#my dear boy INVITE HIM IN FOREVER

[ladygata]

Aziraphale better pick up that pace quick because the plants are NOT THRIVING in the back of that Bentley, will no one think of the children???

[cascadiiing]

Bloodlust, or something like that

(Quinn Redacted Audio)

[beloveds-embrace]

can we get Duchess reader yearning for a baby of her own 🥺 imagine there was a Ball in the neighboring kingdom and Duchess!Reader and Duke!Price was invited, celebrating the birth of the Kingdom’s new heir, a baby boy on her fellow Duchess’s arms.

And reader coos at the baby while masking the deep ache in her heart thinking that it’ll be so impossible to have a baby with her husband due to him and his lovers 😢

cue to Duchess!Reader having a heavy heart through out the entire event and even the days after that, until one of our boys asks her what wrong.

(And John having to hold Johnny back bc that nasty dog has been waiting to get his paws on her since forever)

Oh my god yes??? Anon i could smooch your brain right now yes??? This is so good i love it. Sorry for the abrupt ending though, had no idea how to finish it off 😔

Original Post

“Such an adorable little one,” you coo softly, the newborn held delicately and carefully in your arms, swaddled in the baby blue blankets you and John had bought among your other gifts for your fellow Duke and Duchess. “He looks so much like you, I’m in awe.”

Your friend laughs lightly, sipping on her drink. With a soft sigh, she leans closer towards you. The party is in full swing, so many other nobles mingling and networking, but thankfully you and your friend have your own little corner for now and everyone has already congratulated her and her husband.

“So,” she begins, her eyes flickering towards where both of you two’s husbands are speaking. The smiles on their faces are clearly happy, though you aren’t surprised; John had mentioned that he’s already friends with the Duke during the carriage ride. “So. What about you and Duke Price, hm? Any surprises we should prepare for?”

Ah. You had been dreading this.

You sigh, shaking your head. Though the smile returns as you gaze at the napping baby, so small and precious in your arms. With you friend’s permission, you gently kiss his tiny little fists. “Not at all. We are happy as we are.”

And it’s not as if you are lying by any means, oh no. You are happy. Life as Duchess was far, far much better than you had expected it’d be, a lot less restrictive than you had prepared for it to be.

But…

You can’t lie to yourself. You’ve been feeling a sense of discontent from the very second you stepped into the gala venue. Perhaps for even longer, though it hadn’t been especially felt until this moment. Not until you held this baby in your arms.

You want a baby, too, you had realized. Motherhood. A child all yours, calling you momma and toddling into your arms. You had been unable to stop yourself from feeling the little bud of jealousy towards your friend, because you knew you’d likely never experience such a thing due to your unique situation.

John has his own partners whom he loves. You weren’t among that list, and you didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of having sex with another man with the potential risk of your parents, or anyone else, asking for a paternity test because you know someone would ask. Your mother, probably; she was always warning you not to whore yourself out, and your father didn’t even need to say anything-

“My dear?”

John’s concerned voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his hand gentle on your elbow, and it’s only then you realize you had been staring down at the baby with such sadness, so not befitting of such a beautiful gala. So you shake your head, clearing your thoughts, and turn to him and your friend's husband.

When the baby squirms, you coo softly and hand him back to your friends, gentle and careful. That's when you turn to John, giving him a simple smile. "Yes, Your Grace?"

The worry remains on his face, less visible however, and his eyes look over you carefully. Your friends are too busy with their son and showing him off to care about what you two are saying in the corner he’s led you to. "Are you alright?”

As if you’d ever tell him what the issue is. You don’t want to make John feel pressured into this, of all things. You’d rather be divorced than do so, and that should speak volumes on its own.

It’s a silly want, anyways. You have everything you could possible need right now, married and stable. You aren’t about to ruin it with your own two hands.

So you nod your head, and brush away all thoughts of a little baby cradled in your arms. “Yes, I am. I was just lost in thought. Shall we return to the party?”

John observes you for a few seconds more, and then he sighs and nods. “Very well. Would you do me the honor of this dance, my dear Duchess?”

Between the dazzling lights and John’s arms, you can almost forget the lingering desire.

But over the next few days after the gala, it becomes clear to John- to all your the men that something is terribly bothering you. There is a lingering sadness around you so profound even your maids have sensed it, wondering if perhaps you and the Duke have finally had your first fight… but he looks even more more worried and confused than them. You weren’t mad at anyone, that much he could tell, but he didn’t understand the heartache plaguing you.

“…are you sick, my lady?” Kyle asks you one day, placing down a tray of fresh desserts. Your favorites, all made by Johnny himself, yet you barely flick a look towards it.

“Not at all. Thank you, Kyle, but I’m afraid I can’t eat anything at the moment.” Your reply is soft, patient, as it always is, but the furrow in your brows remain and your frown deepens. Kyle hates it. He hates it so, so much. You’ve even stopped taking your usual break-walks, staying inside your room and asking for nothing in particular.

“My lady,” he presses on, voice softer. Comes to stand close to you, and holds his elbow out. “Maybe a walk, then? You look tired. Some sun might do you good- or a picnic? I can pack the desserts and-”

You avoid his eyes and look away, shaking your head. “Thank you, but my answer’s the same, Kyle. I’d just… like to be left alone, please. Could I trouble you to also inform John I won’t be joining him for dinner tonight?”

You are simply glad you managed to hide the little paper you’d been writing on before he came in. Baby names, for the babies you’d never have. It certainly didn’t help make your mood better, but you couldn’t help yourself. Looking at John, or any of them, also made you feel guilty anew.

“…not a problem, my lady. I’ll leave the desserts here for you just in case.”

Several days later, it’s Johnny who comes to you. You are alone in the conservatory, trying hard to get over this stupid, lingering feeling. It’s silly, you know it is, but… ugh.

Johnny says nothing even when you call his name out with a questioning tone, and much to your shock, he kneels down to take your hands in his. It’s so wholly inappropriate, and you look around in fear of anyone seeing.

“No one’s around, m’lady,” Johnny shakes his head, not letting your hands go yet.

“Johnny-“

“No one’s around.” He repeats, firmly, and his eyes gaze at you. “M’lady. Have we made ye angry? Has anyone made you upset? Is my food not to your liking?”

“Johnny…” you sigh, shaking your head. Inwardly, you scold yourself for bothering everyone like this. This should have been your issue alone to solve and hide. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just need some time alone, in general.”

“But why-“

“No particular reason.” You quickly cut him off, gently pulling your hands away. “Please, Johnny. I’ll get better soon, promise. But I just… need time.”

But the desire, the longing, still remains. You can’t even confide in anyone, so you also feel painfully lonely on top of everything else. John is still searching, still trying to find what or who’s made you like this, but not even your closest maids are of help.

Still, while you wished to wallow your misery away in your rooms and office, you didn’t have much choice when you’d received an invitation to the opera troupe funded by the Price duchy; making an appearance was a must, and unfortunately John had a very important meeting that day so Simon is the one to accompany you.

“You’ve been sad lately.” Simon doesn’t beat around the bush, all the lights focused on the stage so you are both draped in shadows, hidden from sight.

You turn to him, a refusal on your lips already-

“No.” He shakes his head. “You aren’t just tired, Duchess. You are sad. Everyone can see it, and it’s making us worried. All of us.” He adds, not letting you latch onto your usual excuse. Performance ignored, his entire attention is on you.

And you are just- too tired. Ashamed of yourself, you sigh.

“It’s awful of me…” your whisper, bottom lip quivering. “I-… I want a baby, Simon.” You admit, so softly and quietly you don’t look at his reaction to see if he’d even heard you in the first place. You shouldn’t be telling him of all people your issues, but- you can’t help yourself. “A child. I want to experience motherhood, but- I don’t, I refuse to put such a burden on John, or get in the way between all of you again-“

You ramble on, not meeting his eyes. Your hands are tembling around the mask you’d taken off, holding it in your lap.

Simon?

Simon can’t take his eyes off your stomach. You. You, pregnant; swollen and glowing with a child. Maybe children, even. Their children. His. He can’t believe this is what has had you so upset for so long; did you think they- John- would say no to you?

“Darling, ” The nickname slips out; he couldn’t help himself. He is glad the no one is paying attention to them, in the higher rows. Simon laces your pinkies together, raising your hand to kiss your knuckles, silencing your worried rambling. “Darling. Let us return home. Staying here isn’t doing you any good. Tonight, I want you to let Kyle spoil you with a warm bath, and for you to eat and then sleep. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll speak. I’ll inform the troupe leader you weren’t feeling too well.”

“I- I… speak about what? What?”

Simon simply ushers you out, to the awaiting carriage. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, even when you pout and the it makes your lipstick glisten to prettily, though if you can feel that his hands are inappropriately tight around your waist, you simply blame it on your tightened corset.

At home, you are still confused. Simon is acting off, staring at you with a look that makes you all flustered, but you don’t protest when Kyle gently leads you away.

You’ll get your answers tomorrow, you are sure. But in the meantime…

“She wants a baby, John,” Simon groans, repeating the words again. His jacket is thrown off to the side, sleeves rolled up his elbows. Even from here, he can see how John eyes them appreciatively. “A baby, John. Seeing her pregnant-“

Another groan, but the one comes from between John’s thighs. Johnny, hands tied behind his back with Simon’s belt because the second he found out what the issue he was so, so ready to go and beg you to let him fix it. A bairn is what you want, a bairn is what he’ll give you- chunky, adorable, and hopefully looking like you.

John had to hold him back, though. He wants nothing more than to do the same, kiss you breathless and promise he’ll give you as many as you want, but he also knows you need a clear, rested head before he speaks with you.

The thought of seeing your pregnant, though, has his fist tightening in Johnny’s hair.

“I know. Fuck, I know, Si. Tomorrow, I’ll speak to her.”

[voxisdaddy]

Focus On Me, Luci

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Sub!Top!Lucifer x Dom!Bottom!Reader

Type: Smut

C/TW: Praise kink, mommy kink, cock warming implied, reader written as fem!

In which Lucifer, for once, tops and his poor subby body is trying his best to make you proud.

MDNI

“Just like that Luci…keep doing that.”

Your words of encouragement are what Lucifer clings to in his desperate attempt to please you. His hips get unsteady easily after only a couple of thrusts. He whines in frustration and embarrassment about it.

“Mommy—I can’t…” He whines pathetically.

You click your tongue. “You’re normally such a good boy, Luci. Don’t you wanna make mommy feel good?” Lucifer can only nod, albeit with a look of exhaustion. Poor guys not used to being on top. He feels his cock ache to be drained by you but you’re only allowing him to please himself all on his own.

“Come ‘ere.” You invite him in an embrace. He crawls on top of you, almost collapsing from how trembly his legs are. You press a light kiss to his ear before whispering, “just focus on me okay? Focus on how snug and warm I keep you, okay baby?”

He melts at your words.

“Yes m’ dear,” His forearms rest on either side of your head as he lines himself up to push in again. He pushes as far as he can go, wanting to be as balls deep as he possibly can.

He starts thrusting with your guidance. Your voice reassuring him to take his time, set a nice rhythm, all the while your gentle and cute little moans are gracing his ears.

He finds a nice rhythm and focuses on keeping his cool. He can’t desperately fuck you to relieve himself just yet. Though the temptation is strong, he wants to make you proud.

“Mmm… baby… you’re making me feel so good…” Your moans of encouragement drive him crazy. He wants to selfishly beg you to ride him, fuck you both for him until he passes out. But he knows that’s selfish and you take care of him so often, it’s only fair he returns the favour every now and then.

Your walls clamp around on him so deliciously he’s got sweat on his forehead, panting and moaning into your ear. He almost allows himself to fall into the pleasure, feeling weak, and desperate for a release that only you seem to know how to give him.

A slight change in angle and he hears a gasp. He keeps thrusting, eyes fluttered closed as he uses all his energy to focus. Your grip on his shoulders tighten and your moans are more pitched and frequenter.

“Fuck!” You gasp. “Mmmm… right there Luci… right there, you’re gonna make mommy cum…”

Your praise, mixed with how you tightened around him and his pridefulness in making you feel good, brings some more needy moans from him.

“…you’re doing so good… so perfect my pretty baby…” You tug his hair. Running your fingers over his sensitive wing base causes him to whimper.

Lucifer shudders at your delicate touch. He holds his climax back until you’ve cummed all over his cock and balls. He still keeps his pace though so you can ride out your high.

Now feeling the overstimulation, you bring your hands to caress Lucifers face to give him a sloppy kiss. “Go ahead honey…Cum as much as you want.”

Not a second later, Lucifer is thrusting his hips at a more rapid pace, only a bit sloppy this time around, as he chases his own already nearing orgasm.

He finishes with one final deep thrust, moaning pathetically as he feels himself empty his warm cum into your aching cunt.

He collapses on top of you with a heavy chest and still connected between your legs. “Thank you my love…” He kisses the place between your neck and shoulder.

You run your fingers through his messy blonde hair. Lucifers exhaustion and the comfort you give him is enough to lull him to sleep. Before he can drift off though, you tug on his hair.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, Luci. I still gotta clean your pretty cock.”

Lucifer feels his cock twitch inside you. Oh yeah.

You’re gonna suck the life out his cock tonight.

I haven’t really written smut in FOREVER. OHMYGOD. I hope you enjoyed it lmao

[ichore]

HEAVEN AND BACK | SUKUNA RYOMEN

synopsis: by the time your mother decided to marry sukuna ryomen's father, you have already noticed some weird things about your stepbrother. one, he has a thing for masks. two, he has a thing for drugs. three, he has a thing for you. and now you're stuck with him forever.

tags, warnings: MINORS DNI, modern au, stepcest, dubcon at some parts, afab!reader x sukuna ryomen, usage of marijuana, usage of ecstasy, reader usually takes birth control, mask kink, fingering, cunnilingus, p -> v, damn this boy is nasty, happy ending??, not proofread

"What? You scared?" And there he is, with his shameless chuckle and shit eating grin as he holds up a small, white pill in between his fingers in front of you.

"I'm not fucking scared, Sukuna. I just don't feel like taking it." You spit, your intertwined arms tightening against your chest as your gaze is fixated on the TV.

You curse the day your mother said yes to marriage that brought Sukuna Ryomen into your life; everything was so always carnal about him, so evil and beckoning like a hurricane. Drugs and hookers are all that interest him, and now that your parents kicked him out, this embodiment of chaos wormed and settled his way into your apartment. The anxious knot in the pit of your stomach barely lets you sleep, dark circles growing under your exhausted eyes and the soft insides of your cheeks were bitten bloody and raw.

"Fine," he says finally, before putting the pill away into a small plastic bag - then he pulls out another. You pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance before you could even see what the bag contained, and you stay in the position while Sukuna's weight falls onto the couch next to you. The distinctive smell of weed begins to tickle your nose as he starts to grind the drug.

"Maybe you should slow down a little," you say, earning only a scoffing huff of air escaping through his grin.

"I'm making this for you. You look like shit. You should ease up a lil. " The wrinkles of malevolence fade at the corners of his dry lips and they're replaced with a slight pout of focus as Sukuna expertly rolls you a joint. At first you wish he had this type of patience for anything else in life, but soon you feel the inviting heat coming from his body, your gaze takes in the muscles that still show themselves across his hoodie. When your eyes travel back to his face, the red of his eyes and dilated pupils are already on you with the usual, knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "What are you looking at?"

"Did you take a fucking molly?"

"Of course I did. I wouldn't have offered the other one to my dear sis if I didn't try it first. Why? Did you change your mind?"

"No... I can literally feel your body is burning from here. This can't be good for you." He carefully adjusts the joint one more time before he licks the edge of the paper and seals it for good before handing it to you. Your fingers graze against his hand as you hesitantly take the cigarette. "This is the last time." you whisper, and he scoffs again; you said the same the other time and the time before that, and now you lit the tip again, inhale another doze of mary jane and a familiar numbness webs your mind.

There's one thing about weed that makes you both love and hate it; horniness. Desire begins to swell in between your legs, your liquid warmth rolling down onto your fingers as you lay on your stomach with porn on your screen right next to your head. You wish the big, muscular man on your screen was creeping up on you and fucking you behind instead of the actress as you lazily tease your clit, your soft moans and sighs escaping through your door that you only closed half way. Except in the peak of your high, you don't hold back your voice, each of your wishes and curses travel to the living room where Sukuna is still sitting on the couch, his pants feeling tighter with each second as he's looking at the black ski mask in his hands.

He wonders which one of you liked masks first. Did he start wearing it because he saw your browser history one time? Or did you search it up because you thought he looked nice in it? Or was it both? Perhaps you both like it because you don't have to actually face him, your stepbrother who knows exactly what type of porn you're watching now and what position you're in without him having to look at you. He knows exactly what you want and how you like it - ironically, part of this information came from your ex as Sukuna beat him up for playing with your feelings.

"Your bitch sister and her fucking masks." Your ex spat, Sukuna remembers, before his knuckles met the bridge of that fool's nose. Sukuna feels his cock twitching in response, silently humming as he finds the answer to his own version of the chicken or the egg question. His hand dives into his sweatpants to find the angry red, pre-cum soaked head of his dick before he begins to stroke it. Your lazy moans tickle his ear from the distance as he tries to match their rhythm, he hitches his breath to focus on you and his building orgasm. His mouth forms a silent O as he feels himself finishing, but then a frustrated whine comes from you.

You can't cum, he realizes. His grips on his cock and his mask weaken as he opens his eyes, his head feeling heavy against the headboard of your couch while he's staring at the ceiling. He should help you. He's the only one who can, after all.

With his mask finally on, he finds you still on your stomach, your legs half dangling off the bed, your panties on the floor, your cheek squished against your bed with one hand still playing with your wetness. He can't remember the last time he hesitated in his life, but this time, as he approaches you slowly, he's scared. Yet, with one hand holding his cock, his feet bring him closer to you. Right next to your bed. His heart pounds vigorously against his ribcage when his free hand touches your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh as you jolt away. He lets go of his member to cover your mouth, his body weighs you down as he presses his nose against your temple.

"Be a good girl, and stay still." He groans, ignoring your sorry attempts of hitting him before you give up. It amazes him how high you could get from a little pot; you don't even recognize his voice, nor his tattoos even though you're looking right at his arm as his fingers enter your pussy. His mouth drops ajar, his fingertips massage your sweetest spot from inside as his maroon eyes are staring at the back of your head. Flushed, disheveled, you look so adorable to him as your walls clench around his fingers strong enough that it even takes him some strength to pull them out of you after you came. "Do you want more, baby?"

"Ah, yes, please, don't stop, don't go" you cry eagerly, your own body betraying you as you push yourself against him, his hard abs sweaty against your back as you both lay on your sides. Despite your whines, his hand leaves your pussy to hold your leg. He coats the head of his dick with your liquid desire before he enters, earning a deep, long moan from each of you as his thickness continues to dive into you until his balls meet your clit. His eyes roll back, he pants as his masked forehead rests against the soft crook of your neck and he's holding onto your thigh for dear life to not cum right at this instant.

"Never had a pussy this good, huh?" you giggle, and you almost turn around to look him in the eye, but he quickly grabs a fistful of your hair to keep your face away from his before he nearly pulls his cock all the way out of you and meanly shoves it back inside. Sweat begins to bead on his body as he continues to roughly grind his hips against yours, the tip of his dick hitting your spot each time. He feels you riding through orgasm after orgasm, your walls sometimes painfully tightening around him as if your screams and moans aren't enough to make him cum alone.

"Fuck, ease up a lil or you'll break my dick," he laughs under his breath. Before he knows it, you're both holding still as you look into each other's widened eyes in shock.

"Ryo... Ryomen?" His heart nearly breaks in two. You've never seen Sukuna Ryomen's eyes filled with regret, but now that your voice shakes with betrayal, his brows furrow as if he's about to weep. He forgets the weight of your drunken state, and your many orgasm lull your panic.

"You always tell me to ease up. A little." You murmur, gingerly pulling yourself away from him to be able to turn around in your bed. To his surprise, you lift his mask up to free his lips; myriad sweat drops roll down the width of his neck. His jawline sits rigid with anxiety as you cup each side of his face, and your lips meet his. His eyelashes flutter, and a held back tear escapes his eye and gets soaked up by the mask as he pulls you on top of him, kissing you back with the hunger of years worth of yearning. Your hands explore his chest, his back, your fingernails leaving maroon trails next to his spine that makes his cock twitch against your ass. You laugh a little before breaking your kiss, both of your chests rising and falling rapidly. "I'd say I'm pretty relaxed now."

"Good," he laughs with you, his fingers wrap around your thighs before he throws you on top of his face. "I wish you could see how fucking gorgeous you are."

"Describe it to me with your tongue right there then, Ryo." A sudden, powerful smack on your ass is his response before his upper lip begins to tease your clit, the length of his tongue teases more sap out of you as it massages your walls. You slip the mask off of him entirely as he continues to eat you out, his pink hair so disheveled from all the sweat that your fingers nearly get stuck as you run through it. You feel yourself get lost in the red of his gaze while his hands encourage you from behind to ride his face faster, earning yourself another orgasm. "Fuuuck, you make me cum so fast. I love it."

"Oh, really? " He asks. He gently lifts you up again to lay you on your back, his thighs forcing your legs wide open as he enters you without hesitation.

"Oh, fuck yes." You moan before he kisses you once more, his tongue forcing its way deep into your mouth. The movement of his hips slam against you with such speed and vigor, you're certain he's going to break you while his lips pepper kisses at every inch of your pretty face. As his own orgasm edges closer, his sharp teeth sink into your shoulder and for a second, he almost paints your walls white.

His warmth leaves your body all too sudden, your pussy trembles at the loss of his cock while you still ride through your last orgasm and he's jerking himself above you, his opalescent liquid dirtying your tummy.

"Let me clean you up," Sukuna makes his way to grab a papertowel before he sits next to you. You watch him as he gently takes his cum off of your skin, the corner of his mouth slightly twitching in disgust at the sight of his own juices, yet he presses a slight peck onto the cleaned area before he stands up to throw the tissues away.

"How do you feel?" he asks, the red of his eyes appearing darker than usual as he's lies down next to you, your noses almost touching as he faces your way.

"I feel... great." You laugh, throwing your head back that he can see the angry red of the back of your throat. When you place your flushed cheek against his chest, he welcomes it with caresses across your back before he begins to play with a strand of your hair.

"Are you still high?" he asks, you hear his worry speading up his heart as he studies the ends of your hair and how gorgeous they look in the sunlight peering through your curtains.

"I doubt it, and judging by the fact you didn't cum inside me, I also highly doubt you're still high either."

"You forgot to take your birth control this morning," he says, and silence follows. For a moment, he thinks you've figured out how obsessed he really is with you and fear will take over the relationship between you, you will kick him out, blacklist his number, block him on every socials... his mind races.

"I don't care what our parents are gonna say. I love you, too" you say finally, and although you can't see or feel it, his mouth widen into a smile as he presses the lock of your hair against his lips.

[julesinsummer]

I loved your fic about Theo getting upset because the readers' parents said they couldn't go to Italy for the summer. I was wondering if you could do something similar. The reader says she's not allowed to stay with him for the summer, but theo trys to convince readers mom to let them go to Italy, but he finds out that her parents said she could go. And Theo confronts the reader.

I don't know. I thought it could be a cute angst/fluff fic I've never requested before, but I love your writing, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Thanks:)

Little Lies (Theodore Nott x Reader)

angst&fluff, happy ending | requested!

"Theo, they said no, I really can't argue with that," y/n sighed as she closed the book she was reading.

Theo groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Let me talk to them, then," he tried, "they love me! They'll listen to me, won't they?"

Panic surged through y/n's body at the mention of Theo talking to her parents. "It'll just make them mad at me! It's just not happening, I'm sorry my love."

The truth lay beneath her panic-stricken words: she hadn't even asked her parents. Truth be told, they'd say yes immediately if she had asked. It was no secret that y/n's parents adored Theo and would do anything if it meant that the two would stay together long enough to breach the topic of marriage.

y/n hadn't mentioned going to Italy for the summer with Theodore for one simple reason: Theodore Nott Sr.

Nott Sr. was an imposing man with strict ideals and rules and little to no morality. He scared everyone that he came in contact with, especially his only son and heir's girlfriend. He was often controlling and angry, with yelling and cursing being his most used vocabulary. Theo loved to hate his father and hated to love him, but by way of only having a father his teenage life, he'd come to respect him for what he could do.

y/n was not so lucky. She was a stranger to the violence that unfolded in Nott Manor, to the hurt that a father could cause his only son. It was impossible to watch when Theo would appear perfectly groomed and poised, all the while hiding the bruises and scars that lay just below his collar. It broke y/n's heart to pieces, and she refused to house herself under that roof for an entire summer's break.

But she couldn't tell Theo that. Perfect, poised, handsome, loving Theo who only wanted her, his source of comfort, to be with him in a picturesque setting.

So instead, she lied. And as everyone says, lies cannot be kept forever.

y/n's parents had invited Theo for dinner the next night at their manor, reveling in the laughter that ensued from his witty jokes and ignoring his blatant hand on their daughter's thigh.

"I did want to ask you something, Mr. l/n," Theo said softly as dinner winded down. A sick feeling invaded y/n's stomach, with its only visible traces being the red color that latched itself onto her neck.

The older man nodded, "Anything, my boy. What is it?"

Theo shot Mr. l/n a smile, one that he'd learned almost exclusively from the business dealings of his father. "My father and I would be overjoyed if y/n could join us this summer at our home in Italy. It's in Rome, near the city center. He wanted me to extend the invitation to her. Would that be alright?"

Time seemed to slow to a grinding halt. y/n was sweating, her hands shaking as she clasped her glass and avoided the eyes of her parents.

"Of course, of course!" Mrs. l/n replied for her husband, grinning widely at Theo. "I'm sure she'd love to as well, wouldn't you dear? And that just means that we can have a child-free summer of our own!"

Theo's eyes dropped onto y/n with such sadness and frustration that it made her skin crawl. She saw the disappointment under his features, trying desperately to escape his gaze. She only managed a nod.

With a few more pleasantries, dinner concluded and y/n and Theo were free to escape to her bedroom. Once the door had closed, Theo scoffed loudly.

"What was that all about?" he asked angrily, his face turning a pinker hue than normal. He was angry, that much was clear.

"I... I'm sorry," y/n managed, dropping her head low. She fidgeted with the rings on her hand, half of which Theo had gifted her.

Theo scoffed again. "You're sorry? I didn't ask for an apology, I asked for an explanation! You told me they said no!"

y/n sighed loudly, dropping to sit on her bed with her head in her hands. "I never asked," she admitted softly.

"You never asked?" Theo had begun to yell, quickly casting a muffliato charm on the room. "y/n, I asked you about this months ago and you said they told you no! Why did you lie to me?"

"I had a good reason, Theo! Okay?" y/n shouted back, tears springing from her eyes. She and Theo never argued, but when they did, it was awful and hurtful.

"Oh good, I'd love to hear what a good fucking reason you have for making me look like an idiot with your parents! Or for lying straight to my face for months!" He was screaming now, fisting at his hair and coming closer to y/n.

She flinched a little at the action, staring up at Theo intensely. "You'll just get mad at me again if I tell you, so what's the point? I'll go, okay! I'll spend the whole summer with you and your asshole father and be uncomfortable for months!"

Theo paused at that, the room going deathly silent. "Uncomfortable? You're uncomfortable spending your summer with your boyfriend who has told you so many times that he wants to fucking marry you? What, are you going to be so uncomfortable at the thought of spending time with me that you'll tell me no?" His tone got angrier with every word.

"I'm not uncomfortable because of you, you asshole!" y/n shouted, standing up suddenly. She and Theo were close and the anger radiating off of them was palpable. "I'm uncomfortable because your dad is a fucking sadist and wants everyone around him to hurt! I don't want to watch you get beaten for existing for months, Teddy! I can't do that! And if you don't understand that or if you don't think it's a good reason to say no, then I don't know what planet you live on."

They were close, close enough to make one wrong move and end up completely engulfed with one another. Theo was the first to speak.

"And you couldn't have told me that in the first place instead of lying to my face, y/n/n?" he asked softly, his anger dissipating by the second. "You don't think you can talk to me about that?"

y/n let the tears fall freely down her cheeks. "You wouldn't have listened to me, just like you're not listening now! I'm sorry I lied to you, honey, I am. But you never listen when I tell you that I hate your father."

Theo stayed silent for a while, his eyes indicating that he was lost inside his own head. He finally moved after what seemed like an eternity, wiping the tears off of y/n's cheeks with a soft brush of his thumbs.

"I'm sorry, amore mio," he apologized softly, moving his hands to tangle in her hair. "I... I didn't think about it."

y/n sobbed a little, nuzzling into his touch. "You never do."

Theo nodded sadly, resting his forehead on hers. "You don't have to come," he mumbled, closing his eyes. "I should've thought of you first."

y/n shook her head slightly, sniffling. "I just don't want to see you hurt or getting hurt or anything but happy. He makes you miserable."

"I'll figure it out," Theo replied softly, kissing y/n's head. "I'll figure it out."

"He sucks, you know that?" y/n asked with a small, humorless laugh. "If he wasn't there, I'd go. If he wasn't involved, I'd go anywhere you asked me to."

Theo nodded, looking into her eyes. "I love you," he whispered, meeting their lips into a passionate, emotional kiss. "I'll figure it out, I promise. I'm sorry for yelling at you."

y/n pulled him into a tight embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. "It's okay. I shouldn't have lied to you."

"If I can convince him to not go... would you come?" Theo asked, hugging her tighter. "I can figure it out."

y/n nodded, pulling back just enough to see his face. He had that determined look that he sported on occasion, like when he played quidditch, or when he was working on an assignment. "I'd go anywhere with you and only you."

Theo nodded silently, kissing y/n again, this time as a promise. "It'll be done. And no more little lies."

"No more little lies," y/n agreed, pulling them both down on her bed.

-

i hope you liked it!! as always, requests are open!

[writingforstraykids]

hiya! i'm still pretty new to your blog but i really like your writing! english isn't my first language but i hope my request is still understandable ^^

m!reader (with they/them pronouns if possible 👉🏻👈🏻) is best friends with chan. chan praises the reader in some way and figures out that they have a praise kink so he just keeps praising them to make them flustered all the time (bonus points if he throws in the classic 'good boy')

oh and i wanted to ask if i could maybe be 🦖 anon?

thank you!

It's always been you

Pairing: Chan x m!reader with they/them pronouns (mention of Minsung)

Word Count: 4301

Summary: Chan and you have been best friends for what feels like forever. You long for more, not knowing that Chan feels the same. Minho and Jisung decide to lend you a hand the way Chan and you did for them.

Warnings/Tags: friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst, smut, teasing, praise kink, dry humping

A/N: I know we've talked a while ago about this request but I hope I did your wishes for it justice, my dear🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

You hum gently to yourself as you make your way back home, scrolling through your phone as you try to find a good song. A smile covers your lips as your best friend's voice rings through your ears and you can't help the warm feeling spreading through you. Chan invited you over for a movie night with the boys, and you couldn't wait to spend time with them…or him. Being around Chan made you feel things you never felt for anyone else ever before. Those soft brown eyes, beautiful smile, and warm hugs made you feel so loved. You know there's no chance he would ever love you back, but that didn't stop you from gazing after him. 

You reach their dorm, and Minho lets you in, pulling you into a short hug. “Hey, Min.”

“Hey,” he smiles and closes the door behind you. “Channie hyung will be there in a bit. He went out to grab some snacks with Ji,” he explains and pats your back, leading you inside. 

“Oh, okay,” you nod and glance around the living room, where they've already set everything up. “Can I still help with anything?”

“Nah, you're fine,” he tells you and gently shoves you toward the sofa. “Relax, okay? We got it.”

-

“Fuck, Ji, it's getting worse every time they're there,” Chan sighs and grabs some of your favorite cookies. 

“Worse?” Jisung frowns, and Chan nods weakly. 

“Yeah, they're so funny and adorable and so pretty,” he says and glances at his friend nervously. “I really want to be more than just friends.”

Jisung squints his eyes at him suspiciously. “Just sex or more?” he asks quietly. 

“Not just sex,” Chan shakes his head and awkwardly scratches his neck. “I wanna be there for them, make sure they're safe and loved.”

“Why don't you tell them?” he asks curiously. 

“I'm scared of ruining our friendship,” he admits. 

“You will, one way or the other, won't you?” he asks gently. “You'll regret it if you don't tell them, believe me. I could've saved myself a lot of pain if I told Minho hyung a lot earlier.” 

“Yeah, but…I told you Minho loves you. You had some clarity after that,” he sighs softly. 

“I can ask Y/nnie,” he shrugs, and Chan's eyes widen fearfully. “Then I'll tell you, and you can decide what to do with that information.”

“Yeah, okay,” he gives in after a moment. 

-

You look up as they return from the store and smile softly, spotting Chan and giving him a small wave. Chan smiles back, walks past you, and gently pats your head. “Hey, bestie.”

“Hey,” you smile gently, swallowing at the word that once brought you so much comfort but now is a simple reminder of what you didn't have. 

You see Minho greeting Jisung, pulling him into a hug, and gently rubbing his back. He asks him something you can't quite hear, but his eyes are so soft, his voice gentle, it makes your heartache. Minho giggles at Jisung’s answer and cups his face, kissing his forehead. You quickly look away, biting your lower lip. You still remember how happy you were when they got together, but over time it got hard to watch, wishing for something like this with Chan. “Y/nnie, can I talk to you for a second?” Jisung asks as he pulls back. “I need help with something.”

“You're okay?” Minho asks worriedly. 

“I'm okay,” he assures him softly and squeezes his hand. “Come on,” he waves you over. You get up, not noticing Chan's anxious glance as you leave the room. 

Minho glances at him suspiciously. “Oh…that?”

“Mhm,” Chan nods nervously and Minho flashes him an encouraging smile. 

“How could they not love you, huh?” he chuckles compassionately. “Relax, hyungie.”

-

Only a little later, you're back in the living room, trying not to look all too confused. There isn't much space left on the sofa, and Chan pulls you into his lap naturally. You sink back into him and bite your lower lip nervously. Why the hell did Jisung ask if you're in love? With Chan? Was it that obvious? 

You can barely focus on the movie playing and want nothing more but to leave and think this all through. It's over sooner than you thought, and you're all sitting in a circle on the carpet now. 

“Truth or dare anyone?” Seungmin asks, and you curse yourself quietly. Of course. 

“Not for me, I should get -” you start and see Chan's smile fading. 

“You're leaving already?” he asks worriedly, and you nod quickly.

“Oh, come on, Y/nnie,” Jeongin pouts at you. 

“You can't leave already,” Changing protests and places the cards into your circle. 

“Fine,” you give in weakly and sit down next to Chan, who lifts you into his lap rather quickly again. His arms wrap around your waist, and his chin rests on your shoulder. “Clingy,” you comment fondly. 

“Fuck off,” Chan gives back just as fondly. 

The game goes on, and luckily, you're getting easy tasks and questions that don't make you uncomfortable. Jisung is sleeping in Minho's lap by now as the latter plays with his hair, and Felix's head is resting on his shoulder. Seungmin and Innie keep on teasing each other, hoping for the most stupid questions for each other. Changbin is still reading the questions, and Hyunjin giggles every time he shows him beforehand. You're still comfortable in Chan's lap and giggle as Seungmin spins the bottle, and it points at the two of you. 

“That's pretty in the middle,” Changbin states and frowns softly. 

“I can go; I'll take truth,” Chan volunteers. Changbin glances down at the question before grinning. 

“Do you have a crush? If so, who?” he reads out loud, and Chan stiffens beneath you. 

“I do,” he nods, and your throat dries. 

“Who?” Hyunjin asks, pointing out the second part of the question. 

“Someone I know really well,” Chan says, and your heart drops. That could be everyone in this room, and looking at the others, you know it can't be you. There's no chance. You push yourself from his lap before you fully comprehend your thoughts, excusing yourself for the bathroom. Chan glances after you worriedly as you bump into the table on the way out and exchanges a worried look with Minho. 

“I got it,” Minho nods and gently plants a sleeping Jisung into Felix's lap. “You go on,” he tells the rest before making his way upstairs to the bathroom. Minho gently knocks at the door and fondly rolls his eyes as you don't answer. “Y/nnie, let me in,” he says and waits for another moment. “I'll go get Chan if you don't.” You quickly open the door and pull him inside, locking the door again. “Cozy,” he comments teasingly. 

“Why are you even here?” you sigh softly and sit down heavily at the edge of the bathtub. 

“Shouldn't I ask you that? This can't be more comfortable than Chan hyung’s lap,” he says and sits down next to you, shaking his head. “Definitely not.”

“Mhm, you should know, right?” you ask sarcastically, and Minho grins. 

“Oh, I do…I've seen…or felt…everything you dream about,” he chuckles and gently pats your thigh. “I'm with Ji. What's stopping you now, huh?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” you shake your head and sigh heavily. “There's no way on earth Chan would love me and - oh fuck, I sound just like you,” you groan. 

“You do,” he giggles. “And I remember you telling me to get myself together and finally realize how handsome I am.”

“Well, you are, you dumbass,” you roll your eyes at him. “That doesn't exactly apply to me.”

“I think…I know Chan thinks very differently about that,” he says and is quiet for a moment. “So do I, dumbass,” he says and gently smacks the back of your head. 

Minho's words hit you like a wave, washing away the stubborn layers of doubt that had clung to you all evening. Despite the sting of his playful smack, there's an undeniable warmth in his words, an affirmation that maybe, just maybe, Chan might feel the same way about you. 

"But, Min," you start, your voice trembling slightly from the mix of hope and uncertainty, "What if you're wrong? What if he doesn't... What if it's not me he's talking about?"

Minho raises an eyebrow and gives you a look that screams exasperation mixed with fondness. "Y/nnie, when have I ever steered you wrong? Listen, Chan's not as good at hiding his feelings as he thinks. The way he looks at you? I've seen it. It's more than just friendship. This isn’t my talk to have, though, you know?"

You're about to respond, but there's a knock on the bathroom door that makes you both flinch. "It's me," a voice says, one that sends butterflies rampaging through your stomach. Chan.

Minho winks at you and stands up. He walks past Chan with a knowing look as he exits the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. You're frozen in place, your heart pounding so loudly you're sure Chan can hear it.

Chan steps inside, closes the door behind him, and leans against it. His eyes search yours, filled with a nervous energy that matches your own. "Y/nnie, are you okay? I noticed you left suddenly..."

Taking a deep breath, you nod slowly, trying to muster the courage that Minho seemed to think you had in abundance. "I'm okay, Chan. Just... a lot on my mind, I guess."

Chan moves closer, his concern evident. "Anything you want to talk about? You know you can tell me anything, right?"

The sincerity in his voice nearly breaks you. With a shaky exhale, you decide it's now or never. "Chan, I... I need to ask you something. Earlier, when you said you have a crush... was that-"

Chan's face changes then, but before you can interpret it, he lets out a breath he seems to have been holding. "Yes, it's you. It's always been you, Y/nnie. I was just too scared to say anything because I didn't want to ruin what we had."

The words you had feared and hoped to hear tumble into the small space between you, and for a moment, the world stops. Tears prick your eyes, not from sadness but from an overwhelming relief that floods through you.

"Chan, I... I feel the same," you confess, the weight of your unspoken feelings lifting off your shoulders. "I was so afraid you'd never see me that way."

Chan steps forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. His hands cup your face gently, and he smiles - a real, soft smile that you've dreamed of being meant for you. "How could I not? You're amazing, Y/nnie. I've just been an idiot about it."

And then he kisses you, a soft, sweet kiss that promises more. As you melt into him, the fears and doubts of the past fade away, replaced by the excitement of what comes next.

Outside the bathroom, the sounds of the ongoing game and the laughter of your friends continue, a reminder of the world waiting for you both. But for now, in this small, shared space, nothing matters more than the two of you finally bridging the gap between friendship and something much deeper.

When you finally pull away, Chan's grin is as bright as the stars you imagine are shining outside. "Come on," he says, taking your hand. "Let's go back.”

The two of you sit down again, and you lean back against him comfortably. Your eyes meet Minho’s, and you can’t help but beam at him. Minho smiles gently and winks at you, focusing back on the game. Chan gently intertwines your hands in front of your stomach and rests his head on your shoulder. “Tired?” you ask him quietly enough for only him to hear.

“Starting to be, yeah,” he hums quietly. “You wanna stay tonight?” he asks so sweetly there was no chance you’d deny him. 

“I would love to,” you nod.

The evening goes on, but the atmosphere around you is subtly different now. The other guys seem to pick up on the shift; quick, knowing glances are exchanged, and an occasional smirk is poorly disguised as a cough. As the evening slowly comes to a stop, the games gradually transform into yawns and stretching limbs. One by one, the room starts to empty as everyone heads to their room. Changbin claps Chan on the back as he passes by, whispering something that makes Chan chuckle and squeeze your hand tighter.

Once the room is empty, Chan shifts slightly, turning to face you. "So, what do you want to do?" he asks, his voice low and warm. "We could start another movie, just the two of us, or maybe just talk?"

"The talking sounds nice," you reply, smiling at him

Chan nods in agreement and stands, leading you to his room. You’ve been here so often before, but you never fail to feel at home here. He shuts the door behind you and sits on the edge of the bed, patting the space next to him.

You join him, feeling a blend of excitement and nervousness. "I'm really glad you're here," Chan begins, turning to you with a beautiful smile that makes your heart flutter. "I've wanted to talk like this for so long but didn't know how to start."

"Me too," you admit. "I always wondered what this would be like, talking to you like this, knowing we both feel the same way."

Chan reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I've been so scared of messing things up," he confesses. "I didn't want to lose you by taking a step that might have been too much, too soon."

You nod, understanding his fears because they mirror your own. "But we didn't mess it up, did we? We're here now, and it feels right."

"It does," he agrees, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of relief and happiness. "It feels perfect."

"What do you think will happen with us?" you ask a small part of you needing reassurance that tonight's magic will extend beyond dawn.

Chan squeezes your hand, his gaze steady. "I think we're going to be great," he says. "We already know each other so well, and we care about each other. We just have to keep doing what we're doing."

"I love that," you whisper, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"I love you," Chan says softly, the words spoken so naturally, echoing through the quiet room.

"I love you too, Channie," you respond, turning to face him. Your eyes meet his in a look that feels like a promise. He smiles sweetly, dimples showing, and gives you another quick kiss.

Chan stands up and offers you a shirt to sleep in, his shy smile making you laugh. You change and slide under the covers beside him, his arm coming around to hold you close.

The comfort of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart soon draw you into slumber, the challenges of the day fading into the peace of the night.

Two weeks later

You’re at the kitchen table with Minho, whispering the details of Chan’s and your first kiss and talk to him. You haven’t really had time to before with Minho gone for a few days. Minho listens curiously, nodding along, and you can tell he’s happy for you. The rest slowly join you for breakfast, and then Chan comes back from his shower after his gym session. His curls are still damp, a bright smile covering his face as he sees you. He passes you, gently squeezing your shoulder. “Morning, pretty,” he says softly, and you can’t help but feel flustered. A quick kiss to your temple follows, and he’s gone again already, getting himself something to drink. 

Minho notices the blush settling on your cheeks and giggles. “That easily?” he asks, amused. 

You gently shove his shoulder. “Shut up,” you mutter. “I’m not used to it.”

“Mhm,” he hums, still giggling softly.

It gets worse as Chan slips into the chair next to you, flashing you a bright smile and casually resting his hand on your thigh. “You slept well, beautiful?” he asks, not noticing the blush on your cheeks deepening. 

What the hell? Why were his simple words causing such warmth to spread through your body? Why are you blushing so hard after a few kind words? His eyes meet yours, and your stomach tightens at the love in them. Fuck.

“Yeah, did you?” you ask shyly.

“Of course, you’ve always been amazing at cuddling,” he compliments you, and you subconsciously shift in your chair. 

You manage a small smile in response to Chan’s gaze, the affection evident in his eyes almost too much to process so early in the morning. He chuckles softly, his hand squeezing your thigh reassuringly, a simple gesture that somehow speeds up your fluttering heart.

“Sorry,” he whispers, leaning in so that only you can hear, “I didn’t mean to make you blush this much.” His voice is a blend of amusement and tenderness, sending a shiver down your spine. You can't help but feel a little overwhelmed by how natural it all seems to him, this newfound closeness between you.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. 

“Are you sure, pretty boy?” he asks and your lips part softly, eyes widening a little. 

“Channie,” you whisper softly, shaking your head. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he asks, a knowing smirk lacing his features. “I’m just saying what I see.”

Your teeth bury into your lower lip as you feel the earlier shyness shift into something much stronger. Chan was getting you all worked up over nothing, and you’re not even done with breakfast yet.

“Give them a break,” Minho leans over suddenly, rolling his eyes playfully at Chan. “You’re getting them all worked up at the breakfast table; behave,” he says quietly enough only for the pair of you to hear.

Chan’s eyes widen, lips parting in a silent ‘oh’ as he picks up on the effect his words have on you. He leans closer to you, his breath tickling your neck. “Didn’t know you had a thing for praise.”

“Me neither, now shut up,” you plead softly, shifting in your seat and pulling at your shirt to cover your lap. Chan’s low chuckle sends shivers down your spine, and you flinch as his hand moves up your thigh. You gaze at him nervously, but Chan doesn’t even glance in your direction, talking to Seungmin opposite him. By now, you can’t get up to escape the possibility of getting caught because you’re slowly growing hard.

Your breath hitches as you try to focus on anything but the warmth of Chan's hand, your body reacting despite the semi-public setting. It's a thrilling yet terrifying mix of emotions, the fear of being noticed wrestling with the pleasure of Chan's subtle touches.

"Hey, you okay?" Seungmin's voice cuts through your haze, and you snap your attention back to him, nodding quickly, too quickly.

"Yeah, just... thought I saw something outside," you stammer, hoping your voice doesn't betray the flush of heat crawling up your neck. Chan smirks slightly, his fingers pausing as if he's aware of your struggle to stay composed.

The rest of the breakfast passes with a sort of hushed intensity, your mind whirling with Chan's teasing and the palpable connection that seems to have everyone subtly glancing your way every so often. You're grateful when the meal finally ends, and there’s an opportunity to escape the intensity of the kitchen.

Chan stands and stretches, his shirt lifting slightly to reveal a sliver of his abdomen. You have to force your gaze away, feeling the heat in your cheeks intensify. "Wanna go upstairs?" he asks, his voice low, meant only for your ears. You pull at the hem of your shirt, nodding shyly and biting your lower lip in anticipation. Chan giggles and pulls you into a tight hug, whispering to you as some of the boys are still here. “Didn’t know you’d be able to hide it so well,” he tells you, hand running down your back. “Think you deserved yourself a reward, pretty boy?”

“Please,” you whisper, burying your flushed face in his shoulder. 

“If you’re good and keep quiet, I’ll help you out,” he whispers, and you tense in his arms, biting your lower lip hard. 

Your body reacts with a shiver at the promise in his words, the idea alone enough to draw a deep, yearning ache from within you. You nod against his shoulder, unable to speak, your heart pounding fiercely in your chest.

Chan leads you quietly upstairs, his hand gripping yours with a reassuring firmness. You pass a couple of the guys lounging in the living area, completely oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you two. Once inside his room, Chan locks the door with a soft click, the sound echoing slightly in the stillness.

"Sit down," he directs gently, pointing to the edge of his bed. You obey, watching him with wide eyes as he kneels down in front of you. His hands rest on your knees, his touch light but sending waves of anticipation through your body.

"How quiet do you think you can be?" Chan asks, his voice low and teasing, his breath warm against your skin as he leans closer.

"I'll be quiet," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the effort of keeping your composure.

Chan smiles, that knowing, mischievous grin that always sets your heart racing. He slowly moves his hands up your thighs, his fingers brushing the fabric of your sweatpants tantalizingly slow. The touch is light, almost teasing, but it’s enough to make you gasp softly.

"Shh," he hushes, his lips brushing against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine. "Remember, you need to be quiet."

You nod, biting your lip hard to stifle any further sounds. Chan’s hands continue their exploration, now slipping under your shirt to trace the lines of your stomach up towards your chest. His touch is feather-light, yet every nerve in your body screams for more contact, more pressure.

Without warning, he presses down more firmly, his palm flat against your chest as he pushes you gently back onto the bed. You go willingly, your body already on fire from his touch, your breathing heavy but controlled as you try to keep your promise.

Chan climbs onto the bed, straddling one of your thighs as he leans over you, his face just inches from yours. “Still doing okay?” he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

“More than okay,” you breathe out, the proximity of his body making it hard to think about anything but the feel of him against you.

Grinning, Chan shifts his weight, and you feel the firm pressure of his thigh between yours, exactly where you need him. He watches your face closely as he begins to rock gently, the friction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your hands find his hips, gripping him, guiding him into a rhythm that has you biting down on your lip to keep silent.

The room is filled with the soft sound of fabric moving against fabric and Chan's steady, controlled breathing. You keep your eyes locked on him, getting lost in the intensity of his gaze as he moves against you. Each motion is deliberate, calculated to drive you closer to the edge without tipping you over too soon.

Chan’s hands are on your hips now, his fingers pressing into your skin, his grip firm and possessive. He leans down to kiss you, slow and deep, his lips moving against yours in a dance that mirrors the movement of your bodies. You respond eagerly, the kiss muffled enough to keep your moans contained.

As the pressure builds, Chan’s movements become more urgent, his body pressing harder against yours. You feel a warmth spreading through you, a tingling sensation that starts deep within and radiates outwards. Your grip on him tightens, and Chan breaks the kiss to look at you, his eyes intense.

“Shit, Channie,” you whisper, almost feeling dizzy at the intensity of finally being this close to Chan. 

“Shh, be a good boy, yeah?” he asks softly, biting back a moan himself as he rocks his hips.

“Close,” you manage to whisper, and he nods, his movements becoming even more focused. You arch into him, your mouth opening in a silent cry of release as waves of pleasure wash over you. Chan holds you through it, his body a steady presence as you tremble beneath him. Chan buries his face in your chest with a soft, punched-out sound as his body shivers, stumbling over the edge. 

When you finally relax back onto the bed, Chan’s face is flushed with his own exertion, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. He kisses you softly, tenderly, a stark contrast to the urgency of moments before.

“Was that quiet enough for you?” you ask, a playful note in your voice despite your exhaustion.

“Perfect,” Chan confirms with a chuckle, his forehead resting against yours. “Absolutely perfect.” You both lie there for a moment, catching your breath, the only sound in the room now the quiet hum of the house around you. Then, with a gentle nudge, Chan encourages you to sit up. “Come on,” he says, his voice gentle. “Let’s clean up a bit, then we can go back down. They’ll wonder where we’ve vanished to.”

“Yeah, okay,” you giggle softly, smiling into the loving kiss he gives you before slipping out of bed. Yeah, you could get used to this and so much more.

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[bookshelf-in-progress]

Reflection: A Retelling of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves”

The mirror is a gift from the dwarves. Its frame of hammered gold is wrought with delicately-crafted birds and beasts, fruit and flowers. Its silver-backed surface, unlike those created by human craftsman, shows a true reflection.

The queen loves to gaze at herself in the mirror. It tells her that she is beautiful—skin like milk, hair like midnight, eyes as blue as a crystalline lake. She is young, healthy, graceful, charming—perfection in human form. Truly a queen worthy of this kingdom.

Then, one day, the mirror’s message changes. It shows that the queen has lines around her eyes, sunspots on her nose, wicked glints of silver in her night-black hair. The queen does all she can to hide the damage, spends hours before the mirror with cosmetics and concealers. To the rest of the world, the queen is as perfect as ever.

Yet every morning, the mirror tells the truth.

Worst of all, her husband has a little daughter—barely fourteen years old—who grows lovelier by the day. Every morning, the mirror says that before long, those who worshiped the queen’s beauty will transfer their devotion to the princess—and will be right to do so.

The queen's beauty would not seem so tarnished if the princess were not there for comparison. The queen tries to send the princess to an isolated estate—tells her husband it is better for the girl to grow up away from the corrupting influences of the court. But the girl is too dear to her father. She wastes away with homesickness, until her father the king orders her to come home for the sake of her health.

The queen tries neglecting the girl in ways the king won't notice—refusing to let her wash with good soap, denying her a maid, forbidding her fashionable clothes and hairstyles. Through it all, the mirror tells her that the girl’s beauty shines out brighter than ever.

Before long, the queen spends hours by the mirror each day, locked in a futile endeavor to restore what is lost forever. One moonlit night, she finds a dagger, and considers plunging it into her heart just to end this ceaseless torment, but the morning shows her a better path.

She will never be perfect, nor make the princess less so—but she can destroy perfection.

It would be easy to take this dagger to where the princess sleeps and shove it through her perfect heart, but the queen doesn't dare to mar her own beauty with blood-stained hands.

She gives the dagger to a loyal huntsman. He takes the girl into the forest—and returns holding a small, bloody heart.

That night before the mirror, the queen's smile makes her glow with a new kind of beauty.

*

People often tell the princess she is beautiful. She believes them, for she has never seen an ugly face. Old Sal’s missing tooth is an open door into her smile. The chambermaid’s freckles make a daytime constellation. The little stable boy’s one good eye glitters green as an emerald. Her stepmother owns a beautiful mirror, but the princess barely gazes at it. Why would she waste time examining her own familiar face in a world with so many other lovely faces to gaze upon?

One day in early spring, she asks to go berrying in the forest beyond the castle, as she once did with her mother. To her surprise, the queen permits it—the queen rarely allows the princess anything that might be a luxury. She even sends one of her huntsmen as protection.

In the eaves of the forest, the princess finds strawberries not far from the path, and she hastens to gather as many as she can. She invites the huntsman to join her, but he stands statue-like at the edge of the clearing, always on guard. Not wanting him to go without, the princess brings the berries to him, and offers him the largest, sweetest one.

As she does, she gazes at his face. Scars make mountain ranges along his cheeks and brow. His hair is edged with silver. The lines of his face are solid as stone. His deep gray eyes hold storm clouds.

“Oh, my,” the princess says in awe. “You are beautiful.”

The huntsman’s face disappears as he hides it in one of his hands. “I can’t,” he says, his voice rough with unshed tears. “I must betray my queen."

His other hands darts to the side, quick as a serpent, and the silver flash of a blade disappears into the undergrowth.

The huntsmen places both of his hands on the princess’ shoulders and crouches to look into her face. “You must run. The queen wants you dead. If you stay at the palace, she will find a way to kill you. You must flee into the forest and never return.”

“The forest?” the princess asks in terror. She has often wandered in the eaves, but she has never dared the strange terrors that are said to lurk in its interior.

“There is nothing there that can harm such innocence,” the huntsman says. “You will find shelter.” He turns her around and pushes her toward the depths of the forest. “Now run! As fast and as far as you can!”

The shadows of the forest embrace her, and the flowers make a path at her feet. She crosses shallow rivers, climbs rocky slopes, winds through twisted groves of trees. She couldn’t return home even if she wanted to.

She had not been blind. She had seen something like ugliness in the queen’s face whenever they were alone. But hatred? Murder?

She nearly collapses with grief, but through the trees, she sees a wisp of smoke. A chimney. A roof over a tumbledown cottage. The princess runs through the open door, collapses on the floor, and is glad to find a safe place to weep.

Her father will think her dead, and she will not be there to comfort him. She will never again see any of the beautiful faces that fill the palace. The hundreds of hidden details that made the castle home are forever out of her reach. The huntsman saved her, but to what end? A lifetime of loneliness and misery? Is this truly a better fate than the quick death of a dagger through the heart?

She opens her eyes. She has looked too long at the sorrows in her heart. She must find solace from without.

She gazes upon the cottage.

And sees seven beautiful faces.

*

The dwarves love their princess. She is beautiful, not only because of her face, but because of the way her soul shines out through it. She is endlessly beautiful because she sees the beauty in everyone and everything.

There never was a girl so selfless. Her every waking moment is spent filling their days with a million small comforts. The cottage has never been so clean. The food has never been so lovingly prepared. There is nothing she would not do for them, and in return, they devote their lives to her service.

She needs their protection. One so naturally kind and innocent can’t recognize when strangers might have ill intent. One day, after being out in the woods, the seven dwarves return to the cottage to find the princess nearly strangled by a set of stays. When they revive her, she tells them of a ragged old woman (with such beautiful hands!) who asked for food and water and then repaid her generosity by giving a nearly-fatal gift. The eldest of the dwarves caught a glimpse of the stranger’s retreat, and saw enough of her form to suspect the queen.

The dwarves keep a closer guard on the princess, but six months later, a few minutes go by when all seven of them are away from home. They return to find the princess nearly killed by a poisoned comb in her hair. The story she tells is similar to the last one—an old woman in need of help repaid their kind princess with a gift meant to kill.

After that, the princess is never alone. The dwarf on guard duty always has the envied task, so lovely is it to be in her presence. A year, then two, go by with no signs of danger.

Then one winter morning, after a night of birthday feasting, all seven of the dwarves sleep late. The princess rises at her usual time, hoping to fix them a holiday breakfast. By the time the dwarves stumble out of bed, they find the princess sprawled across the kitchen floor—cold, pale and lifeless, with a poisoned apple in her hand.

They despise themselves for having failed her, but their love for the princess drives them to serve her the only way they can—by laying her body to rest. The cold, hard earth won’t take her, and they can’t bear to hide her away in the realm of death. Knowing that decay will not touch one so innocent, they place her in a coffin of glass and lay her in their garden, where her beauty can brighten the world in death as it did in life.

They keep a constant vigil, lost in loving grief. They ought to have known she would end this way. This is the fate of all innocence in this dark and sinful world—to be destroyed by wickedness. Even as they see this truth, they know that it is wrong. The world should not be this way, but what can they do? They wish and pray for better, but they can’t hope. How can innocence ever overcome such evil?

In the spring, when the last snow melts and the first snowbells bloom, the dwarves see movement in the woods beyond their cottage. A prince approaches on a snow-white horse. He is ruler of this forest and its mysterious ways—a king of kings, even more beautiful than their princess. His face shines with a wisdom that does nothing to defile the innocence of his heart.

He leaps from his horse, approaches the coffin, raises the lid, and takes the cold hand of the princess between his.

“Beloved,” he says, “arise.”

In his words and actions, the dwarves find the answer to the riddle they have pondered in their long vigil of grief. In a world of wickedness, the salvation of Innocence is Love.

The princess opens her eyes. Takes a breath. Sits up and gazes upon the world she loves, upon the one who loved her back to life. Something of the prince’s wisdom is reflected in her, so that her beauty is almost painful to behold.

The dwarves rejoice, and the princess rejoices with them. She kisses each one atop the head, but does not release the hand of her prince.

Eager to serve one who served them so well, the dwarves cook her breakfast, and she eats with even more enthusiasm than she showed in her former life. Yet when the meal ends, she stands with her prince at the threshold of the cottage.

“I must return to my father,” the princess says.

The dwarves protest. What of the queen? What of the danger?

The princess looks at her prince with eyes full of love. “I have nothing to fear.”

*

The king rejoices at his daughter’s return—he has thought her dead for so many years. Grief has aged and weakened him, but there is beauty in his face that grows brighter with every minute he spends in the presence of the princess.

The princess tells him of her troubles since she went away, and the king is horrified by her words. “I knew my wife had lost her reason,” he says, “but not her heart! She must pay for her crimes!”

He moves toward the door as though he will administer justice this moment.

The prince stops him with a gentle hand upon his chest. “There is no need.”

*

The queen gazes at herself in the mirror. She never looks anywhere else. If there is a world beyond the edges of its frame, she has forgotten it. She sees only her own face, searches for the remaining scraps of beauty, tries desperately to erase the blemishes that grow ever more hateful with the passing of years.

Another face appears in the reflection—a face the queen thought she had destroyed long ago. It is lovelier than ever. The queen hides her face in her hands so she can not see the painful beauty of the princess.

“Come away from there,” the princess says. “Gaze with me upon the other beauties of the world.”

“And lose myself?” the queen shrieks. “That is what you have always wanted—to destroy my very self! To take all the honor and beauty that should be mine!”

“I wish to save you,” the princess says. “Come away.”

“Never!” the queen screams, clutching the mirror in two white-knuckled hands. “I have everything I need right here! You can’t take it from me!”

The princess touches the queen’s shoulder. The queen screams and shrinks away, hiding her face once more in her hands.

A man’s voice—painful in its beauty—says, “Beloved, she has made her choice.”

At long last, they leave. The queen looks in the mirror and sees no face but her own. No greater beauty remains nearby to shame her.

In the confines of her world’s silver surface, she is fairest of all.

*

The queen is locked away in the prison of her choosing.

The king stays to do what good he can for his kingdom, and the princess promises to return for him after he has fulfilled his purpose.

The prince places the princess on his snow-white horse, and they travel once more past the cottage of the dwarves, who are glad to see her so beautiful and beloved.

At last, the prince brings the princess to his kingdom at the heart of the forest.

The beauty she finds there is beyond words.

[marymary-diva17]

Our yawne

Life can be hard for ones self when they are deemed an outcast by their own clan, only loved by a few in the clan they had been left an orphan. The dreams of having a wonderful life once they had gotten, older seems like a dream. As the ones who love them will not be here forever and they will left alone once again, soon a miracle had happened one day that changed everything forever.

y/n " ......" you had dismount off your banshee after arriving at this beautiful meeting spot, with your clan tshaik she had asked you to come with her and you agreed.

Sawa " thank you for coming with me again y/n"

y/n " it a honor tshaik sawa"

sawa " well you are one of my best student and I have taken care of you since, you were young and I thought this will be a perfect opportunity for you" you had smiled and nodded your head as you look around, at all the beauty around you.

????? " sawa old friend welcome"

sawa " mo'at hello"

mo'at " it good to see you again after all this time apart, and who is this young lady with you"

sawa " this is y/n she is one my student"

mo'at " y/n wait this the girl your have been telling me about"

sawa " yes" the two tshaik had exchange glances that you didn't notice right away.

y/n " hello tshaik mo'at it a honor to meet you"

mo'at " well spoken young lady as well you have done well in raising her"

sawa " it was not all my work it was others as well and it her personality as well, I had brought her with me knowing it will be good for her"

mo'at " great my daughter and ronal are waiting and there was some other, young adults around here they can keep y/n company for a bit as we talk util they are invited"

sawa " yes y/n do you like that'

y/n " yes I do" the two elder tshaik had nodded their heads and smiled, you had followed them and soon came across neytiri and ronal.

mo'at " daughter and ronal sawa has come along with one of her students y/n"

y/n " hello it great to meet you neytiri and tshaik ronal"

neytiri " hello young lady"

ronal " hello young lady sawa you have made a great choice on bring her"

sawa " yes I have"

mo'at " the oloe'ythan will join us later on for now lets talk'

sawa " dear will you be good on your own"

????? " mother" the group had soon been interrupted when two young males had came towards them.

neytiri " son you are here"

neteyam " yes I and aonung had been sent ahead the others will be by shorty maybe"

aonung " we came to do our best to be helpful or expanded the alliance"

ronal " that wonderful boys we will love you all to meet, sawa and her student y/n"

neteyam " hello tshaik sawa I see you"

aonung " hello tshaik sawa I see you"

sawa " hello young man I have heard great things about you both" the two males soon looked at you and when they meet eyes with, you and you meet their eyes everything felt like it stopped.

y/n " hello I see you neteyam and aonung"

neteyam " hello I see you y/n"

aonung " hello y/n I see you"

sawa " you three can stay here and talk maybe you three can learn about each other"

mo'at " yes I think it will be good for you three"

y/n " sure if neteyam and aonung are fine with that"

aonung " I will love that neteyam what do you think"

neteyam " I will enjoy that" the four women had soon left the trio together as they kept each other company at the moment.

y/n " thank you for staying here with me even due you two, might have other responsibilities to attend to"

aonung " oh no it worth it to spend time with someone new, and we had been told to stay here we hadn't been told how" you giggle at aonung words making him smile and laugh.

neteyam " nice move bro we will love to spend time with someone new. and like my grandmother said it can be good for us all"

y/n " then lets find something to talk about and see where it leads us" the duo had nodded their heads at your words maybe this will be something good in the ended.

aonung " your grandmother seems like a nice women and good, for taking you on as healer after hearing that you know so much" '

y/n " thank you but sawa had become a grandmother to me, as I don't have any family in the clan she raised me along with the help of others"

neteyam " oh we are sorry we didn't know ..."

y/n " it okay but she is my grandmother no matter what anyone say, she has said I'm family to her"

aonung " then you are family to her even by blood or anything else"

y/n " thank you so how does it feel to become the future leaders of your clan"

aonung " overwhelming"

neteyam " never whacking"

y/n " oh"

neteyam " there is so much weight on our shoulders to be like our fathers"

y/n " well then don't not ever olo'eythan or olo'eytke will be like the ones that came before them and that what makes it greats so you both can become the leaders you wish"

neteyam " thank you those sound like the wise words of tshaik, will you become tshaik"

y/n " I don't think so sawa son Engo who are olo'eythan right now, will have his mate Maar will become tsahik if sawa steps down"

aonung " oh yes her mate Wayken was olo'eythan last year before she stepped down"

y/n " yes he was not feeling well and let his son take over, but they are good family and have ruled the clan well"

neteyam " well I think you will make a good tshaik y/n" you had smiled towards the pair as they had returned smiles back to you.

???? " hey bros" the tiro had soon looked up to see five more young adults and teen coming towards them.

neteyam " hey you all finally got here"

spider " yes and all our dads are here as well ... hey who is your friend"

aonung " everyone this is y/n she came here with sawa she one of her best students, and she been keeping us company"

tsireya " hello it so nice to meet you"

y/n " thank you will you all like to join us"

tuk " sure" the group soon joined with you and the their brothers, and right away they had become attached to you right away. They had even noticed how close you and their brothers are right now, everyone seem to be enjoying it.

Jake " you kids seem to be having a good time over here"

neteyam " father"

Jake " my son your mother and grandmother had told me, that you were spending time here with aonung and sawa student y/n"

y/n " hello toruk makto"

tonowari " yes I came as well to see how you all were doing"

y/n " hello olo'eythan tonowari"

aonung " y/n here has been keeping us company while we were out here, it has been very good"

y/n " yes it has your sons are very nice and honorable"

Jake " yes they are young lady"

neteyam " it has been wonderful to spend some time off and talking with y/n but if we are needed at the meeting ..."

Jake " no you all enjoy this time off we will be fine"

tonowari " yes I agree with Jake enjoy this time off if needed we will call for you all" the two older man had soon left but had looked at their sons, seeing how they were treating you and seem to be very interesting in you as well.

sawa " this meeting has been very interesting"

mo'at " yes it has and I hope you will think more about what we had discussed"

sawa " yes I will but we have to wait and see as well my old friend"

neteyam " I hope we can see you again"

y/n " yes I hope to see you all again as well"

aonung " maybe you can come see us or we will come see you"

y/n " I love that offer and we might see each other soon, as it seems like sawa might bring we around for more meetings" you smiled at two young man as they smiled back, there is a strong connection between the trio. Soon you and sawa had left the inland and heading home.

sawa “ today was a special day wasn’t it”

y/n “ yes it it was good to meet the two other clans, I hope the olo’eythan will agree to this alliance”

sawa “ I was talking about something else I witness today, the interaction between you and those two young man”

y/n “ I don’t know what you mean”

sawa “ I may be old but I know love when I see it, and you should take it there is something special between you and them my child take it”

y/n “ yes tshaik but what if it not right”

sawa “ it right my dear snd it seems like the great mother has to agree as well”

???? “ mother” the duo soon looked to see sawa mate and son standing there, along with her son mate as well.

sawa “ hello everyone we have returned and the day has been good”

Wayken “ I see you had taken y/n with you ma sawa”

Sawa “ yes I did is there a issues with it”

Wayken “ no but thought you will take Maar with you or someone else”

sawa “ I chose her and she did well”

engo “ no problems came up young lady”

y/n “ no oloeythan everything was well”

Maar “ good we are happy to see you and sawa have returned home well”

engo “ mother please tell us more about this meeting, as we have dinner as I and clan will needs to know”

sawa “ yes come along y/n you can speak as well”

wayken “ no she can’t sawa we all know that the clan will not be happy with it”

Sawa “ wayken you will started treating this young lady with ….”

y/n “ it okay tshaik I will be taking my leave now good evening everyone”you had bowed your head and soon walked away, looking back at the family. As they walked away together to go join the other members of their families, there were times you wish to have a family of your own here not being alone all the time. That night you did take sawa words to heart and soon explored more, about your relationship with neteyam and aonung.

months later

y/n “ ……..” you had been spending many months with friends with meet that day, and everything has been going wonderful for you. Soon started many relationships as well one with, neteyam and aonung that become special.

neteyam “ yawntu”

y/n “ huh”

Ao’nung “ he called you yawntu as you are our yawntu if you don’t mind”

y/n “ well this was not the type of love confusion I thought I will get”

Ao’nung “ well we have bene talking and we noticed we both love you, and we asked moat she told us it could happen … if you wish to have us”

y/n “ well I love you both as well as my yanwe if you will have me as well”

neteyam “ we will give you ma y/n”you had laughed as neteyeam and aonung, brought you into a warm embrace. It will take some time until you all share the news of the relationship, with the ones who were closer to you all. Everyone will be happy for the new couple, since day one knowing there has always something special.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Dark felix Caton who sees beautiful girl (reader)at uni. He became obsessed with her right away. But then he finds out reader already has a bf. Then he plot an evil plan. He befriends readers bf and ask him to join him during summer vacations to saltburn. Felix also says he can bring reader along with him too.

Reader is hesitant but eventually accept the offer. Soo that's where felix would begin to corner reader whenever she's alone. Reader try to tell her bf about it but he turns her down too occupied by the lavish lifestyle. Finally felix get reader alone with him and r4pe her.

I´m sorry you had to wait this long dear anon. I really hope you enjoy this though. Your other requests will still be coming soon as possible though. I promise I have not forgotten and am not ignoring <3

To get you alone (dark!Felix Catton x reader)

synopsis: He always had his eyes on you, however you had thought naively that he wouldn´t go past that.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non consensual sex, smut, semi public sex, p in v, unwanted attention generally, mentions of reader being in a relationship with Oliver, afab reader

word count: 1.6k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: I tried to not be too graphic with this one, I still advise anyone reading to proceed with causion. SA is a real and serious topic and if you don´t feel in the right spot for reading this that is completely fine. Remember to be kind to yourself and you are loved!

Dividers by @saradika

Felix Catton. If you were to be asked what you thought of Felix your answer would most often look something like “Yes, he's pretty handsome…” but beyond that there was very little you knew of the rich boy and that in and of itself made you wary of him. Especially because he seemed to go wherever you went. Mischievously sparkling eyes trained on your every move from the second you entered the grand hall for the welcome celebrations. Now, normally you probably wouldn't mind it that much, hadn't it been for someone else's sudden infatuation with whom your friends had jokingly begun to call your stalker.

You had met Oliver years prior, when your parents somehow for some reason befriended his parents. Well, not for some reason, they were lovely people, but nonetheless. Soon after that he had asked you out and with how nervous he looked you couldn't help but accept. It was really cute. Oliver was attentive and perfect and even if his friend Michael was a bit weird by most standards, it seemed like he was looking out for your boyfriend as well, as much as he could. But he was the first part of your life that Felix got his fangs into. Until you found yourself at the Catton’s estate over the summer instead of going home for the first time in forever. It was nice of him to extend the invite, his family was mostly nice in that dysfunctional, rich people way. Still, despite everything you felt like an intruder. No matter how often any of them insisted how great it was to have you there. Something felt off. Like a spell had been cast on Oliver so he couldn't see how weird his new so-called friend was. Ignorant to every slip off the hand underneath the table at meals or outside, every lingering glance at the pool, every oh so innocent seeming, hidden unwanted comment.

But especially to the frequency with which you found yourself trapped alone with the brunet rich kid. His hands resting on your hips as he leaned down to you, eyes sparkling with spoken and unspoken comments. Things he had dreamt doing to you, you did to him, things he wanted to try. It all fell upon deaf ears, no matter who you told. Venetia was the only one who even made the impression to believe you, but even her response was kept to a minimum. Keeping silent about it to the world, not doing anything to actively help when you told her how uncomfortable you felt alone with her brother.

No one ever expected the great Felix Catton to do something bad, he was just making jokes, you were told, but you knew better than them.

Walking through Saltburn, you are distracted by mentally chiding yourself for still getting lost after having spent so much time there already. The constant, silent barrage of curses blinds you to the person walking towards you.

“Whoa there.” The voice and steadying hands on your upper arms quickly give away that it isn't Farleigh or your boyfriend you ran into, like you had hoped so dearly. Or even James or Duncan or literally anyone else but the person standing in front of you. In an attempt to bring distance between the two of you as fast as possible, you stumble backwards however and almost fall into the little coffee table behind you, prompting Felix´ hands to go right back to your arms.

“Are you okay?” He asks over a huffed chuckle, eyes glowing lightly with mischief as always.

“Y-yeah, thanks.” You rasp a short answer, dusting yourself off to get away from solitude with him as quickly as possible.

“Not so fast.” He stops you by holding out his arm to block the way to freedom. “Did I do something to offend you?”

The question nearly shocks the air out of your chest, fists balling instinctively as there is only one question that crosses your mind in return. “Are you serious right now?”

“Uh, yes? Why wouldn´t I be?” The baffling response is accompanied by furrowed brows and a still slightly amused quirk of the corner of the lip.

“Felix, it´s nice that you invited us here, but I´m not blind. I see the way you eyed the girls back at uni. I see the way you look at Olli and I see the way you look at me, have been looking at me for months and by God I´ve felt your hands when you thought no one is watching.”

Listening to you intently, Felix’ facial expression shifts to one less light. A knowing smirk replaces the half smirk and his brows relax, the brown of his eyes darkening to almost black.

"Oh, did you now? You notice everything, don't you?" The brunet straightens his back to tower over you. One of his large hands coming up to grab you by the chin. His thumb languidly swipes over your lower lip. “Aren't you just the cleverest girl?”

“Felix…” you whisper hesitatingly, too tightly in his hold to make another attempt at fleeing. All that you can do to keep him at a small distance is to cross your arms over your chest. An obviously futile, but desperate move that, perhaps rightfully so, gets chuckled at, before they get pinned above your head.

"Tell me, do you ever think of me instead of Olli?" Felix huffs above you.

“What?” Outrage burns it´s way through your veins, but as quickly as it ignites it is shut down again.

“Do you ever think of me when you are with Ollie.” Felix repeats slower this time, stepping even closer, even though it had seemed impossible prior.

For a moment you don´t know how, or if, to respond, biting your lip and averting your eyes to put off answering as much as possible. However, failing when his fingers dig deeper into your chin to turn you back to him. You nod, ashamed.

"Say it." He demands. "I want to hear it from your beautiful lips."

"I think about you every time I am with him. I think about you when I touch myself at night, imagining it's your fingers making me come until I can only moan your name." The confession isn't entirely true.

If you were entirely honest, your mind has shifted once, but you knew he wouldn't be happy with that. His breath shudders and you know he bought the lie.

"Fuck you're such a naughty girl. Thinking about me when you have him. And to admit it so freely." He chuckles

"Oliver could never touch me like you do. He could never make me feel as good." You continue lying, hoping to any deity that would listen, it would make this whole torture be over faster.

Far from it was the case obviously. Felix lets out a low growl, swiftly leaning down to capture your lower lip between his teeth. Soothing the bite by pulling them into an unreciprocated kiss immediately after. It´s as if it happened solely to make one thing unmistakeably clear. He wanted you. To be desperate and beg him for more. He wanted you to need him just how much he needed you. And more.

His tongue presses against yours as he roughly moved the two of you away from the table, pinning you against the nearest wall. Even less time is wasted to push aside and open any clothes that potentially could be in the way of the one thing Felix had wanted to do to you ever since he had first laid his eyes on you. Letting go of your chin, his hand hooks underneath your thigh to ease himself into you painfully slow. His presence alone rendering you incapable of any clear thought of fight or flight. A realization at which he lets go of your wrists to grope at your breasts. Felix' own chest heaves with heavy breaths and quiet moans, held back as to not alert any of the staff nearby. Meanwhile you barely feel like you are in your own body anymore. It's like watching him from above as he did whatever he wanted to your limp body. The nausea, the tears pricking in your eyes as his lips latch onto your neck to suck his marks into it, they all feel so distant yet so overwhelming. You can see his lips moving, but the sounds are drowned out by a high-pitched ringing sound. Numb to the way his fingers dig into your skin or how every thrust of his hips pushes you back into the wall, head rolling from side to side as you try to drown all of it out even more. Again, futilely.

Still your inaction brings Felix enough enjoyment to keep on going for what feels like forever. His touch is so meticulous, so blushless, he is so focused on just violating every boundary you had tried to set up with him ever, he doesn't even see you anymore. How much he is hurting you. And if he does, he doesn't show much care for it.

You are lucky in a sense though as well or maybe it's just another cruel joke by the gods. As soon as Felix spills himself inside of you, he pulls out and away. Without so much as another word, but a look that very much promised more of what had just happened, he leaves you in the little corner of the hallway.

However, you don't come back to yourself yet. Taking care in mechanical motions to fix up your clothes and get to a bathroom to clean up and possibly empty your stomach's contents until you felt any better about yourself and the prospect of having to spend the rest of summer in these halls. Any better, no matter how little it would be at all. One thing you were sure of in your dissociated state. There was no escaping Felix Catton.

[snickerdoodlles]

headcanons behind fic: brother texting habits referenced in long & short

Chay holds up his phone sheepishly. “Also, your brother texted me. We’re invited to dinner.” Kim’s smile drops. He doesn’t need to ask which brother. “Did he type that out, or just send an emoji with a question mark?”

ngl, had i realized how much i'd expand this series, this is actually a scene i'd cut or at least heavily rework. it's the weakest scene of the story and its execution has only felt more clunky as time passes. hindsight! that said, i don't regret the scene either because the headcanons behind the premise of that scene are very near and dear to my heart, namely the texting rituals of Khun, Kinn, and Kim :D

the boys have a system to their texting. it's not anything as concrete as a code, that'd be far too dangerous and anxiety inducing. their system, naturally, revolves primarily around giving hints to Korn's mood without outright saying anything:

firstly, all brother invites to things go through Khun, because Khun's invites will only ever be invites and Kim's 'no's will only ever be 'no's.

anytime Korn demands Khun or Kinn (usually Kinn) drag Kim to a family thing for him go through Kinn, and 'Kinn's requests are always phrased as a question Kim can refuse. Kim once tells Kinn he'll show up if Kinn orders him to (because he doesn't actually want to get Kinn into trouble if Korn's being esp insistent), and Kinn smiles and tells him "thank you" and never ever once orders Kim join them, because Kim asked not to be involved in the family business and Kinn will take on any burden to keep Kim free of it.

Kinn passes along how insistent Korn's being through the overall tone and vibe of his messages, usually indicated by how much of it he types out. requests Kim join official functions sound like a formal invitation printed on a card, requests Kim indulge Korn playing family are much closer to Kinn's standard texting style;

because, and this is a silly headcanon i will have forever, Kinn fucking loves emojis. you know his whole "this could've been an email" vibe when he shoots that guy in the head ep1? same vibes except much cuter. Kinn thinks emojis are adorable and efficiency perfected. why send "thank you" when the 👍 emoji is right there? a picture's worth a thousand words and 🫂 is a thousand warm ones. he could send "wanna check out that new coffee shop by the studio next tuesday for brunch? their menu is 60% sprinkles so i'm sure you'll love it" but ☕🧋🎙️❔👑2️⃣🗓️🕦🍬👉💕💕‼️ is so much quicker. the only reason why Kinn's texts aren't 87% cute stickers is because he hasn't yet realized they come preprogrammed in his phone.

("do you think he speaks in hieroglyphics because he's secretly ancient?" Kim asks one day.

"how old does it make you to understand him then?" Khun snarks back.)

((Kim leaves Khun on read for a week.))

some bonus thoughts: Khun's a spam texter of the highest order. every one text is sent across 3.5 texts minimum. Kinn only ever sends one (1) text. if Kinn's replying to multiple messages in one go, he separates his responses in indv bullet points (if he's feeling petty towards Khun, he responds to every one of Khun's messages individually).

(Kinn's multiple messages to Chay in long & short are absolutely because he's watching Kim's live. for all Kim's snooping, he has somehow missed that Kinn has every alert and then some set for Wik news and while he can't make every live, he plans his breaks around them and even moved a meeting once.)

also, while Kinn pretends he's threatening/blackmailing with these baby Kim pics, this is 100% him taking advantage of the situation to gush about cute baby brother with a fellow Kim AppreciatorTM. Kinn has the cutest little brother, and he's gotta keep up with news of baby brother's current shenanigans somehow 😤👏 Khun is guilty of similar crimes ofc.

(Kim suffers older brothers so much.)

[theroyalsims]

BREAKING: GUS AND ANYA'S ENGAGEMENT INTERVIEW MAKES TELEVISION HISTORY

It's finally here, and everyone was definitely watching!

The 20-minute special was aired on the three biggest TV networks in the country, and royal fans were not disappointed! Gus and Anya answered some of the biggest questions in our minds, including their shared childhood in Rennaux, how Gus proposed with TWO rings, the proposal, and their upcoming wedding, of course!

Anya and Gus' much-awaited engagement interview aired last night, and over 32.5 million people - in Brindleton alone - tuned in, making it officially the most watched TV broadcast in Brindleton history.

The interview was conducted by veteran journalist and Brindleton Broadcasting Network senior correspondent Mr. Hank Hanson-Bradbury (HHB).

Snippets of the interview is reproduced below:

HHB: Before everything else, congratulations. Anya: Thank you.  Gus: Thank you.

HHB: Has everything sort of settled down since the news broke? Gus: We're getting there. *laughs* Anya: Yes, but it's just a big relief that we're able to share it everyone, finally.

HHB: Everyone’s just very curious about how we got here. So, how did this start? When did you first meet? Anya: A long, long time ago. *laughs* Gus: *laughs* Yeah. We’ve known each other since we were children. Anya: We were co-workers? Weren’t we? *laughs* Gus: Yeah, we were.  Anya: During summers, my siblings, and cousins, and I would 'work' at the Rennaux palace gift shop. We got paid in cakes and tarts and sweets. He had the same deal with his mum, apparently. Gus: Yeah, my mum managed the gift shop and she thought since I was hanging around so much, why not put me to work?

HHB: Did you know she was royalty? Gus: Yeah, but, you know... we were kids. I didn’t exactly understand what that meant, that sunk in much later when we were a little older. But when we first became friends, it was kind of like meeting other kids your age, except they lived in a castle. 

HHB: So you were childhood sweethearts? Anya: Yes. He was my first boyfriend. Gus: She was my first girlfriend. We were friends for what seemed like forever, and then one day, I think we both kinda realised we had something special between us.

HHB: And then... life happened, you both grew up, went to school, worked… how did you to find each other after all these years? Anya: Well, I had some work done at a property I bought and he turned out to be the contractor.  HHB: And you had no idea?  Anya: Nothing. Not at all. His company was highly recommended by a dear friend, and all I knew was the owner’s name was “Gustavo.” We were in Tartosa, it’s a pretty popular name there, so I thought nothing of it. And then he showed up. To say I was shocked is an understatement. Gus: On my end, I was just told that we'd be doing an ocular of a prospect client's property. We were told it was for a VIP client, and since we do restorations, we get VIPs a lot. I was just as surprised to see her.

HHB: What was it like? Was it the first time you saw each other after so long? Gus: Yeah. Well, I’ve seen her in the papers, pictures but not in person. It felt like I was a little kid again. The boy working at the gift shop with the massive crush on his co-worker. Anya: It was a really big shock for the both of us. But I remembered his eyes. The beard was a new addition though. But I like it. It suits him very well.  *laughs* Gus: Thank you. *laughs*

HHB: So from there, the "rekindling" started? Gus: Things slowly fell into place.  Anya: It did. 

HHB: Now, tell us about the proposal... Gus: I invited her to go on a hiking weekend with me in Rennaux. There’s a really nice trail, a little rougher but a lot less crowded that led to the famous cliffs. We’d gone hiking before so I thought I’d be able to surprise her.  Anya: Yeah. We were hiking all afternoon. I thought it was just, you know, a typical hike in the woods. We love those. We often go with our dogs. But when we finally reached the cliffs, the sun was beginning to set. I was looking out at the coast, and telling him how my mum and dad got engaged there. Then when I turned around, he was down on one knee. I just remember crying. And saying yes, of course.  

HHB: So it was a surprise? Anya: Absolutely. I had no idea. I mean, I was hoping. You know, when you’re with someone you really love, you really click with, it’s… you dream that one day, you’d have your happily ever after with that person.  Gus: I’ve known for a while that it was her. It’s always been her. I had that ring in my pocket, my tool bag, my rucksack for at least a month. I’d been tempted to ask sooner many, many times, but I wanted it to be very special, very memorable for her. 

HHB: Speaking of the Ring… it IS gorgeous. Quite stunning.  Anya: It is. It really is. I love it. It’s very beautiful. I can’t stop staring at it. I’ve been wearing it everywhere. I even wore it out once, because I forgot to take it off… you know, since it hasn’t been officially announced yet. No one seemed to notice though. 

HHB: Really? When was this? At the garden party. It was already too late because I’d already stepped out when I realised I still had it on, and the anthem was playing. I had to keep my hands clasped for quite some time before I could excuse myself. I hated having to take it off this past month. *laughs*

HHB: So Gus, tell us about the ring? Gus: Yeah, well, uh, I’ve always had this vision… what ring I hope she’d like. I brought my mum to the jewellers with me to help with the design. And when I saw the sketch, I could see her wearing it.  HHB: So you designed the ring?  Gus: Well, um, I picked the diamond, and I asked them to add more diamonds on the band and it’s got a little engraving inside. I also had them add a hidden sapphire underneath… to reflect her beautiful eyes. So, well, uhh, I helped design the ring? Maybe? *laughs* Anya: He actually gave me two rings! HHB: Two?  Gus: Oh, yeah. Well, we were at her house a few days after I proposed and I saw her gardening in the yard wearing the ring. I think at that moment I realised that she needed perhaps a more... subdued ring for when she’s riding or gardening or playing with our dogs.  Anya: It’s this really pretty gold band with a traditional Ekhkarean motif. I love it just as much. 

HHB: But of course this is not the first piece of jewellery he’s given you? Let’s talk about the necklace. Anya: Ah. Yes. My locket. It’s a double-sided locket. He gave me that ages ago. Gus: It was a gift. For her seventeenth birthday.  Anya: I remember that day.   Gus: That… I saw it at a shop, and they let you personalise it. I wanted to get her something nice that she could wear. So I worked three jobs that Summer. I really wanted to get it for her.  HHB: So he is “G”?  Anya: Yes, he’s most definitely “G.” *laughs* 

HHB: But I see that you also have something to remind you of Anya permanently inked on you? Gus: Yeah. I have two. But this one’s the much older one. I got it when we were eighteen? It’s the Tartosan “A” on my ring finger. It’s actually my first tattoo. I remember my mum throwing quite a fit. *laughs* Anya: I was so scared for him when he showed it to me. I mean, it was very sweet. It was very thoughtful, but I was so scared for him that he’d get in trouble for it. *laughs*

(Above: File photo: Gus has many tattoos, but one of the most prominent ones is a small letter "A" on his left ring finger.)

HHB: Speaking of mums and parents… did you ask The Queen and Prince Jacques before you popped the question? Gus: Yes. I know how much they love and value Annie, and of course, I respect The Queen and The Prince very much. 

HHB: How did it go? I mean... talking to The Queen and asking for her daughter's hand... that's gotta be quite the experience? Gus: Oh, yeah. Wow. I mean, I was very, very nervous, I’m not going to lie. Al was there, too. It was after dinner when I finally had the courage to tell them, ask them. She’d stepped out with Ingrid - who’d been helping me. Thankfully, they were very supportive and they were all very welcoming. 

HHB: And now the engagement… It’s rather short, for a royal wedding. It’s happening later this year? Anya: Yes. Later, this Autumn. It is a relatively short engagement, but thankfully, we have wonderful people helping us out, and we had a little over a month as a head start, which helped immensely. 

HHB: So the dress has been picked? The venue? Anya: Yes. There is a dress. Or well, there’s going to be a dress.. hopefully. *laughs* And we’re just sorting some things out with the venue. Other details will be made public very soon. 

HHB: Gus, you’re known to be very private and low key, but with this massive move, are you ready to become a public figure the groom to a future Queen? Gus: I know there will be changes, very big changes, but I’m very willing to learn. And I’m glad that I have Annie to help me, and of course, her Family, too. I’d love to be able to offer my help, my support to a much wider audience. I understand that the Royal Family has dedicated their life to service, and I think that’s a very wonderful and honourable way to live. 

HHB: And your family? How have they taken the news? Gus: My mum’s very happy. My sisters are, too. They were in on it, the proposal, from the very start. And of course, they know Annie from way back, and they’ve gotten to reconnect. They all love her.  Anya: They’re all been very kind to me. And I actually look forward to Gus coming home from Tartosa because his mum sends me the best homemade limoncello and pasta. The best I’ve ever had, hands down. *laughs* Gus: I just wish my dad was still around. I'm sure he'd love her, too. Anya: I would've loved to have met him, too.

HHB: So what's next for Anya and Gus? Children, perhaps? Anya: Hopefully. But we're taking it one step at a time. Gus: We've both grown up in very close families. We'd very much love to have our own family some day. But I agree, we're taking things at our own pace. Anya: For now, we're just very excited for the wedding. Gus: And spending the rest of our lives together.

HHB: Well, that sounds wonderful, and I think that's about it. Thank you very much, Your Royal Highness, Gus, for taking the time to chat with me. Anya: Thank you. Gus: Thank you very much.

The interview was done outdoors at the Palace's balcony overlooking the famous Brindleton Palace Gardens. The blooming bride-to-be wore a brand new and yet to be identified blue and white printed floral dress. Gus, meanwhile, looked handsome in his matching blue pinstripe suit.

Congratulations again to the happy and beautiful couple!

Meanwhile, we'll be keeping our eyes peeled for more royal wedding updates!

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(Sleeping Beauty AU)

*long ago in a far away land there was a Queen who ruled over the land, not long after her poor husband died, she found herself pregnant, nine months later she gave birth to a beautiful son she named Adam after her dead husband, the kingdom celebrated the birth of the baby including a neighboring kingdom with a five year old prince named Lucifer who was betrothed to the new baby, at the celebration the good fairies Sera, Emily, and Lute were going to bless the baby*

Sera: Dear Adam, I bless you with beauty and fertility, all shall love you for your grace and beauty and you shall bear the children of your Prince.

*Lucifer looked at of baby he was to one day marry and wondered how this baby was going to give him babies*

Emily: Dear Adam, I bless you with intelligence and creativity, you shall rule the kingdom fairly and your voice shall inspire many with its beauty.

*before Lute could give her blessing, to Adam, Lilith the dark fairy appeared, she was as cold as she was beautiful with her long blonde hair, flowing robes, and horns*

Lilith: Imagine my shock to find out that I wasn’t invited to this celebration.

Lute: You weren’t wanted.

Lilith: Not wanted? But I too want to give a gift to the little baby.

*little Adam cried when Lilith approached and Lucifer felt an urge to protect the baby because isn’t that what you are supposed to do when you are betrothed to someone*

Lilith: Precious Adam I too have a gift for you, you shall indeed grow in grace and beauty, you shall be loved by all who know you. But before the sun sets on your twentieth birthday you shall prick your finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die.

*hearing this made Rosie cry as she picked up her baby boy, Lilith cackled and disappeared in a burst of green flames*

Lute: I can do something.

Rosie: Can you end this terrible curse.

Lute: No, but I can change it so he doesn’t die.

*Lute walked over to the baby and she instantly liked him and knew that they would be good friends*

Lute: Dear Adam, you shall not die, but will fall into a deep sleep until you are awoken by a kiss of true love.

*Lute reached over and the little baby clutched her hand and smiled at her*

All of the spinning wheels in the land were burned and banned in the Kingdom of Eden. Rosie couldn't risk anything happening to her only son.

But as long as he was here that threat would forever last.

Rosie: Please, take him away from here until his 20th birthday. It pains me, but it would pain me more if anything happened to him.

Lucifer watched as the good fairies were given the baby prince. Would he see him again?

As if reading his mind, Sera the fairy holding Adam came over to him and showed him the young prince.

Sera: This isn't goodbye you will see him again one day dear.

Lucifer took Adams tiny hand and kissed it. Everyone awwed at the sight.

Sera, Emily and Lute took Adam to live in a cabin in the woods surrounded by a beautiful garden.

Lute: This should be easy with magic.

Sera: Nope. No magic.

Emily and Lute: What!?

Sera changed them all into looking like three regular women. The story they would tell him was they found him as a baby and they took him in.

- 19 Years Later -

Adam stretched and yawned as he got out of bed. His 20th birthday was this week and he couldn't be more excited.

He went downstairs.

Adam: Good morning moms.

[soliblomst]

A Very Drarry Christmas

or what are my various drarries doing for the holidays?

Thank you @smehur for the tag 🎄🎄 - The Boy from the Piano Shop "Thundering heartbeats. The creaking of the piano chair, the friction of fabric, a breath, and a kiss. Quick, sudden, almost stolen like a thief—a bad thief, for he had left evidence on Harry's lips that would last forever. Harry wished Malfoy had asked before kissing him, but he was so glad he hadn't. It sent fire through his bones and brought every part of his wounded soul to life—perhaps too much so, because, for a second, he thought his heart would explode. It was like a concentration of all sorts of emotions at once: fear, guilt, and shame, but also excitement and a singular sense of sadness drowned in extreme joy. That strange feeling of thinking it was wrong but not regretting it.

"I'm sorry," Malfoy stammered.

"Don't."

That was all that came out of Harry's mouth. They sat there for a moment, barely breathing.

"Um, maybe I should go," Harry eventually faltered.

He staggered to his feet, a sort of numbness spreading through his limbs as he moved towards the front door. At the doorstep, Harry stopped and turned, Malfoy following a few steps behind him.

"Happy Christmas, Draco."

Silence.

"Merry Christmas, Harry.” - When We Were Angels: After the age of five, the guardians no longer gave presents for Christmas or birthdays but encouraged the children to handcraft something special for one another. This could be a drawing, a poem, a painting done in class, or any other creative gift. Unsurprisingly, Draco never received anything from the other children, nor did he bother to make any gifts himself. Then, over the years, he developed the habit of drawing something for Harry and would beg Harry not to reciprocate. Instead, Harry opted to give him a compliment. Over time, as they learned to write, Harry replaced these compliments with little poems clumsily written on scraps of paper. His poems were objectively bad, sometimes even illegible due to Harry’s terrible handwriting and spelling mistakes. And, although they made him laugh a lot, Draco kept them all in the drawer of his bedside table, like treasures he would hold dear forever. - Je te reverrai: The air around him harbours a smell of skin, his skin. Honey and cinnamon and lust, and Harry says softly, “Embrasse moi.” 

It doesn’t take much French to understand what Harry has just said. Yet Draco wants to hear him say it again. So he asks, “What?”

“Embrasse-moi,” Harry repeats, leaning closer until their breaths mingle.

“Say it again?”

Harry’s grin against his lips sends an overwhelming rush of excitement from his throat down to his fully erect cock. Draco opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue and inviting himself into his delicious smile. For the first time, he leads the dance. His fingers nestle around Harry’s neck, tickled by unruly curls, and Harry responds with a similar enthusiasm. They kiss, moan, and devour each other’s faces as their hands travel up and down their slowly warming skin. Holding the back of Draco’s head with one hand, the other too busy cupping his buttocks, Harry leads him to the bed and gently pushes him so that he’s perched on the edge of the mattress, his cold arse meeting the delicate silk of the sheets. Arms outstretched to support his weight, Draco finally takes the time to study the body looming over him. He admires every line, every ripple of muscle and flesh, and Harry waits motionless, panting and staring at the naked young man sitting on his bed. The tidal wave of concupiscence within Draco grows stronger, faster, to the point where it becomes almost painful.  I tag @pl0tty @thecouchsofa @tripably 💕 No pressure!

[xxfaithlynxx]

Promenades and Imaginations

Pirate!Sylus x OC!Aria Harglow

Mentioned: Zayne, Philip and 'Blonde' Xavier.

Ice Dance- Ashton Gleckman (Edward Scissorhands)

ENJOY the next installment!

NOT PROOFREAD!

Please DON'T steal or plagiarize my work. Much appreciated! As always. ~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2:

“You know, brother. One could misconstrue your insistence of being present during my bath as less than gentlemanly. I am a grown woman now.” I sat idly inside the deep copper bathtub, water and suds covering up to the upper quadrant of my shoulders.

“Poppycock, woman or not, you are still and forever will be my baby sister! And I can’t stand idly by while you waste your time galivanting about like you have nary a care in the world. You need a marriage match, Ari.” I dunked myself beneath the surface of the water, exhaling through my nose, letting the bubble smack the surface, some popping while others decided to stay, occupied with my breath, my lifeforce.

Closing my eyes, I could still hear the lilt of his voice, but the clarity was no longer pure. Garbled it was now, and drifting I was. My mind wandered back to that terrace, and that voice, and its hidden owner. Had quickly such a voice had been memorized within my mind, within my very nerves. I was sure… as much as I would have loved to put a face to it, without it, I could pick that voice out within a crowd and find my way to its owner.

“The darkness is no place for a dove.” Dove… he thought me a dove. Honestly, I should take that as a compliment, but they way he’d said it… made it seem like it wasn’t. Doves were beautiful birds, aviaries used them for passing along messages, used them for navigation and they bird itself was durable and had the ability to fly long distances. Something I couldn’t do…. Biblically, it’d been used as a messenger from one of the Gods, to show that the flood waters had receded. Not that I held any faith in such a thing, all of that seemed like a load of hogwash to me, but who’s the say. Opening my eyes from beneath the water again, I released the last of the air from my lungs, before curving my fingers up and over the edge to pull myself upright once again. Pinching the water away from my eyes.

“Ari, were you even listening to me?” I’d shoved my littlest fingers into my ear canals to clear them of water, only hearing Caleb speaking once the appendages had been pulled free.

“Yes, Caleb…” I lied, but then thought better of it, “Well, no not really. What did you say?”

“Father condones that of a love match, but things with the north and the south have been heating up as of late, and we need to rectify allegiances sooner, rather than later. So, we must consider some form of arrangement.” He paused, sighed and continued, “Did either the Viscount or the Baron catch your eye?”

“Caleb, those boys are like my own brothers, I could never see them as marriage material. I thought you perused the guest list, several times if I’m not mistaken, so why just invite them?”

I heard him release a rushed breath, a heavy sigh, “I did invite several other titled Lords of the realm, but none seemed to take an interest in you, for that I do apologize to you, dear sister. Why they even accepted the invitations leaves their allegiance to father something to be desired.”

“As sad as it is to admit, brother… you have no one to blame but yourself.” I lifted a leg from beneath the water, hoisting it above the surface just to run a sponge over my glistening skin, making sure to clean between my toes as I went, “You barely let the men who arrived anywhere near me, the only two you allowed me to dance with were the Baron and the Viscount. How else would you think the others would react to being first invited, only to be rejected by none-other than the invitee.” Repeating the action with my other leg, I could only hear silence from the other side of the black room partition divider. “I apologize, I did not mean to offend.”

“No, no. You need not worry, dear sister. You… are correct. I should’ve been less diligent in my, what do you call it? My mother-hen tendencies. By your leave, I hope you have a good night.” I could imagine him bowing his head, always the dutiful gentleman, before leaving the room. Sighing, I hoisted myself out of the bath, and with one hand resting along the edge of the tub again, I stretched to fetch the towel hanging from one of the metal stands. Damnit, Jen… why’d you move it so far away. Finally, I managed to pinch the plush fabric between two knuckles and pulled it quickly towards me.

I squeaked in a throw of panic as I felt my feet slip an inch over the bottom of the tub before catching myself. Sleep sounds nice right about now….

Drying myself quickly, I donned the silk scarlet robe that hung over that same partition wall and wandered into my room, toweling the mess that was my hair now that it was unbraided and free of all the ornaments and gems. Again, my mind couldn’t help but wander back to the little event that had imbued itself in my mind like a brand. The warmth, and jest of his words… but the underlying sadness that seemed attached to the man himself, not just his voice. How could I know that? I hadn’t even seen him… how would I know with just a few cryptic words?

“Miss, I’ve turned down the covers for you, be wary of the warming pan. I’ll be back to remove it later.” Yvonne, Jenna’s daughter and my other lady’s maid, said near the door to my room.

I nodded at her, showing a light smile, “Have a pleasant night, Nonny.” A nickname I’d adopted from her mother when she’d been employed. She preferred the use of her full name, but the monicker had stuck and she never complained about it. She smiled kindly at me before exiting the room, shutting the large wooden door silently behind her.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I braced my hands on the edges the mattress, hair towel forgotten where’d I’d absentmindedly draped it over a hanger near the fireplace to dry while lost in my thoughts. Who was the owner to that voice?

“Why do I need to know…?” I whispered to no one in particular. I could feel my eyes glazing over as my imagination ran rampant, picturing a face and body to match the voice. I was entirely sure the man I pictured would not be anywhere close to the likeness of the actual man, but… a girl could dream.

A vibrant image of a tall, handsome man with dark hair and hard eyes appeared in my mind. A narrow, but straight nose sitting between heavily lashed brown eyes, plush lips in the shade of soft pink blossoms. Broad shoulders, and long arms, leading down to soft but large hands. A wide chest and narrow waist, long but muscles legs. Clothed in the darkness, black shades of velvet and satin for his cloak and overcoat. Shined to perfection shoes and burgundy gloves.

Opening my eyes, I couldn’t help the tinge of blush that rushed into my cheeks and ears. I’d never willingly imagined the visage of a man before, and as dressed as my mind had made him, there was a small part of me that desired to remove those clothes. No… let’s not go that far. Striking up the image of the persona who I thought belonged to that voice was bad enough, let’s not wander down lecherous trails.

“If he even remotely falls under any of the categories, I’m imagining… he would be the ideal man, wouldn’t he.” Why was I talking to myself…. Oh great, I must be getting old. I recounted a time several years ago when I caught Caleb having a conversation with himself in his study. He’d been twenty-two at the time. I shuddered at the thought.

I slipped under the covers of my bed, pulled them up to cover my shoulder and turned to face the window where the remaining moonlight cast soft beams through the sheer royal purple curtains, beyond stood the stone rail of my personal balcony, it was lit up from the moonlight, and just as my eyes began to drift shut, I could’ve swore I saw a massive black bird hop along the railing, a bright red eye flicking in my direction.

~~~

My little rendezvous with the mysterious voice remained my very own secret as the days moved on, but I found myself looking for the image I’d conjured up, looking for a man whom I had no actual idea for how he looked like.

“Ari, are you even listening to meee?” My attention snapped back to Tara in that moment, my eyes had been scanning through the throngs of meandering folks promenading through the court’s gardens. I gave her a weak smile in apology before she started in on another scandal she’d heard from one of her lady’s maids. I tried to focus, I really did… but my mind was drifting. Between the dreams of that bird, the voice, and picturing an entire scene between him and I. Of course, my own imagination running rampant to fill in the blanks, the biggest of which was what the man looked like.

“… so, I suppose now she would be with child, no?” My eyes snapped back to Tara, having missed the entirety of her conversation once again. She looked hurt, but also curious. “Darling, you have been downright spacey all day, what is going on in that mind of yours?”

I smirked, always the observant one. Should I tell her? Of course. “The other night… at the coming-of-age ball… I met someone.” I glanced around for listening ears as I said the last three words. Thankfully Nonny and Tara’s maid were walking several paces behind us, giving us our privacy. I watched as her eyes blew wide and a broad grin stretched her puffy cheeks.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me!” She all but squealed, I patted the hand she’d left curled around my arm and smiled at her, another blush running up into my face.

We were coming up to my mother’s willow tree now and I dragged Tara to the base before casually taking a seat, my skirts draping around me like a fan. Tara followed suit and clasped my hands with her own. My eyes fixed on the little white lace gloves she wore for a moment before I took a deep breath and explained.

“It wasn’t exactly… a true meet.” That caught her attention tenfold, “right after you cajoled my brother into conversation, allowing me to escape… I went to the south terrace for some air.” I directed my gaze upward, seeing the underside of the same terrace above, “Only, I guess I hadn’t been alone.” I left out the bit about my crying, “He hid himself amongst the willow bows, I never saw his face, but he spoke to me.”

“What did he say?” She asked, completely enthralled with my Romeo and Juliet style fairy tale. She was an even bigger romantic than I was… than most girls our age who knew nothing different but expected entirely opposite results as we’d been told since childhood.

“Honestly, not much.” I looked down at my hands, thumbs twiddling together, the friction of my own lace gloves roughing up the edges of my fingernails. A small smile pulled my cheeks upward, “He called me a dove.” Not the entire truth, but he did.

I could feel Tara staring at me, “How romantic!” She reached out and gripped my hands between hers again. “What was his voice like?” She was breezing right over the fact that a strange man had basically cornered me on the terrace, I could’ve been scandalized- her favorite topic.

Yet another blush rushed up into my face, “It was….” I had no words. How does one describe a voice such as his? “Confident and relaxed but also seemed to hold a sliver of sadness to it.”

“Honey, that’s not what I meant… but I am surprised you picked up on those without seeing his face. What I was getting at was pitch.” I looked up at her, I was surprised as well.

“I suppose you could say gravelly and low. A baritone, with a rough timbre.” My brows pulled together as the image I’d come up with of what I assumed he looked like appeared behind my minds eye.

“Do you think you could pick it out if you heard it again?” She asked me, reaching up to brush a willow leaf from the braid that wrapped around my head.

I looked her directly in the eyes, allowing the gleam within my own to shine through, “Without a doubt.”

~~~

Tara and I had made it our mission to try and seek out groups of men throughout the promenade, and through town while we did our minor ribbon, bow and jewel shopping. Trying to hear the voices within the groups, attempting to search for this mysterious voice I’d heard.

At one point, I’d come close, or I thought I did, to finding the man. He was handsome, big green eyes that smiled down at you from his much taller vantagepoint, dark hair that draped over his eyes, although being a whopping five-foot-two made everyone around me seem giant. I’d focused on his looks versus his voice and had run right up to him on a whim, latching on to his arm. I’d been so embarrassed when I remembered that it wasn’t an actual man we were searching for, but the voice of one.

Tara and I were sat at one of the nearby cafés, a small bowl of sparkly apricot sorbet sat before us, delicate silver spoons sticking out of each edge. Apricots were a specialty here… My family had hundreds of massive orchards amongst the mountains around our land, that was another way our family to maintained wealth, not to mention the apricots we grew were one of a kind. An ancestor had managed to create a strain of fruit that sparkled upon being bitten. From then on, people deemed our orchards that of the sparkling Harglow.

“I don’t know what came over me, Tara.” I was bent over in my seat, in a very unladylike position with my face in my hands. “I saw that man and just lost control. Argh. I am such a fool.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Ari. He didn’t seem all that insulted by the fact that a beautiful young lady had thrown herself at him.” She giggled, which made me feel even more embarrassed. “Besides, he was quite gorgeous.” She snapped her fan open and waved it at herself, that shit eating grin in place, making me smile back and sit straight again. “Now, shall we enjoy the sorbet before it melts?”

“Yes, we shall.” I responded, pinching that tiny spoon betwixt two fingers and digging into the fruity dessert. We giggled and talked our usual gossip before mingling for a while longer just to try and listen in to the surrounding conversations.

It was only after the sun had dipped low in the sky did, I heave a soft sigh and shake my head forlornly. Was I ever going to find the source of that voice?

We were just standing to return to the castle when someone behind me spoke a single word, and I froze. “…like a dove.” That same timbre, the same gravelly edge, that confident brusque and relaxed tone. Tara saw me freeze in place and was already darting her eyes around. I snapped up once my shock had dissipated some and looked around. How do you find the owner of the voice when there were so many bodies already moving their mouths!

“A dove, you say?” Another voice said, a softer pitch, slightly higher in tone. I scanned every man I could see, looking to watch they way their mouths moved. I saw the tall dark-haired man with green eyes that I’d latched on to earlier, he was stood beside a taller man, looking at him. His back faced me, a tall hat sat atop his head, a long black cloak flowed down off his shoulders, stopping mid calf, to reveal shiny black shoes and black pleated trouser cuffs. The two of them were walking away from us, toward the pier, but the way that one word was spoke… that had to have been him!

“Tara….” My eyes were fixed on the back of this man, memorizing the cut of his shoulders, the way he walked. Even slightly hidden from his cloak, everything I could see my mind memorized. She came up beside me and wrapped one of her arms through mine, following my gaze. The two men were beginning to disappear down a hill that led to the docks.

“Was that him, do you suppose?” She whispered to me, but I couldn’t find my voice. My nerves were rattling with heat and recognition. It was him.

~~~

That night, I was pacing in my room. Okay, so I saw him… sort of. I saw his back. Wait, had he been standing with the dark-haired man when I latched on to his arm?! No… he’d been talking to a shorter… blonde man. With a groan of frustration, I threw myself on to my bed, burrowing my face into one of the lavender down pillows and screamed into it, feeling the resolute vibrations move from within my chest into the pillow, the warmth of my breath heating the fabric around my cheeks.

“Miss? Are you alright?” I peaked an eye to look towards my door, Yvonne had poked her head in, fingers gripping the edge of the door.

“Yes, Nonny… I’m fine, thank you for checking on me.” I pushed myself to kneeling on the bed, as I gave her an authentic, but soft smile to reassure her.

“Oh, good, miss. I was worried! Um… Master Harglow has requested your presence in his study.” Her soft voice betrayed her nerves. Caleb rarely summoned me, and when he did… it was usually to do with some near scandal that I may or may not have been involved in. Oh boy….

“Thank you, Nonny. Please let him know I’ll be right down.”

As I swept into Caleb’s study like a princess, albeit, clothed in my night gown and a robe, looking nothing the sort, I curtsied and lowered my head. “You summoned me, brother of mine?” Lifting my head, I came face to face with an angry looking Caleb. He looked like a puppy that was denied a treat!

“Dear sister, do tell me how your promenade was this afternoon.”

I blinked, what why? “It was fine, Tara and I roamed the gardens, we sat beneath mother’s willow and even enjoyed some sorbet at that cute café down by the docks! I even managed to find some ribbons that matched my color pallet! Truly, a splendid affair.” I tossed him a fake smile, only to find him with steepled fingers, white knuckles and a glare to end all. Yup, he saw right through that.

“Would you care to explain why gossip monger extraordinaire, Madam Burke, saw you dangling off the arm of a gentleman today?” Shit… Burke had the biggest mouth amongst the gaggle of women who took every ounce of information gathered and spread it around, no matter the consequences.

“It was a misunderstanding, Caleb. I swear, nothing untoward happened, I thought I recognized him, that was all. I apologized immediately after.”

“Did you see him at the ball? What do you mean you recognized him?”

Rock and a hard place… “I thought I might have, but I was mistaken.” I tried to keep it simple, less directing but with how Caleb was glaring at me, I knew I was in shit. It was always the same when I got called in here, it was never for anything good. No praises, no good news. Always bad, always the sour end of the blame.

“Fine. Just… make sure you look next time, please.” He looked down to the papers on his desk again, retrieving a quill from its stand before pausing with it above the paper, his head tipped up, his eyes meeting mine. “You may go.” I stuck out my tongue at him. Fumbler fop. Dismissing me like I’m a servant. Even I wouldn’t be so cold. I sighed as I exited the room, leaning against the solid surface of the door. He must be very cross with me to act in such a way. Silver lining, at least he said please.

I decided to head back to my rooms and met my father along the way. A loose fitted sleep shirt hung off his shoulders, a red velvet robe with black dressings hung atop. He smiled at me before he tied the belt around his waist. “My girl, what are you doing up at this hour? Should you not be dreaming by now?”

“Caleb summoned me.” He bit his lip and nodded, reaching out a hand. I took it and he curled it around his arm as he led me up the stairs to the living quarters.

“With you of age, he has had to pick up a great number of new dealings. He informed me of an incident this afternoon, I did try to admonish the situation as best I could, but he would not hear head nor tail of it.” I was cowed by my father’s words and stared off at the carpet as we walked. I felt his eyes slide to me once we were outside of my bedroom, he turned me to face him fully and held his hands over my shoulders, “He loves you, dearly, my little melody. Do not let one little thing ruin a vast lifetimes worth of experiences. It is simply a bad day, nothing more.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of my head.

“I love you, father.” I whispered before wrapping my arms around his frail frame. Pressing my cheek against his chest, feeling and hearing the thrum of his strong heartbeat against my ear. He hummed as he hugged me in return, I hadn’t realized just how much today had gotten to me, not until now, being enveloped within the arms of my aging father.

“No more tears, my girl.” He leaned back and held me at arms length, before raising a single hand to grip my chin between forefinger and thumb, “Keep that chin up, darling. Everyday is a gift, treat it as such.” I smiled up at him and sniffed as he let me go and walked on down the hallway toward his chambers. I watched him go, folding away his words into the bank of information in my mind of things he’s ever told me.

Ever the wise old Duke. I smiled softly, before pushing open my bedroom door and stepping beyond the threshold into the dimly lit room.  I wasn’t sure who it was, be it Nonny or Jen, but they’d lit the hearth, the soft snaps of the thin logs drawing my attention as I stopped in the center. My head is always in the clouds… and it almost ruined me and my family today. That’s what rumors did, what gossip was. I needed to do better.

Once I’d calmed down before the fire enough to feel that familiar pull of the sand man at the corners of my eyes, I drifted into my bed like a ghost and laid down, pulling the covers to my shoulders. Rolling over on to my left, I bent my arms to grip the corner of the pillow beneath my cheek and stared out the window. The curtains had been pulled away from the doors, allowing a clearer view of the night to be seen. I could see the stars and their vast constellations, shapes and tales behind each one.

“Maybe I should just give up….” I wasn’t sure what I was giving up on, my dreams? My search? My one wish? My body, too tired to unwrap the thought, took it upon itself to slip into a daze of sleep and wakefulness. Just as the haze of sleep drooped my eyelids, I swore I saw that black bird hopping along the stone rail of my balcony once again, the beady red eye staring right at me.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but I could hear the silence of my room, if that made any sense. I could hear the rustling of the blankets as I moved, the soft subtle pops of the remaining coals in the hearth, my own breathing and the heartbeat that thumped away in my ears. What had woken me?

My eyes pried apart; the image of my room came into view through my lashes. My end table, with its small candle and its base, long since melted down. The book I’d been reading sat besides, the dried red datura flower bookmark placed between its pages. Beyond stood my small bookcase, lined with books and novels about fantasy and worlds unparalleled. Rolling, I faced the balcony again. Weren’t those doors shut?

“Sleep now, little dove.” My eyes fluttered shut at the sound of his voice, so soft, so melodic and gruff in its tone, as I swore, I felt the backs of fingers trace the curve of my cheek. I had to be dreaming, had my imagination gone so far? “You will see that horizon soon enough….”

Wishful thinking, even for me. Why would my mind conjure something so alluring? So asinine. Of course I wouldn’t see beyond what I was shackled to. Impossible…. The feel of another brush of fingers across my cheek drew my sleep addled mind back to its depths. Vibrant images of forests, animals, and adventure flashed behind my lids, causing my eyes to whip from side to side as I tried to grasp them all, experience them firsthand as the dream regaled me with the possibilities.

~~~

He watched, seated beside her on the bed, as her eyelids drifted shut and almost immediately started their rem cycle, flipping back and forth. Those eyes, the very ones that had stolen his breath up on that terrace. The eyes that looked out to the horizon, much the same way he did.

He canted his head, looking down at this young girl, with the vastness of the universe locked within her galaxy blue orbs. Crying for freedom. For something she couldn’t have. What am I doing…? He asked himself as he reached up to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear.

He’d been mesmerized from the moment he’d seen her that night. Something about her… reminded him of himself. A need for freedom, and desire for adventure. Not to mention she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Hair that rivaled his own, a mouth as succulent as a rose. Cheeks that never quite gave up the pink hue of a blush. A slender neck and soft shoulders. He’d been drawn to her that night but had shooed her away instead. He’d seen the hurt in her eyes when he’d called her a dove, although, he’d meant it as a compliment. What she’d said to him had solidified his desire for her.

“Even a dove has more freedom to roam the darkness than I do.” He’d wanted nothing more than to protect her from that moment on, from the future that had been planned for her. Had been chosen for her. He despised society in its cruel banality. Always the same, wherever he went, never changing. Females by any title weren’t given the right to think, to choose, to want. Seen, not heard. Simply put, they were to bare children and nothing more. Continue the bloodline no matter what.

Where he was from, he’d made sure that people of every sex, race, and nationality were respected and accepted. An ongoing revolution.

When he’d seen her sitting outside that café, he’d nearly gone to her, but he’d stopped. Only to watch her run up to one of his men, Zayne, his doctor and cook, and latch on to his arm. Something inside of him had nearly snapped the man’s head off, a jealousy that surged through him like he’d never known before.

He’d been watching her for days now, even having his shoulder pet, Mephisto silently watching over you as well each night. He’d made sure to stay just far enough away, for he knew if she’d hear his voice, she’d come running. He’d seen it in her eyes. So, he simply watched, watched her mannerisms, the way she spoke, the way she carried herself and spoke to others. She never treated her lady’s maids poorly, she treated them like they were humans, not items. The few friends she had, she seemed to trust the smaller brown-haired girl the most, even having her join in on her little quest to search him out.

He chuckled in the dim lighting of her room, eyes drifting over her possessions. Minimal frivolous items that many ladies of her age would tote or flaunt. No… her room was far more mature than she seemed to let on. Opposite her bed stood a bookshelf, full to bursting with more books than he’d seen in some time. Not since he’d been home. He noticed that night at the party that she’d worn a vibrant dress of red, black and silver. A striking match to the outfit he’d chosen to wear.

I’d been invited to the soiree, but wasn’t given a chance to interact with the girl… was the boy who’d managed the event a family member? He had to be, older brother maybe? He stood, and faced the girl in the bed, eyes roaming over her face for the hundredth time. The way her lashes brushed her high cheeks made his lips part in wonder. She’s truly beautiful…. At first, after seeing her, he’d chocked it up to having been out to sea for too long, figuring that any female would seem as enchanting as she was, but he’d been wrong.

Philip had taken him to a brothel near the docks after he’d returned to the ship, out of sorts after his encounter, and the boisterous women held no salt to the young lady he’d met earlier that evening. What’s wrong with me…. He was known as the Serpent Emperor. Swashbuckling rogue of the Aetherium seas. His land dwelled where folklore had dubbed sea serpents lived, and he had no problem with that little fairytale, it kept the wrong people away, and the right people nearby. A typically hard mannered man, ready to fight at any given moment… and yet, had been rendered a mushy puddle of feelings and protectiveness by a single insignificant chat with the princess of the region.

By no counts had anyone successfully tame the man prior, not for lack of trying. Many a woman and some men had tried and failed. So why now… why had he fallen victim to the beauty of this little female? He crouched down beside her bed, leaning to press his nose to her hair, silently breathing her in. Apricots, honeysuckle, amber spice and the smell of the ocean wafted into his senses, molding to his memory, into the very fibre of his being.

“You… are my next horizon, my little dove.” Was all he found himself able to whisper, before he drew back, stood and strode to the balcony she always looked to, every night, with a single glance over his shoulder, he stepped up and on to the railing, and dropped over the edge.

~~~

[javier-pena]

closure

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 11.1k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Marcus, Din and you used to be best friends. Now you're on opposite sides of the law with a decade worth of grudges between you. But hate can quickly become something else ...

Warnings: angst | canon-typical violence | mentions of food and alcohol and smoking | they’re all mean to each other and they have a difficult relationship | (a lot of) dirty talk (by my standards) | slight power imbalance | reader has hair that can be grabbed | threesome m/f/(m) (kinda) | ecouteurism | voyeurism | exhibitionism | a bit of edging | fingering | competitiveness | (unprotected) piv sex | creampie | a tiny, tiny bit of degradation

Notes: "A friends -> enemies -> throuple vibe with cowboy!Din Djarin, cowboy!Marcus Pike, and a third person" was what @quinnnfabrgay-writes wished for for @pedrostories' Secret Santa event and i took it and ran with it for 11k words ... dear, Kaitlin, I hope I got it right and you'll have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. As always, this story wouldn't be what it is without Dani @alexturner who calmed me down when I was still far far away from completing this fic two weeks before the deadline!

***

1866/67

You were all together and it was perfect. Until you weren’t anymore, and you lost your anchor in life, your true north. Oaths given and promises made didn’t mean anything when you were not yet grown but already too old to believe in miracles.

The day Marcus told you and Din he was moving away was the day you made the acquaintance of grief. The childish part of you had thought the three of you would stay together forever, just like you had promised each other last summer lying in the grass by the river. Wherever life would take one of you, the others would follow. But you were barely 13 and couldn’t decide your own fate yet. So when winter came around and the grass died and the river froze over, the promises of the summer had to be broken too.

Marcus just dropped the news while the three of you were out hunting – or pretending to – in the forest behind town. He couldn’t even look at you when he said it. And he didn’t go after Din when Din stormed off, leaving you to listen to Marcus’ excuses. The only thing you thought would be the one constant in your life ran like dirt through your fingers that afternoon. A few weeks later, you saw Marcus for the last time, astride a horse next to his father, leaving town without looking back. With him left a part of your childish innocence.

The grown-up part of you understood. Marcus was a boy, he had to go where his father commanded his family to go. And his father had just been promoted to sheriff – in a town two states away. Of course, Marcus had to go with him, but you still resented him for it. Why couldn’t he stand up to his father and stay? Maybe find work on the same ranch as Din? Din, after all, was your age too, and an orphan, and was doing well by himself. If Din could be self-reliant, why not Marcus?

At least you still had Din and he had you. You tried to keep your friendship alive, visited him on the ranch, invited him to town, sent him gifts when you yourself had less than nothing, just to see him smile. It wasn’t enough. You weren’t enough. And when the snow disappeared under the warm spring sun, Din disappeared too, without a word, without a trace. One day he was there and the next he wasn’t. That taught you there was a grief worse than your best friend telling you he was moving away. It was your best friend deeming you not important enough for a goodbye.

When the next summer came around, it was only you who was lying in the grass by the river. Your big, childish eyes that had hungrily taken in the wonders around you were narrowed, your heart that had been wide open to the people around you was firmly locked. Neither Din nor Marcus had contacted you in the months since they had left and now you knew – relying on someone else only meant pain and heartbreak. Trusting someone else with a piece of yourself would only leave you lying in the dirt, bloodied and bruised.

That afternoon, you made a promise to yourself: you would never need another person again. You would never give away a piece of yourself again. You would protect yourself at all costs, even if it meant cutting yourself off from the rest of the world. Whatever happened, you would never experience grief like this ever again.

1879

Your arms are stiff and painful when you wake up. The bonds tying your wrists together haven’t loosened at all during the night. You groan and your bottom lip tears open – you’re parched, you’re tired, you’re in pain.

“Mornin’,” Marcus says, stoking the fire with a stick.

Without a word, you roll over onto your other side, so you’re facing away from him. You hear his sure steps, spurs jingling every time his boots land on the cold, hard dirt, and then he rolls you back toward him with a gentle touch to your shoulder. Before you can protest, he pressed the nozzle of a waterskin to your lips and makes you drink. You collect some of the water in your mouth, then spit it right back in his face. He wipes himself dry with a neutral expression, then retreats to the fire, picking up where he left off.

“I’m just tryin’ to be kind,” he mumbles, as if he’s trying to reassure himself he’s doing the right thing. You pretend you haven’t heard him.

His horse whinnies softly when the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts across your camp. Your stomach growls as you’re trying to figure out when you had your last meal. Yesterday morning, you conclude, before Marcus Pike forced himself back into your life, polished boots on his feet and a gleaming star on his chest, heavy shackles in his hand and a loaded gun strapped to his side. That wanted poster stuffed into his back pocket was all the authorization he needed to arrest you, and you let him, because his reappearance after twelve years of absence made you freeze like prey. The only people who could have saved you, Burke and Bridger and the other members of your gang, were too far away to do anything about your arrest.

“You hungry?” he asks from his crouching position next to the fire. “There’s still some beans left over from last night.” The beans you refused to eat. “I could warm them up for you.”

You pretend you haven’t heard him, focusing on an ant scurrying across dried grass and tiny pebbles. He doesn’t get to talk to you, much less cook.

“You’re gonna have to talk to me eventually,” he adds, his voice melodic and clear in the cold morning air.

You don’t, because you don’t owe him anything, and after two more attempts he gives up. Even though your stomach is empty, growling hungrily, it’s also filled with the warmth of pride as you ride next to him later, hands bound to the horn of the saddle. All you have to do is to stay strong until you reach your destination, some jail or other in a dirty town. He’ll never find out that you know who he is if you play your cards right. Let the doubt and prospect eat away at his heart.

“You’ve changed,” he observes some time around midday, as you ride next to each other on a well-worn path over the plains. “When we were kids, you could never shut up.”

You pretend to be interested in the flight of a northern harrier high up in the sky, acting as if you didn’t hear him.

“I always expected you to make a good match or open up a tailor shop,” Marcus goes on, seizing you up from below the brim of his white hat that is too bright in the midday sun. “I never expected this of you.”

His comment gets to you, worming its way under your skin like a splinter ready to infect you with a fever. You bite the inside of your cheek so you don’t shoot him a snide remark. He doesn’t get to hurt you, not again.

“What’s done is done,” he says next, and his horse shakes its head with a snort as if its’ agreeing. “Maybe a few years in prison will clear your head and set you straight.”

The splinter is infected now; it happened much faster than you had expected. The infection spreads to your stomach, making it bubble with acid, it spreads to your cheeks, sets them on fire with anger and shame. You dig your nails into the leather of the saddle and fill your lungs with air, ready to scream all the ugly things at him that you’ve contained for more than a decade. But before you can form a single syllable, the distant roll of thunder interrupts you, the distant pounding of hooves on dirt.

Marcus hears it too, and his hand instinctively flies to the colt strapped to his side. He glances around, eyes narrowed against the sun, but you spot it before he does – a tall rider on a gray horse, so darkly colored it looks black, rushing toward you as if hellhounds are after him, their fangs bared. You don’t know what to make of that sight, but you’re acutely aware of your defenselessness. If he means you harm, you’ll be completely at his mercy. Marcus seems to be thinking the same thing as he glances over at you, but you make a point of facing the approaching rider, your face blank. You don’t want his concern, especially not since it’s his fault you’re in this situation.

The gray horse comes to an abrupt stop a few yards away from you. Its rider is wearing a hat that matches the color of its coat, and his face is hidden by a dark bandanna tied across his mouth and nose and cheeks, so only his brown eyes are visible. Where one hand holds onto the reins of his horse, the other holds a shotgun, propped against his hip so the barrel points up to the sky.

“She’s mine, Pike,” he growls, even before the dust has settled.

“Now, hold your horses,” Marcus says, sizing up the newcomer. “I am an agent of the law, deliverin’ this here prisoner –”

“– into my hands,” the stranger finishes, now aiming the barrel of the shotgun straight at Marcus’ chest.

Your gaze wanders between the two, trying to figure out who is the lesser evil.

“Careful.” Marcus’ voice is steady, but his hand that he lifts instinctively in front of his chest is shaking. His other hand, however, cocks the hammer of his colt in one smooth, practiced motion.

“Don’t be a hero.” The stranger flicks his gun to Marcus’ side, then back onto his chest. “You’ll lose.”

You don’t know what it is, if it’s the way he tilts his head or if it’s the way he pronounces his Ls, with a slight lilt to his voice, but suddenly that stranger isn’t a stranger at all.

“Din?” you gasp, and Marcus’ head snaps to you so fast you hear his neck crack.

Din’s eyes don’t even flicker to you. “Move back, Pike,” he orders.

Your head is spinning. If this is really Din, and you’ve never been surer of anything in your life, then you’re saved. You have no idea what you’ve done to deserve this much luck, but you’re not about to look the gift horse in the mouth. And even though both he and Marcus broke your heart twelve years ago, you can already feel it stitch itself back together inside your chest at the sight before you.

“Move back,” Din repeats. “That bounty is mine.”

The carefully placed stitches tear open again and you bleed. He doesn’t know who you are, or he doesn’t care; all he wants is the money. With every stitch that comes undone and every drop of blood you bleed, your heart turns back into a stone that sits heavy inside your chest.

“I’m not movin’ for you.” Marcus spits down into the dirt and for a moment you’re distracted from your pain by that crude action. “Bounty hunter scum.”

A shot rings out as Din fires at Marcus, shooting the hat off his opponent’s head. Marcus’ horse spooks, rears with a loud shriek, and Marcus, who is caught unawares, tumbles down and hits the ground with a heavy thud and a grunt. He’s back on his feet in no time, his body unhurt, his damaged pride only visible by the flush that creeps into his cheeks. You want to shout when he rushes toward Din’s horse, but it all happens so fast, and then Din hits the ground too, pulled out of the saddle, his shotgun discarded somewhere in the dirt.

Marcus hits Din, and you hear a sickening crack when his fist connects with Din’s jaw. He does it again, one hand holding onto the collar of Din’s shirt. But then Din frees himself with a shove, and Marcus stumbles before he hits the ground again when Din returns his punches. Din climbs on top of him, pinning down Marcus’ arms with his knees, and hits him again, cracking open Marcus’ cheek. Marcus grunts in pain and kicks his legs, trying to free himself, but Din appears to be much stronger. He punches and punches with such precision that watching him becomes almost hypnotic until you can’t take it anymore.

“Din!” you shout, and when he doesn’t stop, you kick your horse and steer it next to the two men. “Din!” you repeat, and he looks up at you, not even a glint of recognition in his eyes. His bandanna hangs askew, but is still covering most of his face. You wonder what he looks like now. “Leave him!” you order, your voice laced with all the hurt you’ve buried for twelve years.

Marcus, his suit dusty and his face bruised, is laughing, and when Din offers him a hand to pull him up, he pulls Din into a tight hug that Din returns with just as much enthusiasm. You can do nothing but stare, feeling dumb.

Once they break apart, Marcus remarks, “You’re strong,” and rubs his chin.

“You too,” Din returns the compliment, patting Marcus’ shoulder.

They have forgotten you’re there. You shrink back in on yourself, hating yourself for wishing they’d just give you one small sign of recognition.

“About her …,” Din starts as if you’re not even there.

“Let’s share the bounty,” Marcus offers without hesitation. “It’s so much money.”

“But you caught her.”

Marcus laughs, and you’re transported back to those long summer days by the river. “And you fought for her. I think that makes us even.”

Din holds out his hand. “Let’s shake on it then.”

Marcus does without hesitation.

And you haven’t felt dirtier in all your life, like you’re nothing but a piece of meat to be bargained with.

*******

When the sun has vanished halfway behind the horizon, you reach a small settlement that is nothing more than a dusty main street and rickety wooden buildings huddled together as if trying to seek comfort. You spent all day riding behind Din and Marcus who talked amicably about their jobs and their lives and their horses while ignoring you. You’re well aware that the tears you fought hard to hold back have left tracks in the dirt on your cheeks, and you wish you could wipe them clean so the men don’t see the evidence of the hurt they’ve caused.

Why don’t they remember you?

Marcus leads your little group to the jail, the only adobe building in the entire town, and is greeted by a dirty man who looks like a weasel.

“Jail’s full,” he says even before Marcus has had time to open his mouth.

“She’s wanted for bank robbery in three states,” Marcus tries.

The man shrugs, unimpressed. “I have a man in there who’s wanted for murder in five.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do with her?” Marcus asks.

The man shrugs again. “Ain’t my problem.”

Marcus looks to Din for help, but Din shrugs too.

Marcus leads you to the saloon next, the only building in town that seems to be busy, and ties his horse up out front. He vanishes inside for a short while, and when he comes back out, he says, “They have one room left.”

“Let’s go,” Din grunts, and pulls you off your horse.

Your legs feel stiff from riding all day, every bone in your body aches from tiredness. You want nothing more than to crumble to the ground and find some rest, but you won’t show any signs of weakness. So you hold your head high and shake off Din’s hands with a snarl, walking into the saloon next to him like an equal, not his prisoner. Marcus leads the way up a creaking wooden staircase and into a dirty corridor that has yellowed pictures on the walls and heavy curtains hanging in front of the windows. From downstairs, you hear the shouts of drunk men and the laughter of women who are paid for their company. You know exactly what kind of establishment you’re in.

Marcus pushes open the door to a room and suddenly the noise from downstairs stops. It’s like you’ve entered another world, maybe one of those fancy hotels back east you sometimes read about in magazines. The curtains in here are a pretty shade of pink, the floors are clean, a fire is crackling in the fireplace, and on a small table in front of the chaise lounge, there are three bowls of steaming hot stew just waiting for you. Off to your left you spot another doorway and through that a big bed covered in white linen. Your body aches with longing.

“Sit,” Din growls, and pushes you onto the chaise lounge. He pulls out more shackles from the saddlebag slung over his shoulder, ones that come with a long chain, and ties you to the chaise lounge. It’s only then you realize the piece of furniture is fixed in place with iron bolts screwed into the floorboards.

Only then does Marcus take off your handcuffs.

You reach for one of the bowls of stew and eagerly begin slurping it down, too hungry to act aloof around the men. You ignore Marcus who throws Din a snide look. Din doesn’t return it; instead, he takes off the bandanna and reaches for a bowl of his own. And you freeze, a piece of half-chewed potato on your tongue. He looks just like the boy you remember, his proud chin and big nose still the defining features in his face. But a stubbly, black beard is covering his jaw now, and a faint scar runs just below his left eye, and his lips are somehow fuller than you remember. You know you’re staring but you can’t help it – you feel like you’ve been struck by lightning.

“Eat your supper,” Marcus snaps at you.

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion or if it’s Din coming back into your life so unexpectedly, but you’ve had it with Marcus Pike. “Don’t talk to me like that,” you snap back.

A smirk lights up Marcus�� face and you wish you could punch him but he’s sitting too far away. “Oh, so you do know how to talk.”

“Marcus …,” Din says, and it sounds like a warning.

“I know how to talk,” you confirm. “I just have nothing to say to you.”

“You had to know you’d get caught sooner or later,” Marcus points out. “No need to be upset. You played a dangerous game and you lost.”

His words hurt more than a slap would have. “That’s not … don’t you remember?”

“He remembers,” Din says quickly before Marcus can reply. “But that was a long time ago. He doesn’t owe you anything.”

“I want to hear it from him.” Your jaw is so tight you have difficulty speaking.

“You broke the law. I caught you. End of story,” is Marcus’ short reply.

You can’t let it go. “So our past doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“Din’s right,” Marcus answers with a shrug. “We were just kids. There’s nothing –”

“You promised we’d always be friends,” you interrupt him, your voice so loud it rings in your ears. “You promised, and then you left.” You turn to Din whose gaze is fixed on his half-empty bowl. “Tell him, Din.”

Before Din can say anything, Marcus puts down his bowl with a loud clang. “Now listen here.” Where your voice was full of emotion, his is calculating. “We were kids. We were playing around. You couldn’t honestly have expected me to keep a promise when I couldn’t decide anything for myself. My father –”

“Fuck your father!” you shout. “Din could look after himself too.”

Marcus laughs and it makes you want to press your hands to your ears to black out the sound. “You’re delusional, missy. Why should I have abandoned my family for a ranch hand and some dirt-poor street kid?”

“You promised!” you scream, flinging your bowl across the room so it bursts against the wall, its contents landing on the floor with a wet plop.

Marcus laughs even louder. “By God, those wanted posters are right. You’re insane.”

“That’s enough.” Din’s deep voice makes both you and Marcus pause and look at him. “Ain’t no reason to be cruel to her.”

“Just listen to her.” Marcus runs his fingers through his hair, a gesture you remember all too well.

“I am,” Din answers with a grunt. “Maybe you should, too.”

Marcus takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. A smile tugs on Din’s lips, one that makes your stomach drop. They share some kind of understanding you’re excluded from.

“Alright,” Marcus says with a nod and turns to you. “Say your piece.”

You don’t want him to call you insane again so you will your voice to be steady when you speak. “You and Din, you were my only friends, the only real family I had. We promised each other to … to be there.” The way Marcus looks at you, his cold gaze full of attention, makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. Now that he listens to you, you can’t seem to keep that anger alive. “And I know you had to leave. If my family had left, I don’t think I would’ve stayed behind either. But you … there was no word from you for twelve years. And then you just turn up as if nothing has happened.”

Marcus nods again and turns his attention to Din. “You feel the same way?” he asks.

“No,” is Din’s simple answer.

That stokes the angry fire again. “But you left too.” Your voice isn’t steady anymore. “You left because the memory of him was too painful.”

Now it’s Din’s turn to laugh in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You have no idea why I left.”

“Then tell me,” you demand.

“No.” You’re starting to hate that word. “It had nothing to do with you.”

Before you can press him for an explanation, Marcus clears his throat. “You know where I went. I left you my new address. You also didn’t send word for twelve years.”

“Because you just left,” you say quickly, not prepared to admit that what he’s saying makes sense.

Marcus ignores you. “And what did you expect? You’re practically an outlaw, I’m a sheriff … did you think I’d show up on your doorstep to reminisce about the good old days? I moved on a long time ago and it would be best if you did too.”

“Didn’t it ever occur to you that this might be your fault? If you hadn’t left –”

“Don’t you dare put this on me!” Marcus shouts. “No one forced you to rob banks, that was your decision.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” you snap.

Without warning, Marcus lunges at you, hands outstretched, ready to grab any part of your body he can reach. You flinch back, chains scraping against the wooden floorboards, but before he can touch you, Din is there, shielding you with his body.

“That’s enough,” he says, voice strained from holding back Marcus. “Don’t let her get to you.”

Marcus groans, but takes a step back. “She’s …”

“I know,” Din says, throwing you a disdainful loom over his shoulder. “But ain’t we all lookin’ for someone to blame for our misfortunes?”

A tiny little gear starts turning at the back of your mind at hearing him say that. Is that what you’re doing? Putting the blame for your miserable life on someone who wasn’t even present for most of it, just so you don’t have to hold yourself accountable?

“Din …,” you start carefully, no idea what to say to him but hoping you can catch his attention.

Din only has eyes for Marcus though, “It’s late.” He yawns deeply. “We still have a long ride ahead of us. Let’s go hit the hay.”

“We can’t leave –,” Marcus starts.

“We can leave her here. Trust me,” Din adds when Marcus doesn’t move.

Trust me. Those words echo around your mind later when you’re trying to fall asleep, head resting on a prickly pillow, body uncomfortably twisted on the chaise lounge. Sometimes, that echo is replaced with a different one. Ain’t we all looking for someone to blame for our misfortunes? If Marcus hadn’t left, your life could have gone differently. But you made the decision to push everyone away when he was gone. And you made the decision not to reach out to him. And you made the decision to look for guidance in a band of outlaws instead of in your town’s seamstress or in a nice husband or in faith.

A tear rolls down your cheek and lands on the pillow with a soft plop as embarrassment makes you run cold with dread. Ever since Marcus put you in chains, you’ve behaved like a spoiled brat. You didn’t show him you recognized him either, waiting for him to … you don’t know what it is you want from him. He cooked for you, made sure you were somewhat comfortable, considering the circumstances, and you just spit in his face. It’s not surprising he doesn’t want anything to do with you. If your places were reversed …

But before you can finish that thought, you hear a strange noise, a deep, low moan that you can’t quite place, followed by the creaking of an old bedframe. Then you remember the men and women from downstairs, the way the women were sitting in the men’s laps, laughing at their jokes. You hold your breath and prick up your ears, listening for a higher moan, but none comes. Even the bedframe doesn’t creak a second time. It’s only when you really listen that you can hear strangled pants, as if someone is trying to keep quiet.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it.”

Your whole body turns stiff as a board at the sound of Din’s voice, louder than any sounds you heard so far, too loud on your eagerly listening ears. Your face heats up instantly and you squirm, your heart jumping into your throat. No, you’re imagining things … there is no way this sound could have come from Din. He’s in the bedroom with Marcus, not …

Again, your thoughts are interrupted, this time by a low grunt, followed by a sharp intake of breath that is released into the most sinful moan you’ve ever heard. And this time, there is no doubt about who is making those sounds and where they’re coming from. Because while that moan is still sticking to your eardrums like honey, you hear Din’s voice again, sharper this time.

“Will you look at that? So eager, and I haven’t even started yet.”

You press your palms to your ears, hands clammy with shame. Are you more embarrassed for them because you can hear them so clearly or for yourself because your childhood best friends, both men …? You’re not stupid, you’ve heard stories about how men sometimes prefer the company of other men, but a part of you thought those were tall tales, told because it sounded so forbidden. But Din and Marcus …

Carefully, you lift one hand of your ear and listen. At first, you don’t hear anything, but the more you try, the clearer you hear it: sheets rustling, low, breathless pants, even the sound of skin moving against skin. You listen with bated breath, very aware that you shouldn’t, but even though your stomach is still in knots, something else is happening to your body too. A hungry pressure between your legs demands your attention, but you ignore it by digging your nails into the fabric of your dirty pants.

“Din …,” comes Marcus’ strangled voice after a while, and you inhale sharply at hearing the desperation in his voice.

“Oh no.” Din’s voice is eerily calm, still deeper than usual, but steady. “You ain’t done payin’ for what you did to my face.”

“Din, please …,” Marcus begs.

“No, darlin’. I like it too much when you’re like this.”

The bedframe creaks again, just once at first, then the sound of wood being moved against wood turns into a steady rhythm. Marcus mumbles something you can’t hear, but you hear Din reply, “I know … you’re doin’ so well.” Realizing you’ve been holding your breath all this time, you inhale sharply, the dry air in the room irritating your throat. You swallow hard at the same time as Marcus breathes out a trembling, “Fuck.”

The chain around your ankle jingles, and it’s only then you realize you’ve been rubbing your thighs together, chasing friction. You stop immediately, but Din and Marcus haven’t heard you. Marcus’ moans sound strangled now, as if Din is covering his mouth with his hand. Or maybe Marcus is trying to keep quiet, remembering where they are and who is in the other room, just a thin wooden door between you.

“Please,” Marcus tries again, the word muffled and barely intelligible.

“That word sounds so pretty comin’ from your lips,” Din groans, and it’s the first time his voice breaks.

“Din!” A sharp warning.

“Oh, come on now, don’t be shy,” Din coaxes.

Suddenly, all the noise stops, and you hear your blood rushing in your ears. Then you hear Marcus again, his voice straining as if he’s choking on the words. “Fuck!” he groans. “Fuck, Din! Fuck, yeah. Fu- don’t, don’t fuckin’ stop.”

Din grunts, or maybe he laughs. You can’t tell. You’re burning up as if you have a fever. One of your hands is resting at the top of your thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles. Your other hand is in your mouth as you bite down, stopping yourself from making a single sound that could betray you. Between your legs, everything is clenching and burning, but you don’t dare give yourself the release you so desperately crave. And when your thumb brushes too close to your center, you remove your hand with a jerk, grabbing the chaise lounge instead.

Din groans, a sound you feel deep in your thorax, and you hear Marcus breathe one final, “Fuck,” before a silence so thick you could slice it with a knife settles over your two rooms. You try to take deep breaths, but your whole body screams for attention, screams to be touched and caressed. It’s painful when you release your grip on the chaise lounge, and your hand shakes when you bring it up to rest against your stomach. Your eyes flicker to the door on your right, but Din and Marcus are quiet. Their groans and sighs and words are still fresh on your mind as you allow yourself to replay them.

Your hand wanders lower and lower, and when you press two fingers against yourself through your pants, you almost sob with relief. You massage yourself eagerly while undoing the chord that holds your pants in place with the other hand. But before you can touch yourself, the door to your right creaks open, and you freeze, remembering just in time to close your eyes.

“Yeah, she’s asleep,” Din grunts, before the door clicks shut again.

That’s enough to break the spell. Swallowing a lump of shame, you turn onto your side, back facing the door.

*******

The next day is hot, the sun stands high in a cloudless sky. You keep your eyes on the neck of your horse, trying to shield it from the bright light. Marcus rides ahead of you on the narrow trail, Din follows behind you. If you hadn’t heard them last night, you wouldn’t be able to tell that something happened between them. Or would you? Were Din’s cheeks flusher this morning before he hid them behind the bandanna? Is Marcus turning around so much to check on you or is he looking at Din?

You’ve barely had time to sort through your own confusing feelings: shame at realizing you might have been treating Marcus unfairly, embarrassment at almost touching yourself last night, anger at the way both Din and Marcus are treating you and … longing. A strange kind of longing. You don’t know what for, but you wish there was something you could say to make them see you as more than an outlaw. But when Din says, “You’re quiet today,” you deliberately give him the cold shoulder. And when Marcus offers you some water, you shake your head, even though you’re parched.

That evening, you’re far away from any human settlement. When the stars come out, even before the blush of the setting sun has completely vanished in the west, Marcus stops by an abandoned adobe building with a roof that is half collapsed and a thorny bush growing next to the doorway, almost blocking it. “That’s as far as we go today,” he says, dismounting.

You don’t have a choice but to follow Din into the building while Marcus unsaddles the horses. The floorboards are covered with sand, but the fireplace and chimney are intact. Din sweeps some of the dirt away with his boot, then shoves you so you have to sit down. “Hey!” you protest, but he just ignores you.

Marcus carries your saddles into the shack, one after the other, then looks around. “I’m findin’ us some kindlin’,” he decides. “Keep an eye on her.” Din grunts in confirmation.

You shift around on the floor, trying to find a more comfortable position, when Din places your saddle at your back so you can lean against it. Then he unlocks your shackles. You groan in relief, rubbing your sore wrists. “Don’t let him see you be nice to me.”

Din throws you a curious glance. “Why do you hate him so much?”

You sigh, stretching your legs out in front of you. “I thought we were friends. Then he left.”

“Oh, come on.” Din rolls his eyes. “Drop the act.”

His direct manner makes you want to be honest with him. “You’re right. It was such a long time ago. Sometimes I don’t even remember why I’m so angry with him, but I can’t stop.” That gets you Din’s undivided attention. His bandanna is still tied over his face, but his eyes light up. “It’s true, you were both so important to me. And then he was gone, and you left too, and I thought it was because of him, so I blamed –”

“It was because of him,” Din corrects you.

“But yesterday you said –”

“I said I didn’t leave because I couldn’t bear the memory of him. That’s not …” The sparkle in his eyes flickers, then dies.

But something within you lights up as you begin to understand. “I heard you last night,” you say, voice breathless.

Din chuckles. “It’s not as if … we run into each other from time to time, that’s all.”

“That’s what he wants it to be, isn’t it?” It all makes sense now. It makes sense that nothing could cheer Din up after Marcus left. It makes sense that Din left too. It’s just that it hasn’t occurred to you yet because it’s so … unusual.

Din shakes his head. “It’s not. It’s … twelve years ago, I left because I wanted to find him. Because when we were still together and you two were practicing kissing while I was trying to catch dinner, he would never stop looking at me. Before he left, he gave me this bracelet he had made out of some leather he had stolen from the tanner and made me promise to come find him. I know he hurt you, but he …”

“He hurt you more?” you guess.

“No, not on purpose. We’re both …”

“You’re men,” you say, hoping you’ve guessed right this time.

“We meet by chance every couple of years in a one-horse town and then we see where the night takes us.”

Your heart aches for Din, for the dull look in his eyes, for his flat voice when he finally tells you the truth. And it aches for yourself, for the way you’re even more on the sidelines than you had thought. But you can’t be angry at him for that.

“So it’s just been Marcus for you ever since we were kids?” you ask carefully.

Din laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t try to make this into a romantic tale. Of course not.” Your confusion must be written all over your face because he elaborates, “I’m not sleeping alone almost every night because a childhood friend gave me a bracelet more than a decade ago. It’s just … we’re fond of each other, that’s all.”

You look at him warily.

“Who knows, if I hadn’t left, maybe I’d have grown fond of you, too.”

“Don’t tease,” you snap.

“I mean it,” Din says calmly. “You’re pretty under that prickly wall you keep hiding behind.”

You choose to change the topic. “Does he hate me?”

“Who? Marcus?” Din laughs again. “I don’t think he’s capable of hatin’ anyone. He’s annoyed with you, sure, he thinks you’re childish and immature, but I also think he’s not as nonchalant as all that.”

You smile at Din, and your cheeks twitch with the unfamiliar motion. “I missed you too, by the way. Not just him.”

“You didn’t miss me as much as him though,” Din points out, and finally pulls the bandanna off his face.

“I’m also not as angry at you as I am at him,” you point out.

Something in Din’s face shifts. “Do you want to get back at him? Because I might have an idea how we could do that.”

“What?” you ask, well aware that Marcus’ footfalls are moving closer and closer to your shack.

“Just follow my lead,” Din says with a quiet smile.

Marcus doesn’t remark on your unshackled wrists or the way you keep digging into your food once he gets a fire going and warms a can of pork and beans for you. He mostly talks to Din about the remainder of your trek, about the formalities involved in picking up the money they’re owed for you, about his plans to travel back to his hometown, the one he moved two twelve years ago, where he was elected sheriff two years ago. Tonight, the way they barely glance at you doesn’t sting. It doesn’t bother you that they talk about you like you’re not there. You only hide your smile, feeling lighter than you have in years.

Once supper is done, Din pulls a flask from his saddlebag and hands it to Marcus before moving his saddle next to yours so he sits closer to you, then offers you the same flask.

“Din,” Marcus warns, and it sounds so much like how he said Din’s name yesterday that it makes you feel that familiar prick of embarrassment.

“Don’t worry,” Din says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You take a sip from the bottle, grateful for the burning sensation.

The bottle is handed around until it is almost empty, and your head is heavy with a pleasant buzz. You laugh when Din teases Marcus about his uneven mustache, and you laugh even louder when Marcus retorts, “At least I can grow one.” With Din next to you, and Marcus sitting cross-legged opposite you, you feel yourself grow comfortable with the familiarity of it, like your childhood home remains familiar to you even if you haven’t visited in years.

When Din leans in to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, the atmosphere in the room shifts, the walls move in closer, and the air grows thicker. Marcus furrows his brow, and your face heats up, so you clear your throat and sit up straighter, moving your body away from Din’s. But then you remember how he told you to follow his lead, and you smile at him, trying to ignore how your heart picks up speed.

“You know what I’ve been wondering ever since we were kids?” Din asks, deep brown eyes locked onto yours. Before you can answer, he adds, “Marcus?”

“What?” Marcus asks, voice neutral.

“Why was it that only you got to practice kissing with her, and never me?” Din’s eyes flicker down to your lips before he looks over to where Marcus is sitting, fingers balled into nervous fists in his lap. “Isn’t that odd?”

“You never asked?” Marcus replies with a shrug.

“Oh, I did,” Din corrects him.

Marcus runs his finger over his mustache. “I don’t know, Din. Maybe she didn’t want to practice with you.”

You try to remember those long summer days twelve years ago, and you try to remember if you really never kissed Din. What you do remember is Marcus’ soft lips on yours, the way he hardly used any pressure as if he was afraid he’d break you. And the longer you think about it, the surer you are that there was a day Din asked, “When’s it my turn?” and Marcus dismissed him with a wave of his hand. But you don’t remember not wanting to kiss Din.

Din slings his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side. “I think you didn’t want to share.” It sounds like a tease, but Din can’t quite hide the bite in his voice.

Marcus’ gaze flickers to you and then back to Din. He sighs. “That was such a long time ago. I really don’t remember.”

Interesting, you think.

Din tips back his hat and smiles down at you. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind me practicing now.” It sounds almost like a question, and you give him a small nod as answer.

Din catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and guides you up toward his lips. Your heart skips a beat at that first touch and then it starts hammering painfully at the forcefulness and greed with which Din kisses you, so different from how it used to be with Marcus. You return his kiss hungrily, flicking your tongue across his bottom lip, reaching for his arm to steady yourself, following him eagerly when he leans back. It doesn’t feel like he’s just pretending to get back at Marcus.

Din moves on from your mouth, leaving a hot trail on your jaw and down your neck, before he sinks his teeth into a bit of exposed shoulder where your shirt has shifted. You bite your tongue, holding back a whimper, but he grips your neck lightly and strokes his thumb across the bitemark. “Oh no, darlin’, let it all out.”

“Alright,” Marcus says, slapping his thigh with some finality. You flinch, only now remembering he’s there and why you’re kissing Din in the first place. “Hope you’re happy now.”

Din ignores him and kisses down your chest, flicking open the buttons of your shirt with practiced fingers on his way. You freeze up, gazing across the small space at Marcus, but then Din cups one of your breasts and grazes his teeth across the nipple. “Din,” you groan, both a warning and a plea.

“Din,” Marcus says, and it’s all warning. Hearing him say that single word feels like a punch to the base of your spine.

Din looks up at you, lips glistening. His thumb replaces his mouth as he rolls your hard nipple under the tip of his finger. “Bet you never practiced that with him, did you?”

“Does that still count as a kiss?” you tease, your voice quivering as he keeps stroking your nipple.

“What do you think, Marcus?” Din asks, glancing at the other man.

Marcus has paled, but you have to give him credit for keeping his voice steady when he answers, “I think you should stop this.”

Din ignores him and captures your mouth in another kiss instead. He pushes his tongue past your lips and teeth, exploring how to draw sighs and whimpers from you. You squirm, very aware of a steadily pulsating need between your legs, not only fed by what Din is doing to you, but also by the thick atmosphere in the room. A piece of wood in the fireplace snaps, making you jump, and Din runs his hand down your naked side, rough callouses catching on your soft skin. He stops at the hem of your trousers.

“Do you want me to stop?” Din whispers against your lips, so quietly Marcus can’t hear.

You shake your head.

“Remember that night in Galveston?” Din asks, his voice loud enough to fill the entire cabin. “When we agreed to share that woman and you didn’t let me touch her?”

You swallow hard when Marcus replies with a low, “Think very carefully about what you’re gonna do next, Din.”

“It was easy, really, because I didn’t care about her,” Din goes on as if he hasn’t heard Marcus, untying the chord of your trousers with a flick of his wrist. “But I have a feeling that this is gonna be very hard for you.”

He shoves his hand between your legs and you groan deeply, a sound so foreign that at first you don’t realize it’s coming from you. Your head falls back and lands against your saddle, while you raise your hips at the same time, eager for Din’s touch. If he’s surprised by how wet you are, he doesn’t let on, instead circles your clit with his thumb just like he toyed with your nipple. Soon, his hand moves lower, careful at first, but then he crooks a finger and pushes it into you with such force you can’t help but clamp down around it.

“How does it feel?” Din asks, his voice deeper now, almost as deep as it was the night before. The memory makes you shiver with arousal. “Knowing I have a finger buried inside of her? Oh no, wait.” Din pulls out almost all the way, then pushes back in, a second finger joining the first. “Two fingers.”

Marcus doesn’t reply, but when you dare look at him, you see his face is covered in red blotches, ones you mistake for angry marks until you notice his eyes, blown wide with arousal. And it’s hard to tell in the flickering light from the fireplace, but you think you can make out a bulge between his legs.

“Don’t be shy,” Din coaxes. “Tell me.” He brushes his thumb over your clit to draw another whimper from you and it works on Marcus.

“We both know you’re all talk.” A quick smirk flashes across Marcus’ face. “Ain’t no way you can make her come.”

You clench around Din’s fingers again and he chuckles. “I think she likes it when you talk like that.”

Chest heaving, you look up at Din only to find his eyes locked on Marcus. It makes the breath catch in your throat, the heat with which he stares at the other man.

“How does it make you feel, Marcus?” Din repeats, punctuating each word with a thrust.

You flick your gaze over to Marcus, eager for his reply, but he just shakes his head. You roll your hips tentatively in an attempt to draw a response from him, but even though he briefly lowers his eyes to look at you, he doesn’t respond.

“Kick off your boots,” Din orders, and when you don’t move, he presses his thumb to your clit. “Come on.”

It’s only then that you realize he means you and not Marcus, so you do as you’re told, your leather boots landing against the old wooden floors with soft thumps. Din pulls out of you, but only to use both hands to pull down your pants quickly so your lower body is completely naked, exposed for both him and Marcus. Your first instinct is to cover up, so you move your knees together, but Din pushes them apart again with a shove.

“Oh no, darlin’, let him see,” he mumbles, a tendon in his neck twitching.

You swallow and nod, letting your legs fall open. If you’re not mistaken, it makes Marcus’ breath hitch. That’s enough for you. Din pushes two fingers into you again and you sigh with relief, a sound that makes Marcus twitch as if he’s about to lunge for you, but he remains in his spot instead, hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles are turning white.

“So how does it feel?” Din asks a third time. “Now that you can see everything?”

You roll your hips to meet Din’s thrusts, which earns you a soft stroke down your side.

Finally, Marcus replies, “You know the answer.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Marcus looks at you then, and you feel your face heat up under his attention. His gaze wanders from your parted lips down your heaving chest to where Din’s fingers are slowly pumping in and out of you, coated in your arousal. Your initial embarrassment is gone. In its place is an insatiable desire to be watched by Marcus, to have him see you at your most vulnerable. You roll your hips faster, and throw back your head, moaning loudly, just to get a reaction from him, and it works.

“I think if it was my fingers inside of her, she would’ve already come twice.”

Din chuckles, but something catches at the back of his throat. “You don’t even know if she wants to.”

And then, for the first time, Marcus addresses you, voice tight like a rope around a bull’s neck. “Do you want him to make you come?”

You look at Din as if asking him for permission, but he only kisses your temple and mumbles into your ear, “I can’t help you with that decision, sweetheart.” So you look back at Marcus but he only stares at you, taut concentration written all over his face.

You nod.

Something flashes across Marcus’ face, something you can’t quite place, but he nods once and leans back, eyes back on Din. “Let’s see what you got then.”

Din’s thumb brushes over your clit just once, twice, his fingers toy with your nipple almost gently, his fingertips brush against the most sensitive spots inside of you, and it doesn’t take much more than that for you to roll your hips desperately, your entire body on fire, taut like the hammer of a colt. Din finds your trigger, rolls your clit just so, and you come with a shout, and animalistic sort of noise, eyes on Marcus as he watches you open-mouthed, his eyes impossibly dark.

“There you are,” Din says in a mocking tone and kisses your temple again.

Marcus gains back control by shaking his head lightly, then swallows. “She didn’t even scream your name.”

Next to you, Din tenses and you think you hear a deep grumble somewhere in his chest. He pushes himself up onto his knees and undoes his belt with practiced motions. You’ve barely caught your breath before you’re being pulled up, shoved onto your hands and knees, and Din is behind you, his thick cock brushing against your thighs. You try to look at Marcus again, but Din’s hand is in your hair and he pushes down your head and part of your chest at the same time as he pushes himself into you, stretching you wide. You claw at the wood beneath your palms, groaning in both pleasure and pain.

“Oh, you’re so easily riled up,” Marcus provokes, the slight edge in his voice telling you he is too, although he can hide it better.

Din ignores him. “I don’t need her to scream my name,” he grunts. “Knowin’ you’d give anything to be in my place right now is enough.”

“And you want to be in mine,” Marcus shoots back.

You know he’s right because Din pushes into you with a vicious thrust. “Din,” you groan, and you can feel the attention in the room shift.

Din pulls out all the way so only his tip is still inside of you, then slams back into you, pushing your entire body forward. You groan again, struggle against the hold he has on your neck, but he only tightens his grip.

“Please,” you whimper, feeling overstimulated yet hungry at the same time.

“I don’t hear her begging for your cock,” Din spits at Marcus. You hear Marcus move, but Din orders, “Stay where you are,” and Marcus stops.

You shift, pushing your knees further apart, and suddenly Din reaches deeper, drawing something akin to a howl from you. Din’s hand moves from the back of your head to close around your jaw, and he lifts your chin so you can see Marcus, his face covered in an angry flush, a spot on his bottom lip chewed raw.

“Do you think he wants to fuck my release into you once I’m done?” Din growls in your ear.

You can’t hold on a second longer. Your body gives in, erupting with pleasure so intense everything else loses its meaning. You’re faintly aware of Din groaning, “So good, you feel so good,” of something wet and hot running down your thighs, of Din pulling out of you gently before you collapse on the floor. Then you’re aware of movement in front of you, and your body tightens in anticipation, but when you look up, you find Marcus standing there, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.

“Marcus?” you ask, the name foreign on your tongue.

Without looking back, he walks out of the shack, cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth, leaving Din to clean up after himself.

*******

You don’t know what you expected to happen, but it certainly wasn’t this: you, back in handcuffs, and Marcus, leading the way without acknowledging your presence. Only Din seems to be in a good mood, pointing out small birds resting on branches or flowers growing by the side of the trail. No one talks about the previous night, and in the bright light of day, you’re not so sure any of it actually happened.

You hold your head up high, refusing to feel humiliated. Din was gentle this morning, almost apologetic, when he put you back in handcuffs, tipping his hat and calling you “ma’am”. You’re not angry with him for last night, far from it. You’re also not angry with Marcus for how he reacted; you’re disappointed, sure, and maybe a little bit heartbroken. But far from angry.

It’s another hot day, but this time you’re riding through open woodland, and the shade brings you some reprieve. The trail is broader, Din can ride next to you, and you talk to him from time to time; it almost feels as if you’re on your way to a Sunday picnic. But despite everything that has happened, and despite the way Din laughs at your jokes, you know there’s no use in asking them to let you go. Whatever happened last night doesn’t influence their sense of duty and righteousness.

In the afternoon, the trail grows rockier as you begin to ascend through a small mountain range. The trees become sturdier and grow closer together, the flowers become less frequent, the birds now screech with a predator’s voice. You’re just beginning to feel drowsy from the heat and the exhaustion of the past few days when a sudden shout tears you out of your daydreams and pulls you back into the forest.

The trail before you is blocked by a tree trunk that makes it impossible to pass without some difficulty. On top of it stands a man you know all too well, one you thought you’d never see again: Burke, the leader of your gang, the man you decided to follow when everyone else in your life had left you. Relief makes your body tremble – you hadn’t expected him to show up to rescue you, hadn’t thought you’d be that important to him. Maybe you were wrong, maybe you don’t have to accept the fate Marcus and Din have decided upon for you after all.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Burke says in his nasal voice you’ve come to know so well. “You’ve reached the end of your journey. Please dismount and let us shackle you, so we can take back what’s rightfully ours.”

Next to you, Din flinches, reaching for his gun holstered at his side. Burke is faster as he draws his own gun and fires, the barrel glinting in the afternoon sun. Din loses balance and falls of his horse, clutching his right shoulder. You’re frozen with shock, your brain too slow to catch up with what is happening, relief turning sour in your mouth. You know you should be grateful you’re not going to jail after all, but all you feel is dread when Din’s body hits the ground with a loud thump and he groans in pain.

Burke aims the barrel of his gun at Marcus next and orders, “Disarm him.”

Three men climb out of the underbrush, Bridger, Burke’s second in command, Ingram, his muscle, and scrawny Jimmy who isn’t much use in a fight but who excels at stabbing people in the back. Marcus raises his hands above his head as if he means to surrender, but once the men reach him and Ingram grabs him to pull him off his horse, Marcus punches him in the face so hard his head snaps back. Ingram recovers too fast, grabs Marcus’ jacket, pulls him off his horse with a jerk, and kicks him as soon as he hits the ground.

“Stop!” you yell and Burke looks straight at you.

He raises his hand and Ingram stills. Marcus groans at his feet, arms slung around his stomach, a bloody scrape along his cheek. “Stop?” Burke asks.

“There is no need to harm them,” you stammer, thinking fast. “Or do you want law enforcement chasing us down for killing a sheriff?”

Somewhere to your right, Din inhales sharply, but you don’t dare to look at him. Instead, your eyes are locked to Burke’s as you watch his face closely to figure out your next move. You’re free; you don’t have to go back to jail. But if it means Marcus and Din die, then you don’t want your freedom.

“I was expecting more gratitude,” Burke finally says, his voice laced with disgust.

“I just don’t want anyone to die because of me,” you try weakly.

“Do I have to remind you who those men are?” Burke snaps. “They wanted to sell your freedom to the highest bidder. They don’t deserve your compassion!”

“They also don’t deserve to die for doing their job,” you point out.

An ugly grin creeps onto Burke’s face. “Who said anything about dying? Ingram, tie him up, and let’s have some fun.”

Ingram grabs the collar of Marcus’ jacket and pulls him to his feet. Marcus struggles against the grip, face contorted with pain, but there is nothing he can do to free himself. You watch as they drag him to a tree by the side of the road and tie him to the trunk with thick ropes. You know what comes next – you’ve seen it often enough. And if there’s anything you can do to keep Marcus from that fate, you’ll do it, even if it means your own death.

Your legs are trembling when you climb off your horse and sneak over to where Din is lying, hand still pressed to his shoulder, his brown leather glove shiny with blood. He can’t help you much; it’s up to you to make sure Marcus gets out of this in one piece.

“Where are the keys, Din?” you whisper, ignoring Marcus’ pained grunt when someone, most likely Ingram, punches him in the gut.

Din reaches for his jacket pocket and pulls out the keys, face paling from the strain of it. He barely manages to unshackle you, but once you’re free, he grunts, “Take my gun.”

You grab the cold metal, your hands trembling so hard you slip at first. But your mind is eerily calm. You know exactly what you need to do and what it could cost you. Slowly, you stand, and take a few steps closer to the tree. Marcus is tied up, the four men are standing around him. Jimmy is playing with his knife, Ingram is stroking his jaw where Marcus hit him, and Burke and Bridger are debating what to do next. You don’t give them a chance to make up their minds.

“Let him go!” you shout, your voice high with fear.

When the four men spin around to face you, you raise the gun, aiming straight at Burke. Burke … the man who was like a father to you, who took you in and taught you how to care for yourself. You almost laugh – how quickly things can change, how quickly loyalties can shift. But if you’re honest with yourself, you have to admit you were never that loyal to Burke and the gang, and definitely not now that you feel you’ve got your real family back, even if they are going to turn you over to the law.

“Well, well, well,” Burke says slowly. “Will you look at that? I can’t say I’m surprised, but I never pegged you as a pig fucker.”

You ignore his words, cocking back the hammer. “I mean it. Let him go.”

Burke gestures to Bridger who takes the knife from Jimmy and presses it against Marcus’ throat. You flinch.

“Does that upset you?” Burke asks with a sneer. “If you lower the gun now, we won’t kill him. I can’t make any promises for you though.”

Before you can ponder actions and consequences, you aim the gun at Bridger and pull the trigger. Both you and Marcus flinch, but while your brow is only covered in sweat, his gets sprayed with blood when you hit Bridger at the side of his head and he crumbles to the ground. For a brief moment, a flash of memory shoots through you, an image of Bridger getting you a big wool coat two winters ago so you wouldn’t freeze to death. Back then, you never would have thought you’d be the one to end his life. But you also hadn’t expected to see Marcus again.

Before you can make sense of what just happened, Ingram is upon you and wrestles the gun from your hands. He hits you in the face with his open palm and you scream, more in surprise and shock than pain.

“You’ll pay for that,” he spits and hits you again, this time with the back of his hand.

Before you can defend yourself, a loud bang makes you turn around. Ingram flinches and follows your gaze, one hand locked around your arm, the other raised to strike a third time. Din is standing next to his horse, the barrel of his shotgun smoking, aiming toward the tree. Jimmy is lying next to Bridger, a gaping hole in his chest. Ingram’s grip on you tightens at the same time as you realize there are more of you know then there are of them. You hear the telltale clicking sounds of Din reloading his shotgun and you shove Ingram as hard as you can away from you. The next second he tumbles to his side, leg torn open.

“Help Marcus!” Din shouts, his face contorted with pain.

You don’t think, you’ve stopped thinking minutes ago, as you turn and sprint toward the tree where Marcus is still tied up, defenseless, while Burke stalks toward him, Jimmy’s knife in his hand. You shove your former leader aside and fling yourself between him and Marcus, but before you can come up with a plan, Burke shoves you and pushes you to the ground. You go down with a surprised shout, the last sound you make before Burke’s hands close around your throat and he squeezes. You kick your legs and claw at his face and neck, but he’s relentless. A lightheadedness comes over you, and you’re only dimly aware of Marcus shouting your name and Din’s, but Burke doesn’t stop. The only thing you can see are his glazed-over eyes, dull with the intent to kill.

Using your last strength you grope around, hoping to find anything that can help you. Your fingers close around something cold and metallic, but you have no time to check if it really is Jimmy’s knife. You raise the thing and plunge it into Burke’s side, groaning with relief when he loosens his grip in response. You pull out the knife, then shove it into Burke’s side again; the man tumbles off you with a scream of pain. You push yourself up, aiming for his neck, the knife gliding into the flesh with hardly any resistance. From then on, it’s just a blur until Burke stops twitching, until your arm burns so much you can barely lift it anymore, until your ears are ringing with your hoarse screams.

Din is there, and he takes the knife from you. You let him, tears streaming down your face. It feels like you’re all alone in this big forest until someone sinks to their knees next to you and cups your face in cold, shaky hands.

“You stupid girl,” Marcus mumbles, wiping at your cheeks, brushing loose strands behind your ears. “You stupid, stupid girl.”

His lips are soft when he kisses you; he tastes of metal. You kiss him back, your whole body trembling. Between kisses he keeps mumbling, “Stupid girl,” until a teary laugh erupts from you.

“Kiss me again,” you demand, knowing it’s the only thing that keeps you from losing consciousness. He does, and there’s an edge of desperation to it now, like he’s only beginning to realize he’s still alive and you’re too. You cling to his jacket and feel his chest vibrate, you lick his lips and are rewarded with a hungry bite. It’s only when you start crying again that he pulls back.

Din is at your other side and pulls you into a tight hug with his good arm. “Don’t listen to him,” he mumbles, his fingers stroking the back of your head. “You’re not stupid; maybe a bit reckless, but incredibly brave.”

Marcus pulls you to your feet and holds you tightly when your knees buckle. Din follows you, and kisses the top of your head. Shielded between both of them, you realize they are the only family you’ll ever need.

***

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