#it's very cool. this is a light-hearted post y'all.

[the-irrelevant-trumpeter]

when people in your fandom are having a discussion based around a specific headcanon, and you want to join in but you don't actually believe the headcanon yourself so you're just there like

[witchywithwhiskey]

sweet as honeycrisp

pairing: sugar daddy!ari levinson x sugar baby!female reader

summary: your sugar daddy takes you on an autumn-themed date to the apple orchard, and what starts off as a fun and flirty day unfolds into a meaningful turning point in your relationship.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, piv sex, outdoor sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), finger sucking, biting, brief cockwarming, exhibitionism, light bdsm, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, very light degradation, lots of teasing, pet names (darling, honey), aftercare, happy ending, so much fluff

word count: 14.5k

a/n: whew i've been working on this for like two weeks now, and i'm so happy to finally be able to post it!!! i was struggling a bit with the emotional throughline of this fic, and i only decided on it very late in the editing game so if some things don't make sense, just ignore it!!! if you can believe it, i originally just wanted to write about a quickie in the apple orchard and it turned into this 🫣 anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!!!

“Kiss.”

The warm, playful voice of your sugar daddy, Ari Levinson, met your ears as you lowered yourself into the passenger seat of his Lexus, greeting you in the way he always did. When you closed the car door behind you, the sounds of the Manhattan street were silenced, leaving you in the relative quiet with Ari.

Eagerly, you twisted on the sumptuous seat of the expensive car to lean over the center console, brushing a teasing kiss to Ari’s scruffy cheek, your lips grazing the edge of his full beard. His skin was warm and inviting, and you lingered for a moment, breathing in the the familiar scent of Ari’s cologne, smelling of vetiver and leather. 

When you pulled back, Ari’s blue eyes were glittering with a hint of mischief that made your heart thump with excitement, a warmth blooming in your core despite the cool air of the car’s air conditioning brushing your legs. It was a warm September day, the last remnants of summer clinging in the air as if it protested giving up its seat to autumn. 

The thought crossed your mind that if any man looked like the embodiment of summer, it was Ari Levinson. His skin was golden with a perpetual tan, and his brown hair had sun-kissed blond highlights that shimmered in the daylight, though they were dimmed a bit in the shadow of his car. 

Still, as he grinned at you, showing off his pearly whites framed by his dark beard, you couldn’t help but feel like the summer sun had taken a liking to you and sat beside you. When he looked at you like that, with that smile and those blue eyes shining like the sun off the ocean waves, you wondered what it would be like to have his attention all the time—to be more than just the sugar baby he took on occasional dates when he wanted to have fun.

Pushing those bothersome romantic notions aside, you raked your eyes down Ari’s form, noticing that he’d dressed down for your date. He wore a soft denim, long-sleeved button-up over a simple white t-shirt and tailored slacks. Casual loafers and sunglasses perched on top of his head completed the look. Even in such a simple outfit, he looked good. 

“Show me.” 

His voice was a deep rumble that pulsed between your thighs, and you flicked your gaze back up to his face, finding heat in his expression, the same mischievousness in his eyes that’d been there since you got in the car. The corner of Ari’s mouth was curved in a smirk, and you felt another throb of warmth in your core.

Your lips curled at the edges, a wicked smile curving your mouth as the energy in the car crackled around you, spurring your heart to beat a little faster. You knew exactly what Ari wanted you to show him, and you knew it was naughty—but that was part of why you liked spending time with your sugar daddy. 

Ari was always urging you to be a little daring, to do something that made your heart race and your breath come a little faster. He didn’t push you, so much as guide you down the path to depravity, and you followed him willingly. You never felt more alive than when you were with Ari.

So while you smiled at him, you spread your legs on the leather seat of his Lexus, the short skirt of your dress falling between your parting thighs. Ari’s smirk deepened with satisfaction as he watched your movements with rapt attention. Your fingers toyed with the edge of your dress, the fabric having ridden up quite high on your thighs. 

But before you could reveal what was beneath your skirt, you looked away from Ari, and it crashed over you that you sat in a car in the middle of a busy Manhattan street surrounded by other people. There were folks driving in their cars just outside your window and others walking by on the sidewalk beside where Ari was parked. There were even people filling up the buildings that overlooked the street. They were everywhere around you.

“Darling, look at me,” Ari murmured, his tone entreating enough to call your attention back to him. 

You noticed his sparkling eyes had lost some of their mischief when you looked back at him. But the steadiness of his gaze had you relaxing when you hadn’t even realized you’d tensed up, and the corners of your mouth flickered in an uncertain smile.

“Do you trust me?” Ari asked simply. His face was open, no hint of pressure in his tone or voice. 

For a brief moment, you considered his question, then you nodded your head. You watched as warmth flooded into his gaze, and it made you feel a little more sure. 

“Lift your skirt for me, darling,” he implored, his eyes dropping to where your thighs were still spread, the flimsy fabric of your dress barely hiding your core. “Show daddy what you have under your pretty little skirt.”

You gathered every ounce of braveness in your body and pulled up the hem of your skirt. There, nestled between your spread thighs, was your bare pussy. The air in the car seemed to heat by a few degrees when you heard Ari suck in a sharp breath.

It had been Ari’s idea for you to go without panties on your date, and you’d agreed, the idea sending excited thrills through your body. Walking through the halls and the lobby of the Manhattan high-rise you called home, you’d felt like you had a secret that only Ari knew, and it gave you a delicious kind of satisfaction showing your sugar daddy how you’d gone without panties, your pussy fully exposed beneath your dress.

“You have such a pretty cunt, darling,” Ari groaned, his hand sliding up your thigh until the tips of his fingers teased the top of your slit. 

You bit back a gasp and squirmed in your seat, trying to hold your hips back from thrusting into his touch. 

“I never get tired of seeing this pussy, and how wet she gets for me.” 

His fingers spread your lower lips and he brushed ever so gently over the tip of your clit, making you twitch in your seat, your legs shaking with the effort it took not to close them on his hand and trap him against your heated core.

“And the way your thighs tremble for me,” Ari rumbled, pulling away from your quickly dampening slit to grope roughly at your plush softness, his grip possessive in a way your sugar daddy rarely was. 

“Ari.” His name was a breathy exhale, an undercurrent of admonishment in your tone as his touches stoked the blazing fire in your core, making you squirm even more on the seat. A sliver of worry wormed into your mind as you remembered the leather you sat on, which would surely stain if he kept touching you, and you gasped, “The seat.”

Ari only chuckled, the sound cavalier in a way that made butterflies take flight in your belly, but before you could chide him again, his hand was slipping back between your thighs. Ari dragged a finger from the bottom of your slit all the way to the top, flicking your clit and wringing a moan from your lips as your thighs trembled on the seat.

Then he was pulling his hand away, leaving you to drop your skirt to cover yourself, and popping his finger into his mouth. Your sugar daddy made a show of savoring the taste of you, and your head fell back against the headrest. You watched him suck your taste from his skin, your breaths heavy in your chest while Ari’s eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“Mm, sweet as apple pie,” he praised, making heat rush to your face while you shook your head and rolled your eyes—even as your chest warmed at the compliment. Ari was grinning shamelessly at you when he grabbed your face gently and pulled you gently across the car toward him. “C’mere, darling, see how sweet you taste,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you.

The musky flavor of your body made you moan into Ari’s mouth, your sugar daddy devouring every little noise you made while he kissed you thoroughly. You sank into him, reveling in the smooth glide of his lips and the possessive exploration of his tongue. Your fingers curled around the collar of his denim shirt and you clung to him, feeling the edge of something more in the way he kissed you. It left you breathless when you finally pulled away.

You fell back into your seat with a soft “oomph,” the breath rushing from your lungs when you looked into Ari’s eyes. His blue gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it, and there was something in depths of his eyes that you couldn’t quite place—affection or fondness maybe. 

A small, uncertain smile curled your lips, your heart thumping in your chest as you wondered if that’s how Ari looked at someone he truly cared about. Someone special to him, who had a more permanent place in his life than the sugar baby he called when he wanted to have some no-strings-attached fun. 

For the briefest of moments, you could pretend Ari was more than your sugar daddy, and you were more than his sugar baby. 

But then the moment ended, and Ari cleared his throat as he looked away, focusing on the wheel and gear shift of his car to put it in drive. A silent sigh of disappointment gusted from you, and you turned toward the passenger side window, intent on watching the city fly by once Ari eased into traffic.

To your surprise, Ari’s hand slipped into one of yours, his palm pressing against yours while he laced your fingers together. Your breath hitched with uncertainty even as the corners of your mouth flickered in a smile. It took you a moment to get used to the feeling of his hand in yours, turning it over to trace the veins on the back gently while he maneuvered his Lexus through the Manhattan streets.

It had only been a few months since you’d started seeing Ari, and while his touches were often greedy when you were fooling around, he hadn’t been prone to physical displays of affection since the first few dates you went on with him. Back then, he’d reached for your hand a few times, but after a point he’d stopped.

Truthfully, it had been a relief. One of your greatest fears was falling for a sugar daddy who didn’t return your feelings, and considering how handsome Ari was, you’d known it was a serious risk getting into a relationship with him. But he’d been so charming and carefree, you didn’t think it would be a problem to keep your heart out of things. He didn’t seem like he was looking for anything serious anyway.

So you’d focused on having fun, and that had been easy. Ari took you to expensive restaurants with delicious food in New York City, or he’d fly you somewhere else if he was itching to get away for a little bit. During meals, you’d chat about trivial things, then fall into bed together as soon as you were back in whatever hotel room Ari had booked for the night. 

You didn’t quite know why your conversations didn’t go deeper than the shallow things you talked about, but you didn’t question it. It made everything so much easier if you didn’t truly know Ari—if he didn’t know you either. So you just stuck to safe topics, like planning dates and having sex. 

Your relationship with Ari was a nice change of pace for you. He was far from your first sugar daddy, and you’d learned some hard lessons in your past relationships. Too often, sugar daddies wanted to know things you weren’t comfortable sharing, but Ari had never pried. He’d set boundaries and didn’t push them. You were grateful for that.

But another part of you, a part that started off small and was growing with every date you went on with Ari, yearned to know more about your sugar daddy. You wanted to know what he liked to do when he wasn’t working or taking you on dates. You wanted to know if he had any family, if he celebrated the holidays with them. You wanted to know if he’d ever had his heart broken. 

Tamping down on those curious thoughts, you focused on the present—the music that was playing gently in the car, and the scenery passing by your window. The skyscrapers and high-rises of Manhattan had given way to the tightly-packed homes of the suburbs. 

Biting your tongue against all the questions you wanted to ask, not even sure how you’d begin to try to get to know your sugar daddy better—let alone whether it was a good idea—you sat in silence with Ari. The suburbs eventually gave way to the lush forests and hilly countryside of the Hudson Valley, giving you something prettier to look at.

It was too early in September for the leaves to be changing yet, but there were glimpses of golden yellows and warm oranges among the green foliage. A hint of what was to come. Autumn was inevitable and you found comfort in the changing seasons. 

Cozy weather was right around the corner, and you couldn’t wait for it. Hot apple cider and pumpkin pie, butterscotch cookies and mulled wine—you were a glutton for all the food and beverages associated with the autumn months. And you liked to make them yourself from scratch whenever possible. 

It was part of the reason you’d wanted Ari to take you apple picking, though he didn’t know that. He’d just accepted the request and planned the date. 

After a little while more of driving, Ari pulled off the paved road and onto a dirt track. There was a sign for Brothers’ Apple Orchard fixed to a worn, wooden fence, though dense trees hid the farm from view. 

A little ways down the dirt road, the trees opened up into a large parking lot that was already packed with families and groups of friends going apple picking on the warm September afternoon. The sight and sounds of all the people had nerves twisting in your stomach, and you wondered if it had been a smart idea to go without panties to a place that was meant for wholesome fun.

You’d long since learned that Ari had an exhibitionist streak, and that day wasn’t the first time he’d told you to show up to one of your dates without panties. You’d always enjoyed the excitement in the inherent risk of wearing a dress without anything underneath, but he’d never taken you somewhere with so many families before. The consequences of getting caught seemed so much worse than they ever had before.

Ari must’ve felt your fingers tense in his because he gave you a comforting squeeze as he pulled his Lexus into an empty space and put the car in park. Once done, he looked to you, his smile faltering when he took in the way your brows were pinched and the corners of your mouth were turned down in an uncertain frown.

“Do you trust me, darling?” Ari asked, cupping your face and leaning across the car’s console to press his forehead to yours. His thumb stroked gently over your cheek, matching the sweeping of his other thumb against the back of your hand. 

You were quiet for a moment, nibbling on your lower lip as you thought about his question—really thought about it.

It weighed on you a little that you didn’t know Ari very well, especially since a part of you desperately wanted to, but that didn’t mean you didn’t know his character. Ari had never pushed you to do something you didn’t want to do, and he always checked in with you when you were together, making sure you were comfortable and having fun. So while you didn’t know his favorite color, you did trust him. 

Exhaling slowly, you nodded, your forehead shifting against Ari’s. “I trust you, Ari,” you said, your voice little more than a whisper, like you were telling him a secret in the privacy afforded by the enclosed space of his car. 

To your surprise, Ari sighed in relief at your words, the exhale so short and quiet, you wondered if you’d heard correctly. But you didn’t have time to analyze it because Ari was pressing a quick kiss to your lips and then pulling back to open his door and step out into the September sunshine.

You watched as Ari rounded the front of the Lexus, a charming grin on his face as he winked at you over the hood of his car. It was only because you were alone that you allowed yourself a silly little giggle, your mouth spreading across your face in a wide smile. He opened your door and offered you a hand to help you out.

“Careful, darling, wouldn’t want to give anyone a free show,” Ari murmured teasingly while you slid your hand into his, feeling the roughness of his palm against the pads of your fingertips. 

A zing of thrill went straight to your core at his words, joining the sparks you felt when you touched him. The fingers of your other hand played with the hem of your dress as you stepped one foot out of the car. You darted a look around, finding you had some relative privacy between Ari’s Lexus and the next car over, and pretended to rearrange your skirt. 

In reality, you flashed your bare slit for your sugar daddy, biting your lip and ducking your head when you heard his sharp inhale. Ari made a low, tortured sound and squeezed your fingers, practically pulling you out of the car before pinning you against the side.

“Naughty girl,” Ari growled in your ear, pressing his big body against yours so you were trapped between his hard muscles and the warm metal of the Lexus at your back. “You’re going to get us in trouble if you keep flashing that pretty pussy at me, darling.” 

A breathless, disbelieving laugh gusted past your lips before you could stop it, even as your head went a little fuzzy from the familiar scent of Ari’s cologne filling your senses. It felt like the vetiver and leather on his skin was embedded in your mind as a reminder of all the pleasure he’d given you, and with his body pressed against yours, it took you a moment to respond.

“You’re the one who told me not to wear panties to our apple picking date, daddy,” you reminded him, gripping the soft cotton of Ari’s t-shirt beneath his denim shirt, your fingers brushing against the sides of his tapered waist. You pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, brushing your body against his firm form enticingly while your lips grazed along his scruffy cheek. “Maybe you shouldn’t have done that if you didn’t want me to show you my achy, needy cunt.”

A low growl rumbled in Ari’s chest and he pressed you harder against the side of his car, his body impossibly warm and hard through the thin fabric of your dress. You could feel every firm line of him against your soft curves, including the thick bulge digging into your stomach. 

Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Ari’s hands skimmed down your sides and dove beneath the hem of your skirt, palming your ass and kneading your soft flesh with firm, possessive fingers.

“Darling, if you keep saying such filthy things, you’re gonna end up in the back of my car with my cock buried in your achy, needy cunt,” he purred, a threat in his tone that he punctuated by nipping at your ear, making you gasp and arch into him, pressing your tits against his solid chest. “You’re gonna get us banned from the orchard because you won’t be able to stop screaming while I pound your pussy—is that what you want?”

It was on the tip of your tongue to say yes. 

In the short time since you’d stepped out of the car, Ari had you feeling wet and aching and empty. Warmth flooded your body that had nothing to do with the sun shining brightly above your heads, and you wanted badly for Ari to free his cock from his slacks and slide it inside you.

But then the shrieking laughter of children punctured the bubble of lust surrounding you, and you remembered exactly where you were. Shaking your head, you dropped your gaze to the edge of Ari’s jaw while you sucked in a deep breath, focusing on the fresh air beyond the scent of your sugar daddy’s cologne. 

Ari’s big body eased back, giving you more room to breathe and you ignored the pang of disappointment at the loss of him. Instead, you let the crisp autumn breeze brushing against your cheeks and dancing between your thighs cool you down. 

After giving you a moment, Ari curled a finger beneath your chin and tipped your face up to look at him. His brows were lowered and his eyes looked at you questioningly.

“Do you still want to go apple picking?” he asked softly, planting his other hand on the hood of his car, as if he needed to force himself not to touch you so you could answer his question. The thought made you smile, and his eyes dropped to your lips, his thumb brushing quickly over the bottom one. 

“I do,” you said in a light, breathless voice, a smile teasing around the edges of your mouth. On a whim, you nipped at Ari’s thumb, giving him a smirk when his eyes darkened. “If you think you can keep it in your pants until later, daddy,” you taunted him, pushing your hips forward so his bulge pressed into your belly.

“You’re such fucking trouble,” Ari growled before his mouth captured yours in a searing kiss. One of his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you into him while the other cradled your head gently, holding you exactly where he wanted you while he devoured your mouth, his tongue sweeping possessively past your lips until you were moaning softly into him.

A loud, clearing throat had you finally breaking apart. Both you and Ari turned your heads toward the sound, finding a blonde woman raising an eyebrow at the two of you before cutting her eyes pointedly to the children beside her. Your cheeks heated and you buried your face in Ari’s neck to muffle a cackling laugh. 

“Apologies, ma’am,” Ari called gruffly, raising a hand in a repentant wave. 

The woman huffed and rolled her eyes, which only made you laugh harder, pressing your face deeper into the warm curve of Ari’s shoulder as you tried to stay quiet. When the woman and her family were finally gone, you leaned back, giving Ari a cheeky grin. 

“Think she’s gonna complain about us and get us banned?” you asked teasingly, sliding your hands up Ari’s chest until they rested on his shoulders, trying not to think about how easy it was to touch your sugar daddy so casually. “Tell them we were acting indecently in the parking lot?”

Ari laughed, chucking you under your chin gently before ducking down for a quick kiss. “If she does, I’ll just buy the farm,” Ari murmured against your mouth. “They can’t ban us if I own them.”

Your breath caught in your lungs at Ari’s pronouncement, surprise making your heart leap in your chest. Your sugar daddy had bought you plenty of expensive gifts since you’d started seeing him, but buying a farm so you could go apple picking in peace was on another level entirely. You had to wonder if Ari was serious, but the look in his eye was genuine when he pulled back. 

“Don’t give me that look, darling,” he rumbled, his heated gaze raking over your face, taking in your wide eyes and parted lips. His thumb stroked over your bottom lip, pulling on it ever so slightly to the side, sending a little thrill through your body. “Or we aren’t making it into the orchard.”

You closed your mouth, swallowing thickly and bobbed your head in a nod. Then, you slid away from Ari, slipping from between his big body and the car and taking a deep, steadying breath.

Even with the warm September sun shining down on your shoulders, you felt a little cold without Ari’s heat and shivered. But you told yourself you were being ridiculous, shaking off the shiver and turning back to your sugar daddy.

Ari was standing with both hands planted on the hood of the car, his head hanging between them while he took deep breaths. He must’ve felt your attention on him because he lifted his head and gave you a charming smile. 

“Just gimme a sec, darling,” he said, shooting you a wink before he straightened and dropped his hands to the bulge in his slacks. 

You tried not to ogle your sugar daddy as he adjusted himself to make his hard length less prominent in his pants, but you knew what was hiding beneath his clothes and you knew how good his cock felt sliding inside you.

A sizzling, delicious warmth cascaded through your body, and you let yourself watch Ari’s big hands adjusting his bulge for a moment before tearing your eyes away and taking deep breaths of the fresh air to clear your head as much as possible.

A moment later, Ari slung his arm around your shoulders and together the two of you walked toward the entrance to the orchard.

It took effort, but you managed not to look down at the front of his pants, sure that if you did, neither of you would make it any further. And you did want to go apple picking. You had so many things you wanted to bake with the apples you were going to pick. 

Keeping your chin up and your gaze forward, you and Ari walked to the small, squat red building that served as the entryway to the orchard. One side was for folks heading into the field of apple trees, and you joined the line while scrutinizing the size of baskets and crates you could get for picking. 

Ari let you choose the size, and you picked a decent size wooden basket, thinking that would give you plenty of apples to use for baking. A farm worker explained that your apples would be weighed when you were done, and you paid per pound. Then they handed Ari a map that specified where each apple variety could be found, and the two of you were set free into the orchard. 

“What kind of apples are we picking today?” Ari asked, peering at the paper in his hand while he snagged the basket from you. 

You leaned into his side so you could read the map, and pointed when you found what you wanted. “Honeycrisp, honeycrisp!” you chanted, letting your excitement overtake you. 

Ari chuckled, folding the map and tucking it into his pocket before giving you one of his charming grins. “Honeycrisp it is, honeycrisp,” he teased, smoothing his hand down your arm to lace his fingers with yours before he began walking into the orchard.

A shiver of delight raced down your spine at Ari’s gentle, familiar touch and the sweet new nickname. He’d only ever called you ‘darling’ before, and while you liked the pet name, ‘honeycrisp’ made you feel closer to your sugar daddy because it was meant for only you. It was something people in a real romantic relationship did, wasn’t it?

Your feet stumbled a little before you fell into step beside Ari. Out of the corner of your eye, you looked up at him consideringly, wondering—not for the first time—what he thought of you. If he thought you were someone worth caring about—if he thought of you at all when you weren’t together. 

Your sugar daddy flashed an easy smile at you, and you couldn’t help but return the gesture, even as you thought about how difficult he was to read. He was always charming and easygoing, and it made it hard to figure out what he was really thinking, let alone what he was really feeling.

You did your best to push those pondering thoughts from your mind and simply enjoy the walk through the orchard with Ari. You reminded yourself that he’d made it clear he just wanted to have fun with you, so that’s what you were determined to do: Enjoy the warm day and pick some apples with your handsome sugar daddy.

The honeycrisp section of the orchard ended up being quite busy, with families and groups of friends forming small crowds around all the trees closest to the entrance of the field. You paused for a moment, your face falling in a small frown.

Ari must’ve seen your expression because he tugged on your hand and led you past the crowds, strolling down a long row of apple trees to go deeper into the orchard. The excited chatter of other people faded until you could barely hear them and the farm grew peaceful. Finally, you came to the edge of the orchard, and Ari pulled you to a stop at the end of a row of honeycrisp trees. 

“Wow, that’s a lot of apples,” you said, peering up at the trees around you. They were bigger and taller than the ones you’d passed that were being picked over by the crowds. Their branches were practically bursting with ripe, red apples, the color swirling with yellow and green as it often did with that particular variety. 

It seemed no one else had thought to escape the crowds and venture deeper into the orchard, because you couldn’t hear anyone else around. It was just you, your sugar daddy and the apple trees. 

It was so perfect you couldn’t stifle the beaming grin that spread across your face.

“Should I go back for another basket—or a crate?” Ari asked, a grin in his tone. 

When you finally tore your eyes away from the trees and their bounty, you found him staring at you, something like fondness in his gaze. It struck you that Ari had no idea why you wanted apples—you’d never told him you liked to bake or what you planned to do with the ones you picked—but he’d planned the date and was offering to help you pick as many apples as you wanted. 

A warmth started in your chest, feeling as though it were wrapping around your heart and filling you up with a dizzying amount of sunshine, until your ribs were nearly bursting with it. Your cheeks felt warm, and your face ached a little from how wide you were smiling. 

When you realized that you were staring back at Ari with just as much, if not more, affection than was in his gaze, you tried to tamp it down, forcing yourself to scoff lightly at his question. 

“I think one will be plenty,” you said dryly, turning back to the trees and trying to calculate how many apples would fit into the basket Ari carried. Would it be enough for the apple crisp cheesecake recipe you’d been dying to try? You decided it would have to be. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, honeycrisp?” Ari asked softly, curling a finger beneath your chin and tipping your face to look up at him. He eased your bodies toward each other and your arms wrapped naturally around his waist. 

It wasn’t until you’d pressed your hands to Ari’s back, your hands settling against the solid muscle of him, that you even realized what you were doing. When you did, you froze, feeling a little spooked by how easy it was becoming to sink into Ari’s casual touches and return them. It felt like there was a growing intimacy between the two of you, and you didn’t know quite yet how you felt about it. 

“Honeycrisp?” you asked, latching on to the one thing you could think to say that would delay you needing to answer Ari’s question. 

He’d never asked you what you were thinking before. When he checked in with you, his questions were always more direct, and more specific about what you were doing. You didn’t know if he really wanted to know, so you hoped a distraction might work.

Ari’s grin turned a little mischievous, like he knew what you were doing, and he wrapped his arms around you, hauling you up against his large, firm body. He ducked his head and nudged your nose with his, tickling your cheek with his beard until you laughed softly into his scruff.

“It fits, doesn’t it?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that sent warmth dancing through your body. “You’re sweet as honey and as delicious as an apple crisp.” He kissed your lower lip, sucking on its plumpness with a slow, deliberate drag that had you nearly moaning into his mouth.

“Yeah, I like it,” you murmured when he released your lip, your voice obscenely breathy as your eyes fluttered open. You couldn’t remember closing them. Being so close to Ari, having his arms around you and his lips on you, was rattling your brain a little.

“Now, darling honeycrisp, tell daddy what had you thinking so hard about those apples,” Ari rumbled, his voice sweetly coaxing as he brushed butterfly kisses along your jaw. His lips were soft and his beard was coarse, and the contrast of the sensations had you sighing softly and melting further into his arms. “Unless you don’t want to tell me?”

There was a thread of uncertainty in Ari’s tone as he voiced the question, like he wasn’t sure if he was pushing too hard by asking you to tell him what you’d been thinking about. 

It was so different to how other sugar daddies—other men in general—had treated you. They’d always demanded you tell them whatever they wanted to know, as if they had a right to every part of you. 

But Ari wasn’t like that. He’d never been like that, and it didn’t surprise you that the first time he asked something even remotely personal, he was still giving you the opportunity to sidestep the question if you didn’t want to answer. It made you want to tell him all the more.

“I was thinking about what I want to bake with the apples we pick,” you answered, a smile teasing around the edges of your mouth. “And trying to make sure one basket would be enough.”

Ari brushed a kiss to the apple of your cheek, as if thanking you for telling him. Pulling back a bit so he could look at you, he tilted his head to the side in curiosity.

“You like to bake?”

You felt a little shy in the moment, ducking your head under the weight of his sparkling blue eyes, and nodded. “Yeah,” you said shrugging as if it was no big deal. Then, when Ari didn’t reply right away, you went on, filling the silence by answering a question he hadn’t asked. “I don’t usually tell sugar daddies—the one time I did, he got weird.”

Biting your lip to stem the flow of words from your mouth, you winced. You weren’t sure if Ari had known you’d had other sugar daddies before him, but it felt awkward to acknowledge the fact even if you weren’t ashamed of it. Besides, something inside you rebelled against the idea of lumping Ari in with all your other sugar daddies—he truly wasn’t like anyone else you’d been with. 

“Weird how?” Ari asked in a tone gentler than any you’d heard him use before. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck, but he didn’t try to make you look at him, just stroked your skin with his thumb. The gesture was so profoundly comforting that you lay your head on his shoulder and gave a sigh of relief. 

“Once he knew I liked to bake, he expected me to bake for him,” you explained slowly, choosing your words carefully. “But not just bake—he bought me an apron and skimpy little dresses to wear underneath it with these ridiculous heels. He wanted me to bake for him and…service him.” 

You pressed your face into Ari’s shoulder, remembering the experience and cringing over what you’d let that man talk you into. He was a major reason you appreciated Ari’s boundaries so much. You felt safer, like things couldn’t spiral out of your control, with the boundaries your sugar daddy had set in place.

After you’d answered his question, Ari stayed quiet, just holding you, his thumb stroking soothingly over the back of your neck. His big arms felt so steady around you that you couldn’t help but take comfort in them, and you went on, feeling safe enough to tell Ari the rest.

“He took all the joy out of baking,” you said in a small voice. “I stopped seeing him soon after, but he wasn’t happy about it.”

Ari exhaled a sharp breath and he squeezed you in his arms, holding you tight for a long moment before he eased up a little. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “I would love to try your baking, but only if you want—hell, you can come over today and use my kitchen and bake in one of my shirts if you want.”

A relieved laugh gusted out of you, and you were so glad Ari understood that it took you a moment to realize he’d invited you to his apartment. 

You’d never seen where he lived—and even though he paid for it, he’d never been inside your apartment either. Ari had always gotten hotel rooms, even for dates in in the city. 

You hadn’t thought much about it beyond appreciating the fact that Ari didn’t act entitled to be in your space because he paid for it. But now he was inviting you to his apartment, his space, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

Pulling back, you gave him a curious look. 

“Are you sure?”

Ari leveled you with a look of his own, and though his gaze was serious, there was a hint of amusement in the curve of his mouth. “Are you sure?” he countered, his voice going low and rumbly as he went on. “If you start baking in my kitchen wearing only my shirt, there’s a very good chance I’ll eat more of you than whatever you make.” He raised his eyebrows, as if to drive home the lewd insinuation of his statement. 

But despite his dirty warning—or perhaps because of it—you only warmed to the idea of baking in Ari’s apartment. It sounded fun in a way it hadn’t been with your past sugar daddy and you bounced on the balls of your feet as excitement flooded through you. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, daddy,” you sassed, shifting your arms to wind around Ari’s neck. You used your hold on him to keep your balance as you pushed up onto your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek. “I already know what I want to make.”

Ari chuckled, giving you a quick kiss before pulling out his phone and telling you to pull up the recipe so that he could forward it to his assistant to make sure his apartment had everything you’d need. You did as he asked and handed his phone back to him, watching for his reaction to the recipe you’d chosen.

To your delight, Ari groaned like he was being tortured, his thumb flicking over the screen as he scrolled through the recipe to look at all the pictures.

“You’re gonna make this?” he asked, before reading out the title, “An Apple crisp cheesecake?” He made another agonized sound before looking to you for confirmation.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, knowing he was excited despite the miserable noises he was making, and nodded eagerly to answer his question.

Ari shook his head with a disbelieving look on his face and tapped out a message on his phone before pocketing it again. Then he grabbed you around the waist and hauled you against him again.

“You’re trouble for my pants, honeycrisp,” he muttered, dropping a too-brief kiss to your lips. “First you make me hard enough I feel like I’m gonna pop my zipper.” He trailed kisses along your jaw and down your neck in between his words, his mouth and beard tickling your skin while you melted into his arms. “Next you’re gonna fill me up with apple crisp cheesecake until my button breaks.” 

You made a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan as you tipped your head to the side, giving him more access to nip and lick at your neck while you clung to his shoulders, your knees going weak from your sugar daddy’s attention. 

“You don’t need to eat that much cheesecake, Ari,” you wheezed in between bouts of laughter, giggling harder when he nipped playfully at your ear.

“If it’s as delicious as you, I don’t know how I’ll be able to stop myself,” he flirted, kissing the spot just beneath your ear that had you shivering in his arms. 

“Ari,” you said his name on a breathy exhale, and it was a good thing his lips captured yours in a searing kiss, because you didn’t have any hope of responding to his compliment. Instead, you showed him how much you appreciated it by kissing him back hard, your fingers tangling in his soft brown hair as you clung to your sugar daddy and made out in the apple orchard.

By the time Ari pulled away to let you get some air, you were breathless and happier than you’d been in a long time. To your own surprise, you felt good about opening up to Ari and telling him about your past bad experience. He’d made you feel heard and cared for, all while giving you reason to believe he’d never do anything like that to you. He made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t with any of your other sugar daddies. 

Because of all that, you were actually excited to finally see his apartment. It felt like an important step, the beginning of something new, perhaps something deeper, and though there was an undercurrent of anxiety in your belly, you were more excited than anything else. 

And if you weren’t mistaken, Ari looked excited, too. His eyes were looking at you with affection in their depths, and his mouth was curved into a genuine smile. 

As he grinned down at you, Ari let his hands slide down from your lower back to your ass, groping you through your dress before swatting the soft cheeks lightly. 

“Alright, honeycrisp, these apples won’t pick themselves,” he teased good-naturedly. “And I’ve got a craving for some apple crisp cheesecake now.” He waggled his eyebrows at you, making you laugh.

But you forced a serious expression onto your face and gave him a mocking salute. “Yes, sir,” you said in a deeper voice, trying to tamp down on the smile that wanted to break free.

You lost the battle when Ari gave a loud laugh, his head tipping back and the sun shining down on his golden face while he gave into your silliness. He recovered quickly, though, looking back down at you fondly as he rumbled, “That’s ‘yes, daddy’, to you, honeycrisp.” Then he slapped your ass a little harder to urge you to get a move on before he finally, reluctantly, pulled away and turned in the direction of the apple trees.

To ease some of the disappointment you both felt, Ari gave you a salacious wink that had your cheeks warming again. You couldn’t even blame the September sun on the heat in your face. Your sugar daddy was just so hot, it was hardly even fair.

To distract yourself from wanting to curl up in Ari’s arms and say to hell with apple picking, you snatched up the basket he’d dropped, arching your back and popping your ass to give him a peek at your pussy, then straightened and skipped to the nearest apple tree to start picking. 

When you chanced a glance over your shoulder, you saw Ari’s eyes were heated and staring at the way your skirt fluttered around your ass, his big hand palming his bulge in his pants. You wiggled your ass for him, turning back around to hide your laughter when his long-suffering groan met your ears. 

But you couldn’t keep your eyes off Ari and you turned your head to watch him out of the corner of your eye, catching him swiping a hand down over his face while he shook his head. Something about the gesture sent your heart pitter-pattering in your chest—which only got worse when Ari caught you looking and winked while he adjusted himself in his pants.

You felt giddy as you refocused on the tree in front of you, your breaths coming in soft little gasps as excitement and desire swirled in your core. It took you a long moment to gather your thoughts and remind yourself that you could not jump your sugar daddy in the middle of an apple orchard that was open to the public—no matter how much you desperately wanted to. 

With slightly shaking fingers, you began to pick apples, doing your best to pay attention to what you were doing and make sure you were selecting the best fruit you could find. If Ari was going to try your baking for the first time, you wanted your apple crisp cheesecake to be the best that it could possibly be. 

Ari came to stand beside you, and though you wanted him to put his hands on you, you were happy to see him dedicate himself to the task of picking apples, even reaching up to the branches that were too high for you. In turn, you showed Ari how to check for bruises and other unwanted things in the fruit before adding them to the basket at your feet.

Between the two of you picking apples, it wasn’t long before the basket was nearly overflowing, but you were having so much fun, you didn’t want it to end. So when Ari asked if you still needed more, you gave him a shy smile and said just a few. You didn’t want him to go get another basket—because, really, you didn’t need that many apples—but you didn’t want the apple picking part of your date to end just yet.

Your sugar daddy seemed to understand your desire to linger because he didn’t call you out on the fact that your basket could barely hold any more apples. Instead, he flashed you an indulgent grin and nodded, joining you under the apple tree where you’d been picking. 

But rather than moving beside you, as he’d stood while you’d worked together, he came up behind you so that his chest was brushing against your back. His hands settled lightly on your waist, loosely caging you in beneath the apple tree with your body facing the trunk. 

He ducked down so his scruffy, bearded cheek was pressed to yours and pointed to a cluster of apples just out of your reach. “Why don’t you grab one of those?” he suggested, the practiced innocence in his tone nearly making you snort with laughter. 

You knew Ari was playing a game, you could feel it in the mischievous tension crackling in the air, and you were almost certain it would lead to some sort of naughtiness in the orchard. But your body was wound tight, and you wanted to get up to a little mischief with your sugar daddy, so you decided to play along. 

“I can’t reach, daddy,” you simpered, proving your point by reaching your hand up to show that the apples were too high up, your fingertips only barely grazing the fruit. You used the movement to deliberately push your ass back into Ari’s lap and you had to smother a giggle when you felt the hard ridge of him in his pants.

“Let me help, honeycrisp,” Ari rumbled, and though you couldn’t see his grin, you knew it was there by the warmth in his voice. You bit your lip against your own wide smile.

Ari’s hand slid down your side, all the way to the back of your thigh, before he gently grabbed your leg behind your knee to lift it until your foot was planted on a low branch. Then he guided your hips deeper into his lap, where you could feel the long, stiff length of his cock wedging between your ass cheeks through your thin dress.

“C’mon, honeycrisp, reach a little bit more,” he urged, tilting your hips and bending his knees so that his hard bulge was pressed against your bare slit. Then he surged forward, lifting you just a little off the ground while he dragged the thick length of his cock against your weeping pussy. 

You fell helplessly against the trunk of the tree, the apples forgotten as a low moan slipped past your lips. Ari teased you with his clothed cock, and your spine arched to bare more of yourself to his hard bulge. Craning your neck to catch Ari’s eye over your shoulder, you gave him a desperate, pleading look. 

“Daddy, please,” you begged on a whine, pushing back into his lap and wiggling your ass side to side to try to entice him into giving you something more. You’d been teasing each other all day, and you were hitting a breaking point. You needed him to give you something.

Ari chuckled, burying his face in the side of your neck, his deep laughter rolling deliciously down your spine and settling between your thighs, until you were pulsing with desire. He curled around your body until he was surrounding you, your smaller form fitting perfectly within the cage of his arms. 

He reached above you and easily plucked the apple he’d directed you to pick from the spot you hadn’t been able to reach and presented it to you. At the same time, his other hand began to wander, groping your soft tits until you moaned prettily again for him. 

“Does it pass your inspection, darling?” he asked, urging you to focus on the apple he held in front of you. 

Truthfully, you didn’t care anymore about picking apples—you had plenty of them in the basket at your feet—but you did your best to look it over. You turned it over in your trembling fingers, checking for bruises and bugs. Finding it to be perfect, you nodded. 

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl,” Ari murmured, taking the apple from your hands and pulling away to set it on top of the pile in your basket. 

You had to bite back a whine at the loss of him, but he was back against you a moment later, his warmth surrounding you as his arms curled around your body. His hands slid up your sides and cupped your tits, kneading them in his big, strong hands until your head fell back against his shoulder and you let out a soft whimper of need.

“Now is that enough apples, honeycrisp?” he asked, a hint of teasing in his tone.

“Yuh huh,” you mumbled, nodding weakly as you arched your spine and pushed your chest into Ari’s hands. He rewarded you by pinching and plucking your nipples through the soft cotton of your dress, wringing a weak whine from your lips. “Plenty.” 

“Good,” Ari rumbled, pressing his face into the side of your neck, his mouth licking and nipping at your skin like you tasted as sweet as the fruit you’d been picking, his rough beard making you shiver in his hold. “Because if I had to see your pretty pussy winking at me from beneath your skirt one more time while you were bending over or reaching for some apples, it was going to drive me fucking wild.”

A low moan slipped free from your lips while one of Ari’s hands skimmed down your front, sliding under the hem  of your dress and cupping you between your thighs. His big hand covered your entire mound, which was sticky with your juices. 

He growled when he felt just how wet you were, the sound reverberating down your spine and making your pussy spasm, more wetness dripping from your slit and into his palm.

“Fuck,” Ari ground out through gritted teeth, his voice rough with his own barely leashed desire. “You’re soaking wet for me, honeycrisp—I gotta feel you,” he said, an urgency in his voice as he sank two fingers into your drenched hole, pulling another moan from you. His hips were grinding his bulge against your ass so hard, you could feel him throbbing. “Gotta feel this tight warm cunt on my cock, ‘m not gonna make it back to the car—need you now.”

“Ari,” you whispered harshly, trying to sound angry, but the two syllables of his name came out dipped in desire and you felt your sugar daddy shudder against your back, his fingers working harder inside your sopping cunt, his palm making soft slapping sounds every time he bottomed out. “We shouldn’t.” 

Despite your weak protest, you rolled your head to the side on Ari’s shoulder, peering through the branches of the tree toward where you’d left the crowds of other apple pickers. They were still so distant you couldn’t hear them over your soft, gasping breaths, but there was no telling when someone might stray from the others. They could stumble upon you at any moment. 

The only protection you had from wandering eyes were the branches of the apple tree. Thankfully, they were close enough and the leaves dense enough that you couldn’t see much beyond Ari’s big body, but if someone came close enough, they’d no doubt hear you or Ari, and then you’d be caught.

“We’re going to get arrested,” you scolded in a hushed tone before turning your head to bury your face in Ari’s beard and stifle the moan on the tip of your tongue. He hadn’t stopped fucking you with his fingers and your reluctance was ebbing from your body just as surely as your desire was leaking into his hand. 

Instead of responding to your statement with the seriousness you felt it deserved, Ari simply chuckled against your cheek and used his thumb to circle your clit, making your hips jerk into his hand, your body wordlessly begging him for more while you muffled a whine into the underside of his jaw. 

“We’ll be fine, honeycrisp,” Ari soothed in a placating tone that made you growl like a feral kitten into his throat, so he switched tactics, his voice going low and rough. “Don’t you wanna feel me, honey?” He asked, grinding his hard length into your soft ass until you mewled pathetically. “Don’t you wanna drip your sweet juices all over daddy’s cock like a good girl?” 

It was on the tip of your tongue to give in. You knew you shouldn’t. You knew there was a very real possibility that you could get caught, and it was only your fear of the potential consequences that held your words at bay. But Ari was well acquainted with the fear that held you back, and he knew exactly how to help you break through it. 

“Just the tip,” he murmured, his voice so warm you could hear the smile in it. “Just take the tip, and stay quiet, and we’ll be golden.” He nuzzled your face, his beard rasping over your soft skin and sending tingles of delight all through your body. 

You knew it was a ploy. You knew that Ari knew that you’d never be able to settle for just the tip of his cock—after all, you never had before. But it was easier to pretend you could settle for just the tip than to say yes to Ari fucking you in the middle of the apple orchard when there were people not too far away. It was the small step you needed to break free from your fear.

Lifting your head, you looked around. There was nothing to see except dense branches and leaves and endless apples. Ari’s body hid you entirely from sight, and you still couldn’t hear anyone else close by, so if you stayed quiet, you really could get away with a quickie in the orchard. 

A wicked smile spread across your face and you turned your head to catch Ari’s eye over your shoulder.

“Just the tip?” you asked, you voice laced with suggestion. You knew Ari was going to end up sinking much more of his cock into you, but you wanted to play along for a little bit. “Promise, daddy?” Your question was meant to sound innocent, but you couldn’t help the way the corners of your lips wavered in an eager grin.

Ari chuckled and kissed the corner of your mouth, because he knew exactly what you were doing. “I promise, darling…” he said, trailing off as he pulled his fingers from your pussy with an embarrassingly wet sound that made him grin. “Unless, of course, you beg me like a good girl.” 

“Hurry, daddy,” you cooed, wiggling your ass against Ari’s bulge, a teasing smile on your lips as you watched him over your shoulder. 

Ari’s eyes darkened and then he was using his clean hand to fumble with his belt and fly while he swatted your pussy playfully with his drenched fingers. You gasped and twitched, trying to stay quiet and failing miserably as desperate keening sound slipped from your mouth.

At your urging, Ari wasted no time, shoving his pants open and pulling out his cock, pushing your dress up over your ass and rubbing the tip through your drenched folds. Both of you groaned, Ari’s face falling forward against your shoulder while you grabbed onto the trunk of the tree in front of you, trying to stay upright while your knees trembled. 

Then Ari was pushing inside, the head of his cock sinking into the warmth of your pussy. The stretch of him was too delicious, and you moaned louder than was wise, but you couldn’t help yourself. He felt too good. 

“What’d I say about staying quiet?” Ari rumbled in your ear, right before he shoved his fingers in your mouth. The tart taste of your wetness mixed with apples burst on your tongue and you moaned again, licking wildly at his fingers to get as much of it as you could. “Mm, that’s it, clean up your mess, honeycrisp—show daddy what a good girl you can be.”

Ari’s other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady while he fucked you with just the tip of his cock, pushing into your tight hole and pulling free until the tease of it drove you wild. 

“Mm-oah, mm-oah,” you begged around Ari’s fingers, trying to push back on Ari’s stiff length and take more of him, but he held you still, forcing you to take only what he gave you. You bounced impatiently, the foot that was still lifted on one of the branches shaking it so furiously, the leaves rattled and a few apples dropped to the ground.

“Oh, did you want something, honey?” Ari asked, his tone filled with mocking innocence as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. You shot him a half-hearted glare over your shoulder, pouting. 

“I need more, daddy, please,” you begged, giving him your best desperate, pleading look while you pushed back against his hold, reveling in the way he didn’t let you move to take him further. “Please split me open with your thick cock, daddy—I need it.”

Ari blew out a sharp breath. “Fuck, I wanna tease you some more, but I can’t—need you too bad, honey,” Ari rasped, squeezing your hip while his other arm wrapped loosely around the front of your throat, so the bulge of his bicep was just beneath your chin. 

“Remember, stay quiet.” His hushed words were your only warning before Ari slammed into you, shoving every inch of his hard cock into your wet, needy cunt. 

A scream welled up inside your chest, your mouth dropping open as it clawed its way up your throat, but at the last second before it was set free, you managed to bury your face in Ari’s bicep. Your teeth sank into his warm, golden skin and you bit your sugar daddy while you screamed into his arm. 

His tortured groan was loud, but only because it poured directly into your ear, the sound dripping in pleasure as your inner walls squeezed his hard cock and made room for the thick length of him in the depths of your body.

Bliss consumed you, the stinging edge of Ari pushing inside you so fast and stretching you so suddenly making your body burn all the hotter. Already, your cunt was pulsing around Ari’s cock like you wanted him to stay buried inside you for a long time and you sighed happily, pulling your teeth from your sugar daddy’s arm. 

While Ari gave you a moment to adjust, his hand kneading the plush softness of your hip, you kissed and licked at the indents your teeth had left in his skin. He chuckled, brushing a kiss against your temple, an acceptance of your wordless apology. 

“Ready, honey?” Ari asked softly, nuzzling your cheek while he rolled his hips, grinding his cock into you in a way that had you moaning again. “This is gonna be hard and fast. I can’t—I gotta pound your pretty pussy,” he rumbled, his tone almost apologetic with the urgency in it. “Gotta feel you dripping around me, squeezing me, milking me.”

His hand shifted from your hip to slip between your thighs, his fingers finding your slippery clit and rubbing the puffy pearl. He grunted when you clenched around him, his fingers stroking you harder and winding your pleasure higher while he rolled his hips, fucking you in short, sharp thrusts.

“Fuck, honey, fuck,” he bit out, his breaths heavy in between every word. “Tell me you’re ready for me to move.”

“Please, yes, move,” you cried propping your chin on Ari’s bicep while your nails dug into the trunk of the tree in front of you. You used your grip to brace yourself and push back on Ari’s cock, taking him deeper with every thrust. “Need you, daddy, please, please, please,” you babbled, your voice coming out strained with the effort to keep it quiet.

“Fucking right you need me—just like I need you,” Ari growled, pulling his hips back and slamming forward, driving into you with so much force, you could hear the soft sound of your ass slapping against his thighs. “You have the sweetest, tightest pussy I’ve ever had—best fucking pussy in the world. I dream about it when I’m not with you,” he confessed, his words rough like he’d pulled them from the depths of his soul. “Dream about pumping you full of my come until your belly’s bulging with me, honey.”

Your mind reeled at Ari’s confession even as your body sank deeper into his hold. You were still trying to catch up on processing his words but your pussy was clenching around his cock greedily, as if begging for him to come inside you already. 

In that moment, a singular truth crystalized in your mind: You’d been deluding yourself into thinking you didn’t care for Ari—that he didn’t care for you. It was very clear that Ari did care about you, and you cared about him.

All those boundaries in your relationship, you realized you’d been the one creating them, not Ari. Ari had been patient, chipping away at the walls you’d built around yourself until he’d somehow found his way in. He’d dreamed about you, and you’d thought he was just another sugar daddy looking to have some fun. You’d been so wrong about him.

At the weight of your realization, you nearly collapsed against the tree, but managed to hold yourself up, sobbing with pleasure and emotion. Ari seemed to sense the shift in your mood and he slowed his movements, as if he was going to stop, but you shook your head, feeling feral with your need for him. 

“Please, daddy,” you cried softly, your voice hoarse with the flood of affection filling your heart. It was emphasized by the feeling of Ari inside you, surrounding you, your body cradled in his arms while he fuckd you like he wanted you to never forget the feel of him. “Fill me up, make me your perfect little cumslut, daddy, just keep me—keep me.” 

“Always,” he rasped, his lips at your temple. The promise in that single word buried deep in your heart, taking root. 

Something changed between you and Ari, and you knew he felt it too because he started fucking you faster than before, his hips snapping harder against your ass so he could push deep into your cunt with every thrust.

“Fuck, honey, ‘m almost there, are you close?” he rasped, his tone desperate. 

Your head bobbed in a nod. 

“Uh huh, ‘m close, just need a little more…” you trailed off in a whine, trying to push back on his cock and grind your clit against his stroking fingers at the same time.

Thankfully, Ari understood what you were begging for, and he rubbed you harder, his fingers relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure while he rutted into your cunt.

“C’mon, honey, come on daddy’s cock,” he rumbled in your ear, his voice deliciously deep to match his dirty words and push you closer to the edge. “Be a good little cumslut and milk my cock, make me fill your sweet pussy with all my come, honey.” 

You buried your face into Ari’s bicep again, your teeth sinking into his skin as you screamed your release. Wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through your body, until your limbs were trembling and your fingers were shaking against the outside of Ari’s arm, having forgotten when you’d let go of the tree to cling to him.

With a grunt, Ari’s cock twitched inside you, reacting to the sting of your bite and the merciless grasping of your inner walls around his hard length. His hips stuttered, then he started fucking into you wildly, his thrusts falling out of rhythm while he chased his own release. 

“Good girl, honey, so good, feel so fucking good milking daddy’s cock,” he muttered, cutting off on a deep groan while his cock throbbed inside you.

Ari spilled himself deep in your cunt and you moaned weakly, pulling back from his arm and licking his golden skin to sooth the indents your teeth had left behind. He tasted like salty skin and sweet apples and you hummed in pleasure as you rode out the remainder of your release with your bodies writhing together.

After a few long moments basking in the glorious afterglow of coming together, Ari took a deep breath and shifted his arm, chuckling lowly when you whimpered at the loss of his bicep to lick and kiss. He made it up to you by turning your head and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, pouring all the affection you finally knew he felt for you into the way his mouth moved against yours. 

When he pulled away, leaving you slightly breathless, Ari leveled you with a serious look. 

“You know you’re special to me, don’t you, honey?” he asked, using the new pet name that you knew was shortened from ‘honeycrisp’. 

You’d been too wrapped up in your own head to notice the way it rolled off his tongue—it was an endearment for someone Ari cared about, someone who was special to him, as he said.

Biting your kiss-swollen lower lip, feeling a little abashed that it had taken you so long to realize what Ari felt for you, you nodded. You could feel your cheeks warming, and tried to duck your head, but Ari only chuckled and caught your lips in another kiss, though it was briefer.

When he’d kissed away your anxiety, Ari set about extricating himself from you, pulling free from your body and helping you down from the tree. He quickly stuffed his softening cock back into his pants and then helped smooth your dress back over your hips before doing up his slacks. You turned to him, brushing his hair back from his face and warming at the way he was smiling down at you. 

Ari had an infectious grin on his face, and you couldn’t help but return it, your heart feeling warm and cozy in your chest. 

The two of you smiled goofily as you helped right each other’s appearances. Once you’d fixed yourselves as much as possible, Ari stooped down to pick up the basket of apples you’d picked, then grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together and planting a kiss on the back of your palm before heading off back to the farm stand.

As you walked past all the crowds of people, you were certain everyone knew what you and Ari had gotten up to in the orchard, but no one stopped or stared or said anything. They were all too focused on their own friends and families and the task of apple picking to notice you and Ari, or your big, silly smiles.

At the farm stand, Ari paid for the apples, then loaded them into his Lexus before helping you into the passenger seat. He dropped a kiss to your forehead, then rounded the front of the car and slid into his own seat.

You were quiet on the drive back to the city, your mind ruminating over the beginning of your relationship with Ari. When you thought back to your first few dates, you realized you’d been the one who was hesitant to answer any personal questions from your sugar daddy—and you’d never asked any of him. You’d also been the one to balk at the idea of either going back to his place or your apartment, leading him to get hotel rooms. 

Ari had been the one to respect your boundaries, even as he’d tried to get to know you better. He’d tried to ask you questions you felt comfortable answering—it was how he’d found out you liked apple picking, because you’d chosen it as a fall-themed date. He’d been so careful with you, it made your heart hurt a little that you’d kept him at arm’s length for so long.

Turning from the scenery of the foliage fading into the cityscape of New York, you ran your eyes over Ari’s profile. His expression was easy, relaxed and open, the hint of a smile on his face. You’d thought he just always looked like that, but you realized it was because he was with you. 

Reaching across the center console, you scooped up Ari’s hand and laced your fingers through his before settling your joined hands on your thigh. He glanced at you, shooting you a quick smile and squeezing your fingers, before turning back to the road.

By the time the car pulled into the underground parking garage of the high-rise on the Upper West Side where Ari lived, you were resolved to try to let your guard down a little more around him. Ari had shown you he could be trusted with your heart just as much as your body, and you were determined to show him you trusted him with all of you. 

Still, it was a little intimidating walking into his apartment for the first time, the anxiety that he was only bringing you there because he wanted something from you—something you didn’t want to give—was a knot in your stomach. But then you looked at Ari and you realized he’d never do that to you. He was bringing you to his home because he wanted to, not because he wanted something from you. 

Ari’s penthouse was warm and cozy, decorated in dark brown wood and warm golden tones, with hints of blue that reminded you of the ocean. You realized you knew Ari was a fan of the beach, because so many of the trips he’d taken you on had been close to the water. Walking into his home felt like walking into a reflection of his heart, and you didn’t take that for granted.

After setting down the apples on a table next to the door and stepping out of your shoes, Ari took you on a tour of his apartment, both the upstairs and the downstairs (because it was big enough to have two floors!). He showed you every room, including his bedroom and his study, tugging you into each by your joined hands when you seemed hesitant to enter his spaces.

Ari left the kitchen for last, but the two of you lingered in the living room, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park. Ari wrapped his arms around you from behind, swaying you lightly from side to side, almost like you were dancing. 

“You have a beautiful home, Ari,” you said, looking out over the city and appreciating the way the buildings and treetops were cast in the warm, yellow glow of afternoon sunshine. An errant thought crossed your mind, that you could get used to the view from Ari’s apartment. It was stunning.

“Thank you, honey,” Ari murmured, dropping a kiss to the base of your throat while his arms squeezed you tighter. He buried his face in your neck, so his words were a little muffled when he said, “I always hoped you’d like it enough to want to come over again and… again.”

You could hear in the pause of his words where he’d stopped himself from saying something different, and you wondered over it. But you knew yourself well enough not to ask. If just walking into his apartment felt like a big step, you knew asking him what he’d meant to say might spook you a bit too much, and you didn’t want that. So you just hummed in response.

Ari chuckled, like he somehow knew it was taking effort for you to be in his apartment, and he thought it was cute how difficult it was for you. His mouth trailed up your neck, effectively distracting you from your thoughts, before nipping at the edge of your jaw. 

“Want to see the kitchen now?” 

Nodding so eagerly, you nearly head-butted him, you turned in his hold and looked up at him with expectant eyes. Ari gave you an affectionate smile, then grabbed your hand and led the way to the kitchen.

He’d saved it for last, and when you stepped inside, you understood why. A gasp slipped from your lips as you took in the beautiful space. The color scheme of the apartment carried over to the kitchen, with dark brown cabinets and lighter wood countertops. There was a pop of blue in the backsplash, and all kinds of expensive gadgetry. 

You were so busy taking everything in, it took you a moment to spot the brand-new stand mixer sitting on the counter in a color that matched the rest of the room. Beside it were some of the ingredients you’d need for the apple crisp cheesecake you’d told Ari you wanted to make and you realized his assistant must’ve already come and gone. 

Walking over and running your fingers over the sleek mixer, tears welled up in your eyes. It took effort to blink them away, and you shook your head slightly at yourself. It seemed silly to be crying over a stand mixer, but it felt bigger than that, like it was a sign of Ari making room in his life for you. He wanted you there, he wanted to keep you, like you’d begged him to. 

“Everything ok, honey?” Ari asked, coming to stand behind you, but not touching you, giving you some space while you processed everything you’d realized that day.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice thick, no doubt giving away the emotion you were feeling. Before you could overthink it, you spun around and threw your arms around Ari’s shoulders, launching yourself at him for a tight hug. “You bought a mixer,” you stated, as if that was explanation enough. 

A soft laugh rumbled in Ari’s chest and he swept a hand down your spine, comforting you while a few tears leaked down your cheeks and into the collar of his denim shirt.

“Well, yeah,” he responded good-naturedly, a smile in his voice. “I did say I wanted you to want to come back, didn’t I?” 

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, laughing a little at his comment. Then you murmured, in a small voice, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Ari said, sounding genuine. 

For a long moment, you hugged him, and then you pulled away, swiping at your cheeks to clear away any tears or makeup. 

“Is the offer still open to bake while wearing only your shirt?” you asked, tipping your head back to smile shyly at Ari while your fingers played with the collar of his button-up.  

A grin spread across his face while shrugged out of the denim shirt. Then, to your surprise, he yanked his t-shirt off over his head, asking you which one you wanted. 

You took the denim one with fumbling fingers, your eyes raking over his bare chest while warmth bloomed deep in your core. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Ari shirtless, of course, but you never got tired of looking at the expanse of his golden skin, dusted with dark brown hair that you wanted to rake your nails through. 

Ari let you look for a moment, using your distraction to help you slip out of your dress. Then he eased your arms into the denim shirt and buttoned it up, his big hands pausing briefly to grope your soft body every few moments. 

There was a glimmer of deep satisfaction in his blue eyes when he stepped back to look at you in his shirt. 

“Mm, you look so pretty, honey,” he rasped, taking one last look before crowding you into the counter at your back. His gaze darkened as he stared down at you, his grin turning wolfish when he rumbled, “I think I need a snack before you start baking.”

That was your only warning. You shrieked with surprised laughter when Ari hauled you back into the living room and tossed you down on one of his leather couches. Your giggles cut off abruptly in a moan when Ari descended on you, burying his face between your thighs and feasting on you like he was starving.

Your fingers twisted in Ari’s brown hair while he ate your pussy, encouraging you to scream your pleasure in the comfort of his home while he made you come against his mouth. You shattered apart with a loud cry while he fucked you with his tongue, his mouth greedily devouring your release, and the come he’d buried inside you earlier, like he hadn’t eaten in days. 

When he finally pulled away, Ari’s beard was soaked in your juices and he grinned up your body while you lay limply on the couch, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. Chuckling at the sight of you sprawled out on his couch, Ari pressed wet kisses to the inside of your thighs, licking the traces of your release from your skin.

“Fuck, honey, I can’t get enough of you,” he rumbled, his big hands kneading your plush thighs and hips, proving his point since it seemed like he couldn’t stop touching you. The blatant need and desire in his voice sent a shiver racing down your spine.

“If you keep going, I won’t have the strength to bake,” you warned him in a breathless voice, managing to lift your head enough to give him a stern look. 

Ari laughed into your thigh, pressing one last kiss to your skin before he raised up and gave you a wink. “Can’t have that,” he quipped, grabbing your hands and helping you up off the couch. You stumbled a little, your legs weak from your orgasm, but Ari caught you easily, wrapping his arm around your waist while he led you into the kitchen. 

Once you were propped up against the counter near the stand mixer, Ari left to retrieve the apples from the entryway. When he returned, you noticed he carried a pair of slippers that matched the ones he’d put on. Without saying a word, he set them on the floor next to your bare feet and carried on to start washing the fruit in the sink. 

You stepped into the slippers, your heart warming when you realized they were a perfect fit. For a long moment, you stared at Ari’s bare shoulders and broad back, wondering how you’d ever kept such a thoughtful man at arm’s length. Well, you decided, once again, you wouldn’t be doing that anymore. 

Turning back to the stand mixer and the ingredients, you organized everything on the counter, going to the fridge to pull out everything else you’d need. 

To your surprise, you and Ari worked well together in the kitchen. Once he was done cleaning all the apples you’d picked, he asked what he could do next, and you put him to work peeling and coring the fruit while you worked on the other elements of the cheesecake. 

When it came time to bake, Ari took the pan from your hands and popped it into the oven while you set a timer. Tension crackled between the two of you after the oven had snapped closed, and you came together in a flurry of limbs. Ari guided you back into the living room while he kissed you, his hands making quick work of removing all your remaining clothes.

You rode Ari to another orgasm while the sweet treat baked, the golden glow of the New York City sunset keeping the apartment awash in warm hues that made you feel cozy—like you were home. 

Once you were both sated, you collapsed on top of Ari’s chest, burying your face in his neck and nuzzling into his beard. You inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne, vetiver and leather, with a little bit of cinnamon from baking, and melted against him. You wanted to breathe in nothing but that scent for the rest of your life—and you refused to let that thought scare you.

Ari pulled a flannel blanket off of the back of his couch and wrapped it around you both, your pussy keeping his cock warm while you cuddled together until the timer went off. 

You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched Ari take the baking pan out of the oven wearing only an oven mitt on his hand. You, meanwhile, stood off to the side with the flannel blanket wrapped around your shoulders. He’d told you the blanket was highly flammable and insisted you stay clear of the oven with a stern look that made your insides go all gooey.

The two of you made out in the kitchen and made dinner while the cheesecake cooled. All the while, you kept thinking how easy it was to be with Ari, how you could see what your life would be like together. And you liked how it looked. You liked kissing him whenever you wanted and asking him about what movies he liked and what was the last book he read.

After dinner, you ate a slice of cheesecake together, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Ari’s face, enjoying every little groan and expression of pleasure he made. It was erotic enough that you left the last bite for him, getting to your feet to walk around the table and straddle his lap. 

He fucked you to another, blisteringly hot orgasm, and laughed only a little when you fell against his chest with an exhausted, but satisfied, sigh. 

In a soft voice, Ari asked if you’d stay the night, and the hope in his tone made your heart warm enough that you ignored the brief flicker of anxiety the question prompted. You shushed the worry inside you and said yes. 

Together, you cleaned up the kitchen and then Ari led you upstairs to the bedroom, pausing every few minutes to kiss you, like he wanted to remind himself you were still there. 

He gave you some of his clothes to wear to bed and showed you where everything was in his bathroom. You couldn’t help but notice that he had all of your favorite products, and a spare toothbrush for you. You smiled as you got ready for bed and slipped under the covers with him.

“Did you have a good day, honey?” Ari asked, pulling you into his body and wrapping you up in his arms. You were wearing one of his t-shirts—a clean one—while he had on a pair of boxer briefs. You hummed happily when your legs tangled together, enjoying the feel of his warm skin and tickling hair against you. 

“Mm, I had the best day, Ari,” you murmured sleepily, the comfort and warmth of his bed making it easy to let your exhaustion creep in. “Kiss,” you said, turning your head and repeating the greeting Ari had given you when he’d picked you up.

Your sugar daddy chuckled, the sound rumbling down your spine and making your heart flutter with delight. Your eyes were already closed, but you could feel his smile when he pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips. 

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll still be here in the morning,” he promised, his words assuaging a fear you hadn’t realized you’d felt, and you sighed in contentment.

Everything had changed between you and Ari, and you couldn’t help but think it was for the better. You were still a little anxious about opening yourself up to someone, especially a sugar daddy, but Ari had shown you that you could trust him—really trust him, with all your heart—and you were determined to do just that.

“G’night, Ari,” you whispered into the pillow that smelled like him, a hint of a smile in the curve of your mouth as sleep claimed you. 

“Good night, honey,” Ari crooned in your ear, his voice gentle and soft and oh so affectionate. “My sweet, sweet honeycrisp.”

[aemondsbabe]

Stick it Out to the End

summary: michael is desperate to get into oxford's prestigious bullingdon club; unfortunately for him, they command him to do the impossible to gain admittance

pairing: michael gavey x bimbo!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, bimbo reader, mentions of hazing but nothing horrible/extreme, virgin!michael, breast/nipple play, praise kink, piv sex, protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), oral sex (f receiving), consensual filming, dirty talk, cursing, what i hope is saltburn-esque humor, mild size kink, mild angst but happy ending, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 12.7k

a/n: images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only & are not used to describe the reader! she's back and she's long as hell but what else is new!!! this is my first time writing bimbo!reader and while she wasn't super bimbo-y, it was fun getting my feet wet! hope y'all enjoy!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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Michael

Michael couldn’t help but feel his heart speed up in his chest as he wound through the quiet corridors clutching tightly to the cryptic note he’d found stuffed in his pigeonhole that morning – just a page torn out of a standard notebook covered hastily written red ink; wholly un-intimidating as far as cryptic notes were concerned. Really, he was surprised to see they didn’t put more effort in; with as secretive and imperious as this little club was, he had been expecting some sort of extravagant stationary, perhaps even some gold embossing. 

Coming to a stop in front of an unassuming janitor’s closet door, he narrows his eyes behind the gold frames of his glasses, staring at the door with a nearly accusatorial expression. Michael swivels his head once more, his brows furrowed as he checks and re-checks every door in the vicinity before turning back to the one he stands before. Scoffing, he unfolds the note with a little irritated sigh and quickly scans the page again, mouthing the words to himself for the millionth time that day. 

The riddle had been easy enough to figure out, some trivial little lines about dead men walking, the mob, finding God, and looking to one’s heart pointed right toward some hush hush basement beneath the Merton College Chapel. That, and it didn’t take a genius to see that each line consisted of a specific number of words, pointing him right to the very door he stood in front of now – 129. 

Fucking amateurs, he’d thought after cracking the code in under half an hour. But that was earlier. And now, as he stares at the stupid dull grey janitor’s closet door in front of him, Michael can’t stop the little tendrils of doubt from creeping into his periphery. He’s sure this is the right door and positive this is the right place and yet… janitor’s closet. He checks his watch, 11:50 PM on the dot, and glances up and down the dark, shadowy corridors once more, half expecting one of the twatty rich assholes to jump out and start snickering at him, making fun of him for thinking that a no one like him would’ve ever received an invite to a club like this. 

Shaking his head, he reaches for the doorknob anyway, he’s come this far so he may as well. He freezes a little when it actually turns and his blue eyes go wide when he pushes the door open, shivering a little as he’s met with a wall of cool, dank air – eau de basement, just as he’d expected. A little actually impressed sigh passes his lips when he pokes his head in, an apprehensive smile blooming on his lips as he takes in the eerie red lighting spilling up the stairwell from the God-knows-what downstairs. 

He winces as the door squeaks when he tugs it open but he doesn’t stop, emboldened now as he knows he had been right once again. He takes the stairs quickly, probably too quickly given that he hasn’t a fucking clue what or who could be down here, but before he can dwell on the idea too much, he’s faced with another corridor. This one, unlike the ones upstairs, is narrow and brick-lined and leads in only one direction, straight to another closed door at the other end. 

Michael squints against the bright red light coming from a spotlight that had been haphazardly set up on the stone floor and walks down the hallway, his steps speeding up as he hears the janitor’s door above him open and close once more. His breath hitches a little as he opens the second door and quickly steps inside, like ripping off a band-aid. 

He freezes once more when a strong hand latches onto his shoulder and quickly jerks him further into the room, making him yelp as he stumbles, trying to keep pace with whoever the hell is leading him. 

“What the –”

Before he has time to so much as blink, his back thuds against a brick wall and finally he looks up, the vicious scowl he’d prepared morphing into a look of disturbed confusion as he eyes a row of other students, about fifteen and all men from the looks of it, dawned with black –

Oh, Christ, are those ski masks? He thinks as he eyes them up and down, How fucking banal… at least it’s not hooded cloaks. He nearly rolls his eyes as he scans the rest of the room, taking in the dim lighting interspersed with blues and greens from more of those stupid party boy spotlights. Glancing to the side, he sees another boy in his year, some guy he only knew from a few classes and passing glances in the hallways, but even still he’s comforted to not be alone down here, no matter how cliché this whole affair seemed. 

His blue eyes snap forward as the door, the only door, to the room is opened once more and some other poor sap is hastily dragged across the room, only to be smacked on the wall to his left. Again, it’s just some other boy Michael knows from classes, though he doesn’t know why he expects any different – it’s not as if he knows many people outside of the forced proximity of a lecture hall. Which was really his only reason for putting up with this bother, for seeking it out in the first place; a quick flash of him placing a tightly folded up sticky note with his name and pigeonhole number in an old, beaten up copy of King Lear in the library played in his mind – the price he seemed to pay for loneliness. 

Distantly, the bells of the chapel began to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, and eventually twelve times – midnight. Time to start the show, Michael surmises. 

“Welcome, initiates,” one of the hooded men says in a tone that makes Michael glare judgmentally, his voice pitched down like some idiotic knock-off Darth Vader. He steps forward from the row they stand in and holds his arms out open at his sides, “Consider this your first foray into the Bullingdon Club.”

Again, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in a scoff. This was all just so… juvenile? He was beginning to sincerely doubt that this was the über clandestine club that granted its members all sorts of connections to various businesses, societies, and insider information that even the richest of the rich couldn’t buy. 

Unfortunately, his face seemed to betray more of his emotions than he intended and the masked boy steps forward once more, his dark eyes zeroing in on Michael. 

“You,” he says gruffly, pointing a finger in his direction, “Something you wanna say, initiate?”

Out of habit, he pushed his glasses up on his nose before he spoke, perhaps foolishly bold given the situation. 

“Doesn’t this all seem a bit much for three people?” He scoffs, shaking his head slightly, “I mean, masks, really?”

The hooded boy stops for a second and studies Michael closely, one hand on his hip, “What’s wrong with the masks?”

“Well, what’s the point? There’s, what, fifteen or sixteen of you? And three of us?” He asks, glancing around the room, which he now realized very clearly used to be some run-of-the-mill storage room, probably forgotten about by now.

The boy laughs sarcastically and shrugs his shoulders a bit, his voice back to its natural pitch, “It wouldn’t really be a secret thing if we just invited half the student body, mate.”

Michael supposes his reasoning is sound and says as much with a little hum and nod of his head, eyebrows raising dismissively. 

“Anything else?” The masked boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The masks don’t really disguise you lot that well,” he observes, pointing at one of the other boys standing in the row, “That’s Harry from Multivariable Calculus.”

“Shit…” Harry mutters under his breath, the sound carrying through the concrete room. A few of the other boys in the row lean over and place comforting hands on his shoulders and murmur words of encouragement, much to Michael’s dismay.

“Why’re you here, initiate?” The lead boy asks, turning back to Michael.

“Dunno,” he shrugs again, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Friends, I guess.”

A couple of the boys in the row make little noises, mutters of empathy that make the blond’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he glances up and down the line. 

“And this was your first thought? A secret society?” Harry from Multivariable Calculus asks with a little laugh, “Not like… chess or something?” 

“Don’t really like chess…” Michael says with a little shrug. Apparently a good enough answer for Harry, who makes a little noise of understanding and nods his head. 

After another moment, the lead boy clears his throat, which shuts up the rest. “Anyway,” he says, his voice falsely low once more. “Each of you will be given a task…,” his dark eyes glance between Michael and the other two boys as he paces in front of them, “Perfectly customized to challenge you, to push you to your absolute limits.” 

The masked boy pauses his little speech and gestures back to three of the other boys standing in the row behind him who then step forward and walk over to the dank brick wall that Michael and the other two boys stand against. He studies the boy that walks towards him carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion when he notices how much shorter he appears to be.

Finally, the boy comes to stand before him and presents a plain white envelope, though Michael’s lips spread into a hateful smirk when he sees an all too familiar pair of old, beat up trainers on the boy’s feet. 

“Oliver?!” He hisses meanly, shock lacing his voice as he jerks back the hand he had reached out for the envelope, wincing as his elbow collides with the cool wall behind him. He glances around the room, noting the few pairs of eyes that were on him, before fixing his gaze on the boy before him once more with a harsh glare, “You’re in Bullingdon?”

The boy in front of him hesitates for a second, cutting a sideways glance toward a taller boy that was busy presenting an envelope to the boy to Michael’s left, before he sighs and looks back at him, blue eyes peeking out of the holes in his ski mask. “Yeah,” he huffs, shrugging his shoulders defensively, “How’d you know it was me, then?”

“You look like a goddamn twelve year old!” Michael jeers, his voice low and vicious as his hands curl into fists at his sides, “How’d you manage to get into this club anyway?” He questions, seething, “They only let you in if you have the money or the marks and I know for a fucking fact you don’t have either.”

Oliver sighs again and rolls his eyes, which makes him see red and grit his teeth, although he doesn’t miss how the shorter boy’s eyes cut to the side again quickly. He opens his mouth, but before he can get a word in edgewise, the blond cuts him off with a little mocking laugh.

“Don’t tell me that’s fucking Catton,” Michael groans lowly with a shake of his head, breathing heavily as he feels the same sense of anger and betrayal he’d felt all those months ago well up in him once more, transporting him right back to the stupid damn pub, “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me, is this shite little club only full of cunts?”

��Look, I’m –” 

Oliver starts to speak again, only to be cut off when the head boy traipses over to where they are, coming to stand ominously behind him with his arms clasped behind his back. His dark eyes dart between the two boys before he speaks.

“Problem over here, lads?”

“No,” Oliver answers quickly, staring warily up at Michael as he practically shoves the envelope into his arms, “Just complete the task, initiate. You have thirty-six hours.” 

Before Michael can blink, Oliver turns his back and stalks back over to the other boys, taking his place in the row once more. The head boy looks Michael up and down appraisingly before nodding to the letter in his hands with a sly smirk.

“I can’t wait to see how you fare with that one, Gavey,” he says, his voice low and threatening, as if he’s in on the most delicious joke, “Remember, thirty-six hours, initiate.” He chuckles softly and departs, returning to stand in the center of the room. 

Everyone stands still for a moment, Michael and the other two boys to his left and right holding their respective envelopes nervously, unsure if they were supposed to open them now or not. Thankfully, the head boy clears his throat, commanding all eyes to him once again.

“Initiates,” he says slowly, his voice no doubt already hoarse from this little farce, “Failure to complete your tasks will result in a permanent ban from Bullingdon; no second chances. We expect results as well as proof of those results,” his dark eyes scan over the three boys once more, one corner of his mouth turned up into a mean smirk, “We’ll be seeing you back in this location Sunday at noon. Your thirty-six hours begin now… have fun.” He finishes with a taunting laugh before turning and exiting from the room, the old door creaking as he pulls it open before disappearing into the faint red glow of the hallway, followed by the rest of the fifteen boys in an orderly line.

As soon as the old door closes, the sound of paper tearing echoes around the dimly lit basement as Michael and the other two boys hastily tear open their envelopes. Pulling out a little slip of paper, his eyes go wide as a wave of dread washes over him. His eyes scan over the paper again and again as he nervously shoves his glasses back up his nose once more, silently willing the chicken-scratch words on the paper to somehow change, to give him some other command. 

His heart is pumping so loudly in his ears that he misses it when one of the other boys tries getting his attention, his head snapping up suddenly as a hand waves in front of it.

“Oi!”

“W-What?” 

“What did they give you?” The boy asks, nodding at the scrap of paper in Michael’s hand.

He clears his throat and tries his best to come off as casual, though he hardly cares with the way thoughts begin racing through his mind. “Oh, um,” he starts, glancing down to read over the paper once more, “I just uh, have to sleep with someone is all.”

The other two boys gape at him for a moment before groaning frustratedly. The one that had first spoken to him holds his paper out and smacks it disdainfully with the back of his hand.

“What the hell?” He asks gruffly, glancing between his paper and Michael, “Why’s yours so bloody easy?”

“For real,” sighs the second boy, rubbing the back of his head, “Ours are damn near impossible. They must already be decided on you to go so soft. How am I meant to steal the fucking Selden Map from Bodleian?” He laments, brows furrowed as he stares down at the paper in his hands.

“Yeah, and I have to transfer ten thousand pounds out of the chancellor’s bank account and into mine!” The first boy sighs, shaking his head, “At least your mum’s head of conservatorship here, you can at least get within a stone’s throw of the map. I have to commit fucking wire fraud!” 

The two boys grumble for another moment as Michael silently descends into a tailspin, his blue eyes unfocused as he stares at one of the dingy brick walls of the basement, trying desperately to formulate a plan, any plan. He merely glances up as the other to head for the door, spitballing ideas for each of their tasks.

“Isn’t your dad the president of Julius Baer? Can’t you just get him to pull strings?”

“Oh, yeah, fantastic idea! I’ll just ring him and ask the old man to commit a felony! What could possibly go wrong there?”

Michael tries to tune out their bickering as the three of them ascend the staircase and trail out into the hallway of Merton College Chapel once more; the two other boys don’t pay him any mind as they continue whispering amongst themselves, their voices trailing quietly down the hallway as he leans with his back against the cool metal of the janitor’s closet door. 

Sighing, he reads over the directive again, his blue eyes catching on the sharply scrawled letters of a very familiar name, one that makes his cheeks flush and his heart race. He swallows nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

How could they know to do this? He wonders sheepishly. It’s not like he’d mentioned her to anyone; hell, he’d never even said so much as three words to her! No, his pathetic little crush was entirely in his mind. 

Too much of a coward to even say hi, he bemoans, trying to stave off the sense of shame he felt as he considered how many times he’d finished with her name on his lips, her pretty face and soft curves and sweet smell and little girly outfits whirling around his head since he’d spotted her on the first fucking day; he’d pined ever since and she didn’t even know he existed! How could she?

This is fucking impossible, he thinks miserably, wishing that he had any other task. He’d rather steal the Queen’s own goddamn family jewels than this. He glances at his watch once more and groans when he sees it’s almost already two in the morning; pushing himself up off the door, he hangs his head as he scurries back to his dorm room, thoughts spiraling as he plots. 

You

A laugh bubbles up past your lips as you sway your hips, your whole body vibrating as “Umbrella” blasts through the speakers while you dance with your friends, partying to celebrate the end of term. 

“You can run into my arms, it’s okay, don't be alarmed!” You sing happily, yours and your friends voices mingling together with another peal of laughter; you take another sip of your drink as you move along with the beat of the song, savoring the fizzy strawberry daiquiri as you begin to feel a bit warm from the little rush of alcohol, already on your third drink of the night. 

You smile proudly as you spot Felix in the crowd, his hazel eyes already fixed on you, or well, fixated on your chest. His attention makes you preen and you bite your lower lip, the sickly sweet taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth as you purposefully bounce up and down on the balls of your feet. 

The thin straps of your pastel pink dress hold on for dear life as your chest heaves enticingly, and you giggle when you see those hazel eyes widen just a bit, no doubt tracing over the glittering chain of your necklace, following down to where it settles, a little sparkly pink diamond nestling temptingly at your cleavage. You teasingly wink, blushing a little when you get a wink back, and go back to dancing with your friends, knowing from experience that Felix preferred to approach rather than be approached. 

You dance with your friends for a few more moments, grinding up against any warm body you can find as a raunchier song begins pumping through the speakers, before you feel eyes on you yet again. Smiling at the attention, you glance around again, the low, colorful lighting of the pub making it hard to tell exactly which direction your admirer’s coming from. 

Your eyes flit over a few familiar faces, you can’t help but sigh in relief when you notice that Oliver’s eyes are thankfully planted firmly on someone that is not you, though a confused little crease forms between your brows when you realize that Felix’s aren’t either. Turning your head, you sway along to the music still as you look around quickly, your feet beginning to ache finally from the precious little satin Chanel heels buckled around your ankles. 

Your eyes finally lock onto an unexpected gaze, a fresh wash of pink coloring your cheeks as blue eyes glance shyly away from you. A little giggle titters past your lips as you lean over to one of your friends, patting her shoulder to get her attention.

“You know who that blond guy is? With the glasses?” You call over the music, nodding over in your admirer’s direction as he stands awkwardly back against the wall by the entrance, clutching a still-foamy pint. 

She glances over before turning back to you with a little shrug. “Michael something, I think!” She says, her breath warm as she leans in closer so you can hear her, “I thought Oliver knew him!”

Your eyes immediately find the brunette, predictably following Felix around like a lost little puppy, before you look back over at Michael. You can’t help but feel a bit bad when you see him quickly look away from your direction again before staring intently into his pint glass, one hand shoved in the pocket of his khaki pants. 

“I’m gonna take a breather for a second!” You yell over the loud music, leaning in close and cupping a hand over her ear. 

“Aw, babe, come on!” She pouts playfully, tilting her head at you, “Stay longer!”

You shake your head with another little laugh and gesture at your feet, “These are sooo cute but they’re killing me!” You laugh, finishing off the last sip of your drink, “I’ll be over by the notice board!” You tell her, blowing a kiss as you walk away from the dance floor of the small, cramped pub. 

Finally, you reach the little area by the front door and lean back against the wall, taking in a much-needed deep breath as you pull your little tube of lip gloss out of your bra and carefully reapply some more, smirking when you glance over out of the corner of your eye and see a certain blond boy already shyly eyeing you. 

Rubbing your lips together with a little pouty pop, you tuck your gloss back in your bra once more before slowly approaching Michael, prettily manicured hands clasped behind your back to help shamelessly push your chest out more. His wide eyed stare makes you giggle and blush as you study him, eyes flitting appreciatively up and down his lithe frame; so much potential hidden away under a little button down and khakis. 

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you tease, smirking when he blushes and all but chokes on his beer, coughing for a few seconds before finally speaking.

“I… Me?” He asks awkwardly, glancing around for seemingly anyone else you could be talking to.

Lucky for him, you find his awkwardness endearing. Truthfully, you had for months, never missing the way his eyes always happened upon you in a crowd. There was something impressive about the boy, something that had made your mind drift to him on more than one occasion, even if you were already under someone else. 

“Of course you, silly,” you laugh softly, leaning against the wall next to him and tilting your head curiously, “You’re Michael, right?”

His eyes go wide again and nods wordlessly before finding his voice. “Yeah, Michael,” he says with a reserved little smile, “Gavey! Michael Gavey…” He adds awkwardly, cheeks flushing even more when you giggle, seemingly charmed by his inability to string two words together. He nods as you introduce yourself.

“I know,” he says before blinking, eyes going wide behind his gold framed glasses as he awkwardly glances away, “I just… I mean I’ve heard your name before, that’s all.”

“That’s all, huh?” You echo with a flirty little giggle, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you let the moment linger, just wanting to push him a little. “What’re you reading?” You ask curiously, cocking your head to the side a little.

“Maths,” he nods quickly before looking down into his pint glass once more as if fizzling beer is the most interesting thing in the world, “I don’t really like it all that much, though… I mostly only picked it because I’m good at it.”

“Ooh,” you coo softly, nodding along with his words as you watch him carefully, “You must be wicked smart, I can’t do maths to save my life.” You comment with a little giggle, biting your lip when he seems to perk up at that comment and looks up at you with a little grin. 

“I can do it in my head,” he says lowly, an unexpectedly cocky edge to his voice that has your heart picking up in your chest, “Ask me a sum,” he says, a challenging glimmer in his eyes. 

You hum softly, biting your lip as you think for a second, “Uhm, seventy-two plus a hundred and thirteen?”

“One eighty-five,” he chuckles after no more than a second before scoffing a little, “Come on, give me one that’s hard, love.”

Love? The little pet name makes you raise an eyebrow before you laugh softly. “What do you mean a hard one?” You giggle, shaking your head, “That one was hard!”

“That was hard for you?” He teases, making your cheeks tingle as a pink flush settles over your skin, “What’re you reading, then?”

“Art history!” You chirp proudly, chuckling nervously when you see him roll his eyes a bit, “What? Something wrong with that?”

He shakes his head dismissively, quickly polishing off the last of his pint before setting the empty class on a table and turning back to you, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin, “Ask me another one, then. Biggest numbers you can think of.”

You don’t know why, but something about his little challenge has you blushing again, like he’s testing you somehow. But still, you take a moment to think of some numbers, biting your lip and quirking your eyes up toward the ceiling. 

“Six hundred thirty-two times… eight hundred ninety-one,” you hum, cocking your head to the side as you watch him closely. His eyes seem to glaze over, only for a second, before once again he’s spouting off numbers like a calculator. 

“Five hundred sixty-three thousand, one hundred and twelve.” 

Your eyebrows raise at that as you gawk at him. “Wow…,” you breathe after a moment, blinking as you stare up at him, “You’re, like, super smart, then?”

“Suppose so,” he says, smiling shyly again as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his khaki pants.

You study him for a moment as the conversation lulls, finding something endlessly fascinating about the boy; the way he could swing from being so cocky and self assured to shy and awkward makes your stomach do summersaults. Turning your head, you spot your group of friends still dancing and you look back at Michael with a little sigh as another upbeat song blasts loudly through the pub. 

“D’you wanna get out of here?” You ask, smirking when he looks up at you shyly.

“W-What?”

“My dorm’s only, like, a minute from here,” you flirt, sweet and enticing as you make him blush somehow more, “We could go somewhere more… quiet?”

He stares at you for a moment, shocked that you’re asking him of all people to come back to yours before he nods and nervously runs a hand through his wheat colored hair, unsuccessfully trying to act casual. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Yay!” You giggle happily, flirtatiously grabbing one of his hands as you saunter past him, heading for the exit, “C’mon, it’s like a five minute walk!” He nods wordlessly and you can’t help but smirk as he follows you like a lost little puppy. 

True to your word, it’s only a few minutes later when you and Michael reach your dorm room, after you’d stopped for a minute at the entrance to your hall to chat with Farleigh, who seemed very interested in the nerdy boy following at your heels. You just couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face as you and Michael left him standing at the doors, mouth open and a wicked little gleam in his eyes; no doubt, he’d immediately scurried off to the King’s Arms. 

The door to your room opens with a tiny squeak, blasted old building, and you all but prance inside, turning back to the blond boy still lingering in the doorway with a smile. 

“Am I going to have to invite you in like a vampire?” You joke with a little laugh as you bend down to quickly undo the buckles of your heels, letting out a relieved sigh when you finally step out of them, leaving you in frilly white ankle socks.  

Michael finally steps into your room with a huffed laugh and quickly kicks off his shoes, you smirk when you see his Star Wars themed socks. “‘M no vampire, love,” he quips, gold framed eyes darting around your room as he looks over every detail. You grin at the little blush on his cheeks and perch on the edge of your bed to watch him, head tilted ever so slightly. 

“It’s, uh, it’s cute in here,” he observes, his voice a low hum as he takes in your frilly, lacy curtains, plush white rug, and equally girlish floral bedding, all encased in the faint pink glow of the heart-shaped fairy lights strung up around the room, “Just like how I imagined…” He breathes, so lowly you doubt he meant to say that bit aloud. 

“Like you imagined?” You echo with a little giggle, quickly reapplying your lip gloss before setting the little tube on the corner of your desk. 

“I just… I – It’s just very… you, is all I meant,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair awkwardly, the apples of his cheeks flushed a dark pink. 

His awkwardness is so endearing, you can’t help but grin. The more time you spend with him, the more interesting he seems to become; this bumbling, nervous boy is so different from the one you’ve seen on campus so many times. On campus, he’s comfortable, quiet still, but with a definite air of confidence – clearly in his element as he prowls through bookshelves in the library or explains some complex math formula in the quad. 

“So, you think about me often, then?” Your voice stays sweet, innocent almost, though you can’t help but tease him; he’s so pretty when he blushes. 

“No!” He answers quickly, whipping his head toward you from where he’d been studying the various pictures tacked up on the walls, everything from boy band posters to stills from Clueless and Legally Blonde. “I mean, yes, sometimes, I…,” he fumbles again and pushes his glasses up his sharp nose, “I think about you a normal amount.” He says finally, glancing at you quickly before looking away. 

You hum softly and stand before walking toward him with a kind smile, though you don’t miss the way he keeps glancing down at your cleavage, or the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows nervously. 

“A normal amount?” 

“Mhm,” he nods, gaze unsure as you come to stand in front of him, teeth biting into your plush lower lip as you twirl a piece of hair through your fingers, “As much as I think of anyone else.”

“So…,” you breathe, drawing out the word as you reach up and fiddle with the collar of his button down shirt, the turquoise gingham a bright blue blip among all the blush tones of your room, “Every time I’ve caught you looking at my tits in the library or in the quad or in the hallways… that was just a normal amount?”

You giggle as his eyes go wide, his lips opening and closing like a fish out of water. Deciding to take mercy on him, you run a finger down his chest, playfully fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Relax, I’m not mad,” you shake your head, smiling when the tension in his shoulders visibly eases, “Why wouldn’t I want a cutie like you staring?”

His lips part at that as he sucks in a little breath, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. “You think I’m… cute?” He asks breathlessly, heart pounding under your fingertip. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip once more as you nod, cocking your head to the side just slightly as you peer up at him. “‘Course I do, honey, what’s not to like?”

Again, he gawks at you, blinking in shock and swallowing nervously.

“I –” 

“I do have one question though…,” you tease, pouting a bit as you slowly and carefully undo the very top button on his shirt, relishing the way his breath hitches in his throat. 

“Y-Yeah?” His voice breaks, making you giggle while he blushes somehow deeper.

“Mhm,” you nod, undoing the second button and pausing when you find a splash of hair across his chest, the same shiny wheat color as the hair on his head, causing a familiar knot to begin twisting itself up in your belly, “Why were you at the end of term party?”

He blinks for a second, evidently taken off guard. “I… W-Was it invite only?”

His question nearly makes you snort and you shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching as you try not to laugh. “No, sweetie,” you peer up at him through your lashes as you rest your hand against his bare chest, smirking ever so slightly when he shivers, “I just meant, I haven’t seen you at parties before… doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.” 

“I, well,” he stammers, the bottoms of his glasses fogging up from the heat radiating off his cheeks, “I just –”

“It’s for that club, yeah?” You ask finally, giggling at the shocked expression on his face.

“How do –”

“You lot are not nearly as sneaky as you think,” you laugh cheekily, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet, “Plus, I heard Felix and Oliver whispering about something to do with tasks a few weeks ago… and boys are very bad at keeping secrets once you get their cocks out.” You add with a little giggle, taking Michael’s hand once more and dragging him over to your plush bed. You sit him on the edge before all but climbing in his lap, smiling cheekily as you straddle his thighs, your knees digging into your soft bedding.

“So,” you start, holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself and smiling a little when he finally touches you, lightly resting his hands on your hips, “What’s your task, hm? I heard they made them, like, particularly brutal this year.”

“I don’t think I should say,” Michael murmurs with a little shake of his head, making you pout.

“Oh, come on!” You bounce on his lap a little, not missing the way his eyes seem to be drawn to your breasts like magnets, “I want to help! Is it something at the King’s Arms?”

“N-No, I really don’t think –”

“I know they keep the important rugby trophies there,” you think aloud, still playing dumb, just wanting him to say it, “Is that it? D’you have to steal one? One of the boys that works there owes me, I could get him to let you in after hours…” You prattle on, speaking faster and faster as Michael shakes his head beneath you.

Finally, he seems to reach a breaking point and his grip on your hips tightens. “I have to fuck you!” He blurts out before sighing.

“Oh, really?”

“I… I have to fuck you –”

“Mhm?”

“And prove I did somehow.”

“How interesting!”

He narrows his eyes at that and peers up at you suspiciously, studying you carefully. You can’t help but giggle, loving the way you feel when his eyes are on you, and you smirk when he finally blinks in realization.

“You… you knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

A sly smile spreads across your lips as you nod, squirming excitedly on his lap. “Like I said,” you chuckle with a little shrug, “Not. Sneaky!” You tease, punctuating each word with a little boop to the tip of his nose, unable to resist. 

He stays silent for a moment, gazing up at you with a strange mixture of awe and unease before he finally speaks through a deep sigh. “So, I suppose this is the part where you tell me to leave?”

Well, that comment throws you off. You cock your head to the side, confused, as your eyebrows furrow together. “Why would I ask you to leave?”

He sighs again and grits his teeth, looking dejectedly at the floor. “Come on, love,” he mutters, looking anywhere but you, “I-It’s not like you’d ever want to –”

“Ever want to what?” You ask with a frown, gently grabbing at his chin and tilting his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze, “You think I don’t wanna fuck you, honey?”

“Well, I –”

“Michael,” you say pointedly, raising your brows as you smirk slightly, staring deeply into his blue eyes, “I’m the one that came onto you, yeah?”

“I… I suppose.”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding your head as you run your fingers through his short hair, not missing the little sigh that leaves his lips when you push yourself closer to him, your chest pressing tightly against his, “And while I’m not thrilled at our first time being for some stupid little task –”

“It’s,” he cuts you off shyly, shaking his head ever so slightly, “It’s – I’ve never…” He stammers, nervously gripping at your waist once more. 

You can’t help but smile softly, so charmed by him over and over. You nod your head knowingly, raising your brows just a bit. “I know, honey,” you whisper reassuringly, “We don’t have to, I’ll let you take a pair of my panties or whatever else, but we don’t need to do anything.”

He sighs up at you again, so taken with you he feels like he could scream, and shakes his head more, grabbing at your hips tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “N-No, I… I want to,” he nods, swallowing anxiously, “I do, I just… don’t really know what I’m doing.”

You nod again, listening carefully as he speaks. “So, is it all new or…?”

He shakes his head and smiles a little, shyly, though the sight of it still makes that knot in your belly tighten further, making you blush on his lap while butterflies swirl around inside you. “I’ve kissed before,” he says lowly, chuckling awkwardly as he seems to get bolder, causing you to shudder when he lightly rubs his hands over your waist and hips, “And done… hand stuff.”

You giggle at his boyish explanation and bite your lip when you smile at him, wiggling in his lap as a heat begins to settle at the apex of your thighs. “Can I kiss you, honey?” 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat again, making you want so badly to press soft, glossy kisses to it, but you resist, determined to make this good for him. 

“Yeah,” he nods eagerly, blue eyes fixated on your lips.

You smile softly before leaning in and finally pressing your lips against his, both of you sighing at once. One of his hands stays at your hip while the other comes to rest in the small of your back, pressing you more tightly to him as your lips move together, his motions surprisingly fluid and practiced. 

You make a small noise in the back of your throat when you feel his tongue licking at your bottom lip, and eagerly allow him access with a little sigh. Your fingers busy themselves with unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, making him shudder beneath you when you skim your hands over his bare chest and stomach as his tongue flows with your own, the bitter, coffee-ish flavor of the pint he’d had earlier still on his tongue.

Impatient, you pull back long enough to look at him for reassurance, smiling when you earn a little nod. You kiss him once more before tugging his shirt off, flushing when he groans lowly as you trail kisses down over his jaw and neck before swiping your tongue greedily over his Adam’s apple, making his breath hitch. 

“F-Fuck,” he sighs brokenly, bolding tracing over your thigh until his fingers are tucked up under the silky, baby pink material of your dress. His touches make you shiver as goosebumps bloom over your skin, making you whine against the pale column of his throat, “Can I?” He breathes, fingers toying with a strap of your dress while the others slowly inched the bottom of it up higher and higher. 

“God, please,” you mewl, nodding against his throat, your head on his shoulder. He shudders at the feel of your breath on his neck and nods once before tugging at the bottom of your dress. You sit up to help him, whining when you feel his hard length pressing against your thin, lacy underwear, “You don’t need to ask, Michael. Want you to take me however you want.” You whisper as he tugs your dress over your head, blue eyes meeting yours for a second as he nods before they skim lower, widening as he takes you in on his lap wearing only a bra and panties. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, making you giggle shyly as you lean in and softly kiss over his cheeks, “You have…you’re – you’re perfect,” he sighs, brazenly cupping your breasts, skimming his thumbs over your nipples through the thin pink fabric of your bra and smiling proudly when he feels them harden at his touch, “You’re perfect, but these are… holy shit.” He repeats, his voice breathy and mesmerized as he takes in your chest for another moment while you softly card your fingers through his golden hair. 

You gasp through a little giggle when you feel his length twitch, even through his trousers, and wiggle on his lap, blushing when the movement earns you a broken groan. “Yeah?” You whisper cheekily, watching as he marvels at your chest for a second longer before quickly unclasping your bra and shrugging out of it, tossing it down onto the floor with his shirt and your dress, “What about now?” You tease, proudly arching your back as you bite your lip.

He groans again, louder than he has all evening, and instantly ducks his head down. The feel of his soft lips wrapping eagerly around one of your nipples makes you cry out, gasping sharply as he sucks at the sensitive bud before he runs his tongue over it. You cradle the back of his head in your hands, fingers lightly pulling at the short strands of hair, as he switches from one breast to the other, kneading whichever one is free with his hand. 

Needing something, anything, you finally pull him off of your chest after a few moments, laughing when he all but whines, and smiling even more when you take in his disheveled appearance – blond hair sticking up at odd angles from where you’d run your fingers through it, cheeks flushed as his glasses sit crooked on his nose, and his blue eyes staring up at you hungrily. 

You shift back on his thighs just enough to snake a hand between the two of you and he gasps when you cup the bulge pressing against the zipper of his khakis. “You want me to suck your cock?” You ask cheekily, lightly squeezing at his length. 

He surprises you by shaking his head no,gulping slightly with an awkward laugh before answering. “I do, I really fucking do, love,” he breathes, kneading at your breasts as he stares up at you sheepishly, “B-But I really want to last and if you… if you suck it, I –”

“Okay, okay,” you stop him with a kiss, “We’ll table it for next time.” 

“N-Next time?” He questions, fighting to keep his eyes open as you press kisses against his neck once more. You nod against his shoulder and press kisses up to just beneath his ear. 

“I’m not letting you go that easy, honey,” you whisper, chuckling when he shivers. You spend another moment softly kissing and biting at his neck before speaking again, “Have you ever eaten anyone out?” You question, pulling back to look at him.

He shakes his head, his eyes flicking between both of yours as he looks up at you. “No.” He answers simply, his voice hardly a whisper. 

You can’t help but smirk coyly and cock your head to the side, running a finger through the little patch of hair on his chest just to see him shudder. “You wanna try it?”

He nods eagerly and surprises you once again by quickly swinging you around, maneuvering you until your head rests on the pillows of your bed. You squeal at the movement, laughing with him as he settles over you, his narrow hips slotting easily between your thighs as you silently marvel at his unexpected strength, the shock of it going right between your legs. 

“You want me to lick your pussy?” He asks lowly, grinning when he sees your eyes widen ever so slightly. 

“You’re quite something, huh?” You breathe, still gazing up at him in surprise. 

“Observant,” he shrugs, smirking as he sits up, kneeling between your legs, “You aren’t the only one who is, love.” He teases, quickly undoing his belt and trousers and groaning as he pushes them down his thighs, stopping at his knees. 

Your eyes go wide at the size of his length, it’s clearly very impressive and it’s not even out of his plaid boxers yet. That smirk stays plastered on his face as he leans back down to hover over you, hastily removing his glasses and sitting them on your desk before sloppily kissing you for a moment, surprising you yet again by trailing wet kisses down your neck. 

“Michael…” You sigh dreamily, arching your back toward him when he starts kissing over your chest. He groans from deep in his chest, mouth pressed against the fat of your breast. 

“Fucking hell,” he curses, teasing your nipple again with the tip of his tongue, “Say it again, love.” 

His simple command sends shivers down your spine and you mewl, squirming underneath him, “M-Michael!” You moan again, fumbling over your words as he sucks at your breast again before he lifts his head. 

“Good girl,” he purrs with a sly, easy smirk that makes your heart jump, a soft sigh tumbling past your lips. He shifts further down the bed, kissing down over your ribs and stomach, his confidence seemingly growing every time he presses his lips against your skin; the thought makes your head spin.

Finally, he hooks his fingers into the lacy sides of your panties, and his eyes peer up at you as he tugs them down over your hips before flinging them onto the floor. “Oh, my God…,” he sighs, staring greedily at your pussy, a broken groan sounds from his throat when you spread your legs more. 

You bite your lip and giggle, smiling shyly as you tangle your fingers in his hair once more. “Like what you see?” 

He nods his head rapidly, making you chuckle again as he stares up at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I… uh, w-what now?” 

He’s so endearing, you can’t help the little sigh that leaves you and you sit up a little, leaning back on an elbow as you use your other hand to spread your center open. You bite your bottom lip once more when he whines a little, seeing you all spread out before him, flushed folds already slick and shiny. 

“Lick here, honey,” you whimper as you skim your fingers over your clit, so keyed up from only a few kisses that you gasp a little when you feel yourself clench; Michael looks like he may pass out. 

Ever the dutiful student, he gives you one last look before diving in. Your head falls back with a whiny gasp as his tongue snakes over your clit, just as you’d instructed. A long, shuddery moan leaves him, vibrating against your cunt and you watch as his blue eyes all but roll back in his head. 

“Just like that, Michael,” you praise, tugging at his hair ever so slightly, which only serves to make him moan more. Your chest heaves as you watch him, determined not to let your eyes squeeze shut while he licks and kisses and sucks at your pussy like a man possessed, “Holy shit!” You whimper loudly when he pushes his tongue into you, groaning lowly when he feels your walls clench around it as he presses his nose perfectly against your clit. 

“You taste so good,” he gasps, wrapping his hands around your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants. He peers up at you through blond lashes as he feasts on you, sucking eagerly at your clit and savoring the way you shiver and squirm from his motions. 

Unbelievably, you already feel that warm, familiar tug in your belly beginning to grow, making your whole body feel flush and taut. “Just like that, just like that,” you whine urgently, grabbing onto his hair tighter and guiding his mouth exactly where you need it, your eyes finally rolling back and fluttering shut, “Holy fuck, don’t stop!” 

Michael grunts as you tug at his hair, his own hips rutting greedily against your pretty bedding — cock throbbing so hard there’s no doubt he’s leaked through his boxers. He watches you carefully, studying your movements and reactions as best he can while he rhythmically licks at your clit. 

“Oh, shit!” You cry not even a moment later, your whole body seeming to stutter as your muscles finally relax. You mewl as your high finally washes over you, savoring the way Michael groans into your cunt as he feels it contracting on his tongue. Your eyes stay squeezed shut as shivers roll up and down your spine, shuddered cries leaving your lips. 

Just as his touches begin to border on overstimulation, you have enough wherewithal to push him away, and he releases your center with a lewd little pop. 

“Was that good?” He asks through a breathless laugh, swallowing as he looks up at you, evidence of your arousal still shining on his lips and chin. 

“Good?” You huff, eyebrows raised as you gaze down at him, “You’re sure you’ve never done that before?” You question in disbelief, chest still heaving. 

He smiles shyly, already pink cheeks seeming to flush deeper from your praise as he chuckles. You cup his cheeks when he leans over you again, whimpering as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You sign as he kisses down your neck again, making him chuckle against your skin. 

“Just observant,” he grunts, shuddering when you wrap your legs around his trim waist. You gasp as his length brushes over your still sensitive pussy, impossibly hot and hard even through the thin fabric of his boxers. His fragmented sigh makes you smile and you tug his head up, blushing as you look up at him. 

“You ready, honey?” You breathe, giggling when he nods his head again eagerly, his hips stuttering instinctually against your center. “Here, let me…” You trail off, the two of you separating for a moment as you lean over and pull open the top drawer of your desk, pulling out a pack of condoms and tearing one off before laying back down. 

You watch enraptured as he kneels between your legs again, pulling down his boxers finally. “Holy…” you gasp when his cock finally bobs free, twitching up to rut against his lower stomach; he’s long and thick, curving a little as veins run up the underside, leading to a flushed, leaking head. He smiles shyly again at your attention as he shuffles awkwardly out of his trousers and underwear, kicking them off and onto the floor.

You hand him the condom and watch as he rolls it on, giving him a little reassuring smile as he does. Once it’s securely in place, you pull him back to you, eagerly kissing him once more and wrapping your legs securely around his waist. Both of you moan in unison when his length glides through your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit. 

He pulls away with a little gasp, hovering over you as he glances down at your hips. “S-So, I just…” He trails off, watching as you reach down with one hand, grunting softly when you wrap your hand around his cock. 

Carefully, you position him at your entrance and angle your hips a little. “Go on, honey,” you encourage with a soft smile, running your other hand over his chest. 

Nodding once, he presses forward and swears he sees God. “F-Fucking hell,” he groans, loudly sighing your name as he carefully guides himself into you, absolutely in awe at the way your hot cunt grips him. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips resting firmly against yours as his chest heaves, breaths coming in short, sharp pants. 

You aren’t fairing much better, head spinning at the way he splits you open, pressing incessantly at each and every sensitive spot within you. You pant against his neck as he stills, pressed deeply within you. 

“D-Do… fuck, do I just…?” Michael stutters, giving half-hearted little thrusts to test the waters. 

“Yes!” You answer instantly, anxiously nodding up at him as your hips wiggle against the bedsheets, making him swear and shudder above you, “Just move, honey, do what feels good.” 

He groans again and gives a little nod before experimentally moving his hips again, pulling out more this time before pushing back in. “Shit,” he breathes above you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he grunts with each roll of his hips. 

You pant underneath him, spurring him on by pressing your feet against his backside, urging him to move faster and faster as the frilly lace from your socks tickles his pale skin. “You’re doing so, so good, oh, my God,” you breathe, your voice high-pitched and whimpery as you tangle your fingers in his hair again, knowing by now that it drives him crazy. 

Above you, Michael’s hips slowly but surely begin to stutter, his thrusts starting to peter out as his breathing picks up. “I’m —!”

“Wait!” You blurt suddenly, smiling wickedly as he comes to a screeching halt, pushing himself up enough to stare down at you with wild eyes, “I have an idea…” You tease with a little giggle. 

“W-What?” 

“You have a phone, yeah?” 

“…Yeah?”

“One that can, like, take video?” 

“Yes?” 

“Grab it,” you laugh, pushing him off of you with a laugh. He rolls his eyes with a smirk but does as you ask, clumsily pulling himself from your heat before stumbling over to where his khakis had landed. He shuffles about for a second before pulling a silver phone from the pocket of his trousers. 

“Now what?” He asks curiously, positioning himself back between your thighs, cock twitching meanly. 

“Film me.” 

“What?!” He gapes at you, brows creased. 

“Film me, honey,” you giggle, biting your lip conspiratorially, “For your little task, you need proof, yeah?” 

“Well, yeah, b-but I can just take your panties or something, I don’t —“

“Or you could bring back something better…” You smirk, shrugging your shoulders playfully, “We don’t have to but… it could be kinda hot?” 

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking between you, your pussy, and the phone in his hand before he nods once, curtly. “We… we can try it.” 

“Yeah? You wanna?” 

“Yeah,” he quips, catching you by surprise as a mean little smirk spreads over his lips, “Wanna see the look on Catton’s face when he sees you creaming on my cock.” 

Your eyes widen and you huff out a shocked laugh, a zing of electricity lighting behind your eyes. “You’re insane,” you say softly, an endeared smile on your lips. 

He snickers, his whole demeanor seeming to change before your eyes as he transforms from this shy, stuttering boy into an astonishingly cocky man. “You like it, love,” he teases, grabbing his dick and positioning himself at your entrance yet again. 

“Wait!” You giggle again, blushing as he groans. 

“You don’t want to anymore?” 

“No, no, not that,” you assure him, affectionately running your hand down one of his shockingly muscular arms, “You can film me… on one condition.” 

“‘N what would that be?” 

“Take me on a date.” You breathe, suddenly shy. You know he’ll agree to it, but even still, your heart pumps wildly in your chest. 

He stares at you for a second, blinking dumbly as he processes your request. “You want me to take you on a date?” He asks, flushing so deeply that the soft pink hue cascades all the way down to his chest. 

Giggling, you nod your head, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “You need to start giving yourself more credit, honey.” 

He sighs at that, a little astounded huff, before he’s suddenly grabbing at your calves and pushing your legs up toward your shoulders, all but bending you in half, anxious to get his cock back into you. You gasp at the movement, and chuckle at his eagerness, a sound that morphs into a whiny moan when he slides back home. 

“Christ,” he grunts, shoulders heaving as he gets used to the way you feel around him once more, “Y-You feel so good, love, fucking perfect.” 

“You’re so big,” you whine, nodding as you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, “You’re so good, Michael, you have no idea.” 

He groans above you, hands shaking as he grabs for his phone, flipping it open and quickly opening the camera as his hips rut into you, making the springs of your bed creak softly. 

As soon as Michael gives you a little nod to let you know he’s filming, you truly put on a show — or well, you at least stop trying to quiet yourself down and be conscientious of the people in the rooms next to you. The way he has your legs bent back makes him feel somehow bigger and causes his cock to hit that sensitive spot within you with pinpoint accuracy every time he thrusts in, making you clench around him and moan loudly each time he moves his hips against you. 

You watch as he angles the camera down a bit, no doubt pointing it at the spot the two of you are joined together, letting the camera record his cock sliding in and out of you. When he moves it back up, however, to get your face as evidence, you plaster on the cheekiest grin you can muster. 

“H-Hi boys,” you tease breathlessly, smirking as you lean up on one elbow. You wave with your other hand before blowing a kiss to the camera, which makes Michael cockily laugh.

“Fuck, I gotta…” he mutters after a few more seconds, carelessly dropping his phone down on the bed before roughly grabbing at your thighs with a bruising grip, one that makes you mewl and arch your back toward him. The two of you moan and whimper in unison as he begins thrusting wildly, seemingly too worked up to care about anything but cumming. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant over and over, head spinning as he bullies your sweet spot. 

“That’s it, love,” Michael murmurs, his voice gruff and low as he stares down at you, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead; he looks wilder than you’ve ever seen him, the thought only serving to push you closer and closer to the edge. “S-Shit, that’s it. Fucking come for me, cream on my cock; please, please, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to press desperate kisses against your neck and collarbones. 

The new position causes his pubic bone to rub deliciously over your clit, making you seize beneath him with a loud whine. Your toes curl, heels still pressing into the small of his back. “M-Michael, holy fuck!” You practically squeal as your high finally washes over you once more, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you go lax and pliant underneath him. 

The feel of your walls pulsing around his cock has Michael reeling, his hips somehow thrusting even faster as he both desperately wants to cum while also never wanting this feeling to end. “C-Cum, honey, cum,” you pant softly, cupping his cheek with one hand and turning his face toward yours. 

That does him in and the rubber band in his belly viciously snaps, making him shudder above you as his thrusts come to a halt, cock twitching wildly inside you as he empties himself into the condom. You watch him in awe, taking in every detail from the way his nose scrunches up as his eyes squeeze close to the way he whispers your name over and over like a prayer. 

The two of you lay in silence for a moment, his breath warm against your neck as he slumps against you trying to catch his breath. 

Eventually, you can’t help it anymore and let out a breathless giggle, which only intensifies when he props himself up on an elbow to peer down at you with a smirk. 

“Something funny?” 

“Just,” you breathe, trying to calm yourself enough to get words out, “Just… wow,” you finally say, giggles petering out as you look up at him, the soft gleam in his eyes makes your heart clench in your chest. 

“Good wow?” He blushes, looking down between the two of you as he pulls himself from your walls with a little hiss. 

“Very, very good wow,” you confirm, grinning as you watch him pull off the condom before he peers up at you with a sheepish grin. “Tie it off, honey,” you instruct, smirking as he does just that, before nodding to the little wastebasket by your desk. 

He gets up with a groan and quickly tosses the condom in the trash before turning back to you, the bashful look on his face making you blush. 

Unable to resist, you grin at him and spread your arms with a giggle, wordlessly inviting him for a cuddle, which he gladly accepts. The bed creaks slightly as he lays back down, relaxing his head on the pillow just beside yours. Again, the two of you stay silent for a moment, content to merely gaze at one another, before he shyly looks away and sighs. 

“I…,” he starts, blue eyes blinking and flitting around your room as he gathers his thoughts, “Thank you,” he finally says, looking back at you with a little half smile. 

Your brows furrow at this as you grin at him. “What’re you thanking me for?” 

“Well, f-for… this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the two of you before sitting up just slightly and fishing around in the blankets for a second. “And this,” he sighs, holding his phone up before twisting around to set it on the corner of your desk, turning back to you. “I just… I know you didn’t have to, is all, so…” 

You cock your head to the side as you prop yourself up on an elbow, eyes narrowing as you study him closely. “And people have the nerve to say I’m thick,” you joke, lips spreading into a wide grin as you gaze down at him, “I wanted to do all this, Michael. I’m the one that came onto you, remember?” 

“W-Well, yeah, but —“

“No buts!” You laugh, pressing a finger against his lips as you shake your head, “I have eyes too, you know.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“You haven’t been the only one watching someone for months,” you giggle shyly, pressing your forehead against his, “I meant what I said about that date, too.” 

His arms wind around your waist, holding you tight as he processes your words with a dumbstruck smile, blushing under your gaze. “Whatever you say, love,” he concedes finally, pressing his lips against yours sweetly. 

He yawns tiredly when he pulls away from you after a moment, which only makes you yawn as well, and you glance over at the little clock on your dresser. “Christ,” you gasp, turning back to him, “I didn’t realize it’s already almost four… you can crash here, if you want?” 

He considers it for a moment, knowing he has to be back in that stupid little basement by noon and making a mental map of where exactly your dormitory is in relation to the Merton College Chapel. “I… I can stay, yeah,” he finally nods after a moment. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Love, I’m not sure my legs work well enough yet to walk out of here anyway.” 

Michael

Groaning, Michael slowly blinks his eyes open, rubbing them softly as he sits up in bed with a yawn. Blindly reaching over for his glasses, he’s confused when he doesn’t feel them in their usual spot and finally opens his eyes properly. 

He stares, confused for a moment as to how exactly he somehow got transported into what appears to be Barbie’s damn dream house, before the events of last night come flooding back to him. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes when he turns his head and sees your still-sleeping form beneath your flowery sheets, your hair tousled wildly on the pillow as your shoulders rise and fall evenly still with each breath. Looking around, he finally spots his glasses and puts them on before reaching for his phone, and cursing again when he sees the time. 

11:47 AM. 

He practically falls out of your bed as he tries to extricate himself from the sheets, and he hears you wake with a start behind him as he grabs wildly at his clothes on the floor. 

“Michael?” You ask questioningly, your voice still hoarse from sleep as you, frankly fucking adorably, rub at your eyes before fixing him with a curious look. 

“Gotta, shit, gotta run,” he explains quickly, cursing as he nearly loses his balance trying to tug his trousers on, “Need to be at Merton Chapel in, like, Christ, ten minutes!” 

“Ohh,” you giggle softly, watching with amusement as he finishes getting dressed, hair and clothes so disheveled that he’s sure he looks like the very definition of the walk of shame. 

Just as he’s tugging his shoes on and making a mad dash for the door, you stop him. “Here,” you smirk, holding out the same lacy pair of pink panties you wore last night, “For proof,” you explain, nodding to the phone in his hand, “Along with that. Should be more than enough,” you giggle proudly. 

He smiled sheepishly as he pockets your underwear. “T-Thanks,” he nods, turning to leave before you stop him once more. 

He can’t help but blush when you lean in and press and quick kiss to his lips, your cherry chapstick rubbing off on him some. Pulling away, you playfully smack his chest with a little grin. “Go get ‘em, honey.” 

Nodding, he smiles again before finally pulling your door open and bounding down the hallway. “I’ll text you, love!” He calls, peering back just before he rounds a corner, “About that date!” 

It’s 11:58 on the dot when he flings the basement door open, only to be pulled over to the same stupid dank basement wall, his back hitting it once more with a dull thud. 

Glancing around, he sees the ski-masked boys again, all fifteen of them, standing in a row with the head boy slightly out of line. To his left stands one of the other initiates, clutching a black tube of some sort. 

The basement stays silent for a moment before one of the masked boy’s watch alarms goes off just as the bells in the tower begin to chime. 

Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Noon.

Right on cue, the head boy steps forward even more and looks between Michael and the other initiate. “Your friend couldn’t be bothered to show his face, then?” He asks, dark eyes peering at the boy next to Michael. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, glaring at the head boy. “He’s still at the bank!” He snaps, “All the way in bloody Switzerland,” he kicks at the dirty stone floor as he explains, “Dickhead,” he finally mutters lowly under his breath. 

“Shame,” the head boy quips, clasping his hands in front of his waist, “Some men are simply not cut out for Bullingdon.” 

The boys in the row behind him nod knowingly, each making some little noise of affirmation until the head boy quickly stops them, holding a fist up by his head, bringing it back down to his side when they shut up. 

“So, initiates, what’ve you got?” 

The boy next to Michael steps forward first and hands the black tube to the head boy with a sigh. “There,” he says, gesturing to it, “There’s your bloody map. My mum could get sacked for that.” 

The head boy pops open one end of the tube, a document sleeve Michael now realizes, and gingerly extracts a rolled up piece of parchment from it, unrolling it just enough to confirm it's what they asked for. 

“Well done, initiate,” he nods, seemingly impressed as he flashes a smile at the boy, white teeth gleaming creepily through the slit in his ski mask. Carefully, he rolls the document up again before sliding it back in the tube, “Your commitment to Bullingdon will take you far. Welcome to the fray.” 

The boy stands still for a moment, eyeing the document tube with an almost regretful expression before curtly nodding and taking his place back against the wall. 

“And then there was one,” the head boy murmurs, dark faze fixed on Michael, “I seem to remember we gave you quite the… interesting task indeed, initiate. How did you manage?” 

Smiling damn near arrogantly, Michael all but skips up the head boy and proudly pulls your panties from his back pocket, letting them dangle from his index finger. “See for yourself.” 

The head boy grabs them by the edge and studies them for a moment, turning back to the row of boys behind him with a questioning glance. The boy Michael knows already to be that cunt, Oliver Quick, glances between him, the panties, and Michael, before cutting a sideways glance to a tall boy standing next to him. 

“These could be anyone’s,” the head boy says, turning back to Michael as he shakes his head, “You could’ve nicked them from your sister or something, we’ll need more than this, initiate.”

“Don’t even have a sister,” Michael quips, shrugging his shoulders with a little frown. 

“Okay, like, your cousin or something then –”

“Don’t have a female cousin,” he says with a shake of his head, “All boys.”

“The point still stands!” The head boy finally snaps, making Michael bite the inside of his cheek to hide a little laugh, though the corner of his lips still quirks up in a smirk, “You haven’t got any proof, do you? Is that why you’re stalling?”

Huffing a little laugh, Michael finally lets himself smirk meanly and steps closer to the head boy as he pulls his phone from his pocket, flips it open, and navigates to his video gallery. “Is this enough proof?” He teases, pressing play on the most recent video. 

The picture is small and grainy but there’s no doubt as to what’s happening as the sound of your pretty whimpers and moans echoes around the brick basement, along with the wet smack of Michael’s cock driving into you again and again. 

The head boy stares at the screen still as curiosity gets to a few of the boys in the row behind him and they all come crowd around Michael’s phone, eyes widening behind their ski masks and mouths falling open. 

The tallest one, the one Oliver keeps glancing at, lets out a long sigh as he peers down at the small screen and brings a hand up to his head as if he were going to run it through his hair before remembering the mask he has on. With him this close, Michael finally notices the little silver barbell stuck through his eyebrow and shivers as his lips curl up into a sadistic Cheshire cat smile, a tidal wave of savage pride crashing through his system. 

Finally, fucking finally, I get something he wants, he thinks as your breathy moans continue to pour from the speaker of his phone, tinny and muffled in some spots where he’d accidentally covered the microphone, but beautiful, beautiful and because of him.

After a moment, the video ends, the tiny phone screen reverting back to it’s little thumbnail as the head boy peers up at Michael, the rest of the club members taking their places back in line, though he can’t help but notice that Felix’s broad shoulders are slumped now and Oliver stands ever closer to him, like some kind of fucked up bodyguard. 

“I’ll be damned, initiate,” the head boy sighs with a shake of his head, “I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

He watches as Michael merely nods and pockets his phone again, holding it tightly in his fist even still. After a second, he smiles widely and claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

“Welcome to Bullingdon.”

Some time later, Michael finally exits the basement, a few of the club members, sans ski masks now, nodding goodbye to him as they disperse across campus, meeting adjourned. 

He wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting from the initial meeting but it was mostly them prattling on about where exactly they had all their grubby little fingers, poked in seemingly every facet of society from Parliament to local newspapers. 

Braggy cunts, Michael thinks as he ambles outside, glancing up at the sky as he steps into the Mob Quad, surrounded by stony old buildings. 

Smiling to himself, he pulls out his phone and quickly finds your number in his contacts list, blushing when he sees you’ve taken the liberty of adding some girly heart emoticon next to it. He hardly has time to press it against his ear before you answer.

“Well?” You demand with that now familiar giggle, some unfamiliar pop song playing in the background.

“I’m in,” he confirms, nodding to himself as he slowly walks in the direction of his dormitory, “Thanks to you.” He smiles like an idiot when you laugh.

“Don’t sell yourself short, honey,” you tease, he can picture your bright, glossy smile in his head, “You earned that spot.”

Michael merely shakes his head with a happy little sigh. “So,” he starts, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “About that date… I was thinking the King’s Arms? Tonight at six, if that works?”

“Oooh, tonight at six,” you repeat teasingly, an image flashing in his mind of you twirling your hair around a perfectly manicured finger, “Someone’s quite eager, hm?”

“Can you blame me?”

“Hmm, I suppose not,” you giggle, pausing for a second, “It’s a date then.”

“Fantastic,” Michael sighs, trying with every fiber of his being to sound casual and cool about the whole thing, even as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. 

“See you tonight, Mr. Bullingdon,” you tease, making a little kissy sound into the phone before hanging up. 

Michael pauses for a moment, standing to the side on the pavement as he nods to himself. If it weren’t so fucking cheesy, he’d raise his fist in the air, victorious, à la Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club. 

Instead, he flips his phone back open and navigates back to your video. Sighing, he stares at the little thumbnail for a second before deleting it, pocketing his phone once more, and continuing back to his dormitory. 

He has the real thing now.

taggled lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[gravedigginbbydoll]

Hawkins University : The Munson Edition

AN: Hey y'all! I'm sorry for the brief hiatus, my birthday was last weekend and my family came to visit last Monday. From now on, I will be posting on Fridays! Anyways, we're diving more into Eddie and Bug feeling some physical attraction ;) We're about halfway through! (Don't worry, once Eddie is over we get Steve + I would be down to do blurbs of Eddie and Bug <3 ) Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Also pls remember reblogs and comments are appreciated ! I love feedback!

→ cliches: friends to lovers, heavy use of nicknames instead of Y/N, we're all just struggling college kids, Music Tutor! Eddie, Resident Assistant! Reader, good girl x bad boy, instant connections, 'I don't trust most people but I trust you', 'are we friends or more?', and 'I can't believe you're such a slut that you have a special dtf drawer...'

→ warnings: mature topics, drinking and drug usage, strong language, bullying, mental health, discussion of suicide and self harm, mature thoughts, eventual smut, minors dni

→ pairing: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

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Chapter 5 

Eddie’s POV

Eddie didn’t want to admit it at the time, but he was so nervous about having you over. Sure, you were over every weekend and usually it was the two of you alone, but never were you staying in his room. You always stayed in the living room or kitchen, both of you out in the open. He had sort of asked you in a spur of the moment need of a distraction. He would usually bother Nancy or Steve, but Nancy was headed to visit her little brother in the nearby town, while Steve had planned on sleeping over at Rob’s for their weekly movie nights. So he asked you, which wasn’t usually a big deal. But Eddie didn’t just like you or think you were cool. Eddie thought you were gorgeous. He often shook off the thoughts because he knew you were often stretched thin with both of your jobs and he was on the verge of failing a course, a relationship out of the cards for both of you. Plus, Eddie knew you were such an exemplary student and a high achiever. He was embarrassed to admit he felt ‘lesser’ around you sometimes due to being a ‘super senior’ in high school and being older than you despite you both being Sophomores. Sure, being 22 in comparison to being 19 or 20 wasn’t a whole lot, but Eddie still felt some shame. 

Eddie raced around his room after his quick shower, panicking and trying to tidy the place a bit. He wasn’t extremely messy, just often disorganized. He hid his cuffs and ropes which had been left out after a previous encounter, along with putting away clothes and trying to make the room at least look presentable. You were headed to your dorm to grab some clothes and such, sure to be headed his way soon. When Eddie could finally see the floor and felt secure in knowing his special toys were in their box and shoved under the bed, he began to calm a bit. 

Well…at least for a bit. But then his thoughts began to wander. 

Did you wear a bra to bed? Would you be okay with sharing the bed? Or should I take the couch? Would you cuddle? What if you did, without a bra, and- Shit. 

Eddie sat at his desk, his cock half hard, mind swirling with sinful images picturing you without a bra, one of his t-shirts on you. He imagined the way your breasts would move without the restrictive fabric, the way they’d feel against him with only a thin layer between the two of you. His cheeks flushed as he groaned softly, trying to shake the thoughts away. Eddie sighed and looked toward his phone, cursing himself for not thinking this through. He’d have to be cautious so as to not be so turned on with you here. 

He saw his cracked screen light up, his heart thumping at the sight. He picked up the phone, able to read the message despite his very fucked up cell. 

Bug: On my way!

He sighed softly and decided to head into the kitchen, readying the movies and snacks. There were sour gummies for you and chocolates for him, along with a bowl of popcorn and sodas and beer. He laid them out while staring at the movies he had picked. Most were cheesy retro slashers, both of you bonding one weekend over a love for goofy horror films like Killer Klowns From Outer Space and Frankenhooker. Eddie rented both films and was excited to giggle with you over the campiness of it all. He had placed all the snacks on the coffee table and made the movies ready to go when you knocked on his door, surprising him. 

He came up, opening the door, only to feel his chest tighten and his cheeks heat. 

You stood there, face free of the makeup you sported earlier, and clothes much more casual, a pair of pajama bottoms and an oversized shirt on your upper half, sneakers on your feet. You smelled fresh, like you had quickly showered and washed off all the sweat you had built up that night. But Eddie was really flushed at how gorgeous you still were dressed down. He also noticed one thing he knew he would have to pretend he wasn’t noticing. 

You didn’t wear a bra. 

You beamed at him, your smile causing the rest of the blood not already there to travel lower and his stomach to flutter. 

“You gonna let me in, Munson?” You joked, eyes glittering with mischief. 

Eddie stepped aside, grinning sheepishly, ushering you in. 

Good God, he was fucked. 

You and Eddie sat down on the couch, giggling at the ridiculousness of Killer Klowns and Eddie doing his best to make you laugh at his impersonations. By the end of the third film of the night (which had been Elvira Mistress of the Dark, whom you and Eddie both had a crush on as kids), you were both crashing from your sugar high and yawning, with you rubbing your eyes sleepily. Eddie ushered you to the bathroom, letting you brush your teeth and wash your face. You used the restroom, only to groan and open the door, clearly looking embarrassed. 

“Eddie…I may have to go home.” 

Eddie walked over, frowning down at you. Only your head was peaking out of the bathroom, only leaving him to guess what was wrong. 

“What’s wrong, Bug?” 

You looked like you wanted to melt into the floor, making Eddie’s stomach twist. Were you okay? He felt a sense of fear wash over him as he worried that maybe he pushed you too far. 

“Y-yeah…I just, ugh, I- I got my period,” You mumbled, looking away. 

Eddie felt a wave of relief and sighed, smiling softly at you. “Oh thank God. I have stuff in the bottom cabinet closest to the toilet. So don’t worry about it. But I’ll drive you back if you feel uncomfortable.” 

You looked up in surprise and smiled softly, still looking a bit embarrassed. “Oh. Okay…Uh, I’ll-I’ll try to stay.” 

Eddie smiled and went back into his room, changing into his comfortable sweats and loose cut off Metallica shirt. He was in the process of fluffing his pillows when you came in, looking at him inquisitively. 

“What?,” He cocked his head at you, confused. 

“What’s up with the minor convenience store in your bathroom cabinet?,” You teased, sitting on the bed by him. 

Eddie froze up. You were referring to ‘the baskets’. Eddie would be honest, he knew he ‘got around’. He used sex in college as a form de-stress, a way to break away. He started last year as a freshman when he discovered that girls and guys alike in Hawkins liked rough around the edges men who wore makeup and played in bands. In high school, Eddie was ‘The Freak’ and consistently treated like some kind of weirdo. But in Hawkins? He was viewed as a devil's food cake, delectable and sinful. The ‘baskets’ had started as a little thing that Eddie did when having people over, so he could be the most amazing host. There was shampoo, deodorant, tampons, pads, midol, ibuprofen, salve, and more in the little gray tubs, all organized and neat. The ‘baskets’ were split into masculine and feminine products, seeing as Eddie swung either way. He wasn’t ashamed of it, but felt something stir in his stomach about you knowing about his hookups. He hadn’t had many once meeting you, aside from Chrissy a few times. But she never came over, and he’d truly slept with her maybe 3 times. 

“It’s…Uh,” Eddie scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, looking away. “It’s for when people come over.” 

You nodded, looking away nonchalantly before your eyes began to grow wide in realization, probably remembering the morning after pills stashed beside the period products. Eddie felt his stomach twist as you laughed a little, your eyes glinting with mischief. 

“Eddie. Darling. Light of my life. You have a Hookup Basket?!,” You giggled, looking over at him in shock as he pouted. 

“Hey, I just want to make sure people are comfortable when they are here,” He defended himself weakly, blushing red. 

“Eddie Munson, you are a manwhore. Lovingly, you are such a manwhore. This is the first time I have ever heard of a hookup basket,” You teased, Eddie pouting at you. 

He hit you softly with a pillow before getting up and heading to the bathroom, cheeks still red as apples. 

“Whatever,” He grumbled, pouting still. 

“Be sure to floss, manwhore,” You teased, leaving Eddie to groan in the bathroom as he brushed his teeth. 

You’d never let him live this down. 

Eddie sat in his bed next to you in the middle of the night, mind racing. He was woken up by a nightmare of failing all his classes, only to show up at a party naked, both you and Chrissy there laughing at him. It was a silly nightmare, truly, but Eddie couldn't help but be terrified of the reality. He was staring at his phone and reading a book when you sleepily sat up, eyes barely opened. Eddie would’ve thought it was the cutest thing ever if he wasn’t still panicking over his life choices. 

“Eds? What’re you doing up?,” You grumbled, eyes squinting at him in the dark. Your voice was slurred and drowsy still. 

“Jus’ had a nightmare ‘s all…Go back to sleep, Bug,” Eddie whispered softly. 

You sat up a bit, frowning at him. “Nightmare? Is everything okay?” 

Eddie sighed, putting down his phone and looking at you. The room was dark, only the dim light of the moon shining through the blinds to let him make out where you were. His chest felt tight. Maybe he could tell you what was wrong. 

“Have you ever wondered if you made the right choice? Or whether or not everyone was actually right in what they said about you?,” Eddie asked, heart thumping. He didn’t feel like you would relate, but he still wanted to get his feelings out. You stared at him silently, eyes begging him to continue. 

“I spent all this time in high school struggling only to finally make it to college at 20 and fail. I hate my fucking major, but going into just music is ‘impractical’ and I’m just going to wind up flunking and dropping out, disappointing Uncle Wayne by turning into my father-” Eddie was surprised by the blurred vision and tears falling down his face. His voice was cracking and shaking. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about this really, not even Steve. 

Eddie felt you grab his hand, softly squeezing. He sighed, tried to regulate his breathing, before continuing. 

“I almost signed up for Music Therapy when I first applied here. But everyone I spoke to suggested Production. Wayne, my advisor. And even the idea sounded cool. I could earn money and get to work with big names I love or meet new ones and help make music. But…god…it feels so soulless. I feel dread walking into those classes and the only thing that has kept me going is guitar or those snotty and bratty kids I teach at The Ghost Note, “ Eddie laughed humorlessly. His hands were shaking as tears still fell down his cheeks slowly. “I just don’t know what to do. I’m supposed to be the first gen student. I don’t want all of Wayne’s work to be for nothing.” 

You stayed quiet for a moment, rubbing the back of Eddie's hand soothingly before speaking. 

“Look, Eds…I don’t know much about music or even production. But what I do know is that you are an amazing teacher. I see your eyes light up when I finally nail something and…honestly? It’s an amazing feeling. And sure, you’re older than most sophomores, but who cares? Some people don’t get a degree until they’re like 40! And you’re blazing the trail for your family. Honestly, I think you’d do amazing in Music Therapy or Education. And plenty of people change their major. Don’t just stick to it because it’s ‘practical’. You deserve to love what you do, Eddie Munson. And no matter what you decide, whether it’s that you want to drop everything and suddenly move to California and be a rockstar, or you want to teach ‘snotty nose brats’ how to use music as an outlet like you do, I’ll be proud.” 

Eddie felt his heart be squeezed and his stomach twist. Could he follow his heart? You sure made it seem so. Eddie had always assumed he needed to ‘man up’ and do what was needed, but you made it seem so easy. Maybe he could turn this around. 

“Thanks, Bug.” 

“You’re welcome, Stinky. Now go the hell to sleep, you barely get enough as it is,” You yawned, laying back down and still facing Eddie. 

Eddie scrunched up his nose, frowning. “Stinky? What the hell do you mean? You always ramble about how I smell like apple pie!” 

You giggled softly, face already nestled in the pillow. “You definitely farted in your sleep at one point. I heard it when I woke up to go pee.” 

Eddie felt his cheeks heat to unimaginable degrees as he huffed and laid down, turning his back to you. “Liar. I did not,” He grumbled. 

You sighed, laughing a little before tugging gently at his messy bun. “Go the hell to sleep, Stinky. We can debate your farts tomorrow.” 

Eddie tried to keep a pout on his face but couldn’t stop the slight smile as he heard you begin to doze off before him, your light snores filling his room. 

He’d tease you about it in the morning. 

Taglist: @josephquinnsfreckles @corrodedcoffincumslut @kirisuteg0men @bebe07011 @amira0303 @vintagehellfire @lottie-90

[apolsup]

So uhh I finally decided to watch the new clone high season... it was as bad as you would think

But it wasn't a total Joan like the last one so that's a win I guess. Anyways you know the rest, this is an art post so I'll talk a bit about my new favorite ship and then y'know the usual (skip to the end if ya don't want to read my very short silly opinions on it)

Spoilers if it wasn't obvious‼️‼️‼️

Sooooo joanfucius, I wasn't expecting it that's for sure but I wasn't expecting khalopatra to break up as well so I guess we all got surprised. Uhhh, I think Joan x Confucius is actually kinda cool! I genuinely like them and I'm (sadly) already attached so I know I'll suffer when they break them up in favor of joanabe in the end (literally, who even likes them??? No offense if there are actual joanabe shippers out there, love y'all but seriously, it should stay fanon because... Yikes)

They're made up of like- all of my favorite tropes ESPECIALLY the fake dating one like AHHHHH so why wouldn't I love them?? I was kinda bummed that it didn't last that long BUT that's what fanfiction is for, right? (What? Noooo I definitely don't plan on making a fanfic about them making their fake dating part longer pshhh)

Joanfucius for the win I love them, they're my absolute favorite sillies now (well, Joanfk still has my heart but y'know) so I've been working at the speed of light and I have a few drawings of them on the making!

It's a redraw of this scene because it was amazing and made my brain go RAAAAAAHHSHDHWJJDDJJ :3

I love joanfucius so much already I just know it'll hurt like a bitch when they break up 🤕

Btw JFK and Harriet was an awful idea I hope they break up because WOW they have 0 chemistry, it should have been JFK and Abe 😔

[missvelvetsstuff]

Fandom leap

Chapter 6

Winter Soldier x Reader

Notes: Here is my contribution to the Fandom Leap collaboration, my first. I'm excited and a bit nervous about posting this after reading those who came before me. I hope I can live up to the standard they have set.

Thank you to @supraveng for letting me take part in this very cool idea.

Hope y'all like it.

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

Check out the full story.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 5

*Last* You sigh as you soak in this moment, this feeling in your heart, the smell of Sam and the feeling of his hands gripping onto your hips. Just as quickly as all of those feelings went through you, they all went away and that eerie familiar feeling rose up on your throat.

No, not now. Please, not now! And before your head could wrap around what was going on, you were torn away from Sam but his presence still lingered on your skin*

You shook your head and groaned, the leaps seemed to be taking more of a toll each time.

You were sitting on the bed in a dark bedroom but could hear sounds in the house, music and talking, like a party. You sat up and looked around, unable to see much with just the sliver of light from under the door. It was a nice room, not too fancy but clean with solid wood furniture and crisp bedding.

A half opened door led to a bathroom and there was another door you figured was a closet. You looked down at yourself and realized you needed some clothes as yours were dirty and ragged.

You got up and went into the bathroom to take a quick shower to keep from drawing attention to yourself. The hot water definitely helped clear your head some.

You found a single, white dress alone in the closet, that fit you well but was an older style, maybe 60's and some white flats. You hurried to fix your hair and when you were satisfied moved towards the door with the light underneath.

You grabbed the doorknob and took a deep breath before carefully opening the door and stepping into a lit hallway. You followed the sounds, noting how dated and campy the orange, green and yellow decor was before stepping into a loud room full of people, also looking dated and campy. Beehive hair, brightly colored dresses and men with skinny neck ties. You chuckled at the idea of happening into some theme party but the more you looked around and heard bits of conversations you considered the possibility of jumping to yet another era. The talk of the space race and Frank Sinatra solidifying that idea.

You looked around, walking carefully through the groups of people, mostly all male or all female. No one seemed to be surprised at your appearance, simply nodding at you before returning to their conversations. A couple gave you small smiles but their eyes were all empty.

You noticed a small group speaking another language, it sounded Russian but you couldn't decipher anything they said until one man looked towards the back of the house and whispered one word.

"Soldat"

You turned in the direction he was looking but couldn't see anything from your vantage point. Before you could try to speak to anyone the chatter stilled and the record playing scratched and landed on a different song. Then the gunfire started and you froze for a moment before bolting back down the hall to go out the window of the bedroom you had started in.  When you realized the window was barred you tried to think calmly but the gunfire stopped and heavy footsteps came closer and stopped at the bedroom door which slammed open.

You froze, holding your breath until you saw the Winter Soldier taking up the doorway. A whispered "Bucky" left your lips before you could stop it.

He looked at you coldly "Who's Bucky?"

You shivered, hoping you could reach him somehow because you were obviously no match for him and forced a soft smile "You are. James Buchanan Barnes or Bucky to your friends."

He shook his head "I have no friends"

Your smile turned sad "I know it doesn't seem like it but you do."

"No, no friends, no family. Only missions. You are my mission. The girl in the white dress."

Your stomach dropped and your breath caught as you shook your head quickly

"No. No. Please, I'm not supposed to be here. I woke up in this room but I'm not part of whatever they were doing. I just threw on the only dress in the closet." you waved vaguely towards the party which was quiet except the music was still playing.

"Where are you supposed to be?" He cocked his head, eyes puzzled but softer.

"I'm from" you stammered "It's, it's really complicated and unbelievable."

Your heart thumped out of your chest and you wished you could do something for him during whatever time you had here, try to ease some of his suffering.

There was also some hope since he hadn't killed you yet. You looked him over and decided to change the subject

"You're hurt. We should get out of here. Is there a safe house nearby? I could clean that cut on your arm."

He shrugged "I'll be fine. Follow me."

You struggled to follow him through the house, trying to avoid the bodies without actually looking at them. The smell was already making you queasy and you were relieved when you made it outside. Until you felt the chill and saw snow on the ground. You weren't dressed for this.

He turned around to grab your arm "Hurry up or I'll have to kill you."

Then mounted a motorcycle and looked at you expectantly. You really weren't dressed for that.

You looked down at your dress, not thrilled with wearing it on the back of a motorcycle, much less in this cold but there weren't any other choices so you held the skirt down the best you could and climbed on behind him. He gave you his helmet and you barely had time to secure it and grab onto him before he peeled away from the house.

You looked around while he drove, trying to keep your mind off the cold. You were in the middle of nowhere with buildings here and there but mostly snowy trees and hills. The view didn't change until he slowed down and pulled onto a dirt road, driving awhile longer before stopping in front of a small cabin.

When he turned the motorcycle off you struggled off of the bike with aching cold arms and legs then removed the helmet, offering it to him. He just grunted and headed into the cabin so you followed him quietly and as quickly as you could move.

The interior wasn't any fancier than the exterior but it was warm and dry after the back of a bike at night in a dress. One room, single bed in the corner, wood stove with a small sink next to it, counter with a pair of barstools.

Bucky quickly made a fire while you looked for a first aid kit. When you found it in the tiny bathroom you asked him to sit so you could sew up his arm.

He shook his head "I can do it, I don't need any help."

You smiled at him "I'm sure you can but I want to help. To thank you for getting me out of there."

He frowned "But that's-"

You placed a finger over his mouth "Please? I want to help you."

He shrugged and grunted as he took off his tactical suit leaving him in a tank top and briefs. He sat heavily on one of the stools, waiting.

You carefully cleaned the cut on his bicep, trying not to hurt him. He flinched when you wiped it with antiseptic and clenched his jaw as you carefully stitched it together. As soon as you finished stitching and started cleaning up the mess he jerked away from you and went into the bathroom. You heard him start the shower.

You put the first aid kit away and went to the kitchen area after your stomach growled, looking for something to quiet it.  You found a couple of cans of stew and a pot to warm them in but no can opener anywhere.

As you looked all over the kitchen for a can opener and tried to figure out how to open the cans, Bucky came up behind you, reached around with one of his knives and cut both cans open. Your heart stopped while you waited to see what he was doing with the knife. Then it raced at how smoothly he moved with it, that was pretty hot.

You emptied the cans into a small metal pot and warmed the food up then poured half each into two bowls you had washed. Adding spoons you offered one of the bowls to him.

As you ate he stared at you, contemplatively. You started feeling uncomfortable but before you could say anything he spoke up.

"Tell me your unbelievable story."

You shook your head "It's pretty out there. You'll think I'm nuts."

"I've seen some pretty crazy things so try me."

You could tell he wasn't really asking anymore and sighed "I'm from an alternate universe. Apparently there are many realities and for some reason I've been shifting from one to another for the last few days. I've been to realities that are fiction in mine."

He looked at you skeptically "so I'm supposed to believe that you just shifted into that room? And just happened to be wearing the only white dress in the entire party?"

She shrugged "I told you it was unbelievable but it's the truth. Who was the woman in the white dress supposed to be?"

Bucky sighed "My mission. They don't give me much in the way of details. Sometimes there's a picture or description but this time all I got was the woman in white. That's you."

She nodded "Ok, I get it. What are you supposed to do with me?"

He shrugged again "Dunno. The mission was, eliminate the partygoers, get the girl in the white dress and bring her to the safe house. Here."

He ate a few more bites before speaking again.

"What do you mean about realities that are fiction in yours?"

Her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out how to explain "Well, where I'm from the Winter Soldier is from a comic book about super heroes. We don't have enhanced people or anything."

He was silent again as he finished his food. He stood up, took your empty bowl and tossed them into the sink. "You need some rest"

"Wait, what's going to happen to me? I don't want to wait around to become some Hydra prisoner. I need to get out of here."

He scoffed "Where will you go? You'll freeze out there dressed like that. I don't have any choice. You're my mission and aren't going anywhere so go lay on the bed and rest."

You stood there motionless trying to calculate an escape but you knew it was hopeless and slumped over in defeat as he pushed you towards the bed.

You took your shoes off and sat on the bed, it was small and lumpy but he stood over you so you couldn't get up. With a sigh you lay down and tried to get comfortable.

Bucky sat on the side of the bed and looked at you expectantly.

You stared back "What?"

"Could you make some room for me? I would like some rest too."

Your heart sped up "But wait you want to...here....with me? But I-"

"Shut up and move over"

He laid down, facing you and you fidgeted, trying not to touch him on the narrow bed but it was impossible.

He sighed again "Jesus Christ, just relax I'm not going to hurt you."

He pulled a scratchy blanket up to your shoulders, wrapped his arm around you and pulled you flush against him so you were chest to chest. He smelled so good, fresh like outside with a hint of musk and was so warm.

You started to relax into him and right before you fell asleep felt him kiss your forehead and whisper "I'm sorry."

It seemed like only a few minutes later when you were shocked awake by a rush of cold air and a bright light. You covered your face with your arm and felt your heart freeze when you heard that voice.

"Well miss, seems like you might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time

Unfortunately for you, I don't have the time to figure out what happened so you will have to do." It sounded like Arnim Zola, which meant you were in big trouble.

Bucky just sat there, wanting to protect you but knowing what will happen if he tried.

Rough arms pulled you away from him and handcuffed your wrists behind your back. You turned to look at Bucky, to show him you would be alright, and were gripped by the sadness and regret in his eyes. You saw tears fill them, like they had yours, and forced a sad smile before you were turned away from him.

As you were pulled to standing, for the first time since this all started, you were relieved to feel a shift coming on.

@supraveng @potterhead2207 @jamneuromain @herdreamywasteland @vibraniumarm06-bucket @imyourbratzdoll @swiftlymoniquesblog @rosedpetal @crazyunsexycool @nickfowlerrr @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

Chapter 7

[adiosterror]

Another quick ramble about Homestuck Ultimate Tiers because my friends brought up a very interesting theory!

The theory is essentially that some aspects have their ultimates being so powerful that a human body can't comprehend it, such as Rosebot and Davebot. Light and Time are far too powerful of aspects to where if you fully realize your ultimate tier in a human body, you can straight up just die. Which is why they were put into robot bodies, so they can handle their Ultimate selves.

Dirk on the other hand is an aspect all about the self, so it seems to me like an easy aspect to comprehend. He's the most powerful self he can be, which is still himself, hence, his fleshy body can hold Ultimate Heart just fine.

Now here's where you know this is a post I made.

What about Ultimate Breath? What about an Ultimate HEIR of Breath??? I saw a post in the john tags today with a new Ult John design of him being robotic, which reminded me of this convo that me and my friends had.

Him being robotic as well makes sense to me, his aspect holds itself physically like Rose's would. Dave can't be comprehended due to literally being time and Rose would probably just explode. John? If you ask me, I think he would literally just vanish if he kept in a human form.

As an Ultimate, his Breath would be so vast and incomprehensibly huge that it couldn't be compacted enough to create a physical form. He would become not just the wind, but ALL wind and probably all sources of air or just negative space in general. So, having a robotic body too would probably make sense if he wanted to keep a physical body.

I love the idea of omnipresent Ultimates,,, I mean, Dirk's already got it down, but I think John or Jade being ultimates would be super cool,,, they're literally everywhere all the time

Let me know y'alls thoughts on this, i'm interested

[torithehoshi]

CCCC Digital Doodle Dump - Oct 2023

Right - bear with me. Due to the sheer amount of digital doodles I have (and yes, I am emphasizing digital for a reason) and the amount of thoughts I have didn't make posting them separately feel right so I'm trying a different format for this.

The TLDR is, I had a lot of fun drawing CCCC related things last month. And y'all may as well be prepared for the long-run with me. My main goal was to get used to drawing HMS in my style (mostly hair and little design things based on my interpretations) and it's still something that'll be changing? But it's cool to see how things have changed and I'd like to share them.

Right - with that out of the way. Everything's under the Read More due to the sheer amount of text.

Second First attempt at drawing the trio in my style - and you can especially tell with the little notes I have (trust me - there's a version with even more notes).

A lot of my references were from the videos, especially Light & Night as well as the instrumental album cover, and fan interpretations I've seen that I liked and wanted to give a shot at (primarily Mind's mechanical hands/arms were from seeing @/maybedr3am's design) and some of my own interpretations or thoughts (but I wouldn't be surprised if some of those mixes with fan interpretations. Most of them I can't recall for the life of me except Heart having sharp teeth. I know others have done it - I just hadn't at the time seen a lot). But for the most part, there is a lot of me getting used to drawing hair specifically since I wanted them all to look somewhat different and it was good to practice that.

Some of these notes do not make sense to me right now - and I doubt they made sense at the time tbh (looking at that one near Soul)

While I much preferred starting primarily going off of the videos, Mind was an exception. ...Accidentally. I struggled really hard with him and still do so that note is funny in hindsight. I liked the robot/android-esque (?) angle/reference to 'mechanical hands' folks went with but forgot I don't draw robots much. It was frustrating me and in that time, I gave him snake bites to, as I say in the notes, mirror screws. ... And now they're just part of my Mind design because I like them too much.

Also!! I mentioned that I have a version with a lot more notes (and a different attempt at Mind I hated). I didn't really want a bunch of doodles of my sona around, so this version is for somewhat easier reading. It also left me with extra space for one more thing and I was listening to Dream so, a doodle based off the last verse it was! (I love that song, it's so good)

Second one which is a compilation of a bunch of different doodle sheets I did!! These are ones I really liked and also were mostly finished. But also each of the sheets (which is an amalgamation of three) were done at different times which you can see in my indecisiveness in what I liked in making Mind look more robotic bar just the arms and the one doodle where the hair sticking a top of Heart's head changes.

Soul, surprisingly, changes very little bar me not being able to decide if he'll have that accessory or not. Also me being stupid inconsistent with remembering to color in his hands (his whole body has that split color).

Anyways - like three of these are meme/shitpost adjacent. You'll also see me trying to think about how to incorporate the crown to Mind's design since I hadn't really tried - but I've since moved it to post-Cacophony or post-Light design ideas/headcanons. I like the hairpin idea a lot. (Note: In this headcanon, Heart also has something but it's a bracelet and... there's a lack of hands in this so... yeah. Mind made it) Also me doing a thing I like to just give random new outfits when drawing a character and... Heart's the one I had the most fun drawing.

The only completely separate one! Mostly 'cause I already had it set to be separate.

It's a height headcanon thing I drew to visualize things for myself since I'm not the best with height. All it is, is that I think they're all the same height based off of what CJ said in the Medium Q&A. But then you have little details like Mind wearing platform shoes that basically make him 6'0" and Soul slouching a lot making him "the shortest". (Also hi completely human Mind design)

This was also originally done on the same doodle sheet where the "Fuck it we ball" one was on btw. Time wise, that was before I started changing how I drew the little hair sticking out on Heart's head which - speaking of...

Despite still drawing them interacting, I started to make clip files to practice drawing them on their own. I was already kind of doing that traditionally and I thought this would be a good way to get me to focus on one of the members. Especially since drawing with my tablet pen and pencil feels different but especially with these three.

Also - focusing on them individually felt like a good way to get used to how I draw them overall. I have one for Soul and Mind now, but not at the time. Idk if I'll share more of those later unless I can format them like actual reference sheets.

Fundamentally, this serves the same purpose as the first sheet. Trying out a bunch of things, just letting my hand... draw and seeing what I like and don't. Maybe even noting some little actions that I see myself drawing them doing (like the hands balled up in fists a lot). Also! It explains why I changed the shape of the hair at the top! I think the heart shape is cute - but as I did it more, I found with me trying to make his bangs look like a heart... just for me and my style specifically, it started to feel much. But then I had another idea in making it a bit more cartoon-y, which was the kind of circle/halo shape to create an angel motif and it fit well with how I see Heart. So that's how it is now!

It's actually fascinating seeing that I suddenly started changing how I drew his hair? I started this after making this for the record (which now I remember - I referenced these), and something just... changed. I don't like it considering I was actively trying to draw curls. I have a better grasp on it now though - I think.

-----

Anyways - that's everything! Uh - thanks for reading all my ramblings if you did. I have no idea if I'll format any future art dumps/doodle dumps like this again but we'll see. Doing this made me notice both advantages and disadvantages to this so... It'll really depend if I have the same amount to say, haha.

[miniimapp]

A - Z Fluff (Jesse Edition)

Gen ;; Fluff - Headcanons (??)

Warnings ;; None

Proofread + Edited ;; HA. no

Auth. Note ;; WELCOME TO DAY 12 OF THE 4*TOWN CHRISTMAS COUNTDOWN !! WE'RE OFFICIALLY HALF WAY THEREEEE !!

sorry for the lateness,, literally just forgot to post this one so guess y'all are getting 2 today lmao

Enjoy !! <3

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

A = Activities (What kind of things do you do?)

He likes to relax together, maybe with you watching TV and him writing a song about you or completing a puzzle together.. anything with you

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

He already has 2 little miracles but he'd love to have more with you

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Jesse is always touching you,, his need to be connected to you is almost chronic. He has a soft spot for hugs from behind,, whether it's him doing it or you.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Anything you want,, Jesse is willing to provide. As long as he's with you he savours every second.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world)

You are his heart 

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

Cheesy but probably seeing you interact with his kids,, it might have the first time or the hundredth but seeing you treat them as your own helps his gaze shift into a new light

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Very,, gentle but passionate is how I'd describe Jesse

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

He likes to interlock your finger,, watching as he carefully links each one together

I = Injury (How would they react if you got hurt?)

Pretty calmly,, mans has kids after all and children tend to hurt themselves doing the simplest things so Jesse's developed a knack for calm in stressful situations. Pre-kids tho ?? Absolutely freaking out, you'd think he was the one who'd gotten hurt and then some smh

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Not really tbh,, Jesse's very secure in himself and your love for each other.. unless he's got reason to believe he should be jealous he won't be..

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Soft and slow,, as if he's trying to savour it.. like he's scared you'll disappear. Your very first kiss was actually initiated by you,, mans was hovering and very obviously wanted to do something so you took initiative and did it for him

L = Love (Who says I love you first?)

Him but by complete accident.. Jesse is extremely cautious about who he dates and brings into his life because it doesn't just affect him,, if things go badly his kids are involved too so he tries to hold off on big milestones until he's sure. But just seeing you with his kids.. literally melting. Mans just blurts out that he loves you the exact same time that he realises it

M = Memory (What's their favourite memory together?)

Hmmmm,, there's lots but his fondest is probably when you both took his kids out on a picnic.. he remembers they were so happy and even when you'd left they wouldn't stop talking about you and how cool you are and how you're their favourite ever

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Absolutely splurges on you,, whatever you want he'll get you and if he can he'll make it for you.. there are no bounds so don't be afraid to ask for what you want with Jesse

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Ohhhh Jesse would absolutely put some thought into this,, an absolute art nerd that's very into colour theory and what different colours symbolise

Pink for love, care, tenderness and acceptance.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

All the classics really,, love, darling, sweetheart, sugar.. he'll use babe but never baby,, says it feels weird yknow ??

Q= Questions (What are the questions they’re always asking?)

Jesse is quite the planner for activities so he'll always just enter whatever room you're in, after knocking of course, and ask if you want to whatever activity on whatever day,, it's quite sweet actually

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Sometimes he's feeling the main character mood and wants to sketch by the window, probably you or the kids or you and the kids, or, when he's not, he wants to play board games with the whole family :DD

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

If it's someone else,, Jesse will bring them into his studio and talk with them, whether it's about what's upsetting them or not while he makes them some pottery

If it's him,, Jesse will lock himself in his studio and create until he feels better.. being around people when he's upset is the last thing Jesse wants,, he has trouble relying on people like that

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

His kids, his not-kids (4*TOWN) and his passions,, he also loves to talk about you and your thoughts and feelings,, tell him about you and he'll never stop wanting to learn more

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?). 

Art is Jesse's way of expressing himself and his feelings,, it really helps him wind down if he's feeling stressed.. he doesn't like feeling pent up at all

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

As I've said,, Jesse is the type to wait until he's absolutely sure that a life with you is possible, he has more than his own heart at stake if things go wrong. After a couple of years is when I see Jesse popping the questions,, it could always happen earlier but I think naturally that's how long it would take

The proposal is either meticulously planned out and done with perfection or he accidentally blurts it out before he can get on with his meticulous plan

He'd do in a spot special to both of you, maybe the park you had that picnic with the kids in, and go on this whole speech, whether it's the one he planned or not. Incredibly sweet and loving is our artist boy <3

X = Xylophone (What's their song?)

It's All Coming Back to Me Now - Celine Dion (Don't ask questions,, it just is)

Y = Yearning (How well do they cope when they’re separated from their S/O?)

He copes alright,, of course he'd much rather you be there..

If on tour he calls often to check on on you and his kids if you're taking care of them or just checking in

If other he again calls often to check in you but he's prilly got his kids this time so he's calling just for you <3

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Absolutely wants a hamster like one he had when he was little, but honestly if his kids even so much as looked at any animal he'd happily buy it for them

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

Hope you enjoyed !! <3

[helleboretks]

Heads Up!

Y'all I am very well probably gonna post a fic for my new fandom tmr bc by God I cannot WAIT-

So lemme tell y'all what fandom I'm hyperfixating on rn, just to give y'all a heads up!

Anyone ever heard of Lego Monkie Kid?

BECAUSE OH MY GOD IS THAT SHIT STUCK IN MY HEAD TWENTY FOUR FUCKING HOURS A DAY-

For those who don't know! LEGO Monkie Kid is an animated Lego Show loosely based off the ancient Chinese Mythos, more specifically one of the four greatest classic novels, Journey to the West!

It's super fun and light hearted, but it's also got its moments where you're like 'hold the fuckin' phone, how dis a kids show????'

And like-hear me out y'all-

The TRAUMA these characters have gone through-

AND THEY ACTUALLY PORTRAY TRAUMA REALLY WELL??? NOT ONLY THAT BUT THERE ARE VILLAINS WITH COMPLEX PERSONALITIES AND GOALS, LOTS OF FUCKING IDENTITY CRISIS IN THE LATER SEASONS, AND LOTS OF FOUND FAMILY AND FRIENDSHIP AND THEY EVEN HAVE THE MC (who's male) HAVING A GIRL BESTIE AND THEY'RE LITERALLY BESTIES NO ROMANTIC FEELINGS INVOLVED, OH MY GOD-

And I end up obsessing over the one side character that doesn't get much screen time, and LEMME TELL YOU-

YOU'LL UNDERSTAND WHAT I MEAN IF YOU WATCH THE SHOW!!!

It's got four seasons rn, probs gonna get the fifth on either this December or somewhere in January-

BUT BY GOD DO I RECOMMEND IT-

I RECOMMEND IT A LOT BECAUSE ALL THESE CHARACTERS ARE SO TICKLABLE AND IT'S GIVING MY BRAIN PROBLEMS Y'ALL

NOT ONLY THAT, BUT NON-TICKLE RELATED, ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE FUCKING FANTASTIC-

WE GOT MONKEYS

WE GOT BULL DEMONS

WE GOT CELESTIAL DEITIES

WE GOT DRAGONS UP IN THIS SHIT

DRAGONS

AND THE CHARACTERS ARE ALL SO FUCKING WELL DEVELOPED, AND THEY'RE ALL SO FUCKING EASY TO LOVE AND SHIT AND I JUST-

I can't-

Imma fucking implode on myself-

Not only that, but bc of how Lego Shows are naturally with character design, y'all can go batshit wild with design headcanons and shit-

AND I CAN NOT RECOMMEND IT ENOUGH!!!!

If it's not your forte, that's totally all cool and shit, don't let my post pressure you into watching it =w=

SO FOR THE PEOPLE WHO'RE INTERESTED IN AN MC HAVING SILLY LITTLE ADVENTURES TO UNDERSTAND HIS NEW FOUND POWER WHICH THEN TURNS INTO 'TRAUMA TRAUMA-oh found family-MORE TRAUMA-aw, these characters are so cute!-EVEN MORE TRAUMA-WHY IS THIS A KIDS SHOW???-MORE TRAUMA' THEN WATCH LEGO MONKIE KID CAUSE THESE CHARACTERS ARE SPINNING THROUGH MY HEAD LIKE A FIDGET SPINNER AND I NEED YOU ALL TO BE AWARE OF THIS-

[fallensnowfan]

After bouncing ideas around for a post involving the WT100 popularity poll results for a while, I decided writing out my quick thoughts of the top 50 sounds fun. Don’t take this too seriously, it’s meant to be mostly silly or light-hearted.

Luffy - Always fun to see what following him leads to, a little guy.

Zoro - Like him a lot, though want to see him have more big moments that aren't fights.

Nami - My favorite character in the series, has been given so many varying roles and pulls them all off. Her belief in Luffy during the escape from Whole Cake and when refusing to back down against Ulti, and later Kaido when he claims that Luffy was defeated, are so cool.

Sanji - Once my favorite Straw Hat, has gradually fallen to least favorite since Thriller Bark.

Law - Good character, I'm just not much for moody gloomy characters, not much to say.

Robin - Seeing her gradually develop such a strong belief and connection to her friends is wonderful. Her doing the Huh face at after learning that Luffy was defeated by Kaido is what perfect character development looks like.

Hancock - I think she's a great character though the way the story has handled her trauma is less than ideal to me. Healing from trauma is not so linear, there are relapses, creeping doubts, etc. Her story including some of that and having her work through it by relying on others who have been through similar experiences, Koala perhaps, would make her character that much greater.

Carrot - Chapter 888 is so cool. Best bunny little sister. Pedroooo!

Ace - No strong opinion.

Sabo - No strong opinion, though kinda feel he overshadows Koala a bit too much, who I like much more.

Yamato - Fun character though is built on traits from characters that were already established. Luffy's energy, Tama has a connection to Ace that feels more natural, Kin'emon is Momo's father/mentor, and the Akazaya love Oden more than anyone and inherited his will. The unique part of Yama's character is a wish to be accept by the samurai of Wano, something that has happened now. His story feels complete, though if I were asked why I think his story was included in the manga, I don't think I could give an answer. Forcing Luffy away from reaching the Scabbards on the roof was a stupid and grossly selfish move from Yamato.

Shanks - Mystery man, what are you up to, Red Hair?

Corazon - He's a great character, very intense about his goals and cares a lot the people and things he wants to protect. His dynamics with the Doffy family had me very invested in that story.

Katakuri - Best donut-loving big bro.

Usopp - When he's at his best, he is amazing, though isn't consistently depicted as his best.

Chopper - Me: "Doctor Chopper! I'm impressed by your amazing medical skills, you're so skilled at such a young age!"

Chopper: "Shut up asshole! You saying that doesn't make me happy at all! ehehe." Chopper is so cute y'all. ahhh

Crocodile - Still no backstory yet he doesn't even need one to be one of the best villain in the series. A real love to hate kinda guy.

Jinbei - Shark uncle, we all thought he would be logical with Robin but he just lets Luffy do what he wants(mostly,) amazing.

Marco - Fruit-shaped bird.

Doflamingo - I want to punch him in the face.

Vivi - The original princess, I love her and Luffy's dynamic as leaders that learned from the other.

Bon Clay - The queen of last minutes saves. Bon's introduction wasn't perfect though he has been framed in a positive way and been a great ally since helping the crew escape Hina. I think he's great.

Kidd -  Angry magnet man, I like many of the Supernovas introduced during Sabaody and Kidd is one of the group I enjoy more, though also agree with Oda, nine was perhaps too many.

Oden - Good on him for gathering and uniting the group of wonderful retainers. Terrible leader until he is a great one. No in between measures exist within this man.

Perona - I love how extra she is, I know many find her annoying but that makes her even funnier for me. Acts so above it all though is just as much of a dumb weirdo as Zoro, in her own way. If she had joined the crew at the end of Thriller Bark, I would have been all for it.

Brook - Brook and Thriller Bark signify the biggest shift in what One Piece is as a story in terms of tone and how bizarre it can be. He often fell to the wayside after joining, though has a fantastic story. Really got to shine during Whole Cake and Wano as a great support crew member, graciously allowing others to take the spotlight. Yohohoho.

Smoker - Top ten introductions to a character in the series. At the rate he gets promotions, earned or otherwise, he'll outrank Imu by series end.

Franky - Suuuuuuper! Leave it to Franky. He's great and always reliable for his crew. Can't help but feel kinda bad for the guy. He was so loved pre-ts(not that I was caught up at the time) though just doesn't get as much from the readers these days.

Roger - The man who started it all. The only reason he was allowed to take over the Wano flashback for a bit was because Oda needed time to establish his himbofication. So silly that he told Neptune he thought his daughter would be hairy.

Mihawk - His sudden appearance at the Baratie is what got me hooked on One Piece. Just so cool with his coffin boat and vampire aesthetic. Vastly under-prepared for suddenly gaining two goth family members to take care of and I love it.

Whitebeard - Always the Pops to his crew, wanted a family and was able to have one.

Merry - Best girl.

Rayleigh - He's the best greasy mentor a fella like Luffy could ask for. Love the guy's carefree attitude.

Buggy - He's the great Captain Buggy, words are useless to describe his majesty.

Enel - Playboy acting out the role of god. Part of me hopes that he never shows up again and Oda never explains why beyond a "he left to another galaxy" or some nonsense. I would find that hilarious for reasons I'm unable to explain.

Aokiji - Mystery man the second, what are you up to, ice man?

Woop Slap - Mayor guy.

Tashigi - People are always wondering if Tashigi is Kuina but no! I figured it out. Kuina is Kuina and Tashigi is Mocha's sword friend!

Reiju - Best part about Reiju and the Vinsmoke siblings as characters is that they show that it's okay to leave harmful blood family behind.

Barto - Broccoli.

X Drake - Quadruple agent shy boy. I want to see his dino ability. He has always been present throughout the New World though hasn't really been given the spotlight, yet I'm hoping.

Koby - First and foremost now, I can't help but think of him as Hibari's senpai. He's grown so much since we met him.

Rob Lucci - Die

Garp - Intense guy who has been through a lot and usually expresses himself through violence.

Pudding - I could write an essay about her, I'll keep it short and say she's one of Oda's most complex characters and so much is shown about how the Charlotte family operates through getting to know Pudding.

Blackbeard - Would you believe me if I told you that it took me until I was reading Zou to realize that he was cherry pie guy? The roughly eight-year break I took between Water 7(just before the Sunny was first uncovered) and Thriller Bark is probably the reason. It really shaped how I view the character and I still find it hard to think of him as a villain because of it. It's somewhat like he and cherry pie guy are different characters in my head, but I know they're the same. It's weird.

Kiku - Perfect and beautiful and resilient and...

Izo - Very cool dual wielder and dramatic in the best way, a legend. I can't believe this man is in his 40s, he's so silly.

Hiyori - Her friendship with Toko is adorable, Kawamatsu is best kappa dad, and there's no way she isn't concealing knives, poisons, seastone needles, etc. in the sleeves or obi of her kimono at all times, Denjiro taught her well. When and how did she learn that someone she could trust was keeping her father's swords safe? When Oden gave his swords to Toki, Sukiyaki would have been imprisoned at the time, though he knew he had grandkids at the end of the arc. Either something is up or Oda didn't quite figure out the details to make everything line up, which is possible.

Shirahoshi - My favorite princess in the series, she is great and so is Otohime and her bros. Has potential to be an all time favorite. I want to see her, Jinbei, Nami, Nojiko, Koala, Hachi, and Aladdin all gather together in one place and all be cute.

[anxiety-banana]

ty @mithrandirl for the tag!! you are so loved and i'm proud of you for answering questions about your writing when you seem in a low place about it. i hope you find what it takes to be in a good place with your creative stuffs soon! <3

i think i did this a while ago but may as well update!

20 Questions for Writers

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

96 + 48 anon works that will hopefully never see the light of day on my profile lol

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

262,661, which hurts me knowing i have written the length of multiple novels

3. What fandoms do you write for?

currently star wars and *whispers* i'm working on some smosh stuff idk if i'll finish/post. in past: marvel, scorpion, white collar (anon), psych (anon), leverage (anon), and like two anon almost paradise fics

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

when it matters (white collar)

inevitability is a stupid, stupid, thing (marvel, penny parker)

if you're so smart, tell me why are you still so afraid? (suits)

and home isn't quite the same, but it's far from unachievable (hawkeye)

big brothers make it okay (clone wars)

5. Do you respond to comments?

yup! comments are my lifeblood and i usually respond quickly, but at the moment i have a few i still haven't responded to. it's my one and only fic superpower lol

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

frickity-- i write a lot of angst but it usually ends well?? love, where it cannot be found is pretty overall angst but i think i pulled of the balance pretty well, also probably call me what i am, call me a monster. that one's just straight angst.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

hehe there are many, i'm an au fanatic so probably heaven swallows the smoke because i'm really attached to it and everyone lives/nobody dies endings are my favorites

8. Do you get hate on fics?

usually very passive aggressive hate because no one wants to be a bully on main lol but yeah pretty regularly i get a bit of "so hey you actually wrote this tiny inconsequential thing out of character and i'm entitled to making you fix it in your work of fiction that you literally wrote for yourself because you wanted to and i'm acting like i paid money for this content" which are admittedly kinda fun to reply to lol. recently had someone say "the translation you used for beowulf for a very small part of this fic that doesn't matter is actually mid and you should be using this version instead" it was a weird day

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

nope, but y'all do what you wanna do. i think smut can be written tastefully i'm just too wimpy

10. Do you write crossovers?

no, but i would if i had the inspo

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i had my entire wattpad era of fic stolen on one of those weird bootleg fic websites, but as i said last time, it's all trash they can have it

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no but i'm working on translating all my fic into legible prose instead of one giant brain fart. that'll be the day

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i attempted to with two friends like multiple years ago and we never finished it and i think i had a mental breakdown over it. so no lol

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

GNKLSJDKJD uh so now that it's cannon i can say shartney. they have my entire heart

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i'm working on a summer camp au that i love and also a star wars fic i've shared snippets of because i'm not sure i'll ever finish it ahaha

16. What are your writing strengths?

prose and dialogue!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

pacing chapters, works over 10k, and making first person pov not sound like it was written by a twelve year old

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

it's pretty cool! i've done a little ASL in fic which is always fun to write, although since it's based off english it's not really translated into written word any differently, but i'd love to become more confident in writing some french into fic. je parle un peu français, mais je n'y suis pas à l'aise.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

technically i think it was either BBC's Merlin or marvel, but i'm almost certain both of those have been burned by the pits of the google docs trash can

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

i already added it but i'm adding it again, heaven swallows the smoke is one i published recently and i've been working on for a while. it's not perfectly formatted or paced but i love the characters and the plot so it makes me happy <3

i've tagged a lot of people in these things before so let this be known as your tag! if you want to participate, this is your permission <3

[author-of-kimyona]

so the design process for each character is very lengthy, and added with now getting ready for college, it's taking a bit a LOT longer than expected to finish every character's designs.

BUT. i do have the base sketches finished for 3 characters that I'm proud of

Kimyōna:

i decided to give her a more rugged look. her life wasn't that easy, and I wanted for her clothing to reflect that. i still wanted to make her look cool-and maybe a bit dystopian-so I reflected that in her design as well.

here's a closeup of her profile because it's kind of hard to see in the initial photo

Ami Himura:

this isn't her final look, but I still wanted to share this to show my design process. she still has a sailor uniform-esque outfit on, but I also gave her a letterman jacket that hangs off her shoulders and a sleeveless top underneath. the belt connecting her skirt and her top is made of metal to give it a more futuristic look. the middle of her belt has a heart on it <3. she still has her hair and signature bow because I love it

because of story reasons, i changed it (no you will not know why. that will be spoilers >:()

I wanted to Ami's outfit to fit a more traditional look, but still have the ✨Ami flare✨. But I didn't know how I would go about it, so I tried combining different pieces of traditional Japanese attire to see what would work. i settled with a combination of a haori and a michiyuki, and this seemed to work the best as being both traditional and appealing to Ami's character.

It's main color is blue because it's her favorite color (and I color coded Ami to be blue at the very beginning) and I added some pink accents and added some red flowers because it looks nice (Ami's surname "Himura" literally translates to "dark red village" so the flowers work there too). her belt is less traditional and is more similar to our modern belts but I think it works here.

now here's Ami with her new fit :D

I also made her face and body type less mature to fit her age and personality

Indigo Jelani:

my notes aren't lying when I say that I loved designing her

her appearance didn't change too much from what y'all may have seen in my previous posts, but there are some stuff that are worth mentioning.

her scarf is not attached to her top. it's its own thing! i also gave it a more ombre pattern-going dark to light-and the rest of her outfit is going to reflect the same way in the future. i gave her shirt longer sleeves that just go down to below her elbow. she no longer has a turtleneck and instead had a u-collar thingy (don't know what to call it). her shorts now have a flower pattern, but I'm still trying to find what flowers they should be.

here's a closer look at her profile since it's harder to see in the initial photo. forgot to mention that her scarf has a clasp in the front

i lied. here's my process of trying to create a cuter design for Jelly:

i made this a while back and y'all probably seen it in my sneek peak of redesigning everyone, but I thought I'd share it now. i want Jelly to be less annoying but still charming. i basically experimented with shapes until i found a combination that made me happy, then finished the character from there

[blu3-j]

Table of Contents:

Introduction

Are Requests Open Currently?

Are Commissions Open Currently?

Request Rules (both fanfiction and art)

How to Request (both fanfiction and art)

Things to Keep in Mind

Link to Writing Master List

Introduction:

Hello, fellow strangers! I'm blu3-j, but you can call me J. I do fanart! (Along with regular art, but you'll have to ask for me to share my other social media with it on there. This account is supposed to remain a secret and irl mutuals follow my other social medias, haha!) I also do fanfiction, apparently! I love writing, truly! It brings me great joy! I only begun after I joined Tumblr, so I'm very happy you all like my writing! (If you want to see my other non-fanfiction works, hit me up, bestie! I'd love to share!)

Are Requests Open Currently?

As of current, yes! Feel free to send them in! Make sure to look over the rules and "Things to Keep in Mind" sections before you do!

Are Commissions Open Currently?

As of current, no, commissions are not open. I'm still in the process of setting them up. I will make a seperate post about them once I open them up, though! (On top of updating this)

Request Rules:

(May be updated in future)

Fanfiction:

No NSFW (I do not feel comfortable writing it)

No child x character unless it's platonic or familial (they're just a kid, dude.)

No OCs

No racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc.

Reader will always be gender neutral unless specified otherwise in the request

Art:

Keep in mind this is more so just casual stuff, so don't expect it to be full illustrations (I may do so if I feel like it and like the idea well enough, but don't get your hopes high in the chance I don't, okie? I don't want to hurt your feelings if I don't! Your precious heart needs to be cherished! There's no replacement for it, after all!)

K.I.S.S. it! Keep it simple, stupid! (You're not stupid, that's just part of the saying I was taught.)

There may be minor gore allowed (light blood. I will be picky if there's gore.)

No NSFW (only if you were commissioning me, but there's a special fee for that. Commissions are currently not set up. Keep a lookout for that, though!)

How to Request:

Fanfiction:

Send in an ask through the little ask button on my thingy! (Make sure to read the rules, first!)

Specify characters and if reader is involved

Specify what kind of relationship it is (platonic, familial, romantic, poly, etc.) (If that's what you're requesting, of course! It can just be a general idea or situation.)

If you're more into headcannons, you can send in requests for those, too!

Art:

Send in an ask through the little ask button on my thingy! (Make sure to read the rules, first!)

And put in the situation/suggestion/idea! You can also specify characters and if viewer is involved. Simple as that! You've got it down!

Things to Keep in Mind:

Don't be shy about requesting! I do my best not to judge, and if I do, you'll never know. You shouldn't need to know, regardless! It's you, after all! You don't deserve that. If I don't have anything good to say, I won't say anything at all!

If you don't know what I'll take as a request, ask me! I'll gladly answer. I won't bite! Promise, cross my heart! With a pinkie promise, too! You're safe here.

I can, however, deny requests. I'll simply just not do anything with them. I won't talk about them on my blog posts, ilI won't show anybody, nothing. Please don't ask about requests you've already sent in and if I'll do them. If I will, I'll get to it eventually.

I have my own life filled with busy-busy events! I may take a while to get to things, and I may occasionally not have requests or commissions open. I also have to take care of myself and mental wellbeing. I'll let y'all know if I'm taking a break from doing things on Tumblr, okie?

Just want to ask me something general or tell me something cool! Go ahead! I love making conversation! Just because I take requests doesn't mean I don't want to get to know you all better! (You all are so amazing! How could I not?)

Link to Writing Master List

[rae-gar-targaryen]

amor fati [druig x fem!eternals reader]

A/N: Ya girl is back and officially posting writing again. I know it's been a while, but thank you for sticking with me. I didn't think I'd write for Marvel again, but, well, like all of you, I was just taken by Barry's performance as Druig, who (along with Makkari) quickly stole the whole movie for me. Keep an eye out for an upcoming TASM!Spidey and/or Matt Murdock fic, as well. Might as well go full-tilt Marvel now… 

This piece is probably a cliché, but oh well. I hope you like! Please tell me what you liked, what you didn't, and what, if anything, I should do for Druig in the future. There is a playlist for this, as well. 

Reblogs are always appreciated! 

Pairing: Druig x fem eternal!reader (Reader’s legend is that of Artemis, the hunter goddess. No Y/N); some Drukkari x reader, if you're looking. 

Word Count: 16.1k of eternal love, the stuff that poems are made of, and my usual abuse of simile and metaphor. Cotton candy sweetness -- but careful, lest it dissolve between your fingertips. Who said romance wasn’t a little tragic? All’s well that ends well.

Warnings: my writing is its own warning, angst, eternals-style heartbreak (y'all have either seen the movie or read enough fic to know that our boy leaves), canon-typical violence, misuse of power. Also? Smut, so 18+ ONLY -- touching, biting, outdoor naughtiness, mutual masturbation, and other things that occur more than once in here, okay? 

Summary: A love for the ages, yours and Druig's feelings for one another have persisted throughout time and distance. Stoic as Druig is, winter snow melts in the light of spring, and a little hunter has held his heart in her hands for millennia. Gently traipses through the plot of the movie.

---

By starlight, everything was serene. A luminous, crescent crown.

Your awakening was like the warp and the weft, weaving the threads that comprised your personhood through a grandiose loom. It was simultaneously soft and scraping – A yarn-like itch behind your eyelids compelled you to open them, only to be met with a room full of strangers. 

You saw him then -- eyes of twinkling, galactic starlight. Serene. 

You tilted the corner of your lips in a soft smile, hoping to convey similar softness. Welcoming. And his face? His face remained stoic. Passive.

As you would come to learn, as history unfolded, it all was positively Austenian. Dickensian. Shakespearean, maybe?

Here he was: The crystalline-eyed boy with raven hair and blooming-lily skin, so superior in his indifference. Who carried himself with a power that transcended time. A cool, quiet tempest. Burning insight and demand into the deepest corners of a mind, like the golden, fiery sun.   

There you were: The doe-eyed girl. Quick in wit (and to anger), the sharpness of your tongue second only to that of your arrows. Fearsome, to be sure, but soft for him. (As he would be for you). Graceful and generous. A flower known to bloom by the silvery light of the pale moon. 

There was no way to know it when you awoke. But the two of you would be wrapped in one another throughout eternity, as threads pulled tightly around a finger, woven through a loom. But perhaps you had been before then, if man could comprehend a “prior-to” eternity. If you could remember a time before now.

But forever is made of little nows...

Perhaps this is where Austen, Dickens, Shakespeare, and the like would come to draw their inspiration. From the legends of godlike warriors who would cross the universe, if it meant even a moment together. Who guarded and tended the fragile sapling that was the human race. Who stole clandestine moments to bask in one another, exchanging endearments and creating traditions that would become symbols of love throughout time. Everything starts somewhere. 

For the very moment you opened your eyes in the cool, eerie light of the Domo, you were invigorated with purpose. You had awoken with Arishem’s booming voice in your ears, permeating your mind. Dictating to you. To protect the human race of Earth. To defeat the Deviants. 

You padded softly across the chamber, smiling and nodding at your fellow Eternals, introducing yourself as you went, until you stood before him. Rugged, roguish, and still somehow boyish, he stood with his arms clasped behind his back, appraising you. His black armor replete with details of curving, curling red, his eyebrows quirked as he looked down at you, awaiting your word.

You gave him your name, holding out your hand for him to take.

“Druig,” he responded, the lilt of his accent strange and soothing to your ears as he clasped your hand gently in greeting.

You nodded, a warm smile gracing your features as you looped his hand through your arm and made to cross to the nearest window together. 

“Are you excited?” You asked him; the feel of his arm was warm against yours as you took in the marble-like appearance of the planet you were assigned to. Comforting. “This is my first assignment since leaving Olympia … ‘Earth,’ you sighed. “I wonder what it will be like.”

Druig chuckled softly at your eagerness, taking you in as you observed the blue-green planet of Earth through the glass of the Domo. 

Your armor was rosy, copper-like in appearance with striking details of silvery-blue twining its way across your body, as the red did with his. 

Fitting, he thought. That your very warmth should be reflected in the very nature of your kit. Not just anyone would immediately approach Druig and hold his hand. He wasn’t exactly known for his sunny disposition on Olympia. 

Was he? 

Yet, here you stood fearlessly by his side as though you belonged, your eyes shining by the light of space, ethereal. By starlight, everything was serene. 

Not for the first time since he had met you did Druig find himself quirking his brow in assessment of you. Intrigued. For what could someone so seemingly gracious, gentle, do in battle against Deviants, of all things?

“Ta. Well, we’ll know soon enough, won’t we?” Druig answered both your question and his own musings before another voice snapped the moment. 

“It is time,” your leader – Ajak, your mind supplied – spoke. Summoning you all to prepare yourself for the journey to Earth. 

As you took your place alongside the others, you couldn’t help but feel the elation coursing through you. The determination. You would protect this planet with everything you had. Whatever time you had to learn the beings of Earth, and your fellow Eternals, was like a book waiting to be pored over.  Your lives stitched together, piecemeal, made by some unseen, Celestial force. Woven. Throughout eternity, woven. 

How could you have known just how much, little hunter?

— 

In some ways, fighting was as easy as breathing, as weaving. It’s what you were made for, wasn’t it? 

As you and your fellow Eternals progressively cleared each corner of the globe from the Deviant infestation, you learned to operate together. To move as one to defeat the beings that threatened the development of this planet. 

Somewhere along the way, between the immeasurable conjuring of your golden arrows to fire through the bow you could weave at will, it became, well, fun. Centuries spent side by side with the universe's finest warriors had taught you a thing or two. And as humanity had developed, thanks in part to Sersi's gentle patience and Phastos's ingenuity, so had you.

As Thena and Gilgamesh cut through their enemies like tissue paper, you and Kingo would offer coordinated support through the benefit of distance attacks and hawkish aim. Determined and quick, you never missed. Kingo made for an excellent partner, releasing the beaming power of the sun from his fingertips as though it was nothing. Shooting down Deviants, the two of you covering the backs of your fellow Eternals, and working seamlessly in tandem. 

Kingo would offer you a smirk when he connected with his mark, and hollered a “nice shot,” when you aimed true. Whether the two of you had a running competition as to who could strike the most targets from the greatest distance was for the two of you to know, and for no one else to find out. The tally marks surreptitiously etched into the corner of the Domo were for the two of you alone. 

And Ajak -- a mother in some ways and the commander of a battalion in others -- saw fit that when you weren't fighting the deviants, you spent ample time training to fight deviants. 

It was this training time where you would partner with those Eternals whose skills were the most unlike your own – trying to prod the blur that you knew to be Makkari with a plinking, blunted arrow. Or seeking to best the taciturn Druig in hand-to-hand before he could bewitch you with eyes of molten gold. 

Truth be told, Druig was no slouch at close-quarters combat. But against an opponent with the coordination and entrenched anticipation of an archer? Besting you was no small feat. If he could best you, that is.

The two of you traded blows as easily as you traded quips. Druig, so usually reserved, flourished. He was agile as he jumped and spun to avoid your strikes, twirling around you to make his move.  You dodged his attempted strike to your face, using the momentum to lean back and swing your leg to knock Druig’s from under him. As Druig’s shoulders met the floor, you rolled, fluidly conjuring a small dagger, which you brought to his bare throat. Meeting him with the weight of your forearms against his shoulders to keep him fixed to the floor. 

You beamed down at your quarry, batting your lashes. An innocent smile – for no being with a smile so bright could have done what you just did, right? You? Topple someone so fearsome? Never. 

“Don’t toy with your food,” Kingo called to you teasingly, unable to contain his chuckle at your position over Druig. “Leave the poor boy with some pride, archer.” 

“Pride?” You quirked a brow down at the man below you, shifting your weight to stand above him and offering a hand. “Do you feel proud?” You teased. 

Druig clasped his warm hand into yours, panting lightly with the exertion of sparring, and allowed you to hoist him to his feet. Using the momentum of your pull, he leveraged himself into crowding your personal space, swarming your senses with nothing but Druig as he smirked back at you. 

“Of you? Immensely, hunter,” Druig breathed so that Kingo couldn't hear, the cadence of his accent a pleasant hum against your ears. 

He released your hands, circling you as though preparing to spar once more. As a panther would, replete with inky hair and coiling muscle. 

“You’ve felled your prey bravely. What deviant could stand against you?” 

You snorted, pleased with Druig’s teasing demeanor, a warm little thrum coursing through you. He could be quite charming when he wanted to be. Time and gentle patience had taught you that he wasn’t always as dour as he could be with the others – given the right circumstances. 

Or perhaps the right company?  He was never quite so cross with you or Makkari. 

“Perhaps you think too highly of the threat you pose, dear Druig. For what are men compared to deviants?” you asked, your eyes tracking his progress around you. 

Druig’s pacing ceased at your words, his eyes a brewing storm as he swept a glance up and down your form. Stepping to close the gap between the two of you once more and deliberately brushing his shoulder into yours, he paused to look down at your profile before he passed you by. 

“Be on your guard. I am no mere man, little hunter,” he murmured, leaving your side with a parting wink. 

Your gaze never left Druig as he departed, making his way down the verdant-lit halls of the Domo. Leaving your body buzzing pleasantly with something as you recalled the way his lips had ever-so-slightly grazed the shell of your ear as he taunted you. 

Just one of many threads serving to weave you both together, twining colors of dawn, of star-crested trees, and a crown of holy branches. Of breaking tides and moonlit swaths. You couldn’t choose the threads within the loom, obsequious at the facile hands of fate – or something else. 

— 

Clearing corners of the globe did allow you to take in the many splendors of this planet, as you had so hoped all those years ago on the Domo before coming to Earth. To allow you to get to know the people of Earth, your fascination with them and their development as endless as their apparent fascination with the Eternals. 

But it wasn’t just the people of Earth that held your attention. 

Nature had offered an escape, a reprieve from the endless conflict with the Deviants. You did not seek the next battle, as Thena did. Nor were you as entrenched in development as Phastos.

No, you preferred to spend your days exploring the countryside, climbing rocks, swimming in the ocean. Tending to the deer in the forest.

One such day found you enjoying the lake near where you had settled. It was an atypically quiet day, and cool babbling was soothing to you as you observed the clear water, taking in the colorful rocks like a rainbow embedded beneath its surface. The fish paid you no mind as you waded in, unable to help yourself. 

“Not t’ cold, is it?” You turned at the smooth, accented voice of Druig as he made his way through the treeline, coming to stop along the shore near where you had waded in, hands folded as he observed you in the sunlight. 

“I don’t mind a bit of cold, demeanor or otherwise,” you acknowledged. “Besides, the humans bathe and wash their linens here. If they don’t mind it, I don’t see any reason why I should.” 

Druig snorted at that, wading his way into the water not far from where you stood, the current gently rippling around your bodies.

“I've heard them talking about you, you know. Sprite's been spinning her web of tales in every city we dock,” Druig said offhandedly as he tossed a stone atop the clear lake, rippling the water’s previously-unblemished surface with the skips of the smooth rock. 

“Oh?” You plucked a unique-looking grey-blue rock from the shallows, your dress bunching in the water and flowing about your knees. “And what do they say?”

You turned over the rock you had chosen in your hands, noting, pleased, how its shade was so similar to the eyes of the man who stood beside you, plucking and skipping stones of his own.

“They call you Artemis. Some call you Diana. Others Selene. Different names for the same, stunning entity. Goddess of the forest, the hunter, the protector of young women throughout their land." 

You laughed. 

“That’s a kind and gentle way to describe conjuring arrows to destroy Deviants in bloody battle. Are you sure they aren’t referring to Sersi instead?” you chirped, leaning down to trail your fingers through the cool, clear water, admiring the way the blue of the rock looked so striking when held beneath the surface. 

“And what of your legends?” You queried. “So powerful that Sprite has invented an entire mystical order to explain away the one man who can grasp a million minds. The druids. Does that not tickle your pride somewhat?”

“An attempt to make me sound useful and utilitarian, perhaps?” Druig tossed another stone, ignoring its skipping progress across the water’s surface in favor of wading gently closer to where you stood. 

“Even so. Solitary folk they are, eh? The druids. So Sprite says. Any truth to that, then?” Your eyes tracked his progress as he disrupted the cool river’s surface to stand by your side.

Druig shrugged, coolly, but still affable. Willing to banter with you a bit more. The stretch of patience he would extend to you, to your conversations, after centuries still never ceased to amaze you. You often wondered what it is that had separated you from the others. Why he would extend these courtesies to you, to Makkari, and offer you glimpses of himself. 

“You know I prefer solitude if I am gifted it. Too many minds around and it gets a bit … crowded … up here.” Druig made a motion with his hands, circling around his head. “Like the buzzing of so many busy little bees,” he sighed. “But you know my power. You know me.”

You shuddered a bit at the heat that had laced Druig’s voice. “Do I?” You looked across the water, teasingly refusing to meet Druig’s gaze. “And what do you suppose my estimation is?” 

“Other than finding me roguishly handsome, you mean?” Druig teased. 

Your eyes widened at Druig’s jest. Although, in every joke, a kernel of truth. Had he been reading your thoughts? 

“Bah!” You huffed, “Don’t be a scoundrel. Especially not with someone who can best you in a fight.” 

“You still think you can best me, then?” Druig challenged, his voice light and bantering. 

“Oh, I know I can,” you bent your knees ever-so-slightly below the water, ready to spring should Druig challenged you. “You think I would expel all of my energy when we spar? Please.”  

“I could always just compel you to lose,” Druig said, tapping his chin as though deep in thought. 

“You would have to be faster than Artemis to do that,” and with that, you pounced, lurching forward and giving Druig’s shoulder a purposeful shove, causing him to slip on the stones beneath his feet topple into the water with a resounding splash, the sound cracking against the trees. 

You laughed as you backed away toward the shore, out of Druig’s reach as he broke the surface of the water, spluttering.

If you had thought he resembled a large cat before when you were training, the comparison was certainly apt now. He fixed you with a glare as he shook the water from his hands, and then his hair, now wet and matted to his head, his clothes stuck to his form, dripping. 

“Cheeky, hunter,” Druig breezed, his voice taking on a low timbre, but with no hint of malice, as he waded toward the shoreline, giving way to the chase you were leading him on as you darted from his grasp. 

He bent at the shoreline, dragging his hand through the water and attempting to splash you as you ran down the shore. 

Druig certainly could be fast when he wanted to be, you thought, too little too late as he closed the gap between you, catching you with an arm around your waist and causing you both to topple onto the pebbled shore. 

 You laughed together, Druig taking the moment to stroke a stray hair at your crown back into place.

“How could we have never met on Olympia?” you asked him, softly, “I feel as though I should have known you my entire life. And yet … we have only met now. It hardly feels fair. Years without the discovery of one another.” 

“We know one another now,” he shrugged, knocking an affable shoulder into yours as you sat beside one another, taking in the lake once more. 

Druig’s company was easy. Summer rain, the soft tapping on glass, warm, sweet and refreshing. 

You reached for the canvas bag you had brought with you that rested near where you had stopped together on the shore, pulling a fiery-hued orange from the depths of your bag. 

“Is this where Makkari keeps getting these then,” Druig asked as he watched you peel the orange. “She’s always snacking on them.” 

You nodded, offering Druig a wedge, its skin visibly thin and membranous by the light of the sun, ready to burst with zinging, crisp flavor on your tongue when you bite into it. 

Druig held up his hand to you, making to refuse. But you gently took his wrist, opening his palm to you and placing the wedge in his hand. You had opened the rind as you were slowly opening yourself to him, splitting the orange down its center and offering to share. To share its brightness, its sweetness, as you would endeavor to share yours. 

"You need to enjoy yourself more. The world is full of small treasures waiting to be discovered. Take a page from Makkari’s book,” you bit your own wedge, Druig taking in the little slip of juice that made its way from the corner of your mouth. 

He shrugged, following suit and biting into his own wedge. 

"Do you like them?" You asked through a mouthful of sweet, zipping orange. 

He nodded softly, savoring the sweet, syrupy flavor. “And Makkari?”

"She likes sharing with me," you shrugged.

Druig’s brows quirked at that. He knew you knew that he was also close with Makkari. How he would anchor the quicksilver woman in tender moments. And she, him. He had hoped it wouldn’t be a point of contention as you and he developed into … whatever you were that felt dangerously like affection. 

It seems he was mistaken; for you and Makkari were clearly also … affectionate.

To you, Makkari was milk and honey. Sweetness, nourishment, home.  Druig was oil. Rich and incendiary. He was the sagebrush you smelled in the desert before a storm – A cautionary comfort you could never quite quantify. 

And as the traipsing trail of time slipped past, thick like honey, you were eager for this to unfold. The path before you now lay, heavy and unblemished, like freshly packed and fallen snow. Tread lightly, little one, lest you sink too far. Or mar the surface of yours and Druig's tenuous friendship. 

And the  humans, it seemed, had grown to adore their protectors. 

And your friendship -- no, that seemed too soft a word … partnership?? -- had blossomed. Sharing your observations on humanity, sparring, your cheeky little intrigues with Makkari, helping her "obtain" treasures she sought. Your sniper's eye was good for more than just combat, after all...

And, at the celebration the humans had held for you within the stronghold of Babylon’s walls, you basked in the warmth of the evening from your chosen perch. 

Watching Sersi dance with the humans. Watched as Sprite weaved her tales with the accompaniment of shimmering, golden illusions. Watched as Makkari haggled with the townsfolk. You had turned down Kingo and Gilgamesh's offer of a drinking contest in favor of observation. Perhaps you were waiting for the offer to dance, instead?

“You know,” Druig pushed himself off of the wall at the periphery of your vision, his lilting voice breaking your thoughts, “I asked Makkari where she got some of those artifacts to trade. She started to mention something about them being won in a ‘shooting contest,’ before becoming suspiciously forgetful. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you, dear hunter of mine?” 

Druig ambled his way over to where you held court, your gaze fixed solely on him now. 

“Now, Dru, you know I respect Ajak’s rules far too much to aid in any kind of scheme where thievery is involved. Besides, were they really thieved if I won them fair and square?” You smiled at him then, a quick flash of tilted lips and teeth, like a fox might bare its teeth at its prey. 

The flicker of ferocity behind your grin was a direct juxtaposition to your usually-calm demeanor, and the softness of the dress that adorned your body. So different from your usual stiff, copperish armor. 

A heady combination, Druig thought, your contradictions continuing to surprise him. 

“And what did Makkari promise you in return for your assistance?” Druig stood before you, arms clasped behind his back in apparent repose. But you knew better. Lightning roiled beneath his skin, in the contrasting gold-and-blue of his stormy eyes. He merely awaited his moment. 

“Alleged assistance, my love,” you teased. “And Makkari’s and my arrangements are our own. No business of yours …  not unless you ask nicely for it to be your business.” 

At the heated lilt of your teasing voice, Druig’s mind was awash with the possibility and entendre of what you had said. 

“You’ve compelled me to ask, but for my own self–preservation, perhaps I’ll save that for later,” Druig replied, circling you slowly. “That’s a lovely dress, by the way.”

You smiled at his compliment, your desire to tease gone as you felt flush at his compliment. Almost shy. You shifted on your feet. 

“I almost feel more comfortable in my armor, but Kingo insisted. He’s got more of a flair for this sort of thing than I do, anyway,” you offered, glancing at your Apollo from across the room as he laughed with Gilgamesh at Sprite’s illusions. "And some of the women in the village made it for me." 

The upswing of a new song caught your attention, and you turned to the man beside you, who was likewise observing the others. Ever-watchful, your Druig. 

The two of you had shared tender moments. Conversations far too personal to be purely platonic. Hell, the two of you had even shared a few kisses over the years. Embraced. Held one another in private moments just for the two of you. Or three of you. But the urgency to progress something wasn't really a factor when you lived forever. 

Nevertheless, yours and Druig's… whatever you might call it… had not really progressed past a certain point. Call it respect for the being you knew to be reserved in his affection, but you didn't feel the need to be overly-physical it it wasn't something he had instituted.

That doesn't mean the desire wasn't there. At least on your part. The burning thrum of something just shy of need. The hope to hold onto Druig as more than just your friend. To press the planes of your skin along his in quiet moments. To feel his hands caress parts of yourself that no one else would. His hands were quite maddeningly beautiful, weren't that? Craving the resplendent mutualism of shared ardor.

Had centuries not been long enough? So, while you didn’t know what came over you, you felt compelled to ask nonetheless – 

“Would you care to dance?” You piped up suddenly, your own voice (or perhaps the suddenness of your own courage) causing you to jump a bit, like a startled fawn. 

Had you really just done that? No sense in playing coy now.

You gestured at the circling crowd. 

Ah. So, perhaps it was a foolish request.

Druig quirked a brow at you, tilting the corner of his mouth into a barely-there half smile. For his part, he seemed to hesitate a tad before taking in the magnitude of the crowd and responding,

“I’m not much of a dancer, I’m afraid, love,” he replied. “Besides, can’t have anyone knowing I have two left feet.” 

You tried to quell the rush of icy disappointment and proverbial cold water his response had shot through you.

“I’ve seen you fight, Dru, your feet are precisely as they should be,” you teased gently, masking the mild sting of rejection you felt with a joke. “Ah, well.” 

With that, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and patted his arm softly before making your way from the room, and outside of the city walls. 

A blurring rush came to a stop beside Druig as he watched you go. He turned to find Makkari at his side, a stern look fixed to her usually-gentle features, prominent chin jutted in Druig’s direction and eyes awash in a frown. 

“Why would you do that?” She prodded at Druig, her hands flying. 

“I’m not much of a joiner,” he responded, signing back his dissent to your invitation. 

“She just wanted to spend time with you. Even you aren't that dense. Go on, go find her. You can thank me later,” Makkari was insistent, shoving him in the direction of the door you had left from. 

“Nosy,” Druig chuckled, rolling his eyes over-dramatically to ensure Makkari would see, before smiling at her in thanks and following your path.

Your invitation to dance had taken him a bit by surprise. It's not as though the two of you weren't … affectionate with one another, by any stretch. And it's not as though he didn't want to be. 

The thought of the two of you sharing everything together had crossed his mind. Of course it had. The idea that you would feel even an ounce of the ardorous devotion he felt for you was a heady one.

And there it was -- devotion. 

Druig was no fool, far from it. He simply wouldn't allow himself to be flung into anything without first understanding the parameters involved. It's not as though his reserved demeanor was a secret amongst his fellow Eternals.

Moments spent with you… by the lake, in his chambers on the Domo, gentle teasing and the tug-and-pull of something more in the heartstrings between you. While the long life Druig had been gifted was full of many moments, those with you, those with Makkari, these were his favorites. 

That he could have all of you was a thought he only desired to entertain if it could come to fruition. And now, the possibility was so very tangible, he could feel it beneath his fingertips. It felt like the brush of your lips, the gentle promise of something more.

Druig made his way to find you, determined. 

You had sat yourself outside of the city walls, staring at the moon as it hung over the city. It was luminous, as though it, too, wanted to join in, to celebrate the Eternals’ victory. 

The cool, quiet air was necessary after being exposed to the heat of the party. And … something potentially more embarrassing. But for the second time that night, a familiar brogue interrupted your thoughts.

“And what are you doing out here?” Druig called, coming to sit beside you, legs propped up to allow an arm to sling over his knees, reaching for your hand. “Were you not enjoying the festivities?” 

The gentle nature of Druig's rolling accent put your mind at ease. His tone implying repentance, an olive branch.

"Oh, I was. But someone wouldn't dance with me," you pouted, rising to your feet and brushing off your dress to twirl away from Druig's grasp playfully. And perhaps to mask the small bit of hurt that you had felt. 

But, now that the two of you were a respectable distance from the crowd, not to mention the prying eyes of your fellow Eternals, you felt perhaps Druig might be willing to engage. That the two of you could have a moment just for you, as you had so many times over the years. Something to cherish. You loved the others, but they could be so nosy.

Druig chuckled in spite of himself, a low, clear sound, like breaking thunder in the middle-distance of a cloudy day, his eyes never leaving your form.

"I've never been much of a joiner. You know very well I prefer to watch you," he said with a shrug, his voice taking on a heat that you would follow, directly into the burning sun if you must. 

You wouldn't back down now. He had sought you out, after all, hadn't he? 

No more tenuous dancing of an anxious doe. You were a fearsome hunter, after all. And if he could toy with you … well, turnabout was fair play.

"You would rather watch me than move with me?" 

You were coy, your lips pouting in a teasing smirk. You reached for Druig, lacing your fine-boned fingers through his firm, warm ones, pulling him up to sway with you and guiding his hands toward your hips. 

Your grin faltered slightly as you looked up at Druig through your lashes, his icy eyes melting with the warmth of his gaze upon you. His fingers were still laced with yours, which you used to your advantage as you continued to guide his touch over your hips, a gentle graze over soft curves, with only the stars in the heavens to watch over you, twinkling and winking their approval of your loving flirtation, your steady adoration. 

Druig dropped his forehead to touch yours, his eyes never leaving yours as his towering frame leaned into your swaying figure. 

Breaking one hand free to trail up your side, Druig grazed your chin with molten, idolatrous fingertips, letting them come to rest on the side of your jaw, as though it were the most natural resting point for him. And perhaps it was.

"You know I would move however you asked, goddess of mine," he rumbled. "You need only to ask."

"You would?" You murmured, bringing your free hand to read on Druig's chest, where you could feel the low, steady beat of his heart. "And that's enough for you, is it?"

"I would. The eternity we've been given is not enough," Druig's thumb that was resting along your jaw is now pressed into the plush of your lower lip, which he drags lightly down, his eyes following the movement. "For I could never have enough time with you."

You had lived for thousands of years; knew you would live for thousands more yet. But this was what you had been waiting for. This must be your purpose, Arishem be damned, to be loved by the man before you. 

For In all of that time, nothing compared to the feeling of Druig's lips on yours, nor the feeling of his touch to your skin. Nothing compared to what rushed through you, heated lightning and a rush of euphoria, of honey, as he held you outside of the city’s formidable walls. 

In Druig’s arms, you had found your own stronghold. 

You had once thought this type of love was for humans. For stories. Or just for Ikaris and Sersi. You did not think you would feel its keen sting, its quavering devotion, its promises and it's aches. 

But he had pressed his lips to yours. And As Druig’s mouth moved, slightly fumbling before becoming insistent when met with the soft petals of your lips, your resolve crumbled. 

“And I’m sorry about earlier,” Druig murmured his apology into your lips. “I would dance with you from here to eternity, and I lo–” his voice broke, “I love you.” 

You smiled at him then, beaming and radiant as one of your golden arrows. As the sunlight peeking through the forest trees. As only the goddess Artemis could. 

“Well then,” you murmured, your lips brushing along Druig’s… brushing, but never pressing, “I suppose you’ll just have to show me?” 

He had smirked then; his face, so normally smooth and impassive, quirked into a manner so self-assured. 

The moon and the whispering wind were the only witnesses to your moment alone. To the way Druig’s hands had slid beneath your skirt to brush along your thighs and through your folds as he held you tighter, tighter, impossibly tighter. To the honey-dipped slip of his tongue into your mouth, the warmth of his firm arms around yours, guiding you to the earth in the shadows of the great wall behind the both of you.

To the way he cradled your head as though you were the most precious gift. 

And would you be the goddess of the hunt if you did not seek out your quarry in kind? 

You had caught Druig’s wrist as he strummed and stroked his way to and through your glistening folds. You were nothing if not disciplined, the urge to seek out your prey its own kind of gratification to you. 

You flipped the two of you then, resting atop Druig’s hips, and caging him into the orbit that was your sheer power, leaning over him to tease, to stroke, to lick your way into his mouth. To press your own marks into the beautiful pallor of his throat. To roll your hips over his and feel all of him beneath you. 

As you divested him of each layer of cloth, you had left no part of him untouched, unwanted, your warmth surrounding him as you sank onto him. 

Truly, only nature would witness to what you and Druig had shared. To your gasps and moans into the others’ mouths. To the way you had dug your nails, crescents mirroring the moon above into his shoulders, his back. As you surged your hips into the rhythm between the two of you, poetry for yourselves alone, with a crest and a declaration shared only in this moment. To the way he had shattered alongside you, sharing this moment with only you. 

Weaving your way. Its own kind of dance. And you would twirl about one another until you couldn’t any longer.

And you had told him you loved him too. The genuine smile you were rewarded with would be something you would savor in your dreams for years to come. 

— 

But time has a way of twisting your ambitions. And the breaking point comes in Tenochtitlan. Amidst the fires, chaos, the fall of another Empire.

As the smoke and the popping of flames and guns alike rose around the Eternals, Druig’s mind was similarly aflame – burning with churning thoughts of war, the feeling of sticky blood beneath human hands as the people in the city below fought on. He tried to push it from his mind – tried to render himself immune to their conflict as Ajak had so frequently bid. But how could he? When he could hear their thoughts of unrest. Feel their blistering, itchy hatred for their so-called enemy?

When Thena broke beneath her Mahd Wy’ry, Druig felt himself splintering, too. Not in the same exact manner, but … beneath the crushing weight of waves of blood, historical conflict magnified throughout the millennia. One could only take so many human lives lost – the lives his Selene held so dearly – before it all became too much. 

“Do you have any idea what that does to someone after centuries?” Druig bellowed, refusing to meet his beloved’s eyes. Compelling the mortal men below to drop their weapons, Druig turned his rage on the others. On whomever would challenge him. On Ajak. On Ikaris. 

But, oh, you did. You had some idea. For to feel the heart of your beloved in so much pain was splintering you, too. If the weight that broke you did not come at the cruel, gnarled hands of Mahd Wy’ry, it would surely come with the fracturing of your family. If Druig were to leave now … well, even Eternals felt pain. 

The tears stung at your eyes as you watched Ajak plead with Druig to embrace Arishem’s purpose. A fool’s errand, you knew. Once Druig had set his mind to something, he would be loath to change it. Each word hurled between the two split your heart a fraction more. You could bear it no longer.

You stepped forward, opening your mouth to speak – but not before Kingo could sweep his arm before you, gently catching your waist. Turning to him, the pleading question in your eyes was met with morose understanding, with a bidding invocation from his heart to yours to please, don’t make this worse. 

You shook your head softly, gently removing his arm from you as you made toward Druig, but not before your beloved could strike the final nail into this coffin – 

“If you wanna stop me, you’re gonna have to kill me,” Druig hissed, turning on his heel and sparing an unreadable glance at you as he descended the stone steps of the temple, the men he had compelled making to follow him into the woods. 

You were so beautiful in that dress he earlier said he had admired. So soft and beautiful, a stark contrast to the smoke and violence that was drowning his senses. To the foggy commands he had implanted in the men’s minds, bidding them to stop fighting.  

Druig knew you would follow him – had dared to hope that perhaps you would come with him. Surely, he thought, you would see things his way. As the others had not. 

You padded down the steps behind him, Ajak’s sorrowful glance following your form as you trailed after your beloved. Knowing she would either lose two children this day, or that you would return with less of your heart than you had left with. An untenable situation, the outcome outweighed by the cost to the both of you.

“Druig,” you cried, “Druig! Wait, please!” 

The way your voice had broken over the word “please” caused Druig to stop, turning on his heel to watch you make your way toward him. The smoky, red fury smothering his heart dissipating slightly as he took in the desperation in your expression. 

“I won’t go back, hunter, please don’t ask,” Druig spoke before you could meet him. “She’s wrong, and you know it!” 

You faltered in your steps, approaching your beloved cautiously, as you would a skittish, newborn fawn in the golden wood. 

“My love, you know Ajak means well,” you spoke softly, tenuously, so as not to stoke the flames you could see licking their way behind Druig’s eyes, feeding his fury. “You know she loves you. We all do.” 

“Whether they do or not, I won’t be a pawn in Arishem’s game,” Druig clipped. “Not while people suffer needlessly. Look at them, my love. You love them. How can you let them … do this?” Druig gestured at the destruction around you.

“Because I have to trust that this … thirst for war, like all thirst, will eventually be quenched,” You knotted your hands into your skirt, the anxiety wheedling it’s way through your bones. “I don’t know if the humans will ever achieve harmony, but isn’t it up to them to try? Isn’t it an expression of our love to let them try? To trust, to hope?”

Druig scoffed, a harsh noise to your ears in its derision. 

“Up to them? Beneath the weight of their greed? Their jealousy? Their violence? They are buried,” Druig pleaded, eyes wild. “I can unburden them. You know I can.” 

"By controlling them! You think you know more than them?" you pressed, unable to believe just what you were hearing from the person you thought you knew so well.

"Please, love,” Druig scoffed, “I know I do. I can see into their minds. I know their limits. I know their weaknesses.” 

You could not believe what you were hearing -- as the remnants of the battle raged in the distance beyond you, you felt the rising bile of scourge and the heat of conflict rising within yourself. The man before you prided himself on being collected. A little derisive at times, sure, but never cruel. Never so casual in disinterested supremacy.

"We're meant to protect them, Dru,” you urged softly, firmly. “To help them. Not to rule them. It is not our place."

"But it can be mine,” he stepped toward you, fingers outstretched as if to take your hand. 

You stepped back, shaking your head and withdrawing from him, pulling your hand away so that his fingers could not meet your own. You tried not to notice the subtle flinch, nor the flash of pain behind your beloved’s eyes as he saw you retreat from him. Drawing away as you would draw your shortsword from a defeated Deviant, detached in your victory.

But you felt no pride in this. This was not victory. 

You tried again. 

"Your place was to be beside me, and mine beside you. Is that not what you want?" The wind blew the smoke from the warring fires around the both of you, swirling your skirts and stinging your eyes. Yes, that was what the prickling behind your eyes was. It had to be. Druig would never make you cry. 

"That can still be, my Selene, my Diana,” Druig implored, the usually cool lilt of his brogueish accent was now tinged with what you might mistake for panic. If you did not know him any better. Druig did not panic. “Come with me. We'll watch over them together." He reached for you again. 

You shook your head, trying to shake the smoke from your scratching throat and the tears from your eyes. 

Couldn’t he see this was tearing you in two? Splitting you to the bone? 

"That -- that's not our purpose, Dru. It's -- it's perversion. Our duty is sacrosanct, our gifts from Arishem himself, and you mean to use yours to corrupt that duty. To corrupt your purpose. Corrupt them. Corrupt us."

Druig's eyes flashed, a licking, complex damasque of anger, heat and betrayal.

"Is that what you would think of me, my love?" He spat the last word, carefully avoiding meeting your eyeline where he could see the glimmer of tears forming along your lashes. Better to look above you, to look down upon you. Through haughty eyes and the slope of angular cheekbones. “So powerful as to destroy even us? Can you not see that the purpose you speak so highly of is flawed? That perhaps we can do more?”  

"I don't know what to think, Dru," you whispered, stepping forward and reaching for him this time, for his palm, yours outstretched. “I -- I’m so confused.” 

As your fingers grazed his hand, he yanked it away, perhaps more violently than you had done moments before. As though your touch were as cutting as one of your arrows, laden with weighted, creeping poison.

"But,” you implored again, ignoring the rush of hurt his actions had wrought, “I know you're not right all of the time. None of us are. We're not perfect -- how can you say you're fit to do this? That you know what's best?”

"We know more than they do. They’re feeble, flawed – but I can keep them safe! We can keep them safe,” he pressed, noting the way your hand was still seeking his.  

You gazed upon Druig’s features, twisted now with the heated passion of his speech, awash in the darkness of the night sky and the shadows war rumbling around him; his eyes flashing a blue-grey, a troubled sea roiling in a storm. A painfully unfamiliar mask comprised of features you once recognized. Intimately. 

How unlike the usually cool, impassive face of the man you had come to love. 

“We can’t,” you murmured, your eyes meeting Druig’s once more. “I can’t. We should stick with the others – we cannot walk this world alone.”

Druig scoffed, but before he could berate the others whom you would choose to stay with over him – Ikaris, with his bullheaded, proud devotion to Arishem; Ajak with her secrets, her unyielding sense of purpose; Kingo, the Apollo to your Artemis, whose sunny disposition you would never wish to be parted from -- and how he would follow Ajak and Iakris both to the end; Sersi, too delicate to stand up to anyone  – you broke him with your words, again.

“With or without the others, with or without you, I will guard these people, love them. But I won’t control them. We are not gods.”

“You’ve been talking to Kingo –” 

“No, Dru. They deserve their freedom -- freedom to choose, freedom to love ...” you trailed, finally capturing Druig’s fingers in your own, stepping into his space and bringing your hand to delicately graze the peak of his cheekbone. His hand atop yours, destined to follow yours in its journey, mapping the familiar landscape of his own face through the beauty of your hands.  

Druig tilted his head down toward yours, his lips mere centimeters from meeting yours, foreheads not-quite brushing -- a gesture still so tender, even in absence of actual touch. Your affection had always had an atmosphere, an orbit. 

“Even the freedom to hurt? When I could prevent it?” He murmured to you, eyes downcast to your lips, your gaze upon the fan of his lashes. 

“Yes, love, even that," you sighed, shaking your head softly. 

“And what of your freedom? Do you not choose to love me?” Druig lifted his hand away from its place atop yours, a cool breeze caressing the backs of your fingers in the absence of his touch. 

He trailed his fingers to you now, mirroring the path your touch had taken, this time upon your own face. Cupping your jaw gently. The two of you now locked in a crescent moon’s embrace, arced and amorous, but not quite complete. Not quite whole. 

“I have no choice but to love you,” you whispered into his lips, “for I fear I wouldn’t recognize myself without the pieces that belong to you. You are everything to me. Of the gifts this eternal life has given me, I could thank Arishem for you each day, and still not have enough time to express my gratitude. For you, for Makkari, for the pearls of love this life has bestowed,” you paused to catch your breath. Were you really about to deny him once more? “But, Dru, this is wrong. We cannot leave the others, cannot abandon our purpose to protect, as we have been asked. You cannot leave us.” 

You tore your gaze from your beloved’s, the tears you had fought so hard to cage now slipping freely down your cheeks, gliding coolly over the corners of your downturned mouth. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Druig’s face fall, as his shoulders set. A pillar of resolute sadness. You could feel his tension; the climbing heat within him at your stubbornness. 

Your mind was moving a mile a minute. The world fell into a wash of white-noised nothingness, the army of those men Druig had bewitched stood, unnaturally silently around you. 

Everything around you was fading, as your thoughts flitted from scenario to scenario, through doubt and distrust, before finally – a previously-unfelt rosy calm washed its way into your mind, settling and easing, soothing you --

Was this plan really so bad? Could it really be so bad? When had Druig ever steered you wrong? It was reasonable, wasn’t it? There was so much you didn’t know, and Druig would be there to guide you, as he had promised he would be. Together in all things, with Druig, Druig, Druig … 

The pleasant haze of your thoughts was rudely interrupted by a sharp, puncturing arrow of doubt within yourself, an uncomfortable prodding and wriggling sensation through your brain, deflating the rosy cloud as you met Druig’s eyes -- 

– Only to discover they were unfocused, far-seeing, golden. 

Suddenly, you were awash in white heat, blue flames tearing their way through your body as you realized what he was doing. Rage.

“How dare you?” You bellowed, stepping forward and shoving Druig by the shoulders. “You think you can control me, as you control them? You really think so little of me, that you can alter my ‘feeble’ mind? I won't be what you say because you say it!” 

You gripped his wrist, squeezing, so that he might feel the weight of your words. You had never truly raised a hand against him before; even when the two of you were training together, you had always pulled your punches. But this? You were livid with him now. And you knew that Druig would be defensive, in turn.

His mind was racing, full of memory, of that night outside of the city – your keystone moment of passion. A core memory.

Remember this love, for surely you would never feel anything like it again.

Of the night when perpetually-young lovers wrapped themselves in one another, awash in the heat of one another and the haze of summer. Druig’s lily skin burned alongside yours, bright and entirely incandescent, awash with the glow your attentions had wrought upon him. 

You had pulled Druig ever-closer, closer, closer to you, breathing his name into his ear as you moved together beneath gleaming heavens. A reverent whisper of your voice that made him feel entirely godlike. The rest of the world may as well have been made of tissue paper – transparent and prone to crumbling beneath the strength your love had imbued. 

To look at you, Druig knew the starshine clarity of your honest eyes would be the last thing he desired to see on this planet should he be forced to leave it.

But, but, but … he could not bring himself to meet them now, for the fear that yours would reflect only derision, revulsion at what he was about to do. He truly had savored that night. And other nights like it. And every moment of affection between then and now. Of shared orange slices and stolen moments in quiet corners. Spoiling, curdling in his mind through this disquiet. Through his cruel words. The quickest way to kill you was to poison your heart – the heart that loved him so. 

"So much for your love, then," Druig spat, his touch abandoning your face to peel your fingers from his, flinging your hand away from its rightful place along his skin. 

He would be finished with it all. Even if it meant being finished with you.

Druig turned on his heel, retreating into the forest with the people he had compelled at his back, their unnaturally-uniform steps marching in unison, in time with the heavy thudding of your heart. 

You watched him go, his form fading into the darkness, stealing your heart away and carrying it with him, ripping it from your chest and into the depths of the forest, forever with him --  though he didn't know it. Or if he did, it was not enough to make him turn around. To come back to you. You would forgive him already if he would just turn around. 

With every step Druig took away from you, you could feel your heart cracking. You opened your mouth to wail, release some of this pain that had suddenly washed over you at the reality that the other half of your soul was marching out of your life. But no sound escaped your lips. 

Instead, you fell to your knees, your intricately-woven dress that Druig had complimented mere hours before now dirtied, as you looked to the heavens, more tears soundlessly escaping down your cheeks.

Praying for Arishem to guide you. For no Eternal had died before, but this pain? Worse than pain of battle. This must be what death is, you thought. It wasn't a quick, clean end after which your soul would know peace. No. It was a serrated knife that sawed slowly, uncaringly through you with the cadence of departing footsteps, leaving you to bleed alone until nothing was left.  This was not something even Ajak could heal.

Makkari had found you then, stock-still on your knees, staring at the spot where Druig had vanished into the treeline. She had rested her head against your cheek, silent through your sobs.

Remember this pain; its burn unique. For surely, you would never burn so wholly from within again.

Promises, promises.

—

Now, your family had found you at your homestead in Guadalajara. On the outskirts of the city. 

Sersi, ever the gentle diplomat. Ikaris, the man intent on becoming king. And Kingo, the sunshine through the trees of your forest. And … Kingo’s delightfully human friend. 

Never they mind that you had built a life for yourself. That after Makkari had found you five hundred years ago and told you of Ajak’s parting words – “When we meet again, tell me what you’ve found…” that you had found a corner of the world with sunshine. With greenery. With bursting flavor and color. With the life you had always imagined you could have had if you had been born mortal on this planet. 

But without a partner.

Sersi and Ikaris had broken the news to you. Kingo there to soften the blow. Of Ajak. Of Gilgamesh. Of the Emergence. Of the true purpose of the Eternals on Earth. 

“So,” you mused, as they sat around your table, steaming mugs of freshly-brewed Mexican coffee before them. “Druig was right, after all. The design was flawed.” 

You looked up to meet Kingo’s eyes – his chocolate orbs melting into yours with soft, serene understanding. That you would mourn Ajak. That you would mourn the lives you had led, tainted by deceit. 

“No wonder we never remembered one another from Olympia,” you intoned, taking a sip. 

Your family urged you to pick up your bow. Whether the plan was to delay the Emergence, or to merely stave off the Deviants, you were needed, they had said. 

So, here you were, trudging behind your family, to where the others stood. Phastos, with hands ringed in gold, ready to create something to once more save humanity. Sprite, with her sharp wit and illusions. Thena, ever the stoic warrior, though never the same since she and Gilgamesh had left as she crumbled beneath the weight of her Mahd Wy’ry. And … him. 

"My beautiful, beautiful hunter," Druig purred when he met you, trailing a finger from one of your shoulders, over your collarbone, to the other, walking in a semi-circle around you to rest his chin on your shoulder, tilting his chin slightly so as to whisper to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Did you miss me?" The low, even hum reverberated from his mouth, straight through you.

The easy breeze of Druig’s lilting accent surrounded you, tickling your ears and pricking them with familiarity and warmth. 

And here, you hadn’t decided whether you had forgiven him, yet. 

You closed your eyes, letting the feelings the familiarity of his voice brought forth wash over you. 

"You are … you are -- insolent" you spluttered, “¡Atrevido!” 

Presumptuous. 

“So that’s a yes, then,” Druig smirked. “I missed you, mo shíorghrá.” 

You conjured an arrow that slipped between your index and middle finger, flipping him a rather rude gesture with the weapon of your own making as you stalked off, Kingo chuckling at your back. 

They had mentioned unearthing the Domo, of finding Makkari. And the sooner you had all started, the sooner it could end. 

One way or the other. 

Still, you couldn’t deny what it had made you feel – to see Druig again. And you’d had a feeling he had known it, too. If the flickering grin of his full lips had been any indication. The sunglasses were of no obstacle to you. For your hunter’s eyes knew his too well. That they danced behind the dark glass, ever teasing you.  

The return to the Domo had brought memories long-buried. Of days spent with the object of your affection (and current object of your avarice).

Of one memory in particular: 

You had smiled bashfully, wanly, eyes diverted downward as you lightly shove Druig's shoulder.

"Don't tease me, Dru," you chuckle. "It's unbecoming of a man of your particular ability."

Druig was silent as he brought his hand up to cup your chin, trailing his fingers along your jaw, light as the tickling of leaves that dance upon the wind as he traces his way down your neck and along the peaks of your collarbones, feeling the evenness of your breath beneath his fingertips.

"I do not tease, darling." His eyes locked with yours.

"What a shame," you countered, "sometimes unbecoming can be fun."

Druig pressed his fingers into their resting place along your collar, pressing his ardor firmly. How sobering his gaze could be -- as clear, cool and shocking as the river, wild in wintertime. 

"You can tell me what you feel, can't you, little one?" Druig broke his gaze from yours  to whisper in your ear, nuzzling the curve of his nose along the shell of your ear as he did so, feeling of warmth. 

"I…," you trailed, "you know what I feel for you. I won't stroke your ego."

"Perhaps I just like to hear you say it."

You sighed, relishing in the feel of Druig's lips near your ear, over your cheek, and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

"Who invented this as an expression of devotion, I wonder," you murmured, drawing back from Druig, your lips separating, noses still brushing.

"The kiss? Who knows. Maybe we did?"

"You cannot think us so important as to take ownership of every human development. That's … generous."

"Maybe it's innate, then," Druig pondered, his eyes gazing upon you as he propped his head in his hand. He did not need to render his eyes gold in order to determine that the gears in your mind were turning. He'd rather wait until you chose to share a fully-formed thought. How wondrous the conclusions of your mind could be.

"Is it innate to us because it is innate to humans? Or is it the other way around?" You wondered aloud. "Are we awakened knowing how we choose to express our love? Do we all recognize love once we've felt it, and are all drawn toward the same compulsion to express it?"

Druig barked a laugh.

"If you were human, perhaps you would have been a philosopher," he mused, reaching across to his night table to pour himself water from the pitcher that rested there.

You wrinkled your nose at the thought.

"I don't think so," you said. "I'm not suggesting you can't think properly out of doors, but I quite think I would prefer to contribute through the use of my hands."

"You don't give your mind nearly enough credit," he said, taking a drink, his eyes never leaving you over the rim of his cup. 

Sensing your protest, he continued, "I think I could be considered an expert on the subject." 

He had wrapped his arms around you then. 

Now, now that you had been reunited, and the plan unfolded (though you were still wary of Ikaris), Druig had stopped you on your way out of Phastos’ lab. Pleading you for a word. 

Ever unable to resist him, you acquiesced. Standing next to him beneath the cool light that emanated from the halls of the Domo. As it had all started. You hadn’t traded words with him in over five hundred years. And now you stood before him, the man you had given yourself to, bidding him to speak. To say anything that would ease the lashing pain that you had felt amidst the fires of war as he had marched his army of compelled men into the forest of the Amazon, and beyond your keen archer’s sight. 

“You know why I chose the forest, don’t you?” Druig asked.

You shrugged, cool and indifferent. 

“The convenience of proximity? Where they found you … Those were the same woods where we were all those years ago?” You queried, voice level. The “when you left” remained unspoken, removed from the end of your sentence; though, Druig didn’t need to be a mind reader to know it was there, hanging between the two of you. 

“Because, love, in all of Sprite’s stories, you were the goddess of the wood. The hunter. I know it’s where you would feel most at home,” Druig turned his head from you. “If you had ever decided to find me, to choose me, I wanted you to find a home. Someplace you would love, as you once loved me.”

You remained silent, mulling over Druig’s words. It was austere. Foreign, this silence between the two of you. And Druig’s revelation was an olive branch, of sorts, as well as a surprise to you. You had thought Druig would not want  to see you again after you had stayed behind. 

“Would you have let me?” You asked, “After everything? Choose you, I mean. Would you have welcomed me with open arms after we left one another alone in the fires of war?” 

Old habits die hard, and resentment is left to fester, filling your gut with rot. Corrosive. And the storms within his Druig’s beget flashing lightning when he looked at you, splitting you to your core and burning you from the inside out. 

Druig shuffled his feet, weighing his words before answering. 

“I think of that day by the lake often,” Druig admitted. “When our friendship was young. How much time has passed since. And now, here we are, at the end of all things on this planet. Before it was too late to say anything, I would tell you how I regretted leaving you that day. How I longed to reach for you. To tell you I was wrong. But only if you would hear it?” 

“I would hear it,” you murmured. “But, Dru, you weren’t wrong. You were right. I was wrong. About Arishem. About our purpose. I shouldn’t have said what I did.” Tears welled in your eyes, your voice breaking over the admission you had weighed in your mind for centuries. 

“Thena would have a field day,” you sniffled. “Look at me, crying before a man.” 

Druig shushed you, turning to touch you at last, to cup your face in his warm palms, thumbs skating over the apex of your cheeks to wipe away the silent tears as they fell. You thought the world would end and you would waste away after millenia before feeling the tenderness of his trailing touch smoothing over your skin one last time. It was a revelation. A gift from whatever Celestial force was listening. 

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have you cry over this. I shouldn’t have asked you to choose. Between me and them, our family, the humans,” Druig softly brushed his lips to yours for a fleeting moment, as if to brush the surface anew. To wipe away the tears and leave the surface of your mouth with something pure. “You were right – we never were better than them. Look at us now. Can’t we both have been a tad right, and somewhat wrong?” 

You chuckled weakly through the breaking remnants of your emotion. 

“That would make us so remarkably normal wouldn’t it?”

They say lightning never strikes twice. Never to meet the same corner of earth, leaving it with an eruption of destruction and then bereft of feeling. But you knew that to be untrue, for the same feeling bloomed and burned within you every time Druig turned his gaze to you, flashing quickly through the gale. His eyes stormy, his affections quick and ferocious. Not for the first time, nor the last, would you say your beloved was so like lightning. 

And you found yourself awash in the amorous wave of feelings you had always felt with him. No matter how much time had passed. 

“I missed you, my hunter,” you folded your way into Druig’s arms, burying your head into his chest and allowing his arms to wrap around you. To hold you for a moment before the end of all things. “Now what do you say we save the world?” 

You pressed your hands to Druig’s chest, palms flat, pushing yourself from his embrace and tilting your chin up to look into his eyes, the wave of relief you had felt at Druig’s forgiveness replaced with mirth and the promise of a challenge, to do battle together again once more. 

“Think you can keep up with me, then?” You trailed a finger along his jaw to tweak his chin, spinning a conjured arrow at your side in the other hand. “We’ll see, amor.” 

Druig watched you walk away from him, ready to do battle. It was a welcome of some comfort, knowing that as he watched you walk away it was nothing like the way he had walked away from you 500 years ago. That you would be by his side as they combatted the Emergence.

You donned your armor once more, prepared to become the hunter once again.

Thread can be used to patch. Even your prior hurts. To right wrongs and make your picture whole again. If only you nudge them along a little, with willing fingers and strength of mind. 

— 

Ikaris’s betrayal was nothing less than heartbreak of the cruelest kind. As you prepared to merge to lend your power to Druig, the pain of Ikaris and Sprite’s defection were additional wounds on top of your already heavy heart. You had lost so much in such a short amount of time. 

And while you understood Kingo’s decision to leave rather than fight, you wouldn’t like and say it didn’t make you question which side of this debate that you were on. 

“You know you’re my favorite, dear Selene,” Kingo had smirked, bending down from his considerable height to press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “And I’m glad you’re okay, after all this time. And that we’ve found each other again. But I can’t do this. Please don’t hate me.” 

And when Ikaris had shown up to disrupt the uni-mind and to stop Druig and Sersi? When he had flown down from on-high and tossed Druig away like he was nothing, you saw red. 

You had never conjured your arrows to fire at another Eternal before. Not with the intent to harm. But you refused to pull your punches now, as you took aim at Ikaris in the sky. Covering Makkari as she struck her blows. 

Ikaris flew over you, attempting to shoot your bow from your hands with the beams from his eyes. 

You worked quickly, wishing for Makkari’s power as you dodged, rolled and leapt away from the surges he fired at you. 

"Stop this Ikaris,” you shouted at him as you shot an arrow in the direction he was flying, grazing his shoulder as he zipped past. “This won't work!. A true leader is unselfish. You can’t do this," you pleaded.

"And what would you know of it?” Ikaris called back to you, “What would you know of how to lead?” He landed before you, squaring his shoulders. “You choose to spend all of your time with a man whose ability is telling others what to do and think. Hardly an unselfish leader."

Heated rage flooded your body at his mention, his insult, of Druig. Quickly, you drew, taking aim for Ikaris’ heart. 

“Hardly the same thing, and you know it. Stop this or I’ll stop you.” You anchored the string of your bow to your chin, ready to fire. “You may be able to fly, but I’ve always been faster.” 

Your distraction had worked, long enough for Makkari flit by you and to knock Ikaris from his feet, the two of you continuing to hold him at bay. 

As the battle waged on between Ikaris, the Deviant, the Eternals, Phastos’ uni-mind had worked once more to allow Sersi to freeze Tiamut. It was a victory that didn’t feel like a victory, for now you had lost Ikaris, as well. The weight of battle, of the endless conflict that you learned was responsible for advancing the universe, felt heavy on your shoulders, abridging your feelings of relief at having stopped Tiamut. Was this what Ajak felt during the entire millenia of her burdened leadership? 

The appearance of Druig making his way across the sand, had eased this bleak weight somewhat. As he embraced Makkari, embraced you, you felt the faint glimmer of what you might call hope. For if you were together, maybe you could use what you had learned to help other planets.  

To do something actually good. Together. 

—

Time heals all wounds. Who knew that better than beings who had been alive for millennia? Losing Ajak, Gilgamesh … even Ikaris … and now the others who had gone when you had only just met again. 

Perhaps this was your curse, to feel everything too deeply. Perhaps it was penance for having a power capable of taking lives. Ever trapped in your own head.

The ache that had taken residence in your chest since learning of Ajak's death rattled dully behind your heart. Not even the success of abating the Emergence, of once more helping humanity, could ease it. You had, after all, only recently come to terms with five hundred years of loneliness. 

But sitting wedged on a couch with the two who had become other parts of your soul would certainly help.

You munched on your pizza, seated on one end of the Ajak's couch with your thigh pressed into Makkari’s, Druig on her other side. Phastos's son, Jack, had presented you with a half of the orange he had absconded from the kitchen with, with Thena’s aid, as Phastos scolded Thena for conjuring her weapons near his child. 

“But dad!” Jack whined, “Artemis was showing me her bow-n-arrows earlier, and she and A-thena are so cool.” 

You shrugged from your place on the couch at Phastos’ swift, accusatory look, arching a brow. 

“Makkari made a good point, you know. He’s ten, P. I’ve been shooting arrows since the dawn of time. He could pick up a bow at ten," you called to him, not eager to leave your perch on the couch with your beloveds. Not when you had only just  been reunited.

At Jack’s eager look, Phastos sighed, weary, rubbing his temples. You all seemed determined to drive him to an early grave. 

“Oooh-kay. No babysitting with Auntie Thena or Auntie Artemis.” 

You rolled your eyes, a smile nevertheless making its way across your lips as you split the orange half Jack had given you into its preordained wedges and passing them to your partners. Your fingertips first brushing Makkari’s, as the sticky orange sweetness passed from your hand into hers, and then to Druig. You pressed the remaining wedge to your lips, winking at them and settling back into your seat, keen to relax before you all were to depart. 

And when that time had arrived, you and Druig traipsed through the tall grass to the Domo, his hand in yours, Makkari on your other side, pressing her warmth into your waist. 

Before your group had departed, you had pressed a kiss to Phastos’ cheek, bidding Ben and Jack goodbye. Giving Jack a hug, you surreptitiously passed him one of your golden arrows with a wink – the arrow was blunted of course. By the time Phastos noticed it and had his subsequent heart attack, you would be long gone. Far from Phastos’ delicate, spinning rings and anxious-parent wrath. 

You settled once more into the space of the Domo, Makkari breaking off from the two of you to make her way to Phastos’ lab and her collection of treasures – some of which you had definitely, legally, helped her obtain. Never anyone mind. 

As you made your way down the hall, you brushed your fingertips over the corner with the tallied etchings of yours and Kingo's not-competition, a mild pang of sadness accompanying the ache in your chest.

You had wished Kingo was there to tell you goodbye. The Apollo to your Artemis, bidding you on your way with a sunshine smile and a wish for luck.

You and Druig made your way to his chamber, the room where you had spent so much time together, debating and discussing humanity, spirituality. Where you had discovered more about yourselves and one another. Where Druig had expressed his love for you time and again. 

You made to cross the room and settle yourself amongst Druig’s collection of pillows, as you had done countless times over the course of your years together. Never missing a beat at making yourself at home, no matter how much time had passed. 

“Wait,” Druig caught your wrist. “I have something for you.” 

“Oh?” You turned into his arms. “Was it this?” Fluidly shifting to the tips of your toes, you pressed a kiss to Druig’s lips, capturing his lower lip between your full ones and sucking lightly. Druig sighed softly into the kiss, his grip on your wrist tightening. 

Druig broke from you, looking down his prominent cheekbones at your countenance, his eyes flitting between yours and your sinful mouth. 

“Temptress,” he purred. The washing waves of his cerulean eyes reflecting his internal debate – to give you your gift, or to kiss you again? Five hundred years was so long a time to make up for.

The latter won out as he struck like a snake, decisive and agile, fastening his lips to the base of your jaw and trailing them down the elegant plane of your neck, tilting your head back as you groaned at his attention. The vibration from your throat a pleasant hum against his full lips. 

"Druig,” you sighed, “We've been alive for thousands of years … Helped nearly every conceivable language develop, and yet …” 

At the feeling of Druig's warm lips pressing firmly into the column of your throat, trailing down to kiss along your collarbones peeking through the soft collar of your shirt. The feeling of your voice reverberating beneath his attention as you graced him with your affectations, drowning one another in your mutual ardor, you found the will to speak.

"... Yet I'm not sure words still yet exist that would adequately convey the depth of my emotion, my feeling for you. But I can show you." You wound your fingers through Druig's soft hair, tugging lightly to break him away from your neck and bringing his eyeline back to yours. 

You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love.

Druig's crystalline eyes sparkled, a dizzying oceanic effect that made you feel as though the world had turned upside down -- for, surely, stars did not shine during the blue-skyed daytime. Or perhaps they did, as evidenced by the mischievous, adoring, cerulean gaze of the man before you.

"Show me?” At your nod, Druig understood. “So you would surrender control to me, my little hunter?" Druig murmured, his voice suggestive, a warm and pleasing bolt of silk against your skin.

The idea was a heady one, leaving you feeling drunker with power as the moments passed. Ironic, really. Everything was a bantering game between you and Druig, a display of companionable, bursting power met in equity. You, a marksman of singular focus; he, a man with a mind that was able to bend others to his will. 

The thought that you, the most powerful being he knew, would surrender yourself, the most secret corners of your mind, to him was enough to make him weak in the knees. And he was supposed to be the one with unsurpassed will. 

A promise to give him the thing he had tried to take before your separation all those years ago – the thing that tore you apart, to willingly allow him to use his power on you. The magnitude of your assent was not lost on him. 

Druig’s fingers skated along your arms, down your sides, to rest at your waist, his eyes never leaving your form as your eyes fluttered closed at his touch. 

You disentangled your fingers from Druig’s hair to bring a hand to grip his chin between your thumb and forefinger, nuzzling his nose with your own before trailing down to brush his lips with yours once more. The petal-like trace of your lips along Druig’s jaw whispered the long-held truth of your devotions into his skin. 

“You don't need your tricks for me to bend to your will,” you murmured, your lips brushing the skin of Druig’s cheek, “I'll bend however you like.”

A rumble emanated from your love at your proclamation. A subtle purring from Druig’s chest at your promise. 

“You don’t trust me, little hunter?” Druig murmured. “Trust that I know your mind … your body? Hm?” Druig’s hands slid from your waist, down your curves.

Druig guided you down to lie back on the pillows you had been heading for before, shedding his leather jacket as he went and allowing it to drop to the floor with an unceremonious, soft thump. 

Druig turned his attention to you. The stylishly torn jeans and simple, soft tee you had tucked into them were nothing but a nuisance to Druig now. Though you were delightfully beautiful in your modern garb, it was an obstacle to be absconded with as he became a man of singular focus. At the promise of what was to come; of what you would allow.

You reached for your beloved, allowing him to fold his body over yours as your lips met once more. Druig trailed his hands to your waist, where you swore you could feel his fingertips burning through the soft material of your shirt. 

You thanked whatever deity was listening for allowing you to feel this way again. 

Memories of your night together outside of the walls of Babylon flashed in your mind as Druig tugged your shirt from your waist and up, over your head, cradling the back of your neck as he did so. Always tender, courteous. 

The winking promise of mischief danced behind your hooded eyes as you looked up at your beloved from his place above you, a soft smile gracing your lips. His cheeky little hunter. Fox-like in disposition, quick and intuitive. True to your nature, you struck, shedding Druig’s shirt with quick, lithe fingers, and baring the pale canvas of his skin to you. 

As you made for the button of his jeans next, Druig caught your wrists. His grip firm, but not punishing, he leveled you with a glare you could only describe as warning. Guiding you back once more, Druig hovered over you, like waves returning at the turn of the tide, rushing and momentous. 

Druig squeezed your wrists before releasing them, allowing his hands to map the skin of your arms, your torso, reveling in the feel of you beneath his fingertips, every plane and prickling goosebump that awoke at his touch. 

The rasp of his skin along yours was something both you and he had thought you may never hear again, never feel again; and now that you had, you wouldn’t relinquish them so easily. And nor, it seemed, would he. 

He leaned forward, kissing his way down your neck, your chest, unclasping your bra and trailing his lips and hands down your torso before you knew what had happened. Your eyes fluttered closed at Druig’s affections, his touch ever-present and bordering on overwhelming as the honey-heat burning between your two bodies climbed, washing through the rest of the room. Druig’s attentions trailed golden lines of heat along your skin, sending sparks of starry champagne bubbling their way through you. 

You pulled Druig closer to you, winding your arms around him and bringing your legs up around either side of his waist, lacing your fingers along the back of his neck and threading your way through his hair, tugging lightly to bring him back to your eye-level.

You captured his lips with yours once more, nipping a teasing bite into his plush lower lip, delighting in the flush of the blood beneath the skin of his lips as a result of your attention. That his body still reacted to yours. You tugged again at his hair, causing him to groan into your mouth before breaking yours away. 

“I trust you, my love,” you hummed. Druig’s fingers teasing their way ever-closer to your center as you tugged his hair, the two of you panting into one another’s mouths. “You have my body. You can have my mind.”

At your declaration, Druig pressed his lips once more to yours, grinning wolfishly into his kiss. With no more preamble, the sky blue of his eyes bled gold, your beloved now nestling himself in the warmth of your mind, not unlike how he had in your body time and again throughout your centuries together. 

This was nothing like the time before in Tenochtitlan when he had tried to encourage you to leave with him. Then, your mind had been battered with conflict. Tormented with your inability to mend the fractures in your family, to soothe the ache wrought by their warring beliefs. A stormy sea frothing and roiling. Trying to appease him.

Now, your mind was balm. It was smooth, drifting snow. Crisp and even, as you gave yourself over to your beloved. It was the shining sky during a winter’s night – clear and bright, despite the surrounding dark. Every star alive, and all was shimmering lavender.

Another night in the sway of the flower moon.

Druig was awash in the warmth, the romance of your mind. The gold of his eyes was reflective of the rosy gold of your amorous thoughts, of your suit, of you. He could die happy amidst the loving, blushed hue that surrounded you every time you looked at him, thought of him, of your past, of your reunion, of your future. 

Every bit of the impulsive, pure love of Romeo and Juliet, none of the tragedy. Not anymore. You were besotted with him, amorous in the deepest sense, sure as the moon hangs in the night sky. 

Druig’s kisses were pure, like lake water. Blue-green and brisk, drowning you in its depths. A stark contrast to the heat of the room, yet, ironically, the cause and the symptom of said heat. His aura -- strength and subtle amusement, so like derision -- a tinge of cockiness… you supposed these things came from the ability to know the depths of a mind, to control it if he so saw fit. 

He would do anything you asked, because you asked it. And so, it seemed, would you … but only for him.

"Lie still, my love," Druig bid, your legs dropping from their place around his waist as he pulled back to kick off his boots and the remaining articles of his clothing.

You watched your beloved bare himself to you from behind the honey haze of Druig's influence that clouded your eyes. He leaned over you again, hooking his fingers in the belt loops of your jeans to tug you down the mass of blankets and pillows to meet his body, slotting yourselves gently together.

Reverent was the only way to describe the way he was looking at you now, trailing his fingers along your torso to pop the buttons of your jeans.

"Will you undress for me, Selene?" Druig's voice was everywhere. Inside your mind, in your ears, echoing in your mouth like the taste of copper.

You did as Druig bid, your hands following the familiar lines of your body through the strange filter of your love's mind. Rendering your own touch foreign to you, get familiar all at once. 

What a strange dichotomy, your mind whispered to you from somewhere far away. 

"Isn't it nice like this?" Druig breathed, "So … compliant."

Your head was buzzing, full of warm pleasant thoughts that hadn't been there before, thoughts of touching yourself, of trailing your fingertips along your breasts, across the plains and valleys of your body. Of sliding them through your now-damp folds. 

You could distantly hear yourself, sighing in pleased gasps at the touch that was yours, but also not-yours.

Druig felt himself harden as he knelt before you, over you. He had dreamt of you nearly every night for centuries. He wouldn't let slip the opportunity to touch you, to make his dreams a reality. 

That he could make yourself touch you in all the ways he had dreamt … that you wanted him to. He could feel, hear your assent, pleasant in your thoughts.

He watched and dictated as you slid a finger inside of yourself, swearing he could feel the warmth of your core as it registered in your own mind at your touch, as you teased your own body. First one finger, then another, slick building. Swearing that he could register the heat climbing through you, as though it was his own, as you fucked yourself on your own fingers, hips rolling to meet your touch.

“Feel your way,” Druig coaxed, his hands sliding along your thighs. 

A keening moan tore it's way through you at his words. When had your other hand cupped your breast? The rolling of your nipple by your teasing, plucking fingertips was like kindling to the fire building within you.

Was it your own idea, or was it Druig's, that had you withdrawing your fingers from your center, sliding the wetness gathered there along Druig's length, and pumping him slowly as he leaned over you. Overwhelming your senses. 

Your touch on his body. The taste of his kisses in your mouth. The sound of his groans in your ears. His thoughts melding with yours in a pleasant, burgundy haze that tasted vaguely warm and metallic.

Druig's touch replaced yours along your own body as he allowed you to continue toying with his. Willing you to touch him as he liked best, while he made to kiss you again, his fingers slipping down to glide through your soaked, heated folds before swirling over your clit. 

The heat in the room continued to climb as Druig played and plucked at your body. His grip on your mind began to slip as your collective pleasure climbed. You were coming back into your own mind, your own body as you were simultaneously inching closer to unraveling.

Even in his lovemaking, Druig couldn't resist cleverness and irony, it seemed.

You used your newfound faculties to release Druig from your grip, to pull him over you, his body dwarfing yours. To tug him closer, closed, closer to where you wanted him. Druig's fingers continued to toy with you, fingers curling inside of you as his thumb delicately traced and pressed against your clit. You wiggled your hips, desperate for more, wrapping your legs once more around Druig's tapered waist. 

"Please," you gasped, eyes locked with his molten ones, swirling like melting ice in the heat of your passion.

You gripped Druig's arms, scratching at his shoulders, his biceps, his back, everything you could reach as you felt yourself inching ever-closer to your peak.

Druig could feel that you were getting closer at his hands. Could feel the way you clenched. The way you throbbed around his fingers. Could feel the ache in your body as he toyed with it, and with your mind. The way you bucked your hips into his hands.

"Will you tell me what you want, my little hunter?" Druig teased from his position stop you, leaning into your space to whisper hotly into your ear. "I'll do what you ask," he parroted your words from earlier.

"Please, Dru, w-want this -- w-want you," you whimpered, a broken moan cracking it's way through the end of your plea at a particularly, deliciously cruel curl of Druig's fingers inside of you.

"Of course, love," his tone would have been cruel, would have been mocking, if you hadn't known that was all part of his little game. You rolled your hips again at his tone, willing him to do something now.

Even if he wasn't capable of reading your thoughts, the intention would have been enough.

Druig slid his fingers from your core, causing you to emit another broken whine, this time at the loss.

Quick as a flash, he lightly swatted your thigh.

You yelped, meeting his haughty eyes with a glare of your own. 

"Don't be insolent, hunter," Druig rumbled, inclining to press his front to yours more fully, bringing a hand to your throat and pressing lightly along it's column as he hissed into your ear, "Little girls who whine don't get what they want. I won’t help the ache you feel if you aren’t nice."

"Please, my love," you urged again, sweetly, sweetly. 

Druig chuckled darkly, nodding as he lined himself up with your center, hand still wrapped loosely around your throat as he surged into you. 

And oh. The throbbing emptiness you had felt without him was almost worth it if it meant you could feel so full, so whole, now.

You gasped into Druig's mouth, pleased with the groan he emitted in turn at being once more inside of you. Ever-haughty.

He met your lips with a nipping bite as he began to thrust into you, your hips rocking to meet him in kind. At this rate you were certain your lips and throat would feel the sting of his teeth, of his grip, for days. A blooming feeling rushed through you at the thought, the flickers blending into your pleasure.

Everything was swirling. White, fogged glass like looking out at a winter snowstorm.  Blinding, stark pleasure building within you both.

"Missed you, Selene," Druig whimpered, his moans becoming slurred as he rocked harder, rougher into you. His needs outweighing the control he prided himself on.

Druig relinquished his grip on your throat to rub once more at your clit. 

You knew Druig wouldn't last much longer if the cadence of his thrusts, his gasps, was any indication. You had wanted to take more time to mark him, to make him yours. A swath of purpling blooms growing along the expanse of Druig’s pale skin beneath your lips, blossoming beneath your attentions in equal parts pleasure and pain as you toyed with him in perpetuity.

The thought was enough to spur you forward, ever-closer to your peak. You settled for gripping, scratching at Druig's back, causing him to groan. Your touch on his body, your hands -- so very wanted.

Your orgasm washed over you at a particularly clever thrum of Druig's fingers, rolling your hips against him to ride out your high, clenching and releasing as Druig followed after you with a drawn-out groan.

You took in the sight of your beloved, delightfully open and so removed from his usually stoic demeanor in moments like this. Just as you remembered. He was panting lightly, skin flushed and lightly glistening with the sweat from your encounter, eyes starry and far-seeing.

He was beautiful. Like this, yes. But ever-so. And he was yours.

You pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of Druig's mouth as he withdrew from you, the two of you in no hurry to disentangle, but gently righting yourselves.

"I missed you too, my love," you said softly, trailing your fingers over the peak of his cheekbone. "I don't wish to be parted from you."

You don't know how long the two of you lay together, enjoying the feeling of the other's body pressed into them, of even and serene breathing. Perhaps the two of you had even drifted off, dreaming of the promise of a true eternity together.

When you were ready to emerge, the two of you had dressed, orienting yourselves before going to find the others. Druig had arranged his jacket once more over his shoulders. He crossed the room to you, standing over you and pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and once more allowing himself to feel your presence alongside his. 

You leaned into his touch. Allowing yourself to greedily bask in this moment. No matter how many moments your long life had graced you with, few had carried this magnitude. Few had made you feel as safe, as wanted, as you did with the man before you know. 

"I love you, Druig," you speak plainly, firmly. No quaver of doubt in your voice.

At that, Druig broke from you softly. Digging into the pocket of his leather jacket for the gift from before, shoulders flexing beneath the fabric as he withdrew his hand from the pocket.

His palm upturned, revealing the gift he had been keeping for you for centuries. In the hopes that he might see you again to give it to you. 

“You mean more to me than their silver and gold. But if this is how I can show my love on this planet, I'll do it." 

With that, Druig slid a delicate rose gold band onto your finger, causing you to smile warmly at him, at the symbol of his eternal bond to you. 

“I wonder who invented this as a gesture of devotion,” you had mused. 

The memory, which had taken place in this very room, clearly prominent between the two of you. The symbol, reminiscent. 

“It is beautiful, Dru. But you know I don’t need objects to reflect or accept your love,” you affirmed. “It is enough to be with you. By your side. To receive your warmth.”

With that, you slid your arms across Druig’s shoulders, divesting him of the leather jacket so quickly he would have thought he had imagined it had it not been for the cool air biting the now-bare skin of his arms. 

“So much for not needing an object,” Druig chuckled, bumping his shoulder into yours. 

You slipped Druig’s jacket over your shoulders, Druig’s body heat soaking into your skin like the radiance of the sun through the silky lining of the jacket, the zippers at the cuffs clinking as you adjusted the garment to your form. 

“What?” You shrugged at Druig’s look of mild surprise. “I said I’d like your warmth. What are you going to do? Fight me for it?” You challenged, arching your brow at him as a golden arrow weaved its way between your fingers, tapping it against Druig’s thigh in playful, mock-warning.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, mo shíorghrá,” Druig chuckled. “Keep it. ‘T looks better on you anyway.” He slid a companionable arm over your shoulders as the two of you made to leave the room and find the others. 

“We can agree to disagree on that, but I’ll hang onto the jacket until a quorum is reached,” you teased, bumping your hip against Druig’s as you walked in tandem down the hall of the Domo toward Phastos’ lab where you could hear Makkari sorting through a pile of what sounded like books.

“Benevolent of you, really,” Druig pressed a kiss into your cheek, brushing his nose across the prominent bone there. “Suppose we have time to decide.”

As you made your way into the cool light of the lab, Makkari greeted you, placing her warm hands in yours. You wrapped your arms around her, delighted in your reunion now that you all could breathe and enjoy one another’s company again, departing on another adventure. Together.

The next thread warping its way through the loom of your lives. To and fro, to and fro. Together you remain, body and soul. 

–--

Tagging: @aphrogeneias @luxurybeskar @youhavemysaber @thematthewmurdock @inklore @joannasteez @blessedboo @cinewhore @superhoeva @themarcusmoreno @vaxxildan @justanotherblonde23 @spoopyredacted @ifimayhaveaword @phoenixhalliwell @forever-rogue @cryptidcody @noturjacky @flightlessangelwings @bendro-pascarnes @pettyprocrastination @agirllovespaghetti @jenrebloggingfics @steeeeeeeviebb-deactivated20220 @imogenswitchbolt @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @artsymaddie @wvndasmaximoff @moonlight-prose @cryinginsanity @miss-me-jack @xthenewgurlintown @calsjack @raegansthings @acciosiriusblack @druigsgold​ 

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 8! (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Mentions of sex. Nudity. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: PG-13 (ish?) (but other parts are very NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 4994

A/N: Our Reader is feeling it, y'all! I am, too! Getting into the right headspace for this part was tricky for whatever reason, and it's a bit long, so thanks for your patience. I wanted to get a bit more backstory in there, so hopefully the flashback scene works well. And a little Young!Elvis doesn't hurt anyone, right? I also couldn't help myself and HAD to include the detail about his stutter because I just keep finding all these deliciously real and human parts of him that make him such a rich, full person/character, so forgive me my indulgence!

To all the babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments mean the absolute WORLD to me. Finding out that some of y'all are liking it enough to be reading it MULTIPLE times blows my freakin' mind. Like whaat?! This story (and EP) has taken over my heart and soul, so for those of you still with me, and to all the newcomers, I'm sending you all the love! And I promise there's more good stuff coming ahead, complete with more smut, angst, and tension.

I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks since now I know how they work lol)! I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

1957

“So, I hear you’re gonna make an honest man out of our Jacky Boy.”

You look up from your seated spot on the cool grass, Elvis’ tall frame lording over you in the dark of this humid midsummer night and you smile.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you blush happily, playing with the small, simple diamond that now adorns the ring finger of your left hand. It’s not much, but it’s yours. You can barely stop staring at it, you are so excited.

Elvis folds himself down next to you on the lawn, his long limbs a little less lanky than they used to be. A couple of years of being well-fed after a lifetime of poverty has done him well. He looks good, albeit tired. Hollywood and fame have certainly made him more beautiful, his resting face now always looking like it’s ready for a close-up, but the lightness that used to surround him is a little heavier, a little darker now, like he has the world resting on his shoulders.

He turns his head to really look at you, taking you in. It’s a look that might’ve made you self-conscious at any other time, but it’s dark and you’re too distracted by your engagement ring to really notice. “You happy, doll?” he asks, but answers it himself, “You look happy.”

You can’t stop smiling. “Yes, I’m most certainly happy,” you reassure him.

“Good,” he nods as if this has satisfied him in some way. Then he leans back, laying down in the grass, and stares up at the stars. That look comes over him again, the heavy one. It worries you a little. He’s been gone so much lately, and things have been moving so quickly for him, you’ve barely had a moment to talk in what feels like forever.

“How ‘bout you, E, are you happy?” you ask quietly, looking down at him.

He is silent at first, and you almost don’t catch the sigh he lets out before speaking, “I ain’t got nothing to be unhappy about, baby. All my dreams are coming true.” He says it almost as though he’s trying to convince himself of it. He doesn’t look at you, instead focusing all his attention on the sky.

“You didn’t really answer the question,” you say gently.

He finally looks over at you, those big blue eyes of his exhausted, rimmed with dark circles. “It’s all been moving so fast, I barely got time to catch my breath. I’m constantly around people, but sometimes I feel so lonely, y/n…and Hollywood ain’t all it’s cracked up to b-be,” he says quickly, but in a whisper, as though he’s terrified to be overheard.

You open your mouth to speak, but he rushes to continue: “And I don’t w-w-wanna seem ungrateful or nothin’ b-b-b-because I-I-I am gettin’ to do what I love to do and I’m supportin’ my family and it makes lots of folks happy, and God’s b-b-blessed me with that…b-b-but so many people hate me, makin’ it their mission to misunderstand me and they don’t even know me.” He takes a deep shuddering breath, frustrated and trying to get the words out.

You know he’s emotional and tired because his stutter keeps getting in his way as he tries to speak. Most people don’t even know he has one because it doesn’t happen when he sings, and he sure as hell doesn’t let it stop him from doing what he wants to do, but you’ve heard it pop up now and again in conversation over the years, usually with nerves or when he’s “excited,” as he calls it. He told you how he thought he’d blown his initial screen test in Hollywood because of it, because he was so nervous that he couldn’t get the words to come out like he needed them to. Luckily, he said the director liked it and even said it made his acting seem more genuine. You find it endearing because it’s a very real part of him and his humanity, which you think is something much needed when the world is striving to make him a commodity. It still makes him a little self-conscious, though, so you don’t rush him or react, you just wait for him to continue.

 “Sometimes I-I feel like I’m b-b-being pulled in a dozen different directions, all at o-once. I-I-I constantly feel like I’m tryin’ to prove myself. Sometimes it just gets to me, is all. So, to answer your question, yes, I am happy, but it sure comes with a price,” he pauses. “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t’ve unloaded on you like that, today of all days,” he says, eyes now downcast and concerned.

“Don’t you feel sorry. I asked, and I’m glad you answered me truthfully. Seems like you needed to get that off your chest,” you say kindly, with a small smile. You hate to see him so weighed down. But you are pleased and surprised by him being so vulnerable with you. It makes you feel like you’ve got your friend back.

“You won’t go tellin’ no one, will ‘ya? Not even Jack,” he pleads, looking at you wide-eyed.

“Of course not, Elvis. I swear it,” you say seriously. You wouldn’t dream of betraying his trust.

He nods, relieved, and looks back up at the stars.

“I’m real proud of you, E, all of us are. It takes a special person to do what you do with the grace you do it with. God knows I couldn’t do it,” you say, suddenly feeling a little shy.

Elvis looks at you with surprise. “Thanks, y/n, that means a lot comin’ from you,” he says and the way his pretty eyes search your face sends a strange feeling through your body.

You don’t know what to say to that, so silence sits heavy, but not uncomfortably, between you.

Playing with your engagement ring, knees pulled into your chest, you look into the night sky.

“How’d ya know? That Jack’s the one?” he suddenly asks, out of nowhere.

The question both surprises and delights you. “Hmmm, well, let’s see,” you ponder. “He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be,” you rattle off. “That may seem silly and saccharine and hopelessly romantic, but it’s true. So, I suppose that’s how I know I love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him,” you say, a giddy excitement running through you.

Elvis is quiet, his face unreadable. You’re not sure why, but you feel like you’ve said something to upset him.

“Why? You got a special girl or three, Mr. Presley?” you ask, in a faux-reporter voice, holding a pretend mic to his mouth to try and lighten the mood.

“Ha!” he scoffs with a laugh and a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, it must be so hard for you, to have thousands of beautiful girls to choose from, all clamoring for a piece of you,” you tease. You know he is dating quite a bit because he brings some of them home, whether from Hollywood or somewhere on the road. He always seems to be falling hard and fast for a new girl, but they never seem to last.

“No, there’s no one special I’m datin’,” he says, sitting up, intently playing with a blade of grass. “I mean, I’m seein’ lots of nice girls, great girls, even. It’s just…none of them’s the one.”

You are a little taken aback by his honest answer. “Well, you can’t force it, E. You’ll know when it’s right,” you say, patting his hand.

Elvis looks down sharply at your hand on his, almost like it’s burned him. “Yeah, I reckon I will,” he says, looking back up at you, his face unreadable once more. He’s gotten too good at that in Hollywood, you think, shutting the vulnerable parts of himself off from an untrustworthy world.

For the second time this night, silence hangs over you. This time it feels charged, but by what you do not know. You can’t figure out what’s going on with him.

“You gettin’ enough sleep, E?” His moodiness has always been worse when he’s tired.

“Oh, you know me, doll. I was barely sleeping before all this and now I sleep even less,” he replies. “There’s too much to do and I got all this-this crazy energy, ya know?” He wiggles his limbs, exaggerating. You can’t help but laugh.

But your laughter dies out quickly. “Seriously, Elvis, promise me you’ll at least try to get some rest while you’re home. It worries me to think you’re running yourself ragged.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything, as if he doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep. Instead, he abruptly changes the subject.

“C-c-congratulations, y/n. Jack’s a lucky guy and I-I’m glad you’re happy. You—you both—deserve all the happiness,” Elvis says, his gaze kind but guarded. Then, unexpectedly, he leans over and presses his lips softly to your cheek. They are warm and plush against your skin, lingering there for just a moment too long. Your breath catches and you can feel heat blossom through your body and into your cheeks in a way that surprises you.

Then, just like that, he pulls away, getting up and brushing himself off, like nothing happened. He holds his hand out to you to help you up off the ground. “We should get back,” he says.

You blink rapidly, trying to process the last few moments. You are glad the darkness hides the red on your cheeks. Elvis seems unaffected, so you take his hand and let him help you up. You chalk whatever strangeness that has happened up to Elvis being exhausted, pushing whatever silly, fleeting thoughts you have far, far away.

*

The long-buried memory hits you hard as you stand at the door to Elvis’ bedroom, poised to knock. You’ve spent all night in anticipation of this moment, excited and nervous about whatever comes next, but this memory shakes you, knocking something loose in your brain. Something you had forgotten until just now.

You are trying to grasp it, the thing that is niggling at the corners of your mind, but before you can lock on to whatever it is, the door swings open, startling you. You didn’t remember knocking—it’s like Elvis just knew you were there.

And immediately everything else is forgotten because the tantalizing smell of him wafts over you, and your heart starts to pitter patter in your chest because he’s just so beautiful, and the brilliance of his light blue, dark-rimmed eyes nearly knocks you over.

Elvis pulls you in to the room quickly, trying to avoid any possible prying eyes, shutting the door quietly. The light is much dimmer in here and it’s silent, save for the sound of your breathing. He is so, so close, his eyes travelling over your body approvingly. His eyes ignite flames within you wherever they linger.

“I knew you’d be a showstopper in this, baby. And the tan is a nice touch,” he says, smiling coyly, running a finger down your bare arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

Words get lost in your throat because all you know is that you need him. So instead of words, you grasp his face and kiss him as if your life depends on it. You sense his surprise at your boldness in the way he tenses at first, but it takes only a second before his arms wrap around you, and those soft, pliant lips open to yours.

But the butterflies happening in your stomach now are different than the heat you’ve experienced when kissing him before and that surprises you. Scares you, even, because the heat and the sex make a certain kind of sense. It’s biological, you think, natural to be drawn to him. Everyone is drawn to him. What you’ve already shared physically, what he is teaching you about pleasure, is addicting—you want more. Of course, you do. But what’s happening to you now is more than that, as much as you want to push it away and deny it.

You pull back from him slowly, his lips chasing yours with another gentle kiss. Your eyes raise, meeting the endless blue of his, and you are caught there, drowning, as you try to understand the man he is now. You can’t help but think that these are the same eyes that looked upon you on the lawn of Graceland so many years ago. Reconciling that Elvis with this Elvis feels so utterly strange. So much life has happened between then and now, yet under it all, you can still see that sensitive young man, striving and eager for everything life has to offer.

“Well, hello to you, too, honey,” he says softly, searching your face, trying to gauge what is going on with you.

“Hi,” you breathe out, “I missed you.” It just falls out of your mouth, a truth you aren’t sure you should reveal, but it’s too late now. It feels silly—you saw him less than 24 hours ago, but it feels like a lifetime.

This pleases him, his mouth turning up in a small smile. “I missed you, too,” he replies, giving you another soft kiss.

This invokes your own smile, a shy one. Your stomach continues to flutter like a schoolgirl’s.

He pulls you into the room, your hand small in his, the Vegas skyline bright outside the huge windows. To think, just a few nights ago, you stood in this very spot, furious and ripping him a new one for ruining your life. Feels like a million years ago now.

Elvis is barefoot, wearing a set of satiny deep blue pajamas, which somehow, even though they are sleepwear, still flatter him. You suddenly feel quite overdressed. You’re not sure what he has in store for you because his countenance doesn’t quite match the sexual fire from when he dominated you on the couch and sent you to the stars last night, but he is somehow no less intense.

His fingers brush through the pink fringe of your top, feathering over the bare skin of your back as he moves around you to a box on top of the piano. Curious, you move with him, stopping as he lifts out a slip of a nightgown that matches his pajamas exactly. Your eyebrow quirks.

Setting it back down, he glides towards you, wrapping his arms around your back. “Let’s get you more comfortable,” he says, unzipping your top slowly, removing it, throwing it to the side. You shiver under his gaze, exposed in the lacy petal pink bra he bought you. He looks delighted that you are wearing it, though his gaze is still light and controlled, even though he is undressing you.

“Shoes,” he tuts, and you slip out of your heels, kicking them to the side. Your eagerness builds, the fluttering in your stomach wild and catching fire, but you let him guide you, as he seems wont to do.

He reaches around and unzips your skirt, pulling it gently over your hips and it falls in a heap at your feet. He hums and looks over you approvingly in your matching underwear, and the look alone has you weak in the knees. It’s criminal how handsome he is and what it does to you. Based on your previous encounters, you half expect him to take you right there, but he makes no move to do so. Your breath is shallow, your body on alert, waiting on pins and needles.

Next, moves in close, his fingers brushing up your spine. A shudder courses through you. He unhooks your bra, sliding it off you and placing it on top of the piano. You think for sure he will now devour you, but he waits.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Elvis whispers, taking in your figure and you suddenly feel shy under his adoring gaze. You resist the urge to cover yourself, your nipples standing at attention in the cool air. He doesn’t touch you (you desperately want him to), though you can see by the smoldering in his eyes he wants to, too. Instead, he hands you the nightie. “Put it on,” he requests, and while you are confused, you do as he asks. The expensive, silky softness drapes over you, hanging perfectly off your frame.

Nodding as though some requirement that is unknown to you has been fulfilled, he pulls you into him, kissing your forehead. His embrace is warm and comforting against the cold of the air conditioning and you wind your arms around his neck, fingers weaving into his fine hair. While there is heat growing in your belly for him, it is like glowing embers rather than an engulfing flame.

This feels different. And then you realize, it all feels so domestic.

The thought is jarring, yet not unwanted. You had assumed (rightly so) that he wanted you here so you could fuck all night long. But this, this is a decidedly different vibe to your uninterrupted night together. And while you are a bit confused and surprised by it, you are curious.

“Elvis,” you say quietly, without expectation, “what is this?”

A boyish grin spreads across his face, reminding you of the memory that blindsided you before, the one you still need to dissect. “I want all of you, not just a part of you,” he says, nuzzling your nose with his. It sends tingles down your arms. You’re not quite sure exactly what it means, but you get the gist that he wants more than sex from you and that is surprising.

Is it, though?

He pulls you up and onto the huge bed with him. You lean back against the pillows, the ornate headboard, and he turns to you, brushing flyaway hairs off your face. His crystalline eyes have an openness you haven’t seen in a long time, as though all the glitz and glamour of “Elvis” is stripped away and it’s truly just the man here in front of you.

“How was your day?” he asks.

It’s such a simple question, yet the fact that he asks it of you almost has you in tears. Perhaps it’s because until this moment you haven’t realized that it feels like no one has asked you that, or truly cared to, in a very long time. And the fact that it is coming from him, of all people, makes your heart simultaneously break and leap at the same time.

You clear your throat, pushing the emotion away. “I…uh, well, I went to the pool with Sandy. Hence the tan. She happened to be in the room when your gift arrived, though, so that was interesting to try and explain,” you say.

“And what did you tell her?” he asks, resting his head on his hand, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. You are distracted by them and almost forget what he asked.

“Um, I basically told her I couldn’t tell her anything. How could I? I mean, we haven’t really talked about…” you motion between you two, “us, this. I couldn’t very well talk to her about it before I talked to you.”

He smiles that crooked smile of his, the one that melts your heart. “And how did she take that?”

“Oh, she was disappointed but didn’t pry. As soon as she saw the underwear, though, she’s made it her mission to figure out who the mystery man is. She’s been my shadow all night. It’s gonna be hard to keep this from her for very long,” you say dismally.

He laughs. “You can tell her, honey,” he says.

This floors you. “What? But aren’t you afraid…I mean...?” you worry.

Elvis puts his hand on your cheek. “Baby, I wanna keep seein’ you, and I think you wanna keep seein’ me.” The way he says it sends warmth radiating through your chest. But that warmth is quickly chased by cold, pragmatic fear.

He continues, “And I know she’s your best friend and y’need someone y’can talk to. Jerry knows already, anyway. I’ll make sure she knows to be discreet.”

Your mouth opens then closes. To say you are flabbergasted by this response doesn’t quite describe what you are feeling. It’s a mixture of relief, surprise, elation, confusion, and terror, and what seems like a hundred other things, all at once.

If Sandy knows, it makes this all real. Too real. This was only supposed to be a one-time thing. A way to stick it to Jack. A way to take some power back. A way to quell the unbridled sexual tension that had grown between you and Elvis.

But now you feel wildly out of control. Mind-blowing sex with the ethereal man in front of you has morphed so quickly into a passion you didn’t expect that you feel like the air has been knocked from your lungs. The more you think about it and the more you remember, no matter how much you are shoving it away, you know that this was never going to be a one-time thing for Elvis. He knew it, too. The fact that you are here right now, like this, is proof. And you are not sure if that makes you elated or angry. Maybe it’s both.

This is too dangerous. Go back to Memphis and forget this ever happened.

Maybe that would have worked two nights ago, but the thought of leaving him now fills you with more despair than the anxiety of staying.

What happens if this all blows up in our faces? Because you think it will. You can feel the pressure building even now, though you aren’t sure to what end.

Elvis seems so utterly calm, so sure. You don’t know if this is because he lives in a world so above everyone that everything seems possible, like a strange naivety, or if he is just an optimist, but either way, you don’t know how to respond. You know you have to say something, though, because of the way he is looking at you, his eyes expectant and watchful.

“How? How are we gonna keep seeing each other, E? I go home tomorrow. And what about Jack?” you say in a whisper, all your emotions caving in on you at once. Tears spring to your eyes, which is not at all what you want or expect, and you are mad at yourself for ruining the mood.

“Hey, hey now, darlin’,” Elvis says with concern, sitting up and taking your face in his hands. “Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry. I got it all figured out. I’ll take care of you, honey,” he reassures you. He kisses your tears as they fall down your cheeks, his lips soft and warm.

Then, unexpectedly, he leans over and presses his lips softly to your cheek. They are warm and plush against your skin, lingering there for just a moment too long.

The memory flashes back to you, startling you as the past and present meld together.

He kissed you then much like he’s kissing you now. You pull back and look at him with wide eyes.

“Baby, y’look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asks, eyes searching your face.

So many seeds have taken root, blossoming in your mind. (Or maybe they’ve always been fully bloomed, and I just never saw them.) You shake your head. Your heart is beating too fast. This isn’t the time to dive into this.

But when? you wonder.

How long has he…?

No, absolutely not. You won’t let yourself go there, you can’t, not now, not when he’s looking at you like this.

“I’m sorry, E, I just got caught off guard and got overwhelmed,” you finally respond, wiping your cheeks. “You—you said you have it all figured out?”

Throwing it back to him is the right call because now he’s excited. “You’re stayin’ in Vegas, honey.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you want to believe him, but you don’t understand.

Your heart drops into your stomach, as if you are plummeting down a roller coaster, the feeling where fear and excitement meet. “Elvis, you’re not making any sense. If I stay in Vegas, Jack is gonna want to know why, and I certainly can’t say I’m here for you. And I’m pretty sure Jack doesn’t particularly want me here, anyways,” you say with distain.

“Jack’s got his fuckin’ head wedged so far up his ass, he can’t see straight,” Elvis says, blatantly annoyed. “Don’t you worry ‘bout him.”

Don’t worry about him? He’s my husband! You almost say it, then think better of it, not wanting to get into that right now. Plus, you are curious as to this solution Elvis has miraculously come up with.

“Baby, remember the other night when you’s was tellin’ me you’re unhappy, that you don’t know where you belong, what your purpose is?” he says, practically bouncing.

You nod. How could you forget? That’s what started this all in the first place.

“Well, I figured it out. You belong here, with me, with us,” he says, beaming, taking your hand in both of his. You can feel him vibrating with energy.

“Wait, what…? Us? Who’s us?” you say, utterly confused.

“Us, the show. We’ve been talkin’ about needin’ someone to sing the high voice parts, along with the Sweet Inspirations. And it just came to me, after you were singin’ in the shower. It’s you. Of course, it’s you. Now you have a reason to stay. We get to be together, and the show will have a new member. It’s perfect.” His excitement is palpable, he’s nearly glowing with it.

Oh, this man is outta his goddamned mind. You shake your head, shock and fear like ice in your veins. “Elvis, do you not remember me telling you how terrified I am of singing in front of people? I could barely sing in front of you without having a meltdown!” you practically shriek, dousing his elation.

“Hey, there’ll be none of that!” Elvis raises his voice at you, eyes darkening. It’s not a yell, but it’s stern as hell, and you realize that Elvis probably doesn’t like having his “good idea” shot down before it’s barely out of his mouth. His change in demeanor shakes you enough to calm down a little. You know him well enough to know his mood can change on a dime, and you don’t think you can handle that on top of your own panic right now. You force yourself to take a long, deep breath.

“I’m not sayin’ you’re gettin’ up on stage with me tomorrow, honey, but I am sayin’ that maybe you need a little trainin’ to prepare you for the possibility that it could happen. And that trainin’ needs to happen here, in Vegas, with a vocal coach I already got comin’ in,” he explains more gently.

You are starting to understand what he’s getting at, and your fear abates a little. He’s not saying you’re joining the band (yet), but if you are training for it, whether it happens or not, you have a reason to stay.

“Now, I know you love music, baby, I know it in my bones cuz I see it in you, always have, plain as day. Maybe this is that purpose you’ve been lookin’ for. It’s kismet, I’m tellin’ you, honey, all this happenin’, here at once. You and me. Us needin’ another singer. Even Jack bein’ a dipshit. Can’t you see, baby? It’s meant to be,” he says fervently, holding onto your shoulders, his eyes wild with passion. He’s so enthusiastic, it’s hard to not be swept up with him.

It's meant to be…

You nod, letting him pull you along down this road. You do love music. You have been searching for something, a purpose. And you’d get to be here with him, not thousands of miles away, being sad and lonely in Memphis. What do you have to lose?

A lot, a voice counters. This is a bad idea.

You quash that voice, wanting to believe in this as much as Elvis does. As scared as you are of how out of control he makes you feel, how your feelings for him (and his for you) terrify you, you know that the stifling sadness of your old routine is slowly draining the life out of you.

If nothing else, Elvis makes you feel alive.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Elvis beams. “Really? Okay?” he asks.

“Okay, I’ll try it. I’ll work with your coach. But I can’t promise I’ll be any good or even be able to get up there,” you add pointedly.

You have to give him credit, though, because the more you think about it, the more genius the idea becomes. It could actually work in terms of your relationship, whatever it may be. But more importantly, the thought of doing something with music, something outside yourself, is enticing.

“That’s okay, we’ll just take it one step atta time,” he says, ecstatic. He grabs your cheeks and kisses you. “I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

God, he says it with such fervor, such sincerity, that you can’t help but be enveloped in it with him. The fact that anyone out there has your happiness at the forefront of their mind is amazing to you, much less it being Elvis Presley. And he seems to believe in you in a way you haven’t even believed in yourself in a very long time.

And that does make you happy.

Even if it scares the hell out of you.

**

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