#i have so much more to say on it but i shall leave it on that for now lmao

[thelordofgifs]

Part 37! In which several people fuck up.

"You are not easy to find, Curvo," Amras says thoughtfully, dismounting. "But I had my suspicions I would find you skulking around the Girdle eventually."

"I'm here, too," Celebrimbor says pointedly. "Much to my regret."

No one pays any attention to this. "Well, this is a surprise, Pityo," Curufin says, looking his brother in the eye. "I did not see you come rushing to our aid when Morgoth's forces overwhelmed the Eastmarch, nor indeed when Himring fell. But I am glad to see you can be drawn out of your fortress eventually, with sufficient... inducement."

"I am impressed you dare speak of the fall of Himring," Amras says, his voice very light and casual. "But then you never did have any shame, I suppose."

Curufin laughs loudly. A bird in a nearby tree takes off in fright. "So you have come to scold me, I see!" he says. "Well, I am afraid yours will have been a wasted trip in that case, Pityo. Have you not heard that I am beyond any sort of redemption now?" He casts Celebrimbor a swift bitter look.

How quickly the mask slips, Celebrimbor reflects, trying not to care. Not five minutes ago was Curufin trying to convince him that he was yet a devoted father.

"You did not need to tell me that," Amras says. "In Nelyo's place I would have disavowed you long ago."

"Oh, so it is Nelyo who sent you," Curufin says; "well, you might tell him that I am of no mind to come flying back to his shoulder like some tame songbird, and he should give up searching for me."

"He is missing," Amras hisses, his eyes bright with sudden anger; "I suppose no-one would have informed you of it while you have been cringing in the forests like the coward you are – he has disappeared from Barad Eithel, they have heard nothing of him for weeks. And you have the nerve yet to speak his name, after what you did to him!"

"This is all very interesting and important," Celebrimbor interjects, "but might you mind having this conversation somewhere else? You could both leave. Without me, even."

"What have you come for, then, little brother?" Curufin says coldly, ignoring Celebrimbor again. "I should imagine you were happier thinking me lost. Yet you have gone to all this effort to seek me out. One might even believe you missed me."

Amras gives him a thin-lipped smile. "Not that, exactly," he says; and then he twitches aside his cloak to reveal the bright dagger gleaming at his hip. "I just think it might be about time I finished some things that had been left undone."

Curufin laughs again. "So little Pityo has decided to assert his claim to relevance!" he says. "Shall you kill me, then – and doom me to the Everlasting Darkness with my Oath yet unfulfilled?"

Amras shrugs. "Why not? If it was good enough for Tyelko, and for – for Telvo, I see no reason why you should yet linger here, when all your machinations but serve to keep the Silmarils in the grasp of others, and condemn all Beleriand to Morgoth's dominion meanwhile."

"Do not speak of him," says Curufin, white-lipped in an instant, "you do not know—"

"You can expect no pity from me, Curvo," Amras says coldly, "you who yet honour our father's name after Losgar." He glances past Curufin at Celebrimbor. "Even to the shame of your own son. Tyelko is dead – and I am glad of it, glad he died when he did rather than fall any further from grace – and it is more than time you followed him, I think."

"You have not the courage," says Curufin, his eyes very bright, "you will not do it."

"Will you try to fight me, then?" Amras asks softly. He nods at the burn on Curufin's hand. "I do not think you will get very far, with that."

Curufin is silent.

"Give me a reason," Amras says very slowly, gripping his dagger-hilt. "One reason only that I should spare you." He meets Celebrimbor's gaze again. "Have you too nothing to say in your father's defence, Tyelpë?"

"Have you not heard?" says Curufin, lifting his chin. "I am not his father any more, he claims."

"I am glad to hear one person in this family has sense, at least," Amras says. He comes to stand before Curufin, who watches him through slitted eyes, and does not move, even when Amras rests the tip of his dagger very lightly at the base of his throat.

"Not a word more to spare yourself, Curvo?" Amras says softly. "I thought your slippery tongue would have more to do in your favour."

Curufin manages, marvellously, to smile. "If only Telvo could have boasted one such tongue," he says, "or Nelyo, for that matter, when he quarrelled with our father about the ships – why, he might not have burned at all."

Not a very witty comeback, thinks Celebrimbor, who has faced the cutting edge of that selfsame tongue more than once. Indeed it seems to him almost as though Curufin is goading Amras deliberately – and even that clumsy jibe seems to have worked, for Amras' eyes are black with rage, and Curufin is still making no move to step away – and then he glances quickly at Celebrimbor and all at once Celebrimbor understands—

Oh, the cowardice of it all! Curufin wants Amras to kill him. He is counting on it, after Celebrimbor's new rejection – thinks it perhaps an honourable ending, as though to scrub out the stains of his ill deeds with his own red life-blood – how much easier, after all, to die simply and tragically than work to fix your own mistakes.

Celebrimbor has always understood his father far better than he wanted to.

He is so angry that he is tempted, for a moment, to say nothing – let Curufin meet his end here at his own brother's hands, it is no more than he deserves – but then he cannot bear either to think of Curufin getting what he wants one last time.

"Stop," he says clearly. "Uncle, stop."

Amras does not seem at first to hear him; he presses the dagger against Curufin's throat again, drawing a bright little bead of blood, and smiles icily.

Curufin's eyes are closed.

"Stop," Celebrimbor says again, and he comes forward to put his hand on Amras' arm, and draws it away from Curufin's throat.

It takes Amras a moment to register that his blade has been moved. He blinks dazedly at his hand, and then at Celebrimbor, and then says slowly, "So you are your father's son after all, I see? He will not love you better for it, you know."

"I care not whether he loves me," Celebrimbor says coldly. "Only that I will not stand by and watch a Kinslaying take place before my very eyes. You ought to want better for yourself, uncle."

Amras smiles again, a flash of teeth. "So you set yourself up as the best of us!" he says. "You forget, Tyelpë, that the House of Fëanor has never had much compunction in spilling its own blood."

Curufin has opened his eyes. He is gaping at Celebrimbor in unbridled awe, his eyes very bright.

Celebrimbor manages a laugh. "For all your disdain, uncle, it seems yet to matter a great deal to you that you belong to that selfsame House."

Amras lifts his chin proudly, stung.

"Tyelpë," Curufin breathes, his voice shaky. "Tyelpë – I knew you did care—"

Don't, Celebrimbor wants to say, disgusted, don't thank me, don't even look at me, I wish you had died after all— But he cannot quite manage the words.

As he is trying best to formulate some scathing remark – wrapping together contempt and anger and exasperation all at once – he hears a voice calling for him through the trees.

"Tyelpë? Tyelpë, is all well?"

"Who is that?" Curufin asks swiftly.

Celebrimbor cannot move.

"There you are, cousin," Finduilas says cheerfully, coming into the clearing, and then she stops short.

Meanwhile in Dor-lómin:

Lúthien is wandering listlessly through the fields.

Departing her father's realm was a relief, but still she cannot deny that this land – which she once looked to with such girlish enthusiasm – can never truly be a home for her.

Beren, at least, is happier here than he had been in Doriath. He speaks little and smiles less, but there is at least now no fine line of strain between his eyes.

Is this what I died for? Lúthien wonders. Is this all that I could ever have hoped for?

In the distance she sees a stooped figure making her way back up to the great house from the well.

Morwen has serving-women to carry her buckets for her, Lúthien knows. She imagines it is some stubborn impulse that has driven her today to fetch her water herself, even now that her belly is beginning to weigh her down, and resolves to do nothing.

Morwen has made it clear enough, time and again, that she does not want Lúthien's help.

Still that reasoning cannot sway her when she sees the other woman stop suddenly, swaying under her burden, and then crumple to her knees.

Lúthien cries out and is by Morwen's side in a moment. "Are you well? I can fetch one of your women – or Rían if you would prefer—"

But Morwen looks more winded than truly hurt. "No," she gasps out, struggling back to her feet. "And especially not Rían, do not trouble her." She stoops to pick up the bucket again.

"I doubt very much she would consider it any trouble," Lúthien says lowly, "to care for one whom she loves."

Morwen merely looks silently at her, and does not answer. She grasps the handle of the bucket and a tiny wince flashes across her face, so swiftly that no mortal vision could have caught it.

"At least allow me to help you with that," Lúthien says, unhappily conscious that she is overstepping; but to her relief Morwen says nothing, and inclines her head with what might be gratitude.

The bucket is weightier than Lúthien was expecting. Her limbs have been heavy these past few days, as though some of the treacly stillness of Doriath's air yet clings to her in the chilly north.

But she manages a smile and sets her course up to Morwen's house.

Morwen rarely feels any inclination to fill a silence. Lúthien had forgotten that in the weeks since she last spoke with the other woman; now her lips keep twitching, stirred by impulses alternately to comment inanely on the weather or to ask, Did I really make you hate me so much that even Beren your cousin is not welcome in your house?

"I do not hate you," Morwen says quietly, with one of those strange flashes of not-quite-mortal insight. "Think you I of all people have no pity in my heart for those exiles of Beleriand, without even a hearth to name their own? I wished you and Beren only good when first you came here. But there is no use in trying to make a barren land bear fruit."

"No land is truly barren," Lúthien breathes. "I cannot be made to believe so."

Morwen gives her a look she cannot quite decipher. "Perhaps not."

"Beren deserves a home, after all he has suffered," Lúthien says. "And I may not rest until I have found him one."

"It is not here," Morwen says bluntly. "You know that. So what are you going to do?"

Again that impossible heaviness deep within Lúthien, an ache blooming at the base of her spine. "I don't know," she says (although she does).

Morwen gives her a level, assessing look. "You will have to decide soon," she says, cryptic again.

They have reached her house. She takes the bucket back from Lúthien and says, all politeness, "I thank you for your kind assistance," and then goes in.

Back in Doriath:

Finduilas is pale, but she keeps her composure admirably, casting Celebrimbor naught but one nervous glance.

Celebrimbor brushes his mind against hers, a fumbling attempt at reassurance, but he knows not what to say. It's all right? Run?

"Who is that?" asks Amras, who does not often leave Amon Ereb, has no interest in feasts and gatherings, and likely last saw Finduilas as a babe in arms.

"Orodreth's daughter," Curufin says slowly. He glances at Celebrimbor. "So you have kept up a friendship with your cousin, I see, Tyelpë. What is she doing here?"

"As if I am likely to tell you that," Celebrimbor says sharply, his hand going to his sword-hilt. "If you have any sense at all you will leave without sparing her another glance – both of you."

Amras bristles. "Think you to tar me with the same brush as your father? I have no record of abducting maidens in the woods."

At the same moment Curufin says, "She comes from within the Girdle, does she not?"

Finduilas has been listening to the back-and-forth Quenya with an uncomprehending frown. Now she bursts out, "Kinsmen, some may consider it discourteous, to guard your thoughts in a tongue not all present can follow."

Amras looks puzzled. "A princess of the Noldor has no knowledge of the language of her own people?"

"It was never spoken in Felagund's halls," Curufin says in Quenya, with a shrug. "The girl ought to have applied herself to studying it if she wished to eavesdrop on the conversations of her elders."

"It is a tongue best-suited to treachery," Celebrimbor says in icy Sindarin, "and you will not hear another word of it out of my mouth."

Curufin's face goes very rapidly from white to red to even whiter, which is what Celebrimbor was hoping his words achieve. The satisfaction is hollow even so, tempered as it is by unease.

Curufin is so inconveniently clever sometimes.

Case in point: he turns to Finduilas with a smile that attempts at avuncularity, and says, "So you were visiting the halls of Thingol, little niece? I did not know that Nargothrond yet maintained relations with the Dark-elf."

Finduilas regards him with unalloyed suspicion, but, remembering her failure, she cannot quite school her expression in time. "It does not," she says, trying to be terse.

"Finduilas," Celebrimbor says quietly, but the rest of the warning freezes at his lips.

"And yet you leave Menegroth alone, not escorted by any armed Iathren force," Curufin observes. "Your uncle yet remembers your kinship, I'll wager."

"Bold indeed for you to speak to me of kinship," Finduilas retorts. "I have nothing to say to you."

"No, indeed," Curufin says softly, reverting to Quenya. "But there is something you could bring me even so."

Amras looks at him with narrowed eyes. "Speak plainly, if you will."

"Do not dare," Celebrimbor says in Sindarin, gritting his teeth.

But Curufin smiles and says, "Thingol of Doriath wrested our father's Silmaril from Káno's very hands as he slept. Perhaps our little niece here will help right that injustice."

Finduilas, catching the word Silmaril in amongst the blur of Quenya, purses her lips. "I have no part in your foolish Oath," she says, "and will offer you no help in it. Do not presume to ask it of me."

"I am not asking," Curufin breathes.

Amras, behind him, has shifted the banked hungry fire of his gaze to Finduilas, too.

Celebrimbor steps in front of her and draws his sword again. "By treason of kin unto kin shall you be hindered," he says quietly. "Mandos spoke truly: I will slay you if you touch her."

"You would not," Curufin says, "mere minutes after sparing me. In truth you do know from where your own blood springs, Tyelpë."

"Is it true?" Amras asks urgently. "Does Thingol yet allow those of the House of Arafinwë past the Girdle?"

The indignity of it, thinks Finduilas with a flash of fury, to be turned away in disgrace from Thingol's halls only for the sons of Fëanor now to see the value in the connection!

"I do not run and fetch on your command," she says, moving to stand by Celebrimbor's side again. "There is nothing that will compel me to steal from my uncle for the sake of a usurper and a murderer."

"Nothing?" asks Amras, wetting his lips a little. He casts a glance, almost imperceptibly swift, at his nephew.

Celebrimbor laughs. "Here, then, is all your righteous outrage!" he cries. "What difference, in the end, between a father who would slay his son and an uncle who would slay his nephew? How swiftly the mask falls, when a Silmaril comes into play once more. But I say to you now that you will never lay a hand on the one in Thingol's halls, either of you."

"Tyelpë," Curufin says, his voice low, "be reasonable—"

"Is it reason that moves you now?" Celebrimbor demands. "Scarce hours ago you were doing all that was in your power to convince me you had changed, and I ought to forgive you – forgive you, as though I am the one you wronged! But one breath of a mention of the damned Silmarils and your true nature comes through in an instant." He casts a disgusted look at Amras. "You are all the same, every one of you, for all your high-minded speeches about justice and shamelessness—"

"Do not speak of that you do not understand," Amras hisses. "I am nothing like your father."

"I have no father," Celebrimbor declares, his eyes bright. "And yet you bear more than a passing resemblance to this pitiful creature before me. Do you claim now that to abduct a maiden in the woods is so very far below you?" He glances at Finduilas, pointedly. "Or else to spill the blood of your own kin, after the threats you have made today? No, uncle, if you are true-hearted in your quest for vengeance you will turn your blade first of all upon yourself – and until then know that you carry on the House of Fëanor's fine tradition of hypocrisy perfectly well."

"Tyelpë," Curufin breathes.

"Come, cousin," Celebrimbor says firmly, taking Finduilas' hand in his. "With luck we will run into one of your father's search parties sooner or later, and then you will be home safe again."

"But will you?" Curufin asks.

Celebrimbor meets his eyes. "Better than I would anywhere else," he says. He pauses, and then adds, "I really might have given you a chance, you know."

Curufin looks after him, silenced, as he leads Finduilas away to where she left her mount.

[his own horse was um. well there were a lot of wolves ok. sadly it is no longer true that no horses were harmed in the making of this fic]

"We can still go after them," Amras says.

"He was right about you, you know," Curufin says wearily.

"He was right about you," Amras counters.

As a child Amras never really squabbled. He and Amrod were so perfectly wrapped up in each other that they had very little inclination for quarrelling with their elder brothers, even Curufin who was not quite out of adolescence when they were born.

Strange now to hear his bickering, and stranger still when it falls so dreadfully flat.

"What now, then?" Curufin asks.

He supposes Amras might still decide to kill him, without Celebrimbor to stay his hand.

Without, without, without – it is over, he is gone for good, another casualty on Curufin's endless blundering trail of destruction—

But his brother shrugs.

"You will see me again," Curufin says in a low voice. "Whatever you proclaim. All five of us living are bound by ties deeper than blood."

"Think you I do not regret that daily?" Amras asks. "Were it not for your foolish scheming the Oath would not be burning in my blood each dawn when I awake. Were it not for our father and his madness Telvo would have at the very least died free."

Despite himself Curufin bristles. "Do not."

"All right, Curvo," Amras says flatly. He manages a wan half-smile, very different from the sharp glinting grin he wore upon first coming across them. "See you then." And he saddles up his mare again and makes ready to leave.

"That's it?" Curufin asks dully. And then, because Amras' icy fury was the most alive he has felt in many months, "I knew you had not the courage to slay me."

"You could call it that," Amras says, without turning to look at him. "Farewell, Curvo."

He is gone before Curufin can think of a response.

For a long moment he stands frozen in the empty clearing, wanting to shout, wanting to beg, Do not turn your back on me now—

He is still there when the call comes.

Meanwhile in Dorthonion:

"I have been thinking, Maitimo," says Sauron, coming suddenly into the cave after days – weeks, perhaps – of darkness.

No games today, at least. There is that to be thankful for. He wears his usual guise, fair-haired and flame-eyed, robed all in white.

Maedhros blinks at him, and says nothing.

(He could not speak even if he wished to – his mouth is bone-dry, his throat parched and stinging.)

Sauron kneels before him, caresses his forehead with burning fingers. "My poor sweet one," he says, his voice tinged with regret. "I would not have to keep you bound were you only a little more – stable."

You made me so, Maedhros wants to cry out. It is good, in a way, that his thirst has gagged him so: he does not want to give Sauron the satisfaction of an answer.

It will not last for ever; soon enough Sauron will grow bored with this dull-eyed silence, he knows.

"But answer me this, Maitimo," Sauron says, his voice soft and thoughtful, "your conscience held you back when last you entered Menegroth, did it not? What makes you so very certain that you will have the mettle to take the Silmaril from Thingol this time?"

It is not that any of this will have occurred to him just now, Maedhros knows. Likely all these arguments and counter-arguments were clear to him in the moment they first struck their bargain; and now, while they wait for Morgoth's answer and the Silmaril from Angband, the Silmaril Maedhros will not be able to touch, Sauron seeks to amusing himself by toying with him.

Well, he will keep his silence.

Sauron shifts so that all his weight – and he can make himself impossibly heavy for all that his form is so slender, as though the mass of all the rocks in the cavern is concentrated in him – rests upon one of Maedhros' shattered legs. "I asked you a question, Maitimo."

His breath on Maedhros' lips is hot and dry, like a desert wind.

O for the gift of Míriel, for her endless, peaceful slumber!

But Maedhros spent long enough yearning for death on the mountain to know it cannot be that easy.

He takes his tongue between his teeth and bites down hard, hard enough that his mouth is filled with hot metallic blood and he can at last wet his lips a little.

"What answer will satisfy you?" he manages to rasp. "That I have faith in myself, or that I do not? Your decision is made either way."

"Still I wish to know," Sauron says silkily. He cups Maedhros' cheek with one hand, and Maedhros leans into the touch despite himself. "You ask me to depend upon you a great deal."

He should not play the game. He should hold his tongue and take whatever beating Sauron metes out in response; it will make no difference either way, the Silmaril is coming regardless.

But Maedhros does so like to be clever.

"Depend instead upon my Oath," he says, "for it compels me to deal death to him who witholds a Silmaril from me. Thingol has bound himself to his fate."

"And yet you walked away from Menegroth, leaving a Silmaril in his power," Sauron points out. "That is not the behaviour of one driven solely by his Oath to reclaim the jewels."

"It was in my brother's possession when I left Thingol's halls in search of the other," Maedhros says. This much at least is true – though he does not like to speak of Maglor in Sauron's presence, does not like to remember that they two both exist in the selfsame world. "I was foolish enough to trust that he would not surrender it. I will not make the same mistake twice." There, that is scorn enough in his voice to fool anyone.

"And yet you trust him now to hold the one in Barad Eithel," Sauron muses. "Do you not claim the jewel for your own, Fëanor's eldest son? You were unkind enough to shine it in my eyes on the battlefield."

"He will guard it with care," says Maedhros, "and it is his by right as much as mine – more, even, for he suffered for it during the fall of Himring, and besides—" He pauses.

Sauron leans in and presses his hot lips to Maedhros', licking clean the last droplets of blood clinging to his cracked skin.

"Besides?" he prompts.

Bile rises in Maedhros' throat. He shudders, but Sauron holds his jaw closed tight, forcing him to swallow it rather than retch.

"I'm waiting, Maitimo," Sauron says softly.

Maedhros spits blood in his face, which seems only to amuse him. "Besides he is better than you," he hisses, "and better than me, and it will never burn him as long as he lives—"

The pressure on his leg vanishes abruptly, leaving him oddly light-headed.

"So it will burn you, my sweet?" Sauron says softly.

His voice now comes from far above Maedhros' head. He tries to tilt his head back to see – long experience has taught him to keep his eyes on Sauron as much as possible – but the cold wall of the cave arrests his motion.

"You and I were always more alike than you wished to admit, my little liar," Sauron murmurs. He reaches down to tousle Maedhros' matted hair. "You will never be able to pass through the Girdle, will you, Silmaril or not? Well, then."

"Are you going to kill me, now?" Maedhros asks, the faint flicker of what may be relief in his chest. "I can be of no use to you after all."

"I keep my promises, Maitimo," Sauron says briskly, "even to those as faithless as you." And with a swish of his robes he is gone.

That is a bad thing – he is sure that is a bad thing – what was it Sauron promised?

But he is so, so tired, and he cannot remember, and now that Sauron is gone he is alone once more with his thoughts, and all he wants to do is sleep until the breaking of the world.

But he cannot – just yet. For Maglor's sake.

For the first time since he came here he opens up his mind, just the tiniest of cracks, and reaches out.

Are you there? I need help.

(to be continued)

the fairest stars: post vii

Yet more of the "Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils" AU! Masterpost with links to all previous parts on tumblr and AO3 here.

Part 35: on stories, and the ways they repeat themselves.

Finrod goes to Mandos' throne room, and kneels – such as it is – in supplication before the Vala.

"Son of Arafinwë," says Mandos. "Having turned down our boon, have you come to ask another?"

"Not for myself," says Finrod. "But for my cousin."

"Whatever vow you have made," says Mandos, "Turkafinwë Fëanárion is not ready to be released from my Halls, even were he willing."

"Not – not Celegorm," says Finrod, "but Amrod his brother. Has no judgement been passed on him? It is many centuries now since he burned to death at his father's hands."

"The judgement was passed," says Mandos, "when he swore his Oath, and bound himself to violence. No one compelled by such a force can be released into the peace of Aman."

"But he regretted it," Finrod argues. "He meant to turn back as my own father did, and beg pardon of the Valar. He would be free of it, if he could."

"But he is not," says Mandos, implacable.

Finrod is good, and pious, and faithful. Finrod is not going to lose his temper with a Vala.

"Is there no pity in these Halls?" he asks. "Is there no way to set him free of a bond he does not want?"

"Lúthien your cousin asked a similar thing when she came before me," Mandos says. "And I will tell you what I told her: it is beyond my power to undo an Oath sworn in the name of the All-father. The Valar are not gaolers, child. Telufinwë's chains were of his own making."

"It wasn't his fault," Finrod says tightly, "it was his father who bound him—"

"I cannot give you what you want," Mandos says, interrupting him.

"Then pass the boon you have given me onto him," Finrod says; "transfer it away from me, I do not want it. Grant him his release, he has lingered here long enough."

"That is not how it works," Mandos says. "You are free to leave these Halls whenever you desire. It is not my way to retract mercy once it has been offered."

Do you call this mercy? Finrod does not say. He takes his leave instead.

“You did not need to do that,” Amrod says, when he returns.

Finrod is in no mood for Fëanorian self-pity. “Do you want to rot here forever, then?” he asks sharply.

“So it was decreed,” Amrod says, “and I told you already that I never expected any mercy for myself.”

“Yet you would have me extend it to your brother,” Finrod says.

“That,” says Amrod, “is not precisely what I said.” He makes some spirit-approximation of a shrug. “You know Tyelko as he is now better than I do. Is he past saving? Perhaps. But it is for your own sake that you are trying anyway, I think.”

“But if even you are condemned to remain here forever—” Finrod says, unable to keep himself from bitterness.

“I’ve killed people, Ingoldo,” Amrod reminds him. “Three of them, in fact.” He shudders briefly. “Why me? Why Tyelko, for that matter? There are many worthier souls in these Halls to demand your attention. After the Dagor Bragollach the Exiles came pouring in here in their thousands, and every one of them lies under the Doom of Mandos – all except for you. You could be pleading for any one of them, instead of your Kinslaying cousins, who are anyway bound by a greater chain.”

“Because,” Finrod says, irritable, “chains can be broken. And I cannot bear to see you deny that, again and again – you as well as your brother! Forever need not always mean forever. There are brighter things in store for you, for all of us, than to mourn here for eternity in the dark. Valar help me, I did not fully realise it, until Lúthien showed me it was so – and yet—” He stops suddenly.

Amrod looks at him with sympathy. "It is not only us you are angry with," he says.

"I do not want to be angry at all," Finrod says wearily. "I want to find a way out, I want to believe that there is hope for all of us – for you and me and your brother and my Ten and those we lost on the Ice and all the doomed and damned and grieving Noldor – can it be so? Or is it always the same story over and over again, all of us trapped in our roles until the end of the time? The Ainulindalë had space in it for new themes, did it not? So why must we condemn ourselves over-hastily, name these chains unbreakable for ever?"

"Perhaps they are," says Amrod, "for the rest of us, if not for you."

"I do not believe that any more," says Finrod. "And I am going to speak to my brother."

Back in Middle-earth:

Finduilas and Celebrimbor have ridden swiftly, their journey uneventful. They are coming now to the borders of the Girdle of Melian.

Finduilas smiles at Celebrimbor, more bravely than she really feels. "This is where we part ways."

To her eyes the Girdle is clearly visible, a sharply demarcated shimmering in the air, whereas all Celebrimbor can make out is a blurred sort of wrongness, as though the world itself is bending around Doriath's border.

"It isn't too late to change your mind," Celebrimbor tells her. "We can go back to Nargothrond, we can tell your father we only got lost in the mists—"

"It has been too late for that for a long time," Finduilas says, decisive. She smiles again. "Don't fret, Tyelpë! The worst Thingol can do to me is speak harshly. I am not the one in danger."

"I will be fine," Celebrimbor tells her. "It is the northern stretch of the Girdle where danger lies thick." He thinks of the desperate flight from Himlad after the Dagor Bragollach, and shivers a little. "You had better not tell Thingol that I am here, not after what my – my father tried."

"You aren't your father, Tyelpë," Finduilas says softly. She leans over to kiss his cheek. "Take heart! With any luck my errand will not be a long one, and we will have an escort of Iathren marchwardens to take us home."

Celebrimbor thinks that is overly optimistic, but he only says, "I will be here when you return – and good luck, coz."

He watches as she rides away from him, through the Girdle and then into the darkness of whatever lies beyond it.

It is a perfectly nice clearing they have chosen for their meeting-place, and he spends some time the next day setting up camp; then he gets bored, and invents a better mechanism for collecting rainwater for drinking, and then makes himself a makeshift chemistry lab out of the weird plants growing near the Girdle; and then he carves every fallen stick in a mile's radius into a miniature wooden animal, and ends up with a host of Eagles and an army of bears and No Dogs At All; and then and then and then

He's really bored tbh.

In Barad Eithel:

One thing about Maglor is that he needs a Job or he will go a little mad.

He is like Maedhros in that, Fingon reflects, and tries not to indulge the stab of the thought.

Unfair, to blame unhappy Maglor for not being his brother, for not having Maedhros' smile and Maedhros' bright thoughtful eyes and Maedhros' commanding presence—

Anyway: usually this does not pose much of an issue, because Maglor has made Maedhros his Job and attends to him both capably and contentedly.

Now, on the other hand, he is restless, and when Maglor is restless he hovers.

Fingon does not mind this most of the time. He likes his cousin's company, despite everything, and also Maglor is a better and more sensible advisor than most would give him credit for.

But there is really not that much for him to do today, and he is maybe driving Fingon a little crazy.

"Makalaurë," he says, "you might go down to the armoury."

Maglor smiles drily at him. "Trying to get rid of me?"

"No," Fingon lies, "only it occurred to me that you are certainly the most skilled person here at testing the metal for minute flaws – the same way you use its resonance in swordplay. And it would be good to make sure everything is in good shape while Morgoth seems to be unwiling to attack again."

“You are trying to get rid of me,” says Maglor, not really offended.

An hour later finds him in the armoury, sorting swords that need mending from those whose metal sings cleanly; he is so absorbed in the work that he does not at first notice there is someone else in the room, until Maeglin comes to stand before him.

“I did not know you had any interest in metalwork,” Maeglin says, in lieu of any other greeting.

“Not particularly,” Maglor says mildly, “but my father was the greatest smith of the Noldor, even so.”

Maeglin’s expression seems to imply that he intends to change that.

Maglor decides he might as well try to be friendly. “We have spoken little since you came to Barad Eithel,” he says; “forgive me, I have been too absorbed in my own affairs to greet you with the courtesy due so close a kinsman. But I am glad to meet Írissë’s son at last.”

Maeglin says, “Were you close to my mother?”

“Not as much as my younger brothers,” Maglor admits, “but even so I thought her fearless, and kind, and never reluctant to speak her own mind.”

“She was different,” Maeglin says in a low voice, “when I knew her.”

Maybe it would be good to change the subject.

"How well do you like Barad Eithel?" Maglor asks. "You have made friends among the lords of the Noldor already, I am glad to see."

Maeglin is looking at him guardedly. "Everyone has been very kind," he says, his voice neutral. "Although my uncle has had less time for me than I hoped."

Maglor bites his lip. "He has much to trouble him at present, too," he says, as evenly as he can. "But you should know he speaks highly of you."

"I am glad to hear it," Maeglin says. He looks at Maglor in silence for a little while, and then says, "You are close in his counsel, I think."

Maglor is kind of regretting his decision to be friendly.

"We have been friends for a long time," is all he says.

"But not as close as he was to your brother," Maeglin says, watching Maglor very carefully as he speaks.

"You were on the field after the battle," Maglor says, trying to keep his patience. "I think you already know the answer to that."

"Forgive me," Maeglin says then, and flashes Maglor a quick rueful smile. "You are all names I have only ever heard in half-complete stories. There is a great deal I must learn. And nobody had ever told me that the High King was wed to his cousin."

"They are not wed," Maglor says automatically, Maedhros' customary rebuttal; then he wonders why he is still making Maedhros' arguments for him, still playing the lieutenant when the war is long since over, and the weight of his loss seizes him around the throat anew.

Belatedly he realises Maeglin is speaking. "Turgon my uncle was not happy to learn of it," he says. "But perhaps it does not matter so much now, since your brother is – well." He has the grace to look vaguely sympathetic, at least. "Some of the other lords are beginning to say that it would be wise for the King to take a wife, now that he is free of any other attachment. But that seems to me unkind."

"Unkind," Maglor asks, "or just contrary to your own hopes, which rather depend on his remaining unwed and heirless?" He raises an eyebrow.

Maeglin tenses. Maglor's eyes rest on him the way Idril's used to, as though seeing some ugly nub inside him, invisible to Maeglin himself.

Maeglin does not want to think about Idril.

"I have told them it would be cruel," he says, "to raise the matter to him while he has so many troubles."

"I see," Maglor says, and some of the pressure of his gaze relents. "Since they seem to listen to you, you might tell them that Fingon loves my brother, and is not so faithless as to waver in his affection now." He manages the flicker of a smile. "Or perhaps it would be wisest if you do not say that: they might like you less, then, after all."

"You are determined to mistrust me, I see," Maeglin says stiffly. "Strange, when half the court thinks you a spy for the Enemy, and your brother his puppet."

"Those accusations," Maglor says, "are older than you by many centuries, and have lost much of their sting. I am not a spy, and Fingon knows that. But you mistake me, Maeglin. I am not determined to mistrust you. I am only worried – for you, not just because of you." He looks directly at Maeglin again. "You are very lonely, I think."

Maeglin lifts his chin. "I am perfectly content," he says, his voice clipped, "and have very little need for your concern, thank you."

Maglor decides to take a risk. "You are not the only one," he says softly, "who knows what it is to drag the weight of a father's madness behind you. I too understand a little of that grief – it is a heavy thing, and solitary. But I am here if you wish to share some of the burden."

But Maeglin bristles. "What do you know of my burdens and my griefs?" he asks, scornful. "Spare me your pity, please. I do not need it – least of all from one cast so low as you. What now is the House of Fëanor but a set of traitors and invalids, clinging to glory they have long-since lost? In truth I think you envy me – envy that the High King trusts me, and gives me duties the likes of which you cannot imagine."

Maglor cannot stifle a laugh at this speech. "Yes," he says, "that must be it."

Maeglin glares at him and then storms out.

"At least you tried," Fingon says later, when Maglor relates the story.

(Some of it, at least. He does not think Fingon will take kindly to hearing about the speculation on his taking a wife; and Fingon is already rather too prone to lashing out at his lords at the moment.)

"You ought to spend more time with him," is all he says. "For your sake as much as his. He is rather too invested in who shall be named your heir, I think."

Fingon smiles drily. "Well, at least someone is looking to the matter of the succession," he says; and when Maglor gives him a Look, he throws his hands in the air and adds, "he's barely out of childhood, Makalaurë! Do you really think he's sneaking about plotting to poison me in my bed? My brother trusted him, clearly."

"Everyone trusted Curvo, too," Maglor mutters, "and look where that got us."

But when Fingon glances sharply at him he subsides. He does not have the appetite to argue with Fingon.

Fingon changes the subject. "I have not heard you speak so of your father before," he says quietly.

Maglor's ears twitch uncomfortably. "How unthinkingly we bound ourselves," he says, "gave up our freedom and our will and our innocence because he asked it of us – and how could we ever do otherwise? He was our father and we would have done anything for him." He draws a shaky breath.

Fingon has his own complicated feelings about his father, but he is simply Not Engaging With Them. "He has been dead a long time, Makalaurë," he says after a moment.

"I know!" Maglor says, bitterly. "I know: and we are still not free. I am tired of it."

Maedhros' name hovers in the air between them. Neither of them speaks it.

"You know my thoughts on your Oath," Fingon murmurs instead. "Chains can be broken, Makalaurë. Just because you have done evil before does not mean you are obliged to do it again." He gives Maglor a sympathetic look. "I am a Kinslayer too, you know."

"Did you tell Nelyo that?" Maglor asks, breaking their unspoken pact, and Fingon flinches.

[this is known as failing the Maedhros Bechdel Test]

After a moment, Maglor says, "I used to think – to hope, even – that maybe you were right, that Lúthien was right to tell me I need not lament forever. But here we are! Five hundred years have passed and the Oath still binds us tightly as ever it did, and he is gone, it has taken him from me once more – must it always be the same story over and over again? Shall I never be singing anything but the Noldolantë – must its themes echo through time for ever? I am tired, Finno."

"I know," says Fingon, "I know," and he puts his arms around Maglor, and Maglor leans shivering into the embrace, but it is not enough.

In Doriath:

Finduilas' entry into Menegroth has gone smoothly, and she is privately beginning to believe that Celebrimbor's fearmongering was just that.

Nobody has stopped her on recognising her (for she came here often, with her father, in the peaceful days of her youth before the Sudden Flame).

Nor does Thingol turn her away when she goes formally to her knees before him in his great throne room, and says, "I have come as an ambassador from Nargothrond, in the name of Orodreth my father."

"Little niece," says Thingol, with a flicker of humour at the corners of his mouth, "strange are the days when you whom I dandled on my knee not so many years ago now come to treat with me as a foreign king. But you will always be welcome in Menegroth, child."

Finduilas beams at him, and feels her confidence wax – until she hears footsteps behind her, which halt abruptly.

"What's this?" Lúthien asks sharply.

Finduilas spins around to face her.

Lúthien looks – good. Flourishing, even. Mortality suits her, adds some shimmering quality of transience to her loveliness, as if some light beyond the circles of this world is already shining through her skin.

A far cry from how she was when Finduilas last saw her, her face blotchy with tears, her nails ragged and torn – help me, cousin, please, let me out—

"Cousin," Finduilas says, summoning up a smile. "I am glad to see you again."

Lúthien ignores the greeting, looking past her to Thingol. "What is the meaning of this, Father?" she demands. "Why have you allowed her past the Girdle?"

Thingol looks troubled. He does not think he has ever seen Lúthien speak with such untempered anger. "The kin of Olwë my brother have always been welcome here, Lúthien," he says.

"Kin," Lúthien repeats. She looks at Finduilas now, her eyes hard. "That is one word for the way they treated me, certainly."

"I am sorry, cousin," Finduilas breathes. "I did not look to find you here, or else I would have come prepared with some gift of apology for you: but it is for that reason that I have come to plead Nargothrond's case with your father, because I am ashamed of how things happened, we are all ashamed – and my father has cast the sons of Fëanor out of the city—"

"I know that," says Lúthien, "they tried to kill me after he did so, you know."

Finduilas bites her lip. This is not going at all how she pictured it.

Lúthien makes a disgusted sound. "I can't do this," she says, and turns to her father again. "Either she leaves or I do," she says; "you know ultimatums are not my habit, Father, but I will not dwell under the same roof as she again."

She walks out.

Once she is gone Finduilas falls to her knees again. "Uncle," she says, "uncle, please. I have come for the sake of both our realms – please, give me another chance."

Thingol's eyes are colder now. "It is not my intention," he says, "to go against my daughter's wishes again."

"Let me make it right with her," Finduilas pleads, "she has every right to be angry, but I would see our old friendship renewed, if I can."

Thingol hesitates a moment, and Finduilas holds her breath. If he turns her away now, it will all have been in vain—

But at last he nods, and Finduilas is directed to Lúthien's favourite haunt, a clearing aboveground (for Lúthien above all other Elves cannot bear to be caged out of sight of the sky).

She stiffens when Finduilas comes across her. "Still here?"

"I know you are angry," Finduilas says, in a low voice, "and I have come to apologise. I should have protested harder when Celegorm sought to imprison you – I should have found some way to set you free – forgive me, cousin. It was not what I wanted: and I was not brave enough to speak against them."

Lúthien makes no indication that she accepts the apology. "Why have you come here, Finduilas?" she asks. "You were never the sort to pay much attention to politics."

Finduilas chews at her lip. "Nargothrond is weakened," she admits. "My father does his best, but after what the sons of Fëanor did – our unity is failing. Nor is he willing to ally with the High King in the north. I would not have us lose all the friends we once had."

"The friends you had," Lúthien says casually, "when Finrod was your King."

Finduilas does not want to agree, does not want to acknowledge that her father is not the king his brother was. But perhaps her silence is agreement enough.

"So you are here to win back Doriath's might," Lúthien muses, "afraid, perhaps, of the prospect of it mustered against you."

Finduilas feels hot with embarassment. "No – no, you mistake me, cousin," she says. "I want to make things right. Nargothrond grieves what was done to you."

"Nargothrond," Lúthien says, her voice now very sharp, "was complicit in it, every single one of you who were too afraid to do what you knew you be right, too cowed by the sons of Fëanor of all people – two cowards who were bested by Beren and a dog, a dog who had more courage in his heart than your whole rotten city put together—" She draws a furious breath.

Finduilas blinks back tears. "I am ashamed of it," she says unhappily.

"But you still do not think you are really to blame," Lúthien says. "Dear little Finduilas, o best-loved niece and least-noticed daughter, the last princess of the Noldor: who could ever fault you for anything? Why do you think my father allowed you to stay? He too holds you blameless in all Nargothrond's failings, naught but a pretty spectator." She looks coldly at Finduilas. "I do not. You should have done better. You should have helped me." She pauses, as if gathering her strength for the blow, and then adds, "Finrod would have lived, had you helped me."

Finduilas draws a breath.

"I was only hours too late for him," Lúthien says, very softly, her eyes distant. "Had I come sooner, he would have been saved." She shudders, and then looks at Finduilas again. "So do not speak to me now of Nargothrond's troubles. They are of their own making."

Finduilas' eyes are stinging again. "Tales are told of your friendship with the eldest sons of Fëanor," she says angrily, "and yet you will not spare so much as a sliver of pity for your own kin?"

Lúthien shrugs, undeterred by the barb. "Call it selfishness, perhaps," she says. "Darling little cousin, did you think to take me for your model, to come here and win my father's quarter with your smile, and carry home some great boon? Give it up. You are not me."

"Does it mean nothing that I am sorry?" Finduilas cries. "Perhaps I am not brave like you, or clever like you, or so well-favoured by the Valar: but I grieve what was done to you! Does that not count for anything?"

"Not really," says Lúthien; "not until you are willing to realise the part you played in it." She looks at Finduilas then and manages a smile, a real one. "You are part of this world too, coz, a strand of the Great Music just as much as all these great lords and princes. Own it: and once you have done so perhaps we might reach some sort of understanding. But for now there is little I can say to you."

Finduilas walks away at that, and Lúthien manages to exhale.

She was harsh, she knows. Unfair, to blame Finduilas for all Nargothrond's crimes, to think of the blood underneath Lúthien's own ragged fingernails as she clawed desperately at the door and pin it all on her little cousin as though she was Lúthien's sole gaoler.

It was Sauron, Lúthien reminds herself, who killed Finrod.

Still she cannot keep the hot tears of guilt from her eyes.

Back outside the Girdle:

Celebrimbor is still Bored.

He is also quite worried about how angry Orodreth is going to be with him for absconding to Doriath with Finduilas.

It would have been easier, he thinks sometimes, had he left Nargothrond with his father and uncle.

Not better. Not right. But easier, maybe.

If Finrod had lived, if he had been the king Celebrimbor had thrown his allegiance behind, it would have been better received, he is sure.

But he could not have gone with his father either, he reasons to himself. Look what became of Curufin! Nobody even knows where he is; but the stain of his deeds marks all Beleriand yet.

Perhaps Celebrimbor might have stopped him and Celegorm from attacking Beren and Lúthien, had he been there.

Perhaps Huan would have stayed – would have lived, if Celebrimbor had been there.

Easy to fantasise. But Celebrimbor did nothing when he had the chance, did not speak against his father and Celegorm until it was too late to mean anything, left Lúthien sobbing in her lonely gaol instead of working to free her.

Lost in these unhappy musings, he does not at first notice how quiet the forest has grown: but there are no birds singing, suddenly, and the rustle of small mammals through the undergrowth has stilled.

It might be the Girdle, and the strange effects of Melian's magic, Celebrimbor reasons to himself.

Then he hears the growl.

The problem is – for just one crucial moment – his traitorous heart stills – and he thinks, Huan is here, he is come back for me as he always did—

The wolf-pack is lining the clearing by the time he realises his mistake, cutting off his chance of running.

Ah.

Celebrimbor has seen true wolves before, as a child in Valinor.

Once his father took him on a hunting-trip in the wilds near Formenos, just the two of them, and bade him be very quiet when they came to the sparse northern plains; and then he whispered in Celebrimbor's ear, Look! and, looking, Celebrimbor caught sight of an animal nearly bigger than Huan and snow-white all over, with a fine thick tail and a proud snout.

Typical, he thinks now, that Sauron could have perverted even so noble a beast: for the werewolves surrounding him now are mangy and thin, their frames twisted in the same painful way orcs are built, their eyes like dull hungry flames flickering in their heads.

It is not fair, a childish part of him wants to cry out, Tol-in-Gaurhoth was cast down, there should be no wolves roaming these lands now—

But Celebrimbor is a Scientist. He knows better than to trust what he believes over what he sees.

He scales a tree.

The wolves close in around its base, snarling up at him.

No Carcharoths, these, only relics of Sauron's experiments: but that will not matter, when their teeth sink into him.

Everything about you is derivative, some ugly voice seems to whisper to Celebrimbor, its sibilance woven into the wolves' growls; Celegorm your uncle was slain by a greater beast than these poor prototypes, and Finrod Felagund whom you loved at least saved another before they killed him, but you are going to die here, alone and forgotten and unmourned—

Celebrimbor grits his teeth, and ignores it.

He is not going to jump out of the tree to some foolish death. He is going to live forever, and leave a greater mark on the world than that of his father the traitor – he will not end like this—

Besides, Finduilas is expecting him to wait for her.

He leans against the trunk of the tree and settles in for a long night.

By the morning things are rather more dire.

The wolves have not tired; Celebrimbor, on the other hand, is very thirsty, and also growing worried for a new reason.

Finduilas is expecting him to wait for her.

If she comes back to the clearing where she left him, and the wolves decide she is an easier target—

She could perhaps run back to the safety of the Girdle in time – but the wolves are fast, and hungry.

Celebrimbor briefly imagines riding alone back to Nargothrond to inform Orodreth that his daughter is dead.

No: he will have to find a way to drive the wolves away, and quickly, for he does not know how much longer his cousin will be.

He grips his sword-hilt and then hesitates.

There is a pressure on the back of his neck, an oddly disapproving one, as though to say, Don't even think about it, child.

"I am not a child," Celebrimbor says aloud, and the wolves look up at him, snarling as though in agreement.

Finduilas is in danger, Celebrimbor reminds himself, and then he draws his sword and jumps down from his branch.

The wolves are upon him almost instantly. There are many of them, but Celebrimbor is quick, and moreover learned to fight wrestling with Huan long before he was ever given a sword.

He ducks and weaves and rolls, slashing with his sword as best as he can; but then one wolf lands a lucky blow with his claws on his thigh, and another collides with him from behind, sending him sprawling onto the ground—

Celebrimbor closes his eyes, and does not bother to cry out, for nobody will hear him.

Then he has the brief muddled impression of a thud, and sudden pressure on his chest, and then before he can catch his breath or work out what is going on the weight on his legs is lifted, and someone is snapping at him, "Get up, Tyelpë!" and his sword is suddenly back in his hand—

Celebrimbor knows that voice. He scrambles to his feet.

Standing before him, currently locked in a struggle with one of the last few wolves, dishevelled and bloodied but very much alive, is his father.

(to be continued)

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 20: Wrongful Perceptions [A5]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1], Prompt 5. Open Doors [A2], Prompt 11. Out Of Reach [A3], Prompt 17. Truthful Longing [A4]

A/N: It’s Christmas time! Well, at least over her. Mom’s arriving any minute now and I’ve done a shift at the library today as well. Tomorrow the first Christmas celebration will go off and I’m super excited - stressed, yes, very much, but excited 😂👍 I hope you’re having an amazing Friday (or whatever day it is you’re reading this) and that you’re ready for some more Brandon love! 😍👏❤

Tags/TW’s: Not really any tags or warnings for this fic, I’m not sure how to tag it but there’s some angst, some mentions of the previous panic attack, some miscommunication (not between MCs) and a wild blurting of feelings 😅

Word Count: 1.4k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Wrongful Perceptions

“Are you certain I shall not ready the carriage?” Christopher asked as I adorned a heavy cloak smelling of him. “Marrygold will take me home. I am fond of riding.” “Then I shall ride with you.” “You will?” He nodded at my words and a butler stepped up with his coat and top-hat in hand. “Thank you, Peter.” “Master,” the butler replied as Christopher dressed for the cold. “I shall delay lunch,” the butler continued and Christopher nodded.

As the doors opened, a gust of icy wind whipped across my face. Two stable boys stood at the end of the stairs holding each of our horses. I glanced at Christopher, he had already planned to come with me it seemed. “Do not look at me with such judgement, Calliope.” “You ought to practice on your perception of my, what did you call it, expressive features?” “Is that so?” he asked with a smile as we walked down the stairs. “I am not judging, I am thankful to you…”

We fell into silence after that. The winds howling and Marrygold’s pleased snort took over as I grabbed her reins. A saddle had been strapped to her, not that I needed one, but it was proper. “Which way?” I asked as Delaford had been an unknown location to me before the turn of events that led me here. “North-east,” Christopher said. “North if we take the forest route, which is quicker.” “North it is then.”

The wind dragged my hair loose, my gloved fingers chilled while gripping the reins as we galloped between trees — Christopher and his steed close behind me. He called directions now and then, yet my mind lay not with our destination but the estate we were leaving. It would become my home should father agree to our hasty marriage.

I pulled on the reins while leaning back, halting Marrygold to a standstill with a neighing, and Christopher came to a stop beside me. I panted, my mind raced and that dreadful feeling of panic surfaced.

“Dear, are you fairing?” His words went passed me as hasty as the wind. “Calliope?” he asked, and came up right next to me, laying a hand atop my trembling one. “This is wrong,” I whispered. Shame marring my thoughts as I realised we had no dowry to offer, soon not an estate or coin to our name and it would drag my heart’s treasure down in the eyes of society.

“Summer sky,” he said, squeezing my hand. “The only thing wrong is your lack of enthusiasm at the moment. Have you… Are you regretful of accepting me?” “No! Christopher, lord no,” I said, guilt building within me. “But I am no match worthy of you.” “My heart has spoken, even if you had been a maid I would have asked for your hand. I am too old to trifle with my own heart, too gone in years and too seasoned to give society or propriety any thought in matters they have no say in.” “Oh, Christopher…” “As it is, you are from an esteemed family, with a grand legacy and a name worth something in the eyes of society. None of it matters, but your heart.” “Grand legacy… It will soon be gone.” “No, my dear. It will soon be entwined with mine and you shall want for nothing.”

⁛•⁛

The doors swung open before my feet hit the ground. “Calliope!” Father shouted while running down the stairs. “Where have you been?!” he continued and swept me into his arms. The gaping hole of the open doors held my gaze as I remembered the horrible sensation I had experienced of them wanting to swallow me and the grand room beyond expanding around me before plummeting toward me. A trick of the mind, of course, but no less terrifying.

“Father, I’m alright,” I said as he squeezed me tightly. “Where have you been? Why would you leave in such abandon?” he asked as he stepped back and took hold of my upper arms. His eyes lingered on the golden rope keeping the heavy cloak tied around my neck. Then he seemed to find himself, and propriety. along with etiquette in one swoop as Christopher dismounted his horse with a thud.

“Father, I have great news.” Father looked to my right where Christopher now stood. “Colonel Brandon?” he asked. “Indeed, sir. I had the good fortune of finding your daughter on my estate.” “At Delaford? My Calli, what—” I smiled, wishing to soothe the wrinkles of worry from his forehead. “It is a long story, but we have news, Father. Shall we take up the parlour?” I asked, and Father nodded while muttering a string of agreeing words and inviting Christopher in.

After disrobing, we entered the west parlour on the second floor. Christopher had walked close by my side while Father had led the way two steps ahead. I had paled during the ascent of the stairs. Only yesterday had I bolted down them in a rush of panic. Things were different now, yet the remnants remained.

We were served tea by Miss Abel, then Christopher and I found ourselves seated on the sofa while Father sat in one of the three chairs. “So, news you say?” he asked. I nodded, glancing at the man beside me for a second. “Good news. You will have a wed daughter.” Father spluttered into his teacup. “A marriage? What— When— Who have managed to capture you, my Calli?” he asked; as if the man sitting next to me was not evidence enough. “You have a nephew, Colonel Brandon?” he continued, his eyes going between us both — utterly confused it seemed.

Christopher chuckled. “No, sir.” “Then, I am at a loss.” I nearly rolled my eyes. “Father, I shall marry the colonel,” I declared and Father shot out of the chair as if it had burned his behind. “The what?” “The colonel, Colonel Brandon,” I clarified while laying a gentle hand on his strong thigh, not sure what to make of Father’s reaction. Should he not be jubilant?

Father dropped his teacup. It shattered atop the thin rug. “Father!” I called out, instantly on my feet. “What have I forced you to do,” he murmured, looking at me with an ache in his usually happy eyes. “You are my beautiful Calliope, your mother’s spitting image, a soulful being of joy and poetry. What have I forced you to—” “Father,” I interrupted harshly as the man he spoke so off-puttingly about had risen next to me.

I turned, laying my hands on Christopher’s chest — his heart pounded beneath my right palm. Looking up, I found eyes of sorrow once more looking down at me. “I shall find a solution to your dire situation,” he murmured, his voice held taut by pain. “I am not agreeable, it seems…” He smiled most softly, a half smile, a sad smile, a painful ordering of his handsome features. “No, please,” I whispered. “I shall find a solution for you.” He turned toward Father while grabbing my wrists to lower my hands before he fully twisted himself to slightly bow his head toward the wide-eyed, shocked man. “Lord Haymnick, thank you for your time. I return your daughter in a better state than I found her.”

That was it.

Father blinked, I tried to grab Christopher's arm but he moved out of the room swiftly in harsh strides. “Father!” I shouted, rounding the table and snagging myself on my own dress. “How could you?!” He blinked, seeming dazed. “What? My Calli, you cannot marry a man so—” “So what? Caring? Gentle? Kind? What?! He’s the best man I have ever met and I cannot hide a single thought from him! I cannot lie to him, I cannot stop myself from thinking about him!” “He could be my brother, for goodness sake.” “So? That has never stopped any marriage before. And he could not be your brother, he’s—” “Calliope, please, I have several good suitors for you on hand, you don’t need to—”

I snarled, frustration leaking out of me while I fought myself not to run after Christopher. “I want to marry him! I— Father, my heart is screaming for the man you just spoke so terribly about. You—! I was told to marry before the end of the year, and marry I shall, but I will marry none other than Christopher!” “But, but Calli, he’s—” “Wonderful!” I shouted, stomping toward the door after having lost the battle to run after him. “He saved me, in every way possible and I will marry him. Not because it is necessary, or because of the fraud you’ve spun. I will marry him because I… I am falling in love with him.” I grabbed my dress, and heaved a frustrated breath that had my nostrils flaring, as I glared at my gaping father before readying myself to run after the man I could not lose. Again...

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: GAAAAAH - Father, what have you done you nincompoop?! Thank goodness we get the next part of this already tomorrow - hehehe 😘

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[rolandkaros]

forever hilarious to me that tennis is promoted as this prestigious highbrow big-brain sport when most tennis fans these days are like. yeah this is my favorite player. yeah i don't know why they're like that. yes they are stupid. no i will not choose somebody else.

[daddy-long-legssss]

me after three days of in-person meetings and team-building activities.

[galacticlamps]

actually ascension needs its own post since that's the one with the most details to speculate over and im starved for soho talk so i will talk to myself if need be

First the cover again, because I kinda can't get over it:

my only thing is that I had been hoping we might get Lizbeth on a cover again since she's never been on one of the boxsets before, despite being the 2nd person credited on all 4 of them (even if that's just alphabetical, still, she's the only one of the four main characters who never makes the cover)

But letting that go...

I know we already kinda knew the brief for this one but damn I didn't expect it to go quite this hard. Maybe that's just because the Parasite & Ashenden covers were (comparatively) similarish to each other and I was so pleased with Unbegotten's, and then got so used to it as the placeholder for Ascension while they kept postponing it, I wasn't expecting anything this colorful or detailed or with what I can't help but register as Fun New Outfits even though these are still like, pretty damn basic as far as costumes go. Still, it's a different vibe from everyone in suits and trenchcoats on every cover, technically. (Oh the woes of being an audio fan such that two characters owning sweaters actually does qualify as new information)

On top of just being visually delightful though, I know we knew religion was gonna be a fairly big part of this one, but I didn't actually expect to get quite this much of it - though I'm glad of it for a number of reasons. The BF twitter already made the ineffable joke so I don't have to, but also yeah I did very much spend all of season 2 episode 4 of good omens half convinced Samuel Barnett & Dervla Kirwan were about to pop up around any given corner (if you will go around being gay supernatural and horrible at your messy bureaucratic jobs in midcentury soho then I'm sorry, this is where my brain's gonna go) - so, fuel to that fire. But in terms of actual important things, at least one of my Soho wishes looks to be being granted because we have a Rev Edward Folgate on the cast list, which must mean we're finally meeting Norton's father, even if his mother & brother don't appear (which they could, technically, I've definitely seen BF not list all the doublings on their cast tabs before). Religion, domesticity, and the nuclear family are all things that absolutely fascinate me when it comes to Norton's character, so getting any amount of story involving his father & his church is something I've been actively hoping for for a long time now.

(I will say I'm a tiny bit bummed Saffron Coomber isn't on the cast list to play Mia again, but I kinda figured she wasn't going to be since Greg Austin's Armitage, who's making his first recurring appearance after originating in Unbegotten, was listed ever since the boxset was announced - presumably if she was also returning, that would've been handled in the same way. But since Unbegotten ended with Lizbeth and Mia going on a date, I still held out hope. Who knows though, maybe things did go well for them and Lizbeth just has a better work/life balance than Norton so she can date someone without them getting dragged into every scifi plot. I know that's not a very common accomplishment for any Torchwood agent, but a gal can hope)

At this point I know I'm completely in the realm of speculation & even wishful thinking, but I'm really really hoping we get some more clues as to Norton's overall timeline in this one, and I have a feeling that even if there's nothing as direct as dates given, the events of a plot like this one are going to heavily influence my personal interpretation of it.

To say that life & death are major themes for the soho crew feels wildly reductive, but even by Torchwood's standards and taking into account its origins as a piece of media with Jack Harkness & his newfound immortality at the heart of it, the living/dead status of this bunch has always been fantastically up in the air to me. Obviously Ghost Mission introduced Norton as kind of a ghost before revealing more obvious ghostly characters later on to which the title might have been referring, but his being from the past did beg the question of his survival into Torchwood's present era all the same, which Outbreak later alludes to much more directly, and his habit of showing up via hologram in multiple stories only further obfuscates any certainty we might have about where & when he definitely can be said to be alive and well. Then you've got Lizbeth and Gideon both being effectively 'brought back to life' via paradoxes that prevented them ever having died in the first place. Again, they are very very far from being the only Torcwhood characters this happens to (for a sprawling EU, it's really rather impressive how often & in how many different ways Torchwood as a whole manages to circle back to being about like. chaotic undead queers at the end of every day. though I suppose that consistency is part of why I keep falling in love with its different iterations again and again). That's without even getting into the question of Norton's dubious fate in God Among Us - and I say dubious because I know some people take that to be his ultimate death, but I personally think that reading something as vague as that as having any kind of finality rather goes against the spirit of this whole world/series, not just because I want him to live. (There are obviously other ways to make him survive/reappear, but I don't see this as a River Song scenario where we can safely assume one of his earlier-released adventures had to happen at the end of his personal timeline). But wherever God Among Us falls for him, he does very much meet God in it - or at least, a god, since the sentinel in Unbegotten is also described as a god of sorts, and even if he doesn't ultimately have the status of the god Jacqueline King is playing there, Unbegotten is still full to bursting with ghosts/undead/came back wrong/echo characters to continue underscoring that life/afterlife theme.

So all things considered, even allowing for the fact that we know Norton's twin hobbies are lying about himself and abusing time travel to suit his own ends/ever-shifting alliances, I find it difficult to believe we could get through a whole 6-part boxset about religion & death without something providing some kind of compelling evidence about where this adventure fits in among his other run-ins with apocalypses and gods and ghosts and dead-but-still-here characters/creatures, so I'm very much looking forward to any further exploration on that front.

And lastly, and least intellectually, I really want to know what the hell 20th-century Torchwood's obsession with Reginalds is. Reading through the cast list, I had to do two separate doubletakes over the character 'Sir Reginald Peebles' - firstly, because I had Reginald Rigsby on the brain, this being Soho (and the other Troughton brother being so active on BF's releases for this same month) - and secondly, because reading this in conjunction with the announcement for the July monthly adventure in which the new main Torchwood guy of the 20s is apparently called Sir Reginald Dellafield, there was a brief moment where I took that monthly release to be a tie-in with Ascension. I don't expect it to be, but damn. was it really so popular a name?

anyways, catch me thinking about those stained glass windows for the next couple months I guess (and knowing Torchwood Soho, for a long long time after it comes out as well lol)

[druidposting]

The more i think about it, the more baffled i become at the people saying this campaign feels significantly more railroaded than the others.

I mean, i can see why people might think that. At a glance, its like, “wow, Matt’s really pushing hard for this moon plot, like everything’s connected to it and they have this date to meet and they cant get anyone else’s story in!” But i feel like thats such a surface level analysis, and is likely born from people who have never dmed before. As an avid dungeon master myself, the Ruidis plot reads quite clearly to me as a set piece - This is an event fixed in time, fixed in the world, and the villains orchestrating it will do what theyre gonna do no matter what. Its actually quite similar to the chroma conclave arc in C1, or even more poignantly, the whitestone arc with Percy as the “main character” focus for an extended period of time, an arc that was anchored to a set place and a set time because thats what the villains were doing.

When you DM, one of the key things you learn is that when the players arent engaging with a plot thread, that thread continues to run its course in the background. Its what breaths life into the world, its what makes it feel real. Its also what nudges your players to engage with the world. When you telegraph this to them, they pretty quickly learn that if they hear of something bad thats gonna happen, and they choose not to engage for whatever reason, then that bad thing is Going To happen, and they will then be playing in the consequences.

The other part of this misperception of c3 being railroaded i think comes from the players having a much stronger and more cohesive sense of morals. The c2 gang was characterized by a rag-tag group of miss-fits with nebulous morals and motivations and histories, and who were much more self serving in their group goals. None of this is bad!! It made for a very interesting game to watch, and even more interesting characters. But this is very different from the way ive seen Bells Hells act as a team. BH has been seen to be at least somewhat altruistic in their motives - maybe individually theyre more self-serving - but as a team, theyve consistently made decisions that benefit “the greater good” without much question of whats in it for them (giving up Treshi to the government and helping the Greenseekers in the mines come to mind). So of course theyre going to chase the Big Bads when they hear about a world ending plot!! And this doesnt even factor in that like, as players, why the fuck wouldnt you want to chase the evil moon plot? The campaign i run is explicitly a sandbox, and yet my players have latched on to the main intrigue and have been following it as if “on a railroad”. When your main intrigue is constructed well, the players will want to follow it, because this is a game to be played for fun, afterall.

With these two facts in mind, this isnt Matt forcing them down a particular path, nor have the Bells Hells been bound to it by him at any point in the campaign. At any moment they could jump off this thread and go do something else. And maybe you’d say “but if they dont stop Ludinus, then the world will go to catastrophe!!!” Yeah. It would. Thats dnd, baby. That outcome would be just as beautiful as the Bells Hells success.

As an aside, i could see several paths this Apogee Solstice day could go. Everything could go off without a hitch, BH destroys the key, crashes the missile ship, and gets out unscathed. Or they could completely fail, Ryn destroyed, Predathos released, TPK. Or they fail in stopping Ludinus but manage to get out alive and have to deal with the consequences. Or they succeed but Ludinus and his lackies live and chase the Hells through to the end of campaign with an eternal burning hatred. There are endless possibilities here because Matt is a good DM who clearly values player agency and choice.

[kavehater]

Do I have to start saying not that anyone would care in that super duper passive aggressive way to guilt people into caring or what

[yandere-romanticaa]

Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?

Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.

Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.

EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! 😭🫶

Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.

Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.

Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.

In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.

It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.

But that was simply not the case for you.

Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.

Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.

You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.

He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.

It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.

You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.

When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.

As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.

He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.

This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.

Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.

Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.

Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.

He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.

Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.

[physalian]

How To Make Your Writing Less Stiff 5

Movement

Dredging this back up from way back.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much during heavy dialogue scenes. E.g. two characters sitting and talking—do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them…

Gesture

Wave

Frown

Laugh

Cross their legs/their arms

Shift around to get comfortable

Pound the table

Roll their eyes

Point

Shrug

Touch their face/their hair

Wring their hands

Pick at their nails

Yawn

Stretch

Sniff/sniffle

Tap their fingers/drum

Bounce their feet

Doodle

Fiddle with buttons or jewelry

Scratch an itch

Touch their weapons/gadgets/phones

Check the time

Get up and sit back down

Move from chair to tabletop

The list goes on.

Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t—what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

As in, you could say “he’s nervous” or you could show, “He fidgets, constantly glancing at the clock as sweat beads at his temples.”

This site is full of discourse on telling vs showing so I’ll leave it at that.

Epithets

In the Sci-fi WIP that shall never see the light of day, I had a flashback arc for one male character and his relationship with another male character. On top of that, the flashback character was a nameless narrator for Reasons.

Enter the problem: How would you keep track of two male characters, one who you can't name, and the other who does have a name, but you can’t oversaturate the narrative with it? I did a few things.

Nameless Narrator (written in 3rd person limited POV) was the only narrator for the flashback arc. I never switched to the boyfriend’s POV.

Boyfriend had only a couple epithets that could only apply to him, and halfway through their relationship, NN went from describing him as “the other prisoner” to “his cellmate” to “his partner” (which was also a double entendre). NN also switched from using BF’s full name to a nickname both in narration and dialogue.

BF had a title for NN that he used exclusively in dialogue, since BF couldn’t use his given name and NN hadn’t picked a new one for himself.

Every time the subject of the narrative switched, I started a new paragraph so “he” never described either character ambiguously mid-paragraph.

Is this an extreme example? Absolutely, but I pulled it off according to my betas.

The point of all this is this: Epithets shouldn’t just exist to substitute an overused name. Epithets de-personalize the subject if you use them incorrectly. If your narrator is thinking of their lover and describing that person without their name, then the trait they pick to focus on should be something equally important to them. In contrast, if you want to drive home how little a narrator thinks of somebody, using depersonalizing epithets helps sell that disrespect.

Fanfic tends to be the most egregious with soulless epithets like "the black-haired boy" that tell the reader absolutely nothing about how the narrator feels about that black-haired boy, espeically if they're doing so during a highly-emotional moment.

As in, NN and BF had one implied sex scene. Had I said “the other prisoner” that would have completely ruined the mood. He’s so much more than “the other prisoner” at that point in the story. “His partner,” since they were both a combat team and romantically involved, encompassed their entire relationship.

The epithet also changed depending on what mood or how hopeless NN saw their situation. He’d wax and wane over how close he believed them to be for Reasons. NN was a very reserved character who kept BF at a distance, afraid to go “all in” because he knew there was a high chance of BF not surviving this campaign. So NN never used “his lover”.

All to say, epithets carried the subtext of that flashback arc, when I had a character who would not talk about his feelings. I could show you the progression of their relationship through how the epithets changed.

I could show you whenever NN was being a big fat liar about his feelings when he said he's not in love, but his narration gave him away. I could show you the exact moment their relationship shifted from comrades to something more when NN switched mid-paragraph from "his cellmate" to "his partner" and when he took up BF's nickame exclusively in the same scene.

I do the same thing in Eternal Night when Elias, my protagonist, stops referring to Dorian as "it" and "the vampire" instead of his name the moment they collide with a much more dangerous vampire, so jarringly that Elias notices in his own narration—the point of it being so explicit is that this degredation isn't automatic, it's something he has to conciously do, when everyone else in his clan wouldn't think twice about dehumanizing them.

—

Any literary device should be used with intent if you want those layers in your work. The curtains are rarely just blue. Whether it’s a simile with a deliberate comparison or an epithet with deliberate connotations, your readers will pick up on the subtext, I promise.

[gravegoer]

What if we get like an internal monologue of just how much Sevika is into you? Like if it’s her first day as counselor and she sees you walking around the halls helping out as an assistant. She can’t help but think reader is so damn cute! Maybe even reader flirts a little from afar <3

Pretty Piltie ⋆˚✿

thank you anon, and yes i love this, this is very cute ! i went a little different for some plot but i hope you like it :) i also have a few more pirate sevika fics coming out so look out for those ! coming sometime this week :) masterlist

After her first day on the council, she saw you in the hallway, walking around with your clipboard in your face. (Definitely in a hurry)

She raised an eyebrow at the pep in your step and the carelessness of you flipping through pages while walking. Before she could even move to the side, you bumped into her.

"I'm so sorry," You looked up at her with an embarrassed look on your face, "I thought the halls would be empty."

She couldn't even get a word out before your eyes widened, "Shit. The meeting is over, isn't it?"

You scurried to the doors she just came from, and she almost laughed at your actions. Even after the exasperating meeting she had a smile graced her lips.

Well, I could get used to that.

When she got home, her mind flashed back to the girl she encountered in the hallway, furrowing her brows. She tried to rid of the image. Maybe she was just thinking about it because it's the only exciting thing that occurred today. Yeah, that's it.

The next week, she had to come back for a second meeting, this time staying back longer to discuss things in finer details. A couple of councilors have already up and left as it was getting late.

After a few minutes, she saw you walk in with one of the council members. You had a nervous smile on your face while the older woman spoke to you.

Sevika let out a snort at your expression, finding it to be oddly cute but containing herself moments later. Although she couldn't stop eyeing you when you stood behind the councilors chair just across from her.

You were scrawling out things on your clipboard while the grey-haired woman in front of you spoke. Sevika was only half listening as her eyes bored into your face, taking in all your features.

I mean, who knew Piltover had princesses like this.

Suddenly, you looked up to make eye contact with Sevika, her brows 5 she averted eye contact to look at the woman in front of you.

She saw your smile from the corner of her vision when she looked away. Fuck.

It seemed like every time you looked away she stared back at you, she didn't come here to eye-fuck her co-workers assistant but damn.

She watched the way you tilted your head when hearing something strange, or raised your eyebrows at something controversial, bending over to whisper something in the ear of your boss.

All in all she was definitely lost in thought when someone called her name, "Sevika!"

She looked over at the woman beside her who spoke, "Shall I repeat myself? I say, what are your thoughts on this matter?"

Sevika blanked. She racked her brain for an answer but the only one it was coming up with was the curve of your smile and the hue of your eyes.

She saw your surprised face and you mouthed something to her, "Say you agree."

She coughed into her fist before speaking, "I suppose that's fine."

The others looked at her suspiciously but carried on nonetheless. Throughout the rest of the meeting she made sure to pay close attention, so that she wouldn't slip up Infront of her co-workers again.

When the meeting was dismissed she was the last to leave, running her hand down her face in a way to ease her mind. She took a deep breath before stepping into the hall.

She was greeted with the sight of you talking to a few advisors, taking notes, and handing out papers. She found it endearing the way you bounced from person to person, engaging in conversation.

It seemed like you were taking peoples opinions for your survey. This was her chance to redeem herself. (She's embarrassed you had to help her earlier.

After speaking with an unfamiliar lanky man, you turned around and locked eyes with Sevika once again.

You waved at her, flashing her a cute grin. But before you could take a step towards her, your boss was calling her away.

Immediately, you deadpanned and pulled your lips into an exaggerated frown. Sevika smirked at your expressions and flicked her hand teasingly in a shoo, motion.

She would most definetly be seeing you again.

i know this is a bit shorter than my usual, spare me

im also having major writers block and i have 20+ asks so 🙏 let me cook here, i also have many projects i want to get to

[radiance1]

By all accounts, it shouldn't have worked.

By all bloody accounts, that should not have worked.

Constantine will repeat.

That, by all accounts, should not have worked.

The warehouse was shitty. The materials were shitty. The summoning circle was shitty. The chanting was shitty. The magic was shitty.

By all accounts, the summoning should not have worked.

So Constantine couldn't give much of a shit about really stopping it because the summoning was so shitty it shouldn't have worked by an means possible.

So what. In the ever-loving fuck. Was the Ghost King, known tyrant of the Infinite Realms. Standing in the middle of the circle and not, last he checked, imprisoned?

That was another thing that he thought would have made it fail, actually. Because the Ghost King was incapacitated, asleep, gone, unavailable, nada.

So what. The fuck. Was he doing. Here?

Constantine knew the day was going to well to stay that way but wow. The universe loves to fuck him over, apparently.

Or the Justice League in specific.

Or both.

Doesn't matter, because now he has to bullshit his way out of this or get ready to brawl for his life.

Good thing he's good at both of those things, then.

Mostly the bullshit-

"Phantom what the fuck are you doing-" Constantine wheezed out, watching one of their newest members-a ghost going by the name Phantom-fly over in front of the known tyrant and-

Oh.

Oh, holy shit this won't end well.

Ghost King.

Phantom. A ghost.

Well, shit.

This is fine. This is totally fine. He just needs to bullshit his way out of this or face two powerhouses.

This is fine.

He's done worse.

"Sup War" Phantom said, floating around the summoning circle that contained the king of all ghosts like it wasn't a problem. "Didn't expect to be seeing you here."

"Ward." The Ghost King inclined his head slightly, eyes trained on Phantom. "I would not have come here if not for Time's insistence and I have been meaning to..." The King paused, hands gripping and ungrasping the pommel of his sword. "...Check in... on you."

"Aww, were you worried about lil old meeeee?" Phantom, ever the little shit and holy shit did Constantine want to go over there and shut him up, said. Floating around until he was staring upside down in the Ghost King's face. "Didn't know you were so soft, pa."

"I am not soft." The King huffed, flame dancing at the edges of his hair. "I was merely... concerned. Over how you would be acclimating to your circumstances. This world's League of Justice covers far more than your small haunt."

"Weeeell, it's not that bad honestly." Phantom admitted. "Haven't really done anything too big yet just some smallish things here and there. So, you know." The ghost boy shrugged, swinging back in the air to turn upright and crossing his legs. "Nothing too bad."

"Good." The Ghost King nodded, shoulders slumping so slightly that if Constantine wasn't looking, he wouldn't have seen it. "That is good. Yes. Good." The King slightly cleared his throat, grasping and ungrasping the pommel of his sword.

Silence echoed in the warehouse as the King seemingly looked for words to say.

"Would you..." He cleared his throat again, squaring his shoulders and standing up straighter. "Would you like to join me and Time for a meeting? It has been some time since you had last joined us." The King shifted slightly before adding. "Of course, if you're busy you do not have too."

"Sure." Phantom said, rolling back and forth in the air as he hummed. "Been a while since we've had some family time-"

"Family time?" Constantine caught someone-who he thinks was Green Lantern-say. He was just as bewildered.

"And if Time sent you here then it must be important." Danny paused before shrugging. "Or maybe not, can never know with him. But yea, sure. I'll come."

"Wonderful." The Ghost King smiled. Smiled. At Phantom. "Then I shall. Leave. Now. To do. Things. Yes. Things." The summoning circle flashed a familiar green, the same green when the King was first being summoned. "Goodbye, ward."

"You can call me son, you know."

The King paused for a moment, blinking slowly before hesitantly nodding.

"Then goodbye. Son."

The circle flashed and just like that. The king was gone.

"Kid. What the fuck." Whoever said- okay wait no that was Constantine, him. But yea fuck it he agrees with himself. "What the fuck." He repeated.

Phantom, the brat, only gave him a shit eating grin and a peace sign before disappearing on the spot.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I’d die for you.

Viktor:

‘I’d die for you.’

‘Please don’t.’ He says almost pleading with you to reconsider after hearing you say such a thing, to be willing to trade off your own life for his own that was already on borrowed time, so wouldn’t your sacrifice be a waste if he was bound to die regardless?

He came from the undercity where loss was an constant occurrence and survival was the norm. So the idea of loosing you wasn’t one he’d warmly welcome nor want to endure as he’d only bury himself deep within his work, going to such lengths with the off chance that he could theoretically bring you back from the cold embrace of death,

‘You’ve got so much ahead of you Viktor.’ You countered. ‘So much to do to achieve your goal of helping others!’ You add.

Viktor moves to look at you from his workplace with a raised brow. ‘And so you automatically think your life is forfeit in comparison because of this?’ He asks as if to show you just how ridiculous it was to just throw your life away because you believed his dreams for the future outweighed the worth of that of your own life.

You stayed quiet as you could see the disbelief clear within his amber eyes as he grabbed his cane and made his way over to you to hold your hand in his long, slender and calloused ones as they caress the back of your knuckles. ‘For it’s not. No life is more important than the others solely based on what the person can give to others.’ Viktor tells you as sits himself down next to you.

‘Our lives are of equal value and I’d would much rather you’d live for me instead.’ He says with a small smile. ‘Do you think you can do that for me?’ He then asks softly, intertwining your fingers together. You smiled back at him. ‘I can sure try as long as you do too.’ You replied and Viktor let out a sigh of relief, squeezing your hand in thanks.

‘Then we shall live for each other.’ Viktor said but little did you know that he’d be lying and he wasn’t going to be staying very soon.

Ekko:

‘I’d gladly die for you.’

‘No, you wont.’ Those words might’ve come out more harsher than Ekko wanted but he wasn’t about to let you joke about trading your life for his own. He just wouldn’t.

Even now the idea of you being the self sacrificial hero made him feel slightly sick to his stomach. He was the one who should be protecting you, protecting everybody really and once his mind was made up Ekko was more or less an immovable object, never yielding and never budging from his ideals for nothing.

So to say he wasn’t liking the idea of you dying on him was an understatement. He didn’t like it for a plethora of reasons as he’s already lost enough people close to his heart, he wasn’t willing to have you be amongst them, painted on the mural by his own hand as he feels the guilt and grief eat away at his heart. ‘Promise me you won’t be reckless the next time we’re out on a mission.’ He gives you his pinky, something you two did when you were being serious about things.

‘Ekko-‘

‘Promise me you won’t.’ Ekko cuts you off in desperation, his eyes wide and his breathing becoming rapid and uneven the longer you didn’t immediately link pinkies with him like you usually did, it had him feeling as though his heart had dropped to his stomach. ‘I don’t want to loose another person I love.’ He adds and you interlock your pinkies with him before being pulled into his strong embrace where he buried his face into yours neck, not wanting to let go of you after hearing that statement leave your mouth.

‘I’m not ready to say goodbye to you just yet.’ He whispered into your neck, grip tightening on you as he feels you rub his back soothingly. Ekko wasn’t ready for the day he’d have to say goodbye to you and so until that day he’ll keep protecting you until he couldn’t anymore, for he’d rather see you move on forward without him, but if he knew you as well as he did then you would just be equally as stubborn to see him live another day.

So he’ll just keep ahold of you like this everyday when you were alone just to remind himself that you were still here and here you will stay.

Silco (young) :

‘I’d die for you.’

‘Don’t say such things, haven’t we suffered enough?’ He’d say as he has you by your shoulders, his grip tightening in tandem with the idea of possibly loosing you to all sorts of things, whether it’d be Zaun or the corrupt enforcers from topside. Silco wasn’t exactly willing to lose the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

It was a day he’d never wish to see pass him by as he didn’t know what he would do should he find you dead in the rubble from a something that was purposely intended for him, he’d blame himself and be left to seek solitude in the darkness and shadows should that ever be the case.

‘But it’s true.’ You’d reply.

Silco grits his teeth at your stubbornness but it was one of your defining traits that he deeply adored. ‘Well I’m not going to allow it.’ He retorted. ‘I won’t allow you to hastily throw your life away just because you felt like being a hero.’ He practically spat out the last part as though it were poison. Hero what the hell has being a hero ever done for anyone? Nothing that’s what and Silco would refused you at every time you got like this, not once liking the implications it left within his head.

‘Not a hero, just someone who cares enough about another person to be willing to see them keep living, even if it means dying in the process.’ You defended yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as you continued to look him in the eyes to prove your words true, but you didn’t need to do that for Silco knew well enough you were a person of your word, never once going back on it when you probably should’ve.

‘Heroes don’t exist in Zaun.’ Silco said as he rests his head against yours, looking you in the eyes. ‘So don’t try and be the first for I don’t want to be the one to make your mural. Don’t make me have to leave you behind. Don’t make me mourn for what we could’ve had.’ He pleads with you as you gently hold his face and caress his cheeks, allowing him the chance to rest his eyes and drink you in through your touch.

He didn’t like the idea of you dying before him, not one bit, so he’ll try and make sure that you survive together long enough to see the betterment of Zaun.

[beloveds-embrace]

so i have a habit of calling be love/babe/darling as a term of enderament (even in friendships) and was wondering how the dukedom guys would react to being called love or darling by the reader for the first time? I grt it probably wasnt as socially acceptable back then but the thought still plaques my mind

Historical accuracy who? We don’t know her shhh

Original post

But they’d love it! At first, you had tried really hard to stop yourself and semi-succeeded by only calling your maids like that. Your parents always hated that habit of yours, a leftover from your nanny’s own habit. They had warned you again and again and again to not let your tongue run, to keep your words polite and demure, only fallen women working in brothels would speak so freely.

And you did keep it under control for a good while; with your interactions few with John, you could remind yourself not to let your tongue loose and call him honey right off the bat when he simply calls you by your name. It’s harder with Kyle, you almost slip and call him darling, same with Johnny. With Simon it’s easier because on the times he visits, you leave him to his meetings with John and don’t bother them. (Or what you thought were business meetings at that time lol)

But once they start getting closer to you, it’s inevitable that the nicknames start slipping out.

“Kyle, darling-“ you are rushing today, and the words slip out before you realize. You just spare a thought to wonder why he’s frozen solid like that. “Where is my hairpin? I was so sure we left it on my vanity?”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you say to Johnny when he brings you a platter of fresh deserts while working, not lifting your head from the papers in front of you other than to flash him a quick, grateful smile. You don’t notice how long it takes before Johnny stutters out a ‘welcome, m’lady’ and leaves you be.

“Simon, honey?” You ask on another occasion, voice too worried to notice what you’d called him. No maids around, and no one would question you calling you husband’s ‘close friend’ by his name in your home. “Is your leg okay? You are leaning on it too much, shall I call the doctor?” His silence is typical to you, but too busy fussing over his leg, you don’t see his face. Until you look up, eyes widening at his averted eyes and red-tipped ears. “Are you sick, Simon? You should be resting instead, you know?”

And at last… “John, love,” you sigh softly, controlling the tremble of your limbs. You look away from the newspaper, though you believe it should just be called a glorified gossip magazing, and close your eyes. Duke Price’s Duchess remains barren of a child! Is a divorce in their future? “It’s alright, it is what it is-“ you try to calm him.

Up until now, from the moment you’d both read the headline, John had been fuming. He wasn’t loud in his anger, but it was clear in his ticking jaw and clenched fists. So you expect him to continue in his anger.

“…I will deal with it.” John promises, voice low but no longer a rolling thunder. He sits down calmer now, when you finally open your eyes to look at him. He’s simply gazing at you, and his hands clench in the air before he sets them down on the table. “They won’t be slandering you any longer, wife. I promise you.”

You wish you could pinpoint what soothed him, but alas. Though you know he will try his best and maybe this news agency won’t make anymore comments like this about you, others will still continue to do so.

“It’s alright.” You repeat, but the words ring hollow and the smile on your face is empty. You push your plate away. “Now, if my husband permits it, I don’t believe I can stomach much more.”

“You never need my permission for such things,” he tells you; a sentiment he’d told you from the very first day. His face softens. “Go rest. Today, I will take care of everything that needs to be done.”

Darling, sweetheart, honey, love… they wonder if you know how much those words repeat in their minds.

[hazelcallahan]

ok “all vi needed to do was call caitlyn cupcake to make her turn on ambessa” is a fun little bit that i will participate in but i really feel like it’s contributing to two major misconceptions/complaints:

1. that caitlyn’s heel turn was sudden, and

2. that vi and caitlyn have reconciled

so let’s break that down, shall we

1. every single hint was there that caitlyn was chafing against ambessa’s regime and doing every little thing in her power to resist without putting herself and her loved ones at great risk. from the first scene with maddie - hell, the opening montage - you can tell cait is fucking EXHAUSTED. weary. that’s a woman who has spent months suffocating, doing desperate damage mitigation when put into an impossible situation. she didn’t want the mantle of leadership, and what was she going to do, say no and let someone worse take it? so she’ll take it. she’ll ban the use of solitary confinement cells. she’ll argue against ambessa’s soldiers attacking civilians. she’s in too deep to really do much else.

additionally, there are hints that she’s been planning on ways to take down ambessa for months. that one scene with dialogue over them sparring is literally there to symbolize how every single conversation between them is a battle, both of them looking for openings, and no matter how hard caitlyn tries ambessa always seems to come out on top. you also don’t just come up with the plan she did entirely on the fly - tracking things like guard rotations is something only a schemer does.

2. sure, “cupcake” is a fun little pet name, but it’s so much more than that. the most obvious is an olive branch. vi doesn’t want to hurt caitlyn. there’s so much affection still there.

the bigger thing, though, and the thing i believe caitlyn is reacting to there, is it’s a sign of distance. vi used “cupcake” as a way to needle at caitlyn when they first met, when she didn’t quite trust her even though she’d broken her out of prison. after that, we hear her use it twice more in s1: on the bridge during their parting hug, and after the council meeting as she’s trying to leave. both instances where she, in that moment, believes they’re never going to see each other again, and so she has a vested interest in creating that distance. on the other hand, we hear her use caitlyn’s name after she hears the gunshot on the bridge, in a moment of genuine fear and affection.

come s2, vi doesn’t use “cupcake” at all in act 1. she used “cait” a lot. still a nickname, but also caitlyn’s actual name - i know you, i see you, i care about you. caitlyn’s observant enough to notice this, even passively, even if she didn’t realize it until she heard “cupcake” months later, but i can’t help but feel like she takes that nickname as a sign of how they’ve drifted. she feels like she has to start over again with this woman she clearly loves. the meaning is clear to her: i won’t hurt you unless you give me a reason to, i’ll work with you if that’s what you need, but i’m not going to let myself get close to you just yet.

[affableramen]

when they finish earlier than you

mature content including sexual themes; established relationships

Wriothesley, Tartaglia, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Ayato, Capitano, Dottore, Alhaitham, Dainsleif, Baizhu

Wriothesley

He groans with emotion but it’s only a few seconds after he realises that you’re still beneath him, still haven't come. Wriothesley looks at your widened, surprised eyes and agape mouth. 

“Bloody hell—”, he spits with a shaky voice. “I’m so sorry, we haven't seen each other for a while and I—”

Wriothesley gently caresses your hip, while chuckling and looking at you half-blushing. “Shit, I must have missed you too much.”

It’s not a problem for him to bring you to the peak with his mouth or hands. 

Tartaglia

He squirts his release with a loud moan, pressing you close to his chest, his face buried into your neck. Those little bites shall leave radiant marks.

“Oh my god…” Ajax moans into your neck. “Oh f-fuck—I—”, he pats your back, “Fuck, I have never come so fast before. It’s not my fault, peanut, you’re too gorgeous for your own good.” He jokingly says, hiding his blush into your neck so you have no idea of it. Ajax is incredibly embarrassed and frustrated with his manhood that got too sensitive too soon.

Neuvillette

Neuvillette feels embarrassed and upset over losing his composure so quickly. He usually lasts long, and finding himself in such predicament gives way to the feeling of guilt and frustration.

“Darling, we can go one more round to get you satisfied. Please forgive me, my love.”

“No need to, Neuvillette, the both of us are tired. We can do it anytime during the week.”

“But I feel so guilty for coming first and not giving you the release you deserved. Let me at least satisfy you with my hands.”

“I don’t mind that, but please don't stress yourself out too much. It’s just sex, we can do many times better later. Nothing changes between us if you simply came early.”

Neuvillette caresses your face softly and speaks with emotion.

“You know that I usually last. I feel so defeated right now.”

To comfort your husband you place a kiss on the centre of his palm.

“Cumming early doesn't make my love to you fade, Neuvillette. In all honesty, I’m glad if I make you so excited that you can barely hold it together.” You give one other awkward but loving smiles. 

Pantalone

“I—I apologise. I did not foresee that, darling”, with a perplexed, disoriented look Pantalone pulls away. He gets purchase on the clean towel and covers his body in shame. A terrific sight, so rare for the Ninth Harbinger who is usually unabashed, especially in intimacy. 

“Oh my—how pathetic!”

You try to comfort him, saying that he must have been both too excited and tired after work, which ended up in premature peak, but Pantalone seems too distressed and angry at his inability to control himself as he quickly vanishes from the bedroom. 

Ayato

With a stiffled moan Ayato finishes, but somehow it feels so wrong - releasing much earlier than you, when his significant other’s orgasm is in question. 

Ayato grabs the towel and wipes himself clean, while looking down at you, your legs still thrown on his shoulders. 

“Oh my goodness”, he laughs at himself, but the laugh is nervous, not cocky or proud as it usually is. The man’s ego seems to die out ridiculously soon, as quickly as he finishes this time.

“We’ll have to go one more round after that…” he hisses, his member still very sensitive. “Once I get ready again.”

Capitano

“Hngghh—” 

Capitano pulls out with a well-heard grunt and pulls you closer to his chest. You are lying on top of him, your bodies are slightly wet when he makes a remark:

“I apologise, wife. It seems my stamina betrayed me tonight”, he gives a smooch to your cheek, brief but filled with devoted emotion. “Maybe if you stay a while like this, I can satisfy you longer. What do you think?” He delivers yet another kiss, this time to your neck. His voice sounds much quieter and he gently runs his hand through your hair.

“We should really stay together tonight. I feel like I need you more than ever. And not a word about this to anyone.”

Dottore

“Dottore, get out of the bathroom, immediately.”

“No!” A grunt and a curse escape from the inside of the bathroom. “I must learn what caused the fail in performance.”

“Dottore, I’m happy either way. Besides you looked quite funny.”

“FUNNY—she thinks I’m funny”, he utters to himself under his breath. “I’m going to check this little idiot for ruining our bedtime.”

Your amused laugh can be heard from the bedroom, as Dottore’s anger at his own manhood looks funny.

Alhaitham

“Oh, Y/N—f-fuck!” Alhaitham certainly does not expect himself to cum prematurely. His face looks red and his expression radiates emotion. You swear you have never seen a face sexier than this. You didn't know that he could ever be able to cum so hard (and so soon). 

Alhaitham scowls, looking at you. “What? You think this is funny? It’s just a one time occurrence.” Another moan escapes his mouth and he covers his face with his hand. “You shouldn't see me like this—”

Dainsleif

Dainsleif falls onto the bed, utterly defeated and pulls you with him. You notice how heavily he is breathing and judging by the perplexed look on his face, never he did expect rushing his own release. He was shocked, to say in the least.

“Don’t look at me like that. You think you’ve defeated me?” Dainsleif groans when you move to his chest. “I will make you finish twice next time, and believe me—much earlier than me.”

Baizhu

Baizhu lets out a moan he did not expect coming and immediately covers his mouth. His face is red and silly when he looks down at you. He is blushing extraordinarily, and the buds of sweat roll over his chest as he towers over you. 

“Let’s pretend this did not happen, my dear”, he runs his hand down your lips and onto your neck. “Oh my goodness, how embarrassing.”

Yet you just give him a sincere laugh. “Baizhu, it’s alright. I enjoyed it immensely.”

[writerpeach]

Hauteur

LE SSERAFIM Kim Chaewon x m! reader

14k words

---

Read on AO3

“God, you’re so bad at this.” 

“Yeah, no shit, Chaewon.” 

“Like, really bad, you know? Like you should not be allowed to play this game bad."

You’re already down three games, struggling not to scratch again as you aim for a different colored ball this time—somewhere, anywhere, but in the goddamn pocket. Safe to say, things are not going well tonight. 

“Shut up, Chae—you’re distracting me.” 

"No fucking way I am," Chaewon fires back, not missing her mark as a striped ball clacks into the side pocket, almost mocking your failed attempt. “What’s your excuse for losing the last three games, then?” 

“I just need to get warmed up, that's all—"

"Will that come before or after the sun comes up?" she asks, planting her stick against the floor and sliding closer. "It's okay to admit you're bad at this."

You grit your teeth, fueled by frustration, and slam your pool cue so hard the table rattles as the white ball shoots forward. Almost in slow-motion, it ricochets right off the side—failing spectacularly, right back into the eight-ball that spirals into the corner pocket.

Chaewon can't stop laughing.

“Oh look, you finally sunk one in.” You're left standing there, hands gripping your cue stick so tight your knuckles have turned white. "And that's game four."

You're about to snap the pool cue in half right here, then and there. You're fuming; Chaewon is eating all of this up, covering her mouth before taking a sip out of a beer bottle that's almost empty.

"Rematch. We're going again," you hiss out.

"So I can humiliate you again? What's the point? You can't beat me. And you owe me how much, exactly? Pretty sure your entire week's pay is gonna get fucking wiped after this.”

"Then one more game. Double or nothing." 

"Oh sweetie, you're cute. I can't take more of your money. At this rate, you're not gonna have enough to pay rent.” 

"Chaewon—" you nearly growl, gritting your teeth again. "Double. Or nothing."

Her eyes widen with curiosity, an amused smile tugging on those lips of hers while you wait for an answer. This soft little sigh escapes as Chaewon takes another sip out of her beer bottle, looking you over from the other side of the table.

"That's boring. Let's make this more interesting," she proposes with a devious grin on her lips, drinking some more before setting the bottle on the edge of the pool table. Chaewon doesn't let her confidence falter, eyes never looking away from yours—leaving you wondering what devilish thoughts have taken her. “Raise the stakes, shall we?” 

You stare at her with a raised eyebrow. 

"Loser does whatever the winner says. Within reason, obviously. If I win, and I will—“ There's a mischievous spark in those eyes. Whatever it is, Chaewon wants you to bite. “If I win, I get you. For a week. When and wherever I want."

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"I thought that would've been pretty obvious. One week where you can't deny me,” she starts, that annoying smug smile still plastered on her face while she carefully gathers up all the multi-colored balls into the wooden triangular frame. A quick run down the length of the green felt, and she continues, grabbing the white ball out of a little pocket and moving over to her side of the table. "Whatever I desire." 

There's something about the way she enunciates every word that makes you shiver. You shouldn't take this bet, no way—there's a hundred reasons why that's a bad idea. Because you already know the outcome. 

Chaewon turns back to meet your eyes again. "Seven days, you’re at my whims. So you can be my footstool, errand boy, or whatever else I wanna do—you don't have a say. Maybe I wanna jump on your cock whenever the mood strikes? Or make you go down on me in the middle of lunch at that cute little cafe downtown? Anything I want—you do."

That's the most preposterous thing you've ever heard—you'd have to beat Chaewon just to stand a chance, which you know is nothing short of impossible. But you can't back down, and you can't shake the urge to wipe the smirk right off that little brat's face, to find some sort of satisfaction in watching her sweat. 

Yet Chaewon can sense the hesitation and does her best to persuade you further. 

She takes her position at the far end of the table with her pool stick behind her, getting ready to break again. “If you manage a miracle and win, then consider your debt cleared. And for a week, your rules, whatever your little heart desires. Fair, isn't it?"

You shouldn’t—you know better not to agree to her proposition. Not to give the enemy an opening. And yet, your pride refuses to let you do anything less. "So, I get anything? For an entire week?"

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?" she responds, rolling the cue ball ever so gently as she decides where to position her stick.

"You're pretty confident, Chae. This could go badly for you. Maybe next time I see you, it’ll be in the tiniest bikini I can find. Or just lingerie. Something real easy to tear off."

Chaewon laughs, keeping her eyes locked on yours. "Considering the performance I've seen tonight from you? I'd say a loss is practically impossible."

Yeah, there’s no way you’re backing down from this. "Impossible? Fine, you're on. Hurry up and break so I can win." 

Oh, she's going to regret this. 

Shifting her posture, Chaewon bends over the pool table rather seductively as she lines up her shot. When she takes a glance over, your eyes stay glued to those tight fucking shorts—they hug every single curve of hers, giving such a good view of her ass. 

"Unlike you, I know what I'm doing. I’m not the same girl you knew two years ago that used to help you boost cars and drive away from cops. Now, are you gonna keep staring at my ass, or can I take this shot?"

You don't respond. She breaks hard, the crack of her stick echoing through the whole pool hall, scattering the colorful balls all over the table—two go in, one striped and one solid.

"Which one are you calling, sweetheart?"

"Doesn't matter, pick one," you respond, determined not to give up any reaction whatsoever to Chaewon. "I'm winning either way."

Chaewon just cackles, reaching over to take a sip of her second beer bottle before taking position to line up her next shot. "I'll stick with my stripes then. Can't wait to have you call me master and kiss my feet for the next seven days, loser."

"In your dreams, Chae."

"I better start thinking about all the names I'm gonna call you then," she taunts, circling around the table to find the best spot to take her next shot. "You're gonna be such an obedient little pet for me."

You stay silent, because you're not giving her a modicum of satisfaction. And with ease, she's banking shots left and right, showing no mercy and striking her next target right on. No less than three balls in a row, gaining momentum before she takes a moment to bask in the glory. 

"Don't worry, baby, we'll have so much fun. I think you'll look so good on your knees, licking my boots. Giving me foot rubs for an entire fucking week. Wow, I can't wait—"

Chaewon sounds so convinced she has this in the bag, and just the thought of her acting like you’re already her little pet gets you even more infuriated—that bratty tone, how she’s predicted that you’ve already lost, as if you're a simple means to her every desire. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself," you fire back, because you're not going to let her get in your head. That's what Chaewon is so good at, but you shove those thoughts aside, watching her land another shot into a side pocket, taking another sip of her beer afterwards. That's five shots down, only three to go—and it's all been her.

"Please, I've already beaten your pathetic ass four times. I'm not even trying anymore." Chaewon moves to the next striped ball, and with no difficulty lands it in, wasting no time after that to line up her penultimate ball—an easy angle, an effortless shot. She's merely two balls from putting you in hell for a full seven days.

You watch with bated breath as her arm raises, stick held in position before colliding hard against the cue ball—despite her near perfect technique, it rolls erratically, missing its mark as the orange striped ball veers off course, hitting the bumpers and missing its intended target.

Her brows furrow. 

You try to hold back a laugh. "Nice shot."

"Fuck off," Chaewon hisses. She takes another sip of her beer to relieve herself before staring down the table without any concern. "Angle was all wrong, that's all. Not like you have a chance anyway, pet." 

She's not exactly wrong—if you miss, Chaewon only needs two easy shots to secure the game, and you have a long road ahead of you, not even having your first turn until now. But it's not as dire as it seems, given that most of the striped balls are out of the way, leaving you with a plethora of options.

Still, you have no room for failure. Even if you manage to knock one or two in, you have no margin of error. One tiny mistake can cost you your freedom for an entire fucking week. How were you ever lured into this?

But you can’t give up before even getting started, letting those thoughts fly away. You find an ideal spot and sink your first shot, a smooth roll, falling clean into the side pocket. Chaewon seems fairly unimpressed when you look up. Not that you expected anything less. 

"Lucky shot. First time you've sunk one in all night."

Maybe it's luck that gets you a second one too. And a third one right after that. Then Chaewon's expression does start to fade into one of annoyance and disbelief, watching a fourth shot sink right in front of her. But unlike her, you don’t get cocky. All it takes is one mistake for you to forfeit the game, and the rest of the week, too. 

Halfway there. You feel the tension rising, but steel yourself, because you have no plans of getting your lips anywhere near Chaewon's fucking feet in the foreseeable future. A rival ball nearly bounces in after you sink one into the far corner pocket, rolling a razor's width before coming to a stop, sending your heart dropping for a split second.

"Cute little streak you’ve got going on. Don't get too comfortable.” 

Again, you ignore her, knowing that any response will set Chaewon off even more. The brat wants attention you’re not giving. 

One by one, you sink each colored ball, until you’re one away from catching up. Chaewon only offers the bare minimum in acknowledgement at the sound. One shot, that's all you need to take away her advantage, but one misstep will cost you everything. 

Another deep breath. Your neck is tense, beads of sweat forming on your brow as you approach the green ball on the other side of the pool table. Not even looking at Chaewon, you pull back, line up—

And miss.

The little bastard completely flies off target, bouncing in the opposite direction, right into the bumper with bad intentions, almost smacking directly into the eight-ball. 

"Looks like your lucky streak ends there," Chaewon says, hardly hiding a grin as she takes a long swig of beer. "Too bad, loser. I wonder how you'll look in a maid outfit." 

She’s hesitating, as if victory is a sure-fire thing, with no chance of any other outcome, eyes staring directly into yours when lining up her next shot, brushing a loose strand of hair back.

"I know you're gonna be a good boy for me.” 

Breaking eye contact only for a split second, she aims the end of her stick right towards the final striped ball left standing. Her grip is steady, and a few heartbeats later, Chaewon swings back, causing the little white ball to roll down the felt field at a sharp speed.

Clack.

She doesn't give it a second glance, her eyes staring into yours—lips parted with that annoyingly smug smile on her face as the ball spins its way home, leaving you in dreaded anticipation.

But that lone striped ball betrays her. 

To Chaewon's absolute dismay, she looks down, waiting for the purple striped ball to plummet into the abyss, only to see her victory denied. It taunts her—merely grazing the corner pocket, still standing upright, close enough to convince you both that it could drop with so much as a sneeze. 

Neither of you can even fathom what's just happened. Her hands grip her pool cue stick tightly, as she looks around, clearly trying to find someone else that must've screwed this up for her. Surely, no way could her perfect little plan fail now.

"F-fuck. Fuck!" she protests out loud, still in awe as the ball remains in position, mocking her in defiance. "This table sucks! It’s broken, stupid piece of shit!"

"Too bad, loser."

"Shut the fuck up! As if you have a chance of winning. I'm still gonna enjoy having your head between my legs, all week, idiot," she fires right back, seething with every word that leaves her lips. Defeated by hubris, Chaewon's demeanor shifts fast. But you don't have time for her tantrum, approaching the table to end this all. 

Three balls stand in your way, and now you have the same chance Chaewon did moments earlier. You’re going to silence that bratty mouth once and for all.

She's fallen prey to arrogance, which is a mistake you're not making. With intense concentration, you ignore the foul swears that overpower the surrounding music, and line up your shot—then gently tap your way to glory. Another successful shot, a few colorful curse words from Chaewon, and you're free to move to the next. The final obstacle: the eight ball.

"Wait, w-wait a fucking second—hold on. Time out. Let's talk about this," Chaewon says, desperately, stumbling on almost every single syllable. "What if we just call the game here? Call it a draw and just walk away?” 

Oh, she's desperate. Once the realization hits, Chaewon goes into total panic mode. That calm, cocky demeanor is gone, replaced by this girl on the verge of losing it all, watching your pool stick line up one last time. 

And your smirk only grows when you look back up at her.

"No. This was all your stupid idea in the first place, brat. Eight-ball, corner pocket." 

Your cue hits the last ball with force, shooting right past Chaewon—who can only watch it careen its way into the corner of the pocket you've called, the white ball right on its tail, dropping the eight-ball in behind with a loud, satisfying thump.

She stays silent.

There's no immediate response. Her arms are crossed over her chest, eyes glaring at the last two balls scattered all over the felt. And not a single one belongs to you. 

Chaewon looks devastated. "Y-you," she stammers out. 

Her smirk is gone. Her cocky attitude washed away, reduced to an expression of pure, unadulterated rage. "How—how the fuck did you—"

“Lucky shot, I guess.” 

“For the entire fucking game? No, you—you hustled me! You fucking cheater!”

You take another swig of the beer bottle you were sipping on earlier—almost finishing it as your eyes remain locked, focused. Chaewon's hands tremble with anger, knuckles tight around the pool cue as she holds it between her hands, pointing it towards you like a knight’s spear. 

Her expression darkens with a furrowed brow and clenched teeth. And she's fuming, ready to explode any second, yet can't find the words to lash out—

“I’m fucking awful at this, just like you said. Right?"

Chaewon goes silent—or maybe too angry to reply as she stalks you closer, stealing the beer bottle right from your lips and finishing it off with a few big gulps until it’s empty. And then she slams it so hard on the felt surface you worry it's going to shatter all over the place. 

"I don't know how you managed to pull it off. I was clearly winning the entire fucking game, how could you have possibly—"

You cut her off mid-sentence. "Nobody likes a sore loser, Chaewon."

"I'll show you a sore loser, you little—" 

She holds the glass bottle like a dagger, threatening you with it as your eyes narrow on hers, refusing to show a moment of weakness. You're not going to give her that satisfaction.

"Just admit it. You lost. Rules are rules. Be a good girl and accept it, Chae."

"Fuck the rules! This isn't even fair—"

"Seems fair enough to me. You wanted this bet in the first place, didn't you?"

"Yeah, because you're so fucking bad at pool!" 

"And yet somehow I managed to win, didn't I?" you continue, savoring the frustration in Chaewon's eyes, which she so poorly conceals. "I'm so looking forward to this week."

She's shoving the bottle right into your chest now, glaring intensely, inching closer and closer until there's not a sliver of space left between you two. But eventually, she relents, grits her teeth, and inevitably accepts defeat.

"Fine—asshole. A deal is a deal. What do you fucking want?"

You take a moment to savor the sweet taste of victory. “Your tight fucking ass. In that bathroom over there. Hope you still keep that bottle of lube in your purse.”

A momentary silence comes, no argument, no protest, no further refusal. So out of character for her, but it's the sort of obedience that you don't take for granted, because who knows how long it'll actually last. "Whatever. Lead the way then.” 

So without hesitation, you do—Chaewon finishes her beer before grabbing her handbag off the counter. You take her by the wrist as the two of you wander out of the bar, heading for the public restroom across the way. It’s late enough in the night that you’re not concerned with it being occupied as you shove the door open, finding Chaewon right behind in no time at all. 

The lock clicks, and thankfully the bathroom is a bit more clean than you've been expecting. It's small, and barely fits the both of you together, with only black tile and dim lighting inside, a few paintings on the wall meant to spice things up. There’s only a single toilet in the corner, with a tiny sink against the back, a large mirror above it on an expensive-looking counter. It's not the fancy suite you spent last month together in, or the love hotel from last week, but it'll do. 

Chaewon pushes past towards the mirror in front of the porcelain sink, and you watch her intently searching through the contents in her bag until her fingers grab hold of something to bring it to your view.

"My ass? That's all you wanted?" Chaewon asks, catching your gaze in the reflection as she waves a familiar bottle of lube at you, unceremoniously placing the little bottle beside the faucet.

"Among other things, yeah.” 

Staring into the mirror, Chaewon is smart enough to know where things are heading, and wonders what she’s gotten herself into. The look on her face is a mix of irritation and pure lust when she turns around, eyes traveling south as she anticipates your next demand. "Get on your fucking knees, slut."

Here’s the first test—and Chaewon passes with flying colors. Moving away from the sink, she drops to her knees right in front, as if she's expected this outcome. And again, no protests, no attitude. 

"I knew you'd be a good girl and obey all week. Doesn't cute little Chaewonie love that?"

"Fuck you," she snaps back, with venom laced in her tone while her hands reach to unbutton your jeans, wasting no time to yank them to down your ankles. And there it is—that defiance, the same fiery expression you're so familiar with on her face that you've grown to know and love at the same time. You just watch, almost too amused, as she yanks those boxers down next, not even waiting a second to let your cock free.

That stare of hers lingers for an extra moment while her delicate hand takes hold, giving slow strokes up and down, grip tight, a thin coat of precum along every inch. "Can't believe I let you put this fucking cock in my asshole, almost every goddamn day of the week."

"Luckily for both of us, your tight asshole loves my cock."

Chaewon can't hide that blush on her cheeks—it's practically impossible to hide the cute little grin on her face as her hand continues stroking, steadily increasing her pace the harder your cock gets in her fingers. She just ignores you and spits on your shaft, pumping her fist all up and down with each stroke, grip as tight as possible. 

Another few moments and she's running her tongue along the length of your shaft—all slow and sensuous, a little breathy sigh before her pretty lips wrap around the swollen head of your cock, parting effortlessly as they welcome you into that sweet heavenly warmth. 

Her piercing eyes glance back up at you, guiding you deeper into her mouth as Chaewon takes as much of it as she can—down to the hilt in a swift, expert motion. 

"Shit, Chaewon—“

Hearing the way you moan her name, Chaewon can't contain her satisfaction as her head bobs up and down, lips moving slowly and carefully as they keep a tight seal, tongue flicking around the sensitive underside of your cock with each movement. You've become so used to this, the wet heat enveloping around you, soft lips providing so much pleasure, gliding all the way down, nose nestled against your abdomen for just a moment until it all repeats. 

You're lucky enough to experience this on the daily—because nobody gives a blowjob better than Kim Chaewon.

Oh, she's a fucking natural, taking every inch effortlessly down her throat without so much as gagging, tongue swirling and exploring as her hand fondles your aching balls, sucking and slurping lewdly as spit dribbles down from her pretty red lips.

"Your fucking mouth, god—I get this pretty fucking mouth all to myself all week." 

"Not like you'll be able to handle me for that long," she replies, with a lewd, exaggerated slurp around your cock as she pauses to catch her breath. 

"You talk so much for someone on their knees sucking my fucking cock, shit—that's so good."

And for once, she's not bothered by that remark. It just urges her to slurp harder, bobbing faster up and down with those hollowed cheeks, never letting your sensitive tip escape her warm depths. Her technique is completely unmatched. Each and every movement, she seems to know exactly what you want most. 

But you want something else, need something even more as you reach out, grabbing her head to shove her right back onto your shaft, to the very hilt—so fucking deep in the back of her throat.

Still, she hardly chokes, only briefly, a loud, lewd sound filling the room. Chaewon seems almost thrilled to be right back down that deep. 

"I like you much better when you're nice and quiet with my dick in your mouth."

The silence is fleeting—but the glare given as soon as those words leave your lips can speak volumes, knowing this peace is only temporary. Her warm mouth is all yours to enjoy, your hips thrusting without restraint, feeling those soft, full lips slide perfectly along your shaft as deep as they’ll go. You get a tight grip into her hair, indulging in her heavenly mouth, fingers all tangled up in her beautiful auburn locks. 

Nothing would ever make her admit it, but Chaewon absolutely loves this—so eager to please, clutching to your thighs as she takes you, struggling to control her breathing with your entire length sliding deeper and deeper while she lets you fuck her face. 

"God, your throat—your fucking throat is too good, baby, such a good fucking girl," you groan out. Her nails dig deeper into the back of your thighs, trying so hard not to choke whenever you decide to hold her down, forcing that mouth of hers to swallow the entire length of your shaft.

"I'm in the middle of a public bathroom sucking your dick," Chaewon murmurs, short of breath as she pulls away from your cock to respond, strands of drool dripping from her swollen lips. "So clearly—I'm not a very good girl."

"Shame. Then I guess you don't want this dick in your ass, brat."

Chaewon can't even retort, staring down at your glistening, spit-coated cock throbbing inches from her face. Her hand is on your shaft again without hesitation, pumping slowly while her lips trail kisses along the side, pressing lightly in an agonizing tease as her tongue licks your length.

"I didn't fucking say that, idiot," she replies, trailing your length further as those luscious red lips envelop your sensitive balls, slow and deliberate, slobbering on them while her delicate hands move back up towards your shaft. "I know you're dying to shove this inside me, god—you're throbbing so much. How long would you even last with me bent over this sink, with this big fucking thing plunging deep into my tight little asshole?”

"Guess we'll find out,” you respond, taking your cock away from her grasp and slapping her pretty face with it, making a mess as spit decorates her beautiful features. “Get up, face the fucking mirror."

"Be gentle,” Chaewon says, wiping saliva from her chin as she slowly rises to her feet, 

"That's a new one. Is that what you really want?"

"Fuck no. You better destroy my asshole,” she replies in the mirror with this sinful little expression, like she knows you’d never do anything else. So you bend her forward enough until her ass is high up in the air, her palms resting on the cold porcelain surface as you stand right behind with your cock resting against those tight fucking shorts. 

She feels so tiny beneath you, that petite frame and curvy ass waiting to be taken, all at your mercy to ruin. "How bad do you want my fucking cock? Beg for it."

“Beg? Fuck you, asshole. You’re nothing more than a convenient toy for me to sink down on that I use for my own enjoyment. Not the other way around—“

Even when she's bent over a bathroom sink about to be fucked senseless, Chaewon still can't shut up. “Is that so? I'm your toy?"

"Absolutely—and that fucking cock is the only reason why I bother keeping you around."

That’s amusing, to say the least. You don’t give it another thought as you get a quick grasp on those tight shorts and yank them down so fast her head spins. Underneath lies a skimpy little pair of panties that gets tugged down just as fast until they rest around her creamy thighs, leaving you to admire those full, pale ass cheeks.

You grope them and get a nice handful, so enticed by her shapely ass that without warning your palm raises high, a loud slap crashing against her bare flesh. Chaewon jolts against the sting, whimpering and biting her lip, aching for more.

"I want it so fucking hard. Hurry up.” Chaewon grinds her ass back, pushing right up against your erection, doing everything she can short of begging for your length.

“So you do wanna beg? Didn’t take much.” 

Chaewon squirms underneath as your palm slaps firmly again, gritting her teeth when it comes down with more force the next time. "Just get the fuck in me before I—“

Another smack cuts her off, the sharp noise echoing against the tiled walls as your palm squeezes roughly at her soft flesh. “So fucking needy.”

You’re both lucky the bass thumping in the distance can drown out the cries that spill out from Chaewon’s lips, as her exposed, reddened cheeks absorb every smack of your palm, the recoil so deliciously mesmerizing. 

Her creamy skin marks up so easily, bright red where you've smacked her delicious ass over and over. She's growing restless beneath your palm as you deliver more slaps, the noise louder and louder, with no warning for when and where. "Sh-shut the fuck up! I need it right now, god, just get that thick cock in me, please—“

So easy for her to surrender. 

Chaewon braces for another hit—but it never comes, replaced by a much different sensation as your slicked up finger traces against her tight asshole. So fucking tight, so greedy, eager to accept what's coming. 

"You're pretty demanding for someone who's going to be on their fucking knees for me all week."

She clenches around your wet fingertip when it plunges in, almost involuntarily. It’s insanely difficult just to ease the slightest bit inside her ass, fighting through that incredibly tight, hot grip.

"No more talking. Shove your dick in my asshole or I swear I’ll—“ 

"Patience, sweetie. My cock's going to live in your ass for the entire week—learn some fucking manners."

"No. Fuck you."

This girl is unapologetic, even at a time like this. She's borderline infuriating to be around at the best of times, so you’ll just have to do what you always do best—fuck the brat out of her. 

You pour a generous amount onto your cock, giving it a few full strokes before moving between those cheeks and plunging another finger back in. This time, it sinks in easier with little effort at all, knuckle-deep within that tight opening. Half prep, half teasing as Chaewon shudders, moaning so loudly while you spread that cold liquid, pumping two digits in and out. "Jesus, hurry the fuck up, asshole, I can't—"

"Can you stop being needy for like, five seconds? Relax. Be a good fucking girl."

"Try and call me that again and see what fucking happens—"

Her empty threats don't deter you from pushing the tip of your cock against that pretty, puckered hole, ceasing any further complaints as she lets out a needy, satisfied moan in response. One shallow thrust is all it takes to get right past that slippery tight entrance, stretching her right open to sink into those familiar depths.

"Ch-cheater," she mutters, while adjusting to the fullness, the overwhelming stretch of your cock as she grips the sink tighter. "You still fucking cheated. I can't believe you, fuck—oh my god."

You're barely in her ass and yet Chaewon is already stuttering, taking deep breaths as you watch your cock disappear between her pillowy cheeks. There's no other feeling quite like it—the heavenly vice grip on your length as her ass welcomes you right in and every single inch gets swallowed up.

"It's not my fault you choked at the last fucking minute." 

As you wait for whatever she’s going to spit back, you bottom out—those soft, round cheeks pressed against your body. A perfect fit, nice and snug inside that impossibly tight asshole that you savor before drawing the entire length out of Chaewon as she sucks you back in again.

"Why does your stupid cock always have to feel so fucking good?" she groans, already losing the fight with her pride, as your thrusts steadily increase in pace. Her perfect fucking asshole clenches hard, resisting every attempt to slip out, just devouring your cock without complaint. "Just like that—fuck, oh my god, harder, you cheating asshole."

And nothing could be easier to oblige. Every ounce of spite and aggression vanishes from her tone, replaced with pure bliss every time your shaft bottoms out. No part of you stays idle, one hand gripping those supple hips while those slaps on her backside echo, each sting so agonizingly satisfying as her tender, red cheeks ripple with every rough impact.

"You really love my dick in your ass, don't you? Look at you, trying so hard not to beg for this."

"Shut the fuck up," Chaewon growls, her mind preoccupied by bliss, overwhelmed by the pleasure, mouth wide open and moaning loudly without a care in the world as you just stare at her in the glass reflection. "Just fuck me harder, god—pound my fucking asshole and shut up."

The way she’s stretching so nicely around your cock, it's impossible not to do anything else. Nice and deep, sliding in and out of that perfect fucking asshole, groaning from how warm and tight it is as your thrusts start to get progressively out of control. 

Your hips crash against her body repeatedly, flesh on flesh echoing through the walls as your length pounds into her greedy little hole, fingers digging into her hips. Chaewon's sweet whimpers, little groans, and desperate pleas for you to give her even more grow louder, more frantic as your pace picks up, and she falls further and further apart.

"I fucking won and you're just a sore loser." 

Your palm is harsh against her soft ass, firm slaps that leave her delicate skin more tender and sensitive. In fact, the more red her pale cheeks get, the more aroused the sounds escaping her get. With her head thrown back, Chaewon watches you claim her in the reflection with heavy breaths as she stares back into the mirror, reveling in every inch pounding away deep inside her ass. 

"Please," Chaewon mumbles in such a pathetic tone, staring into your eyes in the reflection. Her fingers cling to the cold surface of the sink, desperately clutching for stability against your merciless thrusts. "I need—just use me and fucking wreck my asshole."

She can't hide the satisfaction on her face while you’re slamming right into her tightest hole, hard, deep, unforgiving. This is how you really like her, all pretty, fucked out beyond comprehension, practically incoherent and totally taken apart by your cock.

"Holy shit, shit—shit, don't stop. Give me more,” Chaewon whimpers, unable to tear herself away from the mirror and the depraved scene on the other side. Her tiny frame shakes, clinging so tightly to the sink for some sense of control as you drive your length deep, a loud slap on her reddened cheeks an exclamation point on every harsh thrust. 

There's really no way you could stop even if you tried. 

"Tell me how good it feels."

Your cock is deep in her tight asshole and she can't think of anything more substantial than fuck and please and more. Those sweet, desperate little noises she makes when your hips ram faster against her flesh fill the entire bathroom, spurring you on, reminding her this is exactly how this entire week is going to go. 

"So big—god, I feel so fucking full, that dick in my little asshole," Chaewon says with drool coating her chin, hair an utter mess. "Feels too fucking good, that nice thick cock shoved right up my ass, fuck—“ 

"Dumb slut loves having her tight asshole stretched, doesn't she?"

"Y-yes—fuck, god, keep going. Shit, it's so fucking good."

In the middle of another rough thrust, you lift her shirt up enough to pull her bra up, letting those tits spill free. You grope at them so roughly, cupping them, then playing with those sensitive nipples, anything to push her a little more over the edge. They bounce in sync with your thrusts, and she’s so goddamn tight you can hardly take it, buried in as deep as your shaft will go.

“Can’t believe how good your cock feels in my tight fucking asshole,“ she groans out all breathy and shaky, holding onto the sink tighter each time while you plunge your cock into her greedy ass, balls deep without interruption. 

The feeling is mutual—nothing comes close to how tight her heavenly little asshole chokes your cock, each thrust bringing you closer to release with every lingering moment.

It’s all so shameless. The way your hands roam across her devilish curves, how you tease those pert nipples before trailing down along the sides of her slutty little waist and getting a firm hold on to her hips for more leverage to pummel her tight ass even harder.

Through this onslaught of harsh thrusts, there’s no complaining, no bickering, just lust and a constant desire for more. All you can do is get your hands on her scrumptious ass, refusing to slow your hips down while you manhandle her sweaty, small body, fucking Chaewon as hard as you possibly can. 

A few more slaps on her tender ass, and you’re spiraling towards the edge, unable to keep this relentless pace up for much longer. You keep your hands full of those plump asscheeks—spreading them so you can thrust even deeper than you ever dreamed possible, the tightness in your balls building and building. 

"Chaewon, baby—gonna fucking explode, need to cum in you.” 

"Then hurry the fuck up and do it. Dump your load in my tight little fucking asshole, come on, fill me.” 

One look in the mirror and she looks so eager, so ready and willing for just that. It's everything you need to get your final moment of satisfaction. Burying your cock one last time, those sweet lips part in a silent, desperate gasp when you erupt, your hot seed shooting right inside her tight little asshole. You unload everything—thrusting frantically into her ass, squeezing those plump, firm cheeks as your thick cum spills and spills like never before.

There's barely a thought in your head as your hips start to slow down, cock pulsating, every last drop of your cum pumped into that perfect fucking ass. You’re spent, slumped over Chaewon’s exhausted smaller frame on the verge of collapsing, taking a few moments to just breathe—your head resting right into the crook of her neck, still buried inside her. 

Chaewon looks beyond satisfied, leaning further into the counter with her head hung low, strands of hair stuck to her sweaty face, breathing still deep and heavy. “Shit—oh my god. Are you done? Get out of me already, how much fucking cum do you have, jesus fucking—"

"I would, if you weren't still squeezing the life out of my fucking dick. That desperate to keep me inside you?”

There’s not another word from her as she scoffs in the mirror, and eventually unclenches her muscles to let you ease out of her tight ass, her gaping little hole already overflowing with your load. You can't help yourself, getting a full, unobstructed view of your handiwork from behind, hands cupping both of her supple asscheeks, spreading them apart to revel at the mess you've made inside her. 

“Fucking asshole," Chaewon mutters, while resting her back against your chest. Even now, she can't resist a snide remark, groaning softly as she begins to gather her senses. "I can't believe—the whole week, now? Really?"

"Don’t make bets with me you can’t afford to lose, sweetheart." 

Her breath stays heavy as she processes it all, and you lazily kiss at her shoulders, the slightest hint of salt on her bare sweaty skin. 

"Shut your fucking mouth.” She turns on her heels just to glare at you, shambling over with her panties still down her legs to grab some toilet paper to wipe the white leaking down her thighs. "Maybe I wanted you to ruin my asshole this—maybe I let you fucking win."

It takes everything in you not to laugh—that same old ego of hers, trying to spin this into something she can control, still so in disbelief after all this time. "Right. Of course."

Chaewon rolls her eyes as she continues cleaning herself up, shimmying her panties over her reddened cheeks and pulling her shorts up to cover herself up once more. "God, did you really have to slap my ass that hard? I'm going to be bruised for days."

"If I recall correctly, you're the one who started begging me to stop holding back."

"Yeah, because I knew you wouldn't—" Chaewon starts, as she shuffles a little closer, hovering on her tiptoes to press her lips firmly against yours in a deep, lingering kiss, cutting off any retort before it leaves your mouth. "Forget it, you ass. Now get out. Before someone sees us.”

There's little else for you to do when your pants zip back up, so she shoves you out and pushes open the door, gesturing impatiently for you to leave as you stagger out of the bathroom. Chaewon does what she can to look presentable, running her fingers through her hair, fixing her makeup, tucking loose strands behind her ears before she tries to stay hot on your heels when she steps out. 

“Come on,” you demand, and don’t even bother to look behind you, nor do you even care if anyone is around to notice how you both look as you make a beeline towards the exit. “Or I’m leaving you behind.” 

"Hey, wait up—I can barely fucking walk, asshole!" she calls out, chasing after you on her shaky, trembling legs while her heels clack against the flooring—pulling down her shirt in case anyone turns around, desperate to keep her decency even after all this. "God, fuck me first and then you expect me to run fucking after you—“ 

That only makes you quicken your pace, not the least bit guilty about the state you’ve left this bratty girl in. “If your sore little ass can't keep up, that’s not my fault.” 

Chaewon lets out a heavy sigh and narrows the distance, grumbling under her breath but otherwise following you into a taxi, swearing as her sore backside sits in the cab. You steal a few glances during the ride home, which ends in silence—completely exhausted, having just burned the rest of your energy railing her in the bathroom.

When you finally get out of the cab, Chaewon is far behind, walking gingerly up the stairs and holding the rail as she approaches the front door of the building. You just stare at her down, debating whether or not to unlock the door—waiting for another chance to get under her skin. 

"Are you gonna fucking open the door or just stand out here all night?" Chaewon asks impatiently, glancing at the lock like she can open it with her deadly gaze alone. "Because I need a goddamn shower."

She's really making it too easy for you. So difficult to resist the urge to push every button and test every single last ounce of patience this girl possesses. "What's the magic word?"

"Fuck you."

"That's two words."

"Let me in already before I break this door down, you fucking asshole!" 

Ah, there it is—her breaking point. That famous short-fused temper so dependable to show itself at just the right moment. 

"Remind me again, Chae—what was the bet about exactly?" The question hangs in the air, and Chaewon seems about ready to kick a hole in your front door. Seeing her frustration escalate only puts a smile on your face, unable to resist her little tantrums, now more fun to push than ever. 

"Can't seem to remember. I think we should call the whole thing off," Chaewon mutters through gritted teeth, avoiding eye contact altogether. 

"No, a bet is a bet, sweetie. Whatever my little heart desires for the entire week? Think that's what you said, if I remember correctly." You pause a moment, staring her down—those flushed, rosy cheeks and narrowed eyes in your view as she fidgets in place when you lean in closer, standing directly in front of the doorway to taunt her. "Which means—if I wanted you to strip all your clothes off and do a lap around the block, then that's exactly what you'd have to do."

"Y-you wouldn't dare—I can barely even feel my legs as is," Chaewon attempts to argue, nearly falling over trying to take a few steps closer.

"Does that sound like my problem?" There's a long, torturous moment of silence, Chaewon seemingly lost for a snappy comeback or a witty retort—unable to string together a decent response for once. You see that her expression softens, eyes darting to the sidewalk outside, as the thought of taking a walk of shame runs through her mind.

"You're bluffing.” 

"Am I, though? Like you said—anything I want, you do.” 

The fact that you’re using everything against her, turning that confidence into vulnerability, brings nothing but pure, elated bliss. There's no denying her frustration, the irritation etched on her features while she looks ready to unleash every curse word imaginable under the sun.

Chaewon’s hubris is all her undoing, and she knows there's no way out of this, not when you've backed her up in a corner. It takes a good minute to gather her thoughts and actually put together an answer, but the more she ruminates, the easier it is to know exactly where her mind is going. 

“Come on, sweetheart. I’m waiting.” 

In the end, she lets out a defeated sigh—and unfastens the belt around her waist. Right in front of the door. Outside, in public. It’s late enough in the evening that the block is fairly dead, but she seems to realize there’s no getting out of this. 

"I can’t fucking believe you—f-fine, whatever, let's get this over with," Chaewon murmurs out, looking quite sheepish as she tugs her shorts down her bare legs and struggles to balance in the dim light, stepping out one foot at a time. Without even thinking, her black top comes next, lifting it up over her head as she gives a quick look around the street before throwing it down on the ground. 

And that's when Chaewon just stands there, sulking under her breath, completely exposed in the cool, breezy night in only her underwear, barefoot on the cold pavement. There's little you can do besides enjoy the view, that amazing body in nothing but a saucy pair of lingerie that you’ve gotten a closer look at, shamelessly baring it all. 

Her face is flushed, eyes glued to the concrete, taking a deep breath before undoing the clasp on her bra—but that's as far as she gets before you reach a hand out to interrupt her impromptu strip show.

"Jesus, Chae—I wasn’t being serious," you blurt out, laughing uncontrollably and watch her pretty eyes go wide as the realization sinks in. "You were really about to run naked through this entire neighborhood?"

She shoots you that familiar icy glare and crosses her arms over her chest, doing little to hide the hint of her nipples poking against the fabric of her bra. "Oh my god—you absolute fucking jackass!" Chaewon balls her fists, finally working off that last little bit of restraint keeping her temper in check, immediately scrambling to scoop up her discarded clothing before anyone catches sight of her. 

"Red looks good on you, by the way."

You're expecting one of those balled up fists to land squarely on your jaw any second—but they don't, and Chaewon simply strides by through the door you’ve finally unlocked, intentionally shoving a shoulder into yours. She storms inside, tossing her shoes and clothes on the ground, seething the entire way up the stairs. That's the last you see of her that night, hearing the shower turn on immediately when she finally slips into the bathroom.

✦ ✦

It's the next day when the fun really starts. 

Chaewon is barely even dressed when the morning hits, wandering through the apartment in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that barely covers what little modesty her thong leaves her, digging through the cabinets to find something for breakfast. She's slept off most of the anger that lingers from last night, even so much as offering a smile when you saunter into the kitchen and pop a bagel into the toaster.

"Good morning," you say, taking a seat across from her at the kitchen table, watching her shovel down a bowl of cereal like she hasn't eaten all week. 

"Morning.” Chaewon barely looks up from a mouthful of crunch, focused entirely on the food. "What am I in store for today?"

"Dunno. Haven't thought about it too much."

It's the truth, mostly, though Chaewon has no reason to believe otherwise, knowing her day will probably be spent anxiously awaiting her next demand. "Don't keep me guessing here. What's next, blowing you in the corner of the library? Showing off my tits off to everyone on the bus? Or maybe—what, you want me to wear a plug in my ass all day?"

"Now you're just giving me ideas, Chae. But if you have a plug, maybe we can start there—"

Chaewon kicks you under the table, finishing up her cereal and drinking the last remnants of the milk. "Absolutely not. My ass is still sore from you wrecking it last night."

"I'll be nice and gentle next time." Like that's a promise you can make, unable to stop thinking about the way her body looked bent over the sink, manhandling her curvy frame and just pounding away without a care in the world. It's all so deliciously vivid—those plump juicy cheeks getting redder and redder after each impact, swallowing up your entire length. And those delicious moans, the memory alone makes your cock throb in your pants.

"I don't think gentle is in your vocabulary."

You laugh quietly to yourself, biting down on the last half of your bagel, contemplating her words. "How can I ever be gentle when you're always begging to be fucking ruined?"

"Oh, shut up—I don't fucking beg." Chaewon drops her empty bowl in the sink before hopping up on the edge of the kitchen table, sitting right in your line of sight with a view of her thighs spread wide. You have trouble focusing on anything else but that body, unable to deny how captivating it is to see so much exposed skin, all these sinful curves inviting your gaze in when that flimsy material barely covers up anything between her legs. 

"Did you forget last night? When you were so desperate and needy—begging me to fucking fill your ass?"

With that, you finish up the last bite, pushing your seat out and stretching for a moment. Chaewon takes notice and slides into your lap, thwarting any plans you have next—straddling you, knees firmly placed on either side with hands around your neck as she draws closer. “What did I just fucking say? I don’t beg. You must be misremembering things.” 

Nothing else gets said for a moment as Chaewon holds that heated stare. The fact you're able to maintain it, even for this long without breaking, is an achievement in itself—such a fiery look in those eyes when she leans forward to press a hot, heavy kiss against your lips. 

"Why would I beg when you give me what I already want, all the fucking time?" Chaewon peppers quick, teasing kisses all across your neck as she speaks and presses her palm flat against your crotch, gently massaging through the thin fabric of your shorts. 

"Yeah? And what's that exactly?"

Chaewon gets right against your ear, pressing those perfect breasts firmly into your chest and nuzzles your neck, placing the slightest kiss to your jaw. "Pounding my little cunt until I cum on your thick fucking cock. Until my thighs are shaking—until your fucking balls are empty."

Shifting her weight, she lingers on your lap, dragging those long fingers through your hair and deliberately grinding her clothed core against the obvious tent forming in your pants. Already, you can feel the fabric darken and soak through—making a bit of a mess that you’re happy to contribute to. 

"And what if I said no? Told you to stay still—be a good girl and wait. Patience and all."

"Then I'll tell you that'll never fucking happen. I'm not a good girl and never will be. Not when I can take your cock down my throat—or ride this fucking thing until you unload in my tight fucking pussy. Good girls don't take cock the way I do."

She makes her point very clear with a hot breathy whisper into your ear, making her desires well known. The look in her eyes, that piercing stare, ready to be defiled and filled—everything about Chaewon is downright sinful.

"So, come up with any grand plans yet in that dumb head of yours or..." Chaewon tilts her head to the side as she unbuttons her shirt little by little, revealing more of her delicious tits with every button loosened.

You just stare at that exposed cleavage with little shame. "Got a few ideas stewing. And here I thought you hated me winning your silly little bet.” 

"Like I said, I let you win. I got tired of beating you too easily and decided to spice things up. So now you get to use me however you fucking please, and that's much more exciting than winning another dumb game of pool."

You don't believe her for a second, but you won’t argue about it—especially not when she's so readily giving herself away. This version of Chaewon is the best version of herself, no complaints, no defiance, just a little vixen waiting patiently to see what twisted desires come next.

"Well, what type of punishment are you going to give me today?" Chaewon gives this mocking grin as the last buttons of her shirt come undone, opening up to give the full reveal of her perky, luscious tits—round and heavy in her bra, straining the cups of the sheer material. "Go on, tell me, master." 

”You are not calling me that. For an entire week. Not a fucking chance."

"You prefer daddy, then? Sir, perhaps—"

"None of those, you fucking weirdo, god, what is wrong with you?" 

"Hmph, you're no fun. What good is bossing me around if I can't call you something special, at least once? Or maybe—" 

You don't let her have another word, lifting her up off the chair in one swift motion, holding those thick creamy thighs steady while she wraps her arms around your neck for stability.

"Shut that goddamn mouth of yours before I find a better use for it."

You cross the length of the apartment in seconds with Chaewon's small frame in your arms, heading towards the bedroom. With every step, her tits bounce through her open shirt, making you eager to rip that bra right off. There’s no time for patience—you toss her onto the bed with minimal effort, her body sinking into the soft mattress with a little bounce. 

The way she moves makes the springs creak as she fully tosses her shirt off her shoulders, exposing the black lace number underneath, her breasts nearly spilling out. Again, you just stare—that gorgeous pair bouncing when her back falls flat, her hands roaming across her own bare skin.

"What's master going to do to me?" Chaewon asks, unable to resist teasing and taunting, giggling quietly to herself. She’s so proud of herself for turning the tables back in her favor, every bit eager to toy and rile you up as much as possible.

"I swear to god, Chae—" 

You're quick to discard your own clothes, leaving only your boxers as you step closer to the foot of the bed, enjoying the view of Chaewon's gorgeous body stretched out on full display. Those full breasts, ample hips, delicious creamy thighs—there's so much of her to take in, even the delicate features of her face, pouty lips that belong around your cock.

Chaewon bites her lip—eager to show off, squirming when those slender fingers roam across her toned stomach, before she brings one hand to fondle one of her tits while the other travels between her thighs, teasing herself with the slowest movements. "Does my body make your dick nice and hard?"

Her underwear is almost completely soaked when the two digits she has between her legs press deeper, rubbing in a slow, tantalizing manner that drives you crazy with anticipation. "What do you fucking think, brat? Do you even understand what your tight fucking body does to me?"

It’s a confession that materializes so easily, because you're fucking throbbing at this sinful little display she's giving, aching to be buried deep in any part of Chaewon's delectable body. With her gaining the advantage, she opens her legs wider, spreading them until you can see just how damp that useless little thong is—her touch getting bolder, bra clasp already popped and hanging by her shoulders. All that’s left is for those fingers to slip under the damp fabric that sits between her thighs, moving inside her sensitive slit, whimpering gently at her own touch. 

"Then hurry up and put your dick where it belongs."

There's a dangerous level of temptation from those words alone, enough to forget about anything else when Chaewon scoots towards the end of the bed, settling into position on her stomach and reaching out to slide your boxers down enough to let your stiff length free. 

Her wet little tongue darts across your slit, followed by an eager hand pumping around your shaft, stroking up and down as if it belongs to her (and it might as well). She falls into place with ease, focusing all her attention on pleasuring your aching, needy cock, her head bobbing up and down for a few moments—just enough to get it nice and slippery wet, dragging the warm slick of her saliva from tip to base. But that's all she gets to have, for now. "No, not like this. Face up. So I can use that pretty fucking mouth of yours."

It's an order that leaves little room for question—and she's quick to roll over on her back, pausing only long enough to discard the bra off her body. She tosses the offending garment across the bedroom to expose those beautiful tits as her head hangs slightly off the edge, right at the perfect level for your cock. You watch her hand resume those gentle pumps, taking pleasure in how much control you have over her at this very moment. "Use me, use me like the little slut I am. Use your pretty toy for whatever you fucking need."

Her eagerness to please is so damn arousing—it makes you pause as you look at that gorgeous face upside-down, stepping in a bit closer, aligning your stiff cock with those perfectly glossed lips and can't help but rub your tip all over them. 

"Don't fucking tease—let me taste this fucking cock."

You’re quick to indulge her as your cock sinks deep into the back of her throat, your entire length pushing in at once, balls nudged up against the bridge of her nose. You just rest there for a moment, savoring the heat and wetness surrounding your shaft, right down to the base. “My god, Chae—” 

Chaewon is completely ready and willing, hands grasping at her tits, pinching those pretty pink nipples between her fingers. As you draw your shaft backwards, a trail of drool and spit follow your length, as this needy girl runs her tongue across every wet inch. "C-come on, I can fucking handle it. Don't you dare go easy on me."

Oh, you would never. The second she takes a moment to breathe, you're slamming right back in, watching those pretty lips engulf every inch you give. She hardly chokes at all, throat accommodating your length without issue. 

It doesn't take long to find yourself completely engrossed with the way her sultry eyes look up, those pouty lips accepting each and every inch. You can't help but moan whenever you bottom out, keeping a hand resting at her slender neck, so you can feel it bulge just the slightest with each movement.

"Goddamn, baby, I’m all the way in your fucking throat. You love that don’t you?" you ask, knowing damn well she can’t answer as you pump into her, the image of your shaft plunging repeatedly between her plush, thick lips too unforgettable. Chaewon can do little but sneak a hand down into her ruined panties, playing with her pussy once more while you use her hot, eager mouth—not holding anything back. 

There’s nothing better than using this brat in every way you want, fucking her mouth with such little care—this is heaven. It’s impossible not to bury your cock so deep into that tight throat again and again. She only makes it better when her warm tongue drags against every inch, and her tits look positively mouth-watering from this angle that there’s no way you can leave them alone for a moment longer.

All you have to do is lean forward and grope both of her delicious breasts, kneading the supple flesh between your fingers. You handle them with no sense of mercy, using them as leverage for every thrust, to slam even deeper down her throat with your shaft filling her up completely. 

If only Chaewon could speak right now—

Instead, her eyes gaze upward, pleading as drool continues to spill from her mouth. And it's such a lovely mess, tears forming as you get rougher with every deep stroke. There's no better sight, your hands full of those delicious tits that you massage and fondle, jiggling the faster your hips move against her face. While you’ve got them underneath your fingertips, your palms smack against the sensitive flesh, right across her stiff nipples repeatedly, just enough to enjoy the sound it makes. Not quite as satisfying as the way they feel. 

"These pretty fucking tits, baby—I could play with them all fucking day,” you say, pinching each of her swollen nipples before returning another harsh slap that ripples the pale flesh so deliciously. And while she can’t respond, you feel it around your cock, these constant vibrating moans whenever your hand smacks one of those perfect tits, causing a slight red mark against the skin. 

You hold a steady pace, and keep these unrelenting thrusts going, taking one look down at those ruined panties. They cling to her sticky thighs, giving such a sinful view of her fingers jammed inside her needy cunt. "Don't even need to win a bet for this. You're just a greedy fucking slut who loves getting used all the fucking time, aren’t you?"

"God yes—" is the only thing that comes out when you finally pull your dick away, a messy string of spit hanging right after. Her lips immediately latch onto your balls, licking and sucking each one with such fervor, that ravenous mouth not ready for your cock to leave quite yet.

One glance is all it takes, as Chaewon pants heavily and works at your sack with her wet tongue, but your cock is meant for far better use. So much to her dismay, you move out of reach, earning a needy little whine when you take a few steps back away from the bed and beckon her over. 

She obeys, so eager and desperate to know what you plan next as she hurriedly slides those wet, useless panties the rest of the way off. That leaves her completely bare, tits out, juices leaking down her thighs, and you don’t even get enough strokes in as she slowly crawls on the floor, finding her position in front of you.

You're far enough from the bed now to do whatever you'd like, with Chaewon inches away from you, naked, on her knees, makeup slightly smeared from the tears spilling down her cheeks. The options are endless—and yet you can’t help staring, unable to stop looking at her gorgeous face, and this tight body, everything perfectly sculpted and flawless.

"Stand up, slut." 

It's a simple command she's quick to follow, unfolding her legs and standing straight up as her bare feet land against the ground. You tower over her small frame, with only one thing in mind—and it's like she can read your thoughts, so excited for what's about to happen when her perfectly manicured toes come off the carpet. And just like that, you've got her hoisted in the air, held up with your hands securely on her ass as you drop her right back down on your hard shaft.

"Holy fucking shit—your cock,“ Chaewon groans out, and instinctively wraps her legs around you, lips parted, so lost in bliss when you’ve got her impaled on your length, impossibly deep with every last inch buried in her wet little cunt. You get a good grip on her body, squeezing those pale, plump cheeks enough while she locks her arms around your neck, her weight perfectly suspended in the air. “Pound me—pound me like the greedy little slut I fucking am."

She lets out such a desperate moan when you give that first thrust, the one that’s always the most powerful, stretching her in the most delicious ways. There’s nothing to support her but your own strength, and she’s practically helpless in your arms as you bounce her on your cock, so slick and tight and hot all around you. 

It’s every bit overwhelming, in all the right ways. 

"Such a tight little fucking cunt,” you say, before slamming into her heat so mercilessly, spreading her cheeks wide to make her sink down on your cock without pause. You know she can handle more, and that’s exactly what you’ll give before she starts to beg for it, impaling her to the hilt as you slide so effortlessly inside. 

Chaewon is needy, wet, whimpering against your ear with her body pressed against you, tits pressed into your chest. It’s like she weighs nothing as you pound into her, these desperate cries for more that fill the room with a sinful symphony of flesh slapping together. 

“F-fuck, just like that! Use me, just fucking use my pussy!” She's completely at your mercy as she takes everything you give, her tight hole welcoming your harsh thrusts, moaning so shamelessly while she holds on for dear life and buries her head in the crook of your neck. 

"That's the fucking plan, baby.” 

Her body is so easy to handle, so easy to keep your cock sheathed that you could carry her around anywhere until your arms give out. Not an ounce of mercy for your aching cock buried to the hilt, pounding her on your length just like she craves. 

"Shit, shit—g-gonna cum," she whimpers out, barely able to give warning before her cunt clamps down on you almost painfully so as her moans spill into your ears. "Gonna fucking cum on your dumb big fucking cock—"

Everything becomes so, so tight, as Chaewon soaks your length, falling apart so quickly with your cock pounding her senseless. Those creamy thighs wrapped around you shake and tremble, toes curling, the suffocating heat of her drenched pussy so overwhelming it spurs you to fuck her straight through this intense climax. 

"I've barely started fucking you and you're already creaming on my cock? Needy fucking slut." 

"Sh-shut up, asshole," Chaewon says, a quick return to her old self even before the bliss subsides. "Not my fault your dumb fucking cock can get me off so easily. I'll cum all I fucking want—" 

That attitude doesn't last long before you double down on your efforts, a blur of heavy thrusts into her slick depths with ruthless abandon, intent on making her a writhing, quivering mess. Chaewon can hardly complain when she’s this insatiable,having fallen right into her next climax with almost zero effort on your part—everything just too hot and slick as you pound her greedy pussy relentlessly.

"Your fucking cock, oh my god—" Her voice shakes, words interrupted with another string of moans, her warm, messy cunt drenching every last inch of your shaft. She just takes it all and clings desperately to your body, bracing for another explosive orgasm while you keep her mid-air, your unrelenting hips driving her to an all new level of pleasure and sensitivity. “G-gonna cum, fuck—oh my fucking god, gonna cum again on your stupid big dick—"

When Chaewon falls over the edge again, she’s an absolute wreck—breath shaky, body shuddering, little gasps each time you give an especially deep thrust. She’s downright delirious with parted lips and heavy eyelids, helpless to defy the pleasure that keeps running through her body. “How many times is that, baby? Four, five? Getting real greedy, aren’t we?” 

"N-not greedy—it's not my fucking fault your cock feels so fucking good. Need you to cum too—in me, fill my fucking pussy. I’ve earned it."

That's all she can think about right now, sounding more and more pathetic with each slurred word. As if that's not already on your agenda. You keep her steady as you thrust a little more gently now, giving some recovery time as you carry her over towards the bed. Chaewon pants heavily when she’s lowered flat onto the mattress—still on her back and legs spread open, looking as beautiful as ever. 

She takes this moment to catch her breath—just long enough for you to toss her closer to the center of the bed, folding her in half, legs up towards her shoulders as you get positioned. “Use me to cum—ruin me. Shoot your hot load in me, make a fucking mess inside, please—” 

And how could you possibly resist that? The respite doesn't last long with her knees bent, feet dangling high in the air. One thrust, and she's nearly screaming as you plunge right into that hot, welcoming cunt, your cock engulfed in all this perfect wetness. 

"So deep—so fucking deep, holy shit," she gasps, and you quickly fall into a ruthless pace, knees sinking into the soft mattress when you pound her heavenly cunt with everything you have, now focusing on your own release. 

“Love your fucking cunt, baby—You want my cum? Want my balls fucking emptied inside you?” 

She’s frantically nodding, and each thrust comes harder than the last, slamming every soaked inch as deep as her cunt will take it. You can barely slow down, when Chaewon is so slippery wet and suffocatingly tight, taking every punishing thrust and welcoming the next. "That's what my tight fucking cunt is for, isn’t it? Taking your thick cock and never letting go until your cum is filling me, that hot fucking load so deep.“ 

That’s the dam that breaks when your carnal desires get unleashed and she watches you hammer her cunt, so deliciously stuffed as she whines with satisfaction with this hot squelch flooding the room. The bed shakes beneath her helpless little frame, balls slapping hard against her asshole each time you bury yourself deep as you can go, getting utterly relentless with your hips and hoping the mattress holds. 

“Oh my fucking god, cum inside, fucking cum in me, I need it." 

Chaewon is long past desperate as the ecstasy builds up higher and higher, and you're on the verge of emptying deep inside any moment, adjusting your angle while her slick cunt aches for your release. She’s shaking with anticipation, every stroke a promise of your seed, pumping right inside where it belongs. 

"Now, now, cum in me now—" Even all folded up, Chaewon tries to keep some semblance of control, with the springs protesting beneath her sweaty body. You can’t fight this urge, your body far past your limits when the pressure keeps building, until a loud guttural groan is the only warning she gets before one last deep, relentless thrust—

One last look at her face all contorted in pleasure, and you're emptying your load deep, pumping her pussy full with hot spurts that fire one after another, making her insides all white and sticky. But it's not enough to just fill her. You have this overwhelming ache to fuck your cum deep into her, ensuring she gets every last drop while your climax lingers, your shaft violently pulsing inside those wet, messy folds.

Even when the sensitivity becomes too much—you ignore it, because Chaewon feels too warm and wet, too perfect to leave such a heavenly grip, these slick walls that cling to your length and refuse to let anything escape her messy depths.

Chaewon looks more than satisfied as your hips start to falter, pumping through all the exhaustion until you can’t. 

"You came so much, fuck," she lets out with a weak voice, and you can hardly argue with her there, easing out of her little by little until this thick mess leaks out, slowly dripping out onto the sheets once every inch slides out. "It's all in me now, all your hot fucking cum in my little pussy like I deserve.” 

That cocky little smirk is back as you settle back and enjoy the bliss, left with a perfect view of the full mess inside Chaewon when her own hand wanders to those soaked folds, playing with this sticky warmth while she pushes whatever escapes back into her hot, messy cunt. 

"You really are a little cumslut." She offers nothing but a smile, tired gasps and heavy pants, two fingers sliding so deep in her warm cunt like she’s proud to show off how much she can make you explode. The sheets underneath remain an almost a bigger mess than her, stained by an ocean of fluids, but neither of you show any genuine concern, lingering in that euphoric sensation and content to never move. 

"S-so fucking what? Don't pretend that you don't love filling my pussy."

Before you can even take another breath, Chaewon pulls you right on top of her—your body crashing into hers as your lips meet. There's nothing left to argue about when the two of you lock in a lazy make-out session, tongues exploring mouths, not a care in the world about the mess pooling and staining everything below. 

When Chaewon breaks away, you're left mesmerized by those pretty eyes, so round and full of satisfaction. "So, I guess… the bet is over now, right?"

Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous that Chaewon thinks she's getting out of this so easily. "Please, you think this is over? We’re just getting started, sweetie. I haven't even begun to run out of different ways to ruin you."

Chaewon just rolls her eyes, shifting her weight a bit more comfortably into the mattress to steal another kiss. "God, like we need a stupid bet for that."

She's not wrong, but that doesn't mean you're dropping your claim to the rewards anytime soon. Five whole days with Kim Chaewon, with the freedom to do absolutely anything you'd like to her. Not a chance you'd give that up. "What's the matter? Not confident anymore, Miss-I-can-take-anything?"

"Shut up," she whines, burying her face against your chest in feigned irritation. "I'm totally fine. I just need to make sure your balls hold up. Five more days of you fucking me all day... hope you've got a good supply. Maybe we should take a couple of days off to let you recover."

"It's okay to admit you can't handle me for that long. Maybe it's your tight fucking cunt that needs the recovery time. Poor little Chaewon, I've just been using your pussy too much—"

"Asshole!" Chaewon gives a light slap against your arm that barely registers, considering her frame compared to yours. "Now get off me and help me to the fucking shower. I need your filth out of me."

"Not unless I'm joining you.” 

Another eye roll from Chaewon as she bites down a smile, attempting to sit up as best as she can with you still hovering over her—without much luck. "God, no, I swear I need an actual shower. You're just going to pound me against the glass until I can't even remember my own fucking name, and then we're never going to get clean." 

"I don't see the problem here."

"Oh my god," Chaewon sighs, attempting and failing to squirm her body out from under yours. "Fine. You can join, but keep your dick out of me." 

“No promises. Where's the fun in that?"

"Ugh, you greedy little bastard. Is your cock ever satisfied for even a moment?"

"No."

Chaewon lets out this exasperated groan as you help her off the mattress and onto her wobbly legs—grasping her hips, helping guide her over towards the shower across the room. She looks less than amused. "You're such an ass, there's no way you have anything else left. My pussy can't take it—god, you're gonna destroy me."

"Again, don't see the problem here."

You've never seen her more annoyed. It's the closest she's looked to admitting defeat. "Of course you fucking don't—look, I'll let you fuck my soapy tits in the shower, alright? But your dick is not touching anything else until we get clean."

"That's really not part of the bet though—" 

"It's either that or you jerk off in there alone, asshole!"

There really is no arguing with that tone of hers—and there's no way you'll even pass on the opportunity to shove your cock between her delicious tits, all soapy and slippery wet.

"Fine, fine—I'll behave." 

"God, good," Chaewon sighs again as the two of you stumble into the shower. She gets her moment of solace under the hot running water, taking a minute to rinse away all the mess of sweat and bodily fluids collected over the past while. Once you're both clean, you make good on your promise—so does she in return, pouring a generous amount of body wash over her chest, the suds lathering up her tits to create this perfect friction to slide through and let you do your thing.

And god, it's wonderful, every bit as euphoric and satisfying as when her lips wrap around your cock. Chaewon hardly has to do anything in particular, just keep a firm grasp on either side of her soapy, soft breasts in place for you to fuck into at whatever pace you'd like. It's not a long process—she barely has to squeeze her chest around your shaft, that wonderful slick friction enough to make you unload in no time, shooting a generous load all across her cleavage.

The perfect cherry on top of an already satisfying morning. A morning that feels like a blur, because it feels like you’ve been going at it for weeks. 

Once you turn off the water, dry off and find fresh clothes, you make your way back to the couch, exhausted and drained, with Chaewon draped over your body. It's oddly cozy, lying here together, not talking, not bickering, just enjoying each other's company with your limbs entangled.

It's probably the closest to romantic you two have ever gotten. Maybe you've finally fucked all the fight right out of her.

"Can't believe you actually kept your hands off me this time," Chaewon says and shifts over, resting her head on your chest, eyes looking straight up at you. "Normally, you can’t control your dumb fucking cock around me for thirty seconds."

You simply glare at her—not much energy left to deny that claim.

"You sound so disappointed."

Chaewon simply laughs, snuggled up in her position across your chest. "Don't flatter yourself. Just surprised is all."

She's right about that—it really is an impressive show of self restraint from you, holding yourself back from railing her against the shower glass and shooting another load inside her. Then again, you've got the rest of the week to indulge in all your fantasies and desires. No point exhausting yourself out so quickly. "Oh, don't you worry. I've got plenty of things planned for later. All week."

"Oh good. I can't wait," Chaewon sighs and eases back into your body, getting all kinds of comfortable. "Maybe if I'm lucky, you can bring a friend along next time and you can double team me."

Of all things she could say to surprise you, somehow that one manages to. "Like I'd ever share you with anyone—"

"Trying to keep me all to yourself? How romantic. Or jealous that someone might get me off better than you, then?"

"As if that'd ever fucking happen."

"Well, then I guess we're just stuck with each other forever then," Chaewon says with a tired smile, fingers casually stroking through your hair. "Stuck with my tight fucking ass, stuck with these perfect tits, stuck with my pretty little mouth that loves swallowing your cum. Poor you."

"I'll have to endure somehow."

Chaewon smacks lightly at your shoulder in jest. "God, what a fucking sacrifice."

With that, it prompts the smaller girl to push herself up off the sofa, shaking her head as she heads back towards the bedroom.

"Don't forget, we still need to change the sheets, you ass. No falling asleep yet."

"Fine," you grumble, following her swaying hips into the room. "It's not my fault you cum so much."

"Me? Have you seen how much fucking seed comes out of your dick? You’re like a fucking faucet, I swear,” Chaewon says, pointing a finger accusatively at you. “I'm not shampooing it out of my hair again, just because you can't learn the concept of proper aim.“ 

"Don't be so dramatic, brat. You're acting like you don't absolutely love being covered in it."

"Whatever. Your balls have like an infinite amount of cum, god—“

“That’s definitely your fault. Look at that fucking body of yours, how can I not resist blowing a load whenever I’m around you?” 

"Jesus, you're fucking insatiable. It’s called having self-restraint."

"Maybe, but that ass—"

Chaewon just groans, having far too much of this absurd conversation for her liking. “Look, if you prefer, next time I can just gush all over your couch and save you the trouble, then."

"Wouldn't be the first time you've ruined my furniture with your messy fucking orgasms anyway—"

"Stop blaming me! Oh my god, shut the fuck up, like you didn't ruin my favorite bra because you can't fucking help yourself from jizzing all over me!" Chaewon plants her hands on her curvy hips and glares as hard as she possibly can. And you have to admit, anger is a good look on her. 

But those messy sheets can wait. 

Because why would you bother with that when there's a dozen different places you can fuck her before the day is over? Why spend your time doing anything else but pinning Chaewon's lithe little body against the bedroom wall, and shoving your cock right back in her ass with a hand wrapped tight around her throat?

After this week is done, you're probably going to need a whole new bed.

So the sheets can fucking wait.