

This was the first time you had agreed to join him in such an event and you were glad you did.

He looked awfully handsome, his chocolate eyes brimming glowing in the hall's darkness. Sharp jawline set in a stiff smile and lips pink and wet from his drink as he nodded at his seatmate’s words. He was the centre of attention, not just because of his appearance but also his charming character.

Park Jongseong was the sole owner of X company, a name now included in the world’s largest food industries. Jay worked his way up the ladder despite having zero connections to big shots in the marketing industry. He worked with integrity and preserved quality in his brand. It was hard to access bigger doors in this dog-eat-dog world, but your boyfriend’s dedication to his craft and refusal to compromise on ethics bore the seeds of success.

Whilst most companies undermined him, the public seemed to appreciate his rigidity and soon he was opening up branches all over the world. Garnering praise from overseas magazines, every businessman was wary of his character. He had started at the bottom of the chain and earned his way up, struggle after struggle.

You were so proud to call him yours.

“My husband wanted to donate to the local NGO, but I was against it because we already paid for the church reconstruction. We take part in various charitable events, you see.”

How were the two situations remotely related? You wanted to voice out your distaste. Instead, you bit your tongue and smiled bitterly.

You searched for your boyfriend on the other table and noticed his curious gaze already trained on you. He carefully read your expression and immediately caught onto your discomfort, rising from his seat to approach you.

You watched narrowly as he crossed the large expanse, grabbed your hand and tugged you towards him. The five ladies on the table quickly quietened, jaw parting in disbelief as they greeted Jay in coy and shy voices. They sounded sugary sweet as if they weren’t already married; it made you want to smack them in the face with their Hermes bags.

Jay wrapped his arm around your waist, nodding at the ladies but never sparing them a glance as he led you away. You almost flipped off the flustered women but restrained yourself, knowing you couldn’t afford to smear Jay’s reputation by falling into a girly scuffle.

“You gotta pay me back for saving your ass back there,” he whispered against your ear, and chills quickly ran along your spine. You laughed at the smirk developing on his face.

“I didn’t need any saving,” you huffed, your challenging gaze daring him to say otherwise. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a soft smile, “We’ll see about that at home.”

Your stomach flipped.

Jay casually pulled you to his table and sat you down beside him, securing an arm behind your chair.

You instantly tensed up, surveying the intimidating circle of important looking people staring your way. Jay was currently sitting around huge business tycoons and their spouses.

A blonde man sitting opposite Jay caught your eye, and you froze. One of the most important men of the night, an old chaebol sat across from you, the man Jay was bidding on for future collaborations to invest in his dream project. Though nepotism was widespread, like an infectious disease in today’s world, these dinners were held to offer a chance for rising stars to socialize and build connections.

You straightened up your spine and flashed a soft smile.

“This is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

“Oh, young love!” One of the older couples gleefully chimed, and you smiled bashfully. “Aren’t they adorable?” Jay held the woman’s softened gaze.

“How wonderful to have such a young charming man all to yourself,” a middle-aged lady, sat beside her husband, covered in an expensive leopard fur coat claimed, an envious smile straining her wrinkles.

You nodded, but Jay shook his head dismissively.

“I’ve always been the lucky one.”

You felt a wave of emotions hurl up in your chest.

Jay spent long, struggling for every minuscule opportunity, and he deserved every ounce of the success. You were merely fortunate enough to love him through it all. For him to blatantly praise you before such a crowd, it tugged at your heart and made you want to cover him in kisses.

Since you’d met him, you were certain that nothing was unattainable when a man as keen and passionate as Park Jongseong stood by your side. You were definitely the luckier one.

You wanted to throw away everything to make him happy.

“How beautiful.”

Caught off guard, you spun to the origin of the voice. The chaebol, was staring—gawking at you.

With complacency in his tone and a sickening smirk on his lips, you suddenly felt under the spotlight.

“Are you currently studying?” He slurred, his accent becoming thicker with intent.

You felt chills run down your spine as you noticed his pupils wandering to your cleavage. You shifted in your seat, feeling regretful at your choice of dressing. It wasn’t even obscene, a casual midi dress with a silver of collarbone and the tiniest hint of cleavage. Nothing newsworthy. Yet you felt putrid.

You never wanted anyone to stare at you like that. It made your insides crawl. It made you feel insignificant, demoralized and inferior.

You knew his intentions were foul, but you refrained from showing a slight hint of it in your demeanour. It didn’t matter. You wouldn’t see him ever again after tonight, and this was Jay’s only chance at securing a life-changing deal, forming a once-in-a-lifetime connection.

You gulped and smiled indifferently.

“Journalism,” you responded dryly and blinked away.

You noticed Jay’s hand clench into a fist under the table and panic rippled in your chest. You quickly rubbed at his knuckles, fear racking your head as you flashed a nervous smile.

You knew better than to tick him off. Jay would singlehandedly destroy anyone who looked at you with ill intentions. You were a witness to it once at a party.

Wasted after a university gathering, a man tried to take you home despite your continuous rejection. Your friends saw your discomfort and dialled up your boyfriend’s number, who immediately took off with Heeseung’s motorbike and arrived like a thunderstorm, knocking the man’s front tooth out. With bloodied knuckles and a scowling face, you remembered him screaming in the alleyway as the cops came to the man’s rescue.

Poor Heeseung was left stranded in the middle of a worksite drenched in pouring rain. When you asked Jay why he opted for a bike instead of his car, he said the traffic was at its worst and had he taken his car, he’d have a hit-and-run case on his back trying to get to you.

“Jay,” you muttered, your mind going blank as you noticed the awakening demon in his eyes; his predatory stare trained at the man, his jaw clenched.

You suddenly wanted to evaporate. You tried to appease him as you stroked his knuckles, your soft skin gliding against his callous one. He gripped your hand tightly but kept his drilling gaze trained on the blonde man.

“Journalism? A beauty with brains.” His eyes were hazy and tone lousy due to heavy alcohol consumption.

His eyes again feasted at your exposed skin and you shrunk into your chair, your heart clashing against your chest.

“Lower your gaze.”

Dead silence.

The smiles dropped like a domino effect as men shifted in their seats, discomfort straining their wrinkled features. The males were used to the chaebol’s indecent behaviour… some even welcomed it— what’s a few demeaning remarks towards their women if they’ll win the favour of the world’s richest man?

The blatant call out and Jay’s scornful gaze had everyone sweating in their formal suits. The tension grew thick, and your throat tightened in alarm. Your hold on Jay’s hand grew tighter, forcing him to look at you.

“I’m fine, don’t do anything rash.”

But it seemed like your plea went through him, unheard.

His tense fist and determined stare directed at the chaebol made you realize that another word from the blonde would get Jay spiralling. You had to get out of here before it was too late.

You gave his hand another squeeze.

“Excuse me, I’m heading to the washroom,” you hurriedly announced, flashing Jay a complacent smile.

You didn’t look back as you hurried to the washrooms. You planned on spending the rest of the night in the lavatory since the party was awfully disappointing.

You wanted to be with Jay but not under the current circumstances. The blonde pervert was the most influential in this field and this country, and you wanted to do nothing that sabotaged your boyfriend’s future goals.

You locked yourself in one of the stalls and sat down annoyedly.

It was supposed to be a fun night out with your boyfriend.

You didn’t know a rich party full of influential businessmen was just a pathetic battle of the egos. To think, you skipped catching up with your favourite anime for this bullshit party. You grumbled spitefully, massaging your forehead in slow circles, hoping to ease the building ache.

“Excuse me,” you heard a shrill voice call out as someone knocked from outside.

You sat up alarmed.

“Yes?” You replied unsurely.

“I think your boyfriend is outside waiting for you.”

You jumped up, your eyes zeroing as you whipped the door open.

A brunette-haired woman you recognized as the server stood before you. “You’re Mr. Park’s girlfriend, right? He asked me to check inside for you,” she smiled and stepped to the sink, resuming to wash her hands.

You rushed for the door and yanked it open.

As expected, your boyfriend was stationed against the wall, his eyes already on yours, needy and impatient. He pulled you close to him, his fingers grazing your exposed neckline as he breathed you in.

“We’re going home,” he announced against your neck.

You nodded hesitantly, aware of his turmoil. You knew your boyfriend’s instincts were borderline predatory when he suspected your discomfort; it must have taken everything in him to not stalk over to the chaebol and smack him in the face.

Jay grabbed your hand and marched out to the hall.

The hall grew painfully silent like a funeral as you made your way down the carpet. Confusedly, you looked around, noticing everyone staring. Thick, suffocating tension persisted in the air as if a fire was brewing. It seemed like everyone had something to say but they were holding back. You looked back at your boyfriend, but he marched ahead, unaffected.

Anyone you passed, you heard a brief gasp escape their chest. You wondered what had happened for everyone to be so horrified and meek around him.

Your gaze fearfully drifted to the table with the chaebol and your heart dropped in your stomach. A dark red bruise circled the chaebol’s right eye, his pupil dilated and trembling with fear.

When you both were in the car park, you pulled at his arm, a gasp ringing loud.

“Jay, what the fuck? How could you attack him?” You gasped, finding it hard to process what you had just seen. He didn’t respond, keeping a moderate pace towards the car.

“Jay, I’m talking to you!” You shrieked, voice trembling with horror.

He finally halted in his tracks and turned towards you, his eyes burning with seething anger, his fists still clenched, a bluish bruise starting to form on his right knuckles.

“We need to get out of here before I do something much worse,” he spat, staring at you like a madman, running a hand through his gelled hair, voice thick with anguish.

You felt frustration building in your chest and your eyes burned with tears.

“That deal…” Your voice trembled. “Do you think he’ll let this go? He won’t—!” You cried, your head pounding.

You clung to his arm. “Let’s go back inside and apologise—”

Jay jerked his arm free, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. ��Apologise? Have you lost your mind?” His voice boomed across the empty lot, his gaze piercing through you like poison.

“You’ve worked so hard Jay!”

Jay was adamant about establishing himself. Never losing sight of his goals, he spent a year giving his all to his startup.

He earned investments after sacrificing sleep, lunch, date nights and family dinners. His whole universe revolved around his dream; most nights, he didn’t even sleep in the comfort of his bed because of the calls he’d get from investors demanding more insight.

You loved him so much, so much that you were always supportive. His absence made you lonely, but you restrained those urges because it was best not to bother him.

You internally ached for him.

Slowly, the ache started to disappear when he came back.

After successfully earning a huge investment, everything evolved. It was like his pot of love flooded and spilt everywhere, unable to be contained. He stopped working excessively. He dropped everything to come pick you up after your lecture, sometimes even accompanying you to the library for long study sessions. He became so clingy, so needy for your presence, it drove you insane—in the best way.

“Why are you crying?” He grimaced, his gaze softening as he watched tears flow down your cheeks.

“Because!” You croaked, tone flaring with temper.

“How could you ruin this?” You screeched, your face beat red and wet as you emptied out your heart. You were so angry and frustrated; you wanted to physically shake Jay into oblivion. “After this deal, you would’ve been unbeatable!” You threw your hands in despair.

Jay huffed, his eyes wide and crazed, pinning you down, holding you captive. “You care about my fucking investments right now?” He sounded hurt as well, his voice so quiet, you could tell he was boiling.

“Yes!” You cried. “After you’ve worked so hard for it… sacrificed so much of our time for it!” As soon as you said the words, the darkness in his eyes grew tumultuous.

Jay stepped close and before you could register it, he grabbed your wrist and slammed you to the car, his arms immediately cushioning the hit, protecting you from the impact. A loud clash echoed as he pinned you beneath him, his breathing heavy, his eyes glazed.

“I’ve worked so hard, day after day, so you can stand next to me without shame.”

Thoughts racing through you suddenly grew dull… silent like a breeze in the abyss. The silence stretched until you could hear his harsh breaths echo through your frame.

He gulped down a flood of things he must’ve wanted to say, instead he cupped your jaw, caressing your face.

“You deserved someone strong and I was so pathetic back then.” His words felt like acid flowing through your ears.

“Working shifts at the grill and serving bars in the night,” his voice cracked as his hold on your jaw tightened. “It was pathetic…” he reiterated, browns in his eyes becoming liquid.

Each word pained you more than you could imagine. Your heart broke as he reminisced about your early years at university when he working minimum wage to pay for his tuition. It was around the time you were enthralled by him, the studious senior, always sat alone, at the far end of the library with his nose in some business book.

Sleep-deprived eyes, a languid smile and a date to his workplace were enough to get you head over heels in love with the man.

“Jay, I was never ashamed—how could you even think—” You felt choked up. Words seemed to have failed you.

Jay blinked back his tears. “I was unworthy, and it made my blood boil.” He traced your bottom lip with his thumb. “Heeseung hyung said I should give you up. It was an easy way out… but the thought of that kept me up at night.”

Your jaw dropped—Heeseung had told him to let you go, and he'd kept it from you.

“The fact that he even mentioned that made me sick—gave me nightmares. It was a reality check,” he growled, his breaths strained as he thought back to the memory. “That night, I decided to be worthy of you. I decided no one on this fucking planet will ever think of separating us.”

“Because you’re mine. I can give up this entire world but never you,” he whispered, and his mouth lowered, finding your neck.

“Jay, you were never any of that—you were everything I needed,” you gasped as he kissed down your neckline.

“W—Why didn’t you ever tell me?” You bit your lips, restraining the adulterous sounds as Jay’s lips pressed a trail of wet kisses before he bit into a sensitive region. His tongue slickly traced the bite mark across the neckline as he tasted you to his fulfilment.

“Because you don’t need to worry about it,” he rasped, his heavy pants taking over your mind, making you twitch and shudder in his hold.

“I’ve achieved enough to protect you,” he whispered against your skin and dropped wet kisses down to your cleavage.

“I want to rip his filthy eyes out for looking at you,” he snarled, the bitterness and rage returning. His eyes remained on yours, watching you throw your head back as he painted you a darker shade of red.

His kisses grew desperate and needy—his grip on your waist tight.

Your body reacted on its own, curling into his heated frame.

He finally leaned up and connected his mouth with yours. It was unlike any other. He was usually gentle with your mouth, calling your lips two pretty petals, but in the darkness of his anger, he was swallowing you whole. He invaded through the gap and sucked at your tongue, his neck craning to the side as he meticulously drained your mouth.

Everything felt hot, from his heavy breath to the hand digging in your waist to his intense gaze harbouring a storm; it was everything.

You felt guilty for letting him do this in a public car park where anyone could walk in and watch a show. But it also felt so euphoric, to have him feasting on you like his last meal.

Jealous and angry Jay made your stomach pool.

“You’re gorgeous for me—how dare that fucking crook stare?” His saliva pooled down your neck as he dug his teeth into your breast. A dry gasp escaped your mouth, your eyes falling shut in pleasure.

“Jay,” you breathed, your body aching with want.

Your breathy words were enough to send him spiralling. He started to push himself into you, sucking your flesh like honey would melt on his tongue.

You felt him.

He was so brutally turned on; your legs felt weak as his masculine scent assaulted your senses. He supported your waist, digging his nose into your hair, inhaling you.

You were so heated that when you heard a heel clicking against the marble floor, your mind was elsewhere, refusing to comprehend it. You were completely overwhelmed by the woody scent of his cologne, the heat of his mouth and hard centre pushing into your pelvis. It would be embarrassing to get caught, but you were overwhelmed, so overwhelmed with him.

Suddenly, you were knocked out of your trance as Jay jerked back, his gaze pained and hazy with longing. His limbs shook as his chest heaved, his body so rigid, afraid to move or he would fall to the ground.

He clenched at his hair and swore under his breath.

“Get in the car. No one sees you like this,” he ushered.

What was he insinuating? You didn’t have time to ask as he threw an impatient glare. You obediently ran to the passenger seat and jumped inside, your heart clashing against your chest rampantly.

As you caught sight of the front mirror, you realised why your boyfriend had been so adamant. He didn’t want anyone to see your messy hair, hooded gaze, flushed and painted red; you looked lustrous, turned on and oozing with desire.

Jay was beside you the next second, his forehead covered in a thick sheen of sweat and his black strands a sultry mess.

“I can’t drive. I literally can’t feel my legs.”

You threw your head back, bursting out laughing as he glared at you, his pupils dilated and still buzzing with need.

“Shut up before I fuck you in the backseat,” he threatened.

Shut up, you did.

You knew him too well to know that he would actually comply.

You watched him as he sat inhaling and exhaling, a meditating exercise he sometimes used to recover.

After a couple more painful minutes, he finally drove home and you had never seen him drive so fast, breaking all the traffic laws in the rulebook.

“Jay…” You called out as you noted the familiar apartment gate appear.

“Hm?” He nibbled on his lip, steering the wheel as he reversed the car into the garage.

“I will crash Heeseung’s motorbike the next time I see him.” And as he came to a stop, you saw him laugh into oblivion as he hauled you in his arms and hastened towards your flat.

After getting pushed into the bedsheets with a persistent boyfriend devouring you through the night, you laid on his bare chest, drowsy and exhausted, smiling into oblivion.

He looked down curiously, kissing down your spine.

“What’s got you so happy goofball?”

“I have the title for my final.”

Eat The Rich, a tedious trip into the small minds of the land’s biggest chaebols

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pit-and-the-pen · 9 months ago

Text

(Nothing But) Flowers

a smutty Eris fic for @tsunami-of-tears's birthday! Happy Birthday! Here's some Eris sex pollen to hopefully add to a wonderful day <3

Eris x reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), Sex Pollen, fingering, p in v sex, praise, Porn without plot.

Wc: 4k

Autumn was still so beautiful to you. Despite being mated to the high lord, you were still in awe of every sight you sunk in. Spring was so different from autumn. With its trees and their myriad of colors, the way the animals scurried around silent safe for some crackling leaves under their feet. And all the new plants you got to explore. Being from spring you had grown up around the soft petaled blooms but here it was so different. Deadly mushrooms and ferns as large as houses. There was always something new for you to find.

Which is how you ended up far off the path in the forest. Following a trail of almost glowing dust that led to a large clearing full of bright purple blooms. The smell was enticing on its own but the flowers were just so pretty, reminding you of violets. Your hand reached out to touch one of the petals and it seemed to open further to you, almost begging for you to run a finger along the petals. They were soft under your hand. Velvety almost. The pollen at the center of the bloom stuck t o your fingers. The fluff was almost as stick as tree sap and you couldn’t get it off of your fingers as you tried to brush it off on your skirt. You just stared at it, wondering why it wouldn’t leave your skin, but a tree branch snapping in the distance made you realize how dark the sky had gotten. Not wanting to figure out exactly what happened in the forest after dark, you started the trek back to the forest house.

Despite the air temperature lowering with the sun, you felt your skin starting to heat up. You placed a gentle hand to your forehead, trying to gauge for any fever. It felt normal enough to you, nothing that would explain the way your whole body was starting to flush. It must be all the walking. You thought and just continued on your way.

By the time you reached the house, you had shed your riding cloak and the first layer of your dress. Skin flushed, you could feel a bead of sweat dripping down the back of your neck and the contrasting coolness had you squirming.

Eris was sitting in the armchair by the fire, feet perched up and a book in his lap. His reading glasses were halfway down the bridge of his nose. Your mate turned to look at you when you entered and you saw his eyes widen.

“Sweetheart, are you okay? You look like you’re burning up.” He put his book down and started walking over to you. His scent hit you full force then. Cinnamon, tart apples and a musk that was exclusively Eris. It was enough to send another wave of heat over your skin and draw a long whine from your mouth. The concern only grew in his face as he misunderstood the noise. Thinking it was due to whatever sickness was coursing through your veins and not the growing desire to jump him right then and there.

He closed the distance between the two of you and reached a hand out to copy your earlier movements, checking for a fever. He jumped at the contact. “Sweetheart, you’re burning up. Why would you go out if you were feeling this bad?” You could only focus on the lingering feeling of his hand on your forehead, the way you leaned in closer to him at the contact. You willed your brain to listen to the words he said, his face letting you know he needed an answer.

“I wasn’t feeling this bad when I left.” The words felt heavy in your mouth, like your tongue had been changed to iron in minutes. You fought through it as best as you could. “I was walking back to the house and I started feeling like this.”

He didn’t hesitate before he asked, “What did you do while you were there?”

It took you a while to remember. To think back on what you had done all day.

“I was walking down the path. Just looking around at all the animals, and plants. Then I saw a few flowers that I haven't seen before and went to go look at them. They were so pretty. But they had a…” You searched for the word. “Like a sap almost.” You held out your hand to show him the lingering pollen and found that there was no sign of it, not even a residue. You stared at your hand in disbelief. You haven't washed away the sticky substance, your hands weren’;t sweaty enough on their own. Eris noticed you looking at your fingers and gently cupped your hand in his. You squirmed under the touch. You felt another wave of arousal shot through you and his eyes snapped to yours, nostrils flaring.

“Did the flowers happen to be purple, love?” He asked, voice suddenly low. You nodded and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Is that bad?” You asked, scared of his reaction.

He must have sensed your unease and he calmed the nervous expression on his face.

“Not bad. Necessarily. We should probably get you in the bath.” He said quickly, changing the topic.

“Eris, what are those flowers?”

He sighed heavily. “They’re flowers that we grow specifically for Calanimia. You have the stag in spring, and we have a tea that we make from the leaves of those particular flowers. And they…well..they.” His hand came up to scratch the back of his neck as he seemingly searched for the words. It dawned on you then. A tea for Calamia.Your face flushed even more as you took in his words.

“Oh.” Was all you could think to say.

“Like I said, we should get you into a bath. Try to cool you down.” He started leading you to the bathing room attached to your bedroom but his hand on the small of your back pulled a loud moan from your mouth. The heat on your skin is almost searing under the weight of his hand. You arched into the touch as you felt your wetness start to coat your inner thigh. Eris swore under his breath, fingers clutching at the fabric of your dress, trying to steady himself. You turned around to face him and were met with his blown out pupils. His jaw was set tight, teeth picking at the skin of his lip as he stared back at you. All the heat evaporated from your body at that look, pooling into your stomach and breasts. Both started to ache in a delicious way that had you surging forward to capture your mates lips on yours.

He held you gently, lightly returning the kiss. A groan of frustration left you as you tried to deepen the kiss but he just pulled you away from him.

“Sweetheart.”

“Please Eris. I feel like I’m on fire right now. It’s…Gods it’s like the fucking mating frenzy all over again.” You pleaded and you were telling the truth. Eris and you were unable to keep your hands off of each other for nearly a month when you accepted the bond. It got to the point where you had to send servants away because of the amount of times that they had caught you in various areas of the house. Even then, when you borough them back, you noticed the lack of male servants in the forest house. This burning was so similar, but somehow worse. Fat tears started forming in your eyes at the thought of him not touching you. Even now you were wondering why he wasn’t already inside of you. You could smell his arousal and a quick glance down at the front of his pants showed that he was already mouth wateringly hard.

“I know. But let’s get you into some cold water and see how you feel after that.” You perked up at the idea. You would have to be undressed to take a bath. And you knew your husband. He was never one to say no for taking you in the tub. So you let him lead you up to your bedroom, knees slightly wobbly like a baby deer.

He kept the touching to a minimum. Not wanting to rile you up any further, plus his hands were buddy trying to keep yours off of him.

By the time you two both got to the bathing room, he practically had to pin your arms to your side to keep you from unbuttoning more of his shirt. A heavy pout graced your soft features and he only pulled your lips together before he started to slowly unlace your dress.

You leaned into his chest as he undid the strings of your corset. Nothing like you normally wore, just a casual walking corset and a single layer of dresses thanks to you discarding part of your outfit earlier. But when his knuckle dragged across the bare skin of your back as he pushed the corset down, you shuddered violently against his touch. His arm snaked around your waist to keep you from collapsing into a puddle on the floor.

He placed you on the bathroom counter before going to fill the tub. You felt your brain fogging even more as you watched Eris’ back muscles contract. The sight was enough to make you drool. You couldn’t help the thought of how his muscles would flex as he was pounding into you. Eris stiffened as soon as the image popped into your head. Your intoxicated state must have opened up the bond wide and clear for him because you were able to smell his arousal in the room. It almost floated towards you, wrapping around your whole body and making you want to drown in it.

“Eris.” You whined. You saw the small shake of his head before he turned to face you.

“Sweetheart.” He took one look at you, the way your skin was flushed, your pupils too-wide pupils, and he moved towards you. He took two long steps before he froze. “Gods. You look good enough to eat but I….” He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, sending a calming caress down the bond.

Eris picked you up and pried off your arms as he deposited you in the bath. A hiss rushed past your teeth at the cold temperature. He sighed a little and placed his hand in the water, warming it ever so slightly that the goosebumps on your arms went away.

“Can you come in too?” You asked him, the water clearing your mind a little. Washing away some of the raging heat but leaving you craving your mate none the less.

“If I do, you have to keep your hands to yourself? Do you think you can do that for me?” He was speaking slowly, giving you time to process his words. You frowned slightly at the idea but nodded anyways, desperate to feel your mate in any way. He placed a small kiss on your forehead and rose to his feet to start taking off his own clothes.

You didn’t take your eyes away for a second, afraid to even blink and miss the sight in front of you. Inch by inch all of his wonderful body was exposed to you. His pants were last, pulled off his feet with his boxers in a swift movement. Your eyes zeroed in on his hard cock. The tip bright red. He followed your eye line and somehow managed to get you to look in his eyes.

“Remember what I said?” He asked simply, voice still soft.

“No touching.” You responded and that seemed confirmation enough for him to climb in behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you against his chest. It took every bit of self control you had to keep your arms pinned to your side. The rational part of your brain reminding you that he was doing this for your safety. For your comfort.

So you leaned into his touch, savoring the bit of himself he was giving you. Your head was resting on the middle of his chest. Just content to sit in the water with him. But as soon as you got comfortable, another wave of desire pulsed through you. Somehow stronger than before. The feeling made your skin tight, almost itchy and it was painful. You let out a quiet whine, trying to hold back the sound from reaching your mates ears. It obviously didn't work. He would have been able to hear the discomfort if he was in the other room, plus you knew he could feel it being sent down the bond. His arms started to trail lightly up and down your side, resting on your shoulders where he lightly tried to knead out some of the tension resting on them.

The calming action seemed to have the exact opposite effect. HIs hands might as well have been between your legs with the searing pleasure it brought you. A deep moan left your lips that had Eris stiffening again behind you. You felt his touch start to recede and reached a hand up to keep him there. But you remembered the condition he gave you.

“Please, don’t stop.” You whined out pathetically. Much to your delight, his hands didn’t leave your shoulders. But they stayed still, not wanting to cause another reaction.

You stayed like that for a few more minutes, the pressure between your legs slowly building hotter and hotter.

Eris dragged his lips lightly over the junction between your neck and shoulders. You shuddered against him. When he spoke, his lips were right against your ear.

“Can I try something, my love?” You could have cried at his words, relief rushing through you and causing you to relax further into him.

“Yes, nother above, Eris please.”

“I know it hurts but I want to see if I can help just a little.” At his words, you felt his fingers gently wrap around your front. Hands slightly warm as he reached for your breasts. Grabbing one of your taunt nipples in between the long digits and putting the perfect amount of pressure on it. When you cried out, he repeated the motion on the other side. Letting you squirm against him, soaking up the pleasure he was giving you.

ONe of his hands started to glide down your stomach, searing a trail down between your legs. You screamed his name as his finger made contact with your swollen clit. Hips already bucking into his hand. He wrapped his legs over yours, pinning you in place.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself, sweetheart. Just sit back and let me do the work.” He said before he resumed his earlier kisses along your neck as he started to slowly circle his finger on your clit. Your head was thrown back, eyes already squeezed tight as you clutched the edge of the tub, knuckles white as you tried to fight the urge to grip his arms. His hand that was still kneading your breast came and gently moved your hand to his thigh. Instantly you clawed your hand around it, grateful for the grounding presence.

You could already feel your peak nearing, your moans and cries reaching a higher pitch. Garbled version of Eris’ name leaving your lips signaled just how close you were. He sped his fingers up, drawing tighter, faster circles that had you seeing stars. You back arched off of his chest as you felt yourself about to fall over the edge. His teeth lightly nipping at your neck was all you needed to fall apart. Your body jerked at the force of your orgasm, hips twisting as much as you were allowed to. You could still feel your walls clenching around nothing as Eris swiftly drove two fingers inside your aching hole. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, back still arched, head facing the ceiling. Your nails bit into Eris’ thigh, harder than you meant to but as he sunk his fingers in and out of you, you couldn’t find a way to realize your hand. All your brain seemed to be able to do was focus on his thick fingers inside of you, the cold metal of his wedding ring hitting the inside of your thigh.

“Good girl. You’re doing so good for me.” you whined at his words, unable to respond.

“I know it hurts but you’re being so good. Just cum for me.” And his words were enough to push you over the edge again. Already so worked up from your first orgasm. His fingers didn’t stop though as you screamed his name. It was hard to tell where one orgasm started and the other one stopped after that. His fingers refused to stop until you were scratching at his wrist, pleading for him to at the very least slow down. He milked one last orgasm from you, fingers brushing against the soft spot deep inside of you and pulled his fingers out from your aching center slowly. You turned around in the tub, facing him before you rested your head against his chest. You heartbeat was frantic at this point but nothing compared to his.

When you looked at Eris, his face was flushed matching your own. His lip looked like he had spent a good amount of time between his teeth. You placed a small kiss to the small indents on his bottom lip.

You just rested against his chest, Eris using his powers to keep the bath warm while you came back down to earth. Once you couldn’t hear your heartbeat in your ears anymore, he helped you climb out of the bath. Thinking clearly for the first time in what felt like hours, you blushed.

“Thank you.” You said to your mate while he helped you dry off, avoiding your breast and between your legs. He slipped one of his shirts over your head, letting it fall past your thighs.The fire was still there but was tamed down to a dull roar. Nothing like the all consuming feeling from earlier. Eris had a self-satisfied grin on his face when he captured your cheek in his hand, pulling you to him as he layed back on the bed. You could feel how hard he still was, even through his sleep pants.

“Eris…”

“I’ll be fine.” He said in a sleepy voice. He sounded more worn out than you did at the moment.

“But I don’t want to sleep…” You trailed off as you started running your hand down his bare chest. He groaned when you ran a single finger along the line where his pants sat, hips slightly bucking towards your hand. You looked up at him, his eyes closed, hair still damp from the bath and felt desire sink back into your bones. You paused for a second as your hand dipped into his waistband. He nodded his head, eyes now looking down at you. That was all it took for you to pull his pants down just enough for his cock to spring against his stomach. Your mouth watered at the pretty pink flush it had and as much as you wanted to take him into your mouth the ache between your legs was too much to ignore now. So you quickly slung your leg over his hips and grabbed his throbbing cock in your hand. He let out a string of curses as you ran his tip through your drenched folds, once, twice and then began to sink down onto him. your hands shot out to his chest, catching yourself before you could slump against his chest. His hands were instantly on your hips, clutching at the flesh. Fingers digging in so tightly his nails were leaving behind pretty half moon indents. His throat was tight by the time you sank all the way down. Letting yourself just absorb the pleasure that was the feeling of his cock inside of you. You rocked back slightly and threw you head back at the way his tip pushed against your cervix. This was a million times better than his fingers and once you had adjusted to the feeling you were rocking back and forth on his lap. Hands helping you push off of his hips. He did his best to keep still, the strain in his face proof of that. He wanted to let you chase your high, let you get this damned pollen out of your system. But you weren’t having any of it.

“Gods, Eris. You feel so good. Filling me up so perfectly.” You started to babble. Letting the words come out in a breathy whine. His hips bucked up as you spoke. Breaking some of the words with high pitched moans. Your nails were leaving angry red lines on his chest and the slight pain only seemed to nudge him even more. You could see the struggle in his eyes as you looked down at him. His lip was slightly bleeding because of how hard his teeth were sinking into it. You lifted a hand off of his chest and pulled his lip from his teeth. You leaned down and gave him a deep kiss. Tongue sweeping across his bottom lip to sooth the angry flesh. The hands on your hip grew slightly warmer as you started to speed your hips up. Rocking back and forth to a tempo you both loved. Your breasts were pushed against his chest from the angle of the kiss, rubbing your nipples against the smattering of hair on his chest. He whined into the kiss as you raised your hips up slowly before slamming them back down.

“Good boy.” You teasingly muttered against his lips and that was all it took for him to lose that last little bit of control. He grabbed one of your shoulders and pulled his feet flat on the bed. The new angle forces you to sit up. He pulled the prettiest of moans from your lips. Soft cries and hiccups. You felt like he had filled your veins with electricity as he thrusted into you harder. He was grunting from the heavenly pace of his thrusts. You could only let your head fall back as you started racing towards your orgasm.

‘Are you gonna cum for me sweetheart, come all over my cock?” He said in a mocking tone. He already knew the answer, you could feel your walls fluttering tighter against him. “Go ahead my flame.” His command had you writhing against his lap, legs shaking and it was only his hand on your shoulder guiding you that kept your hips moving. Your whole body felt so exhausted suddenly. But you focused on letting him chase his high. He kept pounding into you. Filthy grunts and moans leaving his open mouth as you felt yourself coming back down to earth after your orgasm. He gave you a few harsh, long strokes and you felt his thighs tense as he came deep inside of you. The feeling of his cum against your walls acted like a balm to the heat against your skin. Satisfying whatever senses the pollen had overtaken. You collapsed against his chest. Both of you sucking down lungfuls of air. You stayed on his chest, only moving enough to lift yourself off his softened length. You giggled a little as you felt his cum pool out of you. The both of you sat there, letting your heartbeats slow down until they're almost in sync.

“Are you feeling any better?” He said into the crown of your head, his hand tracing feather light touches up and down your back. You just sighed happily and nuzzled further into his chest.

“I do think we’ll have to take another bath…” You propped yourself up on your elbows, a wide smile on your face. You gave him a dramatic wink. Eris grabbed your arms and rolled you over onto your back.

“Then let's make sure you’re properly dirty then, shall we my love?” His words made you pull him by his hair to your lips. Whatever it was seemed to be out of your system but seemed to be just getting started for your mate.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acosf #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #eris acotar #eris vanserra #eris vanserra smut #eris x reader #eris vandaddy #eris #eris x you #sex pollen

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pearlymel · 7 months ago

Note

Could I request Boothill, Argenti, and Jing yuan (as well as your faves if youd like to add more) with an s/o who has panic attacks or panic disorder(unprompted panic attacks)?

No worries if you arent comfortable with the topic

@dragon-anon

ʚɞ Synopsis : the hsr men helping you through your panic attacks.

Includes : Jing Yuan, Argenti, and Boothill.

Warnings : gn!reader, panic attacks, fluff fluff.

Notes : one time i had a panic attack and didn't know what to do, it was a bit scary. Ty for the request, to anyone reading this, my requests will be closed for now as i have upcoming fics for you all ♡

↳ ARGENTI.

The rain, how lovely it was. Watching the harsh droplets of rain fall down. Despite the force of the downpour, you remained completely dry, shielded from its touch. Argenti, ever protective, had ensured that not a single droplet came close to your skin, holding the umbrella gracefully to shield both of you, his side shoulder even dampening since you both won't fit underneath the protective shield of the umbrella.

The rain, normally a soothing and calming presence, now seemed to amplify your anxiety rather than soothe it. You felt the familiar weight of panic settling upon you, like a train smashing through the thoughts in your head. Your breathing grew labored and shallow, your chest constricting as if being squeezed. You tried to rationalize your feelings, wondering if you were just overthinking the situation, but deep down you knew it was a panic attack.

“My dear,” he repeated, because you seem not to hear him the first time, he took note of your labored breathing and the wild eyes. And immediately, he took your hand to find a place to sit together, finding a concreted side and wiping the dirty water with his hands or parts of his clothes, all so it could be a bit dry for you to sit on.

Once both seated, he spoke again, “i want you to follow the rise and fall of my chest, okay?” His voice was firm, yet soft and smooth like silk, he held both of your cold, clammy hands and placed them over his chest. You couldn't speak, like you were in a bit of shock, but you followed his instructions, feeling how his chest rose and fell, you copied the movements, your head falling a bit since the chest tightness wouldn't go.

Argenti continued to take slow, measured breaths, letting the rise and fall of his chest guide your own. He could see beads of sweat forming on your forehead, your body shaking under his touch.

“You’re doing great, darling,” he murmured, his hands gently massaging your back in an attempt to soothe you. “Just follow my lead, nice and slow. You’re doing well.”

"l-lovely weather." You try whispering as you look around to lighten the mold, the rain only intensifying in return. "Indeed, it is lovely." His gaze never leaving your face as he spoke, like he was referring to you rather than this predicament. He slowly moved one of his hands up to cup your cheek, gently thumbing away some of the water droplets that clung to your skin.

You manage to calm down in a short time, you give your knight a soft smile of appreciation, and he took your hand in return, pressing a gentle kiss on the palm pf your hand.

↳ BOOTHILL.

There were a lot of people, too many. You felt the place was suffocating you, like their gazes were all on you despite everyone minding their own business.

It felt like their eyes were eating you, judging your every move, your appearance, how you spoke even.

You were zoning out, parting your lips to breathe, your hands grabbing a fistful of the fabrics of your clothes on your sides. You forget that Boothill was even in front of you, and unaware of your internal strife, Boothill continued his bantering, blissfully ignorant of the panic attack about to unfold.

However, when he noticed your labored breathing and how you were grabbing at your sides so harshly, his expression shifted, concern etching across his rugged features. "Somethin's wrong," he stated, his gaze flickering with a mix of curiosity and worry, "Are you alright, darlin'?"

You swallow thickly, "It's crowded, i think, i don't want to be here, I can't breathe—"

He instinctively stepped closer, his presence creating a bubble of personal space that shielded you from other party-goers.

"Hey, hey, hey..." He whispered, his voice soothing. "Don't panic, darlin'. Just focus on me, yeah? Take a deep breath. Let the air fill up your lungs nice and slow." You try following his instructions, he even rubs at your back, his other hand blocking your view to see the others. It was just you and him.

Boothill continued his gentle reassurance, his voice a soothing constant in the midst of the anxiety. "That's right, darlin'. Keep taking slow breaths. There's no need to rush." He added, rubbing your back in steady, circular motions, "Feel my hand on your back. Just focus on that feeling. In... and out... In... and out..."

It's magical, how relaxed you felt, it makes you close your eyes, "Thank you."

"No thanks needed, darlin'," Boothill uttered out with a grin, "I reckon we can take it easy for a moment. Just focus on your breathing. We can stay like this for a while."

"But we're kind of in the middle of the crowd.." you try looking around again, but he stops you from doing so, "those other folks, they ain't worth your worry. Just focus on yourself, alright?"

↳ JING YUAN.

When Jing Yuan entered the room, he saw you curled up in the corner on your desk, one hand almost pulling at your hair. He noticed how there were paper cups falling off your desk, rolling on the ground with the remaining drops of dark brown liquid seep from it.

Ah, you must've had too much caffeine.

"Sweetheart, how many cups did you drink?" Was the first question that was shot towards you, and you look behind you like you were a caught-disturbed cat.

Four, five cups? you felt the anxiety even crawling at your back, whispering harsh things into your ear.

Your heartbeat only quickened, probably from the fear of messing up your work that you pulled an all nighter for.

He was behind you where you sat, and he gently grabbed your chin and tilted your head upwards to look at him. He examined your face for a moment before shaking his head, “You really need to take better care of yourself. Look at you. You look like a mess.” He lightly pinched your cheek, making you frown, but your lips quiver slightly.

You try to speak back, but the quickening of your heartbeat wouldn't stop, you slouch on your seat, one hand resting on your chest while you try making sense of this.

Why was your chest tightening? Why are you shaking? Why do you feel nauseous?

Realising the severity of the situation, he drops onto one knee infront of you, taking your hands into his, “your eyes are unfocused, breathe for me a bit, can you do that?” he talks you through every single second of it, watching the slightest changes of your breathing or the way you focus at his face, taking it all calmly for you, but he was serious about it.

"I'll help you finish your project," he offers, standing up from the ground, "you don't have to—"

"I want to." He insists, bringing both of his hands to grip the sides of your seat while leaning closer to you.

For god's sake, his face is too charming for your poor heart.

"And you're banned from taking any kinds of caffeine." He gives you a cat like smile, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before walking past you to sort your papers out.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fluff #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x you #argenti #argenti x reader #argenti x you #boothill #boothill x reader #boothill x you #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #hsr argenti #hsr boothill

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neontiger · 19 days ago

Note

Could you do something about looking into Jason’s wallet and seeing a little picture of you there?

Baby, this is too cute ♡ Wrote this while at work so I didnt have time to edit, so apologies for any misspells or whatnots. Thank you so much for the love ♡♡♡

~♡♡♡~

The week had been rough on both you and Jason, though for wildly different reasons - you with the double shift four out of five days, him with taking down a gang that had until recently been harassing the residents of the Hill - and so when Sunday night rolled around neither of you could be bothered to get dressed for your regular date night.

Pizza and a movie at your apartment it was, then.

You click through the options, all TV shows, but no movie that feels right. Too many choices and your brain is already empty and tired. Jason's not faring better, arm around your shoulder as you lay against him on the couch, his head dipping down every few minutes as sleep threatens to take him.

He groans, head falling back. His hand squeezes your shoulder. "Let me up," he says. "I'm gonna take a shower."

You wrinkle your nose at him. "Pizza's not far, you know."

He shrugs. "I'm gonna pass out waiting for you to pick something. May as well get clean first."

You give a dry laugh as you sit up to let him off the couch. "You stink anyway," you add, for that extra bite, as he leans to kiss your forehead.

He pinches the tip of your nose lightly between two fingers. "You like it."

You watch him walk away, enjoying the view of his broad back in his tight black shirt...his ass in those sweatpants...until he shoots you a knowing glance over his shoulder. You divert your gaze quickly back to the television.

The water from the shower is at full blast when the doorbell rings. You narrow your eyes at the bathroom door - surely Jason can feel that little bit of contempt through the wood - before getting up. You're not wearing much, a thin cotton slip dress to combat the summer heat, and grab his sweatshirt from where he abandoned it earlier on the bed. Decent enough now to open the door, you grab Jason's wallet from the kitchen counter and move to answer as the doorbell rings again.

"I'm here," you grumble, mostly to yourself, as you pull the door open. Habits built working customer service has a small plastered on your face a second later and you quickly flip open Jason's wallet to dig out enough for the pizza and a big tip.

Instead you falter, cheeks flushed, as you come face to face with yourself.

You recognize the picture; you texted it to him one lonely night when he was out, wearing that mask, cleaning the streets, putting himself in danger...why he needed to, what he was trying to repair, you didn't know...you'd been in your bed staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry. He'd texted first, that's right. He wanted to know how your night was. He missed you. The picture was your response: smiling but eyes a little red, very tired, wearing a shirt he'd left behind.

"It’s $21.49, ma'am."

You shove $32 at the delivery guy and snatch the pizza from his hands. Before he can ask about your change you shut the door.

Your heart races. Pumps blood too fast through your veins, making the walk to the kitchen loose and wobbly. You set the box on the counter and stare at the photo.

Jason's not the sentimental one. You're the collector, clinging to bits of him, to souvenirs, because you knew that one day...because you knew. But not Jason. He didn't put memories in objects.

And yet here you were, safe in his wallet where he could always have you.

The shower clicks off. You close his wallet and hurry to replace it on the counter. Your cheeks still burn as Jason emerges from the bathroom wearing only a towel low on his hips. Water beads on his muscled chest and arms, the right one tense and flexed as he holds the towel up with a clenched fist.

"D'you have some of my underwear here?" He asks.

You snort. "Yeah. Closet, third drawer down."

He smirks. "Pervert," he says, before making his way to the closet.

You try not to rush him, to not throw your arms around and kiss him. Instead you make your way as calmly as your overexcited heart allows to the nightstand next to your bed, to pull open the bottom drawer and find the old digital camera there. It's been a few months since you last used it - with him, actually, taking pictures of birds at the park - but it still has enough charge.

Jason glances at you, fixing the waistband of his underwear. "What are you doing?"

You aim the camera at him and snap a photo. He grins. "We should take some pictures," you say. "You know, in case you want to carry one with you. In case you miss me."

He walks around the bed and wraps an arm around your waist. Strong, warm, a little damp...you could melt into him, right now, right here. He takes the camera from your hands. "That sounds like a good idea," he says.

His lips press yours, a smile on them. The camera flashes above you like stars.

#request ☆#jason todd #red hood #jason todd fluff #jason baby ily #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n

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aemondsbabe · 10 months ago

Text

Duty & Sacrifice | Claimant Pt 2

summary: your wedding to jace will happen whether you and aemond like it or not; even still, you know where you truly belong

pairing: dark!brother!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, threats against jace, jace slander do not come at me you were warned, blood purest aemond like he's voldemort coded idk he loves that valyrian o neg, breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, biting, brief hand on neck, possessive aemond, obsessive aemond, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: big thank you to @rabbit-hearted for sending a request for more dark!aemond! i hope you enjoy!! dark aemond was a bit toned down in this one but he (and the reader) will be going unhinged psycho in part 3 uwu

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 here!

❤️my masterlist

🦋find me on ao3!

🌟add yourself to my taglist!

“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Princess,” your lady’s maid coos over your shoulder while she finishes tying the laces at the back of your gown, eliciting a chorus of echoing hums and titters of agreement from the other women fluttering about your chambers.

“Thank you, Kella,” you murmur, meeting her gaze in the mirror, your lips stretched into a thin, tight smile. Even in your periphery, the sight of the ivory dress makes your stomach turn and twist into barbarous knots and you quickly glance away. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that eats at your heart as you keep your eyes trained on the shelves beside the mirror, silently reciting the name of each book stacked on them over and over again, anything to keep your mind occupied.

It only halfway works, just as it had every time before – every other time you stood in this exact same spot as the tailor measured and fitted your dress, as you discussed hairstyles with your maids, as you chose jewelry with your mother. Helaena had spent weeks, hours upon hours, sewing bead after bead into the alabaster fabric, creating intricate patterns of florals giving way to flames, and you could hardly bring yourself to look at it.

If I don’t look, it’s not real. If I don’t look, it’s not real, the words, foolish as they were, echoed in your mind for the millionth time as your maids added final touches to your outfit – sliding your feet into shoes and clasping on various ornate jewels.

“Should we finish the hair first or get the cloak on first?” You hear one of your lady’s maids ask another, somewhere off to the side.

“Mm, I think the cloak,” another one answers; you can hear the doors of your wardrobe being pulled open, “Her tiara may get snagged otherwise.”

Glimmers of red from the small garnet gemstones decorating your gown create bloody splotches in your periphery as morning sunlight filters through your windows; your mind begins to wander again despite your best efforts and crimson quickly gives way to hues of sapphire. Absent-mindedly, you dig your nails into your cuticles as you recall that night. The events play out behind your eyes like they have time and time again in the weeks between then and now – the pin-pricked chill you’d felt from his gaze, the way his whispered promises made your heart ache with a confusing whirlwind of longing and dread, the way his hands had felt against your skin. The sound of your blood pumping wildly in your veins drowns out any other noise as his voice echoes in your head.

“Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl,” he had commanded, directing your attention to the hilt of his dagger. And you had, the memories of it make you shiver even now.

You had.

But it didn’t matter because here you are, clad in an ivory gown that may as well be a death shroud for all the joy it brings you.

“Princess?” A little gasp falls from your lips as you’re hoisted out of your reverie and your eyes finally focus on Kella standing before you, matching cloak in hand.

“My apologies,” you say, managing a little chuckle, “I’m not sure where my head was at.”

“No trouble, Princess,” Kella smiles, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m sure you’re eager to get the day started, marrying a prince and all.”

“Eager, yes,” you sigh, forced smile falling flat the second she looks away. The back of your throat tightens when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, you try desperately to ignore the urge to run – to sprint all the way to the Dragonpit, mount Silverwing, and go. Instead, you swallow down the sick feeling in your gut and compel yourself to be still as Kella drapes the cloak over your shoulders, the red silk underlining enveloping you in a sanguine veil.

Just as she’s about to fasten it to the little ties at the shoulders of your gown, the doors to your chambers bang open, causing both of you to jump as your heads whip toward the sound of the noise.

“Prince Aemond,” Kella says breathlessly, draping the cloak over an arm and curtsying politely.

“Get out,” he murmurs lowly, violet eye not moving from yours as he stands at the doorway, arms tucked behind his back, “I wish to have a moment alone with my sister.” Your heart hammers so wildly that you’re amazed the sound of it doesn’t echo off the walls – that it doesn’t burst in your chest.

You don’t miss the uncertain glances your maids give one another, though they ultimately nod their heads. A small chorus of, “Yes, your highness,” rises around you as they scurry from the room; Kella quickly drapes your cloak over the back of your vanity chair before leaving as well, the doors to your chambers closing behind her.

Aemond quickly locks them, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips for a precious second as he does so, before turning to you. Your brows furrow as nervousness builds within you, nails digging into your cuticles as you desperately study the neutral expression on his face as he stalks toward you.

“Don’t you look breathtaking, sweet sister,” his eye sweeps over your form as he speaks and you feel as if every ounce of air is pressed from your lungs when he gently grasps at your chin, angling your face up toward his when he comes to a stop before you.

“How did you get in here?” You question, hating how feeble your voice sounds, how your heart slows the second he touches you. Your question is a valid one, though – your mother had taken great caution in the weeks following the night of your betrothal feast to keep you and your brother as separated as possible.

He chuckles as he tilts your face to the side, exposing your neck. “Someone may have delivered an anonymous tip to Cole informing him of a supposed smallfolk revolt brewing in Flea Bottom,” you don’t miss the twitch of a victorious smile on his lips, “Of course, the Gold Cloaks had to attend to it – we wouldn’t want anything ruining such a… joyous day. Once they were gone, it was easy enough to slip from the Sept and make my way back here.”

“You’ve been planning,” his eye stays fixed on the ruby necklace clasped around your neck as you speak, though he hums in acknowledgement at your words. After another few seconds of heavy silence, you cannot help but huff and jerk your chin from his careful grip, “Did you come here to merely ogle at me or do you need something?”

“Mm,” he hums, narrowing his eye for just the barest of seconds, “There is something I need indeed, Strong girl.”

“Don’t call me that!” You snap, the little huff of laughter he gives only makes you more agitated. He turns his back to you and stalks over to your vanity; it’s only then that you see he’s holding a small box behind his back, “What is that?”

“Only a little wedding present,” Aemond drawls, violet eye meeting yours in the mirror as he runs his fingers over the soft ivory silk of your cloak; his nose twitches in disgust, the most subtle of movements that you’re sure only you are able to spot.

“Can… can I see it?”

Another twitch of his lips, a little pulling at the corners, just enough for you to know he’s satisfied about something, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Whatever game he’s playing at, whatever imaginary battle he’s thought up in his mind, he’s winning.

Am I even fighting back? Do I want to?

Silently, he makes his way back over to you, each heavy step a nail in your proverbial coffin. He’s standing before you again, long hair spilling over the shoulders of his tunic like a pearlescent waterfall, held back from his face by two thin braids that join in the back.

Finally, he opens the box, carefully sliding the lid off. Your lips part as you stare down at the contents, eyes as wide as the moon as it feels like all the air has been sucked from the room.

“I had it made by the finest craftsman in the city,” he murmurs, eye gleaming with pride at your stunned reaction, “Do you like it, little one?”

“I�� Aemond, I…,” you stammer, at a loss for words as you look over the necklace resting on a bed of soft cloth. Made from a breathtaking assortment of pearls, the attention to detail is immaculate; each milky white stone is threaded onto a fine silver chain, all leading to a gleaming deep blue sapphire in the center, framed by the figure of a small silver dragon. “I-It’s gorgeous, brother, I… thank you.”

“You deserve only the best,” he purrs, watching closely as you reach up and carefully run your fingers over the glittering stones, “Shall I put it on you?”

“I already have a neck –” You start, only for a loud gasp to rip itself from your throat as Aemond tears the ruby necklace from you, the delicate gold chains easily snapping and sending dozens of tiny rosy stones clattering to the floor. All you can do is gape at him, one hand grazing against the place on your neck where the necklace once sat.

Meanwhile, your brother’s violet eye merely follows a few of the stones as they skid across the stone floors. “Pity,” he tuts, stalking around you like a lion would its prey before stopping behind you and meeting your gaze in the mirror.

“Do you have any idea who that necklace bel–”

“I don’t give a shit about who it belonged to,” he hisses, reaching over your shoulder and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head to turn back enough to meet his heated stare, “All that matters is that you belong to me, not some sniveling fucking bastard who shall only bring you ruin.”

He stares at you for a second more as if trying to drive the point somehow further into your heart before finally releasing your chin, smirking at the little shiver that runs down your spine when he skims his fingers over your neck.

Your eyes flutter shut as he delicately sweeps the hair away from the back of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there, only to trail more down the crook of your neck and shoulder; time seems to slow for a moment while you savor the feel of his lips against your skin and your chest tightens when he groans.

He huffs when he straightens back up, like being apart from you, even if only by a few scant inches, is painful – a feeling you know all too well. Opening your eyes, you watch as he carefully clasps the sapphire necklace around your neck. The larger middle stone sits perfectly at the base of your neck, the rich blue hue sparkles beautifully against your skin.

“Flawless,” he says lowly, gently kissing just below your ear before trailing his eye up to the floor-length mirror the two of you stand before, hands resting on your waist, “We look perfect together, don’t we, little one?”

Automatically, you nod your head, unable to separate your gaze from the mirror. He’s right, he always is. The two of you simply fit together – perfect compliments of the other.

He smiles lazily over your shoulder and pulls you closer against him, relishing in the small gasp that leaves your lips as his length presses against you, already half-hard and wanting. “Yes, you and I were meant to be together,” he breathes, slowly pulling up the skirts of your gown, “You may be marrying that traitorous little cunt, but you’ll belong to me soon enough, sweet sister.”

Your brows furrow at that and you start to question him, ask what exactly he means, but before you can utter a word, a feeble, stuttering moan is wrenched from your lips instead. Aemond holds you steady, keeping one hand firmly around your waist, as the other fits itself between your thighs; you’re helpless to do much else than watch yourself fall apart in the mirror as his lithe fingers slip through your already drenched center.

A pleased hum reverberates against the side of your jaw as he presses soft kisses against your neck, ravenous eye glued to your chest as it rises and falls with sharp pants, your breasts heaving beneath the bodice of your wedding dress.

“Promise me you won’t let him touch you,” your brother growls, swirling his fingers around your already aching pearl with practiced ease, “Swear to me that I am the only one who will ever claim you, sweet girl.”

“A-Aemond, I…,” you gasp, already having to fight through the fog in your mind to remain upright, much less speak, “Brother, please!”

“Swear it!” He snarls, biting harshly at your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

“I promise, I promise!” You quickly concede, the truth willingly spilling from you. You did not want anyone else, you never had – your gaze had been firmly set on Aemond for as long as you could remember. Your heart had soared with hope when Aegon and Helaena’s betrothal was announced, only for those hopes to be squashed when you were all but promised to Jace not too long after Aemond’s eye had been taken – doomed to a marriage built on regrets.

Your older brother had felt the same from an earlier age still, always doting on you, even as a child. He loves Helaena, yes, but his heart had only been yours. His screams still echo in your mind – the only time he’d ever raised his voice at your mother, when he’d stormed into her chambers as soon as Aegon had taunted him with news of the raven from Driftmark.

But it was the same each time, excuses of repairing relations and making amends, commands for you and Aemond both to grow up – to make sacrifices for the realm.

Was I ever more than a lamb raised for slaughter? That question has kept you up for more hours than you care to admit. Now, watching in the mirror as a man who is not your betrothed brings you to heel on the morning of a day you have mourned for years, the dam inside you finally bursts – you are tired of bowing to duty.

“Aemond, please!” You gasp, nearly crying as the fog in your mind finally lifts, “Please, take me, please!”

He pauses at that, the fingers on your aching bud stopping as his eye flicks up to yours. His eye is studying, calculating while he looks over you — there is a terrible relief in being finally, truly seen. “Is that what you wish?” He hums, chuckling when you pant as his fingers circle your dripping entrance, “To be filled with me, little one?”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished the question, desperate whines spilling from you as he slips his hand from between your legs, only long enough to loosen the ties at the front of his trousers.

“I’ll breed this sweet cunt,” he grunts, the arm around your waist moving to hook securely around your chest while the other grabs at his length, positioning it at your entrance as you hold your skirts out of the way in a trembling grasp, “Give you a pure Valyrian babe, just as you deserve.”

All of the air is knocked from your lungs as he pushes into you, spearing you on his cock in one swift motion. Your fingers abandon your skirts to instead claw helplessly at the arm draped over your chest, knees nearly buckling as Aemond pauses long enough for you to adjust.

“Gods!” You whimper as he sets a punishing pace from the outset, though the harsh thrusts feel like paradise after being deprived of his mere presence for so long. Your head droops forward as he snakes a hand around your hip to begin rubbing at your pearl yet again, lucid enough to know that the two of you are operating on borrowed time.

“You have always been mine, all of you,” he gasps, watching as your bodies writhe together in the mirror. After a moment, he growls and grabs at your neck, forcing your head up until your eyes meet his. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, leaning forward to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, “You’re mine, you’re mine…”

You nod as best you can as he chants the words again and again like a prayer, pushing his length in and out of you in time with each one, until your mind is nothing but a cacophony of mine, mine, mine.

“I-I’m, Gods, I’m – Aemond!” You all but sob, the knot in your stomach that had been pitifully winding itself for weeks finally about to unravel as your cunt tightens around him, his grunts and growls in response only pushing you further to the end.

“Do it,” he commands, redoubling his efforts on your bud, his other hand scrambling frantically to grasp at your stomach, “Let go and I’ll breed you, I’ll give you a babe, our babe, little one. Let go for me, let go.”

His muttered command sends shivers down your spine and you’re powerless to do much else other than obey and your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as a harsh, shuddering cry is knocked out of you; fire seems to ignite every cell within you as you pulse around his length. Your knees buckle when your high washes over you, Aemond’s grip around your waist the only thing keeping you upright.

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice just barely cutting through the rush of blood in your ears. A handful of thrusts later and he stills against you, growling and squeezing you to within an inch of your life as he fills you, cock twitching.

You both still for a moment, harsh pants filling your chambers as you catch your breath. You whine when Aemond finally pulls his softening length from you, though he shushes you sweetly before leading you to your vanity chair and sitting you down.

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper suddenly, sniffling softly as tears sting the back of your eyes, “I don’t w-want to, Aemond, I –”

“Shh, shh,” he says softly, gently cupping your cheek and angling your face up toward his, “There’s nothing we can do to change today, as much as it pains me. Were it possible, I would gut him in the Sept and stake my claim to you then and there, Gods be damned, I –”

He pauses, cutting himself off with a harsh sigh, “I will have you, I swear it. I will not fail again.”

Were it any other time, the dark shadow that lingers behind his words would give you pause, would frighten you as they have before.

Now, though, they settle over you like a warm blanket – there is a safety in this fear. Aemond, for all his faults, is nothing if not determined.

Whatever surety had settled within you only an hour before is swiftly and sharply pushed from your mind as you exit the carriage and climb the many steps up to the doors of the Great Sept of Baelor, unsteady even with Aegon at your side.

By the grace of the Gods, Aemond had managed to slip from your chambers, and supposedly from the Red Keep, unseen by all except your lady’s maids, and they had all been sworn to secrecy long ago. Once he had gone, they filed back in and had blessedly made no mention of the intrusion as they bustled about you yet again – quickly braiding your hair through the prongs of your tiara and securing your cloak to your shoulders.

They knew better than to ask about the sapphire clasped around your neck, or about the mess of rubies on the floor.

Your eldest brother, however, had not been so forgiving; his dark eyes had narrowed the moment you were seated together in the carriage. “Today, sister? Really?” He had teased, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you had grumbled, clenching your legs together as you sat.

“Hm,” he hummed, chuckling softly, “Maybe I’ll soon be mother’s favorite after all.”

“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon’s booming voice fills the Sept as you stand together with Jacaerys, your hands in his, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

You try your hardest to keep your eyes trained to his, to keep your lips crooked into a smile, but all you can focus on is the two stares practically searing your flesh.

Alicent’s face swam in your vision, the way her cheeks had paled when she had caught sight of the jewelry clasped around your neck, at the guilty look in your eyes. You can feel hers boring into you now and you have no doubt her jaw is clenched, her fingers bloodied and raw.

The other stare makes your skin prickle, much as it did on the night of your betrothal feast. You keep inwardly scolding yourself, again and again, as your eyes lock with Aemond’s every few seconds as he stands at the base of the steps to your side.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the septon continues, gesturing to you and Jace, “Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you recite together, all the while you desperately try to ignore the hollow, aching pit slowly opening itself in the very center of your chest.

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jace murmurs, dark gaze fixed solely on yours as he squeezes your hands, a terrible longing in his stare, “From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine,” you say, each word feeling like a knife being twisted in your gut, “From this day until the end of my days.”

The septon gestures once more for the two of you to step closer together; it takes all of your restraint not to gasp when you feel a rivulet of Aemond’s spend leak down your thigh as you do.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Jace says softly. His warm hands cup your cheeks before he leans in but when your lips touch, all you see is sapphire.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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