#have some crumbs while i work on step 2

[sometimesanalice]

Like I Can (Part 3)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 7.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

(All’s well that ends well❣️ Enjoy!)

You’d been on edge all day. 

Having slept terribly the night before, you’d woken up early and giving up on the idea of going back to sleep had ended up at a sunrise yoga class, hoping that some movement would help you clear your mind. By the end of the hour you were even more frustrated than you were before you arrived, the poses feeling unnaturally forced instead of flowing seamlessly as they usually did. 

So much for some goddamn inner peace.

Work was even worse. You had arrived to find that the espresso machine was broken. And whoever made a pot on the ancient drip machine, that was undoubtedly pulled out of a dingy storage closet somewhere, clearly hated everyone else since it tasted like tar. You could barely focus enough to clear out your inbox, when your work nemesis started breathing down your neck about a proposal that wasn’t due for another two weeks. 

Time was dragging on. And every time you looked at the clock thinking it had been at least an hour since you’d last checked, were continually shocked to see that barely fifteen minutes had passed by. Thankfully it was Friday, so your boss didn’t care when you called it a day and left at lunch. It was better for everyone this way.

You had tried painting your nails, but didn’t have the patience to let them dry and smudged them trying to open a package of crackers. Ignoring the crumbs that got everywhere as you ate them while working the cotton pad over the remnants of your pretty pink polish. Your new favorite show didn’t hold your attention like it usually did and you found yourself mindlessly scrolling on your phone, missing most of the plot you’d had to restart it. Twice.

Not even the scenic drive along the coast to the restaurant you were supposed to meet your date at had done anything to alleviate your nerves.

You had been surprised at the choice of location when you had received the text message with the information about this particular date. As much as you enjoyed going to the Hard Deck, you were very much looking forward to drinking something other than a beer. Sure, Penny could make a mean spicy margarita, but sometimes an overpriced aesthetically pleasing cocktail just hit the spot better than anything else. 

But most of all, you were thankful for a change of pace and the privacy this offered you. You had never been one for the spotlight, and dating on display had left you feeling drained.

You’re sitting in a surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker dining chair on the outdoor patio of the new trendy fusion restaurant you’ve been dying to come to. From your spot tucked away in the corner you can see the ocean waves rolling in and back out again. The golden rays already promising a stunning sunset later in the evening.

The foliage of the giant potted monsteras and birds of paradise made the terrace feel like a lush oasis, and contrasted stylishly against the large painted terracotta tiles on the ground. The pergola that covered it was dotted wisteria amongst the other climbing greenery, and numerous oversized hanging rattan sconces. The dainty lights woven throughout reflecting off the wine glasses on the table.

This was exactly what you needed. Too bad you couldn’t let yourself enjoy it, the twisted knots in the pit of your stomach had served a constant reminder of your nerves all day.

You had used this date as an excuse to finally buy the deep green floral dress you’d had your eye on for ages. The gentle drape of the neck was subtly sophisticated, while the high slit on the side added some serious sex appeal. 

There was nothing wrong with a little retail therapy you had told yourself as you’d swiped your credit card. If you looked good, maybe it would help you to feel good.

In all honesty, it probably had a little too much sex appeal since you couldn’t stop fidgeting in your chair trying to get the silky dress cover up more of your thigh that was currently displayed rather provocatively. It felt like the more you tried to get it to lay right the more of your leg was exposed. 

It probably didn’t help that you couldn’t stop the restless bouncing of your leg. You weren’t usually an antsy person, leg bouncing had always been more of Rooster’s anxious habit than yours.

Maybe you’ll feel less exposed once you draped the linen napkin across your lap. You’re tempted to do it now, but you don’t want to disturb the artfully laid out tablescape before your date has arrived.

It had been three weeks of back to back truly terrible dates. You could see the finish line now, but you couldn’t say that it wasn’t wearing on you. It had sounded like fun in theory, but now you weren’t so sure you would said yes again if you were offered a do-over. 

You were tired. 

Tired of going through the motions with men who could hardly be bothered to do the bare minimum. Tired of trying to sell the best version of yourself. Tired of putting on a show when all you wanted to find was an easy kind of love.

And this particular date had you more on edge and anxious than any of the other ones you’d gone on.

Even if you were pressed, you could not remember a single thing about the guy Payback had set you up with on your most recent blind date.

That evening you hadn’t even bothered trying to put together a cute outfit for the meeting. Instead, the only real effort you’d opted to put in was painting your lips a bright red as an attempt to psych yourself up for it. You didn’t usually wear such a bold color, but when you did it never failed to make you feel more brilliant.

And while you couldn’t remember anything about your date, what you did vividly remember was the fight you got into with Rooster that night.

You had been coming back from the restroom and on your way back to your date when you had bumped into him rounding the corner. 

“Sorry, that was my fault,” he’d said as he reached out to steady you with hand going to your waist, dropping it once he realized it was you. “Oh, hey.”

Glancing over to your date who seemed absorbed in some game he was playing on his phone, you figured he wouldn’t miss you if you spent a few extra minutes away to catch up with Rooster.

He had been acting really distant lately, taking a couple days to respond to texts rather than a couple of hours like it usually took him. Natasha had told you about the rigorous training they were being put though, and you had assumed it probably had something to do with that. However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off between you two.

Rooster was already pulling away from you and taking a step towards the bar when you reached out grabbing his wrist to keep him with you. Looking around for a quiet place to talk, you’d heard him sigh behind you, but still held on to him as you made your way to one of the high-top tables in the corner by the empty stage. 

You’d stopped and let go as you turned towards him, only to find him already looking at you with an expression that landed somewhere between expectant and exasperated. The cuffs of his shirt straining around his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well?” he grunted out.

Was he mad at you? You couldn’t think of any recent arguments you’d had recently that would explain the harsh tone he was using with you. 

“Is everything ok? I feel like you’ve been really off lately. You know I’m always here for you, right?” Your hand was already reaching out to touch him, but you resisted the urge not wanting to further agitate him.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m surprised you even have time to talk to me with all these washouts you’ve been wasting your time on. You’re the one with the busy social calendar, not me.” He was looking over the top of your head avoiding your gaze now, the bitterness in his voice had stunned you. 

“Seriously? What is the matter with you?” 

He’d never been so intentionally callous with you before and it hurt. 

“Listen, if there is an issue me dating the people your friends have been setting me up with, you need to let me know,” you’d said pointing a firm finger at him, your anger rising. “This was supposed to be a fun no pressure situation, but I don’t want to be in the middle of this if things are getting heated between you guys. It’s not worth it to me. But you don’t get to ignore me for days and then claim that I’m the one avoiding you.”

He made a noise of frustration as he dragged both hands through his curls. You could see the flex of his jaw as he’d clenched his teeth together.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he ducked down to that his eyes were level with your, and you could see the remorse in them. “You’re right, that was shitty of me to take it out on you. I’m just… tired.”

You’d simply nodded at him, feeling like you weren’t on the same page as him didn’t sit well with you. “Phoenix told me about your new training program, it seems intense,” your voice sounded small even to your own ears.

“Yeah, the training,” he’d sighed out pausing for a moment as he weighed his words, rubbing at his chest, “It’s taking a toll on me, but that’s my problem. I mean it, I’m sorry.”

“Are we good?” you searched his eyes, your friendship with him was so important to you.

“You and me? We’re good, kid. Always.” He’d reached out and squeezed your shoulder before heading back to where the group was gathered together pretending like they weren’t just watching your argument play out. 

Needless to say, your head was somewhere elsewhere entirely as you made your way back to your date. You’d felt bad being so distracted, but your mind just kept playing the argument on repeat. It was like your brain was trying to pull apart every little word to decode something that you didn’t think was there.

After Payback’s friend had left, you rejoined everyone else around the pool table. You couldn’t tell if the mood was off or if it was just you reading into things, since they hadn’t been prodding you with questions like they usually did.

Natasha was in the middle of giving you a glowing review of the man she had been bragging about since she first offered to set you up, when Rooster came to sit with you both.

“He’s just your type. He’s an engineer, so he’s smart. He’s got that whole glasses wearing and floppy hair thing going for him. And he’s funny. Rumor has it that he talked back to his Rear Admiral one time and got away with it because the guy had found him amusing. I fully expect you to name one of your future children with him after me.”

Rooster had surprised the pair of you when he stood up so violently that he almost knocked over the beers on the table. 

“What the fuck, Bradshaw?” Nat had exclaimed as you both worked to rescue the teetering bottles from becoming casualties from his sudden movement.

You had no idea what he was going to say as an explanation for why he’d jumped out of his seat the way he did, but what he ended up unexpectedly announcing instead of answering Nat’s question had sent you into a tailspin.

So now here you are in a restaurant you’d be dying to go to, fidgety and anxious in a probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative dress for a first date with the guy who Rooster was willing to break his long-standing rules for to set you up with.

To say you were feeling the pressure was an understatement. No one knew you like Rooster did. He’d seen you at your best and at your worst. He wouldn’t just pick any random guy he knew, he would be picking the one who he thought would be the best for you.

The thought should be comforting, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness.

You pick up your phone again and double check the time in the text that Rooster had sent you with all the details for your date with his friend. 

It was either that do that again or moving the ever-so-slightly crooked gold salad fork back into place.

You’re about to open Instagram for the third time since you sat down, turning when you hear a throat clear purposely behind you.

“Hey, sweet girl.”

For Rooster, when you’d first agreed to participate in the bet with his friends those dates started off as annoying inconveniences. Just inconsequential disruptions that got in the way of his time with you.

You were his best friend and at his bar, yet he felt like he’d hardly seen you these past couple of weeks- or at least not as much as he would have liked. 

Sure, he got some time with you here and there at the end of the night like when you had late night tacos on the beach. Or when he’d taught you his favorite pool trick, well more like attempted to teach you, he loved how stunningly bad you were at the game. But he felt like he was competing with these idiots his friends had picked out for your time and your attention. 

He wasn’t used to sharing you. In the past, if you had a date that conflicted with something spontaneous he wanted to do or something that the group had planned together, more often than not he could get you to move it or cancel completely.

He’d never been above a little bribery to get his way, he knew what you liked.

You going on dates wasn’t a new concept to him, but seeing them paraded in front of him was a different story. And he was getting really tired of watching you from across the bar while feeling like you were out of reach.

The more of them you went on, and the more he heard Natasha crowing about having the perfect man for you the more agitated he felt. The worse that feeling in the pit of his stomach got. 

The evening of date for Payback’s pick, they’d all seen you walk in through the doors of the Hard Deck wearing that shade of red lipstick. You’d wore it so well. His friends had immediately started speculating about what it meant. Phoenix had called them all idiots, and while he couldn’t claim to know anything about make-up and those things, he did know you didn’t just wear that color for no reason. 

He had vague memories of his mom putting the color on when they’d go greet his dad, at least he like to think those were his memories. Or maybe they were just something he’d created in his head from all the time he had spent looking at old photos of his mom and dad together, her smile always outlined in the color. His favorite was the one where his dad’s cheeks were covered in bright red lipstick kisses as he smiled indulgently down at his mom while a young Bradley was propped on her hip clutching his prized F-14 Tomcat. He had that one framed on the end table next to his couch. 

And seeing that color on you for a date with this random guy had rattled him.

He’d felt so terrible later that evening when he took those feelings out on you. Hating himself as he lashed out at you. Hating himself as he saw your face fall and the hurt in your eyes. Hating himself for being the person who made you feel bad.

And the crux of it all was that you weren’t wrong, he had been deliberately distant by being slow to reply and ignoring texts from you. He wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t know what else to do. He’d hoped by creating some space that it would help him to try and get his head back on straight. 

He’d let you assume that he was tired from the new training program they were being put through. What he didn’t tell you was that he was already outperforming everyone on the team, and that he hadn’t had to do any extra push-ups in a week and a half. 

He was tired because he hadn’t been sleeping, and he couldn’t sleep because every time he tried to close his eyes all he could see was you on these dates. Replaying them in his mind’s eye wondering what the outcome would have been had they not gone so terribly wrong each time.

The what-ifs swarming around his brain day and night like agitated hornets.

While he had been quick to apologize for being a dick, the sharp pain that settled behind his sternum wouldn’t subside no matter how much he had tried to rub it away.

He didn’t know what was more unbearable, the idea of losing you to a chance encounter of circumstance. Some meet cute courtesy of the universe that he couldn’t see coming until it was too late, when it’s already too far out of his hands and out of his control. To see you grinning that smile so bright, the one so wide it made your dimples appear, as you introduced that guy to him. 

Or sitting here night after night analyzing every little thing as you date the people some of his closest friends had picked out for you. Watching and hoping that these dates would just be funny stories you told on drunken nights out rather than the story told at your wedding about the night that everything changed when you met your person. Of having to be happy for you even as you pull away from him.

His ears were ringing and he’d felt his stomach drop. 

He could see it now, a day when your life ran parallel to his rather than entwined as he was used to. Of you with a partner. With children. Of him as ‘Uncle’ Rooster, demoted to the rank of ‘longtime friend of the family’ rather than a core member of it. 

The thought of it making him feel sick. 

All evening he had been moving around like a ghost completely lost to the thoughts in his head, but now it felt like he’d been shocked by a live wire. He’d pretty much jumped out of the chair he had just settled in, almost knocking the beers in front of him off the table completely. 

“I want in, I’ll do it,” he’d blurted out, interrupting the conversations that had continued on around him while he had been spiraling. “This whole thing has been a complete shit show. I can’t watch this anymore. I know a guy, I’ll set it up. I’m in.” 

His hands were sweating as he hoped no one would call his bluff. He’d made it a point to actively avoid looking at you. You had such an uncanny way of reading him. 

“I don’t know, Bradshaw. You’re a little late to the game, aren’t you? I’ve been saving the best for last, and I’m ready to collect my winnings.” He’d expected some shit from Hangman, but he never would have guessed it’d come from Phoenix. 

Feeling his anger flare up, he reached into his back pocket and fished out a $100 bill from his worn leather wallet, double the original entry fee. He slapped it down on the table, leaving no room for any further discussion, “I’m the one setting her up for the next date.” 

He’d caught a look between Hangman and Phoenix, but he couldn’t be bothered to read into it as he tried to keep his temper in check.  

He wouldn’t lose you. Not to someone who didn’t deserve you, especially when he already knew the person who could make you happy.

“Alrighty,” Jake had drawled out, as he pocked the bill. “Looks like we have another player. I look forward to taking your money.” 

He’d extended his hand out and they’d all shook on it, reaching Phoenix last her grip firm and her smile sharp. And that was that. 

Now he was here at the new popular restaurant he’d heard you talking about a few weeks ago, his feet cemented to the tiles beneath him just gazing at you. 

He could tell from where he was standing behind you that you were nervous by the way you were opening and closing apps without truly looking at anything. He knew it was a habit of yours when you were feeling anxious, something for your hands to do as you tried to distract yourself.

He had sweet talked the hostess over the phone into reserving the best spot on the outdoor terrace, and you looked so beautiful sitting there wearing his new favorite color. Your hair is held back by a delicate golden clip on one side leaving the line of your neck exposed, the sea breeze picking up a few wisps.  It makes his teeth ache with want.

He knew you were gorgeous, he’d stared down enough men at the Hard Deck to know that others thought so too. However, he’d never let himself sit with those thoughts for too long, not trusting himself to keep his mind from wandering. 

You were his best friend. 

And best friends don’t think about how the other would look so perfect in their bed, that pretty green dress forgotten on the floor. 

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look under his arm.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look with his ring on your finger.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you are for him.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect he is for you.

Him.

It was a good thing he didn’t want to just be your best friend anymore. 

He’d already done too much thinking, done too much waiting. He wasn’t going to miss his moment. 

Taking one more deep breath, he made his way to you.

“Rooster? What are you doing here?” He was the last person you’d expected to see when you turned your head to see who had been trying to get your attention, “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

Did he get emergency orders? Did your date get in an accident? 

Your anxiousness was quickly morphing into panic, you’re already half way out of your seat when he puts his hand on your shoulder, his thumb stroking the skin there reassuringly. 

He is standing there looking completely at ease, as if he belonged there, “Nothing’s wrong, sweet girl.” 

And there it was again, you hadn’t been sure if your ears were playing tricks on you the first time he’d said it. That simple term of endearment silencing the alarm bells that were going off in your head, the edges of the lush restaurant softening around everything except him.

“Your mom always called me that,” you say softly. 

You cherished all the memories you had with Carole, the woman who had been such a significant figure in your life for so long. You knew your mom still sent Rooster a cake every year to celebrate her birthday from whatever bakery was closest to wherever he was stationed. 

“I know, I remember,” his voice so warm and deep, “She loved you.” 

He says it so simply, so sincerely. As if his presence here hasn’t just completely untethered you and sent you adrift in a sea of bewilderment.

The writhing snake that had made a home all day in the pit of your stomach finally disappeared, only to be replaced with the fluttering of wings that you were desperately trying to ignore. 

You’d been so shocked when Rooster had exclaimed that he was going to set you up with someone, your mind had been whirling so much at the time you could barely focus on anything that had been said in the aftermath of his announcement. Maybe you had missed some caveat he’d come up with for his participation in the bet? That could make sense, considering how adamant he had always been in the past about never getting involved in your love life. 

He was standing there looking so good in his best short-sleeved button up shirt, the one that was scattered with vibrant palm leaves that fit snugly against his body. And wearing the white slacks that usually had you looking anywhere else in the room to avoid acknowledging the way they clung to your best friend’s thighs and ass. If only he knew how weak they made you. 

There just has to be a logical reason for why he’s here, but the soft smile on his face was rendering your brain uncooperative. 

You were getting tired of feeling like you were missing something that should be so obvious, “My date is supposed to be here soon, are you going to hover in the back like you have been at the Hard Deck? Or are you just planning on pulling up a chair and third wheeling up close and personal?” 

“Why would I need an extra chair,” he asks as he pulls it out and eases his large frame down onto the wicker seat, “When mine’s already free?” 

You move to open your mouth when the waitress arrives, asking if you had your drink orders selected. 

“I’ll do the Bourbon Sidecar. You feelin’ like a gin, sweet girl?” You just nodded at him mutely, still desperately trying to catch up. “And the Clover Club for her, please.” 

It’s what you were planning on ordering to calm your first date jitters before had Rooster arrived and sent you into a complete tailspin. He hadn’t even looked at the thick textured cardstock of the drink menus that were strategically placed just to the right of the golden soup spoons on the artfully laid out table. 

The butterflies were threatening to break free from the tightly locked cage you had attempted to shove them in. 

The waitress took down the drinks, and you watched her as she crossed the patio pausing to tap away on the screen of their POS, trying to give yourself a few more moments to collect your thoughts. 

“Bradley. I don’t understand, what’s going on?” He’s sitting there looking so secure, so steadfast, so sure. 

His cheek ticks up, “I like it when you call me Bradley. Why did you stop calling me that when you moved out here?” 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Why did you stop calling me Bradley when you moved out here?” he asks again, leaning in. How does he expect you to answer a question, when your mind is going 1,190 miles an hour? 

“I don’t know,” you start with a halfhearted shrug. “You’ve made a name for yourself in the Navy, you are ‘Rooster’ to everyone here.” You open your mouth to say more, before closing it quickly.

“There’s more going on in that head,” you feel his foot reach out tapping against yours under the table, before leaving it there a steady presence. “Tell me.”

You know you can tell him anything, but this feels different.

The intensity of his stare has you fighting the flush you feel spreading across your cheeks.

It wasn’t something that you’d ever given much thought to before, but you know if you answer truthfully now that he’s asked you it’s going to leave you feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been with him. 

You sit up more fully in your chair deciding to be brave, “I mean, we haven’t really truly been in the same place since we were teens, and things are so different now. It was easier to start calling you ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’ like everyone else, because it didn’t make me feel like I was piece from a different puzzle trying to force myself into a new picture. I wanted to fit into the life that you’ve built here, to feel like I still have a place with you as you are now.”

You’re actively fighting to keep your eyes on his. It would be so easy to look away or to laugh off your confession, but for whatever reason, you don’t want to take the easy out. 

“I never knew you felt like that, but I wish I had,” the look in his eyes is softer than anything you’ve ever seen from him before. “I like being Bradley to you, I want to be Bradley to you. You aren’t just a piece to me, you’re the whole picture. You’ve always had a place here, exactly as you are you are now.”

It’s never been like this between the two of you. It feels like you both are saying too much and not enough all at the same time. As much as you find yourself wanting to sink into these intoxicating yet unfamiliar feelings, you know you’re still holding yourself back.

God, he is so handsome. You had been right, the sunset that was just starting was stunning, but the way golden beams were hitting the lightened strands of his curls was spectacular.

You’re almost too afraid to ask, but it’s unbearable not knowing, “Why are you here right now, Bradley?”

Of course, the waitress chooses that moment to return with the drinks. 

She sets them down in front of you, the skewered raspberries sitting daintily on the side of your glass are suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room. You vaguely hear him saying you both need more time and that he’ll flag her down when you’re ready to order. 

He waits for her to leave to attend to her other tables before turning his heady gaze on you once again.

“I thought I’ve been making my intentions pretty clear here, sweet girl.” 

He takes a sip of his Sidecar before continuing, the slight bounce of his leg the only thing giving him away that he might not be as self-assured as you’d originally thought, “I’m here for our date.”

There’s no hope of containing the butterflies now. You’re a lost cause. 

“Bradley.” You can only imagine the emotions he is reading on your face. It would absolutely break your heart if this was some kind of bad joke.

“He’ll never love you like I can.” 

“What?” you ask sounding every bit as dazed as you feel.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says shaking his head slightly, huffing out a little laugh at himself, “I got ahead of myself.”

You watch as he resituates himself in the chair, wiping his hands on the front of his slacks before restarting. 

“Watching you on those dates has been hell, I don’t want to be jealous of some guy you gave a second glance. I don’t want hold back, not when we can be so much more,” he reaches across the table, taking your hand between his two large ones, “I thought having you as a friend was enough for me, but how am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that I could be the one who makes you happy and then do nothing about it? That I’m the only one who can love you the way you deserve to be loved?”

You’ve always known he’s cared for you, that was unquestionable, but to be loved by Bradley Bradshaw? It was something you’d never let yourself imagine, let alone dared to hope to for. It had been kinder to spare yourself from the heartache that came with hope. But now? With him sitting right here in front of you saying you could have him like this?

Was this how he felt flying in his F-18 every day?

He gets up and rounds the table coming to your side, hooking an ankle around the tapered leg of your chair pulling you out a bit. You’re suddenly very thankful for the probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative for a first date dress you purchased when you see the way his rich brown eyes turn molten as he gets a glimpse of your exposed thigh.

He settles into a crouch before you, his warm hands seeking out both of yours, “You don’t need Phoenix or anyone else to set you up, because he’ll never love you like I can. Let me show you how good it can be. Let me be it for you, sweet girl.���

The man in front of you is everything you could have ever possibly wanted for yourself. And to be the one who could get to keep him forever? There’s no doubt in your mind, it’s worth everything.

You’re sure you will have to have a more serious conversation about what this means for the two of you, but that can wait for another time when he’s not in front of you with his eyes so earnest. So hopeful. To another time when he’s not wearing his heart on his sleeve as he patiently waits for any kind of response from you.

It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him right now. 

So easy to learn what that mustache would feel like against your skin. 

To learn how his lips and tongue would feel against your own. 

To learn how his mouth would move with yours.

But what’s a couple more hours when you’ve had years to build up to it.

“Well then, Lieutenant. I guess you better show me how it’s done,” you bring your hand up to cup his face, your thumb gently stroking along his cheekbone. “But I’m warning you now, I fully intended to give you as good as I get.” 

Being on the receiving end of a Rooster smile was something special, but it had nothing on the beaming grin that Bradley Bradshaw is giving you now. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” he says as he lands a lingering kiss on your cheek before standing and pushing your chair back in for you. “You’ve always known how to keep me on my toes.”

He returns back to his surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker chair, stretching his leg to rest it against yours. When the waitress comes back you both end up picking your meals at random, having been too absorbed with each other to actually bother reading the menu. 

You’d barely eaten all day because of the knots in your stomach, and now you were starving. Thankfully, Bradley at least had the commonsense to ask the waitress to pick her favorite dish as a third entrée “for the table”.

It feels the same in many ways, he knows what to say to make you laugh and what to bring up to get you fired up. And you know what questions to ask to keep him talking and how to push his buttons just right. 

But it’s also different when he doesn’t bother to hide his knowing smirk every time he catches you looking at his lips. And it’s even better when you don’t bother trying to hide yours when you catch him doing the same.

Afterwards, he takes your hand in his as you slowly make your way to the parking lot, his fingers lacing between your own. He surprises you when he leans against the Bronco, murmuring something about not wanting to let your pretty dress get dirty. His long legs extended wide as an invitation for you to come stand between them, his strong hands stroking the silky material of your dress on your hips as you step closer. 

You’ve been ignoring the pull low in your stomach all evening, the tension between you two the most luscious feeling you’ve ever experienced. The combination of his heat, his woodsy smell, the headiness of his gaze on you almost too overwhelming. 

Almost.

Your hands settle on his broad chest, playing with the button of his shirt now a bit nervous. Your faces closer than you’ve ever allowed them to be before. If what you’re hearing is the sound of the waves or the roaring of the blood in your ears, you couldn’t say.

You know he is waiting for you to make the first move. You see the moment when he’s about to say something, knowing him the words would be wonderfully reassuring and perfectly Bradley.

Why would you want to talk when his mouth was already waiting like a question. Why would you want to talk when you could learn what it’s like kiss him instead?

So you do.

When your lips meet his for the first time it feels like the sweetest kind of devotion. 

bradleybradleybradley

His mustache scratching satisfyingly at the skin of your upper lip. His mouth tasting like the Sidecars he sipped on throughout the night and something that was just fundamentally Bradley. 

Your hand moves on its own to stroke the side of his neck, your fingers seeking out the line of the longest scar that adorns his skin there from that night all those years ago. 

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest as he licks his lips before bringing his face down to yours again. Your other hand tightly clutching his shirt in anticipation.

He’s always been so in tune with you, so when he tilts your head just right before leaning into the kiss it feels like a homecoming. 

thisthisthis

One of Bradley’s hands makes its way up your back, pressing you closer to him as the other bands more securely around your waist. And when his tongue skims your lower lip, you sigh into his waiting mouth thankful for his strong grasp on you. 

Nothing your mind could have imagined would have ever come close to the perfection that is Bradley Bradshaw’s mouth moving against yours. Nothing has ever felt so good, so right.

When he pulls away, you’re both over fighting back the smiles that feel like have been permanently fixed on your faces all evening.

“I’m don’t want to call it a night yet,” he tells you, as he brushes the hair back from your face. His smile turning playful, “What do you say, kid? Wanna go get some milkshakes?”

“Depends,” you reply cheekily, “Can I drink it in the Bronco?”

Wrapping both arms around his neck you draw him back in towards you again.

“Anything you want, sweet girl,” he promises against your lips.

The next night at the Hard Deck, you entered the bar with Bradley’s arm draped your shoulders. 

His team whooping loudly when you pull him in for a kiss as he handed you a Blue Moon. They’d declared the drinks were on Bradley that night as they’d swarmed you both in celebration. Maverick pulls you aside to give you a warm hug, whispering “I knew you’d get here” in your ear before releasing you.

Now that you had let yourselves cross that line from friends to more, the pair of you are entirely too aware of the other. Never content to be too far away from the other. Your eyes like magnets, each seeking out the other to find them already looking back.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he has his hands on your waist. Nothing neighborly in the way his hands rub your shoulders. Nothing platonic in the way he rests one hand on the back of your neck, his thumb making teasing circles.

And there’s nothing friendly about the way you run your hands through his curls when he’s at the piano. Nothing neighborly in the way you slide your hand into his back pocket. Nothing platonic in the way you rest your hand on his chest, your finger tracing the line of his collarbone. 

It has always been so easy with him, even as you explore in this new area of your relationship.

You’d been orbiting around each other all night, when Jake yelled out to heckle you both about indecent exposure, threatening to call his cop friend if Bradley didn’t “get his ass over to the pool table in the next thirty seconds.”

He’d peppered your face with kisses before you’d shooed him away, laughing when you realized he had swiped your beer and had taken it with him.

“So you and Bradshaw,” Natasha states as she settles down next to you.

That makes you smile.

“Yeah, me and Bradley.” 

How could you have possibly thought you’d want anyone else other than him? You were a goner from the moment you’d turned and saw him standing there at the restaurant. Your golden boy.

You turn towards her, putting a hand on her arm, “I’m sorry that you didn’t get a fair shot at the bet. I really do appreciate the effort you all went through. I mean, Bradley would have had it in the bag anyways. But still–”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she waves a hand, cutting you off, “We had a team meeting and changed the rules of the bet anyways. I still won, so it’s all good.” Her smile was nothing less than mischievous. 

“Wait, what?” 

“We could all see from Rooster’s reaction during that disaster of a first date with all the dogs that he was completely hung up on you. We didn’t want to wait for him to figure it out, so we decided to adjust the terms a bit to help him out,” she laughs at your clearly baffled expression. “We reached out to the cringiest people we knew and set you up with them instead. And then took bets on how long it would take Rooster to get his head out of his ass and go get his girl.”

“Oh my god, seriously?” The revelation has you bursting out in laughter.

“Yep, well except for Bob. His date was a genuine accident, bless him. I’ll be honest, I didn’t even bother reaching out to anyone. I was betting on Rooster getting it together before I needed to step in,” she explains while wearing the most self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Of course Natasha Trace had bet on him. On you.

You couldn’t wait to tell Bradley how you had both been so absolutely played by his team. 

You loved these people. You loved your life here in San Diego. 

“I’d apologize for putting you through all that, but it looks like it worked out well in the end,” she says knowingly nodding her head towards him. 

You’re fully watching him now as he bends over the pool table looking amused at something that Hangman says. 

Bradley looks up catching your eye and shoots a wink in your direction, a grin taking over his whole face. You already know you’re wearing a matching one.

“I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

Thank you so much for all the love on this one! I’ve loved sharing this journey with you all! Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone! 

If you want to know what happens next for these two you can check out my masterlist! 

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge!

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) as always for being the ultimate hype girl! 

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @finelytaylored @phantomxoxo @viridianphtalo @chicomonks @artemissunn​ @hey-assbutt35​ @mayempress​ @eddiemunsonreader @averyhotchner​ @caatheeriinee07​ @rileyanntoinette​ @lublycho

[logical-grave]

✧ Pretty little thing ✧ Ch. 3

♡ Pairing ♡ - Rafe Cameron x Plus Size!Reader

♡ Warnings ♡ - Smut ofc, angst, asshole!Rafe, Semi-Public sex, unprotected sex (they never learn), dirty talk, crude language, creampie.

♡ A/N ♡ - I'm so sorry i disappeared! I promise I'm trying to do better! Hopefully this fic makes up for it lol. Lmk what you think! Definitely some repeated writing lol but I’m trying to improve!!!

♡ Word count ♡ - 3.1k

♡ Part 1, Part 2 ♡

When I told Rafe of the camera, he shrugged it off and bit into his sandwich, crumbs falling down his chin onto his plate. “Rafe, we could be charged with public indecency. I could lose my job too.” I cross my arms as I look at him. 

He gave me a blank look and took another bite of his sandwich, hunched over it with his elbows rudely taking up the space on either side of him. 

“I’m just not sure what the fuck you expect me to do about it.” He shrugged, tossing a chip into his mouth. He reacted more when I took it upon myself to come over unannounced, but now it seems like he couldn’t care less. 

I hated how nonchalant he was being about this whole situation, and it just spoke volumes at how untouchable he thinks he is. I guess if you’re as rich as he is, you start to actually believe it.

I stared at him in disbelief, annoyance brewing internally. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to record us having sex for a while.” He casually drops and the urge to jump over the kitchen island and choke him surges through me, but I don’t act on it. 

Rafe finishes his sandwich and stands up, placing his plate in the dishwasher before leaning against the counter and looking at me. “If you really want me to get rid of it, I'll see what I can do.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as if he’s being inconvenienced.

I give him a fake smile and grab my keys off the counter. “Was that so hard?” The comment comes off harsher than intended, but he’s pissed me off too much in the past half hour alone, and I’ve reached my limit. I turn the corner of the kitchen, but a chest in my view stops me. I look up, and I’m met with the heavy gaze of Mr. Cameron, Rafe’s father. 

“Hello sir.” I step to the side to allow him to walk past me, and he smiles as he looks between Rafe and I. “Well, who’s this, Rafe?” 

Mr. Cameron places a hand on my shoulder, leading me back closer to my previous position. “She’s my…friend. And she was just leaving.” He says with his arms crossed. Jeez, I’ve never had such a warm introduction. I could tell he wasn’t keen on introducing me to his father, adding to the list of reasons to not be happy with my unexpected visit.

Mr. Cameron turns to me, his eyes shifting over different points of my face as if to determine if I was attractive enough to be in the vicinity of his son. 

“Rose was just about to make some lunch, why don’t you join us?” He asks, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, an underlying feeling telling me it wouldn't be wise to stay. “Thank you, sir, but I should really get going, as I have work soon.” 

I politely declined, soothing the goosebumps that arose on my arm, and I started past him, but his hand on my shoulder stopped me again. “The country club, correct? I thought I recognized you from somewhere.” He inquires and I nod, looking at Rafe and hoping he can hear my soft plea of getting me out of this. 

“I’ll walk you out.” Rafe pushes off the counter and towards me, gripping my elbow, but his father doesn’t move his hand. 

“I insist, sweetie.” He says and I hold back a grimace, my mind connecting him to the club creep that almost got Rafe to risk his membership. “No, thank you. I should get going.” I chuckle dryly, sliding closer to Rafe’s side and Mr. Cameron’s hand drops to his side, giving up his hold on me. “Well, you’re always welcome here.” He winks as Rafe pulls me toward the entrance of his house before I could respond, thankful he did so. 

“You’re hurting me.” I pout as I look at his tight hold on my elbow, the squeeze making me feel like a child being scolded by her parents. He doesn’t let go until we reach my car, the pain subsiding as I inspect my arm for any bruising. 

It hurt less when he held me like that when we were fucking. “Don’t do this shit again,” He wags his finger in my face. “I don’t need you showing up at my house with my fucking family here.” 

I faced him with an angry expression, ready to open my mouth before shutting it. “Got it.” I mutter, my fist clenching around my keys, the dull metal subtly digging into my skin.

The fifteen hundred he had given me the week prior was nice and I didn't want to risk potentially lowering my allowance by opening my mouth. It’s one of the things I know for a fact Rafe hates about me yet, I persist. 

I reach for the handle of my car, beginning to open it until Rafe reaches over my head and shuts it. I turn as he sighs and pinches the skin between his eyebrows before looking into my eyes. “I- Just, my dad is weird when it comes to any girl he sees around me. He thinks they're trying to get money out of all the time.” The corner of his lip upturns as a chuckle sounds from him. 

Slowly, I nod and pull on the handle of my car once more, this time he doesn’t stop me. I sit in my seat but Rafe stands, holding my door open and leaning towards me with his arm resting on the roof of my car. 

“I want to see you later. I’ll meet you down at the dock, one o’clock.” He slyly grins, hooking his finger under my chin like he did not too long ago, pressing his lips against mine. It was a new practice he started and he always initiated. I’ve thought about it, yet when I start to lean in, a big red X appears over his perfectly structured face and I stop myself. Rafe parts from me and I push away his face with a chuckle. “I’ll see you, Cameron.” 

I shut the door and pulled out of his driveway, glancing at him as he watched me go.

—

My fingers crossed through his hair as I ran my nails over his scalp once again. Sometimes, he enjoyed the effortless intimacy of his head in my lap. His arm wrapped around my ass to meet his other arm resting under my legs. I knew the weight of my legs would put his arm to sleep in seconds but he didn’t care. In fact, I think he loved the prick of a million tiny needles in his arm as it fell asleep as long as he got to cradle me like this. 

Maybe I’m just telling myself that. Either way as the yacht slowly rocks from the subtle waves of the marsh, he closes his eyes and we settle into the domestic atmosphere that surrounds us, slightly tipsy from the forgotten bottle of Jack Daniel’s we tossed back and forth.

He sighs, his breath breezing over my thigh as I look down at him, taking in his sharp cheekbones and lips that look ready to be kissed. His hand on my ass cheek twitches, almost as if he was making sure I was still here, even in his supposed sleep. His other hand under my legs moved to rest on the side of my thigh as I gasped softly when he hugged me closer to him. Even now, I wondered how the hard fiberglass base of the boat was comfortable for the rest of his body.

Rafe sighs again, this time his eyes open, blinking the sleep away. He tilts his head up, resting his chin on my thigh and pulling me closer to him again. “Rafe, we should head back.” I suggest, my fingers rake down his scalp and slip under the neckline of his shirt, scratching his back. He groans under his breath, not acknowledging what I had said earlier, instead relishing in the feeling of my nails scraping on the smooth skin of his back. 

I stop, making him open his eyes again and look up at me. He moves up now and I sit back on the heels of my feet as he sidles up close to my side, his hand resting behind me, supporting his weight, his chest close to my shoulder. Personal space, be damned. I turn my head and look at him, my hand cupping his cheek as he stares at me. “What?” I look at him and he shakes his head slightly. I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t had my hand on his cheek. I watch his eyes wander over my cheeks, down to my lips, even lower to my chin and finally my eyes. 

And then, he leans in, pressing the soft plump of his lips against mine. His eyes are closed before mine are and I inhale deeply as we kiss. My skin tingles with his lips against mine, the way he kisses is almost methodical yet sloppy with need. He deepens the kiss, his tongue pushing past the seam of my mouth, licking my tongue with his own when he turns his head a particular way. 

His hand wanders, as it always does to my breast, squeezing me through the lace fabric of my dress, pinpointing exactly where my nipple is, causing it to perk up. The kiss turns wet, our mouths gliding against each other as his hold becomes more insistent. His hand smoothes down my side to my hip before clenching his hand on the lace of my dress and pulling me into his lap, the sound of the small rips of his fingernails digging into lace is lost on both of us. I straddled him now, hiking the skirt of my dress higher up my thighs where both of his hands rested. 

I don’t even acknowledge the anxiety of being too heavy to sit on his lap, his hold feeling so familiar, it’s as if I’m supposed to be here. His lips trail kisses down my jaw to my neck, almost considerate of where he places them. He nuzzles his face into my neck, inhaling deeply as his hands grip the round of my ass cheeks, grinding his crotch against my own. 

“Fuck— I need you.” His voice is breathless, desperate, almost as if he’s begging me. He palms at my ass cheeks again, spreading them open to grind up against me once more, making me gasp at the friction he offers as my clit rubs against the rough denim fabric of his jeans. 

He pushes the rest of my dress up, bunching it at my waist, groaning when he sees I’m bare as he’s requested of me. His eyes are dark again, almost black like an abyss, the lust that’s clouding his mind clearly marking his intentions. Rafe tugs on the strap of my dress, pulling it down my shoulder until it snaps against my skin, the rip of the seams making me gasp softly against his lips. 

He grunted in triumph, it seemed. As if the strap of my dress was a harsh reminder that I wasn’t completely naked yet. “Rafe,” His name is shallow in my throat, making me think nothing more should come from my mouth other than breathy moans, the kind he drew out of me. Rafe pulled down on the top of my dress, exposing my breasts to him, my other strap tearing as well. 

He continues to leave sloppy kisses down my neck before roughly palming my tit and kneading it. He rolls my perked nipple between his lips, his tongue gliding over it in a disrespectful tease and I wince, pulling on his hair, making him smirk. “So responsive…”

Rafe parts from me, tugging off his shirt and discarding it behind himself, his other hand already struggling with his jeans. I sit back on his lap as he hooks his fingers to slide his jeans down to his knees, his cock springing up with a bead of pre-cum running down his shaft. His tip had a purple tint, almost pleading to be taken care of. “See what you fuckin’ do to me?” He groans, his hands pulling my hips to hover over his cock, making me shakily gasp. He winces as he slides the tip of his cock through my folds, splitting them as he taps my clit, making me mewl softly. My nails dig into the tan skin of his shoulders as I slowly and cruelly sink down on his cock. “Fuuuck.”

His arm wraps around my waist as he eases me down until I bottom out, a shudder running up my spine as I feel the slight burn of his cock stretching me out. “Oh, fuck.” I feel myself blush, a harsh breath leaving my lips as he fills me up. Rafe’s hands fall onto my hips, his eyes half-lidded as he looks me over. “Fuck, you look so good sitting on my cock.” He mutters, his hand pulling on the lace of my dress again, the fabric ripping from his harsh grip.

“R-really?” I ask nervously, biting my lip as I whimper softly, my hips moving on their own volition as I ride him. He flexes his hips upward, burying himself deeper inside me as he grins up at me. “Oh, fuck yes..." He murmurs, his thumbs caressing my skin. “Look at how you take me..." 

He’s hurting me, I think. His fingers are digging deep into my hips but it only feels like a slight push, the pleasure clouding my mind doesn’t allow me to register it. Rafe grunts as he straightens up, meeting my hips with an upward thrust, his breathing growing heavier with each one. “Come on, lean back for me.” He pants, his hold on my hips loosening, almost reluctantly to allow me to support myself on my knees.

Leaning back, I give Rafe a better view of his cock disappearing inside me, making him groan at the sight, his bruising grip returning to my hips again. “You look so beautiful like this.” He says in a strangled tone, his hand reaching up to press on the sides of my throat before splaying out on my chest. I let out small gasping pants as Rafe drove into me faster, his arms hugging me closer to him, causing me to arch my back, presenting my tits to his mouth. My thighs burn from being held open so long but I ignore it, too infatuated with his touch. Rafe hums, suckling on one of my nipples as his thrusts become punishing, my head falling back as I feel myself slipping into my orgasm. “Not yet,” Rafe pants, “I don’t wanna stop.” 

His words come out akin to a whine or a desperate plea, enough to make my orgasm attempt to still. My eyes fall onto his as I feel all thoughts of reason leave my mind, my lips opening to speak but the words come out quicker than I realize. 

“I love you.”

My mouth hangs open as I process my words. Rafes expression falters, his pace almost hesitant to stop but he doesn’t. Instead, he drops his head in the crook of my neck, grunting softly as I feel his teeth nip at my skin. His hold on me strengthens, almost painful as he continues to use me for his own pleasure. Rafe lets out a guttural groan as he cums, his hips jerking harshly as he spills into me, his cock pulsing and throbbing as my walls clench around him, my own orgasm crashing with his own. 

Rafe huffs, falling back to rest on the bunch of pillows propped up behind him, his torso glistening with a sheen of sweat as he draped his arm over his eyes. “Off.” He urges, lightly smacking my thigh and I wince as I climb off his lap, ignoring the need to squirm as I feel his cum drip out of me, making me squeeze my thighs together. The bundle of nerves in my stomach begins to rage and thrash internally, the inside of my cheek chewed up to the point of no return. “Rafe, I-”

“I’m taking you home.” His words were final, leaving no room for argument. It’s silent between us, the only sound being the rustle of our clothing as we put them back on and adjust them. Rafe is quick to his feet, walking to the back of the yacht to go to the console area of the boat. I debated with myself whether I should go up there as well and I found myself behind him before I could decide.

The silence between us stretches uncomfortably, his hold on the large metal steering wheel making his calloused knuckles turn white. I walk closer to him, his head turning to look at me from his peripheral vision and I take his look as a warning. I toy with my fingers, sighing as I sit on one of the captains chairs, enjoying the low wake under the yacht as we approach his dock. Rafe shuts off the engine, reaching into the storage box and handing me my keys and my phone, still no words exchanged. He moves past me quickly off the yacht, no regard to make sure I make it safely off myself. 

“Rafe!” I call out, watching his frame still at the end of the dock, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He rounds, his face contorted with anger and he stalks towards me in two simple strides. “You know better!” He huffs, “We agreed to fuck. You just provide a convenient distraction, nothing more.” Rafe cruelly states, towering over me, putting me exactly where he’d like me to be. My chest fills with hurt, his words cutting deep and I’m tempted to wince.

“I slipped up! I didn’t fucking mean it!” Rafe lets out an amused cold chuckle. “Don’t slip up, it’s simple.” 

“Fuck you, Rafe.” I spit out, pushing past him to my car. Rafe scoffs behind me. “You go fuck right off, It’s just going to be a matter of time before you’re on your knees for me again, doing what you do best and gagging on my cock.”

I considered turning around, slapping him and spitting in his face. Yet, I don’t, instead choosing to ignore him and leaving him standing under the same moonlight he told me I looked beautiful under.

[missfrustration]

strictly curse dispelling (reigen arataka x fem!reader) 18+

Rating: explicit 18+, minors do not interact!

A/n: This is part 2 of my "messin' with a psychic" series, but reading part 1 isn't necessary. on ao3 here!

tags: porn with plot!!, a lot of plot, smut, vaginal sex, oral sex, second time, hook-up, relaxing massages, improper use of massage tables, light dom/sub, light choking, no condom, doggy style, office sex, suits, scratching, semi-public sex, no use of y/n

word count: 8.7k (too long)

part 1 part 2

Your cup of coffee falls to the floor as you stare in shock at the office before you.

You pull out your wallet inside your bag and fumble inside until you find one janky card in particular. You yank it out, holding the card to the company sign. As you suspected, the card’s company name is the same as the logo on the office door. 

How could Spirits and Such Consultation be here, not just in the same district, but within a few blocks away from your work without you noticing? You will admit this is the first time since you have been to this side of the area, getting coffee with your friends after work on the floor above, but has it been so far away from your typical commute that you would’ve just discovered it?

You find yourself standing face to face with the entrance, hand hovering over the wooden door with a closed fist. Before questioning if you should be doing this, you instinctively knock on the door with little confidence. 

You don’t hear anything on the other side for a moment. Glancing at your watch, you read 6:49 pm, past regular office hours. Man, what the hell am I doing? You feel rather stupid for even coming to the office; it’s way too late in the day for someone to answer, much less-

While deep in thought, a young boy who has cracked open the door before you snaps you into reality. He stared back at you with relatively calm, kind eyes, dressed in a middle school uniform with a prominent bowl cut.

“Hello, did you have an appointment with us?” The boy gently asked, looking up with a soft smile through the cracked doorway. 

“Oh, ah-no. Sorry, I don’t. I wasn’t planning on… well, it is a little late; maybe I’ll come by another time.” You rub the back of your head and give him a convincing smile as you talk. As you are about to thank him and leave, you hear a voice from inside.

“It’s okay, Mob. You can let them in. I have time today for one more person.” It’s that familiar voice you weren’t hoping to hear now. Your stomach flutters as you realize who you’re about to walk in on.

“Okay,” The boy, now known as Mob, replies to the voice. He turns to you, “Come in, miss. Master Reigen can see you now. Please sit down, and I can make some tea,” He fully opens the door and gestures for you to enter. Without much choice, you kindly nod to the boy and step in. 

You freeze as you see Reigen from across the room. He is at his desk looking intently at his computer, one takoyaki between his greasy, sauce-covered fingers as one slightly peeks out of his mouth. He clicks his mouse and snarfs down the food in his mouth before speaking.

“We are typically closed at this time, but I’m glad to stay later for a new client! So, what can I do for you today, Miss- ah!” As soon as he meets eyes with you, he squeaks in surprise and slightly jumps in his seat with eyes agape. His startled demeanor caused the takoyaki in his hand to splat onto the desk and some crumbs to dribble out of his mouth. He shows no signs of hiding it as he stares at you in shock, squeaking your name as if to prove you're there. It gives you the same vibes as a rodent caught in the act of stealing food. Like a rat. What a coincidence.

“Long time, Mr. Psychic.” You quip, hands clasped. 

Reigen doesn’t respond, only to close his mouth and stare at you. You squirm under his gaze without words before the middle schooler pipes up. 

“Master, do you know this person?”

“Ah! Mob, yes, yes. I do,” He quickly stands up and stuffs his takoyaki in his desk at lightning-fast speed, brushing any crumbs off of that exact grey suit you’ve seen him in before. That desk has seen better days, You think. He scrambles to turn towards you, finally cleaning up his act for that all-too-familiar suave businessman.  “Hello there, what brought you to Spirits and Such Consultation today?” He clasps his hands together and looks at you professionally. Still, the way he swivels around his chair tells you he’s more affected by seeing you than he’s letting on. 

Heh, what a change of character. “I was around the area and saw your building. I guess I wanted to say hi?” 

“Oh, I see. Well, this is clearly a surprise. It is nice to see you… To be honest, I didn’t ever expect you to visit.” His sentence ends with a tinge of sadness. 

“Is that so?” You quip. You are unsure how you want to keep this conversation rolling. You let it go for now and shrug off the comment, “Me neither, honestly.”

There is an awkward silence, one you want to break desperately but can’t find the words to do so, secretly wanting something to change the palpable air. 

“Well, let me make some tea,” Mob says, almost on cue, making his way to the kettle. Reigen quickly pipes up, stopping Mob in his tracks.

He gestures at the time on the clock overhead. “Wait, Mob, it’s late. You should get on home. I’ll-uh, handle this client on my own.” Reigen gestures a subtle ‘shoo’ motion at Mob with a grin and furrowed brow.

“Master, what about my pay for this week?” Mob asks. Reigen quickly responds, brushing aside Mob’s request.

“You can get it tomorrow! Tomorrow, for sure, just not now.”

Mob pauses, looking at Reigen with a somewhat disappointed expression. “But you said the same thing yesterday. Is there a reason why?”

“Hey now, I’ll make it up with ramen next time. I promise!” He waves his hand back and forth, brushing off the notion that he shouldn’t need to pay what you assume to be an employee of his, albeit a young one. You squint your eyes at him. Is he… standing up a kid from his wage?

“Oh… okay,” Mob softly replies, his look of defeat tugs a heartstring in you. Turning towards you, he bows and smiles, “Have a good day, miss.” With that, Mob briefly makes his way out after getting his book bag, shutting the door behind him. The clasp of the door handles rings in the air, leaving you alone with Reigen in his office. 

You immediately turn towards Reigen, raising your eyebrow in confusion. Why does a kid like Mob, who seems so kind and innocent, find himself potentially working under a greaseball that won't pay him? From your point of view, he seems too polite to be working for the shady-looking company. 

“Uh, well,” Reigen clears the stagnant air, “Would you care to sit? Over there, I mean.” He gets up from his desk, ushering you to the comfy-looking chairs at the corner of the room.

You cross your arms as you reluctantly oblige, sitting at one chair as he slowly sits down on the other. You should’ve taken your time sitting down as slowly as he has; the not-so-sudden impact of sitting hurts your tailbone because of how stiff the cushioned chair is. You rub your backside.

“You’re many things, Reigen, but I didn’t think you would flake your workers out of a wage.” You say.

He looked taken back by your words, holding a hand up to his chest as he gawked in offense. “Hey, Mob is a good kid! He understands that desperate times can call for desperate measures.” He chuckles unconvincingly, shifting his feet, which sinks your gaze onto the table. 

“This is a desperate time? You really don’t seem swarmed with customers right now.” 

There is a glossy laminate paper planted alone on the circular foot table. The once-colored article seems faded after years of use, and the different paragraphs of text detail what you assume are his standard services.  The plywood table between you, too, could dent if you kick it with your leg. You wonder if this furniture is second-hand or if Reigen went out of his way to buy the most unpleasant things just to save a buck. You’re in the mood to thoroughly unsettle him now, having clearly examined his office before him. Like clockwork, a slight clamminess forms on Reigen’s forehead before he replies.

“You might not believe it, but this office contained an entire baseball team asking for my help right before you arrived! They claimed a spirit was haunting their equipment, causing their scores to tank halfway through the season! That’s why Mob and I have stuck around the office after hours. Extra paperwork started to pile up throughout the day that wasn’t addressed until the end of our consultation. Of course, a case like that was easily handled by this century’s most excellent psychic.” Reigen ends his little charade and speech, looking quite proud of himself. 

You shake it off, changing the topic. “Speaking of Mob, why do you have such a nice kid working for you? I believe there are more suitable people in Seasoning City that can help you with whatever this is,” you gesture more to the cheap furniture than the actual services. Still, Reigen overlooks that–actually, he doesn’t notice. 

“Ah yes, that was my disciple, Mob. The one I told you about that, uh, night?” Reigen unconvincingly remarks. You shift in your seat and blink wildly at the mention of that word again. 

Disciple.

You shift around in your chair under his gaze, crossing your legs and arms. “Oh wow. I guess I must’ve really misunderstood the situation that night.” Reigen looks at you in confusion. You explain yourself further, “I was under the assumption that I was just some quick bang for you. I initially called bullshit on your disciple story you used as an excuse to leave right after we… well, and I have thought that way since now. To be frank, that’s the reason why I never called back. I'm sorry about that.”

Reigen listened to you intently, nodding along, obviously processing your side of the story. When you finish, he sighs and waves his hand around. “No, no need to say sorry. In fact, I should apologize to you. I did need to leave on such short notice, but I didn’t tell you until the last minute, which made things feel off when I left. The morning of, I had to look after the kid on his school’s sports day. But I figured, from your point of view, it was pretty pathetic. Look, I can make it up to you right now, in fact! If you don’t mind me taking up your time, that is?”

“I find that hard to believe you can make it up to me considering my first impressions of your treatment of employees, as well as this cheap-ass furniture.”

“Okay, harsh.” Reigen clears his throat. “I swear! I’m dedicated to making this right. I can name a price, too!”

“Price? What are you leading onto, psychic?”

“I can serve up one of my world-class massage- ahem, curse dispelling services! It completely rids the body of all the pain that nasty spirits can cause.”

“Curse dispelling? That sounds interesting, but I don’t believe anything is haunting me,” You don’t think anything can haunt someone, to be honest. 

“You’d be surprised how many people get plagued with these violent spirits. I tell you, if I wasn’t here serving the people, it would’ve become the #1 epidemic in Japan!” He leans forward and grabs your arm, gently rocking it back and forth to your confusion. He pauses,  “Hmm, I see. You’re lucky. The hold it has on you is gentle but can worsen at any moment! Have no fear. I can discount this curse dispelling for… about 50% off if you’d like.” He kicks his feet up on the table, albeit very gently, clearly proud of his overly kind discount.

You look into his eyes. “Reigen.” You started. “Not just 50% for the shit you pulled. It’ll take a lot more than that to forgive you. Especially if I think this quality of service isn't worth the money considering the cheap yard sale finds.” You motion to your chair, shaking back and forth, only to reveal to both of you that the legs wobble too hard.

“Jeez, fine! It’s on the house. Besides, I owe you one, so consider my debt officially relieved?” Reigen winced at your stoic gaze, trying to do as much damage control as needed to solve this issue.

You sigh, really wondering if this is a good idea. You sigh in defeat, “I’ll bite. This better be worth it after all the buttering up you’ve been doing on this.”

He smirks at you and leans forward, “Of course it will! After all, I am the greatest psychic this century has ever seen. You won’t regret it; we can set you all up inside the curse-dispelling sanctuary now.”

Sanctuary?

He leads you to a door by the desk at the corner of the small office you didn’t notice until now. Even looking inside after Reigen opens the door for you, you can scarcely see the amount of space there is.

It's a tiny room, tinier than you would think. A shiny leather massage table is in the middle—if you can even assign areas to such a little room. There are small wall shelves and large clothed drawers with different incense burners, oils, and other massage tools.

With all this stuff, you can guess that Reigen cannot move freely while he works on clients.

You gesture to the confines. “This is literally a room the size of my closet. What do you expect to do here? 

“Y’know, that’s a little rude. You don’t know, but spirits are typically scared of tiny rooms. Really, there just isn’t enough room to breathe for the guys! It helps get rid of them faster and ease my clients’ pain more quickly.

“Spirits can… breathe?”

He looks at you attentively, snapping his hands around a few times before conjuring up his remark. “Hah! Well, I suppose I could get into it, but I don’t want to hinder you with my vast knowledge of the inner workings of spirits. Why don’t we get started instead, yeah?” He fidgets around for the items he needs and turns around. “Well then, I will need you to get undressed for me. Okay?”

“Oh, sure thing.” A shiver runs down your spine as you turn to look at him. You can tell in his eyes he just means undressing for the massage, but you would be lying if you said your face didn’t feel warm for the possible double meaning. 

“If you can undress once I leave the sanctuary and put these towels on the regions you are comfortable covering, we can start with the first part of the ritual.”

Before you can say anything, he quickly skips outside the room and closes the door. 

Upon closer inspection, the clothed drawers are filing cabinets with tablecloths hung over them. You can tell they are filing cabinets due to the metal handles of each drawer clearly poking out from the thin cloth. Regardless, they are way too tall to be regular furniture. What a relaxing choice. 

The towels he gave you are scratchy and cheap feeling. Reigen’s clients are put through the wringer. 

You position yourself on the massage table face down, waiting for Reigen to enter. After a few moments, you hear a gentle knock on the door.

“Oi, I’m coming in. You decent?” You invite him in, and he slowly opens the door. Although you can’t see him, you notice the slight pause in the creak of the door when he sets his eyes on your naked body. 

“Did you… forget I gave you towels?” 

“I did immediately after feeling them. You should get better ones.”

“Noted.”

He fully steps in and shuts the door swiftly, briefly shuffling around the room and opening drawers around you.

With that, Reigen begins his ‘ritual,’ dosing the room in bright, lovely scents of incense and methodically lighting some candles around the room on drawers and shelves. The LED lights above you dim, but the candles adorning the room's edges and shelves keep it light enough to see. It’s almost romantic with how he’s set it up—is what you’re enticed to say if it wasn’t Reigen.

He begins the first step, what he calls prepping the skin. He reaches into a small box filled with freshly steamed washcloths and takes a few off the top row. Coming to your side, he gently rings out the cloth. He unfolds it before placing the washcloth on your skin, which he explains will free your skin of dirt or grime before continuing. The warmth of the steamed towel against you feels comforting; even the quality of the washcloth is better than the other ones. 

“While I do this, are there any particular muscle groups that tend to bother you throughout the day?”

“Yeah, my shoulders and hamstrings are typically the most sore. Pretty much on the daily. It's annoying.”

“Say no more. I have just the thing.”

He walks to the other side of the room outside your vision, and you hear shifts of different fabrics. You wonder what he’s up to but are positive you'll find out soon enough. He comes back to your side. 

“This will be hot, just to warn you. I will put these on the areas you said you struggle with most.

When you consent, you feel thick, hot pads press against both shoulders, followed by some weighted hot pads on the back of your legs right under your butt. The sensation is dazzling. 

“Ahhhh…” You sigh in pleasure at the sensation.

“Heh, feels nice, right?

“Yes.” You languidly sigh. You let your approval linger out of your mouth as you completely relax on the table. You can feel the aching soreness of your legs and shoulders slowly melt away from the pads. 

The washcloths and hot pads are removed from your skin, leaving your body feeling chilled from the air yet relaxed enough not to care. 

You hear the sounds of oily fluid as Reigen gently rocks a bottle of oil in his hand. It's the perfect temperature when you feel a liberal line of oil pour down your back and legs. Reigen puts the bottle down and spreads the amount evenly down the skin. He moves to your legs next, gently applying the liquid from the skin right under your ass to the hinge of your leg. 

Then, Reigen begins his massage. His hands connect to your shoulders as he starts to work his magic. 

His hands palm into your shoulders, rubbing with varying levels of force to slowly break down the tension that has built over the years.  He starts with a slow pace that gently travels down each muscle of your back and up. From the shoulders to the laterals, to the spine, the fatigue of each knot looses up.

“Man, you should do this to my whole body.”

“Woah, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This is a free service, after all. I’m concentrating on the most cursed parts today.”

He leads into a staccato of firm tapping next, traveling up and down the length of your back with vigor. He uses the sides of his hands in a hacking motion in rapid percussion. Your body gently shakes to and fro from the technique.

From there, he focuses on specific muscles again with his thumbs applying the pressure. On each area, he rubs both sides with his thumbs in a sweeping motion, bringing the skin together vertically before firmly spreading them out. You groan into each touch.

You can now fully say you know what those hands do. They do wonders. 

More than that, though. You begin to wonder about other places Reigen could massage. 

Almost on queue, the psychic’s hands then travel to the fat of your thighs, gently kneading them from the hinge to the hamstring, catering your lower body muscles to a personalized experience. Reigen’s thumbs travel right under the fat of your ass to massage before pausing. 

“Oh, man. Your pectineus muscles are really tight. No wonder your thighs ache—I mean, the spirits have really been eating you up!”

“Is that what it is?”

“Really, though, this needs to be addressed.”

He begins doing the same steps he did with your back muscles to the precise spots he needs to loosen right under your ass. Just as in the last areas, the tension release of your muscles feels phenomenal. The hot pads have already relieved enough, but his hand movements solidify that you’ll walk away feeling pure refreshment. 

His hands start moving outside your pectineus muscles now until he finds one specific spot he cannot ignore. 

“Hold on. Your adductors are worse than the rest! What did you even do to make them this bad?”

“Well, I do have a desk job.”

Reigen turns on his heel and walks over to your face, squatting down and matching your eye level.

“This is unheard of at Spirits and Such. You have the worst kind of spirit affecting you!” He starts waving hand motions faster than Mach-5, stopping with his pointer finger lifted toward you. “You have an adductor spirit.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard today!”

“Hey, now! This subject is serious and certainly must be treated. Don’t worry. As a psychic, I can rid you of any spirits for good until you need to come back for more, which includes a 20% discount!”

“Yeah, yeah. I getcha. Do what you need to.”

“With pleasure,” He promptly stands back up. He turned back to his target before meekly placing his hand back on the inside of your thigh. 

“To complete this procedure… I need you to spread your legs for me.”

“Oh, okay.” Heat fills your face, but you do your best not to outwardly express how his words got to you. Slowly, you do what you’re told.

Without a beat, he leans forward to massage your inner thigh, dragging his fingers from the area down to your knee before lifting his fingers and repeating the process. He begins his massage technique with his thumbs to add more pressure, dragging downward to reach the skin behind your knee. 

He slowly drags your skin one more time before stopping, gently putting his thumbs back on the muscle instead moving upwards to your butt. More importantly, your now aching cunt. 

You squeak a little when you feel his direction change, overcome with embarrassment when Reigen's hands are slightly taken aback by your noise. 

“Are you okay?” He says, leaning over to peer at your covered face.

The surprise of his movements was alluring to you that you didn’t feel right to keep your thoughts in anymore. 

You just need him.

“Please, put your mouth on it.” You whisper to him.

There is silence in the air, the thought of what will come dancing in your head like a never-ending routine. He removes his hands from your skin.

“This is a massage, remember? Why would I use my mouth… if massages require hands?” 

You get up and fully face Reigen, who looks back at you bewildered and mere inches away. You genuinely couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. There is no fucking way he would be serious, right? 

Something clicks, however. “Holy shit.” You think out loud, putting the pieces together.

You turn your head to him, mouth agape, staring at this blonde-haired rat. You see it now: Reigen has been in work mode this whole time. He tilts his head in confusion and leans forward. “What’s up? Is there something you want to tell me?”

“I cannot believe you… you know what?”

“What?”

Instead of using words to tell him what you mean, you sit up, reach for his tie, and pull him towards you. His lips crash against yours. His eyes stay wide open momentarily as he registers what is happening before swiftly returning the kiss. 

It’s heavy and hot from your end. You muster all the courage to not rip his clothes off now. Still, you refrain, eventually letting his tie go and pulling away, “You understand now, right?” You ask in slight annoyance, feeling a little embarrassed at your behavior. Your blatant skin exposure right in front of Reigen certainly is not helping. 

The dots begin to connect as Reigen further peers onto your shocked face, his demeanor suddenly freezing as he suddenly releases his hand from your skin and opens his mouth in a perfect O. Stunned, his eyes widen in surprise as he processes what just happened–and what it means . Reigen breaks into a teasing smile, his surprise quickly turning into amusement.

"Well, that's certainly a way to make a point."

He looks down at your naked body, realizing who is before him and where he has seen this body before. More importantly, how your body made him feel before. How the supple skin felt in his hands touched the same as before. How you fit into him that night. The angelic sounds and things you whispered to him on that night. As his mind wanders, the blood used to power his ever-working thoughts travels straight to his pants. His face contorted in lust, breaking the pause he inevitably created.

"Is this your new negotiation tactic? Because I have to admit, it's effective. But it would’ve been as good if you had told me.” Reigen glistens.

“Have we been in the same room all this time? I literally told you to put your mouth on me. What could be more obvious?” 

He puts his hand on his chin and thinks for a moment. “Touche.” He admits. “But hey, it’s not you or anything! Honestly, I think you’re the one person to snap me out of it like this…”

“What, your work mode?”

“Exactly.” He agrees. He pauses, slowly amping the atmosphere with solid gazes across your figure. “You really know how to bring out the naughty side of me, don’t you?” 

Your cheeks flush as they meet Reigen's gaze, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as he slowly glides his fingers up and down your skin. With a glint of mischief, you reply, "And you have no idea how much I enjoy seeing that side of you. I’m sure not many have seen it.”

Reigen scoffs at the fact you insinuate that he gets no maidens. “Why don’t we continue?” Reigen asks, leaning into your ear and whispering, “Can I-” Reigen pauses momentarily to clear his throat after a slight voice crack. Music to your ears. “Can I touch you?” He asks.

���Um, you’ve been touching me.”

“Well, you know what I mean!” Reigen huffs, waving his hands around, trying to brush your teases off.

You roll your eyes playfully, inviting the man before you, “Yes, Reigen, of course you can touch me.” You find his need to ask for permission endearing, especially since you know that anything he could ask of you, you’d probably do. You look back at him when you realize the slight embarrassment on his face as he looks back at you with a pursed lip. 

“It’s cute when you get annoyed.” You comment, only making him shake his head and turn away. He sighs in an overdramatic fashion and collects himself. Only a blush and smug attitude is left. 

The massage continues again, this time with a more seductive tension in the air, as well as a focused massage to your buttocks and thighs. You sigh in delight, feeling your pleasure form differently.

“You are way too good at this.” You say as softly as your throat can coax out.

“And you…” He sighs, “You sound beautiful,” He glides his hand up to your inner thigh, “You know that?”

You blush, completely hiding your face in your arms, ignoring his comment. 

“Oh? Did you not hear me?” He says.

“You’re too… ah!” Your back arches up from the contact of his hand smacking your ass. You bite your lip and squirm your legs as you whine in protest.

“Dunno if you heard it the first time, but you look amazing. I’ve always thought that, y’know,” He blows out another long-paced sigh. “The good thing is I don’t have to imagine you again; after all, you’re right here, ready for me, huh?” His fingers sweep up your pussylips, earning a moan from you in response. 

“Stop buttering me up when you know I’m already…”

“Already, what? Hmmm?” 

“I need you, Reigen.” 

You look up at him to see he’s looking down at you with a smirk. “Say no more.” He whispers with a teasing grin. Reigen already knew what you’d say from the start.

“I won’t if you keep up that attitude, idiot.”

“Tough talk for someone naked and vulnerable.” He delivers you another light slap, causing your feet to kick up. Reigen stifles a laugh. 

He leans over your frame. Slowly soaking up the sight before him. He leans down to your ear, slow enough to keep your mind spinning, and sighs onto the skin of your nape.

“Y’know, you’re pretty relentless.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that, psychic?”

“See, I’m trying to be all sexy AND consensual, and you just don’t give.” Reigen smacks your ass when he says this, earning a guttural gasp out of you.  “I mean, what can a fella do to get some respect around here?”

“I think fucking me can be a good start.”

“After all I’ve done for you? You might have to ask me nicely if you want me to consider it.” Reigen's voice tilts in a taunting tone, almost egging you on.

Your pride wants to keep you from giving him what he wants. But you really like him, and there’s something else in mind that could keep the ball rolling while wiping that demeaning smirk off his face.

You spring into action, leaping off the table and kneeling before a now-surprised Reigen. You are met with a prominent bulge in his pants. You feel him tense up as he steps back, pushing him from the table to the wall. Suddenly, you palm his erection to earn an ethereal groan from the blonde. 

“You treated me with head last time. Why don’t I return the favor now?”

 “I mean, I’m not complaining.” Reigen tries to collect himself, rolling his eyes with a faux smile that screams, ‘I’m too cool to be this worked up over you.’ He shrugs, giving in to your wishes.

Immediately, his suave words devolve into periodic sighs as you slowly work on freeing his erection. You shimmy him out of his belt and suit pants and pull down his boxers enough for his dick to jump out and land on your forehead. Reigen snorts and covers his mouth. 

“How’s the view, princess?”

“Just fine, actually, thank you.” Be it pride or annoyance at rat boy, you immediately stuff his cock into the gummy confines of your throat. 

Reigen huffs into his mouth, trying to play it off as a yawn but quickly realizing both of you know what it is.

You bob up and down his dick, using your tongue and the roof of your mouth to create divine pressure on the shaft as you suck hard at the end before jamming the rest back in your mouth.

“Wow. You look really good doing that.” Reigen has a dark blush dusted on his face as he covers his mouth. You look up at him and plunge himself deeper down your throat, eyes seductive. 

You take your hand that doesn’t aid in pumping Reigen's member and start to caress his balls. His hands jerk around from this, immediately resting a hand on your head to play with your hair and guide your pace. 

His hand is gentle, but you can tell he’s holding back the pressure he wants. You slide his head out of your mouth, creating a delicious pop from its exit. 

Before you can say anything, he pipes up, “Shit, I overstepped. I don’t have to move your head if you don’t want me to.”

Your face heats up from the words of a gentleman despite wishing for the complete opposite.

“Actually, I wanted you to do more. You don’t have to hold back. I like it.”

Reigen blinks at you, barely believing your words. He feels like he’s lucked out on you. “Man. Well, if you say so.” 

He grabs a handful of your hair and guides you back to the post you desperately crave. 

His grip on you has you moaning into the touch, a perk that he cannot deny he likes. You want more now, and you can’t back down.

You ready yourself for his member before quickly stuffing your throat once more. You feel the hard tip protruding into the depths of your throat, trying not to gag at the sheer length in fear this is the best way to take him. Slowly, you accept the last couple inches of him in your mouth until your nose is scrunched up to his stomach, kissing the hint of a happy trail. 

You bob back up all the way just until Reigens cock is about to fall from your mouth until you stuff it all again, relaxing your throat as best you can to retake him.

Then again, and again, and again. 

You develop a steady pace of gulping Reigen’s entire shaft until you feel a second hand, this time reluctantly pumping the brakes on your relentless pace. You look up at the man before you in an almost innocent confusion.

“Those eyes, I can’t take you anymore.” He groans into your touch moments before gently pulling your hair to release himself from your mouth.

“I can close them then.” You say, closing your eyes without a beat and a smile.

“No-hah, I’m gonna need a time-out. You are way too good at that. I don’t want to tap out early for you.” He dramatically sinks to the floor with the wobble of his knees and lowers himself to your level with both hands on your shoulders. He leans on you, catching his breath and sweating freely. You swipe some off of his forehead.

“I’m game for either. As long as I can repay the care you used on me.” To stop him from answering your rather heartfelt sentiment, you lean him back up to kiss him. His tongue swirls with yours, indirectly tasting himself.

After catching his breath, he breaks the kiss, leans forward to meet your height, and whispers in your ear, “If you don’t mind, why not bend over this time? There's a pretty sturdy massage table behind you, in case you didn't notice.” 

“Wow, I’m somehow surprised it’s sturdy. The other furniture in this place seems to be deteriorating on the spot.”

His mouth forms an irritated smirk for the comment. “Are you trying to stop me from fucking you or not? Seems like a no to me right now with that attitude.”

You ignore his comment, knocking on the legs of the massage table. “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t break it, to be honest. Seems like real wood under here.”

“Shit, I got some wood now.” You turn to Reigen, discovering the now aching cock. “I wonder who will give first.”

”And the man has jokes. Bad ones at that.”

He looks up to see the cringe you have on your face. He sighs, “Jeez, tough crowd.”

“Even tougher to leave you hanging.” You touch his erect penis, now trembling with the stimulation from earlier and beads of precum. You lean into him, “Why don’t we change that?” 

You pump him a few times, to his relief, before separating and bringing him back to the table. He taps your hips and bows, hand gesturing towards the table. “After you, then.”

You reach the table, feeling a flat hand on your back as Reigen helps you bend over, revealing your damp pussy to him that glistens from the candlelight. He leans into your hips, curling his fingers into the curve of your pelvic bone, rubbing his thumbs against the soft skin, and readying himself for an entrance. 

“Can I?” Reigen whispers in your ear.

”Yes. Please, Reigen.” 

“I know it will fit already,” He uses his fingers to swipe up and down your slit painfully slow, collecting some of the wetness of your cunt before spitting in his hand and pumping the liquids on himself. He taps himself on the small of your back as if knocking at an entrance before opening it.  “I’m just surprised that it can in the first place.”

“Cut me some slack. I’m not that fragile.”

“Of course not. Just,” Reigen applies pressure to the head of his cock to your entrance. “You’re fucking tight.”

Instantly, your entrance succumbs to the pressure, welcoming his tip inside and enveloping him. You sigh together in harmony as he slowly inches into you,  stretching yourself out to perfectly accommodate him.

You arch yourself into him from the mouthwatering sensations before you feel his hand once more press onto your back and guide you back onto the table.

“I thought we wanted you to bend over.” His finger taps on the skin of your back, playfully reminding you to say still for him.

“That’s hard to do when you, hahhh,” He slides more of his cock inside of you, which you can’t help but whimper from.

“Hah, shit. And still so good. All for me?”

“Of course… just take it already.” The words sound embarrassing coming out of your mouth, your face growing hot as the words emerge from your lips. Reigen seems to notice this and kisses you for validation. For potential psychic he can really read the room like one.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He says with a strained voice and cheeky grin. No matter how much he tries to feign a laid-back attitude in front of you, you can quickly tell Reigen Arataka is going crazy for your pussy. 

“I’ve waited for this, after all.” Reigen adds, kissing down your back before moving again.

You moan in response as he slowly rocks his hips into you, fully stretching every crevice he can touch. 

The table is sturdy under you, your tits and stomach pressed firmly against the leather that cements you to the position, unable to move and only able to take his cock entirely. 

He pushes into you to a hilt, not a moment until he begins his slow descent out. The blissful pain of him filling you up is taken away as he pulls back out, only having you beg for more of his touch. You don’t vocalize it, however, as the emptiness of him pulling out is suddenly replaced with him sliding back in. You can’t help but bend over entirely over the table. The way you’re positioned, your toes are barely touching the floor.

He begins a steady pace of rocking back and forth, grabbing onto your hips for constant support. 

“The view is great, by the way.” Reigen gives a sigh that defines long and sensual, using his thumb to lightly brush the thickness of your ass. 

“Shut up. Hah.” You can’t help but whine as he steadily rocks deeper into your cunt.

“No way,” He whistles, “Not when you’re under me like this.”

His pace quickens, causing your ass to arch into him; gradually, the sensual air is replaced with hot noises and pants from both of you. 

From you, the never-ending symphony of stifled moans and sighs and the melody of his name exiting your tongue. With the roll of his hips that hit just right, it’s enough to steal curses from your mouth as you try to keep your voice down.

From him, the sweat drops dripping off his forehead and landing not so gracefully onto you, the sound of his hands gripping the oiled skin of your hips, sometimes slipping away from the lack of friction, making squelching sounds from your oil and his sweat. He is so thankful that your back is already so oily from the massage that you haven’t noticed his sweaty palms.

Nothing between you two, however, is louder than the melding of your sexes dripping together and making as one, creating that oh-so-delicious feeling both of you chase. It comes and flows like a glorious tidal wave that you ride together. Helping each other reach that point is the goal now. 

You feel yourself teeter over the edge, moaning now past a limit you can’t control. You let yourself go, now being louder than before.

“That feels so good. Fuck!”

His hands reach out from behind you and clamp over your mouth, trying to quiet you down, accidentally burying his cock even more, causing you to scream in his grasp. 

“Jeez, you’re loud!” Reigen says between huffs. “Hah, you’re gonna let all my office neighbors know what we’re doing. Shit.” 

Suddenly, his nails rake down your back as he rams into you in deep strokes, the sensations causing your pussy to grip and create heinous squelching sounds that connect your sexes together. 

“Please,” You slur helplessly, “Please do that again–ngh. That feels so fucking good.”

“What a dirty girl. Only if you quiet down.”

“I will, please. Mm, please.”

A relentless hand snakes to the nape of your neck as nails latch on, slowly and painfully descending down your glistening skin. You can’t help but moan at the pleasure that the pain brings you. 

It makes you crave more of him that it’s unbearable. You need more.

“Hold on.” 

You gently loosen yourself from his grasp, turning from your belly to your side as he pulls out. You see his face. His face looks angelic, sweat glistening under the candlelight and hair sticking to his forehead. 

“I want to see your face… please.”

“That makes two of us.” Reigen replies.

He dives onto your chest, slowly kissing and sucking on the skin between your tits before darting to your nipples.

Your hand reaches for his golden hair, the pads of your fingers grazing his scalp as you grab a bundle of his hair. He moans your name out loud as he tastes your skin. 

“Shit, Reigen.”

He lifts up his head, mouth wet from his escapade. You reach out to him and wipe the corner of his lips. His tongue runs over his teeth as it forms into a smile.

His hand lifts up to cup your face as he hastily travels his lips to yours, immediately engaging in a wet, hot kiss. 

You feel him line up to your entrance again, pushing in with enough force to stop your mouth from dancing against Reigen’s. The sensation of being filled up once more, as Reigen’s sensation of being inside of you, causes a shared sigh of pleasure you exchange as your foreheads touch together. 

“I want to try something.” Reigen reaches for your leg closest to him and puts it over his shoulder.

“Hah! Do you want to stretch me out more?

He shrugs with a smile. “It’s only natural. It’s what I do.”

“Yeah? I thought it was ‘curse dispelling’?” 

He blows a raspberry at you, brushing your hair away from your glistened forehead. “Potato, potahto. It’ll help your hamstrings, probably. Is that okay?”

Of course it is. You express you consent once again.

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins pumping in and out of you again. You whip your head back against the table now, the indescribable stretch of your leg now letting him pump into you deeper. You bite your lip at the sensation that makes you feel so delirious. 

You lift you head to look up at him when you feel more in control of yourself. That’s when you catch a beautiful sight.

His chin is tucked into his chest as his gaze is fixated on your sexes, almost salivating at the scene before him. Reigen’s eyes are so hypnotized by the scene before him that it barely feels real. His huffs vibrate onto your clit, and you twitch forward to him when he gets a demonic idea. 

One hand grips your pelvis while the other snakes up to start playing with your clit. Reigen’s thumb rubs you in gentle circles that devolve into firm brushes. You gasp and start squirming, feeling you reach your limit. You can’t contain it anymore, not with that gaze Reigen holds on your pussy, and certainly not with his stimulation on your clit. 

“Arataka, please.” You let out a lustful noise that fills the small room. 

The call of his name snaps him out of his stupor, connecting his gaze to yours.

He sees your brows knitting together, saliva escaping your mouth from pure pleasure, the culmination of the oil and heat of you two in such a tiny room that starts to stick on your sweet skin. The tears prick the watery ducts of your eyes that look back at you…

And you call his name once more. 

Arataka…

It’s almost a whisper as you try to hold back your voice from reaching outside the office. But you accomplished your need to have his focus. The gaze you share with Reigen tells him your needs, your wants. The need to cum, and the want to have it now.

Just like you, he can’t take it anymore to hold back these needs. He needs to be closer to you. 

His hand reaches your neck, lightly holding it as he connects your lips in a needy kiss. You can’t contain yourself any longer now, especially from him leaning forward to kiss you, leg still propped on his shoulder as his cock hammered into you. You can’t help but moan louder.

The pulse of your pussy clamping down on him is more apparent than ever and has his head dizzying. His grip on reality weakens. “Keep it down– fuck. ” Reigen groans into your mouth. 

You kiss him back in response. Tongues connect just to disconnect and repeat in cycles. You grab onto his wrist, still holding your neck as you coil into a new wave of pleasure. All you can do is take everything Reigen gives you and keep your volume to a minimum.

But how could you? When Reigen kisses you like this and holds you so sensually, even if his dick feeds into you like a monster, he is so purposeful with each movement. So caring yet confident, so needy, as are you. You pant and stifle yourself, but barely to any avail. Anyone within the hall outside of the rooms—maybe even the floors above and below—has caught wind at this point from the music you have made. Reigen has learned this too with time.

As you thought, it’s over for him now; the last breach of rules he wants to enforce breaks his inhibitions as his orgasm starts to creep up. Immediately, he removes his hand from your body, locking his hands against the table and rutting into your bent figure further. 

“Shit. I don’t care at this point. I need you.” He whispers in your ear so close you arch your ass, opening your pussy to be drilled in deeper. His pants in your ear dampened the skin around it, earning another heavenly, albeit louder, moan out of you. 

“Please, don’t say those things–I can’t,” You moan and throw your head back onto the table. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

Slap!

Your pleas are met with a sharp hand on your ass, causing you to squirm around his cock in pleasure. His pace is ruthless now, and you grip your hands on the edge of the table he’s religiously fusing into you. 

“Don’t hold it back anymore. I don’t care who hears now.” He leans into you again. “Make them know how you feel.” Slap! “Let them know how I’m making you feel.”

This pressure is too much to not start your build-up on. 

Reigen takes your ankle and pushes it up hard . It causes him to excel past areas he hasn't reached yet, pounding onto your cervix. You tense up from the overwhelming stimulation that comes from each pump. 

“Reigen, I’m-I’m gonna-”

“Yeah, haaah. Me too.” 

He crouches over you, gripping your flesh harder than ever as he rams into you faster, rolling every shape he can think over your clit, causing you to clamp onto him more and build both of you up. 

You sputter words and moans as your core starts to wind up in white-hot pleasure. 

You both stare into each other’s eyes, faces contorted in pleasure, until you know it’s time.

You throw your head back as if you wanted to completely rearrange the placement of your spine. You scream out as if you were in agony, only for you to feel complete overwhelming pleasure course throughout your body in never-ending waves until your scream forms into one of complete silence. Your voice is lost from you, yet you continue to latch onto Reigen and dig your nails into him as you shake uncontrollably.

He pulls out of you in swift force and cums onto your stomach, giving one last groan as he milks every bit out. You continue to jitter under him from his length, exiting you along with the after-effects of your orgasm. You join his groans as the sensation of his hot cum covers your stomach.

You see his disheveled hair sticking into his sweat-covered face as his chest heaves out and in to collect himself. He looks back at you with a tired expression, very relieved of his release, and you are with yours. He leans forward and grabs your face for a passionate kiss. You fully turn towards him to deepen it.

“That whole massage session was for nothing. I know I’m gonna wake up sore from you tomorrow.” You wince, trying to straighten your back out, being met with the pain. 

“Shoot, I can fix you up tomorrow if you want.” 

Before you ask what he’s implying, you start sliding off the table before he stops you.

“Wait a minute. I gotta clean you up first before anything else!” He perks up and turns toward the door.

You giggle at the kind gesture. Reigen maneuvers out of the room, holding out his cum-covered hand to not touch anything, and uses his elbow to push down the handle and slip out. 

He returns with a towel, clean hands, and a new item carded between his middle and pointer. “By the way, I think we should be more acquainted now that we’ve sorted that whole mess out earlier.”

You take the card while he wipes you down, seeing the digits written on the paper, and look at him with a flirtatious smirk and blush across your face.

“Are you always this brazen with people close to you?”

“You can either take it or leave it.” He huffs, “It comes with the territory.” He gestures to himself after annunciating territory.

“Somehow, I am fine with that.” You playfully respond. Lightly thumbing the card's end, you subconsciously try to memorize the phone number Reigen gave you. You lift your head to look back at him.

“That means I can get some more curse-dispelling services of yours for free, right?”

Reigen studies your face. You look back at him with a genuine smile. Those amber eyes continue to captivate him. He lifts a brow and looks you up and down.

“Depends. Are you feeling cursed again at this very moment?”

“Wow, on second thought, I might be feeling exactly that.” You start to fan yourself as if suffering instant heat exhaustion. “Gosh, Reigen. You may have to help me against this massage table one more time.”

“With pleasure, pretty girl.”

The card and towel are swiftly tossed to the side as you collide again, certainly with the remembrance that this will be the first time together of the many to come. 

[hongcherry]

Saw this and I could NOT pass this up🤌🏼, writing toooo good to not send in a request still haven't got over the Christmas gift fic you wrote me with YunGi🤪

So can I get this based around Woozi please😔🙏🏼, the lack of Woozi fics is CRIMINAL! With the dialogue being #2, emotion I, and the setting the alleyway being a dive bar.

I will take anythingggggg, angsty, happy, sad, truly ANYTHING. I’m thirsty for any Woozi crumbs I can get😔😔 please and thank you bestie😚😚xoxo

omg DDD: LOOK AT YOU BEING ACTIVE AGAIN 💖 hello hello bae! AND DON'T BE NICE TO ME. IDK HOW TO ACT *throws hearts aggressively* but tysm for supporting me huhuhuhuuh 😫 and ty for sending in a request! i hope u like it, my cheese lover 3000 🧀

Pairing: musician!Jihoon/Woozi x Reader G/AUs: Angst, friends to lovers, non-idol au TWs: None but ofc lmk <3 WC: 1.2k A/N: Barely proofread so no judgment plzzzzz ;c

Prompt: “what they said back there. is it true?” + confusion + an alleyway behind a dive bar

Build a fic! ✨

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

The winter air bites into you as soon as you push past the dive bar’s door. The chilliness makes you want to take a U-turn back into the building, but you know the heat from indoors won’t help. Not when your source of warmth still sits inside.

People mill about the sidewalks, some dressed casually and others dolled up. No one gives you a second glance as they walk by. It makes it easy to slip into the alleyway unnoticed—hoping for some privacy as you gather your thoughts.

He’s leaving.

In one week, Jihoon will be across the country, chasing his dreams that don’t include you.

There’s a gallon of guilt sloshing in your chest from not being over the moon for his opportunity. However, it doesn’t compare to the sea you’re treading in from knowing this is it for you both.

You won’t get the chance to love and be loved by him.

Not in the way you want.

You slump against the brick wall, arms wrapped around yourself to fight the cold.

You know there are still opportunities to keep in contact, but it won’t be the same. You won’t be able to feel his arms around you or his lips on yours. Maybe if traveling wasn’t so expensive, you could find the silver lining.

“Hey.”

The familiar voice makes your head snap up; your hold on your jacket tightens in surprise.

Jihoon stands at the entrance of the alleyway with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He looks hesitant.

Emotions try to clog your throat, but you force them down so you can speak.

“What they said back there. Is it true?” you ask, voice strained.

Jihoon glances to the side briefly while he answers, “Yes.”

He slowly makes his way closer. Each step brings forth an equal weight of pain and happiness. Being around Jihoon used to bring a smile to your face instantly, but now, your heart just aches.

“You didn’t tell me,” you state.

“I did,” he answers slowly. He stops a few feet away, hands still in his pockets.

“You said you’d be gone for two weeks, not two years,” you scoff.

He exhales a deep breath. You watch it swirl in the air from the cold weather instead of seeing the mix of excitement and guilt on his face.

“It was only going to be two weeks, but they really like my works and wanted me to sign a contract,” he explains.

You turn away when you see your vision blurring. Staring at him reminds you of what you’re about to lose.

“I was going to tell you in private tonight,” he adds.

“What else were you going to tell me?” You force the question out.

“What do you mean?”

You glance at him finally. He’s standing an arm’s length away now.

“Were you going to tell me I meant nothing to you? That you’re sorry for leaving me, but I should be happy about it?”

“Fuck, Yn, you have no idea how hard this decision was for me,” he sighs out, slight frustration laced in his words.

“Enlighten me, Jihoon, because right now, it feels like you knew there was never going to be an ‘us’.”

He winces at your words, hands digging deeper in his pockets like he’s trying to find the right words to make you feel better. You already know he’ll come up empty.

“That’s not true,” he says belatedly.

“No? How long did you know about this new contract of yours? How long were you waiting to tell me ‘privately’? A week? Two?” you ask, voice raising in anger.

The more you talk, the more conflicted he looks. You know you’re not making this easy on him, but the devil on your shoulder wants him to feel the heartache you’re feeling.

“Do you not remember how two weeks ago we were on your couch and I told you I love you? I love you, Jihoon, and you’re just going to lea—”

Jihoon kisses you hard.

He holds your face in his hands, grip tight enough to keep you steady but not enough to hurt. Your heart hammers in your chest.

He puts all the emotions and messages he can’t convey into the kiss. It’s so overwhelming that you want to pull away, but you persist because it means you can have him a little longer.

The second you feel him begin to pull away, your hands reach up to grip his wrists.

He stares down, so you can’t see his face.

“I’d ask for you to wait for me, but that’s not fair,” he says. You can hear the sorrow in his voice. Although you wanted him to feel it too, you also can’t help but hurt more knowing he’s not happy. “Maybe once I get a few paychecks I can fly you out. Maybe… Maybe if you still love me when I come back, we can make it work.”

“Why can’t we make it work now?” You nearly plead.

He sighs and shakes his head. His hair tickles your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You will your knees not to give out in realization. There’s no changing his mind.

Your hands on his wrists ease.

Jihoon looks up, eyes filled with desperation for you not to go.

“Let’s head back inside. You’re cold,” he murmurs, hands slipping from your face to hold your hands.

Before you can try to protest, he’s leading you back inside toward your friends.

Your body instantly feels grateful for the warmer temperature, but what’s really heating your body is Jihoon’s hand in yours.

His comforting touch spreads from your joint hands and spreads throughout your body. It’s a feeling you want to shove away, but you force yourself to not. You only have a few days left of his presence, and you should enjoy it.

Jihoon’s not a fan of PDA, but tonight he pushes his own boundaries. He drapes an arm around your shoulders, hand lazily gliding up and down your arm as he interacts with your friends.

You can’t help but lean into his firm body, allowing yourself these few hours to pretend everything’s okay.

It’s self-torture to have his notifications on. It’s been almost four months since he’s left and all you can do is check his socials. He’s not too active so when he is, you cherish it.

Although you’ve tried to keep in contact, hectic schedules and time zones make it difficult. You wonder if he still thinks of you as much as you think of him.

Then as if to answer your question, your phone dings.

woozi_universefactory made a new post. Check it out!

His first official song, “Loved You First,” has been released.

While tears stain your cheeks as you listen, another ding emits from your phone.

Jihoon: 🖤

You chuckle at the simple message, wiping away your tears as your heart replaces forlorn with hope. 

He said he wouldn’t ask you to wait for him, but you should fight for what you want—for who you want. 

You push down the doubt and channel the hope you felt while listening to his song. Nothing will stop you from trying to make this work.

Not the distance, the time zones, or the schedules.

After all, who said love is easy?

Taglist: @musingsofananxiouspotato, @christinewithluv, @lockburn-castle, @iammisstora, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui, @aeerio, @cherrylovescheol

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

[officialdaydreamer00]

House fire

ROLLO FLAMME — in which one can predict a student exchange program might go south real quick

COLLAB WORK with @unfictinalnightmare for [The chimes of comfort]

CONTENT — takes place after glorious masquerade, our yuusonas (hillary and irene) are yuu, silly shenanigans with hillary and irene, encounter with 3/4 diasomnia oh no D: , little crumbs of mallerene

A/N — lol i have returned for a bit :)

Do reblog or comment if you enjoy my work! ^-^

TAGGINGS — @cloudcountry @identity-theft-101 @xen-blank @esmerulia-chantelle @dove-da-birb @cookiesandbiscuits @vioisgoinginsane @siren-serenity @loser-jpg @axvwriter @edith-is-a-cat @le-monchou @thehollowwriter @taruruchi @cyanide-latte @aqua-beam @ferris-thewheel + others :3 

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4: Encounter with Diasomnia || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6

After a while of shopping, the group of three humans and one monster returned to Night Raven College.

The students parted ways for the Prefects, but curious eyes followed Rollo with every step he took. Some looked confused, others sent him unpleasant stares. He could tune them out, no problem.

As they arrived back to Ramshackle dorm, however, a situation they didn't expected happened.

"Irene, Morutel, and... Flamme?"

Malleus came to visit the dorm on a whim, as usual. But this time, he had Silver and Sebek with him.

Such a sudden encounter with both parties who didn't like each other to begin with would not end well. And of course, it proceeded to turn into an even bigger mess, much to the Prefect duo's dismay.

"YOU AGAIN!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

Sebek yelled out, making everyone in the vicintiy flinch in surprise.

Grim found his hands flew up to cover his ears from the louder than normal yell. Silver quickly stood in front of Malleus, ready to protect him from Rollo. Said perpetrator of this commotion was watching with a blank stare, silently asking the Righteous Judge why he must curse him with an encounter with Draconia the moment he stepped a foot into NRC.

What a cruel joke fate had set him up with.

"Wait- Sebek, no!"

Hillary was quick to stop Sebek, who was roughly grabbing Rollo by the collar of his shirt, and tried to separate them. Meawhile, Irene, as calm as she could manage, explained what had happened to Malleus and Silver.

Understanding the situation, Malleus only then told Sebek to let go of Rollo. If a fight broke out without being stopped, their two Prefects would rain hell on the student body.

No one wanted to be put through their strange spells and unorthodox potions, never again.

"You are a guest to our school, you should have been treated as such. My apologies for Sebek's rudeness, Flamme." Malleus gave Rollo a simple smile, though it made the hairs on the back of the silverette's neck stand up.

Rollo knew for sure, that smile was anything but sunshine and rainbows. That and the hostile auras exuding from his two knights. However, Rollo couldn't just leave it at that and accept such defeat.

Beside magic, the thing he couldn't stand the most in this world was Night Raven students.

"It's... alright, Draconia. I'm fully aware of how dedicated your guards are to you. I just didn't expect them to be so... hasty."

...

..

.

"Alright, that's it...!"

At that moment, Irene felt as if something snapped in her. As everyone were stunned from her sudden burst of anger, she threw at Rollo an astounding myriad of harsh words that she wouldn't normally use.

The more she looked at the silverette, the more pissed she was. From their previous trip to Fleur City until now, Irene rant out all her pent up anger on Rollo.

Meanwhile, Hillary had been watching the whole thing like it was her favourite soap opera. Only when Rollo looked as if he would pass out anytime soon from the verbal assault, did she finally went to stop the black-haired girl. She pushed Irene over to Malleus, waiting for her to cool off.

———————————————————

"That was quite an entertaining sight, Child of Man."

After Irene calmed herself down, she received a round of laughter from Malleus. He didn't expect his Child of Man would have such moments. A bit mean-spirited, sure, but that didn't mean she was any less endearing to him.

"I- Please stop talking, Tsunotarou!!!"

Irene exclaimed in embarrassment, trying in vain to cover her reddened face. Earlier, she was so pissed, she didn't notice her surroundings, and only when Hillary pushed her away did she remember what she did. That was so embarrassing... Why didn't that witch Hillary stop her earlier!?

[lacedupforyou]

The Twins

Yandere! Haitani Brothers,

You, a student in shibuya moving to study in roppongi. Saying goodbye to your friends, leaving everything behind.

Things in roppongi seemed boring, You never had courage to talk to people so you threw yourself into books and your studies. Which worked out well for you. Until your parents had noticed your lack of the outdoors, They nagged you to go to the Azabu festival and enjoy the world around you, You agreed to go knowing you will only be bored but decided to enjoy it.

The festival was loud and bright. Way too crowded but you were enjoying yourself! The food was incredible you felt so sleepy and going into a food coma! As you nibbled your snack you noticed people parting ways for some guys. You parted but noticed some men with long hair leading them. As you stood unbothered looking at the men and staring at the two leading the group one of them, The one with glasses looked back on you, His expression changed from one of Pride to surprise, You wiped some crumbs off your face and smiled at him, not wanting to get into any trouble. You continued to enjoy the festival and felt amazing afterwards.

As the festival has ended you chewed on some dango and started to walk home, Your shoes getting uncomfortable. As you walked you noticed a detour and decided to take it.

After hours of walking around looking for your way home you sighed, Your phone was dead and everything foggy and dark. Almost Eerily So. You walked through a tight alleyway until suddenly you felt a tug on your hair. A tall man with shaved hair scowled "So you're the bitch who thought you could look at THE Rindou Haitani!" That name sounded a little familiar with you. But fear washed over you this man could do anything!

"Sir I don't know you, I don't mean any harm-! If you want money I haven't got much left- I-!" Two men approached him from behind and you shut your eyes tight afraid of a harsher beating. But the hand in your hair flew from your head. Everything felt dizzy. You heard grunts and the sounds of violence. You slowly open your eyes to see the men from the festival standing in front of you, They seem to almost be examining you.. You look to see the other man bloody and bruised not moving.

"I- Uh-.. Thank you.! I appreciate all that- It's super late.. and I.!" "Are you L/N Y/N.?" The tallest one asks

You step back in fear How did these men know that.. The familiar sense killing you with anticipation. You shake your head yes and their eyes widen. You seem just as frozen as they have become!

You break the silence. "I'm sorry..I don't know or remember you two, Have I done something wrong?"

The smallest of them wraps his arm around you one hand around your back the other behind your head gripping your hair. You jump in surprise.

"You're Y/N. You helped us a while ago. We were in Shibuya and you had given us directions. But you walked us there. You seemed so happy and you were so lively. We wanted to see you again but you're in roppongi now."

"Oh-! That's it! You two seemed so familiar! It's nice to see both of you again, I'm in Roppongi now.. I'd be happy to see you two again.! I have to go home now..But here!" You take out a pen you had won at the festival and take Rindou's hand and write down your number. You notice a blush across his features and giggle. "Feel free to call me!"

You walk off happy to see the familiar faces. and make some new friend in Roppongi!

Ran and Rindou face back to the new blinking man who dared to touch the strands of your hair. "Piece of shit, Let's make sure you don't even look at her again.."

"A body was found in an alleyway completely burned and beaten there are no suspects or witnesses seen."

(Part 2..? Request it!)

[untaemedqueen]

At Your Service

Escort!Jeongguk x CEO!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Series Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Cold Heartedness, Emotional Trauma, Healing, Smut, Dark Humor, Unexpected Pregnancy, Almost Instalove, Instalust

Warnings For This Chapter: Morbidity, Dark Humor

Chapter 2. 

The start of your morning always begins with a shot of espresso on your back patio and a look through of the past week's sales.

This morning, unfortunately for you, you can't possibly start off your day as usual. Not when Namjoon is standing on your doorstep at the crack of fucking dawn.

Even with his hands held up high with a brown paper bag full of freshly baked blueberry muffins from Angostinos and the other carefully carrying smoothies, he still has a gigantic smile plastered onto his face.

"Good morning!" Namjoon beams, brushing right past you into your sterile mansion.

"What's so good about it?" you grumble, placing your hand over your eyes like a vampire witnessing the sun for the first time in their life.

You slowly shut the door, notes of Joon's high pitched whistling floating through one ear and out the other with constant consistency.

It is in fact very odd that the tall, handsome man is in your home at the moment. Namjoon has always respected your private life and he never intrudes, never.

So on a Friday morning, with breakfast in hand is quite frankly bizarre.

"Why are you here?" you inquire, stepping into the open kitchen and leaning against the grand black marble pillar while your co-worker arranges breakfast on a plate.

"I can't bring you breakfast?" he chirps, sliding his sunglasses up and over his head until his hair is perfectly placed beneath them.

He's probably here to be nosy.

"No. It's illegal. Why are you here?" you ask again.

He stops arranging the muffins to look up at you slowly. He can hear the morning scratchiness of your throat with each word and he can certainly feel your demonic gaze piercing through his three piece suit.

Even now as you lean against the pillar, your black silk robe that trails along the cold, stone flooring is billowing around you like you're a goddess of deadly destruction.

Swallowing thickly, Namjoon averts his gaze when his eyes begin to trail over the one exposed leg that peeks out from beneath your robe.

"I came over to see how the escort thing went."

Bingo.

Call a horse a horse and it'll gallop all the way to the finish line for you.

"It went fine," you reply, walking over to one of the hard, stylistic black barstools and tentatively sitting.

There's no person on Earth that could sit down on this thing for more than ten seconds without getting a bruised coccyx and maybe a genital ache.

"So you picked a guy then?"

God's favorite pet project is acting just a bit too needy for you so early in the morning. Whenever he acts like this at work you can always just have a glass of wine and breathe, but without your espresso -- it's a buzzkill.

"Yes. His name is Jeongguk."

Joon can tell you're being curt and snippy now but when are you not?

So like always, he pushes past it.

"Got a picture? I'm curious to see what your type is. Does he look like me? Is he my long lost twin?"

You can only roll your eyes as you demurely point at the binder you took home at the far end of the bar.

Joon suddenly perks up at the thought of seeing multiple candidates and he's off in a split second.

"Make me an espresso while you be nosy."

"It's not my house," he murmurs, looking around.

"Figure it out, you woke me up," you breathe, looking down at your perfect nails.

"He looks like a fuckboy," Joon muses, sipping his smoothie.

Looking up from your espresso, you simply shrug. "He was very polite when I met him."

Fucking hot too.

"So he's willing to go with you to this wedding? You told him everything about it?" he inquires, brushing some of the muffin crumbs off the table into his hand and sprinkling them back onto his plate.

"He's coming over tonight to talk about some sort of game plan so I'd say so," you reply.

Namjoon's eyebrows furrow and his features give away almost immediately how much he hates that idea. "What? That's dangerous! You don't even know this dude and he's coming over to your house!?"

"You worry too much," you offer, patting him on the shoulder.

In all reality, you hadn't really thought about that. You were too entranced by how fucking hot Jeongguk was in that small office during the interview.

You acted like a child, really. It was like you've never seen an attractive human before and honestly… it really showed.

"Do you want me to come over after work and make sure he won't do anything?" Joon offers.

"No," you reply quickly, shaking your head.

He isn't your father. He doesn't need to just show up and you certainly won't embarrass Jeon Jeongguk like that.

"This is professional. And it will remain as such," you promise, sipping your espresso.

Unfortunately.

With a groan, Guk sets down the bar of weights above him.

"Nice, you're getting fucking strong, dude. You can lift more than you weigh." Jimin, his best friend chirps, tossing him a towel.

The escort catches it easily, patting his face gently as he sits up on the bench. "Yeah, I've been getting into working out more and more lately."

"Ever since Chloe?" Taehyung inquires, shaking his protein drink.

Just the sound of her name makes the youngest nauseous. "Chill out."

Jimin holds his hands up innocently before grabbing his gym bag with a sigh. "Got any jobs lately? Women don't want random dick anymore, man. They all want relationships and love and… commitment."

Tae snorts softly as he swallows the thick protein shake.

"I have a client I'm meeting in a few hours. I'm going to a wedding with her." Jeongguk announces, fixing his tank top in the mirror and flexing his biceps.

If his best friends were dogs, their ears would be perking up and their heads would be tilting at his admission.

"Oh really?!" Jimin drolls, draping himself over the bench press and looking at the youngest through the mirror.

"Yeah. She seems really nice," Guk shrugs, grabbing his dress shirt from the hook beside him.

"Is she hot?" Tae inquires with a sly smile, resting his elbow atop Jeongguk's shoulder.

The escort doesn't know how to reply. Most of the time when he hangs out with his best friends he himself is never under their gaze and questions are never barreled at him, he somehow always avoids it by switching the subject back to them.

But now, he has to answer.

When he first saw you in the meeting room guzzling your champagne with awkward, quick moving eyes, he found himself fond of how unsure you were. You were dressed head to toe in thousands of dollars worth of clothes and yet, you carried yourself like someone making little money.

He actually liked that.

It isn't everyday that a client seems down to Earth. It's been a long time since he hasn't felt on edge at a first meeting.

Were you hot though?

You certainly were attractive. You carried yourself well. You made him want to help get your payback immediately.

"Yeah, she was pretty cute," he admits nonchalantly.

"Just cute?"

Oh Christ.

Enough.

"I gu-"

"Leave him alone!" Jimin chortles, patting Guk on the back, "You know how he gets."

Thank God.

The youngest never talks about clients. Not anymore and he'd like to keep it that way.

While you were basically just an enigma wrapped in Balenciaga, Guk should determine on his own if he'd like to figure you out -- without the help of Hell's own personal gatekeepers.

His eyes skim over the practically empty gym until he finds the large clock on the wall.

"I actually have to start heading out. I have to meet up with Y/N in a bit."

The others exchange a look when he speaks your name softly and it's almost too hard to keep their smiles contained.

If they can count on one thing, it'll be that if Jeongguk really does find an interest in you they'll be sure to hear about it the next time they see him.

Entering your home after a long day of work, you find it very hard to do almost anything.

You don't cook for yourself, you don't clean, you don't get to sit down and relax and watch television.

You simply just… exist.

Today is the same.

Although, in just a little while, the handsome man you're paying to come to an event with you will be doing the exact same thing.

For the first time in a long time you feel bad.

He'll have to sit on embarrassingly hard furniture and stare at medically clean marble walls.

There's nothing to keep someone entertained in this house -- not even you.

You think about the backyard, how perfectly trimmed and neat it is with the black flower bushes and the white roses and maybe that's the place you'll take him. Maybe he'll find that you have some substance while you're back there.

Setting down your purse on the counter, you ponder what to do to make Jeongguk feel welcome.

It's not his fault you're dead inside, it's no one's fault really no one but the two little slimy fucks that are getting married.

It seems you mull it over for almost too long because the doorbell rings while you're deep in thought. The rich, meaty sound echoes throughout the empty, vastness of your mansion and it suddenly sends you into a panic.

"Oh fuck!" you gasp, turning around in circles like a madman as you smooth out your dress.

Your hands fly to your hair, trying to smooth it out without even having a reflective surface to truly make sure you look presentable.

When you waltz by the screen that shows you who's at the door, you're almost floored immediately.

This is only the second time you're seeing him now but he's just as handsome as the first time. He's taking in the mansion before him, looking around at everything like it's a grandiose amusement park and he isn't even inside yet.

There's something cute about it if you're being honest, the way he's staring at the fourteen foot tall double doors with his jaw practically on the ground makes you smirk even the slightest bit.

You stop your fiddling, leaving your long, sweeping black gown alone and your hands don't even reach for a strand of your hair.

It's almost like he's a siren and you're completely still and calm with him in your sights.

Taking a deep breath, you round the corner and open up the double doors with very little flourish.

"Hi," you chirp softly.

Finally, Guk picks his jaw up off the floor and he gives you a smile that's practically Earth shattering.

"Hey," he breathes, slinging his leather jacket over his shoulder.

Within seconds you're turning back into that awkward, ridiculous woman you were during your first meeting a few days ago.

You take him in for a second, appreciating the thick steel chain hanging around his neck and the perfectly ironed dress shirt that he's wearing.

He looks perfect if you're being honest. So perfect that your only reaction is to turn right on your heels and march back into your sterile mansion for some sort of comfort.

Guk follows behind you, closing the doors and ogling at every little thing he sees.

"Selling wine pays well," Jeongguk gasps, whistling at the art pieces he sees.

There's the faint sound of opera bleeding through the mausoleum walls that buffers out the cold silence.

"I… um… I didn't pick up anything for dinner, if-if you're hungry," you announce, grabbing the champagne bottle and two stemless glasses.

"Oh! We can order whatever you like. That'll actually be helpful for me, I'll get to see your favorite type of food and make a note of it for when we go to the wedding," the escort replies.

This is work.

The fucking wedding.

You're really getting flustered up over someone you're paying to go with you someplace?!

Get a grip.

"Good idea," you breathe, chuckling awkwardly as you make your way to the vast backyard.

"Holy shit, this is beautiful." Jeongguk gawks, looking over the perfectly cut hedges and blooming flowers.

If he had to guess, he'd say you were a neat freak. There's not a speck of dust or a single crumb throughout your entire mansion and it makes him wonder.

Most clients he meets to find out more about them, it's merely just a formality.

But he's genuinely curious about you.

He's interested in how someone like you thinks and how you go about life.

"Please sit," you offer, sitting down on the black wicker chair that overlooks the stone pond just inches away.

Clearing his throat, your guest does the same.

He makes an effort to sit properly, although it does look like he's hurting himself in the process. His back is bent strangely and his hands are gripping at his bare knees through his ripped jeans uncomfortably.

He must not want to touch anything for fear of making a mistake.

You feel as if you should try and make him more comfortable, which is big for you when you seemingly adore how the interns at work literally run in the opposite direction when they hear your Louboutin heels clacking towards them.

"Treat this like your own place, it's okay," you promise, popping open the champagne.

Jeongguk gives you a polite smile. "Oh I don't think you'd want that. There'd be protein bar wrappers everywhere."

When you give the faintest hint of a smirk it seems to settle him a bit more.

Your smile is pretty, Guk thinks, it's a shame you don't smile very often.

Sliding him the glass of wine, you look out towards the backyard that you very rarely come to look at.

"Salmon sounds good for dinner?" you inquire, bringing the glass to your lips.

The escort can only nod. "I like salmon. Sounds doable to me."

This really isn't as awkward as you thought it would be. It doesn't feel painful to sit beside him.

That's nice.

Taking a sip of the wine, Guk wants to simply fall to his knees at the taste. It honestly tastes expensive, like you but there's notes in it that make him feel comfortable drinking it.

He's not used to this upper class sort of stuff. He's well off, sure, but he's not rolling in money.

"What kind of questions did you have in mind?"

He lifts his head a fraction only to see your head tilting toward him. With the setting sun in the background, you look like a grand painting like one of the ones he used to study in college.

It's a stunning sight.

Why the fuck would anyone hurt you?

His throat and voice box are nowhere to be found in all honesty, they've gotten lost somewhere within him and he's just not quick enough to find them before you look over at him inquisitively.

"Jeongguk?"

"Yes! Questions!" he coughs loudly, setting down his glass of champagne.

You're too busy berating your own self to catch his small moment of being flustered.

"My questions are simple in a sense. What's your favorite color, favorite type of music, favorite pastime? Then there are harder questions like your favorite memory, who your friends are. Just to get a sense of who you are so when we get to the wedding I'll know all the right things to say."

You nod thoughtfully, turning back to the stone pond as you sip delicately from your glass.

"My favorite color is lavender," you whisper.

There's a softness to your voice, a type of vulnerability that Jeongguk swallows thickly at. He finds himself thinking about your mansion, lavender is nowhere to be seen. Colors that aren't black and white simply don't exist in this expensive realm and while he thought that might be a stylistic choice, the way you've just spoken tells him about a million and one things all at once.

You're so very broken and these people that are getting married are the cause. He assumes that you were vastly different to the person you are now and he wonders for a moment what that person was like.

"Favorite type of music… I'm not sure I only listen to opera now," you answer, staring down at the water as it ripples at the slightest breeze.

"Why opera?" Guk inquire innocently.

"Drowns out the pain…"

God, you're fucking morbid.

You're absolutely horrified that you're coming off as this kind of psychopath. But then again, didn't you want this? Didn't you want people to fear you? Didn't you want to push people away and keep yourself locked in a castle of hard, sterile and nauseating?

"I'm sure it must be really difficult to open up and I'm sorry if it's pushing you. I just want to make these people eat their own shit and the only way I can do that is finding out more about you," Jeongguk offers, reaching over the table and laying his large hand over yours.

The chill from his many rings makes a shiver shoot down your spine and you find yourself trying to become smaller in front of him at the feeling.

He does want these people to pay. He wants them to rue the day they ever thought it would be alright to hurt you. It doesn't happen often when he finds himself aching for his client, usually because they only need him for a high school reunion or a date to their parents' holiday and they promised they have a boyfriend to get them off their backs. But he does feel your pain, he does understand even with the most minute information.

"What about your favorite memory?" Guk asks, trying to lighten the mood.

The question makes you think hard. You try to recall your happiest moments and although they're locked behind some doors, you think you might have a skeleton key somewhere nearby.

"I'm thinking," you promise.

The escort only nods carefully, still keeping his hand on top of yours as he looks around the perfectly kept garden.

He's coming to realize that all this money you have and the life you live is simply a show. If someone was to speak to you for more than two minutes they would realize what a complete and utter set up this is. You're living your life like an actress in a play, just letting the setting pieces set up behind you while you stand alone on stage.

Chloe was the opposite. She was boisterous and cantankerous and everything he didn't want to know but she drew him in so fast that it wasn't easy to leave when she sunk her expensive nails into him.

He wasn't moved by her, he wasn't hoping to help her -- he was merely with her. He was moving her set pieces for her so she could stay in the spotlight.

And suddenly Jeongguk realizes that he's drawing parallels between you and his ex which isn't right.

"My favorite moment is when my dad took me to the zoo for the first time. Zoo tickets were really expensive for my family back then. We barely did any activities besides going to the park because it was, y'know, free. But my dad knew how much I loved animals and how much I wanted to see them in person," you begin with a deep breath.

The escort can see how deep in your memories you are, the way your irises flit back and forth as if you're reliving right in this exact moment and the corners of your lips flickering upwards like a smile will almost crack your face like perfect china. But there's something endearing about it.

So perfectly endearing.

"I went the whole day running around and seeing all the animals, we stayed until they closed the gates and my dad even got me a stuffed animal to commemorate it even though he had to take money out of the rent for it. It's one of the best memories I have. I still have the little elephant upstairs in my bedroom," you finish, turning to Guk with a smile.

Your smile is true and wide, showing your perfectly white teeth beneath your dark berry lipstick and Jeongguk can feel his heart stutter for even a fraction of a second.

There is no way in hell he's not getting invested.

And there's no way in hell that he's leaving that wedding without making both of your ex's hate that they ever hurt you.

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[cadotoast]

Chapter 4- Steel's Glint

Word count 3.2k

Note: I'm sorry for 2 posts in a day, idk if that's annoying. But I was just too excited for this chapter lol

Minors DNI

"Ah, Lady Jenny was right when she said I would find you here." Your focus on the dough you are kneading is interrupted. Aldous stands there, hands in his pockets, wearing what appears to be training garb. In the past week, you've seen him in all manner of clothing as he has begun the courting process with yourself and with the other ladies, though this particular outfit is new to you. 

"I had some time on my hands, and wanted to be productive," You explain with a small grin. "It won't be ready for quite some time though, it needs to rise."

Aldous saunters over, giving the bread a grin. You see Ser John step into the kitchen, strolling casually. "Looks tasty," The prince comments. "What's in it?"

You pause in your kneading to examine the bread, smiling a little. "It's a normal loaf of wheat flour, but I added spices to it. Ideally, it will be a sort of desert loaf." Your flour-dusted hands shape the dough into a rounded dome. "Do you like pastries?" 

"Frankly, I prefer fresher sweets, like fruit. But Ser John here has a sweet tooth." The younger man flashes a smile at his guard, who is wearing a faux irritated look. "Make sure to keep the finished product out of his way."

Ser John, while not dressed in a suit if armor, still looks deadly with his sword at his side, and durable outer wear. He appears to be ready for some training himself.  

"If Ser John wants some pastries, there are some finished and cooling over by that window," You gesture to the eastern side of the kitchen, where some cookies lay steaming in the morning sun. Sure enough, Ser John's eyes brighten, and he brushes past you and Aldous to pick up one of the still-warm cookies. You both watch as the knight pops the cookie in his mouth in one bite, and then proceeds to grunt in pain when he discovers how hot the cookies actually are.

Aldous breaks out into loud, full-bellied laughter, and you join him, giggling behind your hand. Ser John gives you both a would-be withering look, but you can tell the playfulness behind his gaze. 

"Delicious," he manages, after swallowing with some difficulty. He has some crumbs in his beard, and you discover a weird urge to brush them off of his face. As it is, you dust your hands on the apron you'd purchased with the allowance given to you, before returning to shape the loaf at your small table. The kitchen staff around you pay you no mind, as long as you stay out of their way for meal preparations.

"I was wanting to see if you would be interested in joining me for a picnic after my training?" Aldous leans his hip against the wooden work table, smiling down at you. Despite your initial impression of him up on that Dais at the festival, a lifetime ago, you've become rather fond of the man. "I have the perfect place in mind." 

"Will it require me riding a horse?" You say this with some unease. "You know I'm not well versed." 

"We will take it slow, Lady," Ser John speaks up. "The place in mind is not far, and we can give you a gentle mount who will not throw you on the walk." 

You pause, considering, as you finish the shaping of the loaf and set it aside for its second rise. After a moment of contemplation, you nod. "I would love to, Highness." You give the prince a curtsy. "Thank you for inviting me." 

Over the past week, the prince has made it an effort to spend individual time with each prospect. Sharing meals, taking walks, quiet moments in secluded rooms. Always chaperoned by the ever-watchful Ser John, as is only appropriate. You've only spent that one breakfast with him so far, so this picnic will be a welcome moment to get to know the prince better.

Aldous gives you a wide, charming grin, and scoops your right hand up into both of his. "Wonderful. I will come find you when we are ready?" At your nod, he stoops and kisses the back of your hand. Just as the first time he did so, your face and neck warm at the intimate gesture. "Then I will be seeing you, lady."

As swiftly as he has arrived, the prince breezes out of the kitchen, with Ser John in his wake. You watch them go, the hand that had been pressed to the prince's lips held to your breast.

"She's a lucky one, that girl." You hear the faintest whisper of conversation from across the kitchen. You glance over your shoulder to see a couple of matronly figures doubled over a large cooking pot that holds a savory venison stew. They both glance in your direction, and all three of you look away from each other as each is caught in the act of staring. With a brusque shake of your head, you begin to clean your work area, waiting for the bread to rise.

~~~

The grey mare below you is docile and sweet, barrel chested and graceful. You stroke her dappled coat gently as she walks side-by-side with Aldous's rowan-colored one. You've changed into riding robes of a pale green, and your tack for the horse allows you to sit side-saddle. 

You can't help but admire Aldous and his ease in the seat. He looks right at home on his horse, whose name is apparently, and accurately, "Rowan". Aldous carries a lidded basket lined with a soft looking blanket. He wears a sword at his side, but it's not the decorative, jewel-encrusted one you've seen on him before. It's more utilitarian. Speaking to the man who wants to be a knight.

Speaking of knights, Sers John, Kyle, Mactavish, and Simon follow on their respective mounts, a bit more armored up than you're used to seeing on the palace grounds. 

"They are only for our protection, Lady." Aldous reaches out and takes your hand. You grip the reigns tightly in the other, but the mare below you does not talk, continuing her plodding along the shaded trail. "There has been some ruckus in the kingdom, and the last thing I would want to happen is for injury to come to you."

Or to yourself. You add inwardly. But you nod and squeeze his hand all the same. 

"I am glad they are with us. I can't say I've ever been this far out from the town or palace proper." 

"Never?" Aldous sounds surprised. "You never played in the woods with your brother?" 

You shake your head. "We would play in town, or maybe the little field behind the cottage. But never any farther. And I started working young, I haven't had much time to play." You look up at the forest above you, still green with the end of summer. The sunlight filters through, casting shadows on the worn dirt path. "It is beautiful, though," you watch as a small bird lands on a branch above your head, "thank you for inviting me, Aldous." 

The conversation lapses into a comfortable silence, and you let go of Aldous's hand to shift yourself in your saddle. Your grey mare tosses her head, shaking away a fly.

"Her name is Pebbles," Aldous speaks up, nodding to the horse you ride. "Because of the grey dappled coat, it makes her look like stones and pebbles at the bottom of a brook." 

"Pebbles, how cute!" You pet Pebbles's neck, and she turns her head, one great brown eye looking at you as if to acknowledge her rider. 

"She is one of my mother's favorites. Her brother, Storm, is my mother's usual mount if she goes riding." 

The ground begins to slope downward as you descend a hill. You can hear water running somewhere in the distance. The birdsong is lively and jovial, and you see a few butterflies fluttering around a cluster of golden-colored flowers.

As the ground begins to level out once more, the narrow path opens up into a large glen, with a brook running through the far western side. To the east, the glen rises a hill to an open field, where tall grass sways. You're struck by the beauty, unable to help the grin that pulls on your lips. 

Aldous leads you and Pebbles to a clear area near the brook. He gets down first, setting the basket on a nearby log, while Ser John approaches to help you down from your horse. The knight's hands are large and warm around your waist, and you feel the imprint of them long after he is taking Pebbles's reign to lead her to drink. The knights water the horses as Aldous lays out a blanket for you and himself. Absently, you wonder what the other men will do with their time while here.

The grass is cool underfoot here in the shade; you've taken the time to remove your riding boots so you can enjoy the comfort of the blanket and the grass. Aldous carefully pells some fruit for you, and hands you a sandwich made from cold meats and cheese. You bite into the food with a satisfied hum, pausing to wipe your lips with a napkin. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Aldous has his arms clasped around his knees, leaning back against the log. You nod, gazing around. 

"It's gorgeous." The prince seems pleased with your agreement.

Lunch is a quiet affair, with fruit juice, sandwiches, some tarts, and even a little bit of wine. Once finished eating, you and Aldous wander the clearing, you pausing to crouch at the stream bank and gaze down into the clear water. 

"It runs down straight from the mountains," Aldous says, sticking his hand in the water. His skin quickly dons a pink hue from the chill. "That's why it's so cold and clear." 

"Have you--" your words are cut off as the ringing of steel sounds, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. Almost at the same moment, you hear the deep thrum of a longbow, and you can practically feel the fletching of the arrow as it flashes between yours and Aldous's heads.

You stumble in your shock, landing halfway in the brook and immediately soaking yourself up to your thighs, and the front of your gown. Buried in the bank in front of you is an arrow the length of your forearm. Dry-mouthed, you spin around, standing thigh-deep in the freezing water. 

There are about ten men in the clearing, wearing ragged clothes and coverings over their faces. Most cary clubs or knives, but some have swords, and you see the graceful curve of a longbow, an arrow too gleaming in the sun. 

Aldous has placed himself in front of you, standing on the bank, sword in hand. The knights are further beyond him, their backs to you. Their own swords are drawn, and they look deadly. 

"You'd best be on your way," Ser Kyle says, his voice an eerie sort of quiet. His sword reflects the sunlight. Ser Simon stands like the mountain he is, his black sword held easily in his hand. 

Ser Mactavish gives a dark chuckle that would scare you if you weren't already near to soiling yourself.

"I dunno, we think we're going to have some fun!" A queer-looking man who appears to be the leader saunters up. He carries a heavy-looking club imbedded with sharp spikes. "We think we're going to kill you all and take the pretty girl." 

The men's leering turns to you, and your mouth goes dry. Your dress clings to your front and your legs, enunciating every inch of your figure. Aldous moves in front of you a little more to try and block you from their line of sight. 

"I don't think so," Ser John speaks up this time. "This is your last warning to leave."

Instead of responding, the lead man runs forward with a should, wielding his club over his head. His men follow behind him.

One thing is for certain, the knight's swordwork is not just for show on the tourney ground. Sers John, Mactavish, Simon and Kyle cut down the would-be assailants with speed and efficiency. Only when an arrow pierced through Ser John's armor does one get past them, running pell-mell towards where you and Aldous stand. 

Given the words spoken by the knights previously, making fun of Aldous's failed attempts at knighthood,  you can't help but feel a thrill of doubt as he stands to face off with the man.

"Die!!!!" There's a flash of metal as the assailant raises his sword, and Aldous raises his to meet the blow.

There's a ring of steel on steel, and Aldous grunts from the blow. The attacker pulls back for another swing, not terribly skillful other than hack-and-slash. A flash of metal, and the man makes a terrible choking sound, a knife point appearing from his throat. Blood sprays out,  landing on you and the prince, and the man falls forward, into the water.

And then silence falls. 

"My lady! Are you okay?" Aldous jumps down into the stream, looking you over. You brush him off, shaking, as you climb out onto the bank.

The knights rush forward to you and Aldous, looking you two over frantically. Ser Simon pulls the knife out of the fallen man's neck and tucks it in a sheath.

Your eyes are drawn to the arrow wound in Ser John's arm, the only visible injury among the lot.

"That needs tending to," you state, indicating the arrow. Ser John grunts, as if brushing it off. 

"That lady is right, John." Aldous looks down at his guard with concern. "We are a ways away from the palace and from any doctor." 

"There's a medical kit strapped to my saddlebag," Ser John says at last, moving to sit on the log where the picnic basket and blanket are still laid out. Needing something to do, you dash to where the horses stand, looking nervous and tossing their heads. Luckily, none of them fled during the attack.

Locating Ser John's horse, you retrieve a cloth bag from his saddle, and hurry back to the group. Ser Kyle is already kneeling next to his former knight-master, examining the wound. 

"It doesn't appear to be stuck in the bone," Ser Kyle twists the arrow gently, feeling for the impact that bone would suggest. "And It appears to be safe to pull it clean out."

"Do it," Ser John grunts, brows furrowed. You turn to the basket and pull out the bottle of partially drunk wine.

"We could use this to sterilize." 

Ser John takes the bottle from you, swallows a swing, then pours some down his bicep. You watch as blood and wine run down the skin and pool on the ground. Grasping the shaft and the tip, Ser Kyle pulls the arrow free with a sickening squelch. Some more wine is splashed over the wound, and then a cloth bandage is applied. 

"The palace healers will be able to stitch you up. This should hold you until we get there."

"I've had worse," the knight glances at you, and your worried expression. "Don't trouble yourself, Lady. I promise you that I'm made of tougher stuff than a brigand's arrow."

"We should head back to the castle." Sers Simon and Mactavish are looking around the clearing, at the fallen bodies. "Johny, would you go get the horses?" 

You look around at the glen, now marred by blood and viscera. You make the mistake of looking too long at one particular gruesome killing blow and feel a roll of nausea. Breathing deeply you step back, and Aldous's arms wrap around you, pulling your face to his shoulder. You let him, taking a moment to compose yourself.

"Are you hurt, Highness?" Ser Mactavish, or "Johnny", as Simon had called him, asks. Aldous looks down at himself, at his pants soaked by the brook, and nods. 

"I am uninjured. And the lady is safe as well." 

You nod your confirmation, giving the Scott a smile. "Shaken, and a little wet is all." You glance down at yourself, at the spray of blood on you. "though... I think I'm going to give my handmaidens a fright."

"That you are both uninjured is the most important thing." Ser Kyle gives you a long look, and you have a feeling that your brother will be aware of the situation before anyone else, practically.

The ride back is much more tense than the one before. Instead of riding ahead as you'd done previously. You and Aldous are positioned within a protective perimeter, hedged in by the knights. You glance sideways at Ser John, seeing him roll his shoulder slightly. You chose not to comment, not wanting to distract him from his job, from his scanning of the woods. 

Seeing the stables come into view is a relief, and you don't wait for assistance to get down from your horse this time. The flagstone pathway feels unnervingly solid after so much time in the saddle. Maybe I'm going into shock?

"I must report this incident to the King," Ser Simon says. 

"I will come with you." Aldous's face is ashen, and flecked with blood. Despite not having made the killing blow, he still seems shaken of the death of that final man.

Ser Simon does not protest, and they head off together. 

"I will escort you back to your rooms, Lady," Ser John steps to your side.

"Your injured!" You place a soft hand on his forearm. "I couldn't impose like that. You need a healer."

"The guests quarters are on the way to the medical wing," he replies. "Please, allow me." 

With a small sigh, you nod, and he extends his non-injured arm to you. Looking over your shoulder, Sers Mactavish and Kyle have their heads together, faces grim.

"Does it hurt much?" You ask, looking at where the blood is beginning to seep through the bandage.

"It will be sore," he admits, rolling the shoulder again. "But the wound itself wasn't terribly deep. The man on the bow was a shit shot." His face reddens slightly. "Apologies for my foul language."

"I've heard worse from my own brother," you chuckle. "It's no concern of mine. I'm glad no one was injured terribly, and I hope your healing is swift." 

"I appreciate the sentiment," the knight says with a kind smile. A weird sort of shiver runs down your spine, a King's Man showing you such kindness. 

The rest of the walk is swift and silent, and you pause at your door when you reach it. "Is there anything I can do for you, Ser?" 

The man hesitates, taking you in from your head to your toes. And then he shakes his head. "No, my lady. But I appreciate the offer. This is where I leave you." He gives you a bow, and you swear that another blush has risen to his cheeks before he turns on his heel and heads off down the hall. Shaking your head in mute wonder, you step into your rooms, closing the world out behind the door.

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[ashwritesmonsters]

The Thru-Hiker (part 2)

Female Reader x Male Mothperson (Desmond)

Prev: [Interlude] Next: [Part 3] Words: 2.9k Note: Yes, this story is alive! Don't mind me just editing things like 80 times 😭

As you wake gently to the sun shining through old lace curtains, you enjoy a delicious moment of not quite knowing where you are. Your body feels rested properly for the first time in ages, and the bed underneath you feels impossible to get up from. This all changes when you remember you're in Willow Grove, on the second floor of Evangeline's Bed & Breakfast, and running into Desmond again is a very real possibility. The town was a tiny one, after all, and Moths like Desmond literally stood head and shoulders above the humans, Selkies, and Lupines in town.

With the possibility of seeing him again giving you much needed motivation to get out of bed—you literally imagine yourself hugging him and nuzzling into his soft neck fuzz—you quickly freshen up with an indulgent hot shower and throw on some fresh clothes. You never realized how much you missed wearing things like leggings and sweaters until you wore nothing but purpose-made hiking gear for months. 

The moment you step out of your cozy room, you're dragged by the nose downstairs towards the aroma of fresh croissants. As you step into the kitchen, Evangeline pulls a baking sheet with half a dozen of them out of the oven, her tail wagging with satisfaction.

"Good morning, dear," she greets you, moving with impressive speed to set out a plate and silverware for you in the breakfast nook. "How did you sleep?"

"Perfectly," you reply, playing hot potato with a fresh croissant as you sit at your plate. 

"I've forgotten how nice it is to sleep in a real bed. I seriously considered never getting up."

"Well that just wouldn't do!" She smiles warmly, baring her sharp canines. "Otherwise, who would I share breakfast with?" She turns her back on you for a moment to reach for jugs on the counter. "Coffee, orange juice, water?" She offers.

"Coffee, please," you ask. You heft your camera off your shoulder strap and onto the table, where it's joined by a mug of steaming coffee. You don't have to be a coffee snob to tell by smell alone that this is better than the freeze-dried stuff you had with you on the trail.

"You're a photographer, I take it?" Evangeline asks, eyeing your toaster-sized camera.

"I am," you say between bites of warm croissant. She smiles as you enjoy her delicious handiwork.

"Is that what brings you to Willow Grove?"

You think while you chew. Yes, you could tell her that you're here because you hiked five months to find a Moth you hooked up with in the woods, whose full name and contact info you don't even know, and you're sorta hoping to just bump into him in town and...

"Pretty much," you lie. "I took lots of photos on the trail, and I guess I didn't want to go straight back to the big city. Willow Grove is a very pretty town." That last part is honest.

"Well you are in for a treat." Evangeline leans in, elbows on the counter. She's proud of her town and her tail wagging is proof. "If you're looking for something to do today, I'd love to help you with some recommendations of mine."

"That would be lovely." Just like that, your croissant is nothing but crumbs, so you sip your coffee.

"Well, I think you should start at our library." Evangeline reads your mind and grabs you another warm croissant. "I'm sure you would find the archival photos there interesting. There are some from nearly a hundred years ago on the microfiche."

"Wow. That's pretty good archiving." You start working on the second croissant. You're drawn in by the chance to see this town in photos a century old. The town already feels so steeped in history; you'd love being able to see it for real.

"For a town this size it's unheard of. The library really is the centerpiece of the town. It's the only building with three stories and it's a beauty, too. It's all red brick and stained glass on the outside, with stained wood and brass fittings on the inside. It's pretty enough to photograph on its own, now that I think of it."

"I'll have to do that, then," you chew. "Thank you for the recommendation, Evangeline. I'd be lost without your help."

"Of course, dear. Don't hesitate come by and chat with me again."

You nod eagerly and thank her again. Between Evangeline's generosity and the small town charm, Willow Grove was growing on you. Once you finish your coffee and croissant, your camera finds itself slung on your shoulder once again and you set off, stepping out into the crisp Autumn air.

The walk to the library is a pleasant one, with the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke in the air. As you approach the building, you see what Evangeline meant when she said it was the town's centerpiece. The red brick exterior is adorned with intricate stained-glass windows depicting scenes of nature and the townspeople. Where the morning light shines on the exterior just right, you frame a shot and snap a photo.

Stepping inside, you're greeted by the rich, dark wood interior that oozes warmth and history. If you weren't drawn here by the lure of the archival photos (and didn't have a Mothman to find), you'd want nothing more than to curl up in a warm corner and finish a book in one sitting. Your eyes are drawn to the towering bookshelves that seem to reach for the heavens, each equipped with rolling ladders to access the highest volumes.

Following Evangeline's advice, you make your way to the microfiche room, eager to delve into the historical photographs she had mentioned. Upon entering, you find yourself alone under the dim lighting with only the sound of analogue machinery as various machines hum and click around you.

You take a seat at one of the microfiche machines, both eager and intimidated. You're no stranger to old tech, but you've never used one of these, and the machine's knobs and scroll wheels seem don't match anything you've used before. With determination, you begin to attempt operation, threading a nearby spool of delicate film through the machine and squinting at the projected images on the screen.

Despite your best efforts, the machine proves stubborn and uncooperative. The images refuse to focus properly, and the scroll wheel seems to have a mind of its own as it either moves too fast or not at all. Growing increasingly frustrated, you ball your hands into fists and fight the urge to smack the machine. You'd probably end up more damaged than the machine if you did.

"Ugh," you mutter under your breath, trying to channel your patience and remind yourself that it's just an old machine. "Why won't you cooperate?"

Taking a deep breath, you look around the dimly lit room, seeking solace in the quiet space. As your eyes adjust to the low light, you notice the intricate details of the machinery and the countless reels of microfiche waiting to be explored. Thinking about the long history of this town and the fact you're only one of many people determined to photograph it and record its charm calms you down a bit.

You refocus your attention on the stubborn machine, steeling yourself for another attempt at coaxing it into cooperation.

Just as you're about to touch the scroll wheel again, a gentle tap on your shoulder startles you. Your heart leaps into your throat as you spin around, only to find Desmond standing behind you with a warm smile on his face. 

"Hey there," he says softly, his big red eyes sparkling with amusement. "Need a hand?"

"Desmond!" you exclaim, unable to contain your joy at seeing him again. With a mix of delight and relief, you sweep him into a tight hug, lifting his featherlight frame off the ground for a moment. His fluffy wings flutter against your back, and you can't help but smile even wider.

"Wow, someone got pretty swole on the trail," Desmond jokes awkwardly as you set him back down, his chitinous features accentuating his shy grin. "I'm glad to see you too."

"Sorry, I just got carried away," you apologize, cheeks burning a little. "It's been so long since we last saw each other."

"Yeah, it really has," he agrees, rubbing the back of his neck. "How have things been for you since we... parted ways?"

"Tiring, but good," you reply, trying to focus on the positive aspects of hiking and living like a caveman. "I actually finished the trail just a few days ago. You weren't kidding when you said the town was right near the trail's end."

"Well, welcome back to civilization. I don't need to reintegrate you to society do I?" He teases.

"Shut up," you land a playful shove against his shoulder. "What are you doing in the library, anyway? You haven't been stalking me since I got into town, have you?" You tease back.

"Actually, I work here. It's what I did before I hiked the trail and it's good to be back."

Desmond the Librarian just seems too fitting for him. "How's life as a librarian?" You ask.

"Quiet, mostly," Desmond admits with a chuckle. "But I like it. It gives me time to read and watch old movies, which is nice. Plus, I get to help people find what they're looking for, whether it's a book or a piece of microfiche."

"Speaking of which," you say, gesturing toward the stubborn machine, "any tips on how to make this damn thing work?"

"Of course," Desmond says, stepping closer to the microfiche machine. With a few deft movements of his slender fingers, he adjusts the knobs and scroll wheels, and the image on the screen comes into focus.

"Thanks," you say with relief. "I was about to give up on this thing."

"Anytime," he replies with a warm smile. Then, he glances around for a moment before leaning in slightly, voice hushed as if by instinct in the quiet library. "Hey, do you want to see something really cool?"

"Sure, what is it?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

"Come with me," Desmond says, leading you out of the dimly lit microfiche room and toward a staircase tucked away in the back corner of the library. "There's a private office upstairs with an amazing view of the town. I think you'll like it."

As you ascend the stairs, you notice the atmosphere shifting from the cozy bustle of the library to a serene, quieter space. The dark wood paneling continues upwards, and the scent of old books melds with the faintest hint of dust.

Desmond opens the door to the private office, revealing a room filled with antique furniture and more floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A large, arched window dominates one wall, offering a stunning view of Willow Grove below.

"Wow, this place is incredible," you breathe, taking in the beauty of the room and the town beyond. Townspeople below mill about, getting ready for a lazy morning. You can see the cafes on the main street starting to fill up and people driving their cars on the winding roads to the neighboring towns.

"I thought you might like it," Desmond says, a hint of pride in his voice. "It's one of my favorite spots in the library."

You both step closer to the window, absorbing the breathtaking view and enjoying each other's company in the peaceful atmosphere of the office.

"You know, um..." Desmond starts, fidgeting with his neck fluff, "I'm happy to see you again. I'm glad decided to find me again."

"Me too." You sidle up to him, enjoying the warmth of one of his wings. "I worried you'd think I was crazy, or you'd have gotten over me, or..."

Desmond stops you. "No, not at all. "I'll admit, this would have been much easier if I just gave you my number," he chuckles, "but it just didn't feel right back then, you know? But now that some time has passed and I've gotten to be on my own for a bit... this feels right, having you with me."

"Thank you," you reply, touched by his words. Your heart swells, and the knowledge that Desmond is just as happy as you are to be here has your face filling with warmth. If Evangeline's croissants were a feeling, they'd be closest to the sensation of Desmond wrapping a soft, warm, fuzzy wing around you as you both watch Willow Grove come to life.

Just as you're about to stand on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on him somewhere, the door behind you swings open.

"Desmond, I need to talk to you about..." The voice, strong and low like dark chocolate, trails off as the Mothwoman enters the room and spots you. Immediately, an aura of coldness and intimidation emanates from her, making the air heavy with tension. She's taller even than Desmond, and her black wings, spiderwebbed with streaks of white, wrap around her like a cloak.

"Who is this?" she demands, her gaze fixed on you. The warmth in the room dissipates like a snuffed out candle.

"Mom, this is my friend," Desmond says, trying to defuse the situation. "We met on the Appalachian Trail a while back."

"Friend?" Samara narrows her eyes, suspicious of your presence. Her overprotectiveness of Desmond is palpable, making you feel like an intruder in their world.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs... um..." You stammer, offering your hand in a polite gesture.

"Samara," she replies icily, ignoring your extended hand. She turns her attention back to Desmond. "You never mentioned any new friends from your trip."

"Ah, well, we just recently got back in touch," Desmond explains, his voice wavering slightly under his mother's scrutiny.

"Is that so?" Samara regards you with a steely gaze, her tone accusatory. She begins asking terse, probing questions, attempting to assess you as if you were a threat. "How did you meet? Why are you here in Willow Grove?"

"Um, we met by chance on the trail," you respond, feeling uneasy under her intense stare. "As for the rest, I'm just here to take some photographs. It's a hobby of mine." You try to remain polite, but can't help being taken aback by her coldness.

"Photographs," she repeats skeptically, looking you up and down. There's something unspoken in her expression, a hint of distrust that you can't quite decipher.

"Mom, please," Desmond interjects, coming to your defense. "It's really not a big deal. We're just catching up."

"Fine," Samara relents, her tone still chilly. "But don't plan on spending all day with her. You're needed at the circulation desk soon." With that, she gives you one last lingering glare before turning and leaving the room as abruptly as she had entered.

You stand there in the wake of her departure, heart pounding, as the atmosphere slowly begins to return to near-normal.

"Sorry about that," Desmond says with an apologetic grimace. "My mom can be a bit... overprotective."

"Is she always like this?" you ask, still reeling from the encounter.

"Unfortunately, yes," he admits. "Especially lately, with the town's Founding Festival coming up. She's been under a lot of stress." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly before continuing, "I guess I should let you know she's the mayor of Willow Grove, so the responsibility of overseeing the whole event falls on her."

"Your mom is the mayor?" Your jaw goes a bit slack. Having his mom dislike you is one thing, but when she runs the whole town? You try to shake off the lingering unease, focusing instead on the warmth of Desmond's wing as he returns to your side and rests his hand on your shoulder.

"Yeah," he chuckles nervously. "She's a bit of a local celebrity around here. I'm really sorry for how she acted towards you. I promise, it's not personal."

"Thanks," you say, managing a small smile. "I appreciate you sticking up for me."

"Of course," Desmond replies, his gentle eyes meeting yours. "You're important to me, and I don't want my mom's behavior to drive you away."

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart flutter, but there's also a pang of disappointment. When he had introduced you as "just a friend" earlier, it had stung a little, even though you understood why he did it. You wonder if that's all you can be to him when Samara is around – just a friend.

Desmond seems to sense your uncertainty, and hesitantly reaches out to take your hand. "Hey," he says softly, "if you're up for it, I'd love to take you on a real date soon. Somewhere outside of this dusty old library."

"Really?" The hopefulness in your chest flares up at his words.

"Absolutely," he confirms, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I want to show you the town and get to know you even better."

"Then I'd love that," you reply, feeling a mix of emotions, but still hopeful. Willow Grove seems like a town just magical enough to make this work, no matter how much warming up Desmond's mom needs before she gives up the cold shoulder.

[kylobith]

Engraved on my Heart (Éomer x femOC)

Part 2 of 6

Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Summary: Éorhild and Éomer hold a secret rendezvous on the hillside of Edoras to enjoy the sunset while drinking tea. But some truths, once unspoken, are burning their lips.

Ship/Pairing: Éomer x Original Female Character

Trope: Prince x Maid, Forbidden Love

Word count: 11,472

Note: I warned you that this was going to be a long chapter

Read it on AO3 here.

As Éorhild stumbled upon the view of Éomer perched atop the rocky hillside, his golden hair dancing in the wind and his gaze absorbed by the landscape darkening under the orange and rosy hues of the sky, her heart fluttered within her chest. His early presence caught her off guard, as though he had been even more eager to share that cup of tea than she had been.

After a day filled with pouring, cleaning, washing, scrubbing and polishing, she had ensured that all of the tasks demanded of her were promptly completed. Left with ample time to indulge in a bath and bake some delicacies for their rendezvous. When Dúnhild, chambermaid to Lady Éowyn, volunteered to collect orders during her visit to the market, Éorhild shared her list, slipping a few golden coins into her fellow servant’s palm.

With the ingredients fetched from the stalls, she dedicated the remaining time she had before her secret meeting with the prince to cooking biscuits that, with experience, she had learnt that he delighted in. It was a relatively simple creation, nothing especially fancy – batter delicately infused with a touch of vanilla and cinnamon, then sprinkled with chocolate crumbs. She had often caught him stuffing himself with her biscuits on harsh winter days when he remained unaware of her presence. Even later at night, when everybody had retired to bed except for her when she was doing her sweeping duties, she had glimpsed the prince as he discreetly left his chambers in pursuit of the much-coveted treats. Once or twice did she generously sacrifice the few she had set aside for herself and placed them in a bowl in the Golden Hall for him to find and feast upon.

Naturally, this gathering presented the perfect occasion for her to treat him to such delicacies, especially considering the purpose of their meeting − to help him ease the doubts and pain burdening his heart. Admitting to a hint of selfishness, she harboured the hope that he would recognise the biscuits and her baking. That, somehow, their taste would evoke the realisation that she had been the anonymous treat provider when the sole memory of the biscuits would make his mouth water and drag him out from the comfort of his bed.

Would he take a greater liking to her then? Would he demand to meet with her more often? Would they share some peaceful moments of contemplation on the hillside again?

Such questions left her feeling rather foolish. These concerns should have remained insignificant to her, yet she could not resist her desire to spend even more time with him than they already had. What good was it for a maid to dwell in the company of her lord? Her duty was to ensure that he was well-fed, warm enough in cold seasons, refreshed in warmer times and that he would never have to care about his chambers being unkempt or his hall being unfit for visitors. She was merely one of the many pairs of hands working tirelessly to promise him comfort and honour. It was believed that a lord without a proper household would insult Rohan’s nobility, and a king without a tidy palace would be the joke of his entire realm. Éorhild wished none of it upon Éomer. Nor did she upon Théoden and Éowyn.

Returning to her senses, she cautiously descended the steps of Meduseld, carrying the tray with the teacups and the plate of biscuits. The soles of her shoes softly pressed against the parchment-thin layer of ice that lingered upon the ground and uneven patches of grass on the hilltop of Edoras. It crackled under each of her steps, soon heralding her presence to the prince.

Éomer peered over his shoulder, and his face illuminated within a heartbeat. He rose and climbed on the rocks, careful not to slip. He extended both hands to gently take the tray from her so she could hold on to the cold stone to keep her balance. One miscalculated step, and one could fall to their death at the foot of the capital.

Once he placed the tray on a flat enough rock, the prince gently took his maid’s hand and guided her towards him, ignoring the blush dusting her cheek.

‘Careful, my lady.’

Éorhild smiled to herself and finally found a stable spot to place her feet. She patted the dust off of her dress and bowed to him.

‘Thank you, your Majesty. But I am no lady.’

‘Titles are but words, Éorhild. Do not give them more weight than they deserve.’

She grinned and locked eyes with him for a brief yet meaningful moment before he turned to fetch the tray and find a seat.

‘Is this place where you intended to meet?’ he asked with curved eyebrows, as though Edoras was an enigma to him and not his birthplace and where he had spent his whole life.

‘Yes, my lord, although I usually climb higher, just beneath the wall. But it is more than fine here.’

‘Well, let us savour this tea before it turns cold, shall we?’

Éorhild nodded and lowered herself to the rocky ground of the hillside. Careful not to sit on sharp stones, she found a comfortable position to stay and watch the sunset with Éomer. The latter offered her one of the steaming cups, helping himself to the other, and gently clinked them together with a teasing grin. As he dipped his lip into the warm beverage, letting its minty flavour roll on his tongue and coat the insides of his cheeks, he admired the sunset again.

‘How was your day, Éorhild?’

‘Busy, but I had enough time to prepare what I wanted for our encounter,’ she replied with a peaceful grin as her gaze followed his and fell upon the rosy sky. ‘Did you have a fine day, my lord? Not too tiresome, I hope?’

Éomer’s mouth twitched, and he hastened to drink more tea to conceal his unfiltered expression. He warmed his reddened hands around the ceramic cup, feeling the tiny ridges of wear underneath his fingertips. His heart was in turmoil again. Not only did his nightmare from the previous evening still haunt him despite Éorhild’s comforting words, but another council session in Théoden’s presence the same morning had weighed on his mind.

‘This day was rather intense, I must admit,’ he sighed. As he watched his tea swirl in his cup, he ran a hand through his hair, which he wore down for once. ‘My marriage is being finalised.’

‘Is it not a good thing?’

‘From a dynastic and political perspective, it is. But from mine… I sure wish it was not happening.’

She sipped her tea and searched his gaze, resisting the urge to touch his shoulder in reassurance. She could not fathom the responsibility of marriage being bestowed upon one’s shoulders. Having sworn an oath of celibacy when vowing to serve the royal household at Meduseld, she found solace that she would be spared such harrowing strife. Being baseborn would have rendered such concern much less nerve-racking, however. Éomer was in a situation which she would never have wished to know.

‘May I enquire why you do not want to marry, or would I be overstepping your boundaries?’ her soft voice whispered in the wind, careful not to startle him and cause further anguish.

The prince glanced at her and smiled.

‘Not at all,’ he responded with an equally gentle tone. ‘Truth be told, I was hoping that, for once, marriage could have been something I could have chosen of my own volition. That I could have chosen my bride myself, out of affection.’

‘It sounds rather reasonable to me. After all, it is a life partner you will gain, and not every pair is compatible.’

‘Precisely. Besides, I have spent my life being dedicated to duty. As a soldier and marshal, I obeyed orders I did not always agree with because I knew that they were demanded of me and that it was my responsibility to carry them out. My whole life I looked up to my parents and my uncle and tried to fit the mould of their expectations for a prince. Even when I was banished from the land, I protected my realm anyway, out of service and love for my kingdom and my king. So, marriage was the only thing that I would have wanted to lead with my heart and not with the need for heirs and political allies.’

Éorhild finished her cup of tea, her eyes fixed upon him, brimming with concern. She picked up the plate of biscuits and raised it to his level, inviting him to pick one, and he did without even glancing at it. He twirled it between his fingers before breaking it in two and biting into it. He momentarily closed his eyes as he savoured it, recognising the taste in an instant.

Yet, he did not comment on it, despite what she had hoped. Instead, he continued his heartfelt confession, his voice straining in his throat.

‘Out of duty, I mistreated my own sister. I could not understand why she resisted orders, why she would not conform to the role expected of her sex, and why she reacted so emotionally to many things,’ he blurted out, unable to stop himself. ‘When I nearly lost her and realised that she would rather have died on the battlefield than return to Rohan as a Lady, I understood how much pain I had caused her. I was among those who had made her life so difficult here that death appeared a sweeter option. My little sister… The apple of my eyes, even if I would never admit it to her face. Perhaps I should. She deserves to know.’

‘She seems to love the man she is betrothed to.’

‘Faramir? Oh, yes. If anything, I am happy that she had the chance to choose her groom herself. Nobody deserves to choose more than she does.’

‘Everybody does.’

He nodded and savoured the last droplets of his tea as he delicately motioned to place the cup on the tray. Then, he picked up another biscuit and absentmindedly nibbled on it, not bothering to break it into smaller pieces this time.

‘You are lucky that you will never know this pain,’ he mused with a slight tilt of the head. ‘This is perhaps one thing which I envy commoners for, for a lack of a better word. You possess a freedom denied to the nobility – a choice.’

‘Not all are granted it.’

Éomer arched an eyebrow, turning his gaze towards her with evident surprise. Was he this ignorant, he wondered? Had his life diverged so significantly from that of his people that he could no longer discern his own fortune? He prayed not, for such a realisation would cast great shame on his honour but, above all, to his feeble confidence in his ability to rule. How could a king, entrusted with the weighty responsibility of governance, make judicious decisions if his understanding of his subjects’ struggles was skewed? How could he, even as heir apparent, allow himself to remain uneducated on such a crucial matter?

So, in silence, he chewed on the last morsel of the biscuit he held between his fingers until his mouth was rid of crumbs, and it became appropriate for him to speak again.

‘How so?’

Éorhild rubbed her forearm, belatedly realising that she had left her mantle upon her mattress. As the sun descended on the horizon and vanished behind the majestic peaks of the Rohirric mountains, its fading rays cast a deep purple glow around the prince and the maid. The warmth bestowed by the star lingered for a moment, embracing them until the encroaching darkness finally settled to exhale its cold winds upon them.

‘It is a matter of vocation,’ she responded, the braids in her hair lifted by the first shy evening breezes. ‘We, the maids of Meduseld, are forbidden from taking husbands or lovers.’

Her declaration, as patient as it was in the face of his blatant ignorance, caught him off guard. The arch of his eyebrow collapsed into a deep frown, forming furrows on his forehead that narrowly obscured his eyes.

‘This cannot be!’ he exclaimed in disbelief. ‘Surely our laws are not so severe towards our good women that they deny them such fundamental rights!’

‘You would be surprised to hear what our oath entails, my lord,’ she added, resting her elbow upon her knee and her chin on the crook of her palm.

Éomer reached out for a biscuit but halted mid-air. It suddenly felt rather inappropriate to indulge in eating when confronted with such revolting knowledge.

‘I do not comprehend why you would be forbidden to love.’

‘Well, it is believed that a woman would be too engrossed in her wifely duties to properly tend to the royal household. Whether in opulence or in poverty, it is expected of us that we bear children to our husbands. Such a task, it was argued, would interfere with our service to Meduseld.’

‘Do these rules apply to the male servants, too?’

‘I am afraid not. Should they marry, the task of raising their children would be bestowed upon their wives.’

The prince scoffed, crossing his arms as he leant forward and rubbed his index across his lips. The crease upon his brow persisted, and Éorhild longed to smooth it away with a gentle touch of her thumb. It became increasingly challenging to refrain from touching him. With each passing day, their interactions had grown warmer, and their evenings by the fire were now filled with laughter. How could she not yearn for more? How could she demand of her heart to still when his mere presence and the playful words rolling off his tongue whenever he addressed her incited such excitement and joy?

But it was already revolting enough for a maid to gaze upon him; she could not allow herself further excesses. Losing her function would bring her great sorrow.

Her resolve waned as she perceived another jeer from Éomer. She attempted to decipher his expression. She wondered why the reasoning behind the oath she had had to pledge offended him so.

‘Such archaic laws are a plague to our realm,’ he muttered through gritted teeth. ‘They are what confined our maidens and mothers to such reductive tasks and robbed them of their individuality. Of their passion.’

Éomer wove his fingers through his hair, his nostrils flaring in anger as his pupils swept through the landscape before him.

‘Such is the world that my sister has grown up and suffered in. It revolts me. When I become king, I will ensure that these rules are erased from our culture. I must set our women free.’

‘But you alone cannot put an end to generations of customs and deeply rooted traditions,’ she remarked in a kind tone. ‘This cannot be done, even by one as powerful as you. Centuries of conventions will take centuries to be undone. Even if you raise your heir to be as rightful as you aspire to be, you cannot even be sure that your successors will not re-establish the very rules you sought to eliminate.’

The prince contemplated her words and sighed. Even in the darkness, she discerned the glistening of his eyes and the strain upon his features. Deciding to forsake her restraint after careful consideration, Éorhild extended her hand and gently placed it on his forearm in a gesture of solace. The pad of her thumb gently brushed against the coarse linen of his sleeve.

Her eyes remained fixed on her own fingers, bracing for his rejection; at any second, she expected him to swat her hand away, retract his arm, or reprimand her insubordination. However, none of these anticipations unfolded. Instead, she sensed the tension in his body yield under her touch as he exhaled to soothe himself.

Until this moment, Éomer had not known how much he needed this. Despite the absurdity and idiocy of his statement, she showed him utter kindness, a gesture he knew that he would never have extended had their roles been reversed. His heart was engulfed in a surge of gratitude and unadmitted affection for the woman he had so long ignored and yet breathed such benevolence into his undeserving life.

As he felt her touch, his eyes brimmed with tears. What good would his ascension to the throne bring if he could not deliver his people from the archaic and severe laws of his forebears? His thoughts shifted to Éowyn. Had she not endured enough? Could the insights he had gleaned from her confessions after the war truly not aid her kin?

Éomer’s eyes lowered to Éorhild’s fingers on his sleeve. How he longed to hold her hand! To return the favour and make her feel as valued as she did him! But the words caught in his throat, tangled in the lump forming there, threatening to break down the walls he had built around himself. No sentimentality, his uncle had often told him, for it is not worthy of a prince.

He could not deviate from protocol. It would be improper. Moreover, if he were to demonstrate such vulnerability, he realised that she would be the one to bear the repercussions, for in Rohirric law, he was nearly untouchable.

Something poked his hand and drew his attention away from his spiralling thoughts. Éorhild was handing him a biscuit with an encouraging smile playing on her lips. Reciprocating the grin, he thanked her with a nod and took it.

‘You know, even if your reign might not make a drastic difference, the fact that you try to understand and learn already holds significant meaning,’ she murmured, leaning forward just enough for her voice to reach him, unperturbed by the rising breeze. ‘It is a quality that few of our kings have possessed, yet that I would gladly bend the knee for.’

The prince grinned and gently patted her hand with his own. Surely, this much he was allowed to express, was he not?

‘I am sorry that I did not know about the sacrifices demanded of our maids. You are an integral part of our household, and knowing that you are not allowed to have families of your own sounds utterly ridiculous.’

Éorhild chuckled, a blush gracing her cheeks as she felt the fleeting tapping of his fingers on her knuckles.

‘Have you not had servants pledge their oath to you?’

‘Yes, I have,’ Éomer admitted in a nervous laugh, ‘but I fear that I have not lent a keen ear to them then.’

‘That is well. I probably would not have listened either had I been in your position. Such matters can be rather… repetitive. And boring.’

Their soft laughter rose in the air as they let their gazes wander the darkened landscape before them. The sun had long since set, rendering the earth wintry and bleak. Without the elusive shadows of the grazing wild animals in the distance and the nimble beasts on the flanks of the mountains, Rohan appeared ensnared in stillness.

Edoras was hushed, the clamour of the streets confined to the taverns farther into the city. The sizzling of the torches dulled in the gale; their flames wafted and bowed in the howl of the breeze, lapping at the rims of their hearths and leaving soot on the bronze.

Flocks of nocturnal birds fluttered their wings, allowing the wind to carry them across the land in the palm of its hand. Above the prince and the maid, a few alighted at the foot of the Golden Hall to peck at the weeds growing between the marble bricks in search of edible prey. Éorhild smiled at their sight, observing them take flight and vanish into the night.

Strangely stirred by her innocent enthusiasm, Éomer felt his face redden as he witnessed the twinkle in her eye. Inside his chest, his heart quickened. Confusion seized him; why was he reacting in such a strong way? Why did he feel the urge to touch her hand again? He could not. No, he had to keep to himself. It was but a fleeting impulse, nothing more.

‘May I ask you something rather personal?’

The words flowed off his lip before he even thought them. For an instant, he hoped that the wind would carry them away from her before they could reach her. But when the maid looked up, her curiosity piqued, he cursed himself for speaking in the first place.

‘Anything, my lord.’

Blast. There was no escaping it. He scratched his beard and eluded her gaze. Embarrassment turned the rosy hue of his cheeks a deeper shade of red. He could swear that had she dared to graze her fingers above his skin, she would have sensed the heat radiating from it.

‘When comes the day that Béma summons you to him, will you not resent the life you led?’

‘Because it was devoid of romance?’

The prince knew not how to respond, and his hesitation conveyed enough for her to understand that she had grasped his sentiment.

‘Do not pity me, my lord, for I am content with my life. It is but romance that I shall be bereft of, not love.’

‘What difference is there?’

Éorhild faced the mountains again, her eyes tracing their peaks. Her long golden locks wafted in the wind, almost entwining with Éomer’s.

‘Love is not something which I lack. I once received it from my family, and I now receive it from my peers and friends at Meduseld. I feel it every day with every task I complete,’ she spoke with a peaceful and solemn grin. ‘My role as a maid is no burden to me; had I found no fulfilment from it, I would have long resigned. I pour my love into everything that I do. In every cup of wine that I fill, in every garment that I wash, and in every floor that I sweep. It must sound rather silly to you, but I feel at peace in my position. Knowing that the people who entrust me with their well-being are satisfied with my services fills me with joy.’

Éomer absorbed her every word as though they held the key to unlocking his mind to a new vision of the world he inhabited. He nodded along, considering her perspective yet not finding much sense in it.

‘Do you not want a family of your own?’

‘But I do have a family, my lord,’ she chimed. ‘One of my own choosing! One day, I shall raise children, only I will not have birthed them. Yet I am confident that I shall also receive their affection.’

‘You are a carer at heart, Éorhild, this much is certain,’ Éomer responded with a smile playing on his lips. ‘But will you not long for someone to care for you in return?’

‘This I cannot ascertain. I can only speak for my past and my present, and so far, I have no complaints.’

They exchanged a compassionate glance and settled into a shared silence for a moment. Éomer reached out for the last biscuit, casting her a beseeching look. With a merry chortle, she bowed her head and watched as he claimed it, holding it up before him.

‘These biscuits have been my weakness for years,’ he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

‘I know,’ she grinned. ‘That is why I made them.’

Genuine surprise graced his face. Her heart swelled with pride; he had indeed recognised her treats!

‘How did you know?’

Rosy hues dusted Éorhild’s cheeks as she lowered her head, unable to restrain the smile that illuminated her face. Unbeknownst to her, Éomer admired her, his heart filling with affection. If its rhythm had quickened earlier, it was now faster than ever, akin to the pace he only experienced when adrenaline rushed through his veins. He dared not approach any closer, fearful that she might perceive the frenetic pounding within his chest. His heart was fated to beat along the drums of war, not to flutter in the company of a woman.

But the realisation that she had remembered one of his preferences without him needing to divulge them was overwhelming. It evoked a sense of sheepishness within him, more profound than ever before.

When Éorhild confessed to being the one to have baked the biscuits over the years solely to witness his enthusiasm, hiding them in plain sight for his enjoyment, she felt somewhat foolish. She wished she possessed enough self-control to halt the torrent of words pouring forth from her mouth. He regarded her with intense scrutiny, the obscurity failing to conceal the reddening of her face as she continued to speak. Why did she feel the need to tell him such things? What conceivable benefit could it yield for her?

Why did her limbs feel both weightless and awfully heavy? Her gut churned, undulating as her chest did with each quivering breath she drew. This sensation was unknown to her; painful yet pleasant, fearful yet bold. She was at her most vulnerable, yet wielded incredible strength to dissimulate the dizzying state that she was in.

While his countenance remained impassive, she pondered whether he felt repelled upon learning of these little gestures she had bestowed upon him from the shadows of the Golden Hall all this time. Was the thought so revolting that he would forsake her and have her banished? In all honesty, she would not find it in her to blame him. The very oath she had once sworn was now betrayed by her heart and her mouth.

And, for once in her life, defying it no longer appeared inconceivable. If anything, it evolved into an irresistible compulsion. Something she needed to do.

But it was much too dangerous. There was no reason for her to risk her stable vocation, the roof over her head, and her own neck for an unattainable fantasy.

Éomer observed her with wide eyes, incapable of organising his thoughts into coherent words and phrases. Had he already opened his mouth, he was aware that he would have stammered like an utter imbecile. He could not allow that; his poise, typically so effortless in her presence, suddenly felt overly calculated and measured. He grew conscious of every blink of his eyes, every twitch of his lips, every breath. What a fool, he thought to himself; what an outright fool.

‘So it was you all this time,’ he finally managed to whisper, still struck with awe by the revelation.

‘Indeed. I apologise for embarrassing you, I should have kept it to myself.’

‘No, Éorhild, not at all.’

She looked into his eyes and distinguished nothing but kindness in their twinkle rivalling the brightness of the stars above them. The corners of her mouth rose in a bashful grin. Éomer mirrored them, causing her heart to quiver further.

‘Rest assured that I feel no resentment for it,’ he added, feeling as though she needed to hear it as much as he needed to utter the words himself. ‘If anything, I am comforted by the idea that I had you as a friend before I saw you.’

His gaze remained fixated on her, although he found himself distracted by the waves in her hair. He imagined running his fingers through them, feeling their soft texture against his roughened skin. One of his fingers jolted, eager to take the leap, while his hand remained tied to reason.

Éorhild spoke again, halting the shameful meanderings of his mind.

‘What will you do about this marriage, then? Do you have the freedom to refuse it?’

‘No,’ Éomer sighed. ‘In the eyes of the law, I should be able to decline it, but there would be too many consequences to such a foolish act.’

‘Do you know the Lady Lothíriel?’

‘Aye. Although it is her father I know better. He is a close friend of mine, despite us originating from such different lands. He was kind enough to offer me his daughter’s hand in marriage, but…’

The prince shook his hand, the movement of his mane releasing its unsuspected perfume that cast a powerful spell over her within an instant.

‘Lady Lothíriel is kind, sweet, and beautiful,’ he continued. ‘But there lacks a connection between us. There is no passion, no desire.’

‘And this is what you wish for. To have somebody that you truly cherish.’

‘Of course. Ah, you must think me selfish…’

Éorhild yearned for the brief meeting of their eyes, resisting the impulse to reach out and graze his arm anew. To indulge in another fleeting touch would seem rather blasphemous. Royals were on the brink of sanctity to the Rohirrim; her servant’s hand would mar his regality. Though she had found a sense of boldness in the course of their conversation, she hesitated, realising that she lacked the courage to take this risk once more.

‘Not in the slightest, my lord,’ she attempted to reassure him instead. ‘In tales of old, the most benevolent kings often owed their virtue to the happiness they found in their marriage, too. One blissful in his home brings bliss to his kingdom.’

‘Hah, that is one way to see it,’ he reacted with a hearty chuckle. ‘Perhaps a bit optimistic and idealistic, but you might be right. Besides, I do not want her to be trapped in a loveless marriage. She deserves much better than that.’

Éorhild’s gaze returned to the birds as they soared above their blond heads. The notion of Éomer’s marriage induced an ache within her. Though her dedication to tending to him and his kin would endure nonetheless, it became evident that the evenings conversing around the hearth in the hall were numbered. No longer would they share pleasantries over cups of wine and water. No longer would he permit her gaze to linger upon him, aware that such scrutiny was already forbidden. To behold a married royal of the opposite sex outside the bounds of personal service verged on the sacrilegious.

Despite her satisfaction with her role at Meduseld, a realisation dawned upon her that her days would soon revert to a quiet solitude. Certainly, she had made companions among her peers with whom they occasionally unburdened their hearts. Labour assumed a more delightful hue thanks to them. Mundane tasks transformed into playful games and friendly challenges meant to motivate one another into productivity while finding genuine enjoyment in their endeavours. No one within the servants’ quarters could elicit laughter from her quite like Éomer. In his presence, her limbs found a certain lightness that eluded her elsewhere.

Silently bidding their friendship farewell, Éorhild spoke into the night in the most solemn tone she could produce, unwilling to let her pain show.

‘Are you going to decline the proposal, then?’

Éomer shifted in his position and drew nearer until she could discern the faint warmth of his mantle so green. Evading his gaze, she remained unaware of the flames of torment ablaze in his eyes. He stared as if unwilling to witness anything else, as though, by his merely looking away, she would slip away like a fleeting wisp from between his parted fingers.

‘I suppose that I could, but I do not believe that I have the courage to do so,’ he conceded in a hushed whisper. ‘It is a matter of duty. When my time comes to reign, Rohan will need a queen and reinforced bonds with Gondor should war return to our lands.’

‘I understand.’

‘But it is not what my heart wants.’

A trace of desperate longing lingered in his voice; of that, she was certain. Something absent even a mere moment prior – a subtle tinge of affection. Deciphering Éomer’s sentimental nuances was a most arduous task. Although his body language often spoke volumes, particularly to her expert eye, his facial expressions and inconspicuous cues remained a mystery.

Drastic emotions were the most effortless to discern. When he harboured deep displeasure, the aura of his discontent was such that it pervaded even those engrossed in tasks on the opposite side of Meduseld. Similarly, in the midst of rare, unbridled joy, a perpetual smile would grace his youthful face, accompanied by the most contagious laughter the realm had ever seen.

So Éorhild quelled any budding hope that it was indeed yearning she had perceived. She knew all too well that the prince would never favour her. It was a sole maid’s fantasy, a childish wish of her eager heart.

As she held his gaze in deliberate silence, his hands deftly unhooked the mantle secured at his collar.

‘Poor Éorhild, you are freezing! I can hear the chatter of your teeth from here!’

In a swift motion, he enveloped her in his mantle, his fingers working to fasten the clasp below her throat. Both of their faces flushed, and they seldom dared to behold each other. As the fabric unfolded and the heavy silk graced her drooping shoulders, the aroma ensnared within reached her nostrils. It was the same fragrance she had frequently caught from his hair, albeit in a subdued essence, whenever his head abruptly shifted.

It embodied what she imagined as the very perfume of Valinor – a blend of its tranquil rivers and verdant plains, its blossoming trees and the lofty peaks of its mountains. It encapsulated nature and life itself. The caress of the summer breeze and the thundering gallop of a horse, the blizzards of the harshest winter nights and the crackling in the hearth. It was the refined grace of a lord and the unyielding strength of a soldier’s grip — the stroke of the feather and the slash of the blade.

It was Éomer.

Éorhild’s heart hammered inside her chest, momentarily leaving her dizzy, as her prince struggled to secure the ties of his cloak around her. His face hovered near, close enough for his warm breath to touch the bare skin of her neck.

‘My lord, will you not be cold yourself?’ she asked sheepishly. ‘You are wearing nothing but linen.’

‘I will be fine, I promise,’ he replied with a comforting smile, an expression which might have persuaded her had he not been gripped by a shiver coursing through his spine.

‘Nonsense. I see your trembling! Please do take your mantle back, my lord. If one is to catch their death tonight, it must be me, not the heir to the throne.’

Éomer laughed while observing her unfasten the cloak and hold it up to him.

‘Would you consider a compromise?’

The maid’s eyes locked with his as curiosity piqued their interest.

‘A compromise, my lord?’

‘Yes. This cloak is ridiculously large. I am quite certain that we could both fit underneath if we come a little closer,’ he suggested with a twinkle in his eye. Not one of malice, she could tell.

Éorhild snapped her head in the opposite direction, peering above her shoulder towards Edoras in a futile attempt to conceal her flustered state. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out the hooting of the snow owls on the prowl.

Beside her, Éomer awaited her answer, alarmed by her sudden withdrawal. However, he remained patient. Had it been anybody else, he might have shrugged it off, but this woman was worth the wait, he found himself musing. There was nothing she could do that would displease him.

‘It would not be proper, my lord,’ she intoned at last. ‘A prince and a maid under the same garment… It is unheard of.’

‘Do not trouble yourself with what our people might think. Nobody will even know. Let me warm you. Please,’ he implored in a gentle murmur in the quietude of the moment, the wind having finally bestowed them some respite.

Éorhild pinched her rosy lips, batting her eyelashes as she contemplated the exquisite fabric crumpled in her hands. She acquiesced with a nod, her fingers loosening around the silk extracted from between them by the prince. He drew nearer until they sat thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder. In a swift flick of the wrist, he covered her shoulders with the cloak, firmly holding the opposite hem in his fist against his upper arm.

‘You may press against me if the mantle slips off,’ he whispered with a warmth that equalled the cloak's protection. ‘I shall think nothing of it.’

‘Then slip off it will.’

A sigh rolled off his lip and manifested in a twirling gust of vapour before him.

‘Éorhild, may I ask you a question?’

She shifted her shoulders to find greater comfort beneath the cloak, her fingertips delicately tracing the embroideries adorning its hem.

‘Always, my lord.’

‘Why do you flee me so?’

Éorhild crossed his gaze, sensing the lump in her throat reappear. There was a tinge of pain to his otherwise gleeful irises. The sole sight of it weighed upon her heart.

‘I do not flee you. I only fear being close.’

‘Why? Do you not appreciate my company?’

‘My lord, I do!’ she gasped, determined not to let him believe that she could ever be reluctant to spend even a minute with him. ‘But your touch and proximity do scare me. You have already led me to break a sacred rule of my oath by asking me not to avert my eyes in your presence. What other rules will you demand me to break? It is I who shall bear the consequences, not you. I could lose everything: my home or my head.’

Her voice was heavy, bearing the weight of the conflict within her heart. Thoughts raced and collided inside her mind, creating a cacophony when she longed for the solace of silence. She could not bear the embarrassment. Her desire to rise and run surged, but the cold paralysed her feet.

Before she spiralled into oblivion, she felt the soft touch of his finger curling underneath her chin, gently turning her head towards Éomer. Her eyelids drooped as the mintiness of his exhale enveloped her. Her breath caught in her throat, and the visible sparkle in her eyes twinkled with the emotion of this unexpected gesture.

‘I demand one more rule to be broken, Éorhild. It is that you never call me by my title again when it is just the two of us,’ he requested, his words carrying a sincerity that resonated with a desire for intimacy.

‘What am I to call you?’

The prince chuckled and smiled broadly, lips parting to uncover his teeth. His expression softened, yet a hint of playfulness lingered in his eye.

‘My name would be a good start.’

‘My lord, I could not−’

‘It would mean the world to me, dearest Éorhild, to hear my name upon your lips.’

His heartfelt plea stirred something in the deepest recesses of her being. The tremor that shook his soothing voice betrayed an inner turmoil similar to her own. Could it be that he was experiencing the same upheaval as she did? Was his heart, maddened by conflicting desires, on the verge of bursting?

No, it could not be. She was thinking ahead of herself. Éomer was reasonable. But again, she used to believe the same about herself until this very night.

Gripped by guilt and fear, the prince withdrew his hand and crossed his arms against his lap, digging his pointy elbows into his thighs to ground himself.

‘I apologise,’ he muttered, ‘I should not have touched you so.’

He sighed again and ran a hand through his golden mane, which turned silver in the moonlight.

‘I meant to thank you for listening to my idiotic rants tonight. You express such patience and benevolence towards me, and I fear I do not quite deserve your kindness. But I appreciate it all the same.’

Éorhild gulped and brushed her fingers against his forearm. He jolted, and his eyes darted to his sleeve. While his heart skipped a beat, his hand crept upon hers and offered it a comforting squeeze despite the iciness of her touch. Their gazes met once more, and giddy smiles blossomed upon their reddened cheeks.

‘You need no longer suffer alone, Éomer,’ she intoned, daring to trace the outline of his thumb with her own.

‘I cannot suffer when you are near.’

The words flew out of the prince’s mouth before he could even form them in his mind. They held an inevitable truth that he no longer wished to deny. It caused her breath to hitch, her heart to flutter, and her limbs to tremble − except for the hand he held. The ends of her hair, still carried by the rising wind, came to caress his cheek. She broke the silence with a soft laugh and gathered her hair onto her other shoulder.

‘My apologies.’

‘No harm done.’

Éorhild grinned and sighed, slumping her shoulders while maintaining his gaze.

‘I know I am a mere servant, but if you ever need somebody to lean on, I am never against sharing a cup of tea on the hillside.’

His eyes softened and seemed to delve into hers as though scavenging for crumbs of thoughts within her soul. Anything that could either confirm or deny an idea that had already taken root and burgeoned in his mind.

‘You cannot be.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘You cannot be a mere servant. You are more than that, more than you believe.’

Éomer found himself on the verge of a breaking point. His emotions had grown too overwhelming to contain, too apparent to escape her notice, and he no longer cared to dissimulate them. He desired her by his side and was determined to make it possible.

‘The Valar cannot even see all that you are,’ he continued in a hushed scoff and a smouldering glance. ‘In heart and mind, you are all that a man would and should want. And none would deserve you.’

A beaming blush dusted her face, tinting it in the deepest scarlet. His thumb searched for hers, bending and tracing her knuckle.

‘Your perception of me is unfounded,’ she responded with a titter.

‘Is it?’

He shook his head and pried his eyes away from her, feeling incapable of leaving her out of his field of vision. In this instant, she was the only sight he wished to behold, her hand the only thing he wished to hold, her closeness his only weapon against the cold.

He needed her. There was no other word for it.

Silence settled again as they grappled with the tumultuous swirls of emotion ravaging their thumping hearts. Éorhild redirected her attention to the dance of the birds of prey, oblivious that her hand lingered captive in his, a detail unnoticed in the tapestry of the moment.

It rested so small within his grasp, a fragile thing, delicate and gentle despite the ruggedness of its daily toll. Her nails were kept conveniently short yet meticulously groomed, creating the illusion that her fingers were briefer than their true length. Though it lacked the refinement of a noble lady’s hand, Éomer saw it as the embodiment of the tenderest care, a conveyor of the kindness residing in her heart. It was this that poured his wine and never missed his cup, that which prepared the treats known to mend his troubled heart.

The spaces between her fingers captured the prince’s attention. In his mind’s eye, he envisioned his own filling these sweet gaps until their hands would fit together seamlessly. He imagined the warmness of her smooth palm, almost feeling tingles in his free hand as he indulged in the fantasised sensation.

He pictured her fingertips combing through his hair, skimming along his scalp until her thumb would rest on his cheekbone, and he would abandon himself to the depths of her earth-coloured irises. In them, he would see the whole world. No land would be left unexplored. He would witness the birth of new trees on the edge of the Entwood; he would feel the coarse sand of the coasts of Haradwaith under his bare feet. He would hear the merry tunes of the Shire and taste the sweetest wines of the Dale. She would ground him like none ever did and sweep him off his feet within the same hour.

Cursing himself for thinking of her in such a manner again, Éomer nibbled on his upper lip. His brow furrowed, creasing his forehead, while his leg began to bounce of its own volition, his heel occasionally slapping the rock underneath. He needed a distraction from the unreasonable longings of his heart. Anything would suffice.

Éorhild inhaled deeply, instantly detecting the palpable nervousness that seized him. She wished for nothing more than to alleviate his anguish, as much for his sake as the solace she sought in her own.

In that instant, a memory unfurled within her. Over the course of her sixteen years of service, there was one thing she had learnt that would assuage the nervous prince. It was a melody; Hilda had taught her that it was a song his late mother once tenderly sang to him and Éowyn when they were little. Remarkably, even throughout his adolescent and adult years, he would find consolation by softly humming it in moments of great distress.

Perhaps this song was the key.

Mustering the courage and recollecting the lyrics, Éorhild gently pressed her shoulder to his, her fingers twitching around his forearm. And then, she sang:

Wind in the willows, glimmers on the streams, Clouds against the moon, moss on the burrow, Bestow on my bairn the sweetest of dreams, Bring forth delight; away with his sorrow.

Éomer’s head sharply turned towards her, a cascade of his luscious locks of his hair swirling between them. His eyes widened in astonishment, for never had he fathomed hearing these words from her.

Thus, the realisation dawned − she knew.

Of course, she did.

And she continued, her voice elevating in the air, amplified by the breeze:

May his bed never be cold May his head always find rest; Whether in halls or the wold, May his path ever be blessed.

Enraptured by her singing and the sight of her serene expression as she uttered the words, Éomer paid no heed to the tears brimming his eyes. It had been long since anyone had intoned it to him. Upon reflection, the last person had been his mother during her last days on her sickbed.

And so, he listened. Éorhild may not have been the finest singer in the land, but her voice was in tune, still carrying a melody enchanting enough to captivate him. One by one, his muscles relaxed, and his breath deepened anew. The storm that had gathered within his heart dissipated, allowing the moonlight in.

A moment later, she concluded the lullaby with the last verse he had always cherished most.

May your soul blossom and never know strife, May your candle be evermore alight; May you find peace in the arms of a wife, Whose embrace your anguish shall always smite.

Éorhild’s eyelashes fluttered open as her lips closed again. Flustered and sheepish, her eyes slid towards Éomer’s in anticipation. Would he be vexed that she had discerned his fondness for the song?

‘I hope that I did not spoil it,’ she ventured with a trace of uncertainty, her gaze searching his for any sign of disappointment.

No words came to reassure her. Not a peep. Instead, he acted on impulse, an action that would astonish anyone familiar with his name and status.

Éomer closed the gap between them, weaving his fingers through her hair and bestowed the tenderest kiss upon her lips. The chilled tip of his rosy nose delicately grazed against her cheek in a bashful caress. A warm palm cradled the side of her face while his other arm encircled her waist beneath the mantle, urging her ever nearer. The moment he felt her form nestled against him and the warmth of her gentle breath upon his skin, the butterflies once fluttering in the pit of his stomach transformed into galloping stallions, stomping and thundering their hooves.

Stiffening at first, Éorhild found herself uncertain about how to proceed. A surge of joy boiled within her, but she dared not abandon herself to it. However, as his grasp grew affectionate, she yielded to the kiss. Her hand found its place on the back of his head, her thumb caressing his hair while the other rested below his collarbone.

This was neither a dream nor a figment of her imagination. Underneath his linen shirt, each beat of his heart reverberated the brisk quiver of a hummingbird’s wings. And she knew hers to be forced into the same maddening dance.

It was Éomer who broke the kiss first, withdrawing his face just a few inches away from hers. The distance maintained him at her mercy should she desire to claim his lips once more while allowing their shy eyes to meet.

‘Éorhild, I…’

Words eluded him, his mind still in the midst of the storm that the kiss caused within him. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away, and a nagging conviction gripped him that he had achieved precisely that, even if she had reciprocated his advances.

And scared she was. Fear twisted within her as it dawned on what they had just done. All the rules of her vocation had been violated. Not only had she touched royalty, but she had ventured into inappropriate behaviour towards the prince. She was acutely aware of the price to pay for such an offence.

Death.

Her hand slid from his hair onto his cheek as she regarded him with a gaze that treated him as though he were the most exquisite artwork in the realm, if not in all of Middle Earth itself.

‘You will cause my ruin; do you know that?’

‘I do.’

Éomer swallowed hard and gently nuzzled her nose, releasing a soft exhale. It was as if the kiss had left him inebriated. His head bore the weight of an exhilarating heaviness while floating with a lightness that defied any sane and reasonable explanation. He knew that he never wanted to let her go.

‘Are you willing to take this risk?’

The maid sighed and leant her forehead against his, her hands trembling. This was her choice as much as it was his, if not more. Should the truth about their endeavour be revealed, the king’s wrath would not be unleashed on his nephew but on her.

‘I cannot,’ she cried, ‘I swore an oath to your kin never to take a man. I am forbidden to hold a man’s hand, and here I am, receiving my first kiss!’

There was a strange yet deep joy within him as she pronounced the last words. It occurred to him that she could never have indulged in such things; she was but a child when she entered Meduseld to be trained as a maid. And he had been her first kiss. He felt a profound honour in that.

‘I am touched that you gave it to me,’ he murmured.

‘You claimed it for yourself more than you received it,’ she responded in a teasing tone. All traces of the smile that had just graced her lips then vanished in an instant. ‘We cannot be together, my lord, for I am baseborn.’

Éomer clung to her face with the expected desperation of an enamoured man, his pupils penetrating hers.

‘I do not care, Éorhild. Nothing changes how I feel,’ he whimpered. ‘If you are not to be mine, then I shall ensure that I will have no one.’

Her heart leapt inside her chest. While she had somehow intuited the prince’s burgeoning affection for her – although she had thought it confined to friendliness − she had never imagined that she would elicit such intense passion from him.

‘Do not be daft, my gentle prince,’ she whispered, her voice trembling from the realisation that she had harboured false hopes after this fateful kiss. ‘You are the future king and will need a queen.’

‘A king must have a queen at his side, or he is a lonely man, as the saying goes, I know. But what if I do not want that life, Éorhild? I want none of it if it means I must return to my chambers unwanted.’

Tears spilt onto his cheeks as he offered her a heartfelt smile. It was not one of joy, she knew. It was one of sheer longing.

‘Please, you must be with me,’ he begged. ‘You must.’

Éorhild planted a fleeting kiss on his lips, eager to savour them again yet restraining herself to tasteless pecks. Salty drops coursed down the curve of her face in turn.

‘My lord, I wish not to cause your ruin, for there is the brightest of futures ahead of you. Besides, the king could have me executed for even beholding you.’

‘But I could protect you! Let me bring the matter to my uncle; I am sure that he will understand. Please.’

She shook her head in refusal but offered a comforting smile.

‘In the best of worlds, it would have been something worth considering. But Rohan is still in the healing process. Alliances are of utmost importance in its journey back to strength. Without this marriage to Lady Lothíriel, you will inherit a weakened kingdom that your actions might not suffice to support.’

She closed her eyes, the swelling lump in her throat stifling the words she intended to express. Together, they wept, forehead to forehead, unwilling to let go yet afraid to hold on.

‘I wish not to cause you pain,’ she sobbed, the ache such that it echoed through her limbs and stung her fingertips. ‘Believe me. Please, believe me.’

‘Yet you are causing me more sorrow by refusing me. Éorhild, I need you.’

Sniffling and patting her eyes dry with her fingertips, she withdrew her face further until only their hands allowed contact.

‘It is but a passing infatuation, your Majesty. You shall recover in no time and laugh whenever you think back on tonight.’

Éomer refused to accept that. His hands attempted to hold on to her as though she were the sturdy branch amid the river’s current, threatening to drown him. She was his solace, comfort, and only source of joy for the past months. Her voice and words soothed him like no other; her laughter enticed him like no other.

He could not possibly let go.

‘Let us abandon this world of worry and fear,’ he urged in hopes that she would succumb to her affection for him. He knew it existed; it could not have been a dream. ‘Let us follow the path our joined hearts guide us onto.’

‘We cannot, my prince. Oh, lovely prince… You are destined for great achievements, and I for scrubbing latrines and chamber pots.’

A soft chuckle escaped her throat as her fingers encircled his wrist to pry his hand away from her face gently. There was a resistance, a strength greater than she possessed.

‘You must be the great king that Rohan so desperately needs. The peacemaker and peacekeeper. You shall be named Éomer the Great, not only by your servants but by all!’

‘I do not want great things if I do not have you by my side to share them. I need not be a great king; there have been many greater kings before me, and more will come. I only want to be a happy man.’

‘Ruling does not counter happiness. There will be a wonderful woman by your side, one so fair that you will forget all about me.’

‘I do not want another woman; I only want you. Is that so hard for you to grasp? No one can compare to the emotions you stir in me. It is almost sickening!’

‘And that is because you have yet to know better. One day, you shall encounter a woman of high birth so beautiful and bright that your world will be turned upside down. No longer will you know left from right, or north from south. Hardly will you remember your own name when she enquires about it!’

The maid sighed and placed a kiss on his brow.

‘And I shall forever be haunted by my first kiss and the knowledge that this evening belonged to us and us alone.’

His eyelashes fluttered shut, the weight added to his eyelids mirroring this on his heart.

‘I never want to meet the woman you describe. I much prefer to remain aware of the direction I am heading towards, and as far as I am concerned, it shall always be north. North to you. Every day.’

A muffled sob slipped through her lips. Desperation gripped her like never before. How she yearned to indulge in this affection, to allow it to guide her every motion and infuse into her every breath! She would have gladly let its light seep through the curtains of her mornings and illuminate each day. Alas, it was a mere fantasy, a thirst to be left unquenched.

How it ached…

Éomer held her. His hand cradled the back of her skull, beckoning her to his chest and resting his cheek against her hair. Agonising as much as she did, he felt the urge to press his face so tightly to her mane that each strand would be engraved on his skin, a fleeting memory of their tender embrace to which he could hold on a little longer. Even a minute would be most precious.

‘Let me hold you tonight, Éomer,’ she murmured his name against the crook of his neck. Éorhild shed a tear, but a resolute smile lingered upon her reddened cheeks as her fingers came to weave through his hair. ‘Let them execute me in the morning. Tonight is ours, and if I am to break the rules of my rank, I would much rather break them with you.’

No additional prompting was required from her. He willingly disengaged from their embrace, allowing his lips to seek hers once more, surrendering to another tender kiss. No longer would he deny his desires that night. A subtle recoil marked her initial response. Yet, within the ensuing heartbeat, she succumbed to the magnetic pull of this ardent communion of their mouths, seamlessly melding into the intimacy of his grasp.

In their fervent clasp, the prince settled her between his legs, enfolding her in the shelter of his mantle, praying that she would never choose to depart from its sanctuary. To his immense satisfaction, the back of her knuckles delicately brushed the stubbled skin of his cheek. One of her fingers unfurled, long and as pale as mountain snow in the moonlight, tracing the contours of his jaw with intoxicating precision, descending to the end of his sharp chin.

The mighty doors of Meduseld creaked above their heads. Footsteps stomped against the white stone. Halted. Waited, then resumed. Somebody was searching for another. Éorhild tore herself away from Éomer’s lips and cast a fleeting glance toward the palace. She curled against him, obeying his urgent plea to diminish her presence as he cloaked her entirely beneath the folds of his mantle.

Alerted by the subdued rustle of fabric, the intruder advanced upon the ledge, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny. Upon recognising Éomer’s figure, he stiffened and executed a deferential bow.

‘Good evening, your Majesty.’

Glancing over his shoulder, Éomer beheld the silhouette of one of his personal guards — a youth, slightly junior in years but compensating for a lack of stature with a robust physique. Bereft of a helm, his ashy blond locks wafted in the gnawing breeze, compelling him to lift his shoulders in a futile bid to shield his exposed neck from the cold. The prince cleared his throat and responded with a solemn nod.

The ensuing silence caused perspiration to form on Éomer’s temples. What if the guard discerned Éorhild nestled against his chest?

‘Your Highness, are you well?’ he inquired, his head tilting with curiosity and concern. ‘Is it not dangerous to descend to this portion of the hillside?’

‘I am well, Hámer. I only sought some fresh air and tranquillity.’

An itch crept over Éomer — he needed to laugh, cry, and scream. The entirety of this situation struck him as absurd. Why the imperative to conceal her? She was a gentle soul and kindred spirit, not some pilfered treasure from another’s trove. She was a woman; he, a man. Was it not often asserted by his kin that such unions were in harmony with nature’s design? So, why, then, was their devoted affection deemed unlawful?

Their kisses wrought no harm, nor did their exchanged glances. Then why, he pondered, did she risk her life by simply being in his presence?

Hámer did not pry further.

‘I see,’ he responded. ‘My lord, have you perhaps seen Théodil recently? The other maids are searching for her, but it seems she is nowhere to be seen.’

‘Théodil? My chambermaid?’ As Hámer nodded, Éomer pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘I fear not. I discharged her early today. Did she perhaps venture to the city? Go outside to watch the sunset?’

‘Do servants care about such things?’ the guard scoffed. ‘I would imagine that they only find beauty in dirty dishes needing to be cleaned.’

Dissimulated under the cloak, Éorhild bit the inside of her cheek until it bled, a manifestation of the boiling rage within her she struggled to contain. Maintaining her fragile composure, she remained hidden and resisted the urge to rise to her feet to reprimand the haughty soldier.

Unbeknownst to her, she was not alone in her indignation. Éomer clenched his jaw and glared at the younger man.

‘Curse your tongue, Hámer! Have some respect for the gentle souls tending to us every minute of our days! Perhaps it would do you good to spend even a day by their side until you realise the value of their hard work.’

The guard blenched under the rebuke, audibly swallowing his discomfort. In a gesture of apology, he offered the prince a bow. Éomer emitted a grunt and waved his hand in dismissal.

‘Go and continue your search for Théodil at once. If she still eludes you, inform me without delay. Can I count on you, or does her safety hold so little significance to you?’

‘You can trust me, your Majesty,’ the guard replied with his head low. ��Good night.’

Hámer returned to the Golden Hall, letting the hinges of the doors howl in the night until they slammed. Éorhild emerged from underneath the woollen folds, glaring at where he stood.

‘We are nothing but animals to them!’

Éomer drew her to his heart and kissed the crown of her head, seeking to soothe her vexation. If only he could dispel all her worries with a mere stroke of his fingers through the cascade of her hair. Selfishly, he pondered whether she could be his at last if he gained such a power.

Life seldom adhered to such simplicity. As enchanting as the fantasy was, it remained an ephemeral dream. With the advent of daybreak, she would inevitably depart his embrace to complete her daily tasks, and never would they hold one another again. These tender moments of shared affection would become nothing more than a poignant memory. Intangible. Out of reach. Vapour slipping through their fingers.

Éorhild hissed sharply against his shoulder. A jerk of her knee compelled her to pull away and hold him at arm’s length. Mist regained her brown irises, stirring concern within Éomer’s pounding heart.

‘It is late, and my limbs are frozen,’ she whimpered as her palm flattened over his chest. ‘Our only night together is coming to an end.’

A pang of disappointment tugged at his very guts, awakening every craving. The memory of her touch, the sensation of her cold nose against his flushed cheek, their chests clasped together, the mingling of their breaths, the echo of their tender words and sweet-nothings — all surged within him, fuelling the pyre of his pain.

‘I suppose I cannot talk you into staying. Very well. May I request to hold you one last time, beautiful Éorhild?’

A smile played on her lips as she endeavoured to clutch him first. It carried a different tenor this time. It transcended the delicate gesture they shared over the evening, transforming into sheer evidence of their yearning for one another. A desperate need to embed their affection into their very flesh, limbs, and spirits. Nothing more than the bittersweet taste of a love that had never fully blossomed, dead in the bud, to which they steadfastly clung, unwilling to ever leave it to die. Their tears of mourning blended as they were shed.

Her fingers intertwined with his as she contemplated his face, distorted by pain.

‘I shall never forget tonight,’ she intoned. ‘I care not if it causes my downfall. Let them sentence me to death if they find out, and I shall depart this world with joy, for I will have loved you tonight.’

‘I shall carry the memory of your kiss with me for the rest of my life. No matter what happens, how many years I live, know that I will remember tonight and the woman who stirred my frozen heart so.’

‘And I will never be far. If our secret is not discovered, I will remain at Meduseld in your family’s service. I refuse to leave, even if I am condemned to avert my eyes in your presence again.’

Éomer held her chin between his fingers and pressed his mouth to hers. All that they could not utter aloud, they engraved on each other with this last kiss. They poured all their buried sentiments into it, hoping the other would understand, drinking from their lips as though they were the finest wine until they felt raw and swollen. As the prince parted from his maid, he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

‘I do not wish ever to be apart from you,’ he groaned with a husky voice as the desire to kiss her again flooded his veins anew. ‘You mean the world to me.’

Éorhild granted him a grin and bestowed a loving kiss on his brow.

‘And you are my world.’

The prince helped her to her feet and retrieved the tray bearing the cups and the now-empty plate. As she accepted it from his hands, she drew in a sharp breath, shivering in the absence of his cloak and body that no longer enveloped her. Was this the prevailing sensation of her life from that moment forth? A pervasive chill and desolation, akin to being kicked out of the nest, naked and frail, expected to navigate the world and survive it with no sense of direction?

Curse this world, she thought. Curse it and all its laws.

Before she turned away, too pained to even whisper a goodbye, Éomer delicately caught her chin once more, coaxing a smile upon his own face.

‘At least we had tonight.’

Éorhild sniffled and mirrored his expression, their hearts uniting in a poignant symphony of shared regret.

‘At least we had tonight,’ she repeated in a strained murmur. Balancing the tray on her forearm and tilted hip, she clasped his hand and kissed his knuckles as though paying homage to him. ‘May these hands mend Rohan once you become king. May they know nothing but victory and tenderness when your marriage comes.’

Her fingertips granted his mouth a fleeting caress imbued with unspoken sentiments.

‘May these wonderful lips pronounce only words of truth, kindness and justice. May they receive even more love than they provided me tonight.’

And, at last, their gazes met, bringing warmth to their aching souls even for a moment.

‘May these eyes continue to see the best in people. May they gaze upon the land and never miss a threat. And may they one day behold a radiant bride, who will ease your heart and reign by your side.’

New tears drenched her face as she bowed one more time.

‘I shall never forget the warmth and affection you graced upon me this night, my lord. Thank you for it. May our paths cross again, even if we should avoid each other from now on.’

Éomer stepped forward as she commenced her ascent up the hillside, reaching out to grasp her hand, only finding nothing but the cold night air. Powerless, he remained there, a silent witness to her leaving. His heart was on the verge of bursting, and his throat constricted painfully as he found difficulty in uttering his ultimate words to her.

‘Stay with me.’

But his plea was lost amid the creaking of the palace doors.

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[romantichopelessly]

Shadow and Bone Season 2 Final Thoughts

I am going to split this into a SaB section and a SoC section, since I have very different thoughts on them.

Shadow and Bone

The Malina this season was EXCELLENT. Good stuff, excellent changes made on the front of Mal’s insane jealousy and miscommunication.

Gibson’s Nikolai was. So perfect?? I loved so much about him. He was just the right amount of dutiful and roguish, and I loved him.

Genya carried this season. The acting was so well done and always moving. She got the most tears out of me this season. Her confrontation with the queen & that scene in the last episode really got me.

No “I am not ruined. I am ruination.” Which was severely disappointing. I’m genuinely surprised it wasn’t there, because they kept in characters calling her ruined.

Tamar/Nadia were in just the perfect amount. They got crumbs in the book so I’m glad they at least got something here.

GenyaDavid was CARRYING this season. Every scene with those two was so heartachy. I cannot believe they moved up David’s death. But I’m not mad at it.

No “I am become a blade”. Honestly kind of glad for this kind of disappointed. It was funny as hell but also it would have been out of place so.

No Oncat???? Unforgivable omission.

Zoya deserved a bit more this season. Part of me felt like they shouldn’t have brought her in on the Shu Han side quest because she did so little there. She just felt like another body. Which she didn’t deserve.

The ending. Was so much and so much change that I have mixed feelings about. But props on them for taking the initiative to change that much.

Alina’s ending. I’m glad she didn’t have to lose her powers. While the epilogue with her running her fingers through sunlight she cannot bend is heartbreakingly good, I always disliked that ending for her. She deserved more than just a powerless domestic life because she wanted more. Yes she wanted to be able to be with Mal and be free, and I want that for her, but it shouldn’t have been at the cost of her powers.

Mal becoming a privateer is. I’m unsure of how I feel about it right now. It feels odd, because Mal has always said he only wants a calm life with Alina. But I get why they’re giving him this open ending, so they can continue. Which, by the last scene, they obviously plan to continue the SaB side of things into a King of Scars type story.

Nikolai’s ending. I am SO glad they went ahead and showed signs of his demon side. It honestly was good that they didn’t have him turn earlier in the season, because it would have felt cramped with everything else, especially when we just met him.

I do think Alina and Nikolai continuing the engagement is weird though. Why would they do that? How will it affect any possible future next season, especially if they’re going in KoS territory, with Zoyalai?

Six of Crows

Starting with the positives here: Nina CARRIED the crows this season. She was perfect. Annoyed with Kaz from the start. EXCELLENT with Inej and with Jesper a bit.

Similarly, the Helnik was perfect and heartbreaking. Just the right pacing even with the changes. They broke me. And the last scene of them actually killed me, I think.

For episodes 1&2 all I could think about with Wylan was how well they were capturing him. Just the right amount of genuine kindness and naïveté and snark.

I liked how they upped the violence for the crows. Everyone got to get a hit in. Kaz was a great step up in ruthlessness. Inej grew, and Nina actually got to use her powers effectively. And Wylan got some good shots in.

Episode 4 really threw me off with the crows though. I cannot believe that they added a scene from the last 100 pages of Crooked Kingdom to this season. Before the Ice Court. Kaz finishing off Pekka is the end of his arc. How on earth are they going to have him do the actions that it takes to get through the Ice Court Heist if he isn’t working to gain power and tear down Rollins?

Obviously they’re setting up Rollins to come back and be a threat again but how will that work?? He knows who Nina is. The CK heist hinges on Van Eck and Rollins not knowing who Nina is.

Wesper getting together actually made me feel dread as I watched it. I view the show and books as very separate, that’s how I enjoy them, but I couldn’t wrap my head around how they thought this was a good idea beyond fan service. Having Wesper together right off the bat ruins both of their character arcs. If they’re together before their growth, none of it means anything. Even in the show, to make it work, they had to fast track two very important reveals for them.

I was fine with Jesper’s Durast powers being revealed this season. I even expected it. I thought Inej and Kaz would find out, or say they knew this season. And maybe Jesper would use his powers in secret. But no. Everyone knew by the end of the season, and he barreled through self acceptance in like 3 episodes. WITHOUT A SINGLE COLM APPEARANCE. Do you get how bad that is?? Colm is integral to Jesper’s shame, and he didn’t even show up, and though I like the scene with his mom in theory, how will Jesper and Colm have any good tension now? How will SoC and CK even work if Jesper has already solved the biggest source of his self esteem issues AND his gambling problem?

Which, by the way, insanely weird his addiction didn’t really come up this season. It was mentioned once or twice but really had no effect on his character. Which. Addiction doesn’t turn on and off.

Wylan’s illiteracy came out way too soon as well. He didn’t really get a chance to prove himself before Jesper found out, which. I can’t even articulate now why I hate that so much. I’ll have to make a separate post.

Back to Wesper speedrun. We can’t have so many critical Wesper scenes because of this. No “not just girls”. No Kuwei kiss, unless it’s a huge stretch in miscommunication when they’re already dating. No “I was paying attention” when Genya tailors Wylan because of course it’s not a surprise he knows his face if they’re dating.

Another one of my favorite scenes that won’t work now: The Kaz and Jesper Big Fight. Jesper knows who Jordie is already. It loses all tension.

Inej’s ending also really bothered me. Her having freedom and starting her hunt for slavers BEFORE the Ice Court? I genuinely don’t see how they can make the ICH work at this point. How will these characters ever come back together? Why would Inej come back? Just because Jurda Parem was an issue? Because if so, I feel they’ll be leaning too much into the Crows being pawns of the crown, which ultimately destroys their purpose. They aren’t chosen ones in ANY CAPACITY. Yes, Inej may do things for more moral reasons, but in the end she doesn’t work for the crown. Because of how they treat the Suli, especially.

[scoops-aboy86]

All About the Bounce in my Step 2

Continuation of this, which I think will also have a part 3 at some point. Steddie are going about getting together a little backwards, but they’re both honestly kind of obsessed already. 😉

🔞 Stuffing kink, belly kink, phone sex, mutual masturbation 🔞

Steve hasn’t seen Eddie Munson in seventeen days. Not since the quarry, where Eddie fed him and got him off in his car, then stayed to rub his belly through the ensuing stomachache and listened to Steve’s worries about his parents. 

“Well, speaking as someone who lives with his uncle for, ahem, some reasons,” Eddie had said with a wry but understanding smile, “they’re gonna react however they’re gonna react, man. Not a lot you can do about that other than brace for impact and figure out what you want to do next once all the cards are on the table.”

“I’m planning on—hic—moving out to live with my best friend,” Steve had mumbled, too sated to be embarrassed about his case of the hiccups or the occasional burp. “Got—urp. Gotta save up a little more to keep eating like this, though.”

That had earned him a grin and a gentle wobble of his tight belly. “No ‘if’ in that statement, I like it. You’re a man of action, Steve Harrington, seeing what you want and going for it. Don’t ever let them pressure that out of you.”

It had been the most seen and listened to Steve had ever felt in his life—apart from with Robin of course, but that was different. 

His parents had been fine, for the most part. (It helped that he had changed into the extra clothes he bought before heading home, the ones that were already sized up a bit and actually fit.) They were concerned. Asked him if he’s feeling alright, if he’s been depressed, if there’s anything they could do. Steve had said no to all of it, and then privately rolled his eyes when they’d stopped buying snack food and switched from buying butter to margarine. As if he doesn’t have his own car and income to get fast food whenever he wants. Hawkins has a 24 hour McDonalds now, after all.

And now it's been seventeen days, and he hasn’t seen Eddie anywhere. 

It’s kind of his own fault. With his parents home he hasn’t been going out as much, figuring that the least he can do is put in the face time to reassure them that he’s doing okay. He could drive out to the quarry again, see if Eddie happens upon him there like last time… but something raw and nervous always holds him back. 

Mostly Steve stays in his room all night after family dinners, trying to stay quiet as he works his way through the extra meal and snacks he smuggles up inside his gym bag and then plays with himself until he comes. Falls into a deep sleep afterwards without fail, one of the many reasons his nights of sneaking in and out of bedroom windows like a ninja are firmly behind him. 

Tonight, he has a scrap of paper with seven digits copied out of the phone book and he’s down to a single package of Oreos. Steve wants to just have a few, just wants a taste, because these snacks were intended to at least last until tomorrow. He’s already eaten so much today, and he’s trying not to overdo it… too much. To not blow up his capacity beyond his predictions or the size of that gym bag… too much. He’ll call in just a minute. 

The first cookie hits his mouth and he’s already chewing it faster than he meant too, loving the sensation of how it crumbles between his teeth. Already shoving a second in and reaching greedily for a third. Just a few, he’s going to make the call, as soon as he’s had… a little snack… He tracks every cookie that makes it from the crinkling plastic to between his lips, and while he does keep count, kind of, his thoughts are a litany of one more. Just one more, then I’ll stop. Gotta call. After this next one…

Time fuzzes out, as it tends to do when Steve gets like this. Crumbs fall to his shirt, spit and mashed cookie and hints of filling leaking slightly from the corners of his mouth from how often he takes too many, has to chew with his mouth open. Mindlessly snacking until he reaches the end of the first row of Oreos and pauses. 

He looks down at himself, at the way his belly is draped over the blue plastic a little and tilting its contents up towards him, putting more just a little bit closer. Both a convenience and a consequence of his growing appetite, this… quivering, bulging mass of fat that precedes him through doorways, grabbing his appetite and habits by the throat and bending them to its will. It’s spilling out the bottom of his shirt again, the one with horizontal stripes that makes him look so wide and round whenever he stuffs himself in front of a mirror while wearing it. Below that he’s wearing nothing, tired of the pinch at his waist and crotch all day, of walking around with his legs feeling like sausages in too-tight casing. His cock is leaking, pushing out steady beads of precome that smear against the packaging like he would fuck it and eat it at the same time if he could—a sensation as close to sucking himself off as he’ll ever get. 

It’s exactly what he wanted when he started all this. Wanted to give himself over to something primal, something he can do to excess in the privacy of his own room or with smaller meals with friends (even though he always packs away more than any other one person at the table, easy) and everyone sees how wild he’s let his hunger run, so soft and heavy and full almost all the time, even as he’s reaching for more. 

The first Oreo from the next row is in his hand without thinking, in his mouth in less than one sluggish blink. Why not? When he’s alone, Steve never stops anymore—always snacking, always chewing or sucking, a bottomless pit of need. He’s always been needy, why shouldn’t the outside match his insides? Why not let everyone see it up front? Saves time. Even though he loses hours to just eating, he doesn’t mind because it feels so good, to let go and not fully come back to himself until he’s groaning and couldn’t possibly fit anything more inside. 

And he’s not there yet, so he makes his way through the second row. Just a few more, then I’ll stop. Gonna call. 

He drifts, wonders vaguely what it would be like to let Eddie watch him. Instantly he shudders, puts two cookies in his mouth at once for his imaginary audience with a muffled moan. And yeah, he’s starting to slow down as he pulls towards that state of perfect, blissful fullness where nothing matters, almost like an orgasm in its own right (though he’s hardly come without it for a while now), but the ache is so good. 

… Would Eddie tell him to finish the entire bag? 

He’s close, panting between bites. At this point, that last row of cookies feels like a stretch. It might be too much. But what's a few more? After all, he’ll call in a minute. 

And then the last cookie, and Steve almost whines while swallowing because he’s so close and all he has left to help get him there is one stupid glass of milk. But a plan’s a plan, so he holds up the paper and grabs the phone at his bedside, dialing sluggishly. 

~

Eddie hasn’t seen Steve Harrington in seventeen days. Not since the quarry, where Eddie fed him and got him off in his car, then stayed to rub his belly through the ensuing stomachache and listened to Steve’s worries about his parents. 

He hopes it went okay. Hopes Steve didn’t get the disappointment he’d been dreading. The worry won’t leave Eddie alone as he ends up at the quarry almost every night, hoping Steve will turn up there again and jerking off to the memories of that one night when he inevitably doesn’t. Lets himself imagine that Steve got caught up in a meal somewhere else and simply didn’t have the energy to lumber out to his car. 

It’s been over two weeks, and at this point he’s starting to wonder if it's possible to wear himself down to a nub just from fevered daydreams and his own hand. Of course he hadn’t 'just happened’ to swing by the diner that night. He’d sped there and back with his heart in his throat, hoping against hope that Steve would still be parked there with that wonderfully plump belly out when he got back. The guy had always been eye candy in high school, but in the same way Eddie’s straight buddies had always thought of the cheerleaders: pretty but not for talking to, like porcelain toys that were for looking at, never for playing with. But with Steve, that porcelain shell seemed to have cracked and let a fully formed real person spill out—really spill out, Jesus H. Christ. And when Eddie had finally gotten to touch, he’d found that Steve is soft and solid and warm.

So when the phone rings one night, Eddie is completely thrown when the first thing he hears down the line is a long burp and a low, groaned, “Mmmn, fuck…”

“H-harrinton?” he guesses, and immediately sits down. Even though he’s in the middle of the trailer’s tiny kitchen. “Uh, Steve?”

“Yeah,” comes the labored reply, followed by a series of burps—he must be pressing, Eddie guesses. “Sorry, it was… just supposed to be—urp—just one more…”

He doesn’t know what that means, but Eddie is quick to assure him it’s fine, to neutralize the apology that comes in a tone he recognizes from That Night. The one that came out when Steve was so full it seemed like he was almost drunk on it. 

“Soooo,” Eddie continues after a moment, since all he can hear now through the phone is Steve’s labored breathing. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, Sir Steve?”

“Well.” In the following pause, Eddie thinks he can hear him drink something. Is he drunk? “I finally got the nerve to call you, so… that.” Then he burps again, and Eddie thinks it sounds heavier than a beer burp. So… jury’s still out. 

Eddie leans back against the kitchen cabinet, knees pointed up to rest his arms on, absolutely not spread a little extra at the thought of a boy like Steve Harrington with his nice clothes and fancy car and big house needing to work up the courage to call him after what they’d done in that BMW. He shivers a little, chews on his bottom lip for a second. 

“And I appreciate that,” he tells Steve, trying his damndest to sound smooth and unshaken. “What did you want to chat about with little old me, Stevie? Everything alright with your folks?”

“They weren’t too bad… but they think I should diet,” Steve whines. Downright whines, and Eddie thinks wildly that he must be squeezing himself from the series of burps he lets out, soft but rapidfire. “I don’t, don’t want to do that, man. I want to eat.”

Eddie feels like he’s in a dream as he responds, breathlessly, “It sounds like you have been, sweetheart.” And his dick wasn’t exactly disinterested before, but it’s definitely perking up fast now. He shifts his free hand down to give himself a warning squeeze, a firm don’t even think about it, but all that seems to do is make it worse. Or better… He fights the urge to groan into the receiver. 

“I… Yeah, I have,” Steve replies, panting, and it’s hard to tell if he’s touching himself too or if he’s just that full, so full that he has to breathe shallowly to leave room for his swollen, overfed stomach. “Had dinner with my parents, didn’t fill me up even a little. Had to come up to my room and eat more. All my snacks… Gonna, gonna be so hungry tomorrow, Eddie. Nothing good to eat here.”

Jesus H. Christ, is Steve trying to kill him? Eddie has to swallow a few times to keep his cool. 

“I want to eat all the time now,” Steve continues in an almost dreamy tone, and he’s there, isn’t he? Already blissed out, probably touching himself, and called to ramble about how good it feels because he knows that Eddie isn’t exactly opposed to hearing it. Is the only person he knows that would get it… Right?

A green demon of jealousy sinks its claws into Eddie’s insides at the thought and oh. Someone else feeding Steve? That gets to see this food-warm, sweet side of the former preppy jock? No, he doesn’t like that at all. 

And maybe that’s because Eddie doesn’t have anyone else to share this side of himself with either—flirting with bears on his infrequent trips to Indy doesn’t come close enough to count—but he’s possessive. Always has been, when it comes to the things he wants. He’d seen his sweetheart in the window of a music shop and known that was his guitar; scrimped and saved and started dealing for the money to buy her and tried not to growl through the glass whenever someone took her off the wall for a test drive in the meantime. Steve isn’t even his—yet, hisses the demon that lives in his chest—but Eddie wants. 

“I was gonna call earlier, but I just got caught up. Wanted more.” Steve sighs. “Didn’t mean to finish the whole package, but it was like… one more Oreo and then I’ll do it. And then one more… you know?”

“I, hm.” Eddie has to stop and clear his throat. “I can imagine.”

“Can you?” Steve sounds shy but pleased. (The idea of Steve Harrington being shy about anything is wild, the guy was all confidence and cocky smiles in school… but he’d also been fit and trim then. Conforming and popular. This is unexplored territory.) “I was… I imagined you watching me.”

Eddie flushes in his kitchen, giving in and giving himself a squeeze through his jeans with a soft moan. Thank fuck Uncle Wayne is out on the night shift. “Sounds like a good time,” he admits, a smile on his face and creeping into his voice. “Maybe that could be arranged, sometime.”

“That’s why I called. The other week when you… in my car… I can’t stop thinking about it,” Steve tells him earnestly, and god Eddie is going to burn up from the sparks that sends racing through his bloodstream. “You made me feel so… myself, I guess. And so fucking full, I-I… I’m almost that full now, almost came before I ran out.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, “honey, you must be about to pop.”

“Mmmhm.” And now Steve sounds really pleased with himself, the cat that got the cream. Basking in Eddie’s attention like a flower in the sun. “In more ways than one. But kind of not, because it’s… mmh, all been melting together lately. ‘S harder to get there by myself, without food.”

“Is that why you called, Steve? Need me to help you?”

Steve chuckles, only to interrupt himself with a series of little burps and a low moan. “Not originally. I was going to ask if you maybe wanted… to hang out sometime? But now, uh. Both? If you’re interested. Or e-either, whichever…”

Because the poor guy seems to have been running out of nerve with every word, Eddie is quick to put him out of his misery with a hasty, “Both sounds good, let’s do that, it’s a date. So, um. What do you need from me right now?”

A relieved sigh comes through the line. “I don’t know,” Steve murmurs, sounding like he’s already going fuzzy around the edges again. So ready to sink into it—Eddie can’t believe his goddamn good luck. “I liked it when you told me to eat more, but I don’t have anything… And I liked it when you called me—urp—what I am. What I’ve turned myself into.”

Eddie is unbuttoning his belt, getting his hand inside his jeans and boxers with a hungry grin as he offers, “Fat?”

Steve moans.

“Sounds like that’s a good one,” Eddie teases breathlessly. He can hear the faint slap of skin on skin, but can’t tell if Steve is playing with his belly or something lower—imagines both at the same time as he wraps his own hand around himself. “Big boy?”

“Yeah, y-yeah, fuck, I’m getting so big, wanna be bigger…”

“Yeah?” He leans his head back against the cabinets, staring sightlessly up at the trailer ceiling as his eyes threaten to roll back in his head at the idea. And, shit, he’d barely ever spared a thought for the guy back when they were still in school together, both because he hadn’t been Eddie’s type then and Steve’s shitty taste in friends for most of his high school career. Now though. Bulging out of brand new clothes, stomach domed out at the top of his round belly—he’d told Eddie how much he’d eaten both before and at the mall, after blowing through all those onion rings and both Cokes like it was nothing. 

“Mmhm, want you, ah, to feed me more… Make me so full I can’t stand up, Eddie, make me pop.”

“Oh, baby, I’ll feed you,” he agrees. He thinks he would promise Steve anything for the chance, this golden opportunity with Hawkins’ fallen golden boy… Fallen because no one in this town has any fucking taste other than him. They don’t seem to get that Steve is beautiful like this, insatiable to the point of desperation, quivering with pleasure and still going. They don’t get it, call him things like— “Greedy pig, I’ll fill you up so good and you’ll still beg me to keep going, keep making you feel so full, until you’re finally satisfied. I’m gonna give you that, m’kay? Only me. Take you past anything you’ve ever felt and keep you there forever.”

He hardly knows what he’s saying anymore, isn’t sure that Steve knows either because all that’s coming through the phone now is a desperate panting “yes, yes, yes, need it, yes” that sounds like prayer. 

If only this wasn’t over the phone. If he was there, if he could sink into Steve’s warm, soft body, make him arch and writhe, fill his mouth and belly, then spread those thick, doughy thighs to fill him there—

Eddie comes with a cry, stroking himself through it right there on the kitchen floor and listening as Steve burps and moans and fucks himself over the same edge. Only… only Steve had been working himself towards that edge for much, much longer. Hours, maybe? He gives one last weak spurt at the thought as the last of his orgasm trickles away, trembling with the aftershocks. Listens to Steve’s panting breaths while mindlessly still fondling himself—while they both do, on either end of the call—until the overstimulation tips into too much.

“Holy shit,” he groans, going boneless where he slumps against the cabinet. “Stevie, I think you killed me.”

“L-lick your hand,” Steve whimpers, just about knocking Eddie fully to the floor. “I’d do it, but I can’t from h-here—” And he has to pause to belch, long and low and followed by a relieved little whimper, none of which it sounds like he’s bothering to stifle. “You can’t let it go to waste, Eddie.”

“Definitely going to kill me,” Eddie mutters, but he pulls his hand from his boxers and brings his hand to his lips. He’s tasted himself before… tasted other men a few times too, though it’s never felt anywhere near as charged as this. Never with the hungry, slurping sounds of a partner doing the same in his ear, sweet little sounds that with enough time can and probably will work him up to go again. “Wish I could see you right now, Stevie, find out if you taste as sweet as you sound. Let you pull my fingers into your wet, hungry mouth.”

Another slurp, and then a coy, “Just your fingers?”

“Oh, fuck…”

~

By the time Steve hangs up, he’s so sleepy but more sated than he can remember feeling after any casual fuck on a school night. 

Well, not a school night for him, not anymore. Eddie had blearily admitted, after coming a second time, that he still had homework to do that he’d just have to finish during his free period tomorrow. If Steve could help he would, he’d drive over right now if he could, but they’d agreed that his presence or even just his voice would not be conducive to accomplishing anything educational. 

So, soon. They’ll figure out something soon. Because now Eddie has the number for the private line in Steve’s room, and there’s definitely something simmering between them, unexpected but undeniable. 

The satisfaction Steve finds in that is enough motivation to sit heavily forward and struggle out of his constricting t-shirt, one of many that won’t tug down much beyond his belly button these days. It’s also covered in crumbs and dried come, so he tosses it at his hamper and does a lazy little fist pump when he sinks the shot—the closest he’s come to athletic accomplishment in a while now. 

As Steve lays down to go to sleep naked, he can admit to himself in the privacy of his own head that this little experiment of his has gotten a bit out of hand. He’s packing on the pounds like crazy, decadently covered in stretch marks with how fast it’s happening and he has a tentative date with a guy. This is all very new, but… he’s not freaking out. Not even a little. 

And it’s not just because he’s too cozy right now; he really has been thinking about it, ever since the first time he’d gotten off because of Eddie Munson. Thinking about how he’s always loved eating girls out, and how different would it be, really, to put a cock in his mouth. To swallow. It makes his mouth water every time he imagines it—and when he’d teased Eddie about it. 

So, yeah, that’s something Steve wants to try. Find out if the real thing is as good as he thinks it might be. The very fact that Eddie is so into it and actually agreed to a first date is promising. 

He falls asleep with a hand cupping the soft underside of his belly and a peaceful smile on his face.

Permanent tag list (ask to be added/removed):

@hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @thecatkingsthrone @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

[punks-never-die205]

Passing Fascination

Fem Reader x Yandere!Eustass Kid

CW: kidnapping, yandere Eustass Kid, violence, dubious consent, imprisonment, abuse, swearing, sex, group sex, dark content kids I am not messing around with this ♥

Chapter 2: The Chase

You were breathing heavy when you made it to shore, but the winds hadn’t favored the Punk Victoria, and you made it to the beach without having to ditch the rowboat.

The winds hadn’t exactly favored you, either, and the ship wasn’t that far away. They’d be weighing anchor and row boating themselves to shore shortly. You needed to be as far lost and gone into the woods as possible.

You were already acutely aware this wasn’t Three Rivers Island, but with luck it would be big enough for you to disappear into it for long enough. Your survival skills weren’t exactly expert level, but you knew a lot of fruits and foods available in the area thanks to the heavy commerce of your home island. There was a small harpoon in the row boat, something maybe for just holding the small vessel next to a boat while the occupants left, but it was sharp and came with enough rope you could tie it to yourself.

Fortune favors the bold, or something.

You smile, taking a bite of the lobster tail and nodding. “No, you’re not wrong.” You admit. You were enjoying yourself. The meal was fantastic, and Kid was remarkably good at carrying a conversation. For someone with impressive scars and a missing arm, he didn’t let either hold him back.

He looked different too. Dressed in clothes that any merchant would appreciate, with his hair falling down around his face in messy loose waves. He had a metal arm, but it was much smaller than you’d seen before, and was mostly concealed by the puffy sleeves of the shirt he wore.

“In the end though, I like it here.” You say easily. “It might not be the life I dreamed of having, but it’s functional.”

He smirks, and you’re sure a couple people joined his crew because of that smirk. “Functional’s hardly living. I’ve seen how you work, didja ever think of being a pirate?”

You almost choke, laughing a little and waving your hand. “Pirate? By the seas.” You shake your head. “I don’t have the constitution for that. I barely like the blood I see when the cook’s prepping meals.”

You wanted to get as high as you could for starters. If you could get your bearings sea-wise you had a far better chance of making it back to your home. If Three-Rivers wasn’t visible on the horizon then you’d have to weigh a few unpalatable options.

Did you turn yourself into the pirates who were hunting you? Trapped on a ship might be better than left effectively for dead on an island that may or may not be able to support you.

Did you attempt to sneak back on board the ship as a stowaway until the next port? You were small, and the crew wasn’t many in number. The ship was huge, so keeping yourself out of sight and sneaking crumbs was plausible. But if you got caught you were probably going to be worse off than if you surrendered yourself.

Your last option, if you couldn’t see another island from whatever vantage point you found, would be simply taking your chances on this island. The idea of living alone on a, most likely, deserted island for an indeterminate amount of time until a friendly-looking boat stopped by wasn’t exactly high on your list of options.

But if you passed fresh water on your way into the interior, and found some fruiting trees, then it wasn’t an impossible option. The longer you could dodge your pursuers the better your chances of making the most viable decision.

Diving into the underbrush, you do your best to avoid snapping twigs or bending anything, walking gingerly through the forest. You were less thrilled about not having shoes right now, but it was easier to tread softly without heavy shoes, you just had to ignore anything that squished between your toes.

Ten minutes in you found a creek, and stepping into it found it was pleasant temperature wise, and the silt was well packed. It wasn’t like walking on rocks, but it wasn’t slick with algae or deep and muddy. You kept your feet in the water as you walked to avoid splashing, but you hadn’t heard any concerning sounds since you got into the woods.

The crew was likely just now coming ashore as it was.

“A second date?” You look down at the ground for a second. “I…”

“You had fun.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. The confidence would usually rankle you, but not only is he not wrong, he knows he’s not. It’s not hollow confidence.

“I did.” You admit, looking away with a scowl on your face.

“We’re in for another couple of days. Not tomorrow night, the night after. Just,” He bends over a little, turning his head to catch your eyes before he smiles. “Walk along the beach with me. Let me talk to you.”

“Talk?” You cock an eyebrow at him, and he flips you off.

“Yes, talk. You brat.” He nearly barks the words. It’s disconcerting that he looks hotter when he’s a little hot under the collar. “I said I wasn’t going to force my way into your damn pants.”

You smile, closing the short distance between the two of you and kissing the tip of his nose quickly. The action causes him to freeze in place for a second. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to irritate you, cap’n.”

You needed to follow the stream for as long as you could. If there were enough rocks for you to come out on you’d consider it. In the dark it wouldn’t be so easy to notice as a wet foot mark, especially since they’d have to watch every inch of the creek’s banks while they pursued you.

You were focused on reaching a vantage point, but you realized that your biggest problem was that you had rowed your happy ass for nearly forty minutes to reach this island. The crew had been on a ship. The really big pirate crew, with bounties that proved how formidable they were, and by association, how much stamina they had.

You shook the thought from your head. One problem at a time. You weren’t racing them to a destination, you were trying to get yourself lost in a jungle enough to not get caught. You didn’t need to have an excess of stamina to manage that.

You were tired though. Rowing was a whole body activity, and trudging through a jungle wasn’t easy either, especially with the slight incline you were dealing with from working your way into the interior.

You noticed a big, leafy tree, and decide to climb it. Barefoot tree climbing was something you’d done as a kid, but adult you was far less thrilled about it. It took a couple minutes, but you managed to get comfortable in a thick collection of branches. You had a good view of the sky, a bad view of the ground, but up in the tree you could rest a little.

You didn’t need line of sight to the ground to be able to hear either, so you’d be able to hear if any of those oafs wandered nearby.

You had walked the mostly deserted shores of the island with Eustass for almost two hours. All the two of you had done was talked. He talked about his crew, their adventures, their plans, and he kept reassuring you that you’d be safe from harm with him. You talked to him about your life on Three Rivers Island, dreams you’d let go of, the quiet life you enjoyed.

“It is a tempting off, I’ll admit.” You muse quietly, watching the waves roll in for the nighttime high tide, sitting on a patch of grass as the fire Kid was starting warmed the area. “But I mean it truly, I’m not a fighter. You can’t possibly have use of a barmaid on your crew.”

He scoffs, the clipped grunted laugh shaking his shoulders once. “I don’t. I’m not asking you to join the crew because I want to make use of you.” He admits. His back is to you, his eyes on the fire, or out to sea, you weren’t sure. You imagined there was a heat in his cheeks he didn’t want you to see.

Heat that was in your own cheeks, admittedly.

You’d been wooed before, by sailor, merchant, and wretch alike. You weren’t a stranger to sharing a bed with someone, but working in a bar meant you knew how most sailors and pirates viewed someone like you and it left a sour taste in your mouth. You had nothing against being promiscuous, you only detested anyone thinking it was expected of you.

“Are you going to make me say it?” He asks. There’s an edge to his voice, some of it sounds like anger, but most of it sounds like embarrassment.

“… No. I… I can’t leave with you. I can’t return it, so I won’t ask you to say it.” You admit. There’s a pain in your chest, a sadness in your voice. Neither are there to appease him. You really had been enjoying yourself. If you thought there was any chance he’d accept, you’d offer for him to stay on Three Rivers.

“It’s there though.” He says flatly. It’s not a question, and so you don’t answer it, but you already know he wouldn’t say it unless he was certain.

You wake up from your brief nap. The sky is a little brighter than before, but not by much. Dawn is approaching, but there won’t be any real light for another hour. You stay still for a moment, listening to the surrounding area as best you can before you descend from the tree and continue the hike into the island’s interior.

If Kid and the crew walked through the night they might very well be ahead of you. They also might still be behind you, if they hadn’t managed to pick up your trail then they’d be forced to hunt tree by tree. Of all the little skills you’d picked up over the course of your life, tracking someone in the wilds was not one of them. Unless they left painfully obvious signs of passage, you weren’t going to know where they were until you heard them. Fortunately, the little nap you’d had, put some life back into your limbs and it was easier to move than it had been.

The soft light of the impending dawn was enough to help you get a better idea of the island. You passed several trees that produced fruits and nuts you could eat, and knew how to eat. The stream you’d traveled in was fresh and clear – you might get a stomachache for a couple of days adjusting to water different from your own island, especially since you didn’t have any survival gear, but as long as there weren’t any poisonous plants growing along the riverbed it wouldn’t be fatal.

Considering how comfortable the night had been, the days probably got warm and humid, but you and your clothes could easily adjust. This island wasn’t likely to have much of an autumn, never mind winter, so you wouldn’t have to worry about freezing to death before someone came along. Your biggest problem, assuming you needed to stay here, was going to be maintaining your sanity. Humans were social creatures, and isolation could crack a lot of people.

The land evens out as the sun rises fully. Again, you were glad your clothes were darker shades. If you’d worn pastels you’d be another beacon against the darker shades of the deep forest. Looking around you found a promising tree, grumbling only a little as you began another barefoot climb.

Your first order of business was going to be making shoes out of something. It was harder climbing this tree than the last one because your feet were torn up from the first climb. It was small wounds, nothing that was bleeding badly, or in need of stitches, but the callouses you had from being on your feet all the time could only protect you from so much.

At the very least you could make a ladder from driftwood and gather fruits and nuts without more climbing.

“I wonder how long it would take to whittle a pair of clogs from driftwood?” You mutter to yourself as you brace against the tree’s topmost branches. Scanning the horizon you can see the Victoria Punk anchored off the coast, and work your way around to the other side of the tree carefully.

Moving branches aside with the end of the spear you look out over the horizon. You could see the outline of an island in the distance. It was possibly Three Rivers. You were hungry, but you hadn’t been ravenously hungry, so it was unlikely you’d been passed out in Kid’s bed for days. Chances were this was just the day after your beach date.

So this was probably the Countess – an uninhabited island that some of the merchants would vacation on from time to time. Perfect. That meant that aside from a few territorial birds, there weren’t any aggressive animals on the island to be wary of. Plenty of nuts and fruits, a decent supply of fish, you were certain, and the chances of rescue were incredibly high.

If it was the Countess, it was still Three River on the horizon, and with little more than time on your hands you could start building a boat. Rowing from here to there would be exhausting, but not impossible. Three Rivers had a yearly rowboat contest that went around the entire island. It took three days, and competitors slept and ate in the rowboats.

Island currents and open ocean were two different beasts, however, so it was certainly a last resort idea.

Climbing down from the tree you stayed by the trunk for a moment, trying to listen for any sounds. Countess Island wasn’t very big. Hopefully it was big enough you could continue to shake a crew of a dozen or so pirates, but that was your biggest challenge right now. There wasn’t enough land to really get lost.

You needed a cave or root hollow to hide in, and the sooner the better.

“Hm?” A glimmer in the growing daylight catches your eye, but as you turn to look it disappears. You look around more, senses on edge, when you feel something cold against your wrist a second too late.

Pulling your arm away does little more than clamp the spiky metal bracer into place. A force you can’t fight pulls you down into the dirt with a sharp tug.

“Shit!” Just as you hit the ground your arm’s yanked up and back pulling you through the air before you slam into the tree behind you. The spike’s locked into the rough bark and you’re effectively pinned to the tree.

Your whole body aches from being jerked around, but your shoulder’s screaming the worst. If it’s not dislocated, it’s not far from it. You’re too far up the trunk to touch the ground with your feet, so your battered soles are trying to find footing against the bark again.

A sense of dread washes over you. You’re not worried about your shoulder or the bark anymore. You’re not just caught, you’re being stalked. Hunted. You had a healthy dose of fear and respect for Kid and his crew, but this is the first time you’re scared down to your bones.

You recognize Conqueror’s Haki, it’s quieted streets on Three River several times before now, but you’ve never had it feel like this. It’s not washing over you, it’s slipping under your skin and clawing at your muscles, almost like it’s threatening to tear your organs from you if you succumb to it.

“There she is,” the sound of his voice pushes you deeper into your rising fear, and you wish you could disappear into the tree itself. There’s an almost jovial tone in his voice, but it’s manic and on edge, and that edge is pressed against your throat like a knife.

“My little pet mouse.”

[jojodelaguerras-wooden-stick]

Some Christian Borle works that I hope vox fans will know about !!

I assume that there are many hazbin fans who are discovering CBorle or my tiktok has just been fueling this misunderstanding. Anyway, live laugh Christian Borle

Spamalot (OBC) - Historian/Prince Herbert/others

He is so funny in this, especially as Prince Herbert and not-dead-yet Fred. Being ragdolled and shaken around by the king as Prince Herbert or insulting Sir Robin with his tambourine as a minstrel

Legally Blonde (OBC) - Emmett Forrest

I know this is one of his most iconic roles but Emmett deserves more love literally the sweetest character and CBorle played as him so well. His "little miss woods comma Elle" AH and the little things that makes Emmett RAHHHHH

Some Like it Hot (OBC) - Joe/Josephine/Kip

Did you know that he does most of this show IN HEELS. Not only that, TAP DANCING IN HEELS like are you kidding. He also wrote some lines for the show! I love the whole show in general, it is so funny and so real in how they talk about identity and how you present yourself. I can write a whole essay but that'll be for another day. I love this show with all my heart

Little Shop of Horrors (2019 off-bway revival) - Orin/others

Speaking of heels, he too was in heels for this production, but much much less than SLiH. Still, the talent is there. Especially when he plays all the different characters, from a crazy dentist like Orin to Skip Snip. He is also super unhinged and likes to drag out his death as Orin to make the audience laugh. I recommend watching the tiny desk concert first if you are not familiar

Thoroughly Modern Millie (Replacement) - Jimmy Smith

There's not much for this show, just a video of him singing What do I need with love. I liked his singing in this and the small details he does during this song to show that Jimmy has fallen for Millie is cute

Mary Poppins (Replacement) - Bert

He may claim that he was the worst tap dancing Bert but he was still a champ for learning all that choreo and even going upside down in step in time. Another one with crumbs :" Gosh what I would give for a boot cuz rn its just the disney on Bway videos and jolly holiday. He did it with Laura Michelle Kelly :)

Me and My Girl (New York City Centre) - Bill Snibson

He did this show with Laura Michelle Kelly too :))) AND THE SHOW IS SO FUNNY it's so underrated and has very funny lines. Someone said that it was basically 2 hours of CBorle being silly. I also love his and Laura Michelle Kelly's dynamics as Bill and Sally. Speaking of this couple, Bill and Sally are literally as healthy as Emmett and Elle and i love that for them

Peter and the Starcatcher (OBC) - Blackstache

Literally my favourite show of his. His blackstache is so animated and silly I love him. And his agility sliding over the trunk and running around. His moments in Mermaid Outta Me ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽ silly lil guy. Similarly to Orin, he likes to drag out his hand pain to make the audience laugh. AND HIS CURLS omg this era of CBorle hair is the best imo. And he won his first tony for it! That goes to show something about his portrayal of Captain Hook and how it needs more love !!!!!

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (OBC) - Willy Wonka

A lot of people seem to see this role as the role he went bald for. We joke about Borled Egg a lot but he brought such beautiful unhingeness to this role that really brought out the joy of this show.

Footloose (The Muny) - Director

He also directs! Though there is no boot for this production, he talks about his experience directing and working on the show in some interviews and a reunion zoom call. The cast talks about how he allows them to be free in their portrayal of the characters while giving advice and proper directions, especially since he was in Footloose for tour and bway. I would have loved to watch it since footloose is a show I like too. NaTasha Yvette Williams is also in this!

Anyway, he has done a lot more shows, he's been in the industry for nearly 30 years so he has a lot under his belt and I wish he wasn't just reduced to Vox's VA, Marvin or Shakespeare. He's a brilliant actor with impeccable comedic timing and seriousness. He's not a two-time Tony award winner for nothing!

[rosiesravishingrecipeblog]

Hello, Rosie!

What are some of your favorite ways to cook an ex? I'm not very skilled in the kitchen, but I'm eager to learn and I see no reason to let any... resources... go to waste.

Hello darling!!

A great place to start is with a nice meatloaf, I have a great recipe, very beginner friendly and absolutely delicious! Note that this makes 2 pounds per recipe, however there’s always freezing for later- and if you want make some jerky to snack on I also have quite the recipe!

INGREDIENTS

2lbs of Ex (ground preferably, avoid intestines and ‘soft’ meat, aim for thigh, rump, or arm! I have a butchering chart I’ll link)

1 cup of Crumbs (I prefer cornbread however any breadcrumbs work! all a matter of taste)

2 eggs (eggs make your mixture hold together, they’re called a binding agent!, beat both eggs together like you’re making a scramble)

1 small onion OR 1/2 a regular onion (diced, i can link a video on how to Dice an onion! Onion should be WHITE or YELLOW!!)

2 cloves garlic (Smash them darling! then chop a ridiculous amount! I recommend an insta chop they’re so nifty….)

Salt, Oregano, Pepper, to taste

For the SAUCE

3/4 Ketchup (or more! this goes on top while baking so if you want more have more! just adjust your other ingredients accordingly)

1/4 BBQ

1 TBSP Worcestershire sauce (optional! the bbq will give the tang you need!)

2 TBSP brown sugar (a touch of sweetness!)

A little bit of blood just for fun <3

STEPS

Preheat oven to 375, get a baking sheet, if you want, line with PARCHMENT paper

Start by mixing your first list of ingredients together in a big bowl, (Meat, Onion, garlic, Crumbs, seasoning) Mash, like dough. Careful not to over mix because over mixing will cause the eggs to become dense!

Put a little of the Ketchup Sauce in (about half) and do one final smush, and now you’re ready to roll onto your baking sheet!

You can make multiple small Meatloafs or one big meatloaf, shape to your desired density etc (if said ex is male i recommend making the famed dick cake, quite satisfying to Cut into)

Spread the remaining ketchup Mixture on top and Bake for about an hour!

And then you’ve got a delicious meal- turns out he WAS good for something…..

I hope that Ex doesn’t trouble you anymore Darling…

Ta!

Rosie

[davycoquette]

the interview 2/3

PART ONE

Gingerly stepping over Robert Barclay's stiffening corpse, I cross the kitchen to pick up the phone hanging on the wall. The dial tone buzzes, filling my ear like the droning of flies. Bile gurgles into my throat, and I hang up so I can swallow it back down.

I sink to my haunches, dropping my notebook and recorder. My fingers claw through my hair and I curl into myself. My mantra goes, "Oh, God. Jesus. Fuck."

A deep groan answers from behind me.

My heart launches into my mouth and I pirouette out of my crouch. I only manage to twist and land on my ass, then crab-walk a few paces from Robert Barclay’s corpse. This is the first good look I’ve gotten at his face. He looks like one of those wax figures in a museum, but on a day when the AC’s busted. His eyes stand wide open and his mouth is agape, resin teeth slanted like they're ready to drop out. One hand is stretched out toward me and the other is curled into his chest.

"Rob? Rob, are you…" Still in there?

It's gas escaping. Some crime scene investigator I talked to a couple years back mentioned this happened when we were gearing up for the interview. It always stuck with me, popping into my conscience intermittently. Death is embarrassing. It's always embarrassed me. I don't know why.

His body gives a little squeak and I gag.

I guess someday this is gonna be me. Maybe someday soon. This is why my momma calls all the time. She thinks I'm gonna overdose, and some jackass is gonna walk in on me stiff on a floor somewhere.

R. Barclay's sounds have attracted his little terrier, and it's sniffing around his face. I summon it away with a click of my tongue and put my hand out. It scurries over with its nubby tail going fast and licks at my fingers, and I scrub its saliva over the crown of its head before picking myself up off the floor.

Robert Barclay is one of those writers who’ll remain a household name. They already make you read one of his books when you're in high school. He's a 'great American' author, and I'll be the forgotten asshole who missed the chance to do his last interview.

If I just got here yesterday, I think. Or did he kick it yesterday?

I look at his little dog, and it sort of looks back at me with its beady eyes that skew in opposite directions.

"Where's your food at, baby?" I ask, and it turns in a tight circle. "Ready to eat? You want breakfast?"

More circles.

I start going through cabinets, but I'm met with leaning towers of pots and pans and plastic containers in each one. He can't have used any of this shit in years. Poor old guy's probably been living on crackers and buffet cafeterias. He never had kids. Never married.

Up until now, he'd been driving himself — I saw his Buick out front where I parked my Amigo. It was like any other geezer's car: beat up around the bumper. Grey, enormous.

The little dog tires of my searching and tap-dances over to a plastic bin near the sliding door where Robert Barclay has his breakfast nook. There's hard bread crumbs on the glass-top table, a few little ants scurrying up and down the wall.

I scoop some kibble out of the bin and deposit it in the dog's food bowl. It lets me check the tag on its collar while it's scarfing the little cardboard flavored nuggets down. Raisin. The name is familiar, I realize; the little author biography blurb I read when I took the job mentioned something about R. Barclay living alone with his dog, Raisin.

While Raisin crunches kibbles, I stand and lean against the counter.

"I was gonna ask if you were working on anything," I tell Rob's body. "And if you ever thought your books were gonna be required reading for schoolkids."

Raisin dislodges a kibble with a wet sounding cough.

"I was gonna ask who you like reading these days."

I scrub my hand over my forehead, rake my fingers through my hair. My hand drops and I stare down at him. "Who do you like reading these days, Rob?"

A clock above the sink ticks as I stand over him. I haven't done much else since breaking in apart from feeding his dog. When he didn't come to the door, I'd stepped down off the concrete slab of his porch to shield my eyes and peer through his living room window, and I could see his silhouette on the kitchen floor from the front of the house. His place is situated out in the countryside, not a neighbor in sight. He doesn't lock his windows, so I let myself in so I could use his phone to call the ambulance.

But there's no hurry. It's not like I want to spend more time than I have to with this unexpectedly stiff and cold version of Robert Barclay, but there's a little part of me that's irrationally concerned I'll be blamed for his death. I have to talk myself down from that ledge: you had an appointment. He's been dead for hours, at least. What motive could you have possibly had? I guess I'm already anxious about what Jason's gonna say; it makes everything feel like one grand conspiracy to ruin me.

I've got some pills in my Isuzu Amigo parked outside. Standing there with my hip leaned against R. Barclay's kitchen counter, I think I better go pop one or four. I'll seem more collected, less suspicious, when the cops get here.

…Will they send cops?

PART THREE