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aliyahwritings · 12 days ago

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THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (04)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Model!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 6.4k

Aliyah's Notes: i'll say it again, but specifically this chapter depicts heavy body image and ed descriptions + vomit so i beg of you to skip the beginning if you're uncomfortable with that. besides that, the chapter is cute and full of rafe and reader moments

No, no, no, no, no…

The air in the cramped bathroom felt stifling, its walls pressing close as if they could hear every breath slipping through your lips. Your phone screen glared up at you, the message burning into your mind, twisting your insides. It felt like a rope tightening around your chest, the words somehow dragging you thousands of miles back to a place she’d fought so hard to escape.

It was just a text. Just words. But your body reacted as if you’ve been thrown into an ice-cold river, your mind spiraling as your heartbeat thumped in your ears, louder and louder, drowning out all your sense of reason. You weren’t supposed to feel this way—not here, not anymore. You fought too hard to let a few words send you back to that place.

The text was simple, it read: "Hey, do you remember me? Just to let you know we're coming to the U.S. in a few weeks."

Your fingers, knuckles white, tightened around the phone as you tried to calm yourself. You had come so far, broken so many boundaries to make it, to have a life that was your own, that you chose. And now? Now your world felt as fragile as glass, your strength chipped away by something as simple as a message.

For years, you pushed that life aside, buried it beneath layers of success and glossy magazine covers, of flashing cameras and compliments that felt like armor. You learned to smile, to keep your chin up, to say what people wanted to hear. Y/N Y/L/N, the golden girl, they’d call you, the one with the perfect life, the charmed career. They didn’t see the cracks beneath, the memories you pushed so far down you could almost believe they’d never existed.

You missed them, sometimes. In quiet moments, when you let yourself think of them, you felt the familiar pang of loss. But you missed them on your own terms, and never to this point—never to the point of feeling that old, oppressive weight. The suffocating sense of having your every move watched, every thought scrutinized and molded into someone else’s idea of perfection. You’d broken free of those chains. Or at least you thought you had.

Your breath hitched as a tear slipped down your cheek, cold against your heated skin. You quickly wiped it away, but another followed, then another, until you were gripping the edge of the sink, trying desperately to hold yourself together. “You’re okay,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely a breath. “You’re fine. Suck it up, come on.”

The words felt hollow, but you forced yourself to repeat them, steadying your breathing as you stared at your reflection. The woman looking back at you wasn’t the helpless girl from your past; she was someone stronger, someone who’d fought for every inch of her success. But as you brushed away the tears, you wondered just how deep those old wounds ran.

Another shaky breath, another splash of cold water. You didn’t have time for this. Not here, not today. There was a shoot waiting, people depending on you to be the flawless professional you always were. You could fall apart later. That would have to be enough.

Drawing yourself up, you checked your reflection one last time, wiping away any trace of emotion from your face. Your fingers still trembled, but you forced them to steady, exhaling one last time before stepping out of the bathroom, your shoulders set with the poise you spent years perfecting.

As you walked back into the studio, the lights blinded you momentarily, the heat from the set lights prickling against your skin. The room buzzed with activity—assistants darting back and forth, stylists fussing over racks of clothing, and the low hum of the photographer’s voice directing the scene. You slipped back into your role, letting the familiar rhythm carry your as you took your place on set.

“Finally,” the photographer muttered, barely looking up from his camera. “We’re on a schedule, Y/N. I don’t have time for dramatics.” His voice was cold, clipped, as though your presence was nothing more than an inconvenience.

You clenched your jaw, brushing off the comment. Just keep your head down, and keep moving. You struck your first pose, forcing yourself to focus on the rhythm of the camera’s clicks. Each flash, each snap, pulled you farther away from your thoughts, grounding you in the present. You knew this world, knew how to inhabit the perfect persona they wanted from you. You could do this.

“Okay, chin down,” the photographer barked, barely glancing up from his lens. “More. More—there, but tighten up your core, Y/N. It’s looking a little… fat.”

The comment hit you like a slap, the faint tremble returning to your hands. You adjusted your pose, forcing yourself to stay calm. You've heard comments like this before. Your body was scrutinized in ways most people couldn’t understand, your curves debated and dissected like they belonged to someone else. You have been trained to brush it off, to smile and push through it with the poise they expected of you.

But today, after everything, the words dug a little deeper.

The photographer snapped another shot, then lowered his camera, looking you up and down with a critical eye. “You’re slipping, Y/N. You used to be skinnier. Are you having those episodes again?” He cocked an eyebrow, his tone dripping with condescension. “If you’re going to stay at the top, you have to stop whatever it is you’re doing that’s triggering you. That means discipline, diet, focus. Do you have that? Or am I wasting my time here?”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, the words stinging sharper than you wanted to admit. You knew you gained a little weight—nothing drastic, nothing worth commenting on, but in your world, even a fraction of a change was enough to invite scrutiny. You forced yourself to hold your pose, to keep the practiced smile on your face, even as your heart pounded in your chest.

“No,” you said quietly, your voice steady but clipped. “You’re not wasting your time—I understand. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” he said, turning his attention back to his camera. “Because the camera doesn’t lie, Y/N. Either shape up, or Chanel will find someone who will.”

The ride home was a blur, the city lights streaking past the window as you sat, rigid, in the back seat of the car. Your stomach twisted painfully, a churning knot of anger, shame, and something that felt dangerously close to despair. Each time you closed your eyes, the photographer’s words replayed like a cruel loop in your mind, mocking you, unraveling every shred of confidence you’d managed to build. You’re slipping… used to be skinner…discipline, diet, focus. His voice echoed with the ghost of memories you’d focus so hard to bury.

You barely noticed when the car finally stopped. As soon as you stepped out, the familiar ache in your chest intensified, the weight of everything pressing down, suffocating. You fumbled with your keys, barely able to keep your hands steady long enough to unlock the door. Once inside, you kicked off your shoes, not even caring where they landed, and stumbled over to the couch. Every nerve in your body screamed, the urge clawing at you with a ferocity that was both frightening and familiar.

You sat there, breathing heavily, your fingers digging into the fabric of the couch as you fought to steady yourself. But the memories kept coming, one after another, tearing at you until it felt like you were drowning in them. You saw yourself, younger, lost, staring into the mirror late at night, desperate to feel in control of something—anything. The hunger, the self-loathing, the endless cycle of guilt and relief—it all rushed back with a force that stole the breath from your lungs.

It would be so easy to give in, a voice whispered in the back of your mind. Just this once. Just for tonight. You could have the relief you craved, the escape from the pressure that felt like it was suffocating you from the inside out.

No, you told yourself, clenching your fists. You’re stronger than this.

But the temptation was too strong, too insistent, and before you even realized what you were doing, you found yourself in the kitchen, stuffing your face with whatever you could find. You just needed to eat, eat, eat, and eat more. You blinked and found yourself in the bathroom, hands braced against the sink as you stared into the mirror, a tear-streaked, desperate face staring back at you. Your chest tightened as the shame washed over you, the familiar ache settling deep in your bones, dragging you down into the darkness you’d spent years trying to escape.

Your fingers brushed your throat, trembling as you fought against the impulse. You didn’t want this, not really. You knew the pain that would follow, the emptiness that would settle in your chest like a lead weight, crushing you from the inside out. But the need for control, the need for release, was stronger than you were.

As if in a trance, you gave in, the guilt and shame numbing your mind as you went through the motions, each step mechanical, devoid of thought. The feeling of release came in a rush, bringing a momentary sense of relief that quickly dissolved into nausea and self-loathing. You sank to the floor, gasping for breath, your entire body trembling as the full weight of what you’d done settled over you.

The bathroom floor was cold against your skin, grounding you in the present even as your mind spiraled, tangled in a haze of guilt and despair. You pressed your forehead to your knees, the tears coming fast and hot, unstoppable. Your chest heaved with silent sobs, each one cutting deeper than the last as you choked on the bitter taste of regret. The walls seemed to close in around you, trapping you in a prison of your own making, a prison you’d vowed to escape but somehow couldn’t.

You thought you were done with this, that you’d left this part of yourself behind. But here you were, broken and hollow, the fragile pieces of your self-control shattered beyond repair. You wanted to scream, to tear at your own skin, to do anything that would make the pain stop, even for just a moment.

“Why am I like this?” you whispered, the words barely audible through your tears.

When the tears finally slowed, you felt hollow, emptied, the relief you’d hoped for replaced by a numbness that was somehow worse. You pulled yourself up, the motion slow and heavy, as though your limbs were weighed down by the shame you carried. You splashed water on your face, watching as the streaks of mascara and foundation washed away, leaving you bare and exposed, a shadow of the person you pretended to be.

Stumbling back into the living room, you sank onto the couch, the silence of the apartment pressing in around you, thick and suffocating. Your stomach ached, a dull throb that echoed the ache in your chest, a reminder of everything you’d tried to forget. You leaned back, closing your eyes, your fingers still trembling.

The silence was shattered by the faint buzz of your phone, the sound jarring in the quiet. You opened your eyes, feeling a fresh wave of dread as you reached for it, already bracing yourself for more bad news. The screen showed a message from Rafe, sent twenty minutes ago.

Rafe: “Hey. On my way over. Be ready. We’re going out.”

Your heart skipped a beat, panic flaring in your chest as you processed the words. Rafe was coming here. He’d be here any minute, expecting you to be ready, expecting you to be fine. But you were anything but fine. The thought of facing him, of pretending everything was normal, felt like an impossible task.

You wanted to ignore it, to curl up on the couch and let the world fade away. But you knew you couldn’t. He’d see through you, he’d ask questions, and you weren’t ready for that. You weren’t ready for him to see the broken pieces.

Taking a shaky breath, you sat up, wiping the last traces of tears from your face. You couldn’t fall apart now. You’d have to pull yourself together, put on the mask he expected to see.

But as you stared at the screen, the weight of what you’d done settled over you, a cold, crushing ache that threatened to drown you all over again.

A sharp knock broke the silence, the sound slicing through the thick air of your apartment. You jolted, your heart racing as you looked toward the door.

Fuck! You hadn’t even had time to fully compose yourself.

Another knock, lighten this time, followed by his familiar voice. “Come on, open up, sweetheart,” Rafe called out, his tone easy, teasing. He was here. Of course he was here.

Forcing a deep breath, you pushed yourself up from the couch, running your hands through your hair in a last-minute attempt to look put-together. You brushed a hand over your face, trying to erase any trace of what had happened, then ran to close the door of your kitchen to hide the mess of food sprawled everywhere.

The moment you opened the door, Rafe’s eyes locked onto yours, his playful smile faltering as he took you in. The lightness in his gaze shifted, softening with a concern that made your chest tighten. You could feel his eyes sweeping over your face, catching the lingering redness around your eyes, the slight shake in your hands and naked legs, the way you wouldn’t quite meet this gaze.

“You…” he said, stepping forward as his brow furrowed. “You okay?”

You forced a smile, dismissive, brushing it off as though he hadn’t seen what he had. “I’m fine, Cameron. Just a long day, you know,” you replied, your voice steady but rough, your fingers clutching the edge of the door.

He didn’t move, his gaze unwavering as he studied you, his expression laced with worry. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice careful now. “You don’t look fine. Your eyes…”

“I said I’m fine, Rafe!” you snapped, the words sharper than you’d intended, the force of them surprising you both. His brows shot up slightly, but he didn’t move, his gaze locked on yours as though he were searching for something beneath the anger.

“I’m just asking, but something’s obviously wrong. You don’t have to—”

“Why do you care?” you interrupted, your voice edged with a defensiveness you couldn’t control. “It’s none of your business, alright,” Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, the sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you willed them back, pressing down the wave of emotion threatening to rise again. “I told you, I’m fine. Just drop it.”

The silence stretched between you, tense, your words hanging in the air like a challenge. You could see the hurt flash across his face, fleeting but unmistakable, before it softened into something closer to understanding, something that only made you feel more exposed.

“Alright,” he murmured, his tone calm, measured. He took a step back, lifting his hands slightly in surrender, his gaze lingering on you, patient, waiting. “If you say so.”

But you could see it in his eyes—he didn’t believe you, not for a second.

You stepped back, allowing him to come inside. He moved past you slowly, his gaze flicking back to you once before staying put. You headed toward the living room, and he followed you, swallowing the lingering shame in your throat as you focused on steadying your breath.

He paused near the couch, glancing around the room as though searching for a sign of what had shaken you.

“Alright, so… where exactly are we going?” you asked, aiming to keep your tone casual. Your gaze dropped to your hands, hoping to mask the slight tremor of your nerves.

Rafe glanced over, he seemed to take a moment to consider his answer, studying you as though choosing his words carefully. “One of my friends is hosting a little get-together…”

“Topper?”

“Hell nah!” He quietly laughed, shaking his head. “Not this time. It’s Kelce. He throws these gatherings sometimes—more chill than anything else. It’s just a handful of people, around a dozen or so, max. You think you’ll be okay with that?”

His gaze lingered on you, a mix of playfulness and genuine concern softening his features. You swallowed, nodding as you offered a small shrug. “Yeah, sure. That’s fine. So… just friends? Are there going to be, um… other girls?”

He tilted his head. “Yeah, some. Kiara and Cleo are usually around for these things, and…” he paused, scratching his jaw before continuing, “my sister.”

That made you look up, your curiosity piqued. “You have a sister?”

“Two actually, both younger,” he replied with a faint smile. “But only one’s coming tonight. Sarah. I think she’s around your age. You’ll probably like her. She’s… got a bit of a wild streak.”

You nodded and stayed quiet for a moment, lost in thought, before glancing back at Rafe. “So… I’ll just go get ready—wait! How should I dress up? Is it a casual-casual or a casual-but-nicely-dressed type of gathering?”

Rafe’s lips quirked into a smile, visibly relieved to see you bouncing back to your usual self. “Pretty sure, whatever you wear, you’ll make it look elegant, sweetheart.”

“That’s not helpful—but thanks.” You arched a brow at him, waiting.

"Just something simple," he replied with a shrug, leaning back on the couch. His eyes traveled over you, taking in your outfit—a pair of black shorts paired with an oversized, ripped T-shirt splashed with images of Barbie. Somehow, even in that, you looked hot, and he couldn’t help but let his gaze linger.

“Simple?” You tilted your head thoughtfully. “Like…a dress? Wait, maybe a skirt is better for this. But a dress is more of a party vibe…” you started muttering to yourself, lost in wardrobe decisions. “Should I wear something with prints? Oh, wait—”

“Just wear a skirt, baby,” he cut in smoothly, his gaze softening as he watched you.

That one little word��baby—made your heart flutter and stopped your train of thought cold. You caught his eyes, trying to ignore the sudden swarm of butterflies, and arched a brow at him with a teasing smirk. “Oh, I see what this is. You just want an excuse to look at my ass. Bet you’re hoping for a little peek under my skirt, huh, you perv?”

Rafe’s smirk grew, and he sat up, his blue eyes gleaming with something undeniably mischievous. “I’ll see your ass at some point during this marriage, whether it’s tonight or some other night,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “Got you speechless now, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, pretending his words hadn’t just lit a spark that was still buzzing beneath your skin. “No, actually, I was just thinking of all the ways I could strangle you.”

“Kinky,” he teased, eyes alight with amusement.

You groaned, chuckling despite yourself. “Not like that, you perv.” You waved your hand dismissively, shaking your head. “Enough of this. I’m gonna go get ready.”

Before you turned, he grinned and made a move to get up. “Can I come and watch the show?”

You placed a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down with a laugh. “Absolutely not. Stay here and be patient. I won’t be long.”

Rafe relaxed, settling back with a smirk as he watched you disappear into your bedroom, and you made sure to close the door firmly behind you.

You emerge from the bedroom an hour later, dressed in a strapless leopard-print tube top that clings to your figure just right, paired with a faded denim mini-skirt. For makeup, you opted for a natural look with a subtle glow, focusing on your lips, and you left your curls loose, letting them fall naturally over your shoulders, once again.

You walked into the hallway, slipping on your black Louboutin stilettos. As you straightened, you didn’t need to look back to know Rafe was right there, his presence a steady hum in the quiet of your apartment. You’d heard his soft footsteps the second you stepped into the hallway.

"You—"

"Watch what you’re about to say, Cameron," you cut him off, throwing a teasing glance over your shoulder, "because if it’s about my ass, I’ll slap you so hard you’ll fly out the window."

His smirk widened. "Now, I wasn’t gonna say anything like that," He let his gaze travel up and down your figure, lingering on the way your fitted mini skirt hugged your curves. "But since you brought it up—yeah, it’s the perfect opportunity to take a peek. Especially with you bent over and all."

You straightened up, narrowing your eyes at him, though a faint smile tugged at your lips. "Rafe."

He raised his hands, palms out. "Alright, alright—my bad." He let his eyes travel over you one more time, this time slower, more appreciative. "But you look nice."

"Just nice?" you teased, tilting your head slightly as you stepped closer, noting the way his eyes darkened as he drank you in.

"No..." His voice dropped, his eyes turning hungry as they lingered on you. "You look hot. Really hot."

You felt a satisfied smile spread across your face. "Perfect. That’s exactly what I was going for."

"Well, you succeeded, sweetheart," he replied, voice thick with an admiration that felt too close for comfort.

You smiled, pushing down the heat rising to your cheeks, and made your way to the door, pulling it open. Rafe followed close behind, stepping into the hallway as you both moved toward the elevator.

"So," you asked as you pressed the elevator button, "do your friends know about the arrangement, or…?"

Rafe shook his head, popping the 'P' as he answered, "Nope. None of them have a clue. Not my teammates, not my sister—nobody. So you’re gonna have to pretend to tolerate me for a few hours. Think you can handle that?"

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. "Tolerate you? For a few hours? I mean, it’s gonna be a challenge, but I think I can manage.”

“Is that so? Gonna be that hard to put up with me?”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, in fear to hurt your poor feelings but you are extremely annoying and hard to put up with, Rafe Cameron,” you shot back, your eyes sparkling.

“Ouch,” he touched his heart and mocked a pained expression. “You’re hurting your husband’s feelings here, sweetheart.”

“Future husband,” you corrected with a smirk. “And, womp womp!”

The elevator reached the lobby, and the two of you stepped out, making your way toward the exit. Rafe opened the door for you, his hand resting briefly on the small of your back, sending a shiver up your spine.

Outside, his car was waiting, sleek and polished under the streetlights. He held the passenger door open, and you slipped inside, watching as he rounded the front and got in beside you.

The car ride was quieter than you expected. He seemed content, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift. You stole a few glances at him as he drove, catching the glint in his eye as he noticed you looking.

Finally, he spoke up. "You know, if you’re gonna be my girlfriend for the night, you’ll have to act the part."

"What do you mean?"

He smirked, shifting gears smoothly as he turned onto a quieter road. “Maybe try not to glare at me every time I look at you. Oh, and try smiling, or I don’t know, pretend like you don’t find me annoying.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Noted. You have some more notes, Mr. Cameron?"

“I do, actually, future Ms. Cameron,” he said, glancing at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “As my girlfriend, you should probably let me put my arm around, or even hold my hand if we’re getting really freaky.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. “Oh, yeah ‘cause touching your hand will make me nut, right?”

He chuckled, glancing over you, his expression full of amusement. “I mean, that’s usually how most people feel—but more seriously, we need to make this believable. The whole world has to think we’re in love.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "And here I thought this was a marriage of convenience. You know, strictly business. But since we’re giving notes then I think you should show a little more enthusiasm."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he navigated the streets. "Alright, I can do enthusiasm. How about I serenade you while I drive?"

"Oh my God! Please don’t," you laughed, shaking your head. "I’d like to keep my hearing intact."

"Suit yourself." Rafe grinned, glancing at you with a mock-seriousness. "But if I can’t sing, then I have to hold your hand. That’s the rule."

You hesitated, your heart racing at the idea of intertwining his fingers with yours. “Fine…”

He raised his hand triumphantly, a playful smirk plastered across his face. "See? You’re already getting into the spirit of things. Besides, it’s not like our lips haven’t touched—"

“Rafe!” you exclaimed, slapping his chest with a mix of disbelief and embarrassment.

“What? I’m just stating the truth,” he said, feigning innocence as he rubbed his chest, an exaggerated pout forming on his lips. “Come on, don’t get shy on me now, baby.”

“I am not shy,” you retorted, unable to suppress a smile.

“Right, and I’m the bloody king of England,” he shot back with a horrible fake British accent.

“Shut up,” you laughed, the sound echoing softly in the quiet of the car as you shook your head at his antics.

The banter hung in the air between you like a playful thread. You both lapsed into a comfortable silence, the gentle hum of the engine and the occasional rush of wind outside the car providing a soothing backdrop. As the minutes passed, anticipation buzzed in the air, making each second feel charged with excitement.

Finally, you pulled up in front of a large, ornate gate guarded by stern-looking security personnel. Rafe, unable to contain himself, leaned forward and called out his name with exaggerated bravado, “Rafe Cameron!” The gates swung open, revealing a huge house with lights everywhere.

As he parked the car, you took a moment to steady your breathing, inhaling deeply to calm the flutter of nerves in your stomach. With a final exhale, you opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement. Before you stood three familiar faces, their expressions a mix of anticipation and curiosity as they waited at the door of the house.

You glanced at Rafe, who had just stepped out to join you, his presence exuding a quiet confidence that somehow eased your tension. The way he stood beside you, relaxed yet alert, made you feel a little more at ease.

“Am I dreaming, or are there three people waiting for us—and they’re jumping?” you asked, barely able to contain your laughter as you watched the trio bouncing in place, their enthusiasm infectious.

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “You’re not dreaming. The idiots over there are my sister, JJ, and Topper.”

“Oh, I know Topper!” you exclaimed, a spark of excitement igniting in your voice. The prospect of recognizing someone made the moment feel a bit more comfortable.

“Yeah, you do, sweetheart,” Rafe replied, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes glinted with warmth.

As you approached the animated group, the sounds of their laughter filled the air, creating a vibrant atmosphere that made your heart race with anticipation. Rafe walked beside you.

Topper was the first to spot you, his face lighting up with a broad grin as he waved. “Love birds! Over here!” he shouted, bouncing on his feet, you could tell he was slightly tipsy already.

JJ turned at the sound of his voice, his expression shifting from casual to surprise when he caught sight of you two. “What the fuck? Rafe is here with a girl—isn’t that—”

“That’s Y/N! What the actual fuck, Rafe?” Sarah exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief as she slapped JJ’s chest, the surprise evident in her wide eyes.

As you stepped into view, the weight of their stares sent a wave of nerves crashing over you, and suddenly, the words you’d rehearsed vanished from your mind. It was ridiculous—usually, you were the life of the party, friendly and extroverted. Why were you feeling so overwhelmed now?

“Hi,” you managed to say, cringing at the awkwardness of it. A rush of heat crept up your neck as you mentally kicked yourself for being so inarticulate.

“Hi, pretty girl,” JJ chimed, his grin infectious. “Now that Y/N and her boyfriend have arrived, the party can officially start!” He turned and bolted into the house with an enthusiastic shout, followed closely by Topper, leaving you alone with the Cameron siblings.

Turning your attention back to Sarah, you took a moment to admire her outfit—a stunning black leather dress that hugged her curves perfectly, her makeup expertly applied to accentuate her striking features. She radiated confidence.

“I’ve seen stuff about you two on social media, but I didn’t expect you to actually bring her here—respectfully, of course,” Sarah said, her gaze flicking to you as she finished her sentence and you simply shrugged. “This is a first for you, Rafe,” she continued, raising an eyebrow at her brother.

“I’m serious about her, so get ready to see her everywhere by my side,” Rafe replied casually, but the warmth of his words sent your cheeks aflame. “Are you the only girl here—”

“I love your dress, by the way. I don’t know if I said that already ‘cause I’m pretty tipsy, but I love it. Leopard prints suit you so well! Every time you wear animal prints on the runway, I’m always so in love with how it fits you. Oh, and I heard you’re working with Chanel right now—is that true? You can tell me; I promise I won’t spill. Plus, I’ll probably forget about it by tomorrow anyway—”

Rafe, clearly exasperated, swiftly placed a hand over her mouth. “Don’t say weird shit like that, stalker. You’re creeping my girlfriend out.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, placing a hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “No, it’s fine.”

“You sure? Because she really sounded like a fucking creep,” he said, feigning seriousness, but you could see the hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Guess that runs in the family,” you teased, lifting yourself on your tiptoes to lean closer and whisper in Rafe’s ear, the warmth of his body radiating against you. “But thank you, Sarah. I was going to say the same about you and your dress. It fits your body like crazy; I’m honestly jealous.”

“Girl, please. Have you seen yourself?” she scoffed, her confidence shining through.

“I have, but have you seen yourself? You’re stunning, like a goddess.”

“Oh my God—”

“Alright, enough with the glazing,” Rafe interrupted, a mock-seriousness creeping into his tone. Sarah shot him an annoyed glare, which you mirrored, both of you momentarily united in your frustration. “I introduced her to you, but there are other people who don’t know she’s here, so get out of the way, Sarah.”

With that, he gently nudged her aside, his protective demeanor hinting at how much he cared, even amidst the playful banter. You couldn’t help but smile at the way he navigated the room with ease, leading you into the chaos of the party.

The room was awash in vibrant colors, illuminated by twinkling lights strung overhead. A long table was set up against one wall, laden with an enticing spread of snacks and alcoholic drinks that sparkled enticingly under the glow. The atmosphere buzzed with energy; laughter and music melded together in a lively symphony. Groups of people swayed on the dance floor, while others engaged in animated conversations or indulged in the delicious food. Rafe was right—though the crowd wasn’t particularly large, the energy was palpable, and the music was loud enough to make your heart race.

You gently tapped Rafe’s arm to get his attention, and he leaned down slightly to hear you over the din. “We’re not gonna go to each person to introduce myself, are we?”

“Hell no! Just my close friends—” he started, but his words were cut off as someone unexpectedly leapt into his arms, wrapping their limbs around his neck with abandon. Rafe staggered slightly, instinctively holding the person tight to steady them both. Your brows knitted together in confusion and irritation as you wondered who would be so brazen as to interrupt a conversation. The person had clearly come from the front, meaning they’d seen you two talking moments before.

Fucking prick, you cursed internally at the bold interloper.

When the person turned around, you found yourself face-to-face with a woman who had long, straight brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her cheerful smile faltered briefly upon noticing you, but it returned almost instantly, though you could sense the shift in her demeanor.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry for coming in like that,” she shouted over the thumping bass, her voice bright and exuberant. “I was just so excited to see Rafey. I couldn’t contain my joy.”

You waved your hands dismissively, plastering on a friendly smile, trying to keep the peace. “It’s totally fine, don’t worry. I get it.”

“I’m Chiara, by the way. Chiara Romano,” she introduced herself, extending a hand for you to shake. You accepted, noting the warmth of her grip.

“That’s a pretty name,” you said sincerely, your tone genuine. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“The supermodel who fled from her country, right?” Chiara asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

You scratched your cheek, a touch of embarrassment creeping in. “Well, not exactly, but yeah… that’s me.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Y/N,” she said with a bright smile before turning her attention back to Rafe, suddenly snatching his arm and tugging at him playfully. “Come with me, Rafey.”

Rafe, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the exchange, finally spoke, his tone firm. “Wait! No, Chiara.”

“Why? It’s gonna be fun—” she retorted, but Rafe’s tone shifted to a more serious note.

“I’m here with Y/N,” he said firmly, the protectiveness in his voice undeniable. Chiara halted her playful tugging, her expression shifting as she turned her full attention to you. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh…” she said, her brows raised in surprise as she studied you intently. “Are you two serious, or not?”

You frowned, taken aback by the bluntness of her question. You knew Rafe had a reputation for jumping from one woman to the next, but he had just referred to you as his girlfriend with such conviction. That had to mean something, right? You couldn’t help but wonder what Chiara would have done if you had said no.

“We’re se—” you started, but your voice faltered.

“I want him to say it,” Chiara interrupted, a challenging glint in her eye as she turned to Rafe. “Say that you two are serious, Rafe.”

The air grew thick with anticipation as you awaited his response. The weight of the moment felt significant; this wasn’t just a casual interaction—it was a test of the fragile foundation of your arrangement. Rafe’s eyes darted between you and Chiara, a mix of uncertainty and determination swirling in them. You held your breath, knowing that you needed him to affirm the seriousness of your relationship, even if it was just for show. Rafe couldn’t afford to slip up, not when so much was at stake. You watched him struggle with the words, a silent plea hanging in the air as he held Chiara’s gaze, and you braced yourself for what would come next.

Who the fuck was Chiara Romano to Rafe Cameron?

chapter five

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elegantgardenrunaway · 12 days ago

Text

Today, we dance

PreCrash! Captain Curly x reader

A/N: Sorry, I couldn't resist. Haha. Anyways, this is not proofread and English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

(Image found in Pinterest)

Just think about finding captain Curly after the whole birthday ordeal. The room is still decorated while he's just sitting there, with his head down with an unreadable expression on his face.

You don't say anything as you sit next to him, not really knowing what to do, this was beyond your paycheck. Well, your last paycheck, the idea is still making you nauseous. You don't know what you are going to do after this, if you are going to be able to get another job or if this will be it for you. The weight of the news is crushing both of you, suffocating you in its silence.

You glance at him, then look around the room, the room which you hoped to celebrate your captain and decide here and there that this was too somber. This was supposed to be his celebration, his day and you'll be damned if you let it end like this.

Besides, you needed some distraction, maybe he did too.

You are a little ashamed to admit that it took you some time to get the courage to put your idea into motion, worried you may be stepping a boundary or just doing something in a time that wasn't right. Sure, the captain and you were getting close as of late, but you wouldn't say you have that kind of trust, not to mention it wasn't really professional.

But it's not like you have anything to lose now, right?

You turn on the radio, put some music, take his hands, invite him to dance "just one piece", you say, anything to lift his mood. It takes some convincing, a lot of convincing.

"We still have work to do" he says.

"To hell with work" you respond, taking his hands to guide him "Forget the work, the company, everything. Tomorrow we'll drown, today? Today, we dance. If you want to, of course."

He observed you, with those blue eyes with something you had never seen before, something you can't describe.

To be completely honest, you were expecting a refusal.

You were pleasantly surprised when he didn't.

His callused, warm hands awkwardly held you, not exactly knowing what to do.

"... I have to tell you..." He whispered slowly, sounding as if he was confessing a crime "... I'm not a good dancer..."

You blinked. You didn't expect him to say that. Captain Curly? A bad dancer? The idea made you snort.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing, sorry... " you shook your head, giving him an apologetic smile, hoping that you were not being rude. That's the last thing you want to do to him. You guided one of his hands to your waist, the other holding yours "... It's just that... That's very hard to believe coming from you, captain."

He just shrugged. For some reason, the easy smile he usually gives seemed different. You can't help but wish you could see it more often.

"What can I say? Being a captain is not exactly a job where I can really do these kinds of things..."

You chuckled "Don't worry, we are not doing anything complicated of sorts" you reassured "Just follow my lead..."

You started to guide the captain through the music. Nothing difficult, just simple, easy to remember movements. As you progressed with your impromptu dancing clases, you didn't notice when your bodies got so close to each other, to the point he had his chin resting on your head while you were resting on his chest.

The mellow melody taking you to another world, another earth. There were no screens, no pixels, no pony express, no worries about the future. Just the two of you, swaying with the music. This was all you could offer to him.

And you hoped that was a good enough birthday gift.

"You know, you are not as bad a dancer as you said you were"

"Hmm? You think so?"

"Mhm, but if you really feel like it... I can give you some classes..."

"... That..."

"Ah...Sorry-"

"No! Don't be!"

"..."

"... It actually sounds wonderful"

"Really?"

"...Really"

"... Well, we have some time before we arrive at the destination... We can see each other during our breaks..."

"I'm looking forward to it then"

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing curly #mouthwashing curly x reader #curly x reader #Spotify #x reader #captain curly x reader

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foreingersgod · 7 months ago

Note

omg I saw you wrote for pb and I was wondering your take on her comforting a reader who struggles with mental health or anxiety? Tysmia && I love your work !! ❤️🤗

for any of you struggling out there, i’m here with you! if you ever need, my inbox is always open :)

Anxious . PB

pairing: paige bueckers x reader

synopsis: you’ve struggled with anxiety your entire life, but you never told anyone, including paige. during one of your bad anxiety attacks, she finally finds out.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

since you were young, about starting middle school, anxiety controlled the entirety of your life. every decision, every breathe, every moment, anxiety was driving you. it was so suffocating that you fell behind the other kids. you didn’t play sports or join clubs, nor did you hang out with friends because you feared the worst. those voices in your head, that twisted feeling in your gut made life almost unlivable.

when you graduated high school and moved away for college, the anxiety lessened. you think in some ways college helped you find yourself and for a little bit, you were living freely.

in that time, you met your girlfriend paige. you had met her through one of your mutual friends at her birthday party. paige had spotted you from across the room, completely captivated by you. you were beautiful, had the most adorable laugh, and had the most unique style she had seen. she couldn’t help but ask for your number.

the rest was history. you and paige hit it off immediately and became inseparable. when you were with paige, you felt amazing. anxiety was the last thing on your mind. talking to people became easier, leaving your house was no longer scary, life was good. your days of anxiety and panic attacks were well behind you.

but about a year into your relationship, things started to fall apart again. that particular year, you were facing a lot of hardships and it was hard to manage it all. your mother was rushed to the hospital for a minor respiratory problem, she was recovering well, but the financial burden fell to you. school was beginning to pile up as well, it felt like you were drowning in school work. things at your job had been getting worse too, you were understaffed (and underpaid) and practically running the whole place. and on top of that, it was paige’s last year at uconn and she was so stressed about the upcoming season, and you were finding it hard to balance being her support system and the rest of your life.

it was hard.

when things started to go down hill, you felt that familiar feeling creep its way back into your mind. you found that your heart was pounding more and more when you left your cozy apartment, that your thoughts weren’t your own, and that you were always worried about the future. you couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t function properly at all. but you stayed optimistic, thinking that this would run its course. because you were getting better, right?

you kept all of this from paige. you were worried that she would worry and you didn’t want to make things worse. after all, you had never even told paige about your struggles with anxiety and mental health in the past and you wanted to keep it that way.

on one saturday night in june, one of paige’s teammates hosted a small get together at a quaint little restaurant with the team and their partners. everyone was stoked to see one another and catch up. normally, you would have loved this sort of thing. you used to love those types of settings, but now you were struggling to act excited about it. when paige had told you about the invite, you immediately became apprehensive.

“you excited?” she asked, telling you the details of the event “it’ll be fun”

“stoked” you managed to croak out.

when 6:00 pm rolled around, you were dressed and ready to go. paige was downstairs, keys in hand, awaiting your arrival, but you remained in the bathroom. you stared at your reflection in the mirror, trying to talk yourself down from a panic attack.

you can do this, YN, it’s gonna be ok you told yourself.

“YN!” you heard paige holler from the bottom of the stairs “we’re gonna be late, babe! are you ready?”

touching up your hair and fanning the tears out of your eyes, you rushed out of the bathroom. paige greeted you by the front door with a kiss, hands finding the small of your back and leading you out to her car.

the drive was dreadful. all you could think about was going home, thinking that something was going to go wrong and ruin your night. it had you discretely biting your nails as you looked out the car window. paige, oblivious to your agitated state, was telling you about the restaurant the get together was held at and how she was exited for you to try it. you nodded along, trying to keep yourself distracted.

after a painfully long drive to your destination, you were being escorted to the table where your party sat. you were met with toothy smiles and cheerful greetings from paige’s teammates as you arrived. paige pulled out your chair for you and sat down next to you while conversing with a few of the girls.

you were doing fine at first, only sparking up conversation with a few girls to keep your anxiety at bay. you were managing. even when the waiters began taking orders, you got through it no problem. laughter filled your small corner of the restaurant as everyone joked and talked with each other, there was absolutely nothing to be worried about.

20 minutes passed, discussion was still alive and you were getting through the night like a champ.

until the food was brought out.

the second that plate was sat in front of you, you felt the pace of your heart pick up. you didn’t know what was going on, but for some reason, the thought of eating your food in front of all of these people set you off. you hadn’t had a history of this, normally you didn’t mind eating in public. you assumed it must of been the stress of keeping food down. you stared at the steaming meal in front of you like it was some sort of extraneous creature. just the thought of lifting up the fork had you spiraling about every possible thing that could go wrong.

what if you threw up?

what if the food was raw?

what if everyone saw the way that you were eating? they’ll probably think you look funny.

your eyes welled up at the thought of it all, your head hung low to hide your dampened mood. your legs were bouncing uncontrollably to try and balance your nerves, body practically shaking from fear.

as you attempted to reserve yourself, praying no one would notice. you felt paige’s hand rest itself onto your knee, gripping it gently to halt your bouncing. she tapped the inside of your thigh, leaning in and whispering into your ear.

“hey, what’s the matter baby?” she muttered just enough for you to hear “you’re shaking”

you bit your lip harshly. fuck

you shook your head. it was all you could muster, couldn’t find the ability in your throat to produce any words. the urge to cry out for help gnawed at your chest.

before paige could question any further, you abruptly stood out of you chair. the wooden legs scraping against the black and white tile of the floor. as your back turned, rushing to the bathroom for any sort of isolation, you felt eyes burning in the back of your head. you heard paige call out for you faintly, but it was no use, you couldn’t sit at that table a moment longer.

the bathroom felt miles away as scurried past other tables. tears were streaming down your cheeks, most definitely taking your mascara with it. finally reaching the single occupant bathroom, you shut the door and locked it behind you. you were careless of the germs as you sunk to the bathroom floor in despair. knees hugged close to your chest and head buried into your arms. sobs racked your body and trepidation coursed through your veins. you were losing control of yourself.

out of the blue a knock sounded at the bathroom door. assuming it was another diner of the restaurant, you ignored it hoping they would move along. then you heard her.

“YN, are you in there? are you ok, what the hell is going on?” paige’s voice rang through the door.

“i’m fine” you hiccuped “i’ll be out in a second, i just need to pee is all”

“don’t lie to me” she said “you were shaking and sobbing when you left the table, the hell you just have to pee”

you continued to cry, loud enough for paige to hear.

“baby, please, what can i do? what’s going on, i want to help” she pleaded.

past all the pain your mind was putting you through, you yearned for paige. she made you feel so safe, the whole reason you were able to battle your anxiety in the first place. you didn’t want to rope her into this, but it was far past keeping it a secret now.

with hands still trembling, you unlocked the door and let her in. without wasting a second, she was at your side, locking the door behind her. her arms wrapped around you protectively, rubbing your back to comfort you as you fell to the floor again. she sat with you as you crawled into her. your head tucked into her chest as you cried, tears soaking into her shirt, fingers clinging to the fabric. paige tried to move the hair out of your face to get a better look at you.

“you’re scaring me, YN” a worried expression washed across her face “what can i do? who do i have to fight, huh?”

she tried to cheer you up, accepting defeat once you cried harder.

“i-i don’t-” you were struggling to speak still “i don’t even know where to start paige!”

she pulled you closer to her chest “just try baby, take your time. i’m right here with you, we’ve got all the time in the world ok. just get it all out, you’re safe”

and that was all it took for you to completely break down if front of your girlfriend. every detail from the last few days, from your past, everything about your anxiety came spilling out.

“before i met you, i had chronic anxiety. like so bad i could barely leave the house. then i moved away for school and it got better, and when i met you it pretty much went away. but you know with my mom? and school and work and now you’re in your last season with your team? it’s just been getting to me and the anxiety has started to get worse again. i can’t eat or sleep right and i feel like i’ve been losing my fucking mind, paige”

she was such an amazing listener, sitting there on the dirty bathroom floor as her girlfriend bawled into her shoulder. the whole time her eyes were glued to you, gentle fingers carefully wiping your tears away.

“why didn’t you tell me all of this? tell me about the eating and the sleeping? YN, it makes me sick imagining you going through all this alone”

“because i didn’t want you to worry and i was too embarrassed to say anything”

“well i’m worried now” she said “and embarrassed? baby…”

“i know, it’s silly, but i was just scared you’d think of me less if you knew what a mess i am when i get anxiety like this”

“i could never think less of you. ever. please know that”

“but i-”

“no, listen” she interrupted “just because you struggle with your mental health or have a hard time dealing with your anxiety doesn’t mean i’ll think anything less of you. you’re my whole world. this life and in the next, you’re my entire soul. i want nothing more than to be here for you and to help you overcome things like this. if anything, it only proves to me how strong you are and how i’m so lucky to have a girl who’s able to get through all this”

you sniffled, tears stopping as she continued “i love you, more than you know. and i’m sorry you felt like you needed to do this on your own”

you really had the best girlfriend out there. someone who loves you even through your own insecurities.

“i love you so much” you kissed her with your lips salty from the tears “thank you for being here, i don’t know what i’d do without you”

“get through all this just the same because that’s how strong you are. i’m just here to help in anyway you need” paige leaned in for another kiss, this time deeper, strong hands cradling your jaw “how about i go tell the team you’re not feeling well and we’ll go back home, eat some ice cream and watch anything you want?”

you nodded, wiping your cheeks with the back of your palm “even new girl?”

“yea baby, even new girl”

moments later, you were back in the comfort of your home. snuggled in bed next to paige, bowls of ice cream on your lap, the tv buzzing in the background.

you could finally breathe again, you just needed your girl.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #wcbb #wcbb x reader #uconn wbb #wlw #wlw imagine

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starsofang · 6 months ago

Text

poly!141 x autistic!reader

still thinking about that anon that requested how poly!141 would be with an autistic partner, so here’s a sweet little drabble about price with them <3

tw: brief angst before cute fluff, just reader being overstimulated and price offering comfort

The entire room felt like it was closing in on you. It made you feel suffocated, claustrophobic, like all the walls were slowly constricting you and threatening to squeeze you until you exploded into a bloodied mess of splattered red.

Warm flames were trickling into your bloodstream, slowly but surely, heating you up with rage, attempting to scorch you from the inside and out. It was becoming unbearable. It was ruthless.

You loved Johnny and Kyle. Truly, you loved them to death, just as much as you loved Simon and Price. But putting them together could be a youthful night of smiles and laughter, or it could be a recipe for disaster. Right now, it was the latter.

The restraint you had was wearing thin. It was painful, both mentally and physically, to mask your anger and not snap at the two of them for how loud they were being. It wasn’t their fault, they were always the more outgoing types when they were paired together, and a lot of it expressed itself when you were around so you wouldn’t feel excluded or isolated.

But god, it was wearing thin, borderline snapping and shattering into unrepairable pieces.

You were overstimulated. Extremely.

Your mind was poisoned goo, seeping into a puddle in your head, tainting your emotions with a venomous disease. It screamed at you, flooding you with overwhelming exposure.

The air in your lungs felt as if it were monoxide. It didn’t filter through, it didn’t make you feel like you were breathing. It was a strangling feeling, one that made you lightheaded and tuned out.

Johnny and Kyle’s voices mixed together in an agonizing shrill that made your eardrums feel like they were two seconds away from combusting. It didn’t calm you like it normally did, nor did it make you laugh. All it did was make you irritated.

“Please,” you begged, voice raspy and forced through the grit of your teeth. Your hands plugged over your ears, cupping them in attempts to drown out their rowdy jokes. “Can you please just shut up? For two fucking seconds? Please?”

Instantly, the room filled with a deafening silence. The two men stared at you, guilt pooling in their eyes when they realized just how inconsiderate they were being towards you.

They were aware of things that could overstimulate you to the point of blinded exhaustion mixed with rage, but even they could forget sometimes. They’d never hurt you on purpose, nor would they want to make you feel that way.

You were their partner, all of theirs, and with five of you in the mix, it was easy to let the reminder slip.

“Hey,” Kyle called out softly, reaching a hand out to you. When you flinched away from it, an angry glare etched into your eyes, eyebrows taut firm, mouth pressed into a frown, he pulled it away, noting how you were in no mood to be touched. “Hey, we’re sorry, dove. Didn’t mean to get too much, we’ll quiet down.”

Your hands remained over your ears but you could hear him perfectly fine, though made no effort to respond. The little virus in your mind was too occupied with spreading its disease, and you couldn’t cure it in a flash. It would take time to settle.

“Bonnie?” Johnny asked. You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. It was too much. You needed space to breathe, and surely, they’d understand that.

Stepping away from them and out of the room without another word, the first person who popped in your head was Price. His office was right down the hall, so you stomped towards it, keeping your head low and your ears covered.

You didn’t bother knocking. You never had to with him, and he always kept it unlocked for when you wanted to see him, or needed to, in this case.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Price greeted warmly when you yanked open his door and stepped inside, before promptly hurling it closed.

His eyes followed you as you made your way over to the couch he kept in his office just for you, watching as you plopped yourself on it. Knees to your chest, sour expression, ears covered. It was enough indication for him to read the room.

You needed a quiet space, and that was something he could always give you.

Price silently stood from his desk, crouching down to one of his drawers. Tugging it open, he pulled out one of the blankets he kept on hand for you. Normally for when you’d take a nap in his presence, but this time it was for comfort.

Walking over, he stood in front of you, head tilted and eyes taking in your appearance. You were flustered and disheveled, and his heart ached seeing you shut down. He knew it was just all apart of who you were, but he still felt pained seeing you unhappy.

“Here, bug,” he offered with a kind smile, using careful hands to place the blanket around your shoulders. He wrapped you up in it, before stepping back, allowing you the space you needed until you were ready. “You want some music?”

Shaking your head, you continued glaring down at the floor, tugging the blanket tighter around yourself in a secure cocoon.

“Alright. I’ll be over there, okay?” He gestured to his desk, but when you didn’t respond, he took no offense and returned to his paperwork anyway.

The two of you sat in silence for the duration of your visit. He didn’t mind, and would cast the occasional glance in your direction to make sure you were well, before returning to his work.

The silence was needed. It calmed you, smoothed over your nerves and ceased the thumping of your heart and loud voices in your head. When you came to, you instantly made a mental note to apologize to Johnny and Kyle, but for now, you could welcome the quiet.

It took about an hour for you to move from your spot. An hour for you to calm. An hour for you to become aware.

The wildfire was finally put out, and you could breathe again without the angry smoke of it to strangle you.

Standing up from the couch, you wordlessly walked over to Price. He glanced up at you from his paperwork, placing his pen down and leaning back in his chair. He was patient, not making a first move until you did, but when you stood in front of him with a kicked-puppy expression, he opened his arms.

“C’mon, bug,” he assured lovingly.

You didn’t hesitate, stumbling into his lap and allowing yourself to be embraced in the comforting warmth of his arms. They wrapped around you, holding you to his chest. One hand lifted to lightly stroke through your hair.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, and you shook your head from where it was buried in the crook of his neck. “That’s okay. Just needed some peace and quiet, hm?”

“Mhm,” you hummed into his skin, eliciting a light laugh from him. It rumbled against you, filling you with glowing warmth and making you sink into him further.

Price pressed a chaste kiss on the side of your head, smiling down at you when you peeked your head out from his neck, gazing at you as if you put all of the stars in the sky.

(You definitely ended up apologizing to both Johnny and Kyle later on, resulting in plenty of hugs and kisses to go around, and a brief smack on each of their heads when Simon found out about what they did.)

#call of duty #cod #cod mw3 #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #johnny soap mactavish #soap cod #john soap mactavish #john price x reader #captain price #poly141 #autistic!reader #cod x reader #ghost cod #kyle garrick

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clitorphosis · 3 months ago

Text

HOLY, HOLY, HOLY S(EX)

Priest! Leon S. Kennedy x Widow! reader | 18+ MDNI. smut, female reader, light religious themes, Leon is a priest, reader is a widow, sexual fantasy, wax play, blasphemy kink, vaginal sex, teasing, nipple play, improper use of rosary and altar, mention of grief and death, guilt, breathplay words: 2407 tags: @ivmp, @leonskittenbunny

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹˚ ₊‧────

A year ago your husband died. Since then you felt lost and deeply confused by your own feelings. Grief is always described as something specific with the same face. Yours was different, all you could do was stand still and not feel anything. Bad glare from people every time you weren’t fitting into a stereotypical widow, has led to guilt. He wasn’t a bad person, not at all. You got married quickly, but in the end, your relationship got more formal and was based on mutual respect. He was religious though, you do not really care about religion in general, but as a matter of respect, you decided to realize his last wish. In such confused and dark period of your life, this decision brought you a new presence in your life which spawned you a suffocating desire in your chest.

Leon is nice, he supported you after the death of your husband. Handsome too, wearing a black shirt with a nice white collarino around his neck, not hiding his Adam’s apple which makes you feel the urge to sink your teeth into its flesh and take a bite. He helped to prepare and perform the funeral, so it was natural for your attention to shift to be more focused on him, not on your sorrow anymore. Leon is a little bit awkward with you which adds more charm. And he is lonely, so it was easy for you to get closer to him, by being a ‘friend’. You like how his cheeks paint with a soft blush after you lean closer to him or your hand ‘accidentally’ brushes against his. Maybe he is a little bit older than you, but this doesn’t bother you a lot. And how your gaze always roamed lower than his face didn’t go unnoticed by him, catching him clearing his throat and rubbing his chin, but his gaze always found its way back to you. However, if you were to describe what you simply liked the most about him; he is a priest. The forbidden fruit is the sweetest and you are no different from Eve.

Leon is the man who filled every empty hole in your life, but not the one you wanted the most and you had to do it by yourself. One of many nights, your fingers would crawl under your lacy panties to touch your pussy, while the other hand would knead your breast. Filling the room with moans and picturing him to do that, how nice would his mouth feel on your nipples while the tip of his dick would kiss your cervix and paint your walls with his sperm. Such fantasies have become a routine already, touching yourself in the bed where your late husband should be, no longer feeling guilty.

Someone would tell you, you should be drowning in guilt and be ashamed, but it seems you were born shameless. You don’t care. The dim light of the stained-glass windows cast a soft, multicolored glow over you, both sitting on the wooden pew. His rough hand is resting on your shoulder gently while his blue eyes are set on your frame, his other hand reaches to your chin, tilting your head up gently and he meets your gaze. You force down more than two or three tears in front of him, your hands are clasped. Looking sad and awful over your late husband you don’t care about anymore.

“Oh father” and you can feel his hand traveling down from your shoulder to your waist and he gives it a light squeeze, his blue eyes don’t hide what he is feeling right now. He leans closer to you, his frame is a little bit over yours and your eyes drift to a Rosary that hugs his wrist, the pendant with crucifix dangling in the air. “You can call me by my name right now…” he tries to correct you in a hoarse voice, he is speaking low and quietly, forgetting about the fact that the church is empty. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned” you interrupted him, your breathing filling the space and he grinned, letting out a chuckle. Your hands unclasp to reach for the buttons of your bodice and start to undo them, not trying to be slow or teasing and exposing quickly the flesh of your chest to his gaze. Your nipples are already hard and they get harder at the cold air brushing them.

“You have indeed, my child” Leon says, biting lower lip before his hands start moving down to the skirt of your dress, raising it until your underwear gets exposed to his gaze. Hungrily eyeing it for a second before his attention shifts towards the nearby candle holder and one of his hands leaves your flesh to reach for one of the candles, bringing it closer to you. It casts a soft glow and you can see its light flickering in his blue eyes, there is a comfortable warmth coming from it too. “But I am here to absolve you of your sins, little lamb” Leon looks down at you, his hand tilts the candles and lets the dollop of wax fall on the skin of your thigh. The sensation is hot, as it connects with your flesh, making you flinch softly and letting out a gasp. The newfound pain subsides into a warm, throbbing pleasure while his other hand travels down to hold your thigh and pull your body closer to him. Raising the hot stick more, now wax is dripping on the flesh of your chest, making you arch your body cause of the feeling of a light sting turning into a high pleasure. “Pain can cleanse the soul, suffering brings us closer to God” He whispers and his eyes are set on your lower body, after the wax dries it leads to another hot dollop. It feels like a soothing caress and your senses get heightened every time a new drop meets your skin. The wooden pew creaked beneath your weight as you leaned back, the sound of it echoing through the empty church. Leon's grin widened, his eyes locked on the exposed lace of your underwear as his palm slide up to it, thumb softly pressing against the already wet slit. His digit starts slowly rubbing your clothed clit, clockwise circles and pressure applied on the bud bring more pleasure, while wax continues to drip down, a light feeling of pain adding more pleasure and making you sensitive.

While placing away the candle, Leon’s eyes behold the sight of you, legs spread and moaning quietly his name, you probably are not realizing this which makes his cock stir in pants painfully, desperate to be released and to be balls deep inside your tight pussy, or any other possible hole. The image in his mind is so clear and arousing, that he lets out a shaky sigh. He isn’t sure how long he has relied only on his fist, convincing himself that this was enough while he would jerk off on sexy chicks in cheap magazines or watch amateur porn in his bedroom, hiding from the eyes of God. Today is going to be different, this time God is going to have a good show. “Are you not ashamed?” He says, his two thick fingers press against your clit and circle slowly, before pinching it with index and thumb, forcing a louder moan. He pushed aside the wet fabric of your underwear, exposing your drenching cunt to his gaze. You don’t answer, you are too distracted by the sight of his hand coming to unbutton and free his cock from his pants. His hard length is thick and throbbing, leaking with precum from the slit of the pink tip and it is aching for your attention. You reach your hand to palm it, to feel the skin and stroke it, but all you get is a slap on your flesh, making your fist retreat.

“Seducing a man of God, you don’t even listen to me, do you?” Leon’s tongue makes a ‘tsk’ sound, condescendingly shaking his head. “A man of God should not be so easily swayed away from his faith” You taunt him, your fingertips lightly brushing on the fabric of his shirt, tugging some buttons and undoing them to take a glance at his skin underneath. A smile played on your lips, which made Leon’s face grimace for a brief moment, clearly annoyed by your words. In a quick motion, he lifts you and shoves you down on the flat surface of the altar which makes you let out a loud whimper. Another whine escapes from your mouth when a light slap lands on your cheek and you feel more slick pooling. “Maybe this is a divine plan,” he says, standing in between your legs, his cock pressed against your cunt, your hips jerking at the feeling of his spit on it. “Nothing escapes his gaze, be sure he wants this too”

The chilly liquid contrasts with the hot arousal you are feeling in between your legs. He rubbed his cockhead against your slick fold, coating it with your essence while spreading the spit around with his cock which increase the squelching wet sounds which only aggravates his own desire. Not really thinking much about anything than burying his dick in you, Leon guided your hips down onto his cock and slowly sank into your drenching heat, stretching its inner walls. Your pussy envelopes his length in a warm and slick embrace, clenching around him tightly, he lets out an involuntary groan. There is a pleasant hint of pain which quickly fades as his hips begin thrusting upwards. Slowly and teasing stroke, his hand is resting on the surface of the altar, leaning over you and he is panting heavily before his breathing gets muffled by your breasts. Burying his face in between and sucking on the skin, crawling up until his mouth stops on the hard nipple, playing with it sloppily and nibbling. Your eyes roll back into the head and your body arches into his movements when his hips sped up, his balls slap against the flesh of your ass. Squelching and wet sounds, combined with the flesh-hitting ones fill the church. Every deep and rough thrust with his cock hit well your pudgy spot, making you wetter and your walls clench tighter around him. Your own slick drips, stain the material of the altar, but you don’t notice this cause you are drowning deep in the bliss. A loud whimper escaped from your lips when you felt something wrapping around your neck, clearly not expecting it to be his Rosary and his movements ceased, holding one of the first beads and his thumb rubs onto it.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven” his hoarse voice prays, Leon bowed his head closer to your lip and he kissed you. He doesn’t wait or try to be gentle with it, teeth sinking onto the flesh of your lower lip and drawing light drops of blood which he licked away quickly as they appeared. His cock began pumping again as he repeats the words, slurring. His tongue delves deeper, tasting you.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of death.” He recites another prayer, his thumb shifted to the other bead while his hips move, thrusting deeper, one of these kissed your cervix roughly with his tip. His hand starts tugging tighter on the rosary, limiting the oxygen in your body. He pulls out before slamming back, roughly bullying his cock into your wet hole, his pace returns to a fast one and Leon groans at the pleasure of having your tight and wet walls clinging to his length.

“Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit…” Leon hissed breathlessly. A deep and fast thrust before he stops for a moment to grind his tip into your cervix, the hold gets tighter and your body starts getting more numb, feeling your head getting lightheaded. It is scarily arousing, your fingers reach to his arms, leaving scratches all over exposed skin. He began pounding your drenching hole and the pace grew more aggressive, hitting your g-spot and cervix more often and making you squeal. His hold tightened until the Rosary broke and you felt oxygen rushing into your body, bringing you to higher pleasure from overflowing sensations. Your frame shudders and you let out a cry, vision gets blurry and head empty, as your pussy spasms around him, sucking in and milking his length. You can feel the beating of your heart ringing in your ears, but you don’t get any time to respite. Leon doesn’t try to hold his moans, the feeling of your walls spasming leads his cock to twitch. His climax began building up quickly, making his hips roll roughly and your nails dig more into his flesh, leaving red half-moon marks. But his thrusts don’t slow down and get a little bit messier, overstimulating your body and intensifying your orgasm. He slams his cock deeper, tip pressing against the cervix as he finally reached his high - his cock sprouts rope after ropes of his cum inside your still clenching hole.

“Amen” Leon groans, his voice shaky from the pleasure circling in his body. He lolls his head back, half-lidded eyes looking up at the ceiling of the church. His chest is rising heavily, you are both out of breath and the sound is filling the space, echoing on the walls.

“Fuck, I think I was close to seeing God” you mutter out breathlessly, looking up at Leon and he finds your words funny, his hand reaches to push away your hair from your eyes. “You won’t be the first” he replies with a low chuckle, his arm wrapped around your waist to pull you closer. You shift, sitting on the table more comfortably letting your head rest against his chest. His heartbeat is chaotic and still hasn’t calmed down from your escapade, but your attention shifted and was brought to the crucifix of Christ, his half-lidded and sorrowful eyes looking down at both of you. The only witness of the act, the thought made your skin cover in goosebumps and the air of church feel chillier than before.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy x you

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batpham-discord-highlights · 1 year ago

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A PSA for tagging DPxDC Content

This post will include:

The proper tags to use when posting

Why we use them and not the parent fandom tags

A chart of key words to help you filter

Image descriptions under the cut

We know we can't control who tags what, and how tumblr chooses to work, or not work, but these are just some general guidelines to help everyone find or block our content.

What DPxDC Tags should you use?

General: dpxdc always

More Specific Tags: Batpham, dpxjl, dpxyj

For ALL ships please add “ship” after the ship name. For example: Dead Tired ship, Dead on Main ship, Double Edged Sword ship

What Tags should you NOT use?

Parent Fandom Tags: Danny Phantom, dp, Phandom, Phanart, Phanfic, DC Comics, DC Universe, dc, Batfamily, Batfam, Superfam

Variations of General Tags: dp x dc, dcxdp, dc x dp, dp x jl, dp x yj, dp/dc, dc/dp,

For ships please don’t tag JUST the ship name. For example: Dead Tired, Dead on Main, Double Edged Sword

As a general fandom tag we are using dpxdc, WITH NO SPACES.

Why no spaces? Tumblr is so glitchy it’s baffling a very functional website. Because of this we’ve received reports that sometimes if a post is tagged "dp x dc" or “dp/dc” then, even when the tag is blocked, the posts will still show up in the individual "dp" and "dc" tags. That isn’t cool.

Why is it important to tag separately?

dpxdc is a big crossover. The crossover fandom has been rapidly growing over the past year. The crossover fandom drowns out the original dp/danny phantom fandom by a lot, especially for people who may be interested in dpxdc but also want to enjoy regular phandom content. By not using the dp and danny phantom tags, it helps a lot to not drown out the main fandom's inhabitants and content. dpxdc as a fandom tends to pump out a lot of content (which is amazing), but that means that we need to be careful to not suffocate the main fandoms. "Why can't I tag the danny phantom or batfam main fandoms? it's a crossover" -- yeah, it is a crossover, but it's a crossover that is huge (especially in comparison to danny phantom) and dpxdc has taken over the main fandom tags. It's causing a lot of animosity and tension on both sides.

Additionally, the crossover (like most fandoms) comes with some common characterizations, tropes, aus, and concepts that tend to be interpretations that do not link back to the main fandom well. While fandoms come up with their own characterizations, tropes, aus, and concepts, it's important to know when a crossover fandom has existed long enough to establish its own sets of common themes that the main fandom may want nothing to do with.

This doesn’t mean you have to pick between dpxdc and its parent fandoms, like Danny Phantom or DC or Batfam. Indeed, by NOT tagging dpxdc with its parent fandoms, you are ensuring that people who want a space for dpxdc and a space for its parent fandoms can have both! We don’t have to pick sides! But in order to have both, we need to tag dpxdc content with a tag we can search (that is, dpxdc), AND we need to make sure we’re NOT tagging the parent fandoms (such as, danny phantom).

What if I don't want to see dpxdc content?

Here {link} is an in depth guide on how to block tags and filter certain content from appearing on your dash. We also ask that you please keep any venting out of the dpxdc.

However, if you’d like an easy list of terms to just put into your filters, we’ve made a chart!

Thank you!!! 🦇👻🦇👻🦇👻🦇👻🦇👻🦇👻🦇👻🦇👻🦇👻🦇👻🦇👻🦇

[image description: A table with 3 categories, “DC Content”, “DPxDC content” and “DP content.

Under “DC Content” are listed: dc comics, dc, batfam, Young Justice Cartoon, Young Justice , Teen Titans, Teen Titans 2003, Batman, Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Justice League, Superman, Clark Kent, Metropolis , Jason Todd, Red Hood, Tim Drake, Red Robin, Damian Wayne, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Water, Ras al Ghul, Watchtower, Constantine, John Constantine, Robin dc.

Under “DPxDC content” are listed: dpxdc, dp x dc, dcxdp, dc x dp, dp x dc crossover, dp x dc prompt, dp x dc fanfic, dp x dc au, dp x yj, dpxyj, dp x jl, dpxjl, dpxdc event, Batpham, Danny Fenton/Dick Grayson, Death Defying, Danny Fenton/Jason Todd, Dead on Main ship, Danny Fenton/Cassandra Cain, Dead Silent, Danny Fenton/Tim Drake, Brain Dead, Dead Tired, Danny Fenton/Damian Wayne, Dead Serious, Jazz Fenton/Jason Todd, Anger Management ship, Hardcover, Jazz Fenton/Cassandra Cain, Silent Jasmines, Dani Phantom/Damian Wayne, Serious Chaos, Double Edged ship, Dani Phantom/Mar'i Grayson, Space Princess, Demon Twins.

Under “DP content” are listed: Danny Phantom, Phandom, Phanart, Phanfic, Danny Fenton, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Vlad Masters, Vlad Plasmius, Ghost King Danny, Ghost Zone, Infinite Realms, A Glitch in Time, Amity Park, Nasty Burger, Everlasting Trio, Badger Cereal, Dan Phantom, Valerie Gray, Team Phantom, Jazz Fenton, Clockwork, Skulker, Fenton, Jack Fenton, Maddie Fenton, Eldritch danny, Fright Knight. end]

#dpxdc #batpham server #batfam #tagging both parent fandoms only because they need to know what to block and what to tag if they're getting into it #Danny Phantom #dp #dp crossover #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x yj #batman #danny fenton #dc comics #dc universe #justice league #young justice #batfamily #phandom

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bbyquokka · 7 months ago

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1:30 pm (lmh)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | lee minho x gender-neutral reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 | lovers to friends, timestamp, suggestive – 18+ is strongly advised!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | lots of kissing, grinding, love bites, reader and minho are desperate (aka horny) for one another

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | 0.9k ~ (923)

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 | song inspiration for this lil piece below ! i hope u all enjoy ‹3 tysm for reading !! ‹3‹3

♡ m.list — ♡ you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

bodies pressing against each other. hands tangling in each other's hair. your fingers rake along his scalp whilst he tangles the strands of your hair around his fingers.

heavy pants and moans swallowed by one another. the desperation for more kicking in slowly but surely. you both pull apart for a brief second to allow oxygen to enter your lungs.

minho’s kiss bitten lips attaching themselves to yours once again giving you little to no time to gather your thoughts. the small space of the closet makes you both feel small and claustrophobic. the heavy bass of the music outside ringing in your ears.

all you care about is him. the man that is currently taking your breath away. his hands slide down your sides to hold your waist where he soothes and strokes you from over your clothing.

his body is pressing against you. his chest against yours, one leg between yours to keep your legs parted as you hover over his strong thigh. you grip onto his shirt, hot breath mixing together with saliva.

skin hot and sticky. the air is humid and suffocating from the small space. your heart thumping so heavy and hard, it rings in your ears and drowns out the background noise.

minho's hands dip under your clothing. his hot yet soothing and gentle fingers caress the skin of your sides causing goose bumps to rise to the skin.

it makes him chuckle. it makes him love that he still has that effect on you. his head tilts to the side to allow himself to deepen the kiss even more. his tongue gliding along your swollen bottom lip. as you part your lips to allow entrance for him, he pulls away slightly to speak

“missed you.” he mumbles against your lips. you whimper softly, unable to speak because he doesn't give you a chance. he takes advantage of your parted lips to slip his tongue past them to meet your own wet and hot muscle. they both collide and tangle, a battle for dominance which you loose. minho swallows every breath moan, every drop of saliva that spills from your lips.

to him, its like honey. you taste and sound so sweet to him. it makes him tingle with excitement and adrenaline to pump through his veins. his shaky hands move from your waist to the small of your back where he pulls you even closer to him.

you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't miss him. since the break up (which was on healthy terms), you've missed him more than ever.

right person, wrong time. the stars were just not quite aligned back then. both of you have different aspirations and goals. the beginning of the relationship was good but once the honeymoon period was over, you both found yourselves fighting over anything and everything due to stress and the pressure to maintain the healthy relationship, so when it turned unhealthy, you both mutually agreed to break up.

you'd rather have him as a friend and still in your life than not at all. the same applies to minho.

“minho..” you gasp as you feel his lips peppering soft and gentle kisses on your neck. he sucks and gently bites the skin, leaving small love bites. his crotch now pressing against you which allows you to feel how excited he is for you.

and if that was enough of a tell-tale sign, he slowly starts to rub himself against you.

“‘m sorry yn. it's been a while and i’ve missed you so much.” his hot breath fans against your hot skin, making you feel shivers.

he vowed to never get attached to you. he promised himself but one touch, one kiss was all it took for him to fall deep in love with you. you're all he ever thinks about. after the break up, he thought he'd be able to spend more time focusing on his dreams and goals but instead, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of you causing him to become severely distracted and desperate for you.

he slowly grinds and rubs against you. his head dipping and forehead resting on your shoulder as he pants heavily and desperately. like an animal in heat, he grips onto your waist with a small amount of force and his moans soon turn deep, long and frequent as he fluidly lets them slip past his lips.

you grip onto his clothing, desperation kicking in for the both of you as you grind and rub against one another. you match one another's tempo, moans mixing together and becoming one. minho kicks his head back a little, exposing his neck to you as his eyes flutter shut and lips part, hair sticking to his forehead and back of his neck.

“yn.. fuck, yn.” he moans softly. you close your eyes slowly, lips parting as you allow the pleasure to rush through your veins like adrenaline.

his touch, his sounds. it's all making you feel tingles. his nimble fingers that's caressing your skin is setting your skin on fire. his moans ring in your ears. the butterflies fluttering in your stomach make you feel giddy but also nauseous. everything about minho right now is making you feel dizzy. but strangely, you've missed these feeling.

as you open your mouth to speak, to beg and ask for more, to take this elsewhere due to the intense amount of lust and desire you both have, you're rudely interrupted by a knock on the closet door.

“five minutes is over!”

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causeilikelix · 5 months ago

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Rose Garden - Part Two

↳Pairing: Prince!Lee Know x Maid!afab reader

↳Words: 12,500~ (oops)

↳Warnings: SMUT obviously so as always minors DNI, unprotected sex (don't do this! but its not like these two had any other choice), p in v sex, oral (m and f receiving), fingering (f receiving), creampie, overall very vanilla stuff. Mentions of nausea but no one does on-screen. (For someone with emetophobia, I write about nausea a lot). Pregnancy scare?, ANGST

If there's anything else I missed, let me know!

TAGLIST: @ohmy-moonlightx , @junebug032 , @giyusatorou , @skzfelixlove , @kittkat44 , @nap-of-a-starr, @ventitto , @blankdyean , @lethallyprotected , @poisonivy21 , @nobody3210 , @chuuswifereal , @hisokasimp1, @lookitsjess

(Strikethrough means unable to tag, if I forgot someone or would like to be added then please let me know!)

↳Notes: I finished this first week of May then got taken out by a mystery illness for basically the whole month (respiratory infection I think). Anyway, today is my 27th birthday so I am giving all of you a gift!

PART ONE

↳Ready on my AO3: Here

“CAN’T YOU BE more gentle?” You groaned as your ribcage tightened. With every tug of the laces on that infernal corset, your ribs condensed and your breasts swelled. You could have sworn that a seamstress could thread you through a needle at this rate. You often wore a corset of your own to work, but it was more for general support than to actually suck you into the point of suffocation. The whale bone threaded through the offensive garment assured you that once you were in, nothing would move.

“That’s how this works, Y/N. You should know, you entrap me in my corset every morning.” Joy muttered through gritted teeth. Her fingers worked on the laces to make sure they were perfectly snug and not going anywhere. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

“I can hardly breathe.” You gasped out.

“Maybe so but you will be the picture of perfection. This dress is going to look amazing on you.” Joy promised.

Your eyes darted to the dress laid out on the bed. For the day, the queen had assigned guest quarters to every visiting lady with the invitation to spend the night if it fit in the travel plans. Joy, of course, had jumped at the opportunity for a night away from home. Especially if that night was to be spent dancing away at the palace. That meant the pair of you had a private bedroom that could be used to change your identity. The grand four-poster bed was large enough to sleep four comfortably. You had a feeling that she would insist on sharing the bed with you. Poor thing never did like sleeping alone. You didn’t mind.

“What is wrong with you?” You panted. Your lungs worked overtime to get used to being in such a compact space. “How can you people wear this all the time?”

“They train us young.” Joy muttered. “Aha! Done! Let’s get you into this gown, shall we?”

Before you knew it, you were drowning in a sea of blue and pink fabric. The skirts were never ending and created a full ball gown silhouette, though your bone underskirt held most of the fabric away from your legs. The gown was made of rich peacock-blue silk and layers of delicate tulle that sparkled and shimmered under the light. Silver lace appliques decorated the bodice and the top half of the skirt. Some light tulle fabric hung just off your shoulders, creating a sweetheart off-the-shoulder neckline. You had to admit that the colors were absolutely stunning. It didn’t feel right that someone like you should wear a gown so beautiful.

However, once the garment was secured in place with some lacing, you fell in love with it. The gown hugged your waist and pushed your breasts up just enough. The skirts swished when you moved and glittered in the light.

“Y/N,” Joy breathed, “You look beautiful. Come, let me do your hair and put on your jewelry.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one getting you ready?” You asked as Joy guided you to sit down at the vanity.

“There is time for that. There’s no harm in being a little late if we need to. The ball will undoubtedly go all night.” Joy waved it off. She pointed at a hairbrush on the table and you passed it over your shoulder to her. “All of that playing dress up when we were kids was totally worth it.”

“Ow…” You muttered under your breath as Joy brushed out the tangles in your hair.

“I wonder who the Queen chose to be the princess. Surely it’s not me or we would have received some sort of notification.” Joy mused as she ran the brush through your hair. “I wonder why they would have all of these lavish parties if they’re not going to choose one of the ladies who attends them. Whoever the princess is surely is very lucky. Prince Minho is quite handsome and I’m sure he will make beautiful babies and-”

“Miss Joy. My apologies but I’m nervous enough as it is. I’m terrified of being in the same room as the prince.” You cut her off, wincing as you did so. Your training clearly specified never to interrupt your lady but all this talk of Prince Minho marrying someone else was beginning to make your heart feel heavy in your chest.

You hadn’t found the time to tell Joy about what happened. You wanted to scream it out to the world that Prince Minho was your soulmate but there was no telling if anyone would even believe you. When you first met him, he was trying to escape from his duty but after he fucked you he dove head-first into it. You wondered if someone could die from having their soulmate marry someone else.

In the end, it would all come down to if Prince Minho would confirm the fact that you were soulmates. If he were to deny you then you would have to live your life without your other half. The difference in status would make any kind of relationship difficult regardless of Prince Minho’s feelings.

You weren’t sure if you had the strength to go through with this facade but you were already dressed. You’d already made the decision. You couldn’t back down now. The dress was on and Joy was carefully putting your hair in a simple updo. She took a few pins from the hair kit you brought for her. Each pin had a diamond on the end. The hairdo you had planned for Joy would use most of the pins, so as she worked on your hair you tried to think of what style you could do instead.

“Y/N, are you okay? Your head is up in the clouds.” Joy’s voice softened.

“Yes, miss. I am merely thinking about what hairstyle to do for you.”

“No, I don’t think you are. You’ve been gone since Prince Minho’s appearance at tea. Are you alright?”

“Miss… I don’t know. I feel strange. I think me coming with you was a terrible idea.”

“What? How could you say that! I don’t know what I would do without you by my side!.”

“If I hadn’t come then I never would have-” You paused to blink back your tears. Joy paused her styling with a quiet gasp, “I never would have met…”

“Who is it?” Joy whispered knowingly.

“I can’t tell you. It would ruin...”

“Y/N, dear, please tell me.” Joy moved to your side and bent over to be at your level, “I promise there is nothing you could say that would make me think less of you.”

“It’s not me it would ruin. It’s him. He and I can never be together.”

“Y/N, please.” Joy reached up and gently brushed away a few of the tears that had escaped your eyes. You couldn’t stop crying. “Tell me and maybe I can help you.”

You looked her in the eye, hoping that maybe she could read your mind. You and Joy had been friends for as long as you could remember. You grew up in the same house. Your mother was Joy’s mother’s maid. You, in turn, became Joy’s. Even as a maid, Joy always preferred to treat you as a friend.

To no avail. Joy remained clueless.

“He’s…” you took a deep breath, “My soulmate is… Prince Minho.”

Joy’s jaw dropped. She stumbled back a bit and sat down hard on the bed. She stared at you with wide eyes. If only, that made you cry harder. At this rate she would never allow you to go to the ball. Who in their right mind would let you attend a ball when your soulmate was the prince?

“Do not lie to me, Y/N.” Joy warned.

“Have you ever known me to lie to you?”

“I suppose not. You’re sure it’s him?”

“After what we did in the garden, I would know him anywhere.”

“My god, you performed the soulmate act already?” Joy gawked, her eyes swimming with questions. “Tell me everything.”

“I don’t know…”

“I am asking as a friend, Y/N, but I will ask as your lady if I have to.”

“Okay, well… I wandered off. I didn’t mean to! But I needed a break from the sun and-”

You told her the story from beginning to finish. Meeting him in the garden and thinking he was the gardener, the accidental touch, the intensity of the soulmate act, and the way he’d turned cold afterwards. You explained how you’d searched for him and how your stomach had churned when he was announced as the Prince.

“It’s all hopeless!” You wailed, dropping your tear-stained cheeks into your hands, “We can never be together. After tonight I may never see him again!”

“Perhaps not… But what say you to see if we can get you two to meet one last time. At least share some words, a kiss, something!”

“How would we do that? He doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t know my name or anything.”

“You’re going to the ball tonight, of course he’ll find you! If he doesn’t then I will speak to him. I will tell him his angel is looking for him. Come on, my dear, let’s get you looking perfect!”

~!~!~!~!~!~

YOU WERE CERTAIN that you were going to pass out at any moment. The corset was bound too tightly and it was as if you were walking through hell’s inferno. In reality you were only walking down a long corridor warmed with fireplaces, but it may as well have been the same thing.

A finely dressed butler escorted you and Joy through the palace to the ballroom. Joy held your hand as you walked, her grip like an iron vice. She looked beautiful. Once it was your turn to make her up, her hair was worthy of the princess’s tiara. Her forest green ballgown was made of the finest silk that rippled like water when she walked. She held her head high and turned to look at you with a bright smile.

“You would fit right in here.” Joy whispered lowly so the butler couldn’t hear your conversation.

“Maybe in the kitchens.” You sighed. “You look more like a princess than I do.”

“Nonsense. I wasn’t born to be a princess, unlike you.”

“Lady Joy, I definitely was not born to be a princess. Maybe the gods made a mistake. They’ve been known to do that, right?”

“There is no way this is a mistake. It’s clear that you belong here! You’re the most beautiful noblewoman I’ve ever seen, cousin!” Joy squeezed your hand pointedly.

Muffled music played through the doors and you suddenly felt sick. You pressed a hand to your stomach and stopped walking. Joy stopped as well. The butler continued on for a few steps before realizing that you weren’t following.

“I can’t do this.”

“Y/N! Are you with child?” Joy whispered and nodded to the hand on your stomach.

“What? No! It only happened this afternoon. It takes longer to develop a child. I’m just sick to my stomach.”

“It’s only nerves. Once we get into the ballroom, everything will be okay. We’ll dance a little bit and then we’ll enact the plan, alright?”

“I can’t. This was a terrible idea, let me go back to the room and-”

“No! Y/N, no! Just take a deep breath. I’ll be right there by your side the entire time.” Joy promised, “Let’s go.”

She pulled you along and the butler continued leading you through the palace. The music got louder and louder until the butler paused at a large set of double doors. Joy turned to smile at you one last time before looking forward.

A pair of butlers opened the doors, revealing a lavish, golden ballroom. Several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling with candles casting flickering rainbows on the walls. The dance floor was packed with ladies and gentlemen alike, dancing away in celebration. A handful of musicians played a waltz.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to a raised platform at the back of the room. A triad of ornate golden thrones with purple velvet and diamonds were perched atop. In the center throne, a woman in an enormous embroidered gown with a huge crown atop her head tapped her fingers to the time of the music; the Queen. To her left sat the young princess, no older than fifteen but old enough to be at her brother’s party. She stared out into the crowd with a polite smile. Then, your gaze landed on the man you wanted to see.

Prince Minho sat to his mother’s right. He wore the same outfit as before, except he’d taken his crown off and hung it off one of the posters of his throne. He lounged a bit in his chair, not really paying attention to anyone around him. He sipped on a goblet of wine. The prince, instead, stared at the ceiling.

He looked just as beautiful as the moment you first saw him. Something about the candlelight made his skin glow.

You sucked in a breath when you laid eyes on him. It took every ounce of self control in your body and Joy’s hand to keep you from running through the ballroom to be with him. Something tugged on your heart like an invisible string, urging you forward.

When you stepped through the door into the ballroom, Prince Minho cocked his head suddenly. He turned his gaze away from the ceiling and scanned the throngs of dancing people. He scoured the dancers before turning his attention to the walls. Servants were stationed by the wall or in the corners where they couldn’t be easily seen unless you were looking for them. Just out of sight, but there in case they were needed. Prince Minho searched the face of each one until his gaze passed over the doors you’d just walked through.

Then came the double take. He looked on the other side of the room for a moment before turning his head back in your direction.

When you made eye contact, you gasped and gripped Joy’s hand a little tighter. Joy immediately snapped her head to look at the prince. She followed his gaze and found you as the person in question. He raised an eyebrow in question but said nothing. He knew your true stature but he was in no position to tell anyone anyway.

“Come, let’s find something to eat. You need your energy.” Joy whispered, pulling your attention away from the Prince.

“But… Prince Minho…”

“There will be time for that. We have hours before the Prince will retire. He’s seen you, so there is no doubt in my mind that he will seek you out.” Joy assured you.

She pulled you through the ballroom to a dining room. There were several tables lined with food piled high on silver platters. Dishes like pork, chicken, rolls, roasted vegetables, you name it. Instantly, your mouth watered. You could not remember the last time you broke fast and your dehydration this morning left you with a pounding headache.

“I am pretty hungry…” You mused.

“Let’s get you something to eat and then I’ll tell you everything about my plan.”

~!~!~!~!~!~

JOY’S SUGGESTION DIDN’T sit right with you at first, but she eventually convinced you to dance with the very first man who asked. You’d barely caught the man’s name, Christopher something-or-other. He was staggeringly handsome, though he could hold no candle to your Destined.

Christopher spun you around the dancefloor for two whole dances. He was careful to keep his touches over your clothes but you noticed that his eyes kept dipping down to your mouth and to the swell of your breasts out of the dress. You wore long silver satin gloves up to your forearms, as was the fashion and the social assurance that no one could find their soulmate at these social events unless you tried really hard.

At the end of the second dance, a whirlwind of a waltz (where you definitely stepped on his foot more than once), you were beginning to feel a little out of breath. Joy was off dancing with another man, a complete heartthrob who had introduced himself as Peter. Joy had promised that she would watch you all evening, but Peter had her absolutely captivated.

Christopher gazed down at you with big, brown puppy dog eyes. He pursed his lips before opening his mouth to ask you to dance a third time. However, a terse voice cut through the atmosphere.

“Sir Christopher, do you mind if I cut in?” The voice sent a shiver down your spine. You would recognize it, recognize him, anywhere.

“Oh. Um, of course, Sire.” Christopher bowed before disappearing into the crowd.

Prince Minho took his place in front of you. You looked at him for a moment before dropping into a deep curtsy. Your eyes turned to the floor. Your heart pounded so loudly in your chest that you thought you might faint.

In an instant, Prince Minho was touching you. He put his hands on your shoulders to pull you out of the curtsy and one of his hands moved to your chin. With his soft fingers, he guided your face until you were looking directly into his eyes. The same grief from this afternoon clouded them and his eyebrows were pulled together.

The music started and other couples around you began to dance. Skirts swirled, girls giggled, shoes tapped on the wooden dance floor. However, none of that mattered. The outside world became a blur until the only thing you could see was the man in front of you.

He called you an angel before, but you were certain that the angel was actually Prince Minho. He glowed under the candlelight and his crown looked like a halo. Prince Minho grasped your waist and took your hand. You gasped at the contact.

“Take my arm.” He commanded. You quickly set your hand on his shoulder.

Before you knew it, Prince Minho spun you into the crowd of dancers. How he managed to lead without taking his eyes off yours, you may never know. You had so many questions but you had absolutely no idea where to even begin. All you knew for sure is that this would most likely be the last time you ever saw him.

“What’s your name?” Prince Minho asked.

“Y/N.”

“Beautiful. I knew your name would be beautiful.” A smile played on his lips, “How did you manage to come tonight? I thought you were a ladies maid.”

“I am. Lady Joy is more a friend than a lady. We grew up together. She asked me to come with her tonight.” You explained, your voice weak.

“Damn. I’d hoped that perhaps you’d fooled me in the garden. If you were a lady then my mother might have allowed us to marry.”

“Couldn’t we still pretend?”

“My mother, the Queen, is very resourceful. She would look into your family and find that you’re of common birth. Unless, of course, you can provide undeniable proof of noble birth.”

“I’m afraid I don’t think that will be possible.” Tears brimmed in your eyes at the thought.

You couldn’t explain it but your heart swelled with affection for him. You barely even know the man. However, you could practically feel every cell in your body aching for him and needing to be with him. His touch sent bolts of lighting through your veins. His lips were eye level with you and all you wanted to do was claim them as yours. Party-goers and the Queen be damned. This man was your soulmate and you wanted everyone to know.

“My love,” Prince Minho smiled sadly and moved his hand from your waist in order to brush away a tear that had fallen. He replaced his hand before you could fall out of step with the dance. “We will find a way. Maybe it won’t be today but I must have you by my side. I want to know everything about you. Please, my angel, don’t think of this as an ending. Merely a rocky and uncertain beginning.”

“How can you be optimistic about this?”

“I am a prince. We have a way of getting things done.” Prince Minho smiled warmly. The assurance that he was feeling the same way as you in this absurd situation made your heart ache a little less. “Dance the night away with me, my love.”

How could you possibly refuse him?

You spent the next three dances in the circle of your prince’s arms. Sir Christopher asked for your hand for one dance but Prince Minho stole you away the moment it was over. You twirled around the ballroom, talking and laughing with one another. He searched your mind, asking about your past, your family, your life. He wanted to know your favorite meals, your favorite colors, artists, and flowers. He, in turn, told you all about his favorites.

More and more things began to line up between the two of you. With every new thing in common, it became extremely apparent why he was your soulmate. He was your perfect match in every way. He was everything you ever could have wanted in a life partner. He was charming, witty, a fantastic dancer, and he cared deeply about his country and his duties.

Eventually, Prince Minho led you from the dance floor and onto the terrace outside. The air was cool against your skin and you hadn’t realized you’d been sweating. The party continued behind you, grand and gold. There were three sets of tall glass doors that were propped open between the terrace and the ballroom. There were fewer people outside, so it gave you and your Prince a quieter place to talk.

And talk you did. For hours it seemed, you spoke and shared things about your life. There wasn’t much for you to share but you wanted to know every detail about him.

“You must be dreading your marriage.” You sighed.

“I am… but I know it must be done. The last thing I want is to be with someone who isn’t my soulmate. However, I understand that it is what I must do. My father would have wanted me to do the same as him.” Prince Minho explained. “In the garden earlier, I was prepared to run away from it all. I still wish I could escape. However, now I know that I cannot escape my duty.”

“The same as your father? What do you mean by that?” You asked. You bit down the stinging pain in your chest from all the talk of him marrying another. Though, you had to admit that it made sense.

“My mother was not his soulmate, you see. He never told me who it was but I’m not sure that they ever got to be together before he died.”

“Your parents managed to have children, though! That is an accomplishment! I heard that fertility rates between non-soulmates is very low.”

“I think it worked because my mother has never met her soulmate. She truly loved my father and I believe that it was her love that made my sister and I come into existence. Or maybe it was pure luck.”

“Do you believe in true love? Love that isn’t born of soulmates?”

“Well, I suppose I’ve never thought about it. I don’t think that I have ever loved anyone before. I fancied a few of the ladies when I was younger, but I always knew that I would either find my soulmate one day or I would have to live without them.” Prince Minho gazed out into the garden. The paths were lined with torches that cast a golden glow on the ground. Two or three lone couples strolled through the garden.

“I apologize, My Prince. We can discuss something else.”

“Angel, it is alright. There is no way you could upset me.” Prince Minho assured you.

He reached out and cupped your cheek with his hand. He guided your head to make sure you were looking directly into his eyes. “This situation is less than ideal but it is in no way your fault. It’s crazy. It feels as if I’ve known you all my life.”

“I know… I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

Minho guided your face a little closer to his and pressed a fleeting kiss onto your cheek. His soft lips lingered on your skin for a few long seconds. His musky scent filled your nose and overwhelmed your senses. You closed your eyes and breathed him in. Something deep in your core wished that he would have kissed your lips instead.

However, all good things come to an end.

“HEAR YE, HEAR YE.” A voice boomed from inside the ballroom, “ALL SUBJECTS APPEAR BEFORE THE QUEEN FOR AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT.”

Prince Minho pulled away from you and looked towards the ballroom. The music had stopped and all of the guests were venturing towards the center of the room to listen to the announcement. He turned to look back at you.

“It’s time, my love.” Prince Minho offered you his hand.

Your lower lip quivered and you blinked back the tears brimming in your eyes. You stared at his hand. You forced yourself to swallow a sob. Gently, you took his hand. He led you back into the ballroom. The stifling heat made it nearly impossible to breathe. Your chest ached. Your heart pounded in your ears.

Once you got deep enough into the room, Prince Minho pulled you to a careful stop. He looked deeply into your eyes for a few long seconds. You stared back, desperately trying to memorize the way his eyes glowed like honey in the candle light. They sparkled a little and with a start you wondered if he was about to cry.

“I’m going to miss you.” He whispered.

“And I you.”

He gently pulled you closer. You thought for a moment that he was going to kiss you. The air between you thinned as his face inched closer. He cupped your cheek in his hand and pressed your foreheads together.

“Your lady is Lady Joy, correct?”

“Lady Joy Park.” You affirmed.

“I will send for you this evening, my love. Fear not, this will not be the last time we see each other.”

With that, he vanished into the crowd. His hand dropped from your face and he let go of your hand. The other guests of the party bustled around you. The air in the ballroom ran hot, but you shivered. You searched the faces around you desperately, hoping that perhaps he would emerge from the crowd and come back to you.

Prince Minho did emerge from the crowd, but only when he stepped back up onto the platform and reclaimed his throne. His stoic face was set and he stared blankly into the crowd. Your eyes welled up with tears and you blinked to try to keep them at bay.

How were you supposed to go on without your soulmate? All you wanted to do was run up to the throne and tell the entire room that he was yours and that no one else could have him.

Almost as if she read your thoughts, Lady Joy appeared at your side. She took your hand and gave you a reassuring squeeze.

“How did it go?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

The Queen cleared her throat so loudly the chandeliers quivered. She rose to her feet and instantly all chatter in the room ceased. Someone coughed.

“It is with regret that I inform you that our dear prince has not found his soulmate.” The Queen began, “Despite all of our efforts to find his destined partner we were unsuccessful. However, we still have call for celebration this evening. I am happy to announce Prince Minho’s betrothal to Princess Anna from the Roman Kingdom! The nuptials will be held next week and invitations to the event and the following balls will be sent henceforth! They will honeymoon on the island Sicily, where our dear princess was born before they return home to us. Please, let us congratulate the lucky couple!”

Everyone in the room applauded politely. Prince Minho rose to his feet and bowed before sitting back down.

You were absolutely positive that you were going to be sick.

“Lady Joy?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Get me out of here.”

Joy wasted no time.

She tugged on your hand, urging you to follow her. She weaved through the crowd of people. On your way, the man you remembered as Lord Peter stopped Lady Joy. They whispered to each other for a few seconds, including something about a promise to see each other again soon. With that, Joy set off again. Lady Joy beelined towards the doors and urged the guards to open them. They gave her a puzzled look, but followed her silent command.

Your lady pulled you into the hallway and you couldn’t help but glance back one more time. To your relief, or perhaps horror, Prince Minho noticed the opening of the door and his gaze found you immediately. You locked eyes one last time before Lady Joy led you down the hall, out of sight.

The heavy doors slid shut behind you, the heavy thud making you wince.

How were you supposed to leave Prince Minho behind you?

~!~!~!~!~!~

“IS SHE QUITE well?” The butler’s concerned voice carried through the large bedroom. You heard him even over your crying. You sobbed into the pillow that was damp with your tears and yet you couldn’t stop. Your body shook with crying and you could not seem to stop it. Lady Joy stood at the door, accepting a pile of dry pillows that she’d requested after you’d dampened all of the others with your tears.

“She is well, do not worry.” Lay Joy assured him.

“Should I send for a doctor?”

“Heartbreak is something a doctor cannot fix, I’m afraid. I will call for you if we require anything else.”

With that, Lady Joy shut the door and made her way back to the bed. She tossed the pillows at the foot of the bed before climbing under the luxurious duvet with you. She wrestled with the neverending fabric of the blankets and her nightgown before she settled in and returned her attention to you.

Both of you had changed out of your ballgowns as soon as you’d returned to your quarters. You managed to hold back your tears just long enough to get out of your corset. Then the waterfall began and hadn’t stopped. Joy did her best. Supplying you with things to dry your eyes and drink to keep your body from drying up but there was only so much she could do.

You told her everything. You told her about the dancing, about your conversations, and about how Prince Minho promised that he would call for you. What made it worse is that it was hours ago. You’d already gone through at least half a candle, if not more. The music from the ball could be heard faintly through the window.

“Perhaps he’s still there. It would be rude of the host to leave prematurely.” Joy reminded you.

“I can’t help it! I don’t know what to do!”

“Oh, my dear Y/N, I wish I could help you.” Joy gently stroked your hair.

“Will the pain fade?”

“Perhaps with time. It’s getting late, Y/N… you look exhausted. Let’s try to sleep okay? In the morning we can escape from this wretched place.”

Your eyes ached from crying. Your cheeks were sticky with tears. Joy grabbed one of the dry pillows from the end of the bed and replaced the one you were using. She slipped out of bed once more to blow out all of the candles in the room.

Once the room was dark, Joy slipped back into bed with you. You buried your face into the pillow and sniffled. Your eyelids grew heavy and you begged sleep, or perhaps death, to overtake you. You squeezed your eyes shut and forced yourself to think of other things.

Tomorrow you would have to spend hours doing laundry. You would be washing all of the undergarments and skirts, ironing dresses, polishing jewels. The task would probably take the entire day. The banality of your day to day work would be sure to wipe away your feelings of dread.

It must have only been moments after you drifted into a restless sleep when someone pounded on the door. Your eyes shot open and you found Joy had also been startled awake. You stared at each other for a few seconds before the pounding on the door came again. Joy abruptly sat up. She wrestled with the blankets for a few long seconds before she successfully freed herself and hurried to the door.

You sat up when the door creaked open.

“Is there a young lady here by the name of Y/N?” A male voice spoke from beyond the door.

“Y/N… is there another name?” Joy asked.

“Angel. Prince Minho sends for her.”

You perked up immediately. You threw the blankets off and clamored out of bed. Joy put a hand up and you froze in place.

“Yes, sir, she is here. Please allow me a moment and I will fetch her.” Joy spoke calmly. You bounced on the balls of your feet.

“Yes, my Lady.”

Joy shut the door and turned to you, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Y/N, take off your nightgown.” Joy stared at you expectantly for a few seconds. “Make haste!”

~!~!~!~!~!~

YOU CHEWED ON your lower lip as you stared at the large pair of ornate double doors. The butler who had been sent to get you waited patiently nearby, waiting for your command to open them. You couldn’t explain why the nerves and fear that overwhelmed your heart as the butler led you through the dark hallways of the palace.

Perhaps it was the silence. The butler didn’t say a word to you unless to remind you to follow him. Or it was the dark hallways, lit only with a few lone candles.

Or perhaps it was the nightgown that swirled about your ankles. Joy insisted on giving you hers. Your nightgown was a plain white smock but Joy’s was made of the finest pink satin and was decorated with lace and satin flowers. It came paired with a matching silk robe that tied around your waist. The sleeves and the skirt billowed as you walked. It didn’t feel right to you to be wearing such a garment but Joy insisted. If you were meeting the prince, you had to be dressed accordingly.

You couldn’t argue with your lady so you agreed to switch nightgowns with her. Once she had yours on, she promised to get you a nicer nightdress for your birthday.

“Anytime, Miss.” The butler pursed his lips. “The prince does not like to be kept waiting.”

“Open the door, please.” You barely recognized your own voice.

The butler pulled the door open and gestured for you to enter first. You took a deep breath before striding through and into a bedroom about twenty times as ornate as the quarters provided to Lady Joy. The lofted ceiling should have made the room cold, but a large fireplace was lit ablaze and crackled away.

The door slid shut behind you. When you glanced back, the butler hadn’t followed you.

You slowly walked deeper into the room. You passed through a lush drawing room, surely meant for entertaining. A study where a large oak desk dominated the space. A door was cracked leading into a bathroom where the bathtub alone was the same size as your room back home. Until finally you reached the bedroom. A large four poster bed stood tall against one wall and a chaise and a few plush couches surrounded another active fireplace. Against the wall opposite from you stood a pair of floor to ceiling glass doors that were open and led out onto a balcony.

And there he stood. Prince Minho had his back to you and he leaned against the balcony railing. He stared off into the night. If he heard you enter, he did not say. For a few moments, you stood in the middle of his bedroom and waited. You weren’t sure if you should say something or not. Besides, it was not in your nature to speak before spoken to. You wondered what he was thinking about.

“Come, my love.” Prince Minho glanced over his shoulder and gestured for you to join him. Your feet carried you past the threshold and onto the balcony. You didn’t have a chance to see the view before you were crushed in the warmest hug you’d ever received.

Once you were close enough, Prince Minho pulled you into a tight embrace. He buried his face in your neck and breathed in deeply. His warmth enveloped you and his body hid you from the cool night air. You didn’t hesitate long before your arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him into you. The soft breeze around you ensured that his rich scent invaded your nostrils and you ached to have the smell imprinted on your very soul. You wanted to remember how he held you. He held you as if it was truly the last time.

“We will find a solution, I promise.” Prince Minho murmured into your neck.

“I wish I could stay.”

“I could command it.”

“I can’t leave my lady.”

“I can’t bear to be wed to another.” Prince Minho pulled away just enough to look at your face. “This entire kingdom should be yours.”

“As long as you are my soulmate, the entire kingdom is mine.” You assured him with a small smile. Even though your entire body ached with sadness and you wanted to cry, you couldn’t. You didn’t want to cry in his presence.

“Look at it.” Prince Minho moved behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle. He moved until you stood at the railing. “No matter the circumstance, as a prince you are my princess. When I am king you will be my only queen.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the sight and his words. From here, you could see the entire gardens as well as the golden glow coming from the ballroom. The city sprawled out around the palace, warm and alive. The lights below glittered and you could almost make out the subjects walking the streets. For them, their days were just beginning. The city extended as far as the eye could see until it met the black ocean. From there, only inky blackness.

“Look.” You pointed towards the city, “You see the clocktower?”

“I do.”

“When I have time to myself I like to go to a park nearby for a walk. I get a day off a month and I usually spend it there.” You explained, then pointed somewhere else. “I take my lady to a seamstress near the tavern over there.”

“Where do you live?” Prince Minho’s breath fanned against your ear.

“Over there.” You pointed off to the side, “Just out of sight. Beyond that spire.”

“My angel… tell me something lovely.”

“Like what?”

“It matters not. Tell me something lovely that makes you feel happy.”

“Hmm…” You mused for a few seconds, “The feeling of grass under my feet on a warm summer day. The ocean breeze through my hair. The tiny noises of a puppy. Crawling into bed after a long day. The smell of freshly baked bread. The rich scent of roses.”

“Roses… I may never look at them the same way again.” Prince Minho chuckled.

“I don’t think I will, either.” You giggled. “What about you? What are some lovely things?”

“Well…” Prince Minho’s lips pressed onto your neck and he hummed. His hair tickled your skin and you couldn’t help the giggle that came from your throat. “Your laugh is the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. The smell of old parchment. Having a warm bath after a hunt. Biting into a perfectly crisp apple. Kissing the skin of your beloved. Pink silk nightgowns.”

Between each offering, your prince pressed a warm kiss on your skin, trailing from your neck to your shoulder. His fingers gently moved the fabric of your nightgown aside so he could press kisses on all of the skin he could. You sighed and tilted your head to the side to give him more access. Your eyes slid shut.

“Prince Minho,” you sighed when his fingertips traced your collarbones.

“To you, I am no prince. I am merely Minho.” he whispered. His fingers trailed down your chest to the silk ribbon holding your robe shut, playing with the fabric and running it through the pads of his fingers. “Will you let me love you? Let me shower you with my love and bring your body so much pleasure.”

“Pleasure like in the garden?”

“Just like that, but tenfold.”

Your body trembled with nerves, but you nodded all the same. Minho pressed soft kisses on your skin and you sighed at the feeling. He slowly pulled the ribbon free and your robe fell open for him. He smoothed his hands over your stomach and hips and you sighed at the contact. You leaned your head back to rest on his shoulder and he accepted your weight willingly. He wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.

“You can say no,” Prince Minho whispered, “It’s okay. I can love you in more ways.”

“I want to but… I’m nervous.” You admitted. You ached to have him again, if the aching between your legs was anything to go by, but now that the soulmate urge had passed the thought of having something so… big inside of you again made your heart flutter.

“My love, I would never hurt you. We can take this as slow as you wish.”

You stayed in that position for a few minutes. Your head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around you and holding you as close to his body as possible, both of you staring out at the kingdom below. Your mind wandered, giving you visions of royal life. Perhaps working in the palace so you could at least be closer to him. Getting to sleep in his room each night, slipping out in the morning. You could never be queen. Joy taught you to read but you never quite understood the classic literature that everyone of noble birth had to read to be educated.

You imagined attending parties, dressing up, and dancing the night away in beautiful golden ballrooms. You imagined eating food prepared by the palace cooks each and every morning. If what the cooks prepared tasted as good as what you had for dinner, you thought you could get used to this life. Honestly, you didn’t even want to be queen. Or even a princess. You just wanted to love him. Freely. Openly.

“All I want is to know you.” You whispered and Minho hummed to encourage you to keep speaking, “I want to know you inside and out. I want to grow a partnership, I want to know what you hate and I want to know what you love. I want to know how you take your breakfast, how you take your tea, your favorite walking paths, where do you hide when you need to get away from it all? I don’t want to leave in the morning.”

“Then don’t,” Prince Minho tried again but he knew your answer, “Stay with me in the palace. We could figure something out and I will make sure that you stay by my side.”

For a few long seconds, you stayed silent as you contemplated his words. As the seconds ticked on, Prince Minho heard his answer.

“I’m sorry, my lord.”

“Then let us focus on this night. Let us spend our time focusing on each other.” Prince Minho turned you around in the circle of his arms so he could gaze upon your face. His eyes glistened with tears and you wished you could take his pain away. “Please… call me Minho.”

“Prince-”

“No,” he cut you off, pressing his lips to your forehead for a few seconds, “Just… Minho.”

“Minho…” You breathed, “Bring me pleasure. I will bring you pleasure tenfold. Please.”

“Angel, you never have to ask.”

His lips crashed onto yours with no more ceremony. Your heart swelled at the contact and you kissed him back eagerly. His lips tasted so sweet. Your favorite sweet could never compare to his taste. Your arms wrapped around his neck and he pressed you into the balcony railing. He twisted his head a little and kissed you deeper. You accepted everything he had to give you.

Minho put his hands on your shoulders and pushed the robe off. The fabric pooled around your waist and he started on working the robe off your arms but you pulled away a little.

“Wait. Not here.” You whispered. Minho pulled away from you.

“No one can see us up here, Angel.”

“Still… I… I don’t want to lose the robe. It belongs to my lady.” You admitted.

“When you are mine, I will give you hundreds of nightgowns made of the finest silk in all the land.” Minho pressed warm kisses on your jawbone and neck as he spoke, trailing his lips along your skin and leaving trails of fire in his wake.

“I’m already yours.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

With that, Minho swept you up into his arms and carried you bridal style back into his room. You yelped when you initially lost your footing but giggled as he carried you. You held onto him and nuzzled your nose into his neck. Minho paused in the middle of his room and looked towards the fireplace then towards his bed on the other end of the room. After a few moments of deliberation, he made his way over to the bed and gently laid you down on the plush mattress. He was over you in an instant, pressing his knees on either side of your hips.

“Angel, I want to see you this time. I want to see all of you.”

Minho’s hands ran over the fabric of your nightgown. His eyes trailed over your curves. His hands moved to gently cup your breasts. He squeezed them and pushed them together to watch them swell under the fabric. His thumbs ran over your pebbled nipples and you gasped at the surprisingly pleasant feeling that came from it. Minho smiled softly and repeated the action again and again, rubbing his thumbs in circles around your nipples. Your back arched into him and your eyes slid shut so you could enjoy the stimulation.

He moved one of his knees to press at the seam between yours. Your legs easily fell open to accommodate him. Minho leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. He resumed his task of helping the robe off your body. You assisted him by pulling your arms out of the sleeves and tugging the offending fabric away so it could pool on the ground. Minho gripped your thighs and worked on pushing the silky fabric up your legs so he could touch your bare skin.

Your hands busied themselves with pulling his blouse up and over his head. He broke the kiss briefly to rip his shirt off and toss it on the floor before kissing you again. He didn’t give you the chance to admire his figure, but your hands traced his strong shoulders and strong chest and abdominal muscles.

That telltale arousal began to pool between your legs. The same heat you felt in the garden licked up your spine and made the junction between your legs ache. Your hips unconsciously rolled upwards, only to catch on Minho’s pants. The sudden friction made a moan slip from your lips. Minho pulled away with a gasp.

“Please make that sound again. I will worship the ground you walk on.” Minho moaned out. He pressed his thigh closer to the apex between your legs until it pressed firmly against your heat. You gasped at the contact but winced when you remembered that Joy’s silk gown still covered you. You grasped the skirt and pulled it up over your hips and Minho moaned again. “Nothing underneath, angel? Were you hoping I would fuck you?”

Mindlessly, you nodded, choosing not to remind him that it was, in fact, him who ripped your undergarments to the point where they could not be used. Instead, you pressed your core against his thigh and moaned at the pleasure that sparked through you. Minho flexed his thigh and urged you to grind against him. Your hips moved slowly as you got used to the rhythm and the new pleasure. You whimpered as the pleasure grew but you weren’t sure if you would be able to climax like you did in the garden.

“More,” you whimpered thoughtlessly.

“My angel wants more?” Minho cooed. He stared down at you with such awe, as if perhaps there was an actual angel below him. “What do you want? I shall give it to you.”

“I…” you trailed off, your mind going blank, “I don’t know. I want you to touch me.”

With that, Minho pulled his knee away and pushed your nightgown up to expose your core to him. Instinctively, you parted your legs a little more. Minho’s gaze flickered down to your center and pulled his lower lip between his teeth. Your folds glistened in the low glow from the fireplace across the room. Minho moved a hand and gently swiped one of his fingers through your folds and brought it to his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head at the taste of you.

“Angel, can I taste you properly?” Minho’s gravely voice sent a wave of arousal through you.

“You just did…”

“I want to put my tongue on you.” Minho slowly lowered down the bed until his face hovered just above your core, “If it’s too much tell me to stop.”

With that, Minho flattened his tongue against you and your back instantly arched off the bed. You let out a choked gasp as the dizzying sensation swept through you. His warm, wet tongue licked through your folds, mapping every ridge and dip and curve. He swirled his tongue around your opening to gather your wetness in his mouth before he moved up to suck on your clit. A keening moan left your throat as he sucked and nipped at the little bud. You couldn’t stop the small moans and gasps you let out as Minho’s tongue played with you.

“You taste so good, angel.” Minho moaned.

He licked down to your entrance and slowly wiggled his tongue past the barrier. He moaned against your core and pushed his tongue deeper into you. You moaned at the feeling and tilted your hips up to chase his face, as if he had any intention to move. He lapped at your walls greedily, like a man who’s never tasted water before. Minho’s eyes slid shut as he savored your warmth in his mouth. His nose nudged your clit with every few pushes of his tongue and it was enough to build the most amazing feeling in your stomach.

You recognized that feeling now, it was the same one from the garden. As if on instinct, you reached for his head to keep him against you before you paused, realizing that this was the prince you were about to touch without permission. He’d told you a hundred times that you could, but the doubt still hovered.

As if reading your thoughts, Minho reached up and grabbed your wrist. He led your hand to the back of his head before hooking his arm under your leg to hold you against him. Your fingers slid through his silky locks easily. You gasped out at a particularly harsh suck and you gripped his hair tightly. Minho let out a moan into your pussy and the vibrations, in turn, made you moan.

Minho refocused his efforts, moving up to wrap his lips and tongue around your little clit. His other hand slid between you until his fingertips prodded at your swollen hole. You gasped at the contact, but tilted your hips up to chase the feeling. You could feel him smile against you. The coil within you tightened and you gasped.

“Aw, sweet girl, are you going to cum?” Minho cooed.

“Yes! Yes, please, I need more.” you moaned out.

“You want my fingers?” Minho drew a small circle around your hole with a fingertip.

“Fuc- yes!” You choked out a moan when he pushed one finger into the knuckle.

“Mm, you’re so tight.” Minho murmured those last words right against your clit before sucking it into his mouth.

You were certain you had died and gone to heaven. The added stimulation of his finger and the incessant swirls of his tongue sent you hurtling towards a release in record time. Like the wave inside of you, your moans also rose like a crescendo. Growing in pitch and frequency, you couldn’t hold them back. You gripped onto Minho’s hair like a lifeline as the pleasure peaked.

“Cumming- sir! Sir, I’m cumming, please!” You all but shrieked as you came into his mouth.

Your legs shook, even as Minho slowed his ministrations to ride you through it. Even though he’d just given it to you, he pulled his finger out and moved his face a little lower so he could lap gently at your pulsing hole. You quivered and moaned as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you until it slowly turned to pain. After one soft lap, you winced and let go of Minho’s hair.

He took this as a sign and pulled away from you. He sat back on his knees and tilted his head back. He closed his eyes and rested his hands on your legs, just to keep some form of physical contact with you. You watched as he ran his tongue along his lips as if to gather every single drop of your sweet essence.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum.” Minho commented, opening his eyes once more to look into yours.

“I want to make you cum, too,” you declared, sitting up and placing your hands on his hips.

His noticeable and very neglected erection strained in his pants. You kept your eyes on his as you moved your palm to gently cup him. Minho’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact for a moment before he opened them once more to look at you. He cupped your cheeks in his hands as you palmed him through his pants.

“And you will do so once I am inside of you.” Minho’s low voice slid easily down your spine and you shivered.

“But Minho… Can I taste you, too?”

“How can I say no to that when you’re looking at me so sweetly?”

Minho’s nimble fingers immediately got to work on the laces on his pants. He flopped down on the bed next to you and worked his pants off his hips until they were a forgotten pile on the floor. His shirt was thrown on the floor next, leaving him completely bare. His fingers played with the hem of your nightdress and his eyes twinkled.

Slowly, you lowered yourself to get a closer look at his cock. Long, thick, and heavy. The dark pink head oozed precum and you licked your lips in anticipation. You could hardly believe that this is the thing that had just been inside of you this morning. Only a few hours ago, this thing had made you cum so hard and it was about to do it again.

Unable to wait any longer, you leaned forward to press a wet kiss to the leaking head. Minho moaned on contact, throwing his head back into the plush pillows as you suckled it into your mouth. You ran your tongue over the velvety skin, sighing as he leaked more precum. Salty and musky but overall not unpleasant. Minho’s deft fingers swept through your hair and pulled it back so it wouldn’t get in the way. You lifted your gaze to meet his and he just about blew his load right there.

You looked so sweet, gently sucking on the head of his cock while looking at him innocently through your eyelashes. Your petal pink nightgown hung down just enough for him to get a clear look at your tits that swelled with each breath. The sight alone made him moan louder.

“Am I doing it right?” You pulled away slightly to blink at him.

“Fuck, yes.” He responded, laughing softly, “Keep going.”

Not one to refuse an order from your future king, you lowered your head and put him back in your mouth. Minho moaned softly, the sweet noise encouraging you to take a little more of him. Minho panted as he watched you take more and more of him until your nose lightly grazed his stomach. His tip prodded the back of your throat and you choked a little. Minho rolled his hips up into your mouth and you let out a little gasp.

“Run your tongue along it.” Minho guided you.

You wasted no time and swirled your tongue along the underside of his cock. You bobbed your head up and down his length, swirling your tongue as you went. Occasionally you rose all the way up and sucked on the head like you would a cube of ice on a hot day. This action would make him whimper and writhe under you. Every time he made a noise of pleasure, your core clenched and dripped even more for him. You couldn’t wait to take him again.

Minho used the grip he had on your hair to guide you up and down his length. He kept his eyes on your lips as you accepted him into your warm, wet mouth time and time again. The knot in his stomach kept tensing, threatening to spill his release down your throat but he wasn’t done receiving all the the pleasure your body could give him. Maybe one day he would paint your face and lips in his cum, but today was not that day,

All too soon, he pulled you off of him roughly. He tugged you up to be face to face so that he could kiss you. His plush lips caressed yours hungrily, coaxing your tongue into his mouth to suck on. If he minded the salty taste of his precum on your lips, he didn’t say anything. Just like you didn’t say anything about the taste of yourself on his tongue.

“If I don’t fuck you right this instant, I may die.” Minho murmured against your lips.

“How do you want me, my love?”

“Naked.”

Minho clawed at your nightdress and pulled it over your head. The flimsy fabric joined the pile on the floor. The air hit your exposed chest and your nipples perked immediately. His hands came to gently cup your breasts and he kneaded them slowly. His thumbs gently traced matching circles around your nipples and pleasure sparked through you with every touch. You arched your back, pushing your chest into his hands more. Minho grinned mischievously before he leaned up and closed his lips around one of your hardened buds.

“Oh!” You gasped as his tongue circled your nipple. His teeth caught on the sensitive peak and you moaned and threw your head back. “Minho!”

“Yes, angel, tell me who’s making you feel good.” Minho whispered as he moved his mouth to your other breast and latched on. He sucked and swirled his tongue on your nipple like he would die tomorrow and the only thing that could save him was you and the essence you could promise him. “Just imagine these beautiful works of art filled with milk for our baby, hm?”

“Yes,” The thought of bearing his child sent another wave of arousal through you. Though you knew it would never happen, you decided to let him play into the fantasy.

“My angel, you would look so beautiful. Giving our baby life, giving me life.” Minho sucked harshly on your nipple and switched one last time to the other side. “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from tasting you every day.”

“Minho!” You moaned when he lightly bit down on your swollen nub.

“Good girl.” Minho pulled away with a quiet pop and blew onto your damp skin. The cold stream of air on your wet breast made you shiver. “Lay down. I want to see your face when I enter you.”

You scrambled onto your back, your hands hastily brushing your hair out of your face as Minho crawled over you. As natural as opening your eyes in the morning, you opened your legs for him. He smiled as he settled between your thighs. His cock brushed your inner thigh and you both shuddered at the contact. He buried his head into your neck and sighed. He breathed you in, kissing your skin deeply.

“Minho, please.” You urged, your hands finding purchase on his slim waist and pulling him closer to you. Your core ached, wet and empty.

“I’m going to make love to you now. If you need me to stop, tell me and I will.” Minho rolled his hips into yours. His cock slid through the wet lips of your pussy and caught on the hood of your clit.

“I never want you to stop.”

Minho moaned into your neck and kissed his way up to your lips. He kissed you deeply, dipping your tongue into your mouth to drink in your moans. One of his hands dipped between your bodies to grasp his cock. He ran the tip through your soaked pussy, pushing it against your clit to illicit moans and gasps from you. Each pass made your hole even more soaked and empty.

“Angel, you feel so good.”

“Put it in.” You whined.

Minho pulled back from you just enough so that he could watch your face when he pushed into you. The head breached your hole and you let out a keening moan. Your hooded eyes watched his face contort into pleasure as he slowly inched inside of you. His length caressed your walls as he sunk in, inch by glorious inch. His eyes never left yours, even when he hit a dead end.

He bottomed out, his thighs pressed firmly into yours. You could have sworn the tip of his cock was hitting the back of your throat.

“You look so beautiful when you’re full of my cock.” Minho moaned. His skin was tinted a rose color and the vein in his neck looked close to popping. “You’re so tight, Angel, I could cum right now.”

“So full,” you choked out, hardly able to form words around the stretch of him in your cunt.

“Wanna fill you up even more, Angel.” Minho buried his face in the crook of your neck again. He rocked into you slowly, hardly even moving at all. If he moved too much too fast he was worried that he would cum far too quickly. Your tight heat choked his cock and coated him in your sweet wetness. His slight movements in and out of you made your pussy squelch around him.

“Move,” You begged.

“I’m going to make you cum so hard.” Minho promised.

With that, he pulled his hips back until just his head remained sheathed by your walls. Then he pushed forwards with all the force he could muster and your combined moans were like music. Your cunt clamped onto his cock as he fucked you with earnest. He rolled his hips into yours slowly but with so much force behind them that you were sure you’d be sore tomorrow.

Tonight, you couldn’t care less.

You rolled your hips up to meet every thrust. Minho’s precise thrusts rubbed against all of the perfect spots inside of you. His girth stretched you wide and you wondered how it was possible that there would be enough room inside of you for his cum.

Minho wasn’t faring with that thought any better. Your tight cunt gripped him like a vice. Every time he entered you, you clenched so tightly that he was worried that every thrust might be his last. The last time he fucked you, things had gone by quickly and he hadn’t had the time to really feel you. This time, he was careful with his thrusts so he could feel every inch of your slick walls around his aching cock. Your walls clenched and clamped onto him.

“Angel, you feel so good,” Minho moaned, leaning down to suck a mark into your neck, “I don’t think I’ll last.”

“Me either.”

You were surprised with how quickly the pleasure mounted within you. Your core ached like before, but this wasn’t a quick fuck like in the rose garden. Minho was making sure that you could feel every single inch of him and that he could feel every ridge and bump of your walls.

When he fucked you behind the rose bushes it was quick and rushed. He’d pounded into you like he was going to die if he didn’t. The orgasm he’d coaxed you through was powerful and quick.

This, however, was the exact opposite of that. Each movement was slow and calculated. Each deliberate roll of his hips made you shudder with pleasure. It was like he was trying to get his entire cock into you with every thrust while also taking the time to feel every inch.

“Faster,” you choked out.

“Want to feel you, angel.” Minho grunted, “Want to feel you cum on my cock. Can you do that?”

“I-it’s too much-” you choked after a particularly brutal thrust.

“Come on, love, I know you can do it.”

Minho’s hands trailed down your body, to your legs, to hook under the back of your knees. He hiked your legs up until you had your ankles hooked behind his back. This gave him a new angle to thrust into you. His pubic bone grazed deliciously against your clit with every pass. You were certain that you would lose consciousness at any moment.

“I can’t.” You sighed out.

“It’s okay, angel. Just relax and let me take care of you.” Minho urged.

Only moments later, the string in your tummy pulled taut. You moaned softly into his neck as he delivered each of his perfect thrusts. Your back arched off the bed and you pushed your hips up to meet his. This created the most beautiful and intense pressure in your cunt.

“You’re squeezing me so tight! Are you about to come?” Minho moaned into your ear and you nodded. “Good girl, let me feel it.”

It was like your body waited for his command. Your orgasm crashed over you and you couldn’t stop yourself from throwing your head back and letting out the loudest moan of the night. Minho continued fucking you through it, chanting words of praise into your ear. Your cunt squeezed the dear life out of him and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last. You tightened your legs around him in order to keep him inside you.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” He promised, “I’m going to come inside of you, mark you as mine so you keep a piece of me with you wherever you go.”

“Yes,” You moaned out, still shaking through your powerful orgasm.

It was all the confirmation he needed to bury himself as deep inside you as he could to release. The warm sensation of cum filling you up spread through your belly. Your pussy spasmed around his length, milking him for every single drop. He thrusted into you shallowly a few times until he was completely empty.

Finally, your legs dropped from around his waist and he took that as a sign to carefully pull out of your spent hole. Minho sat up on his knees to watch as his softening cock left your tight hole. His cock was coated with your slick and shone in the low light from the fireplace.

He collapsed on the bed next to you and wasted no time in pulling you into him. Minho held you tightly, neither of you minding the tacky stick of your sweat-slicked skin. You clung to him as well, burying your face into his neck. Together, you came down from your highs, breathing hard and holding one another tight.

“Please stay.” Minho whispered into your hair, “I won’t command it, but will you please stay with me until dawn?”

“Yes, Minho. I promise, I’ll stay.”

~!~!~!~!~!~

THE CALL OF the rooster roused you from your sleep well before you were ready. Your eyes peeled open and the sun had barely even kissed the horizon. You sighed and pushed the blankets away and sat up. You glanced up at the pink silk nightgown that hung from your door. Lady Joy refused to let you give it back, but you couldn’t bear to wear it again.

Gone were the fine silks and wools of the Prince’s palace bedroom. Here to stay were your maids quarters with its scratchy sheets and windows that you could never quite get clean. You gently lifted your hand to touch your lips. Those very lips had touched the Prince’s months ago.

Slipping out of bed that morning had nearly gutted you, but you redressed in your lady’s silk gown and returned to her quarters. All before the prince even awoke.

Eons ago. The ball and the roses and the gowns were eons ago. So why did you still feel his touch on your skin? Why could you still hear the orchestra playing the waltz that your prince whisked you away to?

You were thankful that his wedding bells hadn’t rung on your day off for the month. Lady Joy attended the ceremony but left you at home with a long list of chores to complete. Most of them were mindless busywork but she knew to keep you distracted.

Since the ceremony, life simply returned to normal. Your daily tasks resumed and you cared for your lady to the best of your ability. Which, as of late, was not much. Lady Joy did her best to be accommodating, which you were more than thankful for. You just wanted to get back to work. You had a feeling that the grace she was giving you was beginning to frustrate her mother.

You forced yourself out of bed and you quickly dressed. You swallowed down the wave of nausea that climbed up your throat and made your way to Lady Joy’s chambers. The curtains were drawn and the embers of a fire crackled in the fireplace. Lady Joy was curled up in the center of the bed, fast asleep. Her light snores provided some white noise as you rekindled the fire and prepared her vanity for her morning routine.

Eventually, you flung open the curtains and the warm light from the sun streamed into the room. You sighed as it hit your skin, basking in the warmth for a few moments. Joy groaned behind you and shoved her head under her pillow.

“Rise and shine, my Lady. You have many duties to attend to today.” You chided her.

“Like what?” Joy groaned, muffled by the pillow.

“There is a tea party this afternoon. Duchess Loh is hosting and is expecting your attendance. Then Lady Mina is requesting your presence at dinner this evening.” You explained, moving from the drapes to the closet. You threw open the doors and perused the gowns available for the day. You were admittedly a little behind in your laundry.

“I think we should cancel.” Joy groaned, “I’m feeling quite ill today.”

“Ill? Are you alright?” You retreated from the closet to sit on the edge of her bed.

“My stomach is turning. I’ve been feeling ill for several days.” Joy gently rubbed her stomach. “It usually passes in the evening but perhaps dinner disagreed with me?”

“For the last several days? That sounds quite serious. Perhaps I should call for the doctor?” You cleared your throat, wondering if you should tell her that you’d been feeling the exact same way.

“Perhaps it is simply the pain of my courses. I’m supposed to bleed soon, right?” Joy finally pulled her face from the pillow and sat up.

“Have you not begun yet?”

“No…” Joy trailed off. “Oh, lord have mercy. The ball was three months ago now, right?”

“I suppose so. Oh no…” You trailed off, “My Lady, what happened when I left for the Prince’s chambers?”

“I… made a promise not to say a word.” Joy chewed on her lower lip, “Sir Peter came to find me. We had such a stimulating conversation and he wanted to continue it. It was an accident, but we touched and…”

“Lady Joy!” You gasped, covering your mouth with your hands, “Why has he not come to call?”

“He’s from Rome, like our princess. He left the next morning.” Joy wailed, a dam breaking within her and her tears flowed down her cheeks. “Dear Y/N, I am so sorry I didn’t tell you! I thought you wouldn’t want to hear it after everything with the prince and-”

“You need not apologize to me, my Lady.” You took her in your arms and patted her hair while she cried for a few minutes, “I know it must be so difficult to be without him.”

“It feels like my heart has been torn from my chest!”

“My Lady, please let me fetch the doctor. If you are with child then we must know. While he’s here, I think he should see me, too.” You winced as you spoke.

Lady Joy pulled away from you instantly, her eyes as wide as saucers. Her eyes dipped from your face down to your stomach. You chewed on your lip, wondering if it was seriously possible that both of you were with child at the same time. You hadn’t experienced the nausea that most women report but you noted that your courses were late last month, and certain smells that once pleased you were now nauseating.

“Would that mean that…” Joy trailed off.

“I believe so, miss.”

“Fetch the doctor.” Joy scrambled out of bed and threw the drapes closed. “And… fetch mother. I fear we will need to retire to the countryside for the rest of the season.”

Your hand drifted to your stomach, now churning with fear. You met Joy’s eyes and for a moment. Anxiety swirled between you as the consequences of your actions hovered over your shoulders.

For a moment, both you and Joy remained still.

Then, you did what you do best. You rose to your feet and walked head-first into your duties and your future. Without your prince.

#minho smut #lee know smut #stray kids smut #skz minho smut #lee know angst #skz lee know angst #stray kids angst #soulmate au #skz minho imagine #lee know imagine #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #skz smut #rose garden #skz angst #skz imagines #lee minho smut #im bad at tags

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pretzel-box · 3 months ago

Text

-3- Down the Rabbit Hole

Masterlist here.

Summary: You finally meet your saviour, Sebastian Solace. Instead of just saving you from your death, he starts being the hand that stops you from drowning in your loneliness. And soon enough you two are closer than anticipated.

Words: 5,6

Tags: LOTS OF FLUFF, sweet moments, violence, angst

VOICE CLAIM FOR THIS CHAPTER HERE.

When you came to your senses, the world erupted into a cacophony of sound. A deafening, unbearable ringing pierced your skull, so loud and relentless it felt as though your head might split apart. Instinctively, you raised your arms, hands pressing desperately against your ears, but it was a futile effort. The noise persisted, reverberating through your bones, shaking your very core. Your mind, sluggish and disoriented, struggled to catch up with reality, every pulse of sound sending fresh waves of pain searing through your limbs. You were paralyzed, frozen in that excruciating moment, unable to move until your body, used to suffering by now, begrudgingly adjusted.

And then there was light—dim, barely more than a flicker in the oppressive darkness, yet so sharp and searing it stabbed at your eyes like a thousand tiny needles. You squinted, blinking against the painful brightness, your vision blurred and unsteady. Shadows flickered and danced in that cruel half-light, their movements taunting you, making it nearly impossible to discern where you were. The room seemed to spin around you, your surroundings blending into a distorted haze of fear and confusion.

As your senses slowly, torturously returned, the truth settled in, heavy and suffocating. This was your new reality—a world of pain, disorientation, and the oppressive darkness of the Hadal Blackside. The life you once knew was gone, buried beneath layers of dread and despair. There was no going back, no escape from the nightmare that had become your existence.

You forced your eyes to focus, taking in the room around you. It was an odd, unsettling space—a grotesque parody of a storage room, reeking of decay and something metallic that made your stomach churn. The layout was disorienting, as if someone had thrown together a haphazard collection of shelves, tables, and debris in a cramped back alley. Papers and files lay scattered across the floor, mingling with random objects and a metallic scent that clawed at your throat, making it difficult to breathe.

“Good Morning, Sunshine. Rise and shine,” a deep, mocking voice purred from behind you, slicing through the fog of your disorientation like a knife. The surface beneath you—what you had thought was a makeshift pillow—shifted ominously, sending a cold, squishy sensation crawling up your neck.

A shiver ran down your spine, fear sharpening your senses as you slowly turned your head, every muscle tensed in anticipation of what you might see. The voice, dripping with dark amusement, continued. “I’d offer you breakfast, but I’m afraid I’m all out of room service privileges.”

You blinked, your heart hammering in your chest as your eyes landed on the source of the voice. A figure loomed above you, shadowy and serpentine, the dim light casting eerie shadows across its form. The 'pillow' you had been lying on was no pillow at all but part of this creature—a long, coiled tail covered in iridescent scales that glistened faintly in the dim light. The tail shifted lazily, curling around you with a predatory grace, a chilling reminder of just how vulnerable you were.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up, meeting the gaze of the man—or creature—who had spoken. His fluorescent blue eyes, sharp and calculating, glinted with a sinister light. His features were an unsettling mix of human and something far more alien, yet there was an odd familiarity in the way he carried himself. Above his head, in between messy black locks, an anglerfish lure swayed gently, the dim light it emitted casting eerie shadows across his face, adding to the haunting atmosphere.

“I know, I know.” He shrugged with exaggerated confidence, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a practiced ease. The way he held himself, so self-assured and smug, gave the distinct impression that he reveled in this role, savoring every moment of your unease. “Could win a beauty contest with this handsome face,” he added, his lips curling into a grin that was both charming and infuriating. To emphasize his words, he winked at you, the motion casual yet deliberate, designed to disarm.

But instead of feeling charmed, your irritation flared, the playful arrogance in his tone grating against your already frazzled nerves. “Keep it in your pants, darling,” he added, his voice laced with a teasing undertone that only served to heighten your frustration.

In response, your head shot up from his long tail, the sudden movement sending a sharp jolt of pain through your body. You hissed in discomfort, but the sensation was worth it—anything to escape the unsettling feeling of being draped over his tail. He chuckled quietly at your reaction, clearly amused by your discomfort but wisely choosing not to comment further.

The fin at the tip of his tail twitched gently as he watched you, his expression shifting to one of patient expectation. He seemed content to wait, knowing that you needed a moment to fully grasp your situation—to understand why you were here, safe for now, instead of trapped in some twisted, deformed locker. His fluorescent blue eyes softened slightly, the sharpness giving way to something almost like concern, though it was masked by his ever-present amusement.

“My name’s Sebastian,” he began, his voice softer now, almost careful. There was a surprising gentleness to his tone, as if he was trying to ease you into the reality of your situation. “I’m something like a shopkeeper around here. My wares are on my tail,” he gestured subtly to the various items entangled within his coils, his tone almost businesslike as if this was the most natural thing in the world. “And batteries are on the table next to me. Payment upfront and only in assets. No money, no stuff.”

He paused, letting his words sink in, giving you a moment to absorb the gravity of his statement. The normalcy of his routine—his talk of payments and wares—was oddly grounding, a small anchor in the storm of confusion and fear that swirled in your mind. But the underlying seriousness in his tone made it clear that while he might have helped you this time, this place was far from safe, and nothing here was ever truly free.

After a moment, he added with a touch of gravity, “Saving you from that locker was on the house. But next time, expect a fee.”

His words hung in the air, a reminder that in this place, every action had a cost, every favor came with a price. The calm, almost nonchalant way he spoke of it was unsettling, yet it was also a small comfort—a reminder that despite the horror of your surroundings, there were still rules, still some semblance of order in this chaotic nightmare.

Your nerves twitched as you stared at the strange fish-like man in front of you. His unsettling grin, that easily appeared on his blue lips, made you flinch, something about it was off—too practiced, too rehearsed. You turned your head away with a quick motion, avoiding his gaze, every instinct telling you not to trust him but there was this certain spark that you couldn't put your finger on yet.

“I’m your friend, really,” he insisted, his voice softening on the spot as he seemed to sense your unease. The teasing edge in his tone faded, replaced by a warm, deep timbre that was almost comforting, like a lullaby in the dark. “You want the crystal, huh?”

Your ears perked up at the mention of the crystal. How did he know? You tightened your grip on the fabric of your diving suit, anxiety knotting in your stomach as the true reason for your stay at the Blackside came rushing back into your silly little mind. The crystal, that Urbanshade desperately wanted, was your only reason for being down here, the reason you were willing to brave the facility’s horrors. Next to knocking Sebastian out with the syringe and alarming Urbanshade, doxxing your location and getting out… Everyone who descended into this forsaken place sought almost the same prize, blinded by the promise of what lay beyond, oblivious to the dangers lurking in every shadow.

“I’ll help you, starfish,” Sebastian said with a small chuckle, breaking the tense silence. You watched him closely, noting the oddity of his movements. He had three arms, each one dexterously sorting through a pile of scraps on a nearby table. The sight was almost mesmerizing in a grotesque way, but there was something about him—his confidence, his easy demeanor—that made you wary and yet intrigued. He was assembling something; you squinted, realizing it was a flashlight, though it looked battered and worn.

His smile softened as he glanced up at you, his eyes—those eerie blue eyes—studying you carefully. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured, the false bravado now entirely replaced by a calculated gentleness. “We’re on the same side here. I know how scary this place can be… but you can trust me.”

But could you? His words were soothing, yet something about them felt like honeyed poison. You needed allies in this nightmare, that much was true, but was he really one of them?

You slowly pushed yourself up, feeling the cold, hard floor under your palms. Your legs were shaky, still weak from whatever had knocked you unconscious back then in the dark locker. Sebastian noticed your struggle and quickly moved closer, reaching out with one of his arms to help you. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers firm yet careful as they wrapped around your arm, steadying you.

“Easy there,” he murmured, his voice soft and warm. “Don’t rush it, starfish. You’ve been out for a while. Stand up too fast, and you’ll just get dizzy.”

You paused, taking a moment to catch your breath and steady yourself. His words seemed genuine, his tone soothing, and it was hard not to feel a little comforted. Despite your initial fear and mistrust, his presence now felt oddly reassuring, like a guide in the darkness of this unknown place.

Sebastian kept a careful grip on your arm as you stood, his three hands working in tandem to offer support. “There you go,” he cooed, flashing that same disarming smile. “See? Not so bad. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t help but glance at him, curiosity slowly overtaking your wariness. There was something almost endearing about his concern, his effort to make sure you were okay. He kept his eyes on you, a reassuring presence that felt almost protective. For a moment, you let yourself believe his act. Maybe he really was just trying to help.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and barely audible. You leaned into his support, allowing him to guide you over to a chair. Sebastian’s expression softened even more, his smile widening as he carefully lowered you into the seat.

“See? Not so scary,” he teased gently, pulling a chair over for himself. “Just take it slow. I’m here to help.”

He leaned in, his eyes catching the dim light as he studied your face. “I know you don’t trust me yet, but I promise, I’m on your side,” he continued, his voice steady and convincing. “We’re in this together, okay? I’ll help you find what you’re looking for. You just have to let me in.”

There was a sincerity in his tone that was hard to resist. You nodded slowly, feeling a tiny spark of hope amidst the lingering fear. Maybe—just maybe—he was telling the truth. His gentle demeanor, his careful words, all of it slowly chipping away at your doubts.

Sebastian’s eyes never left yours, his smile soft and reassuring. “That’s better,” he said, his tone almost affectionate. “We’ll take it one step at a time, starfish. No rush. You’re safe with me.”

And for a moment, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself believe that in this horrible, confusing place, you might have found someone to rely on.

Over the next few days, Sebastian urged you to rest and recover from the traumatic encounter in the hallway. He was always there, always close, offering himself as a pillow whenever you needed to lie down. He’d drape his leather jacket over you like a warm blanket, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted by its scent—an odd but strangely pleasant mix of cigarettes, old papers, and fish. It was oddly soothing, a reminder of his presence, of his promise to keep you safe.

He took care of you in a way that was almost tender. He brought you food he scavenged from his many excursions into the Blacksides, insisting that you eat to regain your strength. He tended to your bruises with a gentleness that surprised you, his touch so light, as if he were handling fine china between his claws. His fingers would trace the edges of your injuries, applying ointment with a carefulness that made your breath hitch.

“Gotta make sure you’re all patched up,” he’d say softly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Can’t have my new friend falling apart on me, can I?” His voice was always warm, always teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something else there—something deeper, more genuine.

Despite the pain and confusion, you found yourself relaxing under his care. His presence was a constant reassurance, a steady hand guiding you through the dark. He would sit close, his body pressed against yours, his warmth seeping into you. His three arms would encircle you protectively, his tail curling around to provide an extra sense of security.

And you found yourself leaning into him more and more, craving the comfort he offered. Every time he pulled you closer, every time he wrapped his arms around you, you felt a little bit safer, a little bit more secure. You started to trust him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, he really was on your side.

Sebastian never pushed you, never demanded more than you were willing to give. He was patient, always waiting, always watching, always ready to step in and help. He would whisper soft reassurances in your ear, his breath warm against your skin, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

“It’s okay, starfish,” he’d murmur, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re safe here. I’ve got you.”

And somehow, despite everything, you believed him. You let yourself relax into his embrace, let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay. That he would keep you safe, that he would be there to catch you if you fell.

Because in this dark, twisted place, Sebastian was all you had. And for now, that was enough.

Once you were ready and back on your own two feed Sebastian explained the basics down here in the Blackside to you in a calm, reassuring voice, carefully laying out the details. He talked about the entities lurking in the building—some you had already encountered, and others you hadn’t met yet. His words painted a vivid picture of the dangers that awaited in the dark corners of this place. He even provided you with a few tips on how to survive future encounters with these deadly inhabitants of the hallways.

As he spoke, his tone shifted, growing more serious. He stressed the importance of trust, explaining how others, prisoners like you, had come searching for the crystal. They were all driven by desperation, their own survival instinct sharpening the lines between ally and enemy. But then he mentioned Urbanshade, and how the company had put the expandable project on hold, effectively abandoning you in this hellhole along with him—Sebastian Solace, the only other living soul you could see.

Then came his backstory, a quiet confession that carried a weight of sadness and bitterness. He spoke of the things he had experienced here, his words a mix of pain and resignation, lingering in your mind like liquid honey. You could almost taste the sorrow in his voice, the slow, sticky sweetness of it clinging to your thoughts.

His gaze softened as he shared more about himself, revealing glimpses of his past, his regrets, his fears. You saw flashes of the inhuman—a corrupted file of a life that once was, distorted and fragmented in your mind. The images felt like static in your brain, blurring together until all that remained was a hazy impression of loneliness, confusion, and hurt.

You found yourself feeling unexpectedly sympathetic toward him. For all his strange appearance, he seemed genuinely sweet and caring, his actions marked by a certain tenderness that was hard to fake. Perhaps he was misunderstood, a creature more complex than his monstrous exterior suggested. Perhaps he was just as lonely as you were in this forsaken place.

Sebastian Solace wasn’t just some giant sea snake monster lurking behind a vent in the Blackside; he was your ally. And maybe, just maybe, he could be your friend in this twisted, upside-down world.

He leaned closer, his three blue eyes watching you with a softness that was almost unnerving, but also comforting in a strange way. “You’re not alone, starfish,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We’re in this together now. And I promise…I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time seeing beyond the monstrous form and into the soul of someone who was, perhaps, just as lost and afraid as you were. Trusting him felt like stepping off a ledge, into the unknown. But maybe, with Sebastian at your side, you could survive this place after all.

Slowly, you nodded, letting his words sink in. Maybe this was the start of something…a partnership, a friendship, an alliance. Whatever it was, you felt a flicker of hope for the first time since waking up in this nightmare. And it was enough. For now, it was enough.

Sebastian’s voice was smooth and warm, a comforting lull amidst the chaos of your new reality. "There are a few things you need to know," he continued, shifting a little closer to you. His proximity was comforting, like a lifeline in the darkness. "The Blacksides aren't like the rest of the facility. It's darker here. Quieter. But that doesn’t mean it’s safe."

You nodded, hanging on his every word. The more he spoke, the more you felt yourself relaxing. He seemed to know this place inside and out, his knowledge both impressive and intimidating. If anyone could help you survive, it was him.

You two were currently on one of his signature scavenging runs through some of the familiar rooms of the facility, guiding you with ease and a comforting pace.

"See, over there," Sebastian pointed with one of his three hands, his voice low and conspiratorial as if sharing a secret. "That is an entrance to an Wall Dwellers nest. Nasty little buggers, but they don’t bother me. They’re more afraid of getting caught by you. But don’t get too close unless you want them latching onto your skin. They’ll drain you dry if you’re not careful."

You shuddered at the thought, instinctively inching closer to Sebastian. His warmth was strangely inviting. He noticed and gave you a crooked smile, his three eyes softening with an expression you could almost mistake for genuine affection.

"And over there," he continued, his hand brushing yours in the dim light. You felt a jolt at the contact, unexpected but not unwelcome. "That’s where we find the scraps. Old machinery, broken tech, stuff like that. Could be useful, or it could be junk. Never know until you check it out."

He taught you how to carefully navigate through the Blacksides, showing you the hidden spots where treasures might be buried under layers of dust and darkness. With every step, his hand would occasionally brush against yours, a touch that lingered just a second too long. You didn't mind. In fact, you found yourself leaning into it, seeking out his warmth in this cold, unforgiving place.

"You're doing great," Sebastian encouraged, his voice a low murmur in your ear. You could feel his breath against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. "Keep close to me, starfish. I don’t want anything happening to you." His words felt like a promise, his tone wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

At one point, he took your hand in his, guiding you down a narrow, twisting corridor. His grip was firm and reassuring, his skin cool to the touch but somehow comforting. You let him lead you, trusting him completely, unaware of the calculating thoughts behind those piercing blue eyes.

"Here, I want to show you something," he said, stopping abruptly. He pulled you gently to the side, pressing you against a wall. The contact was sudden, intimate. His chest was close to yours, his face inches away. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "It’s a secret spot of mine. I think you’ll like it."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him. His smile was charming, disarming. You nodded, your voice caught in your throat, unable to form words. He seemed so genuine, so kind, you couldn’t help but be drawn in.

He led you into a small break room space, hidden away from the rest of the Blacksides. It was quiet here, the oppressive darkness less heavy. He lit his small lure, casting a warm, golden glow around the space. It was oddly cozy, and you felt a strange sense of comfort wash over you.

"I come here when I need a break," Sebastian explained softly, his gaze never leaving yours. "It's quiet. Safe. A place to think." He paused, then added with a softer tone, "You can come here too, anytime you want. I’ll keep you safe."

His words were like a balm to your frazzled nerves, and you found yourself nodding, a faint smile forming on your lips. "Thank you, Sebastian," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He reached out, his hand gently brushing your cheek. The touch was soft, almost tender. "Anything for you, starfish," he murmured, his voice deep and soothing. You leaned into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. For a moment, you allowed yourself to forget the horrors outside, to believe in the illusion of safety he offered.

Sebastian’s fingers lingered on your skin, tracing a soft line along your jaw. His eyes were locked onto yours, intense and focused. "We’re in this together now," he said softly, his tone almost hypnotic. "You and me. Just like it should be."

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over you. "Yeah," you whispered back. "Together."

Sebastian smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He moved closer, his body pressing lightly against yours. You could feel his breath on your skin, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. "You can trust me," he said softly, his voice a low, soothing purr. "I’ll take care of you."

And you believed him. Blinded by his sweet words, his gentle touch, you allowed yourself to be drawn into his embrace. You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your ear. It was steady, reassuring.

For now, you were safe. And that was enough.

Sebastian held you close, his three arms wrapping around you in a protective cocoon. His lips brushed against your hair, a soft, almost tender kiss. "You’re mine now," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "And I’m never letting you go."

You didn’t see the darkness in his eyes, the glint of possessiveness that lurked beneath the surface. His actions were so much more and yet you were oblivious.

All you saw was the safety, the comfort he offered. And in that moment, that was all you needed.

You didn’t understand it at first—why you felt this pull toward Sebastian. But there was something about the way he moved, the way he spoke in that low, soothing tone, his three arms always ready to guide you, steady you, comfort you. It was hard not to trust him when he was always there, always so sweet and attentive.

Maybe it was the loneliness of this place, the eerie silence that pressed down on you from all sides. Or maybe it was the knowledge that you were alone in this hellish facility, with only him for company. Sebastian was the only thing that made sense in this distorted reality. He was your anchor, your guide, your ally.

And he knew it.

Sebastian had a way of speaking that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. His eyes would lock onto yours, intense and unwavering, as if he could see right through you, see every fear, every doubt, and every secret desire. It was intoxicating. You found yourself drawn to him, craving his presence, his touch, his words.

Every touch lingered a moment too long, every word was laced with a sweetness that made your heart flutter. He had this way of looking at you, a smile tugging at his lips, his gaze soft and warm. It was like he could see right into your soul and knew exactly what you needed.

And maybe that was why you found yourself leaning into his touch, letting him pull you closer. His arms were strong, wrapping around you in a way that felt protective, safe. His voice was a soft murmur in your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“Don’t worry, starfish,” he would say, his lips brushing against your temple. “I’ll keep you safe. You just have to trust me.”

And you did. You trusted him completely. You believed every word he said, every promise he made. You liked the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he made you feel like you were the most important person in the world.

It was like a puppy crush, a desperate need for his attention, his affection. You basked in it, soaking up every moment, every touch, every word. It was as if there was no one else in the world, no one except him.

And that was enough. For now, it was enough to let yourself fall into his arms, to let him be your guide, your protector, your everything.

Because in this place, in this dark, twisted facility, Sebastian was all you had. And you weren’t ready to let that go. Not yet. Not when he made you feel like this. Not when he made you feel safe.

“You know, I think I can actually get through this…with you,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope. Sebastian’s touch was comforting, his body a steady presence behind you. You shifted slightly, pressing your back against his broad chest, feeling the warmth of him seep through your skin. One of his hands snaked around your waist, holding you securely in place, and a rush of affection filled your heart, almost making you forget where you were.

“Get through this?” Sebastian echoed, his voice deceptively light, a soft chirp that belied the growing storm within him. He leaned closer, his chin resting on your shoulder, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “With you?”

As you felt his breath tickle your ear, your mind drifted to your original mission. The crystal was still out there, and Urbanshade’s orders were clear—Sebastian Solace was a target. But in this moment, with his arms around you and his voice soft in your ear, you wondered if there might be another way. Perhaps you could find a way to settle things between him and Urbanshade. For now, you decided to hold onto this, to him, to the fleeting illusion of safety and success. Betraying Sebastian was a thought for another time, a problem for another day.

“We could get out of here, Seb,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt his grip around your waist tighten, his fingers digging into your skin just a little too hard. You blinked up at him, confusion flickering in your eyes. “You don’t like that? I could get us out of here.”

Sebastian’s smile remained soft and sweet, but inside, rage was building, bubbling like a volcano ready to erupt. How dare you? He thought, seething internally. How dare you talk about getting out? About taking him with you? He had been your protector, your ally, and now you were talking about escaping as if he was someone value. All those sweet words should only deceive you, making you bask in falls security.

His eyes darkened for a brief moment, a flash of anger quickly masked by a practiced expression of calm. “Out?” he repeated, his voice steady, soothing even. “And where would we go, hmm? This place… it’s not so bad, once you get used to it. And we’ve got each other, right? It's not like I can leave.”

His fingers dug deeper into your waist, the pressure now unmistakable. But his face remained gentle, his tone still filled with a mock concern. He could feel his insides churn with fury, the bitterness rising like bile in his throat. Yet, he kept his voice soft, his touch tender, his act perfect. He couldn’t let you see the darkness lurking just beneath the surface. Not yet.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear again. “Let’s not think about leaving, not now. We have everything we need… right here.”

You nodded slowly, his words wrapping around your mind like a warm blanket. You could hear the sincerity in his voice, or at least what you thought was sincerity. You leaned back into him, comforted by his presence, unaware of the anger simmering beneath his sweet facade. For now, you were safe in his arms, oblivious to the storm brewing just beneath the surface of his carefully controlled demeanor.

And Sebastian? He continued to play his part, his expression soft, his touch gentle, even as his mind swirled with darker thoughts. He would keep you close, keep you safe—for now. But the moment you became a threat, a liability, he wouldn’t hesitate to remind you who really held the power in this twisted game of trust and betrayal. And this moment was now.

All the days you had been with him were leading to this—preparing you for a truth you couldn't yet see. To Sebastian, you were nothing more than a means to an end, a pawn in his twisted game. No better than the rest of the self-assured humans who traipsed through these dark halls, convinced of their own invincibility. They walked through the shadows like it was their neighborhood park, oblivious to the dangers lurking in every corner. But you were different—or at least you thought you were.

Sebastian had seen through you from the beginning, watched you with those calculating eyes, his mind always a step ahead. He knew about the syringe hidden in your pocket, the one you clung to as your last hope. You thought you were clever, keeping it hidden, but he had known all along. He had let you believe you were safe, allowed you to think you were gaining his trust. All the while, he was playing his own game, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to flip the table and reveal the truth.

��I want to help you get out of here. We could start new,” you said, your voice full of hope, your smile sweet and genuine. You squeezed his arm, trying to convey your sincerity, your desperation to escape this place with him. His other hand moved up, tracing over your shoulder, brushing against your cheek before it settled gently under your chin. He stroked your skin with a tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine, his smile soft and almost… affectionate.

“Oh, you,” he murmured, his voice smooth, almost mocking. His smile never wavered, but behind his eyes, there was a glint of something darker, something you couldn’t quite place. You looked up at him, still lost in your illusion of safety, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind that calm facade.

For a moment, he let the silence stretch between you, his fingers still gently cradling your chin. He could feel your pulse quicken under his touch, could see the trust in your eyes, the naive belief that he was your ally. It would almost be a shame to shatter that illusion, to see the light leave your eyes when the truth finally dawned. Almost.

“You really believed…” he spoke, his tone so soft, so filled with false affection, it almost sounded sincere. “You think this is some kind of fairytale where we just walk away from all this?” He leaned in closer, his hand switching positions, slowly starting to choke you. His breath warm against your skin. “You really believed some pathetic little maggot like YOU could deceive me? Listen closely…”

His words sent a chill through you, your smile faltering as doubt and shock began to creep into your mind. But before you could pull away, he tightened his grip, his hand sliding from your chin to the back of your neck, holding you firmly in place. His eyes bored into yours, and for the first time, you saw it—the darkness, the cold, calculating intent lurking just beneath the surface.

“You live.” he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “Because I want you to live.”

And with that, the illusion shattered. The reality of your situation came crashing down around you, and you realized, too late, that you had never been in control. You had never been safe. You were just another piece in his game, a pawn to be used and discarded at his whim. “You breathe.” And now, as his grip tightened and his smile widened, you understood the true nature of the man you had put your trust in—a predator, waiting patiently for the perfect moment to strike. His hand choking the oxygen out of you as panic raised in you, you couldn't free yourself.

“Because I want you to breathe.”

“And you suffer, because I WANT YOU TO SUFFER.”

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace fanfic #roblox pressure #pressure #asabovesobelow

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koenigami · 1 month ago

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swimming lesson gone wrong with wriothesley. tags : fem!reader, fluff, pining, reader cannot swim wc : 1,4k

Rays of sunshine glimmer in the reflection of the sea while its distinct salty odour invades your nostrils, a light breeze sweeping through your hair. And while desperately trying to tame the wild locks, you realise that this could be such a wonderful scenery to enjoy if it weren’t for your clammy hands and the gigantic ball of doom resting in the pit of your stomach.

“Can’t we just sunbathe?” You sound rather sheepish as you let your naked toes wiggle in the sand, feeling the tiny corns slip through their crevices while you unconsciously dig yourself deeper into the ground beneath you.

“We can.” Wriothesely states throwing a lazy grin at you over his shoulders before shedding each layer of fabric off his body, revealing scarred, bare skin and muscles that would make any other woman let herself drown in the sea just to get rescued by this adonis of a man. However right now, it’s not his astonishing looks that make your pulse ricochet but rather the sight of the recurrent waves that wash up on the shore and retreat back to the sea. Others consider it a pleasant, even relaxing movement while your body reacts as if it were the most vile thing you had ever laid your eyes upon, leaving you with nausea and dizziness. “But not now. Ever heard of work first, play later?”

The lighthearted chuckle that he lets out when you mockingly repeat his words is enough to ease your mind for at least a little bit. Though in lieu of being in need of his comfort, you would much rather appreciate it if you could just stay on dry land, sprawled on your dry towel in a dry bikini. Instead, you feel the tight, stretchy fabric of the one piece swimsuit that you’re wearing cling to your body in a way that seems like it is restricting and suffocating you more and more with each passing second.

Your fear is evident, Wriothesely can tell by the way you’re unintentionally making yourself look smaller, arms folded over your chest, and gaze not going any further than five feet in front of you. The view of the vast ocean obviously intimidates you now that you know that you’ll soon be inside of it.

With tentative steps, he pads through the hot sand and approaches you. “You know that you have the last say in this, right?” What the sun does to you on the outside, is what his deep, steady voice does to you on the inside. You redirect your stare when you feel a reassuring hand of his settle on your shoulder, forcing you to look into another deep pool of blue. “We don’t have to do this today. Or at all.”

Even though he’s speaking his words truthfully, Wriothesely has to admit that it would appease him a lot if he knew that you would not sink like a rock as soon as you stepped into water.

“Is there anything that you can’t do?” He had uttered his rhetorical question earlier this week after you brought him a freshly brewed cup of tea and the exact documents of a newly admitted inmate. Getting his hands on them had turned out to be not quite as easy as he had initially thought, though with you being a renowned lawyer at the Palais Mermonia and having more than a handful of connections, you had managed to get access to all the official papers that Wriothesley needed. Leaning your hip against his desk, you lightly tapped your chin in thought with that sweet smile of yours that could brighten even the darkest corner of his office.

“I can’t swim.” You confessed simply as if telling him that the sky was blue. “P-Pardon?”

Wriothesley’s reaction was one that you were used to, especially because most Fontanians reacted similarly after telling them that you were a non-swimmer. Being afraid of water while living in a region that was surrounded by nothing but water and even ruled by the hydro archon; yes, a little ironic.

You don’t remember what part of your conversation had deviated into Wriothesley offering you swimming lessons on your free days, and what part of your brain deemed it smart to accept said offer, but what you know was that there is no going back.

So with a deep sigh and lopsided smile, you reassure him that you want to do this. That you can do this.

In fact, you cannot do this, you realise once you feel the waves slosh around your waist.

Their weight pulls and pushes you back and forth, and even though you’re aware that it’s not some incredible strength, you and your fear stricken mind can’t help but imagine scenarios of you helplessly being carried through the depths of the ocean like a weightless leaf being thrown around by the winds.

“You’re too tense.” Your lips part in a silent gasp when warm air tickles your ear, and Wriothesley’s hands settle on your upper arms. The light, barely tangible circles that his thumbs draw along your skin are something that he does unintentionally, though they make your stiff shoulders drop the slightest bit and let the air flow easier into your lungs.

You’re safe; a constant reminder to yourself once you become aware of his proximity as the steady rhythm of his breaths lulls you into a trance.

For a short moment, you’re at peace. You let your fingers dance along the surface of the sea, dipping your hands inside and pushing the water back and forth as if being able to wield the power of hydro. Yes, you’re in control. You’re safe. You’re in control. You’re safe. You’re-

“Wriothesley-” There’s a sudden splash in the distance. Loud noise. Children screaming and laughing all of a sudden and ducks frantically quacking and flapping their wings as they flee the scene, flying away above your heads into the far distance of the horizon.

You don’t realise how fast everything happened until you find yourself in the Duke’s arms, his sturdy chest against your soft breasts, so close that you swear he can feel the fast beat of your heart. He caught you. Of course he did. “Seems like we got some company.”

Looking past his shoulder, you see a group of people not too far away from you. Two adults and two children…a family. You watch the young girl and boy look up the cliff with wide sparkling eyes, amazed by their father as he jumps and dives into the water. Applause and more happy giggles and laughter follow, though all you can feel right now is the heat in your face as you unintentionally bury it back into Wriothesley’s neck.

So that is what scared you.

“Hey.” You feel his body vibrate against yours as he laughs, and you witness yourself refusing to look at him. “It’s alright. I should have expected that other swimmers might make you feel uncomfortable.”

“This is so embarrassing.” You miss his toothy grin as you mumble against his skin, pressing your face further into him as if he were a portal through which you could make yourself disappear forever.

“It’s not.” And he laughs again when you smack his chest, a response to the hidden sarcasm behind his words. “Alright, maybe a little.” But he truly could not care less. You’re always so pulled together, so determined, so placid, so… you. Countless times, he has tried to get under your skin, be it with overly exaggerated sweet talk that would make you roll your pretty eyes in faux annoyance, or certain gestures just to get a reaction out of you. It never happened. You take everything he gives you with a certain naturalness that would make it seem as if his casual compliments are a matter of course, as if the gentle brush of his hand to get your hair out of your face while you work on a report is normal between people like you and him. Whether it is because you’re overly comfortable in his presence or because you’ve decided for yourself that you’re too far out of his reach to give his moves any mind, Wriothesley tries not to think too much about it. And if this current side of you might be one that not many people get to see, then he’ll absolutely make sure to treasure it like a precious, fragile gem. Just like he does with every other interaction that he has with you.

#wriothesley #wriothesely genshin #wrio x reader #wriothesley fluff #genshin wriothesley #genshin impact wriothesley #wriothesley fanfic #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you

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sage-nebula · 3 months ago

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Mabel despises Bill, send post.

Okay, I'll say more than that.

One thing that I haven't seen people talk about (and that I've in fact seen some fan content ignore) is the fact that The Book of Bill makes it explicitly clear that Mabel Pines despises Bill Cipher as of the end of the series. I think there's a tendency to view Mabel as a bastion of love and forgiveness, and while it's true that Mabel does have a lot of love and kindness in her heart, a.) she's not actually an all-forgiving heroine (see: she never comes close to forgiving Gideon for attacking Dipper in "The Hand that Rocks the Mabel"), and b.) we're given explicit text on multiple pages in The Book of Bill that outline just how much she hates Bill and will actually do violence unto him (again) if she ever gets the chance. (Because remember, she got him in the eye with spray paint with extreme prejudice.)

We're first told about this when Bill recounts the story of how he visited Mabel's dreams days before Weirdmageddon in the hopes of making a deal. (Which, side note -- how was that possible? The unicorn hair spell was supposed to prevent that sort of thing from happening. I guess she must have been at a sleepover at Candy's or Grenda's house when this little dream jump occurred.) Bill at first gushes about how much he likes Mabel and would like to sway her to his side, but then:

"Unfortunately, her mind had Wanted posters of me everywhere -- just because I possessed her brother one time!"

Mabel wasn't a fan of Bill's even before "Sock Opera," but as of "Sock Opera" it seems that there's no chance of forgiveness from her for him. And this tracks; in "The Hand that Rocks the Mabel," Gideon treated her horribly. He pressured her into the initial date with him, and then continued to use public pressure and guilt trips in order to keep her locked into successive dates and a suffocating relationship that she couldn't escape from. He was emotionally manipulative, possessive, selfish, and cruel. Despite this, Mabel still felt bad for asking Dipper to break up with him on her behalf and initially went to the factory to apologize to Gideon, until she saw him attacking Dipper through the window. It was only at that point, when he attacked her brother, that Mabel's opinion on Gideon did a 180 and he was no longer worthy of any sympathy or forgiveness in her eyes. Regardless of how he treated her, it was hurting Dipper that Mabel could not forgive.

So it makes sense, then, that possessing Dipper would be the breaking point for Mabel with Bill, particularly considering the note that Bill left for her (and specifically for her, part of it was addressed to her) to find in the car on the way back from the play at the end, as revealed in Journal 3:

"Note to self: Possessing people is hilarious! To think of all the sensations I've been missing out on -- burning, stabbing, drowning. It's like a buffet tray of fun! Once I destroy that journal, I'll enjoy giving this body its grand finale -- by throwing it off the water tower! Best of all, people will just think Pine Tree lost his mind, and his mental form will wander in the mindscape forever. Want to join him, Shooting Star?"

(Yeah, I sure believe Bill that Mabel's a kid he likes. 😬 Maybe "likes" is more appropriate . . . even his lies are lies . . .)

So Bill possessed Dipper on purpose, threw his body down stairs, stabbed forks into his arms, poured soda into his eyes, slammed his hands in drawers, and then had planned to throw his body off a water tower, killing him in what would look like a suicide attempt. I don't think it's any wonder that after this, Bill crossed the point of no return in Mabel's mind. Bill recognizes as such by the time he's finished in her mind as well:

"That was it. She'd never make a deal with me."

It was why he had to possess Blendin in the first place and make up the lie about a way to extend the summer; because thanks to Craz and Xyler, he knew that Mabel was sad about summer ending, and that she could be tricked by someone she thought had a way of extending summer, like a time agent. Bill had to possess a known time agent, because Mabel wouldn't have believed anyone else could do it, and it had to be Blendin because Blendin wore goggles that obscured his eyes (and thanks to fighting against Bipper, Mabel knew how to look for possession eyes, and would never make a deal with Bill). Bill using Blendin to trick Mabel was calculated, and extremely so, because Mabel hates his guts because of what he did (and wanted to do) to her brother.

But it doesn't end there, because then we get to Mabel's letter. (And Dipper's as well, but mostly Mabel's.) Some might be thinking, well, if Mabel knew about Bill's backstory, she might regain some sympathy for him. However, I don't think that's the case . . . because Mabel does learn about Bill's backstory (or at least his history with Ford), and she doesn't feel sympathy for him. Ford's letter not only states that the entire family was reading the book when he exited his lab (and laughing so hard they were crying at it), but Mabel's letter in specific has her write this:

"Anyway, Bill seems to me like a super-needy ex."

We have all laughed and enjoyed this line because of how it further cements Billford as canon toxic old man yaoi, but think about what this means for a moment. This means that:

Mabel has read Bill's backstory, at least re: everything that went down between him and Ford and how heartbroken Bill was over it (she knows about O'Sadleys and the intergalactic Taco Bell incident)

She doesn't feel sympathy, in fact, she's calling him super-needy, which is insulting

Mabel isn't sympathetic toward Bill; she's patronizing. She's one step away from calling him cringe. Her "helpful tips" for how to move on are her condescending to him as she tells him to get the hell away from Ford -- and speaking of which, let's not forget that she says "if you're reading this from space or hell or wherever," indicating exactly where she thinks he very well could be. If she felt sympathetic toward him at all, knowing what she does about his past, I really doubt she'd think he'd be burning in hell.

Mabel ends her letter with this delightful gem.

"Anyway, Bill -- you tried to kill my brother. If I ever see you again, I'm doing this! [illustration of her biting him in half] Deal with it!"

There is no love for Bill Cipher in her heart. There is only a wish to sever him in half, preferably so that his precious eyeball is split in two, with her teeth.

Now, this is in her letter. But we also get some of this in Dipper's letter, too, since she interjects over there. Dipper also delivers a death threat to Bill, and Mabel comments on it. Her commentary praises Dipper's threats (and confident in making his threat):

Dipper: "Come at us again and I'll end you." Mabel: "Wow, Dipper!! So confident!!" Dipper: "Was it . . . was it too confident?" Mabel: "No, it was just right! 13 looks good on you!"

Now, again, this is mostly praising his confidence. But the "it was just right" could also apply to the threat, considering she made a very similar one herself. Many people focus on Dipper's threat to Bill, considering how cutthroat Dipper seemed toward Bill in the show (and how it was their relationship that was focused on because Dipper was the primary protagonist).

But this book has made it explicitly clear that Mabel hates Bill's flat yellow ass with her entire sparkly heart. She wants him away from her grunkle because she knows how badly he treated Ford. And she especially wants to rip him to pieces herself if she ever sees him within a 100 mile radius of her brother again. The idea that Mabel would be forgiving of, or sympathetic to, Bill because of his backstory just doesn't jive with what we know both of her character or her actual, canonical feelings toward him as of the most recent canonical material. Mabel is a loving, kind person, yes -- but she has her limits, and those limits come with those that cause serious harm to her family, just like the rest of the Pines. She's not a two-dimensional, all-forgiving heroine. She's a well-rounded character who forgives when things are forgivable, when it's warranted, when it's deserved. And it's been demonstrated that in Mabel's eyes, certain things -- like trying to cut out her brother's tongue with lamb shears, or possessing him and threatening to throw his body off a water tower -- simply aren't forgivable.

#gravity falls #mabel pines #bill cipher #mystery twins #since i focused quite a bit on mabel's love for dipper #TBQH i also think she wouldn't forgive Bill for all the things Bill did to Ford #since while i find Billford funny i find it funny in a dark comedy way #BUT in TBOB it's explicitly the stuff he did to Dipper that's named as why she hates his guts #so that's what we have to go on here #also have you noticed how Bill loves taunting one twin with the suicide of the other twin #he did it with both the stan twins and the mystery twins (although Stan never had to hear the phone call since the pay phone was broken)#that's fucked up man. that's real fucked up.

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covetyou · 8 months ago

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some good friend - pt. 1

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3

pairing: Tim Rockford x Soft Dom!Sex Worker!f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: pegging, anal fingering, praise kink, mild glove kink, very mild feminization, masturbation, Tim has body image issues and a bit of an identity crisis, kind of coming untouched, sex work, comfort word count: 7k summary: Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it. And it made him nervous.

A/N: finally, my boy Tim sees the light of day. I've been working on this for a while, and it's been nice to try something a little different. I hope you like it (and someone, anyone, please, stop me from making this a 3 part series too late, it's going to be a series)

divider by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Everything burns. His lungs, his legs, his goddamned feet.

He wasn't made for this. Not any more. His fucking shoes definitely weren't made for this - a fact made more and more obvious with every harsh, sharp, slap of his soles against the ground. Gone were the days of intense foot chases. They'd long since been replaced with hours spent at his desk, in interview rooms, searching the stacks in the archive room. The only saving grace was at the very least he was accustomed to low light - the dimly lit rooms he frequented coming in handy now as he thuds along in the semi-darkness, chasing after someone who is more shadow than man.

The drizzle of a cold October day certainly isn't helping either. He's coated in a fine mist of rain and soaked through to the marrow. His shoes - these fucking shoes - skid on the wet road, threatening injury with each turn of a corner. Every intake of breath blooms pain in his chest, each gasp seeming to draw in more water than air. That is, of course, if the biting chill of the wind doesn't swipe it all out of his mouth first.

He's drowning. Drowning and suffocating and burning all in one, but he can't stop. He can't will his legs to stop, even through the burn. Stopping means he loses, and he cannot lose. Not again. Not with this case.

But then, he turns a corner and the shadow is gone, faded into the darkness of an unlit alley, and out of his grasp once again.

Shit.

The ache is settled well into his bones by the time he gets home in the early hours of the morning. His tie sits damp in his jacket pocket - discarded at the roadside in a fit of rage and stomped into the wet ground, only to be picked up and pocketed a moment later. He liked that tie. His holsters tug uncomfortably at his shoulders, the twist of his body as he was running having shifted them to where they now pinch uncomfortably at his underarms. He can't wait to discard it all, to take off the whole damn lot - and these fucking shoes - and pretend for just one moment that he's not who he is.

So, he begins to shed the skin of Detective Tim Rockford.

The shoes go first. The jacket second. And then he removes his gun, stashing it in its case where it belongs and throwing his holster at his closet, where he'll no doubt struggle to find it again tomorrow. The burning sear of a shower is the last thing left to rid himself of the title that hangs over him, but instead he walks to his office. He needs to be Detective for just a moment longer.

It's tidier and more comfortable in here than it has any right to be. Dark wood, soft leather, neat folders, and blank papers. Of course, it's neat because he's rarely here to use it, preferring to use the space given to him downtown where a plaque sits on his desk telling all and sundry that Detective Tim Rockford works here. Here, in this room, he can be a little less Detective and a little more him.

He flops heavily into his chair, a move he immediately regrets when he feels the relief of taking the weight off his feet. How he'll ever get up from here, he doesn't know. Maybe he'll sleep here. Halfway between Detective and himself, stuck in some weird limbo where he is both and neither all at once. That'll lead to some good dreams.

Tim thinks of you. This was the place for that kind of thing, after all. This office where he is himself and someone else, the perfect parts of a person to be liaising with someone like you. Because that's what it was with you, a liaison. Nothing more, nothing less. And you, everything that you were, were his last chance for some good news before he peeled back the rest of the Detective and became himself for a few blissful hours.

Pulling a card from a drawer, he flips it in his fingers once, then twice before tapping it on his desk. You'd given it to him on his last visit - your address and number emblazoned on the front, both things he no longer needed to see to know, and a small list of services on the other side. Services that he ignored when you'd first pointed them out to him with a wink, but that he'd since spent a long time mulling over and, on occasion, searching in an incognito window of his browser.

With a heavy sigh, he picks up the phone, dialing your number from memory, and waits for you to pick up. Anyone else would be furious with a 4am phonecall, but not you. For a while he thought it was what suited your work best - common sense, and his years on the job, had taught him that illicit activities so often were better suited to darkness than daylight. But he'd seen clients leave your studio in the middle of the day on more than one occasion. No, by this point he simply suspected you didn't sleep at all.

A click of the call connecting, a soft breath down through the line, and there you are, the lilt of your voice ringing through his ear like music.

"Detective Rockford, how nice of you to call. What can I interest you in this fine morning?"

He pinches his nose, card still gripped tightly between his middle fingers. You did this every time, no matter the time of day or night. You were always on, always ready to try to rile him and get into his bloodstream. He'd admonished you once, told you he was only trying to do his job and he expected you to do the same. When you told him you were doing your job, Tim had to admit you got him there. You were both professionals, just in very, very different ways. From then on, he'd learned to appreciate it. Even if it did make him ache sometimes in ways he thought best to ignore.

"You got any news for me?"

You scoff down the phone. A light sound, but he can picture you rolling your eyes with it anyway. "Always so charming, Detective. Diving straight in without any foreplay at all. You can do better than that. Sweeten me up a little before you -"

"Please."

He sounds desperate in a way you haven't heard before. A year into your arrangement and he'd never sounded so bone tired and stressed out. You can even hear the pinch in his brow over the phone, the wrinkles there getting deeper and deeper the longer you knew him.

"It's been quiet, Detective. I doubt I have the names you're after, but a few whispers have been floating around. The case with the cat still causing you problems?"

From the heavy sigh he gives you can tell it's not what he was after, but that it is, indeed, still causing him problems.

"Well, I heard that..."

And so, you divulge your secrets, secrets that aren't really yours to have or to give, but you give them anyway. Whispers and names softly delivered down the phone line where he scribbles them down on a blank sheet of paper, careful not to indent the pages below it.

The pen clatters to the desk when you finish. You both know you haven't given him what he needs, but if Tim's honest with himself he isn't always sure what he needs from you any more. Though, he knows what he wants. Yes, he's frequently made painfully aware of what he wants.

"Anything you need?" he asks, his voice sounding tight with frustration. You can't blame him any more than you can hold back the laugh that trickles from your lips.

"Nothing right now. Here I was thinking that was my line anyway, Detective. The things I could do for you, if you'd let me."

Tim's eyes are drawn to the card again, now face up on the desk beside the scrawl of information you'd just given him. Truth be told, your services are as emblazoned in his mind as the details on the front of the card. Sometimes, like right now, he could barely get that list out of his mind long enough to think straight.

That's the moment when, after a long day at the end of an even longer week, part Detective but part just him, he gives in to what he's been fighting himself for for almost a year, and clears his throat.

"Like what? What... what exactly could you do for me?"

You're caught between surprise and glee, briefly straightening where you lounge in your chair. Softening back into the plush fabric, you dance a finger across your lower lip, wry smile tugging at your mouth as you think of the very many things you could do for him.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I thought you'd never ask."

Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it.

And it made him nervous.

He was in half a mind to walk away, but it was too late. His knuckles had already rapped against the wood, and you were already flicking the latch on the other side, readying to let him in.

When you do he's stunned, just like he always is when he sees you. This time you're half naked, a thin robe draped over your shoulders and left untied at the front. Beneath it you're wrapped in soft mesh lingerie, your nipples visible through the fabric as you beckon him inside.

The space - your studio - was a simple office unit in an undesirable part of town, but you made it work. As funny as it felt to admit, it was familiar to him now, and there was a comfort in that that was already easing the swell of nerves in his body. It wasn't always this way, of course, that first visit being eye opening both figuratively and literally. Furniture and furnishings that were odd were now somewhat normal, and the soft, rich, scent that permeated the room was one that he now associated only with you and this place you existed within. It was a smell too, he notices, that is so much stronger today than it has ever been on any of his previous visits, and he breathes in deeply, both to savor it and to calm the last of the nerves vibrating in his core.

When you shut the door, closing off the world outside, you stand before him again, looking a picture of sultry confidence as you size him up. This wasn't something that was new. You often stood there, letting your gaze wander up and down his body, lingering in places that made him flush red as you taunted him with flirty quips he'd ignore. This time is no different, and he finds himself mesmerized by the way you toy with the ties on your robe as you eye him, fingers gliding up and down the fabric.

"Are you here on your business, or mine, Detective?" you say with a smile, drawing his gaze from your fingers to your face. It was a long running joke, something you said each and every time he visited you here, despite the answer always being the same. But today, finally, it would be different.

Tim rolls his eyes, just as he always does, but instead of replying with a curt mine, he lets a smile pull at his lips instead. "Yours."

"Music to my ears. And you still want to do this? You're ready?"

You both knew that had a double meaning. In the literal physical sense, he knows he's as ready as he could possibly be. But he still takes a moment to check in with himself, to see if going through with all of it is something that he still wants. If those whispers down the phone, whispers that had quickly turned from flirty promises to guidance, to gasps, to relief, were what he still wanted. Would it be worth it, or was it a momentary blip of weakness and want? But then he remembers that relief once again, the soothing of that ache like sitting down off of pained feet, and can only imagine how much better that will feel here, with you, in this room. He's ready.

Tim nods, prompting you to take another step forward. The smell isn't the room at all, he notices. It's you. The fragrance clinging to your hair or your skin, he's not sure, but so much stronger each time you move.

"Good," you say on your slow approach. Barely a step from him you reach out, tugging on his jacket and straightening his tie before letting your palm rest on his chest. The soft stroke of your fingers does nothing to soothe the rapid hammering of the muscle pumping in his chest cavity, but you suppose it wasn't meant to. You wanted him excited and desperate for it. He'd already shown you how beautiful he could be for you over the phone - all whines and whimpers and yes ma'am's. Now you wanted the real thing.

"Why don't you get all of this off for me."

Before now, Tim had wondered how you started these things - how you went from 0 to seemingly 100 with clients to get them in through the door and out in the allotted time frame. He hadn't expected it to be so quick, or so easy. Maybe he just hadn't expected himself to be so quick, or so easy, but he's tugging at his tie before you even move away to settle against your desk with your ankles crossed.

"That's it, Detective," you prompt, letting your robe slip from your shoulders and pool at your elbows as he stuffs the tie into his pocket. "I want to see all of you."

And he wants you to see all of him. He wants to take off everything that makes him Detective Tim Rockford right in front of you, and have you take control, tell him what to do, make his mind blissfully empty. So, first he kicks off his shoes, then he takes off his jacket. Slowly, his shirt is peeled from his body, the nerves racketing up again with each button. He doesn't look how he did 10 years ago, he was less lean and more soft than he had ever been, the middle aged spread proving to be a fact of life he couldn't escape.

You know what he's thinking as his fingers stall on the last few buttons of his shirt. You'd dealt with these insecurities before, in countless other clients. You weren't immune to similar thoughts either. But, he'd told you he wanted to let go, to give up control with you, so you nod to the remainder of his clothes and prompt again.

"Come now. Let me see."

Tim's fingers work quickly over the last buttons and pull the shirt from his broad frame just as quickly, giving no time for the nerves to take root. You voice the sound of your smile the moment his shirt is discarded and he looks up to see your appraisal. Each button had drawn your eyes down his chest, to the soft swell of his belly, and further still to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. Tall and broad and beautiful, the mass of man in front of you had the power to catch your eye even fully clothed, but now, shirtless with the promise of more on the horizon, you couldn't ignore the thrill at seeing so much of his tanned skin, littered with freckles and a soft smattering of hair.

His belt is unbuckled and off, and his fingers are pulling open the button of his pants and his fly. He doesn't look at you again. He can't right now - if he does he'll choke up and stop himself, feeling entirely inadequate offering this body of his to you. Pushing down his pants, down past soft thighs and strong calves, he steps out of them, taking his socks with them with each step, before nervously scratching at his belly.

Only then, does he look back up at you. You're enraptured, and have already pushed back off your desk, circling him to look at every inch of his body. You'd dimmed the lights slightly, as you always did for client sessions, but even in the soft lamplight he looked stunning. Your fingers trace the swell of his bicep, across his shoulder and the jut of his shoulder blade. A shudder runs down his spine as your fingers dance across it, down to the dimples at his back and over his hip before you round him again where your fingertips rest on his soft belly and the trail of hair there.

"You've been hiding all of this from me for how long, Detective?" you whisper, letting your fingers glide down further and further with each word. "It makes me wonder what else you're hiding."

Tim's cock twitches in his boxers, the thin fabric straining more and more with each passing moment under your gaze. He'd never felt so seen, so appraised, before. The way you looked at him was so easy, the shine in your eye so bright as he peeled back each layer.

"You still want this?"

It's what he said he'd wanted. Days ago now, but he'd said he wanted it and he did. He does. He swallows thickly, desperate to get moisture back into his mouth, nodding a croak of a yes.

At that, you slide the tip of your finger into the waistband of his boxers and pull, stretching the elastic a fraction before releasing, pinging it sharply against his skin.

"Then get these off too, Detective."

His boxers are on the floor a second later, his cock springing free semi-hard between his legs. Raising your hands to your face, you gasp in faux shock, hiding your very real delight behind your hands as you take in his entire naked form.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I'm disappointed. After all this time you've been hiding that from me?" you gasp, and while Tim can't help but roll his eyes, his cock betrays him and stiffens even more at your words. You'd been through it all with him. Your services, yes, but also specifically what he wanted from you, some of which you'd discovered together on the phone that morning. This was one of those things - a thing you'd discovered on a whim, but something you both knew he would like before the words left your lips. There was a reason he was asking you for this and nobody else - Tim knew the specific brand of sordid you dealt in and, more than anything, he trusted you. Unfortunately for him, you planned on keeping exactly to your word from that call and, guiding your fingers down his bare chest, you tease closer and closer to his length.

"Tsk. Such a shame I won't be playing with it today."

Tim groans, a gasp of a thing he cuts short with a pinch of his lips. He's frowning again too, but nods, knowing that what he came here for wasn't that, but also very aware of the weight of the words you used. Not today, but not never.

Then, your robe is off and you're guiding him to the bed, where he lowers himself and leans back, watching your form as it retreats into the other room. He looks down, down at the body you'd just spent minutes looking at and enjoying, and wonders what you see that he doesn't. All he knows is he's trusted your word for as long as he's known you, and it's no different now. Whatever you see in him, you at least believe it to be true, and that alone makes it easier for him to believe himself. Before he can figure much or anything else out, you're sauntering back into the room.

In your hands you hold a few things. None of them should be surprising to him, but he still sucks in a sharp breath when he sees it - the strap you'd picked out just for him. You'd told him about it over the phone, said that you had the perfect one for him, that you could picture him beneath you taking it, moaning and shaking as you fucked him, and now there it was, exactly as you described. This was never something he felt able to ask for with anyone else, his ex-wife especially. It's true he was always married more to his job than to her, but even in the privacy of their own bedroom he had secrets and wants he could never share with her - she made that much clear early on. With you, he didn't even need to mention it first for you to suggest it to him, didn't even need to feel the heat of shame in his cheeks as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted, because there you were already with all the answers.

You settle everything beside him, letting him see the soft, slender, curve of the dildo up close for the first time, and pass him a bottle of water. Tim takes it, grateful that once again that it was another thing he didn't have to ask for, and cracks open the lid, taking a deep gulp of the cold liquid before setting it out of the way. Another day he'd wonder how it got to this - how on earth Tim Rockford got so used to suffering in silence that even thirst wasn't something he'd remedy until he was desperate. But, right now all he knows is the heat of your body and the smell of your skin as you kneel next to him on the bed, looking down at him with a smirk on your lips.

"Usually I ask people how they'd like it," you whisper, stroking gently down his neck, "but I think we both know you'd like it on your knees, Detective." You twirl your finger in the air, signalling for him to move, and like the good little thing he is, he shifts onto his hands before crawling forward slightly to perch on all fours on the bed.

You think he looks glorious; he feels so exposed - entirely naked for you while you're draped in that thin mesh he can see right through. He doesn't want to think about how he looks like this, on his knees with his ass on total display, his cock hanging low and, already, starting to leak precum.

Blunt nails drag down his back, softly scraping down his ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He shudders. You can see his cock where it bobs between his legs, and his balls where they hang softly just beneath the cleft of his cheeks. If he were a different client, maybe you'd give in and drag your nails across the soft flesh of them too, cup them in your palm and give them a firm squeeze, but you resist. Whatever this is doing to you, you'll deal with later. For now, this is for him and that desperate man, the Detective, who had all but begged you for information down the phone.

Grabbing at the small selection of things you'd dumped next to him, you get ready. Tim watches, eager eyes looking as you pull a black nitrile glove down your hand and snap it around you wrist, wiggling your fingers at him when you spot his gaze.

"I can tell you're excited," you say with a look down to his ass where his cock bounces hard against his belly with a tense of his muscles. "You're so ready for this too, aren't you? You've been waiting so long..."

Guiding your ungloved hand down his ass, you squeeze, gripping the flesh and pulling him apart, exposing him to your gaze. "Very pretty."

Tim huffs a laugh, not believing for a second that he is pretty at all, let alone like this, or there.

"What? You don't think you're pretty, all bent over and exposed for me, Detective? I'd argue you've never looked better."

"Right. Is this how you get all your information? Your clients must tell you all sorta things, huh? Vulnerable like this."

A swift, sharp slap is delivered to his right ass cheek, making him gasp as you tut and soothe the sting with your palm. "Ah-ah, Detective, you're off the clock. No work talk. We're here on my business now, not yours."

"Fu- Never off the clock, not in my line of work."

"And that's exactly why you're here, sweetie."

"...Yes ma'am."

There's a small delighted giggle that you just can't hold back, a sound that makes him flush, before you speak again. "Polite and pretty. Are you ready for me, Detective?"

It's then he realizes that your hand hasn't stopped its slow, steady caress of his ass cheeks, pushing and pulling him apart as you watch the tension leave his shoulders. He nods, trying not to brace himself for whatever is coming first, not hearing the click of a lube bottle through the blood rushing in his ears, but definitely feeling the cool trickle of it when it drips onto his asshole.

"That's it," you say, soothing with your ungloved hand, as your gloved one comes down to stroke the pucker of his ring. "We both know you're familiar with this feeling, Detective. Are you going to let me in here?"

The wet swipe of your finger between his cheeks almost feels like it could be cool, cold tongue with how you swirl it around and around his asshole. He tries not to curl his toes, and manages not to until he can't help but beg, a small please falling softly from his plush lips, and you immediately push, sinking the tip of your finger into his ass.

Tim groans, gripping the sheets in an effort not to surge forward and away from the gentle probe of your finger.

"Make all the noise you need to, Detective."

"Fuck."

Your finger steadily sinks into him, drawing out and in to collect more lube as you drizzle it onto his hole.

"Remember how this feels?"

He remembers. Remembers the crackle of your voice over the phone line as you told him to finger his ass. How his hands had scrambled to turn on speakerphone, the other still wrapped around his cock, jerking weakly as you whispered filthy encouragement down the line. Before even that, he remembers the nights spent in his own bed, concocting his own fantasies while he fucked his fist and fingers in tandem.

Except, your fingers feel so much different from his own, can reach places his cannot, and he's groaning with his head hung low between his shoulders before you're even knuckle deep.

Curling this way and that, you feel him from the inside out. Soothing him with a hand on his back, you can feel the deep breath he takes just as the tip of your finger collides with a spot inside him he was all too familiar with, massaging back and forth until he's a groaning mess.

"Oh, well that's a pretty sound, Detective. It sounds to me like you want another."

If he closes his eyes, he can see it, see the black of your gloved hand curled into a fist as your index finger stretches his hole. He can see already as you pull out a little, unfurl another finger, and slide it next to the first, ready to push into him again.

And he takes it, letting out a shuddering gasp, as your fingers fuck into his ass once again, scissoring in him before pushing down and beginning a slow curl against that spot again.

"There. That was easy. I think someone is enjoying this quite a bit, aren't you, Detective?"

There's no denying it, he is. The feel of your hand making him want to buckle into a heap on the bed already and you'd barely even started.

"Yeah. It's - ah fuck - it's good. That's - uh - not fair."

You'd been curling and prodding against his prostate as he tried to talk, making him garble words at you as you watch his cock get more and more engorged between his thighs. "What's not fair?" you ask, with a firmer press down into the spot, and you relish in the deep gravelly moan that grumbles from his chest, forcing his elbows to drop down onto the mattress.

When his hips buck forward, you place a steadying hand on his back, stroking soothing circles with your bare fingers over the dimples in his skin whilst your gloved ones curl into the spot again and again. Part of him is longing to reach down and grab his cock, to jerk it and come all over his fist with your fingers buried in his ass, but that's not what he's here for. Each time he opens his eyes he's made aware of what he's here for by the strap that still lays next to him. If he comes too soon, he's scared that'll be it over, the relief he was really seeking from you still totally out of reach by his own failure. He couldn't, wouldn't, fail at this too.

"Just look at you, Detective. You're getting so wet already." He is. He can feel it. His cock is dripping, beads of precum collecting on his tip and threatening to make a mess of the sheets below. Nodding and groaning and squeezing his eyes shut seem to be all he can do already, feeling like a total mess of a man with your voice like honey trickling into his ear. "So good. I think you can take one more finger. That's it, just one more. Good. Good boy."

He preens, back arching with the praise, cock definitely dripping onto the sheets now, three of your fingers curling and thrusting into his ass. He throbs, the ache of arousal thrumming through him with no relief, just building and building and building with nowhere to go, because you don't let it. You control it, each press of your fingers still so achingly slow that it can make him drip and ache but never explode.

A thin sheen of sweat is coating his body, his legs shaking, forehead pressed into the cool sheets, groans falling wantonly from his mouth, by the time you gingerly pull your fingers from him. That in itself feels like a relief, he thinks. Even though he's still painfully hard at least, for one moment, he's not being worked up and up to an edge you won't quite let him over just yet.

But the strap beside him is gone when he looks up, pushing up on shaky hands to look around for you again. Now, it sits on your hips, straps pulled taught over the mesh of your lingerie. You're pulling a condom over the length of dildo, rolling it down to the base, your glove discarded somewhere he can't see. His mouth is dry again, so he reaches for the water, swallowing deeply, wiping away an errant drop from the scruff of his beard.

He can't stop looking. Between your face, your beautiful face, your scantily clad body, your hands and those fingers that had just been inside him, the cock between your legs. He's entranced. It takes a gentle hand on his shoulder for him to notice you're talking to him.

"Look at you, Detective," you hum down to him, and all he can think is Yes. Look at me. Please. Here he was, stripped bare as a man could be, seen by you in ways he'd never been seen. And that name - a taunt coming from you that he longed for rather than loathed. Each tease of Detective a reminder that with you he could be both and neither all at once, just as he always was.

He reaches for you then. Slowly. Delicately. Fingers bridging the gap between you. Usually you'd step back, move away from grasping hands when permission wasn't granted. But, you let him touch, his fingers resting on your mesh covered hip and stroking you. It's the first time he's ever touched you, and it's so soft. You're so soft.

"You're ready for it, aren't you?" you ask, your eyes lazily dragging down to the strap between your legs where his follow.

Without word, and avoiding the mess already splattered on the sheet, he moves back to all fours, his hand leaving you cold. Slicking more lube across the strap, you kneel behind him, palming his ass with both hands, rubbing soft circles down his thighs as you gently rut against the crevasse of his ass.

"Do you trust me, Detective?"

It's a stupid question - stupid because you already know the answer, and so does he.

"You're kidding, right?" he says in disbelief, looking around to see the coy smile on your face.

"Humor me."

"Of course I do."

With his eyes still on you, you press forward, hand steadying the dildo to slip the tip into his slick asshole.

"Oh. That's it. Look at me when I fuck your ass. That feels so good doesn't it?"

Tim pants, nodding as you bear forward. The strap is barely thicker than your three fingers, but his rim still stretches and pulls as you breach him, slowly, steadily, until the entire length is buried in his ass.

"There we go. That's it. I'm all the way in. You take an ass fucking so well, Detective. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" With another roll of your hips he's gasping again, dropping his face to the sheet. The heat of his thighs are against yours and you know, you just know, that his cock is straining, his balls begging to empty already.

"There we are. That's it. You can take it. Oh, good boy. You like that don't you. You like being a good boy."

With his cheek is pressed to the mattress, you can see nothing but the pinched look of ecstasy on his face. It's boiling in his veins too, the heat spreading up his back and burning his cheeks. If he opens his eyes he'll see you, looking down with intent at his ass as you slowly roll your hips into him, and the thought alone makes him groan, brings him so close to coming that he's scrambling for purchase on the bed again, desperate gasps rattling out of him. The cloying scent of you is all over him - stuck in his lungs like molasses, each deep breath in of you coinciding with each slap of your hips against his ass until desperation turns to pleading.

"Please. P-please. Fuck. Please."

"Please what?" you say, looking around at him. And that's when you see his cock, angry and weeping, splattering cum all over your sheets. You hadn't felt him come yet, there'd been no tensing of his muscles or twitching of his cock, just a steady stream of precum dripping from him like a leaky faucet. "Oh, look at that. You're making quite the mess, aren't you, sweetie? Are you going to clean that up? Hm? Or will I have to bill the city for my laundry?"

"Oh, fu-," he pants, and you feel a shiver trickle down his back at the empty threat, his palms pressing harder into the mattress beneath him as his shoulders draw back. He's going to come. You don't even need to move, you could just talk to him in that voice of yours, call him a good boy and tell him how dirty he is and he'd be gone, skyrocketing to a place he'd never been and making a glorious mess of everything.

"What was that?" You slow down the roll of your hips, drawing him back from that edge you'd been dangling him so deliciously over.

"No. No. Don't - Fuck."

"Then you'll have to clean up your mess."

You swipe your finger through the cum that has steadily dripped from his cock and onto the sheet below, and lean forward to bring it to his lips, pressing your hips further and further into his ass. There's a sticky sheen of sweat on his back that slicks you together, and you can't resist. You kiss him. Soft lips pressing into the muscle of his shoulder, waiting for that moment he parts his lips in a voiceless moan to slip your finger inside. His tongue laves around your digit, tasting himself on the salt of your skin and he groans, vibrating desperate sounds from his chest to yours as you fuck so deep he's seeing stars.

"That's it, that's a good boy," you coo, dragging your finger from his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva across the scruff of his cheek.

"It's such a shame I have no use for your cock when it looks so pretty, Detective," You say, lifting your leg to fuck more deeply into him. "Look at it, all drippy and useless. You're going to come, aren't you? Even without touching your cock, you're going to come and make even more of a mess."

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Don't stop."

The steady slap of your hips picks up, and you're panting with exertion now too. You could've had him coming in five minutes, but that was no fun for you. You'd waited too long for this not to drag it out, not to see how long he could hold off for you, how much of a desperate mess he could be before he was begging for release. This was it. His limit. You'd found it, and his groans were suddenly impossible to ignore, shooting white hot heat into your own core, making you feel slick with want as you fucked him. You need him to come, before your need for more friction clouds your brain and you need to slip your hand between your own legs before he even leaves.

"Such a pretty ass to ruin. Come for me, Detective. Oh, fuck. Come for me."

He stops breathing. He thinks he's died. He has to have. You think you've killed him. But then his whole body tenses and he groans out a sob, biting sheets and spitting them out over and over as he comes, and comes, and comes. You don't stop, each shuddering sob of a gasp spurring you on until he's milked dry and almost prone on the mattress.

"That's it. That's it. You did it. Good boy. Well done, Detective. Well done."

He feels so soft. His bones must have turned to dust and spurted out of his cock with that final thrust of the strap in his ass. He's never been this weightless, never been this carefree. There's not an ache in him, just pure bliss, and he's so relieved he could cry.

And you're there. Pulling out of him slowly, wiping down his back, his thighs, with a damp towel, cooling him before you dry him with another, bringing water to his lips for him to drink. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you guide him onto his back, letting him lie down and take a moments rest you know the man wouldn't take any other time. You're fairly certain he doesn't sleep. Detective Rockford works too hard because he cares too much, you know that. And you also know he doesn't care for himself. That is why he's here, even if he'd never say so himself.

"Up you get, sweetie. It's cold. Let's get something on you," you're whispering to him all too soon. Tim's lost, the concept of time gone from his body entirely, but he supposes it has been too long, his time is up. He only paid for an hour of your time, and even that seemed much more valuable than the price you'd put on it. He should go.

When he sits up he's lethargic, reaching for his clothes as he shuffles to the end of the bed. He doesn't know you're holding a robe out for him, strap discarded. He doesn't see the concern in your eyes because he suddenly can't meet them. "Should get going, I guess."

"No. You shouldn't. Stay."

Tim looks up to you then, seeing you wrapped and fully covered for the first time in the year he's known you. You're no more on the job right now than he is, he realizes, blinking in confusion at the robe you toss next to him.

"Look, I've taken up enough of your time, I don't want to overstep -"

"I'm not asking you to stay as a client, Detective. I'm asking you to stay as a friend. Stay. Talk to me." And you say it because god knows you mean it. You want him to stay and you want him to talk as much as you know he needs it, that gap he'd bridged with his hand now being bridged by you, and your simple request that he stay.

"Some friend to have."

"A good friend to have, Tim.”

“- I didn't mean - I meant me, I -”

“The point still stands either way," you say. And you mean that too. "Stay."

And that's it. There he is. Stripped back, just like he wanted. No more Detective. Just Tim. And there you are. Sitting on the blanket draped sofa, looking him straight in the eye. You don't need to look down to see him, and he doesn't need to look up to see you.

Grabbing the robe, Tim drapes it around himself, walking on unsteady feet toward you, the mess of the sheets and his life forgotten for one more second.

"Decaf? Might not have all the answers. But I do have coffee. And that's a start."

"Yeah," he says as he sits beside you. "Yeah, that's a start."

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