#my feelings are just a result of warm sea air and a good fucking

[canmom]

a few critical comments on "The Busy Worker's Handbook to the Apocalypse"

so i read this one very doomer medium article The Busy Worker's Handbook to the Apocalypse the other day, which attempts to argue that with the amount of GHGs already in the atmosphere, collapse of human society is inevitable and imminent, in a way that the scientific establishment such as the IPCC is instutionally unable to admit. I will warn, if you're prone to anxiety, don't read it, because the article is bleak as hell and quite effective rhetoric. it opens with a largely correct overview of climate science which lends it credibility, before jumping to the worst imaginable conclusions about various feedbacks and tipping points.

and like... it got me a bit. immediately after I read it, I was left with a horrifying feeling that this is as good as it will ever get, that the end of it all was only years away, that all my hopes for what I'd do for the next few decades and what is prefigured by this or that social development were utter delusions, and all there was left to do was just try and make the best of the last few years before we all die in the big cascading-failure famine.

but... ok Bryn, hold your fucking horses, let's do some research eh?

to begin with, I found one critique video that points out a number of places where the author makes scientific errors, misunderstands his sources, or doesn't justify his conclusions. for example, the author argues that a 'blue sea event' where the polar ice melts would lead to immediate, catastrophic warming as the latent heat of fusion no longer absorbs any incoming radiation, and also that the success of measures to reduce air pollution will accelerate warming; these seem to both be straight up wrong. but that doesn't cover everything I had questions about.

for example, one scenario discussed in the 'handbook' is 'multi breadbasket failure'. the idea is that, given that most of the world's food is produced in a few specific regions, this is a scenario where two or more of the major food-producing regions suffer very low yields in the same year due to climate shit. and this isn't farfetched, there is mainstream scientific discussion of this concept. for an accessible analysis, I found this article by some major capitalist consulting company (assess bias accordingly) which gives some actual numbers, including estimates of which crops are more likely to fail as the climate changes (rice, corn and soy are in trouble, but wheat, oddly enough, could actually do better in a warmer world).

however, while the author of the guide to the apocalypse suggests that, thanks to 'just in time' supply chains, there are almost no reserves of food and everything is on ships... the mckinsey article quotes a figure of 30% 'stock-to-use ratio', meaning there is a fair chunk of food in the granaries. they seem to predict that if two 'breadbaskets' fail in the same year, causing a 15% drop in yield, that ratio would drop to about 20%. the immediate result would be food price spikes (which means a lot of people would starve) but it's not a complete 'global megafamine' collapse.

'course, the question then is what happens if it happens again a few years later? but at least theoretically the 'multi breadbasket failure' scenario could be drastically mitigated by 1. producing food in more different places so the eggs are in fewer baskets 2. storing more food when times are good (something discussed in the mckinsey article) and 3. the world broadly eating less meat (since most crops are grown to feed animals, which adds a trophic level of inefficiency), so less grain is needed to feed everyone. i don't know if that's actually gonna happen, but it's not prima facie impossible.

on the other hand, the author of the Handbook argues that a world renewable energy transition is not just infeasible but physically impossible, because it demands reserves of metal that do not exist to roll out all the wires, turbines, etc etc. I was already fairly pessimistic about whether the renewable energy transition could happen in time (since there is little evidence that the current renewable deployment is making any sort of dent in GHG emissions, which remain resolutely coupled to economic activity); I was also conscious that the amount of mining to produce all the batteries and so on would have its own devastating impacts. but the argument that it is impossible even in principle is new to me.

so is that actually true? the Handbook bases this point entirely on the work of Dr Simon Michaux of the Finnish Geological Survey, who presents the calculation in this hour-long presentation based on this report (summary). this is honestly an excellent presentation, explaining the methodology really clearly - it reminds me of SEWTHA back in the day, a book I found very formative. And actually McKay also raised the question of materials:

To create 48 kWh per day of offshore wind per person in the UK would require 60 million tons of concrete and steel – one ton per person. Annual world steel production is about 1200 million tons, which is 0.2 tons per person in the world. During the second world war, American shipyards built 2751 Liberty ships, each containing 7000 tons of steel – that’s a total of 19 million tons of steel, or 0.1 tons per American. So the building of 60 million tons of wind turbines is not off the scale of achievability; but don’t kid yourself into thinking that it’s easy. Making this many windmills is as big a feat as building the Liberty ships.

McKay's analysis was based only on the UK; the figure of 48kWh/d comes from McKay's estimate of plausible maximum wind capacity for the UK only. He also takes into account some modest reductions in energy use. So my sense was that a completely renewable energy system would be an unprecedented megaproject, but not utterly implausible.

By comparison, Michaux's analysis (which I took a bunch of notes on, I'll post in a minute) has a worldwide scope, and rather than using back of the envelope physical calculations, relies on data on existing systems which largely did not exist when McKay was alive. It is nevertheless a rough estimate, and crucially, focuses on the question of completely replacing current fossil fuel use. Where good data did not exist, like the amount of steel and concrete used in a wind turbine, it was not included in the analysis, since the purpose was to get a lower bound.

The report covers a number of different minerals, many of which existing reserves fall short and it would take thousands of years to produce enough at current production levels. Copper is the big one: he estimates some 4.5 billion tones would be needed, where only 0.88 billion tonnes of reserved are publicly known to exist, and the rate of new discoveries has tailed off to near zero. I see no error in his calculation (though I haven't checked the numbers in detail, the method is sound).

However, there is a major caveat. The vast, vast majority of this copper would go to millions of battery banks used to provide just four weeks of storage to make it through the wind production lulls in the winter. This covers about 4.2 billion tonnes; by comparison the amount of copper used for one generation everything else (wind turbines, EV batteries etc.) is a still-hefty 0.3 billion tonnes. So that raises the question of whether there's an alternative to all those batteries, mature enough to be deployed at a scale to provide 0.55PWh of energy storage (or likely, more) in a decade or two. My understanding is most other tech (flywheels etc.) is still on the 'tiny pilot plant' sort of scale.

Anyway, as far as like the future of humanity goes, I already agree with Michaux's main point that maintaining current rates of energy consumption is just not viable; the future is necessarily going to be much lower energy. (I also don't really think 'decoupling' economic activity from energy use to somehow preserve capitalism's exponential curve is really plausible.)

However, the way the author of the Handbook uses Michaux's estimates is not supported. Michaux proved that a 1:1 replacement of fossil fuel energy consumption with renewables is not possible; that necessarily implies that (since fossil fuels are just starting to run dry and becoming less viable) we have to get by on less energy. And yeah, that obviously implies substantial changes to how people live in rich countries, crushing the super-rich etc.; it's fair to say the whole system must become less complex, in ecological terms.

I do still agree it's more than understandable to be pessimistic about whether that will happen without everything collapsing first - to put it mildly, there is a lot of inertia in a system this complex! - but it's not physically impossible that humans could accomplish a renewable energy transition, contract and rationalise how we use what energy we can get, and still have everyone live relatively comfortably. (After all, life on Earth has managed to live sustainably on solar power for billions of years, indefinitely recycling carbon, nitrogen etc. between high and low energy forms and dumping all the unusable high-entropy energy into space; I stand by the belief that there is no intrinsic reason that human society, even with complex technologies like computers, could not eventually assume a similar equilibrium if we survive. Though could does not mean is likely to....)

So I'm not convinced that we're a few years away from the first domino falling in the apocalypse. The situation is very very bad, don't get me wrong, I do basically agree the current socioeconomic world system is not capable of adapting fast enough as it stands, and I do find it increasingly hard to imagine the prospect of it being overturned, so I don't think the gigadeaths future is out of the question or even unlikely. But it's at least not the imminent near-certainty this essay makes out. If it comes, it will be more drawn-out than that. We don't need to live as if we will certainly die in a year or five.

So... now back to not thinking about it and fiddling while the world burns, I guess? :/

[pointreyesjournal]

The Amnesiac : ep35

Saturday Morning Pancakes and Other Fucking Amazing Shit

I’m somewhere in a state of consciousness between asleep and awake when I feel River wrap her arm around me and cuddle up against my chest. I open my eyes and begin to say good morning but I stop myself before a word comes out of my mouth when I realize that River is completely asleep in my ams. The skies are dark and cloudy as the rain lashes against the window. My left arm is under River, so I have no way of checking my wristwatch to see what time it is. I decide that lucky is the man who gets to lay in the arms of a Scandinavian California girl, so I nuzzle up against her tightly and drift back into the state between consciousness until she begins to stir.

When she awakens, there’s no sign of drowsiness. Her eyes are immediately bright and focused on me and she leans in for a morning kiss. “What time is it?” she asks. I wriggle my arm out from underneath her and take a glance at my watch. “Oh wow, nine twenty! We really slept in.” I tell her. “I was dreaming about you so I stayed asleep as long as possible” she tells me with a thrust of her tongue in my mouth. I pounce on top of her, thrust her arms high up over her head toward the headboard and kiss every square inch of her body from wrists to ankles. A few extra kisses below the belly button net me explosive results and she finishes me off in reciprocal fashion.“Still hungry for breakfast?” I ask her jokingly when she’s done with me. She glances up at me from under the covers. “Pancakes sound really good right now!” she says. “I’ll bet they have them downstairs” I tell her “and we’re going nowhere fast with this lashing rain.” She gives my bare thighs a hard squeeze with her claws and with glancing smile she tells me “let’s go!”

We clean up with a warm shower (together again), get dressed and wander downstairs to the cafe in flip-flops. The hostess seats us against a window overlooking the raging sea as the rain continues to lash down. River orders pancakes, and I do too. They’re incredible. Buttermilk batter that’s been allowed plenty of time to rise, so they’re light and fluffy under real maple syrup.  We gorge and enjoy beautifully crafted lattes. A vent at the base of the wall is gently pumping warm air onto our feet. It’s cozy and when the pancakes are gone we order a second round of coffees so we can just sit by the window and enjoy more time at the table. We are completely simpatico and it makes me realize that I’ll probably never have to spend another night alone for as long as I live.

The rain is lightening up by the time the second coffees arrive and by the time we’re finished, there’s a little patch of blue sky far out on the horizon that appears to be headed our way. River asks the waitress about the weather forecast. She checks her phone and says it will be all-clear by noon, so we pay and then ask the front desk for a late checkout.

River turns on The Weather Channel when we get back to the room and looking at the forecast, it’s pretty obvious that making a beeline for Leavenworth would put us into the eye of the storm. We’re better off staying west and following the coast north for as long as possible. So that’s what we’ll do.

By the time we’ve got the Ducati loaded with the panniers at noon, the rain has largely passed, but this is the pacific northwest where weather is unpredictable and more-often-than-not unpleasant, so we visit a local fisherman’s supply store before leaving town and get a couple of rain slickers … just in case.

Onward north.

There’s a chill in the air that we haven’t experienced yet and River clings tightly to me for warmth. The plainly descriptive location names continue as we pass Otter Rock and Seal Rock en route to the cheddar capital of the pacific northwest, Tillamook. The big glass cheese factory building is quite unusual for the area and catches our attention immediately. There’s a hip, rustic looking coffee shack across the street so I pull in there for a quick word with River. “Cheese factory tour?” I ask. “Coffee first” she replies.

Excellent idea! Rain and fog are more common than sunshine on the Oregon coast so the local people have developed the art of coffee making to a level only seen in European cities like Vienna, Rome and Venice. The little coffee shop is empty except for a gorgeous native American looking girl with long back hair and perfect chocolate colored skin working both the cash register and making the coffee.

“Welcome in” she tell us.

“Such a cute little coffee shop” River exclaims.

“Thanks!” the barista replies.

“Where’s your bathroom?” asks River.

“Right over there” the barista points to a little black wooden door in the corner with a sign on the door with three pictograms on it - a man, a woman and an alien - and text underneath that reads “we don’t care what you are, just wash your hands when you’re finished.” River has a giggle as she latches the door behind her.

“Quad shot whole milk latte again?” the barista asks.

“How do you know my order?”

“I remember from last time. We roast strong coffee here and nobody orders quad shots unless they have a defibrillator nearby. Aren’t you the guy from California on the motorcycle?”

“Holy shit. You’ve got a good memory! Much better than mine.”

“Thanks. Not a lot of motorcycles in these parts. What does your friend want? I don’t remember her order.”

“You wouldn’t remember her, she wasn’t with me last time.”

“That’s weird, I could swear she was with you last time.”

River comes out of the bathroom with a spring in her step. “Miss, what can I getcha?” the barista asks. “Vanilla latte please” River tells her, and then I pay. The barista pulls the shots and assembles the drinks and has them on the bar in lighting speed while I ponder what just happened. We take our drinks from the bar and I offer a toast to River in light of this most recent discovery … “To convergence!” I toast with our paper cups.

“You won’t believe what just happened.”

Under the window, sat at a little two top like the one we sit at in our home coffee shop I tell River the incredible story of the barista recognizing me and even remembering my order. Then I tell her that the barista remembers her too. River is genuinely perplexed. It’s clear that I’ve been here, but this is River’s first time to the Oregon coast. I truly believe that River’s spirit had followed me on my previous journey, that’s why I keep manifesting her in my memories. But only I can see that, and unless we’re living inside of some science fiction movie, there’s no way the barista could have seen her before. River shakes her head in confusion. Her incredulity is completely justified.

“Floody, there’s a lot of weird, mystical, spiritual shit going on here.”

“Yes. Yes there is.”

“The problem is, I always joke about manifest destiny and karma and crap, but I’ve never actually seen it come true. Like, there are coincidences from time to time where you say ‘wow, that’s amazing’ … but this, this is truly amazing. I look at you and us and how we’ve become one on this journey, and I think about the universe and the stars and God and magic. I feel like something truly remarkable is unfolding before my very eyes, but I keep telling myself, this isn’t possible!”

“Well … it might seem impossible, but it’s not.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s happening, and there’s no denying it.”

River takes the last gulp from her drink, stands up and tosses the cup into the wastebasket.

“No fucking way, it’s just crazy” River exclaims as she’s heading for the door. Then she stops right in the middle of the room, next to the empty wine barrel acting as a merchandise display and looks right at the barista.

“What was I wearing last time I was here?” River asks.

“A white sweater, and right as you were about to walk out the door you asked me if the cheese factory tour is worth doing.” the barista replies.

River turns and looks across the room at me in absolute astonishment and disbelief. “I was totally going to ask her that” she tells me.

I just shrug my shoulders. This is happening.

[separatist-apologist]

Golden

I once believed love would be burning red. But it's golden

Summary: To save his people, Lucien Vanserra will marry his most hated enemy.

But to love her? Well, that's another thing entirely

My humble @elucienweek2022 submission

13k words

Chapter 2: Luck of the Draw Only Draws The Unlucky

Read More: AO3 | Chapter 1

To her credit, it took Arina an entire week at the Seaside Palace to finally turn that pretty face of hers and ask, “Well? How is he?”

Vassa erupted with laughter, spread across their trio of rafts they were using to float atop the ocean. They’d convinced Lucien to allow a few servants to take the boat out, bored of the pool and the garden and the endless monotony. He’d relented, sword in hand as he went to work off whatever troubled him with Jurian in the sparring ring. Elain and Lucien did not talk to each other about more than the weather, did not confess the things that ate at them.

“I have nothing to compare him to,” Elain admitted, laying in the middle raft, a floppy sun

hat shielding her face from the constant hot, bright sun. 

Vassa’s golden face appeared just above Elain. “But you are finishing, right?”

“Yes.” Gods, it embarrassed her to talk about it at all. They were all so casual about sex and Elain was trying to fit in. 

“I miss sex,” Arina, on the opposite end of their rafts, said the words just a little too loud to be casual. Elain noticed how one of the servants peered down at them, checking, she was sure, to make sure they hadn’t drowned and put himself right in Arina’s eye line. 

“You’re next,” Vassa said seriously, rolling from her back to stomach. “Helion will tire of your antics eventually and then what?”

“I’ll be dead,” Arina said confidently. “I’m not interested in marriage. Especially not after–”

Elain waited for her to finish that thought. “After what?”

“Arina was almost married,” Vassa hedged. “Once.”

“Once,” Arina agreed. “To the prince of the west. It was arranged, like these things are and I was young. So was he. Untested…he needed a wife better grounded in politics and that tied our realms together.”

“What happened?”

Arina’s laugh was bitter. “His father. He couldn’t stand watching his son get a young wife and thought it ought to be him. He changed the terms the week we arrived and I…I ran. I ran all the way back to Naxos and begged Lucien not to make me go through with it. I don’t know what he said to his father but I know he promised to make me his political advisor…for all the good that’s done him.”

“What about their king? Beron, right?” Elain questioned. 

“Oh, they hate us,” Vassa said cheerfully. “Helion stole Beron’s wife, once. Right from beneath his nose. Lady Amera supposedly climbed out of a window and sailed her own ship to be with him. They nearly fought a war over her but in the end, Beron got to keep her son and Helion paid him a lot of money.”

“So Lucien has a brother?”

“Half-brother,” Arina agreed. “Eris. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven Lucien from giving their mother a reason to stay here. I’d be mad, too, if I had to be raised by Beron though. Our history is complicated. Helion doesn’t make any woman who escapes their realm and crosses our border go back though Beron has been putting pressure on him to do so for years. Lots of run-away brides here.”

Vassa looked down at her splayed hands. “I’m technically still married in the west,” she admitted. “Not that I had any say, but…”

“And you’re about to be married in the south,” Arina agreed cheerfully. Elain looked at Vassa, who’s sunkissed skin was flushed with pleasure.

Married? To Jurian, Elain assumed. He was always touching, always watching after the red head with that intense look of his. 

“A week,” she said to Elain’s questioning stare. “I’ve asked Lucien if you can be there but…”

“Right,” she agreed, looking at the crystal water. Lucien hadn’t said so, of course, but she was being cloistered from his home on purpose. “I’ll be fine while you are gone.”

Vassa and Arina exchanged a glance before Arina sat up, hands on her bare thighs. “What if you promised not to…” “To open the gates and let Graysen Nolen in,” Vassa finished, not bothering to mince words. “If Lucien thought you weren’t a threat he’d take you back.”

“You’d like Naxos,” Arina added hopefully. “The palace has a lot more swimming pools, if nothing else.”

“What about his lover?” Elain asked, hating how even asking made her feel uneasy. She kept imagining that pretty woman striding into his arms and kissing him as if he were a regular man and not the crown prince. Hate him as she swore she did, Elain wanted that sort of familiarity with someone. She wanted a man to reach for her as the first thing he did, to sweep her up without caring about his image or reputation or who might see. Lucien swore he wouldn’t take a mistress but Elain didn’t believe him. Deep down, she knew he wanted her to stay out here so he could have his wife when he felt like it and his lover the rest of the time. Elain swallowed her embarrassment, reminding herself she ought to be grateful Lucien did nothing more than touch her with his fingers and his mouth. 

“Jes?” Arina asked, her voice careful. “He can’t hide from her forever.”

“If I were her, I wouldn’t want to see me,” Elain replied. Lucien might not care for her emotionally, might share nothing, but he still came to her each night as a husband ought to. Elain hadn’t been raised to expect any more and in some ways, she found the entire thing fulfilling. Almost enjoyable, given how she woke each morning alone and was allowed to do as she liked. Lucien didn’t bother her, didn’t ask her for anything, barely looked at her at all until he returned in the evening and locked the door behind him. 

“She’s practical,” Vassa assured Elain. “She understands, I’m sure…”

“She knew who he was when they met,” Arina added softly and Elain wondered if they wouldn’t choose Jes once they all returned. They knew her, after all, well enough to know there would be no true hard feelings. That frightened Elain more than anything. She’d never had real friends, friends she thought might keep her secrets. Might like her. To lose them on a technicality, to be left with only Lucien, well…

“I can stay,” Elain said again, too brightly to be believable. Arina and Vassa narrowed their eyes before Vassa rolled between her raft and Elain’s to rest her head on Elain’s shoulder. “I want you to go. You’d like Naxos.”

“I’ll talk to Lucien,” Arina added, the matter decided between them.

And it was only later that Elain realized they’d asked, not because they needed her to be there, but because they wanted her to love their home. 

They wanted her to belong.

LUCIEN:

Elain was waiting for Lucien, her skin tanner than he’d seen it since she arrived. She’d filled out over the last week, though if it was the food or the companionship Vassa and Arina were offering, he didn’t know. What he did know, without a doubt, was that within the span of a week, both Arina and Vassa were willing to go to bat for the enemy. Violently, if his bruised arm had anything to say about. They wanted him to lift her sequestration so she could come to Naxos.

Lucien thought the idea had merit, if only to introduce his people to their new princess during a time of celebration. They’d been denied a wedding between him and her and the next best thing would be to parade her through the city. Elain was a thing of beauty and her smiles were genuine, even if they had never been directed at him. He could understand why Vassa and Arina felt protective and how Elain might draw in others.

He didn’t want Jes to see. Every time he thought about bringing Elain back, all he could think of was the devastation he’d feel, knowing he was rubbing his new wife in the face of the woman who ought to have been his wife. The woman he still wanted, who still plagued his thoughts all day. He was compartmentalizing the woman back home, the one he was still desperate to have and the one in his bed, his wife. The woman he would kill to keep. Lucien couldn’t explain it— he was supposed to protect her, to keep her safe and he knew, as he strode towards the bed, he would do far worse, far uglier, to ensure Elain could lay in silk sheets with a sunburned nose and a soft smile on her exquisite face. It faded when he stepped into the room as it always did, her eyes becoming somber. She’d smile for Vassa and Arina…but not for him. 

“I was starting to think you’d left already,” she said. Only Elain had not asked to go. She had quietly resigned herself to spending the next week alone. 

“Tomorrow,”  he murmured, shedding himself of his clothes and sliding into bed. Elain always wore a nightgown no matter how many times he protested, even after he’d declared their bed a place devoid of clothing. Some habits died hard, he supposed. 

Pulling Elain against his body, Lucien indulged himself in the fantasy that she came. He let himself imagine putting her atop his horse, adorned in gold. As always, his fantasies slanted back to his bedroom. What he really wanted was Elain back in his actual bed, splayed across his blankets, moaning his name for the city to hear. And he couldn’t do it, because he knew Jes would know and the door between them would close forever. A week without Elain or a life with Jes?

“Will you send my letters for me?” Elain added, pulling a stack of neatly addressed letters from her nightstand to hand to him. Lucien paused. 

“You’ve been writing letters?” he asked, noting that she hadn’t sealed any of the envelopes. 

“You can read them, if you like,” she whispered, her humiliation evident. “Just to my sisters. No code, I…we were close.”

“Sure.” It wasn’t a lie. Lucien would read the letter before leaving it up to his father to decide. Elain only offered him that soft, hurt tinged nod. She was making the best of things, was trying in her small little way. He’d caught her out in the garden a few times digging up weeds just as often as he found curled up by a window staring at nothing. 

“Do you miss him?” Lucien asked impulsively. Elain looked down at her fingers, curling them against her palm.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. The answer irked him. She was his wife, but Lucien only barely considered himself her husband which was the real problem. He could do what he liked, could love whomever he chose but Elain could only want him. She didn’t have to love him, but she couldn’t pine for someone else and certainly couldn’t miss Graysen. 

It was petty, but Lucien, his feelings hurt, said, “You’ll stay out of trouble this week?” She’d stay, if only to salve the wound she didn’t even know she’d made. 

And Elain didn’t look disappointed at all. She didn’t seem relieved, either. Just carefully neutral, nodding as she slid down the mountain of pillows against the bed frame. Lucien set her letters to the side so he could pull her into his arms.  “I’m learning to bake bread,” she told him, pressing a kiss to his neck. “When you return, I’ll have mastered it.” A good little wife. She made the best of things because what other option did she have? Guilt gnawed at him and Lucien silenced it with a kiss to her mouth and then a kiss to other places he far preferred to touch. Lucien drew it out until dawn, refusing to let her sleep until after he departed, telling himself it was kinder, that she could waste a whole day in bed rather than walking the halls of the Seaside Palace alone.

And yet he knew it wasn’t true. Lucien was being selfish, was taking what she was giving without offering her anything in return. He took her letters, he took Jurian and Vassa and Arina and he left Elain with a skeleton crew of servants, a few guards and a warning he’d kill them all if she escaped. Vassa and Jurian said nothing as they’d sailed away but Arina, who was always supposed to be his spy, was livid.

“There is supposed to be a storm this week,” Arina complained, watching the shimmering, iridescent palace fade in the distance. “She’s going to be alone. Has she ever experienced a hurricane?”

“How should I know?” Lucien replied, refusing to feel an ounce of guilt. 

“What if she gets hurt? What if one of the men–”

“They wouldn’t dare,” Jurian interrupted, though Lucien saw the uncertainty in his eyes. They’d hand-picked the guards, men they’d fought alongside for over the years. Men Lucien would have trusted with his own life.

“They wouldn’t dare take their revenge on Ellesmere’s princess?” Arina challenged, turning pleading, green eyes to Lucien. “Please bring her–”

“No.”

“You’re such a coward,” Vassa scoffed from beside Jurian. 

“Since when is this Elain’s court?” Lucien demanded. “You’ve spent a week with her and suddenly I’m not your prince any longer? You follow her commands?”

“Elain asks for nothing,” Vassa protested. “Surely you must have noticed, given how you’re constantly fucking her. She never says no, she just does what she’s told. If we don’t look out for her, it’s not like you will.”

“I resent that. She’s my wife.”

“At night,” Arina snapped. “During the day she’s your enemy.”

“Well,” Lucien began, staring her down with a fury he could only just contain. “Not all of us get to just walk away from a marriage contract.”

“Oh go fuck yourself,” she retorted. The four of them lapsed back into stony silence. Lucien was practically simmering by the time he reached the city. Arina stormed off without a word, leaving

Vassa to make some small semblance of apology.

“She’s trying too, Lucien,” Vassa murmured. “You know she doesn’t have a lot of friends.”

“What about Jes?” he demanded but Vassa shook her head. 

“What do you really know about Arina? I mean, really know about her? She’s not outgoing and social like you…like Jes. You should have let Elain come and keep her company.”

“It's too late now. I can’t risk Elain telling Graysen about us, about our court, our home…”

Vassa nodded. “I hope this is worth it.”

It was worse inside the palace. His father frowned the moment he stepped inside, his falling silent to shoo away the courtiers surrounding him. “Where is your wife?” he demanded, the golden throne sitting silent at his back.

“Safe,” Lucien replied. “Far away from the things I love.” Lucien tossed the letters to his father, having read them silently on the journey over. She’d been truthful enough, though if there was a code to speak of, it was far too advanced for him to pick up. Elain spoke of her day, of how she occupied her time, never once mentioning him at all. She very carefully avoided saying his–or anyone else's–name, as if she knew more than just Feyre and Nesta would be reading. She’d said nothing of city landmarks, described nothing that couldn’t be found in a million other places, like the pool and the library, and had generally painted a very rosy picture.

I’m safe. Don’t worry about me. I miss you both and hope to see you soon. 

“So have her sisters,” Helion replied, rising from his throne to beckon Lucien to follow. “You were supposed to bring her for this, to introduce her to the city.”

“I don’t trust her,” Lucien snapped, though that was only partly true. He didn’t want Elain getting in the way of his reunion with Jesminda. His father ushered him into the study to produce the stack of letters, far larger than Elain’s fourteen. 

“Jesminda is gone, Lucien,” he said without preamble. “Your mother has sent her to Rhodes.”

Lucien’s whole body became ice. “What?”

“She swore you’d try something like this. I defended you, and yet here you are. Wifeless, trying to have both women at once. Jesminda is gone. She is not coming back, not in my lifetime. She will move on, will remarry and will remain your subject for as long as she dwells within our borders, but she will never again warm your bed.”

“You should have told me,” Lucien said, turning his back so his father would not see his pain. “I didn’t tell her goodbye.”

He felt his fathers hand on his shoulder, steadying him until his breathing slowed. “I wanted to marry her. I was going to ask when we returned.”

“You could have told me no,” his father reminded him. “I gave you a choice.”

“Peace, though…” Lucien said desperately, turning to look up at the person he trusted most in the world. “How could I ever look at her knowing I chose her over peace?”

“I was a choice,” he replied gravely, walking back to his desk. “One Elain Archeron was not given. You owe her.”

“She wouldn’t even care,” Lucien protested, well aware he won no favor with his father for saying so.

“West and North are not so different,” Helion began, sliding those letters from her sisters—unopened, uninspected. “When I met your mother, she wasn’t allowed to make eye contact with any man that wasn’t her husband.”

Lucien sank into the chair across from his father. He’d never heard this story. Only the sanitized version everyone else got, of how she’d risked her life for love and how Helion had been willing to march to war to keep her. “Dressed in those heavy dresses and so many absurd layers…for her protection, of course. She was young, just like Elain, too. Already had a child and was trying desperately not to have another. Archeron was marching again and Beron and I decided to ally. He set up camp in our city, combined forces so we could shove him back and Amera came to stay, too. You wouldn’t know it, but your mother apologized for everything, things so far out of her control…she was nothing if her husband didn’t say so. Even after she left him, it took time and patience to coax her out. Where is your patience, son?”

Lucien took a breath. “She has scars on her back. Ten of them–I’ve counted. She won’t tell me who gave them to her.”

Helion looked at the smooth, emptied wood of his desk. “It’s an early test of obedience. Girls learn not to make noise. If she has ten, I’d guess she cried, and if she still wears the scars… they likely used more violence than necessary.”

Lucien rubbed his eyes and looked to the heavens. “How am I supposed to care for her when she sleeps in my bed wishing I were the enemy?”

His father only sighed.

“Figure it out.”

ELAIN:

A ship came mid-week with supplies and letters. One from Lucien and one from Arina. Elain opened Arina’s first, giggling at the first line.

I’m sorry Lucien is such an ugly asshole. Arina filled her in on the wedding, her letters clearly passing the scrutiny of Lucien’s gaze. She could see where he’d carefully opened the letter, tearing the delicate parchment without meaning to. He’d resealed it, smoothing the edges and she wondered how many years would be spent this way. Arina ended her letter sweetly—I miss you more than I thought I would—-leaving Elain feeling empty and lonely. It had only been four days since they’d left and yet she could only occupy herself so often with kneading dough. It had to rise, had to proof and then be eaten before she could start over. 

The letter from Lucien was shorter and formal.

I hope you’re doing well.

You are on my mind.

I will see you soon.

Nothing that betrayed anything but duty. Nothing that spoke of the week of nights he’d spent naked in the same bed as her. She still woke at night reaching for him, only to find cold, empty space. She imagined he was doing just fine with Jesminda, that Lucien had gotten what he’d wanted and would return to the island only when he was forced to.

Arina would be back, though. She’d sworn to return with the next departing ship. That didn’t seem to be anytime soon, given the moodiness of the sky. She’d heard the servants murmuring about an incoming storm with wariness. Elain left them to unload, noting how the guards watched her with hateful eyes. Whatever Lucien had told them kept them at their posts, kept them from getting too close…but sometimes, at night, Elain swore she heard footsteps outside her bedroom door and clutched that knife Arina had given her just a little tighter. She didn’t doubt for a moment that they wouldn’t kill her if they had the chance.

The servants, too, kept a respectful distance. Wary. Everyone was just wary of her, the princess of Ellesmere, daughter of their hated enemy, foisted upon their beloved prince. He hadn’t brought her with him and that spoke volumes. She was good enough to have sex with but not a beloved wife. 

Elain went to her bedroom despondently, locking the door as she always did before turning to the rest of the letters. Half Feyre, half Nesta. Only a few had been opened, as if his curiosity had gotten the better of him before guilt won out. Elain read Nesta’s first.

Elain-

I hope you’re doing well and you’re being taken care of. Father refuses to send an emissary to check you though Feyre and I have been applying pressure. Feyre was punished for trying to ride on her own to come get you, to bring you back. She is laid up in bed, miserable and furious. We both are. Graysen swears this is all temporary but you are another man’s wife and we all know you can’t just come back. I’m getting worried…worried enough to look for other allies. 

If you are safe, write us back. I will assume if you do not it is because you are unsafe. I just want to see you. Press upon the prince to meet us somewhere, assure him it is not an ambush. Just two sisters worried about their missing piece. We promise to come unarmed.

Miss you,

Nesta

Elain- 

I know you must miss him, but General Nolan is a fucking bastard. He caught me outside the city and dragged me back and father let him give me five lashes for his trouble. He enjoys it too much and some small part of me is glad you escaped him. He still thinks he’ll be made King but Nesta is looking to usurp him and she is not a viable candidate for marriage. He thinks you’ll come back somehow, that this will all still work out but…if they are treating you well, I think you should stay. DON’T come home unless this is better than whatever you’re facing there. I reached out to some contacts in the east and they say Naxos is a haven for people in the west but I don’t know if that extends to you. 

Nesta and I want to come see you but father won’t allow it. He won’t send the emissary’s, he won’t consent to anything so we write in secret, waiting for you to tell us you’re well, that Lord Lucien is a good enough husband and that you could be happy. 

If that is all true, perhaps we’ll meet again when things settle (and Graysen is dead). If not, though…we should all leave. Things are increasingly hostile and I think war is inevitable. Maybe not this year. But next? There is a summit in the east, a gathering to create a more permanent peace between our four realms. I know father and Graysen intend to go and Nesta has all but secured a spot. I am confident I could figure it out but could you? Would your prince allow you to? Ask him, do what you must. We will meet here, if only to reassure the others we are safe. 

I worry about all of this, about what will happen next. Most of all, I worry they have locked you away somewhere and you don't know that we miss you at all. I worry you’re alone and scared. Have hope, if you’re reading this. We love you, even if Nesta’s letter didn’t say so.

Be strong. Be safe.

Feyre. 

Elain read the others, tears dripping down her nose. She forgot to eat that night, curled in her bed of blankets and papers, rereading Feyre and Nesta’s words until she had them memorized. Graysen whipping Feyre, chasing after her, telling on her…walking around, preening and assuming he could still be king, that she would still somehow be there to marry him. With no concern about her safety, her life, her feelings.

Elain knew if he ever got her back now, he’d punish her for being sullied for the rest of her life. He’d know she liked it, that she’d gone willing every time when he’d told her not to. And Lucien hadn’t been wrong when he’d accused her of letting Graysen kill any children she had while she was here. If he got to her before they were born, he’d merely kill the infant before it ever took its first breath and after, well…Elain could imagine the accidents that might befall a child. There would be no half-siblings battling for rule, no marching to war for a woman. Lucien was likely to hand her over.

Perhaps he would when he returned, if things with Jesminda went well. Maybe that was why Graysen wasn’t concerned with her absence. He’d already reached out to Lucien, had offered another trade. Peace for the woman who he’d offered up in good faith. It made no sense and yet it kept her awake that night, twisting her stomach in knots until Elain fell asleep in the bathroom, wrapped in a duvet, her head pressed against the porcelain tub. 

The sound of glass shattering and a pounding on the door roused Elain. She woke to total darkness which made no sense. “Princess!” a man’s voice barked. “Princess, you need to get up!”

Howling wind and creaking wood groaned around her. Elain scrambled upwards, only to be thrown back by a pulse of something. She screamed, her voice sucked into the yawning world. Rain pelted through the broken windows while wind sent shards of glass everywhere, slicing against her skin as she battled for the bathroom again. It was as if the world had exploded, erupting with furious, ugly violence. She’d never seen anything like this, had never felt as if she might be blown away as though she were a feather in the wind. 

Whoever had pounded at the door was gone, seeking shelter somewhere safer. Elain felt the world tilt, though it was just another gust of wind blowing in, shoving her over the bed to crash against the bed frame. Outside, the sea seemed to stretch for miles towards the sky, whipping water and debris every which way. Elain choked back her fear and ignored the burning bruise against her spine to scramble one last time for the bathroom. The palace was made of stone, could weather this storm but Elain could not. She managed to yank open the door when she heard lightning crack against the sky and the water smash against the shore. Somewhere in the distance, she swore she heard a scream for help. 

Elain reached for the door knob before her fear overtook her and she succumbed to the blackness. 

LUCIEN:

Lucien had just managed to evacuate the city to higher ground when the hurricane ripped through the world around them. He watched, horror turning to dread, as the wind and the sea raced towards them, sweeping away everything in its path. It raged for hours, dumping buckets of water over everything and ruining the beach. Lucien didn’t have to ask Jurian for help when the storm settled, leaving gray gloom and a wash of palm leaves all over the city. The dock was intact given it was made of concrete but the majority of the ships were damaged and would not be usable for days, if not weeks. 

Jurian seemed to realize the same. “She might…she’s fine,” Jurian finally said, eyes unable to see the island in the mist. Lucien ran a hand over his mouth, shaking his head. “I’ll row.”

“Are you insane?” Jurian demanded, eyeing the choppy waves around them. He was—so utterly crazed that he might have swam if he thought he could.

In the end, it was a merchant who offered up his ship for a substantial amount of gold in exchange for borrowing it indefinitely. Arina came running after them as the pair quickly untied, leaping onto the deck before Jurian or Lucien could stop them. Vassa was just behind, far more graceful than the panicked Arina. 

“Don’t say it,” Lucien warned her, lips chapped against the wind. Arina only shook her head as if she didn’t dare say I told you so, even though he would have deserved it. Arina had warned him only five days before and Lucien had brushed it off, annoyed and unconcerned. Elain would be fine…and he was more terrified than he was willing to admit that she wasn’t. 

His wife, his wife. 

He’d abandoned her for another woman and instead of just going back, tail tucked between his legs, and asking for absolution, Lucien had licked his wounds quietly at home as if he weren’t married at all.

Everyone noticed, gossiped over the missing northern princess. Frigid bitch was a common refrain. She wasn’t good enough for him and he supposed this was proof. He’d left her to die.

He was no better than Graysen in that regard.

Arina and Vassa both emitted soft screams when they saw the wreckage of the island. The palace was intact but everything else…the glass, the pools, the vegetation and glass…all of it had been ripped apart. He saw more than one body laying face down in the sand and prayed to every God his people had ever worshiped that Elain was not among them. 

The four disembarked silently, sweeping over the palm-strewn beach to gather the bodies. It was miserable work, pulling the people he knew, that he’d left behind, from an inch of sea water to lay on the beach. More burials, more grief…and no Elain. By mid-day, Lucien was drenched in sweat and strung tighter than a bowstring as he made his way indoors. He went to his bedroom first, noting the wreckage of the room, the ruined glass, the battered bathroom door. Their blanket lay crumpled inside, bloodstained and cold. She’d been here, at least. 

“ELAIN!” Arina’s voice shrieked from outside, drawing Lucien from the bedroom to the back terrace. Elain was bruised and cut, pale and exhausted from a night holed up but otherwise okay with the surviving servants. Arina had pulled her to her feet but Lucien noted she hadn’t been cloistered away from the rest of the survivors but bandaging a little boys swinging knee.

“Come here,” he murmured, well aware all eyes were on him. He would have no more gossip about his frigid wife or his hatred of her. Elain stumbled forward and Lucien caught her, pulling her against his chest for everyone to see. Look at her, he wanted to say. She survived. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, lips pressed against her scalp. Elain nodded, stiff beneath his hands. He was certain he’d find more bruises when he checked her over later but for now, she was breathing and safe and he had not entirely failed her. 

It was like pulling teeth, convincing her to leave. Elain stared at the bodies on the beach silently, even when Jurian assured her they would be buried in the city properly where everyone could mourn their loss. She didn’t want to go and he wondered if she didn’t feel a little guilty too.

Naxos had fared better than the island. No one died and only rooftops and ships were damaged. They’d weathered far worse, all things considered. Lucien had Elain walk from the docks to the palace, his hand always on her back. Everyone paused to look, to take in the bruised, battered princess. Their looks of disdain were not for her—they were all leveled at him. What kind of man left his wife alone like that, he knew they thought? What kind of man didn’t keep her safe? He wore their shame like a crown of thorns, eyes cast down so they knew there was no pride in this walk, no pleasure. 

His father was the final test, his eyes burning with disapproval. Lucien’s mother stepped forward for Elain, to sweep her away somewhere safe, to assure her this was unusual and that it had merely been an oversight but Lucien stepped in front of her.

“No,” he murmured, only looking at his father. Was he a good man or not? Did he honor his promises or not? “I’ll take her.”

His mothers russet eyes were rich with sympathy, nodding as she stepped out the entryway, shoulder to shoulder with his father. They’d raised him better and still…and still Lucien had come to try and convince another woman they could be together, leaving Elain to die. 

He couldn’t speak until they were alone in his bedroom, untouched by the damage of the storm. “Take off your dress,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. Elain nodded, fingers trembling as she undid the clasps at her shoulders. The material fell at her feet and Lucien sucked in a sharp breath. Purple blossomed over her tanned skin, spanning her ribs and dotting her spine. Little cuts screamed over the once smooth planes of her stomach and back. “I’m sorry,” he said before she could speak. “I’m so sorry.”

He waited for her soft forgiveness but Elain, naked in the middle of the room, illuminated by the creeping gloom, didn’t smile or sigh or anything. “Did she forgive you for marrying me?” Elain murmured, her question a punch to the gut.

“It’s over,” he said, not bothering to explain how it ended. “For good.”

Those same cool brown eyes watched him, her expression unreadable. “I want to see my sisters.”

“Done.”

Emotion warmed her cheeks and Elain, as if realizing she was naked for the first time, inched away from him until she had pulled the blanket draped over the end of his bed. Wrapping it around her body, Elain continued. “You’re never allowed to hit me.”

His knees almost buckled. “Done.”

Ask for more, he urged, watching her every breath, her tiny movements as she wrapped her mind around how easy it was for him to agree. She wasn’t asking him for anything he wasn’t already willing to give her.

“I don’t care if you never love me,” she whispered, tugging the blanket tight. “But I want to be your equal. Your partner.”

Lucien’s breath was ragged. “Done.”

“Done,” she repeated. “Just like that?”

Lucien snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

“Then I can come to the Summit with you in the east?”

He’d already intended to bring her, so it was easy to nod. He’d bring Arina and maybe Vassa, too, since Jurian would come. Force Arina to step into her political destiny and give Elain someone to talk to that she could trust. “Yes.”

Whatever wild thing had been writhing in her chest settled. “No mistresses, either.”

Gods and stars, that woman… “I said I wouldn’t,” Lucien all but gritted out, trying so hard to remain patient. His mother, who hadn’t been able to look men in the eyes, who had climbed through a window and battled sea and sky to get to his father, peered through Elain’s big, warm eyes. Elain, who had left her home on the promise of peace, had turned her back on her life, her culture, who had asked for nothing while he made plans for her future and still made friends and apologized for the wounds on his face— “I’m sorry, Elain.”

The cold shuttered from her gaze. “It’s not your fault.”

Forgiveness.

 Just like that. 

Elain only asked for him to consider her humanity though acted as if it were some big sacrifice. He knew he ought to get on his knees and truly beg her forgiveness but Lucien was still wary, too. 

And afraid, too.

 So, so afraid of the thought that he might have lost her. 

ELAIN:

“Run, run, run,” Elain hissed, hiking up her golden skirts to dart through the packed streets. She was late and Lucien was going to kill her when he realized she hadn’t gotten turned around, as she planned to lie, but that her, Vassa, and Arina had been up all night drinking and fell asleep in a park. Hardly princess behavior and yet Elain no longer felt like a princess. She was given far too much freedom that she’d become drunk on it and now…now she was going to embarrass him in front of the city. 

“Move,” Arina all but yelled, shoving a rather large man out of the way so Elain could continue wedging her way up to the palace where Lucien and his family stood, blessing the rising morning sun at the start of their holiest week, Panathenean. Lucien was already there, head bowed beneath the gleaming gold crown that was a larger match for the one atop her own head. He was nearly shirtless—what else was new—, his golden sandals tracking up his muscled calves and Elain had to stop staring at him as she skittered just beside him, chest heaving, sweat dripping down her bare back. Lucien glanced over at her, no smile on his lips even when he reached for her hand to ghost a kiss over her knuckles.

He was always doing things like that. It wasn’t romance so much as practicality. She knew the courtiers called her frigid and imagined her as some sort of ice queen in the bedroom. The regular folks didn’t, though. Their opinion of her had softened after the hurricane when Lucien had brought her back bruised and bleeding. She’d become one of them somehow, a regular person who was occasionally draped in heavy gold. They watched his every move, judging him when he wasn’t soft and sweet and warm like his father. 

“I missed you this morning,” he murmured against the orating priestess. Liar.  “Out again?”

“Sorry,” she lied, eyes cast downward. She’d begun to believe he wasn’t going to strike her, wasn’t going to take another woman if she wasn’t always waiting on her knees. Elain was, perhaps, taking advantage of that, at least a little. Instead of giving her a long leash, Lucien had given none at all. She was free for the first time in her life. He’d been visibly disappointed when she produced proof of her courses the week before but Elain was privately relieved. A baby would confine her back to the palace, would leash her in a different way. She wanted to be a mother…and she wanted to be a person, too. 

Elain laced her fingers through his own, squeezing another silent apology. Lucien squeezed back, raising his head to sweep his eyes over the gathered populace, praying alongside his father for continued peace. One month. In another they’d ride east to the summit and she’d see her father for the first time since he’d handed her over, she’d see Graysen…her sisters. Nesta, who was quietly positioning herself to take the north in a coup and needed support…and Feyre, who had stopped writing letters a week before. Elain wondered if Feyre hadn’t managed to slip through Graysen’s fingers. 

The service concluded with a song everyone but Elain knew the words to. She kept her head bowed and hoped no one looked too closely at her, ignoring how Lucien’s lips twitched every time his eyes cut towards her. The moment people began to scatter, Elain tried to bolt for Arina’s distinct blonde hair in the crowd. Lucien’s arm shot out, snagging her around the waist before she could vanish. He hadn’t been watching to make fun of her, then, but because he knew if he took his eyes off her, he wouldn’t see her for the rest of the day.

“Let me go,” she pleaded as he hauled her against his warm, toned body. 

“You have responsibilities,” he reminded her, his mouth hot against her ear. “You are still a princess.”

“Just barely,” she reminded him, wondering if she could trick him into releasing her by reminding him of their last shared night together in which he’d fucked her so throughly she might have been a whore. His whore, which she supposed could have been worse. I could have been better, too, but she'd take what she could get. 

Lucien grinned syrupy sweet. “You’re stuck with me today. Don’t make me chase after you.”

Elain hesitated, twisting from his grip to look up at him. “Would you?”

His eyes darkened for only a fraction of a moment and like always, he was thinking about sex. It was the one thing they had in common because it was the only thing they actually did together. Elain had her friends and Lucien had his. He did his fair share of running around and drinking though once Elain had caught him with some of the ladies of the court, head thrown back and laughter and had felt the familiar prick of jealousy. 

He wasn’t trying very hard, either, she reminded herself. It was her nature to do more than him and Elain was trying very hard to fight that. If this was all he wanted, it was all she’d give him. 

“Yes,” Lucien finally said, dragging her from her thoughts. “I would, which would hardly look good for either of us. No one wants to see what I’d do to you against one of these buildings.”

“I do,” Elain replied honestly. Lucien fucked her exactly the same without variation and after listening to Arina and Vassa describe their own exploits, Elain wanted to try something new, too. She was only too nervous to bring it up, embarrassed that he would think she was some sort of sex-starved temptress he would find distasteful.

“Let’s revisit that when the sun goes down,” Lucien all but purred, his hand sliding over her lower back with want. Elain squirmed with pleasure which clearly was doing something for him, even as he moved her through the crowd. Still his little trophy only now Lucien needed her, at least a little. He’d displeased his city once by shunning Jes and again by nearly letting her die. Jes was gone and though no one would tell her exactly why Jes had left, Elain suspected Lucien’s parents had intervened to protect their alliance with the north. She couldn’t blame them…she only wished he’d been the one to end things and not his father. It was practical and  Elain couldn’t help but like how hard Lucien had to try, this clearly beloved son, to win back the favor of the people he wanted to rule. All because of her.

Not everyone, of course, and even those who considered her one of them didn’t wholly trust her. She had too much of her fathers features for anyone to ever forget who she was. They wanted to see Lucien become his father or at least embody all the qualities that made Helion so great. And Elain couldn’t deny Helion was a great leader. He was kind and fair and patient and perhaps most of all, he openly loved his wife. It set the tone for the rest of the city and his laws that governed the way women moved through it. If he couldn’t abide by them, why should anyone else? And to that end, if his son couldn’t, what made him fit to take his fathers place? So they watched how Lucien interacted with her, balancing him on a knife’s edge. It was no secret their marriage had happened on a battlefield, no secret that Elain hadn’t known until she showed up or that Lucien hardly wanted it. He didn’t have to love her.

But he had to respect her. 

Lucien was aiming for both, in some measure. Respect and affection, at least. He kept it up in the palace and in the city, always touching, head inclined as if he were murmuring something only she could hear. He was usually boring her with the most mind numbing facts she’d ever heard in her entire life, choosing to share the history of a building while Elain nodded along, pretending he was describing, in detail, how he might lick her later. 

She wished. Equals in name only. Lucien still worked and rarely asked her opinion. She was frustrated by that, though there was little to do other than to start trailing his steps which sounded worse than any idea she’d ever had. Elain swore to herself that those promises had meant something before giving herself permission to run amok with Vassa and Arina.

Just as always, Lucien bowed his head towards her. “Do you see that lamp post over there? Back when–”

“Lucien?” Elain interrupted with that same sugary sweetness he’d hit her with earlier. Lucien’s face was so impossibly close she could have kissed him if she wanted. “Not today, okay? No one is interested in the history of limestone or kerosene but you.”

Surprise flickered over his features. “Well, what does fascinate you, wife?” she hated how he called her that sometimes, saying wife as if it were a dirty word. “Besides my cock, of course?”

“How did you end up here?” she asked with a scowl at his little comment. Elain had heard the rumors, of course, the fairy tales told to children about the evil barbarians to the south who strutted about naked as they stole women and children from their bed.

Lucien tilted his head towards the sun, rambling steps leading them from the palace to the bustling city square. “We came across the sea, like everyone else,” he finally said, hand sliding from her back to take her hand. “In truth, maybe we’ve never had peace…just long periods of a truce.”

Elain opened her mouth to tell him Graysen intended to break the treaty, that he’d promised to come back for her within six months. One had already passed without a word from her father or his prized general. Elain didn’t know if telling Lucien made her sound like a traitor for keeping the secret for so long, or an idiot for thinking he didn’t already know. Lucien certainly acted as if he expected to pick his sword up again someday. She wondered if he’d send her back, too. 

“And your city?”

“We were seafaring people,” he told her. “So a port city made sense. Trading is still our most lucrative source of income.”

He’d begun to share more with her, too. Trust. “We’re told you were once us,” she admitted, catching the smile on his face.

“Yes, I’ve heard about the vengeful barbarians coming to steal pretty princesses in the night,” Lucien teased. “I’ve been stalking you for a long, long time.”

It was his game, to pretend he’d wanted her before in some form or fashion. She thought it made him feel better about losing Jes and being forced to be with her for the rest of his life. The fantasy, no matter how absurd, gave him some small measure of control again. Elain knew without a doubt he would never have looked twice at her and if he had, it would have been to give her the same dirty look, just to be sure she saw his dislike. 

“What would you have done, if you’d gotten me away?” Elain asked anyway, only because he looked so good in his short toga with his gleaming, muscular thighs on display.

“I would have taken you in the woods like an animal and let your family listen to your breathless, panting screams begging for more,” he replied. Elain’s stomach clenched as she imagined his words, causing her to whirl around.

“Show me,” she whispered breathlessly. “I want–”

“Not now,” Lucien replied, eyes lingering over her head. “You can’t distract me from our shared responsibilities. Not yet, anyway.”

Elain inclined her head upwards, her frustration building. A whole day of this sounded like torture. Elain could see Arina and Vassa lingering, nodding for her to ditch him and come spend time with them. Lucien could, too, if the tightening grip on her waist was any indication.

“If we stay, people will start offering me fruit and meat again,” Elain complained, rounding on him.

“You don’t like fruit and meat?” Lucien challenged. Elain let him see her roll her eyes, poking his bare stomach. She almost conceded, nearly just gave in when a strange thought occurred to her.

“Is no one hungry here?”

Lucien’s steps halted, eyebrows knitted. “No. Why should they? We have more than we could ever need.”

And so had her father and yet he still collected coins and other goods four times a year. Lucien  could see it on her face. “Do they go hungry in the north?”

“It's so odd,” Elain admitted, flexing her hands to look at the knuckles, no longer bruised and bleeding from the beatings when she’d been caught dropping coins. Elain decided to tell him, angling her head to look as she said, “I used to carry coins in my pockets everywhere—”

“You still do,” Lucien interrupted, as if she were answering a question he’d been asking since they met.

“And I’d pretend to drop them as we passed. It made father so angry, he’d take this cane and—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Lucien demanded, snatching her hand to examine it. Finding nothing but smooth, unblemished skin, Lucien pressed his mouth against her fingers all the same, his kiss more apology than affection. Elain saw several elders watching, their eyes softened in approval. He was a good prince—a good man—if he could be so soft with his traitorous wife. 

“There’s no need to carry money,” Lucien assured her, keeping her hand in his as they made their way to the vast flagstone square. Bright streamers were hung high above the streets in between little lanterns that would illuminate the night once the sun set. Vendors in stalls sold their wares while throngs of people in brightly colored clothes milled around, weaving around tables and chairs set up for drinking and eating, towards a marked off space that was for dancing and musicians. It was where Arina and Vassa lingered, their patience wearing thin. Lucien had seen them too. 

“If you need anything, everyone will know to bill me your expenses,” Lucien finished. “And if you see someone starving, it is your right to drag me from the palace and make me answer for it.”

Elain tried to imagine dragging Lucien into the streets by the scruff of his neck and atone for his failures. More like, Lucien would go of his own accord and set things right. It was Graysen who popped into her mind, haughty and arrogant and so utterly incensed he would have harmed her for her insolence.

“I like having coins in my pocket,” she admitted as Lucien dropped her hand.

“Yes. You have become quite the wild thing, haven’t you?”

 She waited for his reprimand, his reminder princesses needed to act with more decorum. Instead, Lucien seemed strangely affectionate as he gestured for her to leave him. “Go on, then. Try not to cause too much mischief while you’re at it.”

Elain was already hedging away, eyes bouncing between him and her friends. “You’re sure? I can stay…”

“Are you offering?” he all but teased, watching as she slipped further and further from his grasp.

“I’ll find you later,” she lied. Lucien only waved her away.

“Yes, I’m sure you will. Go on, then.”

Elain did exactly as he demanded.

LUCIEN:

“I saw your wife earlier,” Jurian told Lucien, collapsing into a chair beside Lucien. It was just past sunset, the sky an inky purple dotted with the lanterns hanging around him. Lucien set his goblet of wine onto the table, noting there were still two empty chairs that could be filled—that would have been filled, had he and Jurian not been married. No one dared, now. No one was sure how the princess might react but everyone knew Vassa’s temper was legendary. 

“Staying out of trouble?” Lucien asked, strangely pleased Elain was somewhere in the city having fun.

“Absolutely not,” Jurian chuckled, reaching for a piece of meat on the platter in front of them. Lucien never went without and certainly not when he chose to waste a day mingling in the city. Every time his cup was nearly empty or he’d made his way through a tray of food someone showed up to replenish it without a word spoken. It wasn’t servitude but gratitude. He was their prince and in some ways, he was also their son. “They’re making their way back but it’s slow,” Jurian added. “They’ve had too much wine and sun and not enough water and food.”

Lucien turned his eyes towards the dancers, his mind wandering. Elain was an oddity, the opposite of what he’d expected when he’d gotten her. So casually used to violence and suffering that she just assumed it must be built into the world. He knew he ought to keep a leash on her, but after what she’d endured in the hurricane and his failure to protect her, Lucien had let go. He’d expected her to try and escape, had been vigilant that first week, waking each night to every little sound…and Elain didn’t budge. She’d remained in his bed, body curled around his, and when she woke she tiptoed about, making herself small as she explored.

It was Vassa and Arina who had begun dragging her about, prying her out of that shell…making her laugh and dance and talk. He’d catch them all over the city, talking loudly, making jokes and playing little pranks. Drinking in the park, sleeping beneath the stars…in some ways, he wondered if Elain hadn’t always been born to live here. 

She was wilder now—free. Free of Nolan, of her father, and that wretched, frigid city to the north. Lucien relished it, reveled in her new found sense of self, if only to rub it in the faces of her family. They’d be leaving at the end of the month for a summit he knew was doomed from the start, given Archeron’s inability to uphold the most ironclad of agreements. Lucien had almost refused to attend even after giving Elain his word, unwilling to be made a fool of again.

He’d agreed both to atone and to show Graysen that the meek, timid woman he’d once meant to marry was dead, replaced with a creature of sea and sand and salt. His wife. If Graysen meant to take her back—and Lucien was sure he’d promised to—he would have to fight all of Naxos to have her. Would have to fight Elain herself. 

“Speak of the devil,” Jurian grinned when Vassa and Arina slid into view, Elain just behind them. She had flowers in her hair and her cheeks, as they so often were, had become softly sunburned. Her hair was unbound, her crown missing. Warmth spread through his body as she passed, not seeing him at all until he grabbed her, pulling her into his lap. Elain squealed, twisting to make sure it was him before relaxing into his hold. “Who has been touching my wife?” he mockingly growled, mouth against her neck.

“Who hasn’t?” Vassa grumbled, sitting beside Jurian while Arina took the last seat, twisting to look at someone Lucien couldn’t see. “She is far too pretty to be left to her own devices.”

“To the dungeons, then,” Lucien joked, replacing the cup in Elain’s hand with icy water. Elain gulped it down without a word, her body slick with sweat and warm from the heat. 

“Arina!” Lucien called as Elain took a second glass, poured by an amused Jurian. Arina paused, about to dart into the night towards some man who likely did not deserve a moment of her time.

She scowled. “Have you decided about Velaris?”

Elain perked up. “Are you not going to come?” she asked, her voice rich with disappointment. Lucien caught how Arina’s eyes narrowed on him. Using his wife to manipulate Arina was, perhaps, unfair and yet effective. Lucien hid his smile with a kiss against Elain’s bare shoulder blade. Vassa’s gaze held on her husband, reclining in his chair to watch. “Who will keep me safe from Graysen?”

The whole table stilled at her words, all eyes turning to look. Lucien, too, tugged Elain a little tighter against his body.

“Do you need protection?” Jurian asked, leaning his elbows against the table. Elain, still overheated and drunk, didn’t realize what she’d said.

“He promised to steal me back,” she told them breathlessly, reaching for a thin piece of sliced cheese. “It would be the perfect place.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped to Jurian. They’d bring more guards than planned, then. King Rhysand had been clear—no armies in his city. A personal guard surely couldn’t hurt, not with the tenuous peace between north and south? 

Arina and Vassa seemed outraged at the notion. “He gave you up,” Arina reminded the still upbeat Elain.

“I’m on loan, I think,” she replied as if that were a perfectly normal thing. As if she were merely a book that would need to go back on the shelf one day for someone else to use. 

“Keep her here,” Vassa said to Lucien, earning a noise of displeasure from Elain.

“She’s coming,” Lucien said, if only to keep his eyes on her the entire time. He wouldn’t risk another hurricane situation, not when Graysen might linger and steal into the city. It would take him days to get to her and for all her tenacity, Elain was frustratingly easy to kill given she refused to take sword lessons with Jurian.

“I will,” Arina replied. It was unfair, given Beron’s obsession with her and the disappointment Lucien knew she felt every time she saw his son, who refused to acknowledge her at all. Half-brother. Lucien banished the thought.

“You know we wouldn’t let him take you, right?” Vassa reached for Elain’s hand, squeezing softly. Elain’s body loosened, rubbing sweetly against him. He wasn’t sure she even remembered she was perched in his lap where everyone could watch. And they were. He could feel their curious eyes on the pair of them, wondering what, exactly, lay between Lucien and Elain. 

“I don’t want to go back,” she said, looking down at the table as if she’d just admitted to some heinous crime. Three sets of eyes all fell on him, ranging from surprise (Jurian) to plaintive (Vassa) and annoyed (Arina). 

“You’re not going back,” Lucien said, looking at his friends and wondering if their opinion was truly that low of him. He’d put his penis in her, hadn’t he? Sullied her, as far as the Archeron clan was concerned, would ideally impregnate her, hopefully by the time they went to that stupid summit. Lucien was dying to announce another southern royal, a little prince to one day carry on Lucien’s legacy when he died. Lucien wanted to rub it in Graysen’s face, wanted to thank him for handing over his fertile, willing fiance for Lucien to impregnate and put all thoughts of rescuing the suffering maiden to bed. 

“I’ll go,” Arina finally said, earning a bright, happy smile from Elain. “I want to see him.”

“Well, I don’t,” Elain said plainly, resting her head against Lucien’s shoulder. “Ever.”

He wished he could give that to her. Jurian’s lips curled upwards but it was Vassa who said, “Maybe we could kill him.”

Elain stiffened and Lucien swallowed a groan. “We can’t–”

“Could we?” Elain asked, robbing him of the very air in his lungs.

“Absolutely not,” Lucien snarled, silencing the women before they said something that would get them all banned not just from future diplomacy but his fathers court in general. Openly plotting to murder the general of another territory where anyone might overhear only invited trouble. “Say nothing else. I’m taking Elain to bed.”

“But I’m not tired!” she protested as he stood, hauling her into his arms without another word. He looked at his friends, their faces masks of innocence. 

“I mean it,” he warned them, trusting Jurian to keep them in line. “Not another word.”

Lucien began walking his wife back to the palace, mind reeling. “One month,” he breathed, hating the way each step battled against his growing attraction. “One month and you’re ready to murder your beloved?”

“He’s going to try and take me back,” she told him, every inch of her blazing with defiance.

“I had no idea you were so in love,” he taunted, earning a hard poke in his throat.

“I have never had a friend who didn’t immediately tell my father everything I did or said. I know Arina and Vassa don't tell you the things I say about you.”

“There’s no need, I know my cock is large–”

“And if he does get me back, he’ll hit me and he’ll…he’ll lock me away in the cold until I forget what it was like to be here. I don’t want to go back.”

“You won’t,” Lucien growled, the sound of his shoes on marble punctuating the threat. “You will remain here with me until you die of old age, surrounded by our twelve children—”

Elain wheezed. “Twelve?”

“Yes,” he agreed, dropping her to his bed to admire her form. “I’m being practical. I want you to sit on my face,” he added when she sat up, half tangled in her gold dress. 

“What?” she asked him, watching as he began to shed his own clothes. He’d begun thinking of it when she’d asked if she would have chased him, of what he would have done if he caught her. He’d been too polite, telling himself the princess of Ellesmere did not want to be subjected to his filthy fantasies…but tonight the princess of Ellesmere was begging him not to return her home, to let her stay…and Lucien was tired of fucking her on her back. 

Her eyes snagged on his already hard cock springing out from behind his clothes pooled at his feet. “I want you to sit on my face. Grab the headboard and fuck my face.”

He expected her to balk, to protest and tell him no. He would have relented, would have yanked her to the edge of the bed and eaten her anyway, not that she needed to know. Elain rose up on her knees, pulling her dress up over her head, revealing nothing but vast expanses of tanned, perfect skin, utterly devoid of underthings. She’d given that northern custom up very quickly and Lucien was forever grateful for it. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, scrambling for the bed. He laid himself out flat, groaning softly when her hand slid over his stomach, touching him as if she couldn’t help herself. “Come here.” She swung a leg over his face, lowering her pretty, perfect cunt until she was hovering. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she murmured, as if it were possible. Lucien yanked, hands kneading into her ass.

“Hurt me,” was all he said before he had that first taste of her. No one and nothing had ever been as good as her and even after a month, Lucien was still dizzy at the thought that this woman opened herself willingly to him. He was feral, wild with need as he began to feast, his hands touching every little bit of skin he could, holding her against him. Elain did as she was told, holding the headboard as she adjusted to this new position, to the sensation of his mouth working over her, trying to urge her to move her hips and take what she needed, what she wanted—

“Wait,” she gasped, pulling back. Lucien scrambled for her, determined he would keep her until she’d coated his face in her climax more than once but Elain was quicker, more nimble, determined even as she merely readjusted herself so her back now faced the headboard and her face stared at his rigid cock. He’d never asked her for this, had never once positioned her in such a way that she would have even considered. Not that he didn’t ache for her to crawl between his legs and taste him the way he did her, to crave that taste, to want it like he wanted her. 

She ran her hands up and down his chest, nails lightly dragging the skin. She wanted to touch, he realized. Wanted to explore, to see him in the flickering candlelight, to know what, exactly she had. Lucien’s tongue became lazy, parting her legs in an attempt to watch her slide further down his body, caressing his thighs, peppering little kisses over his abs before finally her hands curled around his cock. 

She wasted no time, licking the length of him with no hesitation, no fear. Lucien’s hips bucked in her hand. “Do you like that?” she asked, her words sultry.

“Yes,” he choked. He liked nothing more than her pillowy soft tongue teasing his shaft, swirling over the ultra sensitive head of him. Elain took her time, treating him like a piece of candy she was enjoying, exploring with her mouth and getting, he suspected, a general sense of him. He replaced his mouth with his hands, turning his head from the gleaming wetness all but shoved in his face to watch, head leaning to the side. He just wanted to see her suck him down, only once, just in case she woke in the morning fully sober and horrified with herself. 

It was obscene, the way her petal pink lips parted and swallowed him. Elain pushed him down to her throat, halting halfway when she realized she could take no more. Lucien had to force himself to not thrust anyway, to gag her on him while chasing his own lurid, burning pleasure. Instead, needing to focus on anything but his wife and her perfect, wet mouth, Lucien yanked her back against his face and began licking with a vengeance. She’d still come on his face before she swallowed the taste of him, too. She was dripping wet, proof of her want, of her enjoyment not just from his mouth but of giving pleasure, too. 

And Lucien knew, as his tongue stroked faster, her hips grinding against his face, that he would have lied, cheated, and even killed to keep this woman, for whatever that was worth. For whatever it even meant. He didn’t want to examine the fear he’d felt when she’d so casually announced Graysen meant to take her back or the relief when she’d said she wanted to stay. It was just arousal, just possession.

And it wasn’t, at the same time. His heart, bruised and broken and hurt, was being knitted back together and it had nothing to do with the exquisite slide of her tongue as she sucked him down or the roll of her cunt against his mouth. It was the easy way Elain cared about things, her soft optimism, her willingness to try even when she was scared. 

Lucien spread her pussy open, drinking in the sight of her, sliding up over her clit, swirling over and over before sucking, his lips soft. He dove into the wet heat, fucking her with his tongue only to repeat the process. He was oversensitive, climax building in his sac and eating her was only making it worse. He couldn’t hold back and couldn’t stop his mouth, couldn’t make himself pull away to take a breath and get a grip.

Elain pressed her hips against him, rubbing faster and faster as she kept pace with her mouth. Lucien groaned, the leash slipping and Elain, blessedly, came with a muffled scream of pleasure, the sound vibrating through his erection. He bowed off the bed, pouring his own hot release into her throat without meaning to. Elain took it all, pulling back when he went limp and sliding beside him on the bed. Her mouth was swollen and red, her eyes bright, her mass of loose curls a perfect, wild halo around her face.

“I want you on my face every morning,” Lucien gasped, grabbing her and dragging her against him. “I want to eat you for breakfast.”

“Why didn’t you tell me,” she whispered, ignoring his crude ask. “Vassa said…I would have crawled under your desk.”

Lucien exhaled sharply. “Tomorrow,” he whispered as Elain rolled away for a nightdress. He grabbed her.

“Naked,” he whispered, his exhaustion settling like a stone on his chest. Elain, too, was fading, her eyelashes fluttering against her sunwarmed cheeks. He expected her to grab one anyway or dive beneath the blankets to hide herself.

The last time he looked over at her, he realized she had fallen asleep, face nuzzled in the crook of his arm, naked body splayed against the mattress.

His.

ELAIN:

Elain woke beside Lucien for once, her cheek sticky against his chest. She peeled off him, naked but happy. He was splayed on his back, red hair half covering his golden face, with one hand brushed against his thigh casually. She was tempted to wake him with her mouth, to take him into her throat like she had the night before.

Later, she swore, noting the time on the wall. She’d made Arina and Vassa a promise, drunk as she was, though not so drunk she couldn’t remember in the daylight. Elain pressed a kiss to Lucien’s stubbled cheek before stealing out of bed. It was usually him creeping about in the first hours of dawn, vanishing before she had a chance to see him. Perhaps he meant it when he’d said he wanted to eat her for breakfast. 

The thought flooded through her, dampening between her legs. Later, she thought for the second time, though every part of her rebelled at the notion of waiting for some metaphorical other time when she could just beg her friends’ forgiveness.

Elain pulled a buttery yellow dress over her head without care or concern that she had no corset, no shift, not leggings or underwear or anything but the fabrics soft slide over her warm body. She’d grown too used to the freedom to move and run and breathe…to Lucien’s hands slipping under her skirt to touch. 

Her hair was hopeless, saved by a series of cords that tied it off her face and down her back in a criss-crossing fashion. It was enough for her purposes, she decided, as she gathered the things Nesta had once packed for her in that brown bag. Lucien stirred when Elain reached the door, turning on his side to look at her. His eye snagged on the bag, rousing him almost immediately.

“Are you leaving me?” he asked, his tone light but his words serious.

“For the moment,” she replied, tempted to get back into bed with him. “Meet me on the beach later?”

Lucien only nodded, his eyes never leaving her bag. It would have been far kinder to just tell him what she was doing, what they’d decided to do with her things from Ellesmere the day before, giggling and drunk as they stumbled over the burning sand. Elain had found it all so amusing the day before but in the early morning light, there was a weight to each step, to the strap slung over her shoulder.

It was rejection, not just of Graysen or her father but of the entire place, their customs, their people. She was shrugging off the life she’d been born into, of the title—princess of Ellesmere.

Elain’s throat was as dry as the sand beneath her feet by the time she reached the beach where Arina and Vassa had begun building a cheerful bonfire. She’d told herself this was her home now, her friends who were quickly becoming sisters.

And Lucien…Lucien, who had, upon hurting her, just let her go. Who swallowed his irritation or readjusted his plans if he realized she was not enjoying herself…who she liked, even when she didn’t want to. He was, despite being her purported enemy, a better match than she would ever dared hope for. 

“Ready?” Arina asked, watching Elain unzip the back and dump the contents to the ground. She only wanted one thing, the ugly iron band with the little blue stone cut in the center. She’d taken it off when she arrived, afraid the sight would enrage Lucien…afraid it would hurt her to see what might have been. It made her angry now, looking at the silver chain holding a promise Graysen had never meant to keep. 

“How does this work, again?” Elain asked, accepting the flask of water Vassa handed her.

“You say one thing you hate for everything you throw in,” Arina explained. Elain wondered if Jesminda had done something similar for Lucien when she’d been sent away. “It’s a cleansing, of sorts, a thank you to the Gods for intervening before you were trapped with someone terrible.”

Elain wrapped her hand around that chain and instead picked up the corset first. It was so rigid in her hand, the phantom feel of it against her ribs immediately drawing panic. Elain threw it into the rising flames, stepping back when the fire crackled, curling the flesh fabric in on itself and blackening it to ash.

“I hate that he stood by while father made me obedient with that whip,” Elain said, having never dared to admit that to anyone. Her friends went still beside her, eyes wide. Elain reached for another. “I hate that he punished me for trying to help.”

Another. “I hate him for what he did to Lucien's face,” and another, “I hate that he caged Feyre,” and another, “I hate that he never loved me the way I loved him.” It was that confession that broke the tether in her chest. Elain turned towards the sea, storming towards it as vicious as any hurricane, Arina and Vassa just at her feet. Elain screamed, throwing that ring into the crystalline depths, well aware it would likely just wash right back to shore. She should have asked Lucien to melt it into nothing, to grind it into dust. 

Twin hands came to rest on her shoulders and Elain, still staring out at the clear horizon, said, “I would have done anything for him.”

I would rather hang. 

Arina and Vassa pulled Elain into a hug and Elain wept, not for her stolen life or fear but in furious, bitter anger. “I would have died for him and he traded me like I was cattle.”

Elain pulled out of their grasp to look back at the fire and the rest of her things abandoned just beside, waiting to be thrown in, discarded and made ash.

At the top of the cresting sand stood Lucien in his leather armor, Jurian at his side. Sword strapped at his hip, hair pulled from his face though wisps blew in the salty breeze…and he watched without emotion, standing guard. Their eyes met and he nodded, inclining his head in a bow as if he understood why she needed to do this, why she hadn’t just told him. They stood watch, letting Elain, Arina, and Vassa continue their burning until even the bag had been discarded. Elain collapsed into the sand, exhausted and sweating. 

“I think I might be the worst kind of traitor,” she admitted, watching her clothing spew choking smoke towards an otherwise perfect sky. “But every time I imagine Graysen in this city I…”

“Lucien wouldn’t let him,” Arina murmured, clasping Elain’s hand. 

“The north has never come close to our walls,” Vassa added. 

“Lucien wouldn’t let them,” Elain murmured, closing her eyes to imagine what Lucien might be willing to give up in the name of peace. Her. The wife he’d never wanted, that he was still so stilted around, that had forced him to lose love. He could have her back, could go to Jes–

“I can hear your thoughts,” Vassa interrupted. “And you’re wrong.”

“If it was me or peace–”

“It will never be peace with them,” Arina interjected. “And we all know it. You being here…it’s just an interlude. A pretty lie wrapped up in a princesses skirt. We knew it when you arrived, we know it now. Lucien has honor, he agreed to the terms and when they break them as they always do, when they demand you back, the answer will be a resounding, furious no.”

“You’re ours, now,” Vassa added.

“Besides. Even if Lucien wanted to—and don’t look at me like that because I don’t believe he does—he could never show his face in this city again if he handed over his wife, no matter the terms. It’s not done. You protect your wife above your own life and everyone, even his own father, would rather see him die than put shackles on your wrist and give you back.”

“You’re Princess of Naxos, now,” Vassa agreed. “We would not follow him if he sent you to Ellesmere with Graysen.”

Elain turned to look at Lucien, still standing guard, still watching. “I don’t understand him,” she murmured. He would rather keep a woman he didn’t want than have his own well-deserved happiness? Neither Arina or Vassa answered, remaining tangled on the beach instead, until the fire was little more than crumbling embers scattered along the water. Servants came to put it out, to clear it away, leaving the three to trudge to Jurian and Lucien standing between the sand and stone. Was his presence symbolic or had he truly believed she meant to escape? 

Elain understood when she came before him and Lucien swept into a bow. It wasn’t mocking but sincere, and in his hands, unseen from her place on the beach, was the crown she’d lost the day before. Returned by someone who knew what it meant, put back atop her head with a reverent, murmuring, “Princess.”

Lucien reached for her hand, brushing a kiss to her knuckles while their friends witnessed, straightening his spine until he hovered over her. Prince of the daylight, of sun and sea and sand.

“Wife,” he added with a soft breath. “Welcome home.”

Elain exhaled.

Welcome home.

[writefightandflightclub]

Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees​. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to  read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl​ @casifer-is-king​ (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman​

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.  

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.  

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.  

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.  

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.  

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

[kpop-dungeon-dark]

The Gamble Of Prides. (Mafia!Baekhyun x You)

•TRIGGER WARNING•

Warning(s): Non-Con, public humiliation, exhibitionism, cum play, knife play, gun play, fear play. Both of you are legal in this. Read at own risk.

It took Y/n a moment to realise what had just happened, eyes widening slowly as she looked up from Mafioso Byun's final cards and at his smug face. "N- No… No way…" Her friend facepalmed in great stress and fear of all the men surrounding them in Byun's bar. That did not just happen. "How is that possible?" Smashing the cigarette in her hand against the table, Y/n stood up. "There is no way you won this time! I am not just good-- I am GREAT at this! How could you win?! Not when I-..." Y/n trailed off from her own words, not willing to admit that she was cheating. Since the beginning.

The older man shrugged. "Well… maybe you're not that good, Miss. I mean…" Him and his men chuckled at the 4 foreign kids visiting their country for vacation. "You lost 4 games in a row along allllll that you had" taking a drag of his cigar, the man smirked devilishly. "Confidence is good but overconfidence will drown you in the sea of reality, in the wise words of Norain."

The girl was clenching her fists, every fiber of her body loathing him. Y/n hated just how fucking smug he was.

"You bastard!"

Byun chuckled. "Adorable. So you remember all that you put on the table, right?" The female gulped, the recent memories of how she bet her body at last when she had nothing left to gamble with. A laugh left the man when she backed away and tried to run, which resulted in Byun's right hand that was sharper than an eagle, Sehun, to grip her arm before throwing her whole body back and in the Boss' feet. "Tsk. I honestly thought you were an honourable young lady. But the way you tried to run away from your own words?"

"P- Please! We will pay you back, sir!" One of Y/n's friends sobbed, causing the girl to glare at her.

"Shut up! Don't fucking plead a cheating bastard like hi- OW FUCK!" Y/n was cut off when Byun gripped her hair before her brain could decipher it and pulled her face closer to his.

"Calling me a cheater when you were trying to use pathetic little rigged ways while playing in MY casino?" Silence followed for a couple moments, the man's lip chain dangling furiously from how fast he'd moved. "You are more foolish than you seemed, baby doll."  Before the girl could shoot anything back, one of her friends shakily stood up, realising this was no game and the man was pure trouble.

"S- Sir… m- may we leave?" Gasping, Y/n turned to look at him along with their other friends. "We had nothing to do with the game nor do any of us gamble. You can sort your thing with her but we really had nothing to do with the game. Please let us go."

Byun sat up a bit straighter, a firm hold on Y/n's hair still. "That's fair." Nodding at his men, the man spoke. "Leave." He couldn't help but chuckle when that boy gathered the rest of his friends before all of them left without sparing a shocked Y/n another glance. "You really are that irritating to everyone, huh?" The girl was fuming at this point, hating how smug and entertained he looked.

“Fuck you!

A snort left the Mafioso when the small girl dared to spit on his face. Byun fucking Baekhyun's face. "I am afraid you don't realize the intensity of the situation, love." Before he motioned his men to stop in their positions, halting them for beating her up for the disrespectful gesture. Before Y/n could realise what had happened, she gasped under her breath when the man suddenly pressed a sharp knife to her throat, the blade threatening to slice against her soft skin.

"You bet all that you had and then took a loan. When they told you that you couldn't take any more loan you bet your body without thinking of the consequences…" Clicking his tongue, he dragged the knife along the length of her neck before grazing it against her collarbone, making the girl jump when he sliced through one of the strings that held her dress against her breast. "Tsk. Did you even know what that means?" The girl hated how she was made to kneel in front of him as he sat in his seat, feet on either side as one held the knife and other held his cigar.

"I- I will pay y- you back!" The men laughed at her slightly wavering tone.

"Oh, is that so?" Baekhyun raised an eyebrow before nodding. "Of course you will. Of course. That is the only way. However…" Taking the other string that was on her other shoulder over the blade, the man toyed with it. "I shall give you a choice." Taking another drag, he puffed it in her face, causing her to cough. "You can either be good and even redeem yourself on the way for your naive actions or…" Inching their faces closer, Baekhyun spoke just above a whisper. "You die and all your body parts get sold."

Y/n's blood started to run cold as she realised just how fucked she was. Even her friends had abandoned her and now she was in this casino with some man she had clearly underestimated as some local gangster. His blood slightly brushed against her skin, still not cutting open the other string. "So… what's it going to be, huh? Me cutting this little dress off your body or me sliding this blade across your throat?"

"I… I d- don't want to d- die, p- please" her eyes finally wetted with tears, bringing the man great satisfaction as he nodded slowly, taking another drag as he finally cut the string open, the tight dress Y/n was wearing falling down to her waist in an instant, causing her to gasp before protective arms tried to hide her chest but Byun's foot beat them to it, pressing both of them down in her laps by one of his feet.

"No, love. You cannot decide what happens to you any longer. You lost all of those rights when you lost your body to me. Now you're my puppet." Byun fed off the fear in her eyes and across her face. "Now, let's begin the fun, shall we?" The girl shook under him as she realised that she didn't have a choice anymore.

"Stand up." The man ordered. "Stand up and take those clothes and heels off." Before the girl could protest, Sehun spoke up from behind, firmly pushing at her back with his knee.

"Didn't you hear what the boss just said, whore?!"

"Hey now, Sehun-ah… don't treat the pretty girl like that…" Byun looked up at Sehun with upset eyes, words painfully sweet like he wasn't just threatening to murder her in cold blood. "She's too weak to be treated so rough… Dolls like her are delicate and fragile… aren't they?" He looked down at the humiliated girl with teasing eyes, snorting at how she flushed in embarrassment before removing his foot from her arms.

"Get up." His tone was rough again as he leaned back in his seat, tossing the knife on the table before picking his glass of whiskey up, taking a sip. "We don't have all day and the clock's running!" He spoke aloud when the girl tried to plead, not even looking her way but in a far distance, waiting for his orders to be obeyed.

Y/n shivered under the gazes of all the men in the room as she slowly stripped from her dress and heels, cheeks red in embarrassment.

"Come here…" Byun ordered. "Kneel." And as the girl kneeled, the male grabbed his knife again, placing one of his feet under her pussy before clicking his tongue at the bra that she didn't take off, swiftly cutting it open, making it fall against her laps. "Don't." The man warned as the girl went to cover her now exposed chest with her arms, watching her carefully. "Come here."

Y/n's eyes were letting out continuous silent tears as she got closer to the man, feeling her nipples harden from the air as her face burned the hottest it could. She could only bite her lip and stare at the ground in embarrassment. "Get on your knees and undo my belt." Her eyes widened as she looked up at the man that looked almost bored. "What? Did I mumble?" His lips grazed against one of her breasts now, making her instantly mumble a small 'no' before she did as she was told, her fingertips trembling as she followed his instructions until she could see his erect cock bulging against the dark blue boxers he wore.

"Come closer now, rub your face on it, doll. Feel your Master up~" Baekhyun encouraged, fistibg her hair in one of his hands whilst the other one that was in possession of the blade grazed against the side of her neck dangerously close. Y/n bit back a sob as the man guided her face closer to his clothed member, forcing her to rub her face against and all over it, moaning lowly at just how good her warm breaths felt.

"Take it out…" The girl did as she was commanded, her hot tears falling on Baekhyun's skin one by one, only adding to the pleasure. "Come on… take it in your mouth. That's it…" Y/n was in disbelief of her situation but knew there was no way out. Opening her mouth, she took his thick head in her mouth, cringing at the taste as she slowly licked and sucked at it, literally shaking as Baekhyun leaned over, pulling her face down his cock by the hair he was holding, finally cutting the last piece of clothing she had on which was her underwear, exposing the girl to everyone in the room and increasing the tension even more. All of his henchmen were sweaty and their throats were dry. But nobody could do anything no matter how much they desired.

Because she was his toy.

"Keep going…" The Boss whispered, sliding her mouth further on his cock and grunting when she gagged around him, bringing her face up before slamming it down, causing the girl to choke again but he held it tight this time, his cock twitching from how she struggled to breathe but couldn't. "Good girl. Now that is some good behaviour." The man grinned, releasing her just enough to let her breathe before pulling it off completely.

"Lick it off." Baekhyun's voice was cold again as he guided her to his cheek which had her spit on it, tightening his hold on her head even more. Y/n was full on sobbing now after failing to suppress it felt her scalp burnt from where he was holding her, shakily placing her hands on his knees before licking her own spit off, sweat trickling down her back. "Are you sorry?" She felt a gun press against her pussy now, the blade long gone as he calmly stared down at her.

"Y- Yes! Yes! I am!" The girl rushedly spoke, feeling the cold metal of the gun slip in between her folds, rubbing back and forth."P- Please, si- sir!"

"Good." Baekhyun was satisfied from how the girl was trembling in fear, standing up before pulling her up on her feet before pushing her on the table where they had played, placing his gun on her stomach before grabbing her thighs and forcefully pushing into her, moaning when she screamed in pain while crying even harder now. "This will get you thinking, tsk. Who do you even think you are? Brats like you deserve nothing but to be treated like this…" Baekhyun loved how he stretched her walls long and deep, expanding them forcefully before he gave her another powerful thrust.

"So fucking overconfident… And what are you now? A fucking slut that's not even in control of her own body." Grabbing the gun, the man started to give her faster thrusts now, moaning loudly as sweat dripped down his forehead, hips snapping mercilessly whilst he pressed the gun to one of her breasts, rubbing the tip against her nipple. "I wonder what will happen if I shoot it… will it pop off? Deflate?"

Y/n's eyes widened as she hysterically cried, her heart thumping as she slid up and down the table, shaking her head furiously whilst her hands rested lifelessly at her sides, her whole body covered in sweat. "P- PLEASE! PLEASE! N- NO! NO! DON'T S- SHOOT ME, S- SIR! PLEASE!" She could only beg helplessly as the man got off to her fear, glaring down at her as he fucked her intensely, going balls deep as he twitched again, feeling himself closer to his orgasm.

"But you've been so fucking disrespectful today. Do you even know who I am, you little slut? How dare you?" Before he pushed the gun in her mouth, forcing her to taste herself as the fear of him suddenly deciding to pull the trigger invaded her senses.

"I- I… s- showwy-" was she could pathetically let out through the gun as he grazed it against the soft end of her throat, ramming into her harder and harder before he was emptying his load into her, pulling out and seeing his cum gush out of her along the blood of her purity, forming a pink mixture. Gathering some of the white liquid off his cock, the man rubbed it against her lips before kissing her as he tucked his cock back in followed by the gun and his blade, pulling her off the table by her hair, spitting in her face before slapping her for all the former disrespect, throwing her in his feet.

Baekhyun smirked, getting even more satisfied as he realised that he was her first time. The trip she was on was in the celebration of her 18th birthday after all. Whilst the mafia was turning 30 this year. "Maybe I won't send you to one of my brothels after all."

.

[mellow-em]

Bittersweet Temptations

CHAPTER 2

[special dt @bluewingedangel <3]

Your neighbors, Nathan and Elena, have been friends with your parents for years. Whether it’d be family gatherings or vacations, they were around; they were family. But when you return home from your final years of college, what will happen when you find that it isn't just them living in the house next door anymore?

_____________________________________

The afternoon sun brought in a relaxing mixture of natural light from the windows, but I wasn’t even remotely focused on it.

My right leg was bouncing hastily under the kitchen table while I prodded my salad with a fork. I tossed a particularly small carrot around in the bowl, swirling it around the sea of other vegetables.

“Are you gonna eat that or play around with it sweetie?” The sound of my mothers voice raced right through one ear and out the other one.

I only sighed in response, and leaned the side of my head on my hand, not bothering to look up at either of my parents that sat across from me.

They urged me to consistently have family meals with them today, in an attempt to dine on the experiences I had away at college. If they’d asked me to do this at any other time, I wouldn’t mind.

But my head was clouded by something else; or should I say by someone else.

Last night refused to escape my line of thinking. Even after it all went down, I went back to bed to try and fall back asleep, but it was absolutely no use.

The cunning quirk of his lips as he smirked back at me was an image that glued itself to the front of my brain. I reeled around in bed until sunrise, unable to silence my thoughts regardless of any persistence. So as of now, I was beyond exhausted.

“y/n? Are you alright?”

I jump faintly in my chair, with my fathers words pulling me away from my cogitation of the man from the pool, “I’m um.. I’m fine, sorry.”

I gave them a toothless smile as reassurance, but by the exchange of looks they both gave each other, they didn’t seem too convinced.

I shifted uncomfortably, and stabbed the carrot I was messing with. I slowly bring it towards my mouth, finally having the compulsion to take a bite.

Until the man’s wink decided to project in front of me, as if I was experiencing the whole ordeal all over again.

I abruptly dropped the fork into the bowl, resulting in a reverberating clash that not only startled my parents, but it startled me back into reality again.

“Jesus y/n, what’s gotten into you?”

I’m asking that same question, mom.

“Nothing, I uh- think I’m just tired,” the excuse flew out of my mouth in a panic, “I’m just.. I’m gonna go shower for the party later.”

I hurriedly sprung from my seat, and scurried up the stairs to the bathroom.

“Well that was smooth, dumbass,” I muttered out in the open, while slamming the door behind me.  

That son of a bitch is driving me crazy, and I haven’t even had a single conversation with him.

I take a few steps into the bathroom, placing both of my hands on opposite sides of the sink, leaning over with my body weight. With my head bowed down to the direction of my feet, I suspired deeply.

This was stupid. The brief interaction was embarrassing, yes, but with how I reacted today during lunch, especially when the party was happening later on today..

I just needed to stop thinking about what happened last night.

Act like it didn’t happen.

It didn’t happen.

____________

Turmoil carried on in the form of muffled conversations, and distinct bass from the speakers on the lower levels of the house. Even being upstairs in my room, the walls weren’t thick enough to block the noise that derived from the party.

Of course, my dad’s annual excuse backfired, and instead of the party being fairly small, it was as big as the rest of the parties we've had in the past. Although I really shouldn’t be surprised, knowing this really has carried on for 10 years at most.

As of now, I could only assume that the booze was already out for everyone, and by the end of the night, I could guarantee that almost half the people here will be drunk. It reassured me though, especially when I’ll probably end up being one of those people.

I could use a little alcohol in my system; to let myself go a little bit.

While fixing the straps of my white sundress, I looked at myself in the mirror, making sure any scraps of exhaustion were not visible on my features. Despite longing for a few hours of rest, I knew for a fact that I wasn’t going to get much yet again.

With satisfaction, I back away from my vanity, and start for the door that barricaded me from the chaos.

The exchanges of laughter became much more pronounced as I slowly opened the door, and traveled down the hall. My feet carried me towards the stairs, shaking from the rumble of the speakers seeping through the walls and floors.

It was a blessing that the noise didn’t affect our neighbors enough for them to make complaints; but that was mostly because they were all here.

With each step down the flight, more of the party overtook my vision. Guests were dispersed amongst every room as far as I could see, gathering around each other in hopes of starting conversation over the music. It had been fairly crowded to say the least.

Immediately after I make it to the ground floor, I’m bombarded by my mother.

“Hey honey, Nathan and Elena are outside if you want to say hello to them!” her slightly raising her voice didn't really help much, with us being right next to the speakers. But I nodded letting her know I understood.

Turning away from her, I then faced the crowd of people in front of me. I start to weave my way through, making slight pauses along the way to thank them for coming. Most of the people around me had a slight stench of beer already, making me scrunch my nose; that smell is definitely going to linger afterwards.

Eventually making it to the door, I slide it open and step out, letting the freshness of the outside air fill my senses. I quickly noticed the difference between the outdoors and the impeded aura from inside the house. It felt like I was finally able to breathe.

After shutting the sliding door behind me, I strolled away towards the yard.

I made sure to make a slight detour to the cooler to grab myself a beer though, rashly cracking it open as soon as I got my hands on one. I take a swig while observing the guests around me.

As soon as I saw a familiar head of blonde hair a few yards away, I could feel myself smile widely. I hadn’t seen Nate or Elena in four years, and being back home now is making me realize how much I missed them.

The both of them had moved into the neighborhood about a year after my family, and that was over 15 years ago. Ever since then, they hit it off more than you could imagine.

They had all gotten so close to one another, that they’d have annual dinners together, game nights and tag along on all of our family trips. They would even bring in their ideal vacation spots up to us, which evolved into us traveling to entirely different countries most of the time.

While Elena and my mom went to any beach they could find, and my dad found the bar, Nathan really wanted to drag me along to the historical landmarks and teach me about everything he knew. It made our relationship blossom, and now I considered him my second father.

Plus, because of him I began to develop an endless love for history.

I liked it so much that I made the decision to go to college for it. Nathan’s reaction when I told him before I left was something for the cover of a photo album, and I just knew already that a million questions were going to arise when I got to them.

I stepped down from the deck, and walked towards them with my lips still curled in a smile.

As I made it closer to them though, my gaze became hazy. With my brows contorting, my confused demeanor became more visible with every footstep I made closer to Nate and Elena.

There was another man wrapped into their conversation. He was taller than the other two, especially Elena. I noticed his hair slicked back ruggedly, from above the others’ heads. Though, I still couldn’t get a proper look at his face yet.

I turned my direction slightly to discreetly see who my neighbors were conversing with. My curious nature was overriding my body.

I should have just listened to that universally cliche phrase.

Curiosity did kill the fucking cat, and I wish it would just kill me now.

From here, I had a clear view of his face. He stood there listening to Nate’s banter, with a cigarette wedged between his lips.

The lips I had been staring at the night before, along with the rest of him.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

By this point I would’ve  been repeating my annual habit of staring in place. But  fortunately, I turned on my heal sharply to try and escape.  

“Oh my god y/n?” My breath hitched while Elena's voice rang out towards me.

Well great.

I held that particular breath in as I turned my body once more to face her. My warm smile returned to my face, but a layer of embarrassment and panic riddled beneath the surface.

“Elena, it’s so good to see you,” I went over and wrapped my arms around her carefully, keeping her baby bump in mind, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she returned the hug, leaning close to my ear, mumbling, “especially when I’ve had to deal with him all alone. I swear sometimes I really question whether the pregnancy hormones are hitting me or him harder.”

I look over at Nate for a quick second, stifling a laugh while I let go of Elena. The two of us continued laughing faintly, certainly gaining the attention of Nate.

“What are you two laughing about? What’d I do this time?” Nate looked genuinely perplexed, which made it funnier.

“Oh nothing, Nate,” Elena and I looked at each other, smirking as she spoke.

Even with Elena and I’s pleasant interaction, that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach just wouldn’t quit. I just knew he was watching my every move.

Especially, when in the corner of my eye, I watched his travel with me as I went to give Nate his hug.

“It’s good to have you back, Crash.”

Hearing the nickname took me away from my thoughts on the man behind me for a moment, and made my smile lift. 

“It’s been too long, Aku.”

We stayed this way for a few more seconds, until I feel him pat my back. I let my arms fall away from him, and return to my spot in front of them.

I then feel my head slowly turn over to the unknown one of the three; well to me he was unknown. 

“So who’s this?” I cross my arms in front of me, anticipating an answer from one of them.

But silence continued to radiate around us. 

They all stood there, exchanging looks with one another, making me raise one of my brows. While awaiting a response I decided to take a long sip of my beer, feeling the cold liquid slide down my throat. 

That is, before Nate finally spoke up, “Y/n, this is Sam,” he paused, and I could see the hesitation written all over him, “Sam Drake.”

I almost choked on my beer as soon as I heard the last name. I thought for a solid minute that my eyes were going to fall out of their sockets. 

“Is this your-” I pointed between the both of them.

“He’s my older brother.” Nate finishes my sentence, as he scratched at the back of his neck. 

My face fell even more if it was even possible.

Wait.

Nate was in his early forties to begin with, so that would make Sam…

I looked at Sam’s face intensely again, specifically at the wrinkles that were tainted across his face. Now that my brain was functioning properly, unlike last night, I noticed how many there really were. 

Great. Not only was I checking out Nathan’s BROTHER, but the man that was more than twice my age.

Fuck.

[poesparakeet-fics]

A Lovely birthday present for @sapphicquill! A fic full of all her favorite things for my favorite person on the planet!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast, The Poly Nein - Relationship Characters: Caleb Widogast, Fjord (Critical Role) Additional Tags: Tickling, Teasing, Verbal teasing, Fjord’s a charismatic fuck, and will wreck a wizard, Kink Negotiation, Praise Kink, tickle kink, critickle role, Cuddling & Snuggling, Pinned, All Tieflings Are Knismos, Begging, Communication, Dom Fjord (Critical Role), Sub Caleb Widogast, Light Dom/sub Summary:

With their tiefling lovers away visiting their people, Caleb and Fjord are left alone in the tower. Caleb has an itch. A want. No, a need. If only he could bring himself to ask for it.

Read on Ao3 or here:

He should have just asked.

As agonizing as that would have been, Jester wouldn’t have even teased him about it. She would have smiled and opened her arms, inviting him in, and turned him into a puddle before she left. Clearly a better option than the one he was stuck in.

Molly would have teased him, sure, but his eagerness to get on with the thing would have made it short-lived, and the results would have been the same.

He might have even been able to rope both of them, if he really wanted it. Gods, did he really want it. Now they were both in Nicodranas for the week, and an unexpected call from the Cobalt Soul had emptied their home further, until it contained one unique set of marbles that rattled around in the emptiness. Caleb himself… and Fjord.

It was so rare that they were alone together, their social lives whittled away from the web of their found family to their own unique love and camaraderie. Caleb would never tell Beau about Fjord’s skipped workouts. Fjord would keep quiet about the many long nights Caleb would spend buried in books and surviving on whatever food his insistent little cats could entice him with.

They were intimate, though with the others gone they fell into the pattern of a slow, quiet midday fuck in the library rather than mind-melting tickle attacks.

As warm as their days together were, Caleb was feeling the absence of the others. Had he really become this dependent? Had he lived so long with the luxury of insightful tiefling lovers (with a crew of accomplices) that he couldn’t go more than a few days without? Evidence said yes.

Specifically, the way his nerves had ignited when Fjord poked his head into the library late that night.

“Caleb?” He waited for the wizard’s gaze, “Come to bed tonight, hm? It’s getting lonely.”

“Oh…” Caleb felt his face alight, “It’s been so late, I didn’t want to wake you…”

Fjord waved a hand with an affectionate grin. “I know. I’m not offended. I don’t care if you wake me, though. Come to bed.”

Caleb returned the smile, hoping the shiver that chased itself around his skin wasn’t visible from the doorway. “ Ja , ok. I will. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

~~~

Caleb would swear to himself, even later, that he hadn’t meant to wake Fjord. He’d stepped into his lovers’ bedroom with every intention of creeping over to the empty side of the bed and slipping between the covers, quiet as a mouse. Unfortunately he’d left his sea legs on a ship many months before.

The gentle rocking that he’d enchanted into the bedroom combined with pitch blackness and an exhausted mind sent him tumbling into a piece of furniture— a chair?— then over it and onto the floor with a clatter. He was upright again by the time Fjord roused.

“Caleb? Are you alright?”

“Ja, just clumsy.” Caleb assured him, hurriedly putting himself into the bed and holding perfectly still. “I’m fine, go back to sleep.”

His attempt to be inconspicuous was thwarted when one arm slung itself around his middle and pulled him in to spoon with a long, even sigh. “‘Kay.”

Caleb tried to relax into Fjord’s warm embrace, until the other man’s hand started to move. One broad, smooth palm stroked his chest, stomach, side, ribcage… all in firm, gentle strokes that didn’t tickle. At all . Caleb wanted to whimper and squirm, try to catch Fjord’s fingertips against a sensitive spot and earn some little zing of sensation, but he’d already woken him once. Instead he sat very still with his skin aglow with desperation until Fjord drifted off and his hand stilled. Caleb fell asleep not long after, still wholly sensitized and half-hard.

Between basic biology and want-filled dreams, neither situation had resolved itself by morning. In fact, as it did most mornings, his skin felt more sensitive as it awakened. Caleb hadn’t opened his eyes yet when he felt the press of cool lips against the heated skin at the back of his neck, sending shivers rattling through his thin frame.

“Good morning.” Fjord’s voice was a low, sleepy rumble that made Caleb shiver for entirely different reasons.

“Morning” Caleb returned through a yawn, stretching as best he could without wriggling out of Fjord’s embrace.

He found himself suddenly sharply aware of the placement of Fjord’s hands where they were wrapped around his torso, and the restraining weight of one muscular leg thrown over his hip. Still half asleep, he bumped against the embrace with a satisfied little hum before settling his own gangly form within Fjord’s larger one.

“What are you getting up to, today?” Caleb mumbled against the pillows, still wiping sleep from his eyes.

That’s when Fjord’s embrace suddenly tightened, his arms pulling Caleb in close while his leg stopped him from curling up to press him, stretched, against the length of his companion’s form.

“Well, you know…” Fjord yawned, “I’d thought with the tiefs gone you might like a little break from certain things, seeing as how they do get you pretty often. But I’m starting to think that was a mistake on my part.”

Caleb’s skin ignited and he squirmed, suddenly breathless. “I— wait —” For what, even Caleb wasn’t sure.

Fjord chuckled into his shoulders. “Aw, you don’t need to pretend, Caleb. I felt a little bad letting you fall asleep in such a state last night, but it was late, and I know how much more sensitive you are in the mornings.” With that he clenched his fingers, settling their tips on Caleb’s rib cage like needlepoints only to hold perfectly still.

“ Fjord! ” Caleb whined, but it was barely more than a wheeze. He fought the urge to squirm.

“Yes? Did you need something?”

“ Bitte .”

Another chuckle, then hot breath in Caleb’s ear. “Bitty what? Maybe we should make this a lesson in asking for what you want from people who love you. I can stand in for Jester and Caduceus.”

Caleb gritted his teeth, unable to even consider saying the word. He didn’t need to. It was so close . He let out a wordless, pleading whine. Fjord was one of the more susceptible of the nein to pleading.

One of Fjord’s hands tossed the blankets to the side and exposed a long flank of pale skin, currently bound by strong green limbs. The same hand started to float above Caleb’s side, fingers flicking to set off interspersed giggles from the trapped wizard.

“It’s not a burden, you know. Look how easy it is to rile you. Hardly a chore. I don’t even need to touch you…”

Caleb could only whine and giggle, eyes locked on Fjord’s floating hand. The half-orc’s other arm was still wrapped around Caleb’s torso, gripping the wizard’s arms tightly to keep them out of his way.

“…just imagine how bad it’s gonna be when I do.”

Caleb thrashed a little against his restraint with his eyes shut tight, half to hide from the teasing and half out of embarrassment over the squeaking strings of giggles he was producing without so much as a touch.

A smooth palm strokeed at this stomach in a move that would have been comforting had he been calmer, but instead his eyes shot open with a hiccoughing yelp that turned into a whine as the hand withdrew and started floating once more.

“You’re gonna have to say it, if you want it. I could do it just how you love it. Start out nice and slow…”

Fjord’s fingers started to drift again, his fingers skating a scant inch above the soft skin of Caleb’s stomach. Caleb’s eyes were open and locked in a wide, giddy panic. He was already getting breathless.

“…or I could get a little more serious…”

Fingers crooked and made a clawing motion over Caleb’s ribcage, making him squeal and kick his feet against the mattress.

“…or maybe a little beard action…”

“No!” Caleb squeaked, his neck collapsing backward. Fjord hadn’t done anything, but the knowledge that said beard was just out of sight and free to wreak havoc was enough.

“No? Why not?” Fjord asked, hooking one finger to menace above Caleb’s armpit. “Keep telling me ‘no’ instead of 'please tickle me Fjord’ and I might really stop. Just let you marinade for the rest of the week and tell the tieflings how bad you need it when they get home, hmm?”

“No-hohoho! Evil!”

“What’s evil?” Fjord asked patiently, chuckling at the frustrated sound it pulled from the trapped wizard. “Not my beard! You were singing its praises not too long ago. Remember that night? The one where Jester and I kissed you from head to toe?”

The sense memory lit Caleb up. He hid in the bicep of his trapped arm and groaned, feet mussing the sheets further.

“ Der teufel … you’re a fucking devil… they should have brought you with, to their tiefling retreat!”

“Careful, if those two had decided to make exceptions to the tieflings-only rule they would have packed you in a suitcase and served you on a plate.” Fjord’s fingers flexed in the air once more, and Caleb made a sound like he was dying.

“Hang in there, now, what if I were to grab that rope that’s tied under the headboard… and the paintbrushes in the bedside drawer… and I get real patient with your armpits to see how long you can take it.”

One cautious finger was set down carefully on the thin skin at the back of his armpit, too firm and still to really tickle, but Caleb sobbed into his bicep all the same. He felt Fjord shift.

“Are you crying ? Oh, I cannot wait to show Jester this new trick. How to make you wail and cry without doling out one single tickle?”

Caleb didn’t want to prove him right, but he couldn’t help the little wail that escaped. Jester didn’t need to learn to tease like this . Nobody needed to learn to tease like this. In fact, if Fjord didn’t stop teasing, Caleb was pretty due he was going to melt and be absorbed into the mattress like spilled tea.

“Fjord no , stop —”

Suddenly the pinprick sensation near his armpit was gone. The weight of Fjord’s leg was gone, as was Fjord himself. Caleb kicked himself upright, head on a swivel. The half-orc was already pulling on a shirt.

“What…?”

“I told you, if you kept telling me no, I’d stop.”

Cold shock slid down Caleb’s spine, his stomach dropping.

“ Please , Fjord!”

“Please what?”

Caleb made a frustrated sound, balling his hands into fists in the sheets. “Please do everything you just threatened to, you arschloch !” Then he felt a thrill of panic as he was pinned under the paladin’s gaze.

A wicked grin split Fjord’s features as he turned and stalked back towards the bed. “ Everything? Well, I was going to make you say the word, but that’s an offer I can’t refuse. C’mere.”

Whatever fight Caleb had found at the prospect of being abandoned drained out of him as Fjord pushed him backward and sprawled across him.

“So…” Fjord questioned, one eyebrow raised as his hand started to float again. “I’m afraid I can’t quite remember my list… gonna need some help from that keen mind of yours.”

Caleb groaned.

“What was that first thing again?”

It was a ruse. It was a trick. Caleb didn’t care. He was going to combust.  His arms were already thrown up to hide his face, so from that hiding place he croaked “Start off slow…”

“Right, right… slow.” Fjord purred.

It turned out that there would be no going slow that morning, because the second his fingers started to skate around Caleb’s navel the wizard’s arms snapped down to protect his torso while he dissolved into breathless, pitchy laughter.

“Oh dear, you’re in big trouble, aren’t you? So riled up already.”

“St— nahaha— don’t tease! ”

“Oh… that was not part of the deal. What’s next?”

“ Nahaha— you know! ”

“Nope.” Fjord was nonchalant as he took the other man apart with one fingertip. “Sorry, don’t remember…”

Caleb hugged his ribcage tighter with one arm and pressed his other fist against his mouth. “Get ahahaha— little mohohore serious!”

His attempts to hide were universally futile. Fjord’s hands started to hop and skip around his torso, delivering a ticklish pinch and prod at every open space he could find without ever trying to get Caleb’s hands out of the way, a sharp reminder of how helpless Caleb was to stop him.

Caleb’s laughter kicked up in a way that left him without breathe to plead or squeal, so he settled for wrapping both arms around his ribs and rolling onto his side to put his face in the pillow.

“Nope.” Two strong hands grabbed his shoulders and flattened him out on his back. “No hiding. Watching you fall apart is the best bit.”

Caleb wailed at his exposure, his laughter leaving him weak enough for Fjord to slide his hands around his ribcage and dig in more thoroughly. Caleb arched his back and tossed his head in an attempt to drive the sensation away, but he could only cackle and accept his fate for the time being.

Fjord finally let him catch his breath a short while later, hands still in their attack position but with stilled fingers. “So…” he purred over the sounds of Caleb’s hiccuping gasps “What was the next one?”

Caleb had only a few breaths to collect himself, a little thrill of rebellion rising in his chest. “You were going to… hic… get the r-rope…”

“That’s right! Now I remember.” Fjord purred again, kissing a few stray tears of laughter away from Caleb’s face as he reached one arm between the mattress and the headboard to pull out a length of silken red rope (an absolutely mortifying gift from Marion Lavorre that had sparked quite the conversation about privacy) and wrap it around both of Caleb’s wrists.

The wizard sighed in relief as his deception went unnoticed, then quivered at the helpless stretch of his body. He hid his face in the bends of his arms while Fjord settled next to him.

“See, the only problem with this paintbrush idea…” Fjord mused, watching Caleb’s breath even out. “Is that you’re a fuckin liar and that’s not what I said next.”

Caleb managed one quick, panicked gasp as the accusation landed, but the unbearable scrape of a beard across the side of his ribcage drew it all out of him in a squeal.

“Aaaah! Nein! No! Stahp! ”

“Say ‘please tickle me Fjord’.”

“ Nahaha —” Caleb wheezed “ Can’t— can’t! Bitte!”

“Oh, that’s right, it was supposed to be your armpits, wasn’t it?” One strong hand gripped an elbow, pinning it next to one flushed cheek to stretch the thin skin beneath.

“ Nahahaha! ” Caleb shrieked as Fjord hovered his lips just above his underarm, warm breath already making the wizard’s entire body rigid with ticklish panic.

“Say iiiiiit” Fjord sing-songed, his words drawing out a fresh wave of hysterics. “Say it or I’ll stay like this forever…”

Caleb swallowed, gasped and hiccuped for a moment before finally choking out “ P-please tickle me, Fjord. ”

“Good boy…” Fjord’s voice was soothing, but he had to raise it to be heard over the screams of laughter that the gentle bump of his nose and soft brush of his lips ripped out of the wizard beneath him. “I am so proud of you. I’m going to tell Jester all about it, and she’ll be proud of you too.”

He kept it up for a few moments, even after he stopped showering Caleb with praise, applying a good nuzzle to the ticklish armpit before releasing the wizard to melt into a giggly puddle in the middle of his bed.

“Would have been so much easier if you’d just asked,” he murmured into ginger hair, “but you know that, didn’t you?”

[pascalpanic]

Picture Perfect (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Summary: You reflect on a perfect vacation with Marcus.

Warnings: language, talk of flying in planes, mentions of food, implied sexual content and sexual flirting

W/C: 3.6k

A/N: happy Easter loves!!! I really adore this fic and hope you guys do too! It’s part of the Beyond the Sea series I’m writing with the lovely @mandoalorian

Beyond The Sea Masterlist

You never thought you’d see the day when Agent Marcus Pike relaxed for more than a few hours at a time. Luckily, your hand holds three Polaroids, all of them proof of the wonderful week of rest and recharging the two of you just experienced. The plane is leaving now, the islands of Hawaii behind you and endless ocean outside of your plane window. Marcus is snoozing softly, head pressed to your shoulder, and you press a kiss to his beautiful temple. This is the man who holds all of your heart in his hands, and you’ve never been so sure that someone would protect it with their life.

He stirs at the sensation and you chuckle quietly. The roar of the airplane’s pressurized cabin makes everything quieter, and you smile as those brown eyes flutter open. “Just me. Love you. Go back to sleep, babe,” you murmur, and he complies, eyes slipping shut as he nuzzles closer. You look down at your hands again, at the three Polaroids.

The first photo makes you giggle. It was taken the first full day the two of you had in town. Marcus holds a tiny crab in his hands, a look of wonder on his sun-kissed face. He’s shirtless and crouched down, wet sand packed beneath him and patterned swim trunks bringing color to the photo.

The second photo melts your heart. Marcus lies in a hammock in the Polaroid, asleep in the shade. Stripes of light peek through palm fronds, illuminating bits of your boyfriend’s warm body. He wears board shorts and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, his normally gelled hair forming soft waves. The sun you’ve spent your days in lightened it, leaving light brown and even blonde streaks in the top layer. A soft pink covers his nose and cheeks- a result of the sun as well. His ukulele is lying next to him in the hammock.

The third photo makes you tear up at the memory. Two dark silhouettes- one clearly yours and one clearly his- are just outlined against an orange, sunset-colored sky.

-

You and Marcus arrived at your condo late at night, tired after the long flights, both cross-country and then across the Pacific Ocean. You’d flown first-class, Marcus insisting he spoil you. It was comfortable, but the pressure of the cabin made your body ache and your joints swell. It was impossible to sleep, even with him to use as a pillow.

The first morning, Marcus rises late: it’s about 10 A.M. local time, and he sighs as he finds you still snoring next to him. You look so peaceful and sweet that he can’t bring himself to wake you.

For the next half hour, he sits on the condo’s porch, overlooking the water. He smiles softly as the occasional breeze passes through, noticing that the air slowly warms.

When you finally wake, you wander out to find Marcus on the balcony. You gasp in excitement as you see the rushing surf. “Oh my god,” you grin and wrap your arms around him from behind. “It’s so gorgeous.”

“Good morning to you too,” he teases as his hands rest on your arms. “Isn’t it though?” He leans back against you, watching the seagulls play in the splashing water. “How did you sleep?” He asks, still eyeing the sprawling ocean. There’s a small reef a few yards from the shore, shallow enough to walk in.

You notice it too. “Good. Can we make some coffee then go explore those little tidal pools?” You ask excitedly as you point at them, resting your chin atop Marcus’s chocolate-brown bed head.

“Of course,” he chuckles, turning to kiss the side of your face. “It’s the perfect time to get some sun, too. We’ll get our swim gear on.”

You press a soft kiss into the top of his head, smiling contentedly at the ocean and Marcus’s steady breathing beneath your arms.  “I love you,” you practically sing to him, overwhelmed by the happiness of the morning.

“I love you too, pretty girl,” he murmurs back and turns to kiss you softly.

Twenty minutes later, each of you finished with one cup of coffee and changed into your bathing suits, you head down to the water and wade in. You squeal as the cold water laps at your ankles, your pink Polaroid camera hanging around your neck. One hand clutches at the pink plastic, lifting it instinctually to keep it dry. Marcus laughs and takes your free hand, the two of you commenting on the water and the sun as you wander to the rocky shoals a few yards out.

The volcanic rock in front of you is filled with holes and crevices, and it’s teeming with life. Marcus’s eyes widen in excitement as he sees a tiny crab. “Oh my god,” he laughs. “Look at this little guy!”

Walking closer, the crab doesn’t scuttle away. “Oh, do you want to be friends?” Marcus coos, squatting down.

“Careful of the waves, babe,” you remind him, a hand on his spine, between those gorgeously thick shoulder blades. “Don’t wanna get a concussion.”

Marcus shakes his head, absolutely beaming as he scoops up the little crab. “Oh, aren’t you the sweetest thing,” he mumbles to it, admiring its brown shell and tiny claws. “You remind me of that guy from Moana.”

Of course your boyfriend would draw that connection. He mutters the lyrics to Shiny from the movie to the crab as he turns to face you, holding it up. “Look, this is our baby now.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Well, I suppose our child needs a name,” you chuckle, daring to stroke the back of the crab’s shell. It snaps its little claws in return, grabbing at nothing in the air.

“Well, how about the crab from Moana? The Tamatoa?” He asks. The little thing’s claws are clacking rhythmically to some inaudible beat.

“Hmm.” You think about it for a moment, lifting the camera and snapping a photo of Marcus holding the tiny crab. “It’s a snippy little thing. Maybe we should name it Teresa,” you snort, laughing to yourself at your own joke.

Marcus frowns. “No, I like it much more than her. You’re our little Tamatoa, aren’t you?” He coos, holding it up to give it a little kiss on the back of his shell.

Classic, typical Marcus. Giving all of his love with no regard for his own safety. You almost see it in slow motion as the tiny crab snips the tip of Marcus’s nose. “Motherfucker,” he cries at the feeling, setting the crab back down immediately.

It makes you laugh much harder than you should. Leaning onto your boyfriend’s tanning skin, you wheeze out laugh after laugh. He joins you too.

When you both finally settle down and catch your breath, you giggle up at Marcus. “Okay, so that little shit was definitely a Teresa.”

Marcus laughs this time, giving you a brief kiss. “You are the absolute love of my fucking life, baby,” he chuckles and the two of you continue your walk.

-

Marcus has always been an early riser, and you forgot to close the shades last night before you passed out in the ridiculously plush bed. The early sunrise warms Marcus’s face until he wakes. He rolls over with a yawn and a stretch before kissing the side of your face. You grunt. “Hi.”

“Good morning, angel,” Marcus’s soft voice coos to you, an arm snaking around your middle. “The sunrise looks beautiful. Want to see?”

“No,” you frown. “Wanna sleep more.”

Marcus pouts, kissing your forehead. “Baby.”

“Fine,” you groan, the sleep starting to wear off anyway. “Only because I love you so much. And because I love your dick and don’t want it withheld from me this week,” you tease, sitting up and kissing him softly.

“Yeah yeah,” he laughs and stands, wandering over to the large window in the bedroom.

Your eyes widen at the beauty as you see the gorgeous colors of the sky. The sunrise is behind you, but the horizon is still shifting in hue, pinks and purples and oranges with the dark blue slowly fading away. Marcus wraps his arms around you as you stand next to him. “See. This wasn’t so bad to get out of bed for.”

Nodding, you rest your head against his chest. “I suppose it wasn’t. I’ll go make us coffee,” you murmur and press a kiss to his bare pec, giving his ass a light squeeze as you walk past him.

The two of you make your plans for the day over the coffee, discussing your options and ultimately choosing that today would be the perfect day to find a secluded little beach and just relax in the sun. They wouldn’t be hard to find around here: unlike other places you’d been, it seemed like the shore was endlessly beach.

Parking in a free lot, locking your ragtop Jeep behind you, you and Marcus wander down the beach for a while until you find the perfect spot. How did you know? Marcus spotted the perfect marker: a hammock.

Tied between two palm trees, under the shade of the fronds, was a woven hammock. It had no pillows, blankets, no one around and no belongings. Marcus decided it was yours now- or at least for the day.

The white sand is warm beneath your feet, flying out as Marcus chases you. You’d stolen his sunglasses just moments ago and now you’re running. “Get back here!”

“Only if you fuck me right here and right now!” You teasingly call over your shoulder.

Marcus stops, as if he’s considering it. You do too. Then he picks up into a faster run. “There’s too much sand for that, you little shit!”

Giggling, you stop and let Marcus crash into you, his warm body slick from the tanning oil he’d slathered on. You naturally wrap your arms around his neck. Marcus plucks the sunglasses from your head and puts them back on. “Thank you.”

“Any time, Pikey,” you tease and kiss him softly as his arms wrap around your waist. That was the name you’d called him when you first met, when you were young, up-and-coming interns for the FBI.

The two of you wander back, lying on your beach towels for hours and absorbing the warm rays. You and Marcus snack on some packed food, staring out into the ocean and chatting. It’s absolutely perfect.

Marcus is ever the early riser. You’re usually the one to end up taking a nap if the last night of sleep didn’t satisfy you or Marcus woke you up for some godforsaken reason. As he lies next to you, though, you hear a yawn slip from his lips. “Sorry, what was that?” You clarify teasingly.

Marcus scowls. “I get tired too.”

“Bullshit,” you laugh. “Do you want to go cuddle in the hammock?” You ask, and he nods as he sits up.

Marcus is wearing just his board shorts, but there’s a cool breeze in the shade. He tosses on his Hawaiian shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. He looks so effortlessly cool, that brown hair starting to get slightly wavy from the salty air. His sunglasses sit just slightly lower on the bridge of his aquiline nose, and it makes you grin. You toss a t-shirt on as well, and you grin as you realize Marcus opens his ukulele case.

“I knew you’d use it,” you grin at him as he settles in the hammock. He’d debated bringing it along, contemplating the hassle, but you’d told him he practically had to- you’re in Hawaii, after all. You scoot in next to him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Will you play me a song by Abba?” You ask him softly, the rush of the ocean and the wind filling your ears.

Marcus nods and kisses your forehead before giving the strings a strum to test some chords. He finally starts playing a soft version of Andante Andante, and your eyes slip shut. His voice is so beautiful and soothing, and you can’t help but quietly sing along.

“I’m your music… I’m your song…

Play me time and time again, make me strong…”

He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, ever prayed to whatever being up there that you’d meet the right person for you someday. He’s soft and warm and strong. He’s protective but gentle and the most caring man to ever walk the face of the earth.

Marcus starts noodling around on the ukulele, playing some random chords and notes. “I love you so much,” you sigh and snuggle in tighter against him.

He puts down the ukulele and wraps his arms around you, kissing your temple gently. “I love you too, baby. So much, endlessly.” He’s so perfectly cozy that you cuddle on top of him, and he welcomes the position. He wraps his arms around your body and kisses your neck.

The two of you stay cuddled up like that, tired from the long day in the sun, for quite a while. Before long, you recognize the different breathing pattern Marcus has slipped into- sleep. Smiling softly, you allow yourself to remain nuzzled into your boyfriend’s body for a while longer.

After some time, you sigh and realize you should probably wake him and return to the condo. The sun is starting to sink lower in the sky: not enough to be sunset, but enough to know what’s approaching. Careful not to wake him, you clamber out of the hammock and grin at the image. It’s too perfect.

You grab your Polaroid and snap the photo: Marcus is asleep, sunglasses fallen down his nose, Hawaiian shirt open, ukulele next to him. The hammock sways in the breeze, peeks of light from between palm leaves shining down on him. You giggle when the photo develops and it’s the sound of your laughter that wakes him. “Huh?” He groans, sitting up and losing his balance as he realizes his resting spot is moving.

You walk over on your knees, the sand moving with you and allowing you to do so. You kiss him gently for a moment before breaking away. “You fell asleep, love. It’s just about time to head back to the condo.”

“How long?” He asks groggily, pushing up his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes.

“You were only out for about half an hour,” you assure him and rub his arm.

His eyes are still closed but he smiles at that. “I heard you take that Polaroid,” he chuckles, and pulls you in for another kiss that muffles your noise of defeat.

-

Two days later, you can hear Marcus singing along to his music in the shower as you get ready for the evening. Sitting at the vanity in the suite’s luxurious bathroom, you apply your makeup, opting to keep things light. You wear a nice outfit and fidget with your appearance in the mirror, touching little things here and there.

A few minutes later, Marcus wanders out with a towel around his waist, his skin reddened from the hot shower. “Hey. You look… amazing,” he grins as he looks at you, taking in the sight. “I can’t compete.”

You grin and walk closer, putting a hand on his warm skin. “It’s a good thing it’s not a competition,” you tease, faces close together. “You’re going to look wonderful too.” You kiss him softly for a moment before he breaks away to get dressed.

The sun is above the horizon, just about to sink into sunset. Fuck, Marcus thinks to himself as he realizes he needs to move quickly. He puts on the nice outfit he’d picked earlier, messing with his hair in the mirror. Not more than few minutes later, he’s back at your side. “Ready?” He asks.

You nod with a smile. “You hurried.”

Marcus shrugs, pursing his lips and shaking his head. You know that look, you’ve known it since the very first time he did it. He’s terrible at bluffing. Something is hidden behind those eyes. “Just… don’t wanna miss sunset,” he murmurs and kisses you on the cheek, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You’d planned on dinner at a luxurious restaurant located within a fancy hotel, but Marcus insisted that you’d be at the beach for the sunset. When you finally reach the resort, you wander through the gorgeous surroundings until you find the white sand beach in front of you.

Marcus walks with one hand in yours, the other in his pocket. He’s quieter than normal, holding back his remarks about the wildlife and gorgeous architecture of the buildings.

There’s a small gazebo just off the sand, and Marcus walks you up. “Well… surprise,” he chuckles, showing you the little shelter. It’s strung with twinkling lights and white gauze, the ocean’s breeze rippling the fabric. There’s a table with a white cloth covering it, champagne glasses at the ready and flowers sat in the center.

“I thought you said we were eating at the restaurant,” you exclaim but laugh in surprise, setting your purse and Polaroid camera next to the chair.

His eyes twinkle with excitement. “Well, they offered this. How could I choose the restaurant when we could have dinner in our own little private gazebo?” He chuckles. “They won’t start the service for a little while. Want to go walk on the beach a little longer?”

“Marcus,” you coo and take his arm, wrapping both of your arms around it. “You’re the most romantic man on the face of the earth.”

He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. “Only for you. Come on, let’s walk.”

The two of you stroll along, the gorgeous sunset behind the dark and rolling ocean. The breeze rustles Marcus’s hair, and you grin as you see it happen. “This is… amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he mumbles and nudges you with his shoulder, making you stumble to the side and laugh. “Can I ask you something?”

Looking up at him, you breathe out a small laugh. “When have you ever asked first?” You tease him, but you stop when he stops walking.

His hand squeezes yours a little tighter and he moves so you’re no longer standing side-to-side but facing each other. He takes both of your hands. “You know how much I love you. I really can’t imagine you wouldn’t, because I know you love me just the same.”

Your brain flies a mile a minute as he starts talking. It sounds too planned, not at all the spontaneous man your Marcus is and has always been. Wait-

“You are, without a doubt, the best thing in my life. I’ve been burned by love before, but you’re everything I’ve ever needed. You’re the only one who has ever reassured me and calmed me and silenced that endless buzzing of fear in my head. I know you’d never leave me, and I hope you know I’d never leave you.”

“Marcus,” you whisper, and your eyes well with tears as he falls to one knee in the soft sand, his own eyes shimmering with tears.

“And, if it’s alright with you, I want to promise you I’ll never leave you. I want to make it so official that nothing can ever separate us, not time or distance or anything. And I figured the best way to do that is, well… fuck, I messed it up,” he winces.  “I had all the words, I swear-“

“Just ask me the question, baby,” you laugh, the tears falling down your face. You know what’s coming now, as he reaches into his pocket and presents you with a velvet box.

He opens it and inside is the most gorgeous ring you’ve ever seen. It suits you. Of course it does: Marcus knows you better than you know yourself. You can tell when you look into his eyes that no one else ever would or could know you like he does.

He stutters for a moment before you fall to your knees in the sand in front of him. “It’s okay, you know what I’m gonna say,” you say quietly, cupping his face with both hands. “Just… say it. Please.”

He bites his lip then looks into your eyes. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will,” you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him happily. “Yes, Marcus Pike. I will marry you. I love you so much,” you murmur in between kisses.

“I’m so pathetic,” he laughs as the happy tears trail down both of your faces, him sitting back on his heels and you following suit.

“Oh shut up,” you laugh and hold out your left hand. Marcus takes the ring from the small box and slides it onto your finger, grinning as he notices it fits just right.

Swallowing hard, you laugh at the fact that your makeup must be trailing down your face. Marcus wipes the tears with one large hand, his other cupping yours and admiring the way the ring looks against your skin. He kisses your knuckles and you giggle uncontrollably.

“I get to be Mrs. Pikey now,” you grin and he nods.

“Of course. I mean, if you want to take my name. You don’t have to,” he rushes, shaking his head and blowing a raspberry. “I didn’t even think about that really, just figured that you’d tell me what you wanted first.” His words are a blur of relief, the anxiety fading from his body.

“Marcus,” you laugh softly, your hands cupping his face once more. “It’s okay. Just… relax,” you laugh as one of his hands covers yours, his fingers slotting between yours.

He nods. “I think I finally can now,” he chuckles and kisses you one last time.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @sugarontherims

[secondhand-trash]

Centrifugal Force

Kinktober 2020 — sex swing

A/N: I struggled MAJORLY with this one and especially because I started a new job around the same time I got stuck on this so I put it to the side for a while (a while means a week, I worked on this for a week). I do hope it turns out decent hhhh

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x f!reader

Description: An unconventional gift from his friends opened up a whole new world for the both of you.

Warning: sex swing (does this count as some type of bondage idk tbh), face fucking, vaginal penetration, creampie

Word count: 3026

-

It started as a harmless joke.

The news of the former setter’s successful proposal subsequently revived the Fukurodani volleyball club group chat from the state of a few messages here and there during birthdays and holidays to what could rival its bombard of messages at it’s prime. The messages poured in almost immediately as the news went live with a subtle picture of the silhouettes of your bodies embraced together against the glimmering sea, the subtle spark of the diamond on your finger almost unnoticeable under the dark sky.

“We should do something for Akaashi and y/n!” the former captain said in the chat, accompanied with a dozen of emojis that looked like the text came straight out of a spam bot’s chat history.

And so a new group chat was formed, one without the groom-to-be. At some point, they added people from other schools who might be able to make a valid contribution. It ended up being chaos, utter chaos as they probably should have expected. Suggestions were all over the place, some seemingly more reasonable while others might earn them a stern glare from the one member who was missing from the chat. They ended up listing everything out and doing a draw to see what they should do, handing the job of making the randomisation to poor Tsukishima who really, really did not ask for this.

The chat fell into silence for a while, everyone waiting for Tsukishima to show up again bearing the final results.

The speech bubble popped up, only for it to go back down after a short few seconds before it showed up again. Everyone watched as Tsukishima typed and stopped and typed again, until he sent out a screenshot that had everyone freezing in place.

Until everyone started cussing out the one person who suggested that sending a sex swing to a newly engaged couple was a good idea.

-

Akaashi was certain that the delivery came to the wrong address when he got the parcel.

“Hm? But it specifically says it’s for mr Akaashi Keiji?”

Akaashi stared at the very tall, very large box with a lot of concern and an equal amount of guesses as to what it might be in his head. It really had his name on the receipt with no sender, so it was not a mistake on the shipment agent’s part. 

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep opening the parcel or not when he sliced the seals open to find a card laying on top.

“We hope you will have fun with this but if you don’t, just know that it is Kuroo’s suggestion. Congratulations on the engagement!”

Akaashi felt his head pound at the letters that were scrawled on the piece of paper. He had a bad feeling on what it might be, and it seemed like his predictions were correct when he moved the card away to see the label plastered across the items in the parcel.

Akaashi was not usually a foul-mouthed person, but what the fuck was this supposed to mean?

“Keiji, what is this-” you peered over his shoulder to see what he was crouching over, and stopped in place when you saw what was inside, “why, I didn’t know you’re into this...”

“I did not get this...”

“If I knew you were interested I would have brought it up way earlier-” you paused, your eyes meeting with his widening ones as your hands froze mid-air, “oh.”

He blinked, watching as you slowly flickered your gaze away from him with a sheepish smile. “Oh.”

Akaashi had never really thought much about sex swings, if he had to be very honest. It just didn’t seem practical or all that feasible for apartment living. But that night, when you hooked your legs onto the hooks that dangled off the frame, your face physically burning up with your body being completely exposed under his attentive stare as your legs parted and swayed as your hands gripped tightly onto the handle. The strap sat right below your ass, arching you up and presenting your bare cunt to him as you leaned back against the supportive strap at the back.

“Don’t just stare...” you muttered, feeling very small as he just stood there and raked his eyes all over your frame.

He let out a soft gasp at the way you fell back when he ran his finger up your sex, every heave of your chest and curl of your toe completely within his view as he slowly rubbed his finger against your folds.

You were completely wrecked that night, your voice hoarse after he made you cum again and again on his cock with his hands on the suspensions, slamming you down on him with a brute force that had you seeing stars with each swing of your hips forward. The adrenaline rush he felt when he pulled out of you and watched his cum dripped between your legs onto the floor was unreal, your cunt clenching around nothing as they laid bare for him to see. 

He decided on the spot that he was going to keep the swing as he helped you down from the seat, your body slumping onto his arms immediately as your knees bucked the moment you finally touched the floor again.

-

“My, my, look at you...”

Your breath hitched at the voice that rang behind you, a soft whimper escaping your lips when you felt his warm palm pressing onto the small of your back.

Akaashi admired the way your body was held up so perfectly by the suspensions as you laid stomach first on the seat. The support on your torso had you arching your back up, your ass perching mid-air as your legs were strapped onto the two cuffs at the side. He could see the way your folds were fluttering from the position, taking note of how you seemed to be turned on just from being laid out on your fours for next time. Your body spun just slightly as the suspensions twisted under your weight, letting him take a good look of you from each angle as he held onto the straps that led to the handles your hands were gripping onto for dear life.

You whimpered when he slid the metal frame of his glasses off the bridge of his nose with two nimble fingers and he chuckled at the reaction. You could see the glint in his eyes clearly now that the two lenses were gone, goosebumps rising on your skin at the amused smile that accompanied the glimmer in his slanted eyes.

“Beautiful.”

A soft peck on the lips when he kneeled down in front of you set your skin aflame, the barest bit of contact making you ache for more when he pulled back after the light touch. He cooed when you chased his lips after pulling away, his hand running along the suspension belt to trace along your fingers that were latching onto the handle.

“Gonna be good for me?” he hummed at your eager nod in response to his question, the way you arched your ass up further did not go unnoticed by him.

“Good girl,” he muttered under his breath, his hand going down to take his cock in hand as he gave it a languish pump. He let out a content sigh and the sound made your mouth run dry, poking your tongue out to wet your lips as he deliberately distanced himself as his length filled and warmed in his hand. 

Your body was pushed back when he fisting your hair in his free hand and yanked your head back. A slight tap at your cheek with his hard tip was the only signal you needed to open your mouth up, holding back the urge to whine when he placed his cock on your tongue that was flat against the base of your jaw. Your drool was pooling up in your mouth as he just held it there, the weight making it hard for you to focus on your breathing as heat spread across your face from the burning shaft against your warm muscle.

An unexpectant thrust had you gagging around his girth, the snap of his hips jerking you away from him before gravity slammed you right back down. The soreness at the back of your throat shot right up to your nose, prickling tears at the corner of your eyes. 

He gritted, through clenched teeth, pulling your hair taut against your scalp as he set a vigorous pace, each gag as the tip of your nose brushed past the tuff of hair at his base sending vibrations to the center of his stomach. His hand that was holding on the suspension that held you up clenched around the rope, swinging you back and forth simultaneously with each move of his pelvis, the tightening of your throat had him shoving you down just a little deeper at a sudden lack of control. The handle that was in your hand was the only thing you could hold on for leverage but it did nothing to stop the way your body met him mid-thrust as you swayed helplessly on the swing. 

You felt your inner walls clench at the rough treatment, the burn in your throat prickling through the back of your scalp and melting into a numbing shock. In this sate, you were nothing but a few holes for him to use and the sheer control he had over you made your next gag came out as something resembling a whimper.

The sound of his cock gliding against your drooling lips was sloppy in your ear. He grunted when he pulled away all of a sudden, feeling a power rush at how you still hung your jaw slack with your tongue lolled out even as you had nothing to wrap your lips around. Your eyes were glassy from the tears, the silver string of spit that coated the tip of his cock and your bottom lip was nowhere near graceful. You huffed, struggling to regain your breaths temporarily as he held your head still. You whined when he rubbed his tip around the rim of your mouth, the leaking bead of pre-cum and your drool messing you up as the substance threatened to slide down your chin.

He arched your head back, admiring his handiwork as he stared down at you. The sharp gaze as he inspected your opened-mouth and white trails darting all over your chin had you letting out a muffled whine, your tongue still extended and slack against your bottom lip in an attempt to please him.

“Ah...” he let out an approving note from the back of his throat and the gravel lingering his voice made you shiver, “keep that mouth open for me, won’t you?”

You could not utter a word of response, only able to let out a muffled whimper when he took a stride until he was right behind you. Jolts of numbing shock rushed through your body when he trailed the very tip of his index finger along your spine as he moved, the lightest of contact eliciting goosebumps on every inch of your skin. You still felt the phantoming feeling on your back when he lifted his finger with a tread, the edge of his well-trimmed nails barely scraping against your skin. 

Your back arched uncontrollably under the tingles and pushing your ass further up, which was met with a pleased caress of his palm against your perched hips.

A firm smack against your flesh had your entire body swinging forward, the force that brushed past your skin when you rocked backwards from the swing had you clenching and moaning through parted lips as the sting settled in. Akaashi took in the way your ass jiggled and especially how your core was glistening with the sheen of your arousal right in front of his eyes. You whimpered when he held you still by your thighs, hilting the swinging of your frame to a stop as he lined his tip at your drooling cunt. 

“Hugn-”

Your eyes rolled back when he pushed in inch by inch, his eyes glued onto the sight of your folds sucking his cock in greedily as your spit that coated his length mixed in with the mess that was dripping down from the root of your thighs. He let out a sigh when he sheathed inside of you, the plump curves of your hips pressing right against his pelvis as he hilted balls deep in you. Your shoulders were tensing up as your hands gripped vice at the handle, each huff that slipped off your lips made his blood curl. The soft whimper you let out when he took his hands off your legs was like a mewl, your walls clamping down around him as you were once again at the mercy of nothing holding you up but the seat and cuffs.

One push of his hands on the sling shoved you off his cock only for you to slam down in full force when he rocked you backwards. You let out a broken cry at the sudden stretch, throwing your head back when he pulled out all the way only to plow deep in you as the swing sent you jolting back. You could do nothing but moan and scream as he took advantage of the swing, his fingers curled around the suspensions that linked to what cuffed your legs down with each handling of your body. 

Each push and pull was in perfect timing with his thrusts, the swoosh of the seat meeting his bucking hips midway to pulse into you until his hard tip was kissing the spot right below your cervix. He showed no sign of slowing down, grunts and hisses seeping from his gritted teeth as he was wrapped around your warm walls, feeling your insides taking him in like it could not get enough every time he threatened to pull out with a shove of your body forward.

He could not get enough of seeing your shaking frame and the soft flesh of your body jiggling under his force, your skin heating up with each slam of his pelvis against you and his balls slapping against your clit that was already puffy from the sensation. You were sure to feel him in you for days even after he pulled out, his cock drilling in you like he was determined to bruise you up until you were reminded of how he could make you break for him with each buck of your knees even as your feet touch the ground once again.

You were panting with each slap of his skin against yours, the erratic breathing made all the more difficult as you struggle to keep your mouth open as he had asked you to. The violent sway of your body together with each hilt of his cock in you made you feel light headed, as if your world was spinning both literally and figuratively. The waves of your orgasm ripped through your body as a numbing chill, making the tip of your ears heated up until you could not feel it within your burning senses anymore. Akaashi grunted at the feeling of your fluttering folds around his girth, your pulsing walls that hugged him closely from you crashed down making him all the more eager to have his way with you. You let out a weak whine when you felt his fingers digging into your hips, roughly parting the flesh to watch as his cock disappeared in you with each slam. Without his hands controlling the swing, the way your body moved with gravity was much sloppier but so much more forceful as it swung back and forth from nothing but the snapping of his hips.

You whined when he held you close, the sudden stop making your head dipped forward and your body tilting down. The strings of warmth that filled you up with a choked moan from the man behind you had your vision hazy, his cock pulsing in you as he shot his load inside your abused walls in the intimate position. He pressed you against him for a brief moment, drinking in the feeling of your bodies being so rawly connected before finally letting gravity took its charge.

Your jaw was slack as you lazily retracted your tongue, a whimper rolling off your lips at the sudden emptiness when he pulled out of you. Sparks lit up on your skin when he put his thumbs on both sides of your slip, pulling it apart to see your fluttering folds pushing his cum out of you. The sticky substance seeped out of you bit by bit, dripping onto the floor as you laid on the seat limply and too fucked out of your mind to even push yourself up.

“Think you need help getting down?” he asked with a light chuckle, his hand running along your leg in a soothing manner before carefully uncuffing your ankles and rubbing against the marks that were left.

“Please do...” you muttered, leaning into his touch when he got in front of you and leaned your upper body against his chest. You nearly put all your weight on him when he helped you down from the seat, your hands flailing to grip onto something only for him to prop you up with his hand under your arms.

You laughed when he slipped his hand under your knees, using the last bit of energy in you to hop up so he could carry you in his arms.

“We should really let them know that they picked a really good gift...” you mumbled as he carried you to the bathroom.

He paused, before shaking his head, “No, I think it’s better to not give them any more ideas.”

There was no way he was going to let anyone know what you were up to in the bedroom, less he wanted them to never stop bringing it up.

[the-slasher-files]

Hello, can i request 16 and 46 for the prompt thing with a S/o with low self steem with Bo? Please and sorry for my english 🥺🖤

OOOH ANGST!!!! I love it thank you! and honestly your English is perfect :) It’s like these 2 sentences were made for a reader x bo scenario!

So I went a little wild with this that’s why it’s a bit longer (1k plus words) but I really love how it turned out.. also Bo maybe says ‘I love you’ for the first time when he’s sober :o hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

THE KITCHEN FLOOR 

WORD PROMPT:   “I want you to be happy... even if it’s not with me” AND “Please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that. You’re so much more than that. You’re so...”

Today was just one of those days. 

You felt your mind weigh heavy on everything you did. It badgered you every second of the day, pounding your self-esteem lower and lower with every glance in the mirror and every tug of your baggy clothes. You couldn’t escape the constant hounding and you felt almost uncomfortable sitting in your own skin; as if bugs were crawling on top of you, and as if a fire was set beneath your feet and every moment you struggled to hold yourself away from the burn. 

Bo was at his dingy garage all day and Vincent was in the basement making more creations for the town, and honestly, you never knew where Lester was at any given moment but he defiantly wasn’t in the house. This left you all alone in the reticent home, just your thoughts and heartbeat. Sure you could go down to the basement to have company with Vincent, but he never liked to be disturbed while working, and you could go to the gas station but something was blocking you in the house; your demons wanted you away from the sunlight and easing voices of the people you loved, they wanted you all to themselves today. You let them win today for you didn’t have the energy to fight it. 

As the sun faded behind the native Louisiana wood that surrounded Ambrose the voices became deafening, and Bo’s absence was louder than the voices at times. Skull crushing and heart aching. You didn’t care if it was his yelling or large footsteps creaking on the hardwood, you just needed to hear something else besides the twisted thoughts that were burning, and chugging along like a freight train threatening to run itself off track and kill the engineers. 

Bo will never love you... Bo has never thought you were beautiful... Bo hates you... hates your body... hates your love... Bo just wants some skinny perfect woman... one from his trophy wall... one better than you... one to satisfy his every need better than you ever could...    

Tears stung in your eyes painfully, as you tried to make yourself busy with dinner. Every cut of a vegetable and every stir on the bowl was becoming a burden, you felt the lump in your throat build and tears spilled out in a stream much to your dismay. Anger, frustration, sadness and pain became all too much for your psyche to handle, and in an outburst you pushed everything off the counter, carelessly letting dinner go to waste and everything around you crash and clang against the linoleum.  

Silent sobs sealed your airway and you sank to the floor slowly with your back scraping against the fridge, raking your shaky hands through your hair, tears falling wherever they pleased. Breathing seemed fleeting at this point, you felt as if you were drowning in the ocean, all alone, with sharks circling you, taunting your demise. The sobs began to become more painful and broken wails hung in the humid Louisiana air, the force and strain made it feel like you were vomiting but betrayed the fact that your throat was closing against the laments.  

Suddenly there were heavy footfalls coming towards you, it was clear as day who they were from; the give away was that the gate was a little unbalanced from the apparent stiffness Bo had always carried in his right leg. The steps stopped for a moment as he was taking in your balled up shaking frame under the flickering fluorescents of the old house. Food, utensils, bowls and plates were all scattered around you like war zone debris, and you were the broken soldier in the middle waiting for the end. You knew he was standing there but you didn’t care; he was never one for comforting you, why would he care tonight? 

“Baby... Baby girl wha- shit” Bo stuttered but quickly came to encase you in his muscular arms, groaning as he sat in front of you, his legs caged you, feeling every sob, every painful sharp inhale. “Shhh, shhh, baby it’s ok” he cooed, trying to be soothing though it went against his gruff nature. 

His warm body caging you and the unmistakable smell of gas, cigarettes, and some sort of sweet undertone to his cologne that you just couldn’t place, made your body ease enough to catch a deep breath filling your strained lungs. Opening your swollen eyes with a sting, you were somehow surprised to meet his worried stormy blues, eying you like a hawk; his intensity made you force your eyes closed, jerking your head downwards and off to the side, not wanting him to see you so broken. Stifling your cries by biting your lip hard enough to draw the coppery taste along the soft flesh, letting whine escape.

His rough fingertips gingerly caressed your wet chin, commanding you to look up at him; though Bo’s fingers were gentle, his blanketing dominance coated every movement he made effortlessly. Once again your eyes met; pain and concern clashing.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” He spoke softly letting his cigarette stained breath ghost over you. The question brought a new set of tears that started to swell up, teasing to fall through wet lashes. Bo didn’t force you to speak and he just let you catch your breath and collect your thoughts, studying every part of your face as if it was new to him. Checking for any apparent injuries that might be causing the sobs; at least that he could fix that, but no, these wounds were behind the skin, in the deep tissues of your heart and brain, strangling them.

“Bo... I just-” You weakly strained against the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry” pulling away from him you saw something dangerous flutter behind his eyes; Bo was full of his own troubles and insecurities too, and your choice of words fueled something under the surface of him, some deepness he wasn’t ready to face yet. His touch became a little tighter, slowly and agonizing like a python, squeezing the truth out of you. Your apology was out of your embarrassment for him having to see you like this, but he thought it was for cheating on him or harming someone he loved; ultimately resulting in your slow painful death. 

Before allowing his anger rise you quietly cried “Bo, baby, I’m just having a bad day... the voices in my head just wouldn’t shut up... I-I just broke” He relaxed his grip slightly and pulled you against his chest with a huff, relaxing around you. Bo was no stranger to the way you felt, he had ended up on the exact spot on the kitchen floor many times before, he was probably drunk when it happened, however, but he understood. In a strange way, you mirrored him like broken glass glued together. 

Clutching his coveralls like holding onto a lifeline you stained them with tears, as he moved his hand to cradle your skull closer to him if it were possible, carding his hand through your hair, and his other hand snaked around your waist. His warmth was welcomed but dangerous and painful, loving a broken soul like his hurt all too much; behind every kiss and pleasure, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was better off with someone else, and think about the day he doesn’t come home. Bo’s love was addicting and one day you knew it would be ripped away and you would be left scratching and clawing for any remnants that could be salvaged.   

“I- I want you to be happy... even if it’s not with me,” weeping and shaking you let your insecurities come to the light allowing Bo to see the sick but not unfamiliar thoughts. “I’m fucking broken... I’m nothing you should have, just damaged goods... You can find someone much more beautiful and stronger... I’m not what you want” 

Spilling your guts like a wounded animal begging to live Bo’s hands moved to your shoulders, now pushing you away to look at him with authority oozing off, it made you stop; thinking he was going to lose his temper, and you just waited for the yelling or for him to drag you to the bedroom. The yelling never came. The forceful grip of his large hands never appeared. Just his eyes hardened on you, the blue becoming dark and foreboding, like the black sea that has swallowed a thousand ships.

“Please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that. You’re so much more than that. You’re so...” He begged then allowed his fortified walls to come down for a brief moment worried you would shatter him completely, “You’re my everything baby... Why don’t you see that?” his voice broke at the vulnerability. The knights were down, off their posts and able to rest after 20 some years of being serviced, taught and berated. This was like a searing knife to his core, slipping between the bones and waiting for it to be yanked out and have him bleed out on the linoleum, alone. “I- I love you.” 

Those words, the three words he spoke echoed loud and clear in your brain. The only time he had ever said it was after 5 beers and sloppy sex. Bo was sober tonight and he was painfully aware of it. He said it without flinching or moving his gaze from yours. This is the moment you waited for, after almost 2 full years of rage, blood, tears, love, fights, and pain; it was out there crystal clear. Of course, you had hoped it would be on a scenic hill looking out at the night sky, with your fingers interlaced and shallow breaths matching each other in perfect harmony; not on the cold floor with glass and destruction around you, brokenly clutching one another. However, you were going to take what you could get.    

Tears began to flow again but for a whole different reason, as you cupped his strong square jaw, running your thumb on the long jagged scar he carried with grace. “Bo Sinclair, I love you too.” He crashed his lips against yours, his hands were everywhere on you, he craved you, he needed you as much as he did the oxygen to breathe.

[jaskierswolf]

You mentioned smutty prompts....

What about the Lambden pirates? Maybe when Aiden finally joins the ship and they finally stop pretending to be enemies? 🤷🏼‍♀️

😘😘😘🦐⚔️

Umm.... sooo... this isn’t actually smutty? I had plans, and then plot happened and so this is sort of pre-smut? But I hope you like it? Sorry Twink! Also as always this one is based in @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher‘s wonderful Swashbuckling AU.

Part 1, 2

________

Lambert glanced around the harbour, looking for any rogue pirates from Aiden’s crew, or should he say former crew? It had taken months of moping around the Kaer Morhen before the Captain had taken him aside and told him in no uncertain terms to either convince Aiden to join, or to get off his ship. Lambert wasn’t entirely sure how serious the Captain’s threat had been but he had a home on the ship and he couldn’t imagine a better life, or a better crew so he’d taken it a face value. The next time he’d run into Aiden, he’d asked in the silence of their room at the inn, curled up together like any normal pair of lovers. He still wasn’t sure how Aiden had heard his question. He hadn’t exactly yelled it from the rooftops, too scared of the rejection that he had been so sure of. But Aiden had surprised him, the other pirate always seemed to manage that.

Aiden’s eyes caught his across the port and Lambert waved him down, giving him the all clear. He was always astounded by Aiden’s ability to disappear. One moment he’d been in clear sight and the next he’d melted into the shadows, as if he’d never been there. The Dyn Marv were skilled at stealth, pickpockets in the docks, robberies on the shores, creeping up the sides of ships and stealing the haul before the anyone could even raise the alarm. In and out, without getting caught, and Aiden was no exception. It was spooky and the pirate seemed to revel in startling Lambert as they played their game of rivals. Lambert would miss the games, he enjoyed the thrill of their sword fights, the looks on everyone’s faces as they brawled on the tavern floors, lips barely a breath apart, but to be able to see Aiden during the long months at sea… that was his new dream. A dream he hadn’t even realised was possible.

Unfortunately, Aiden’s captain was not one to let his First Mate go without a fight, so here they were, sneaking around the docks, making sure no one saw Aiden boarding the Kaer Morhen. Lambert had suggested making a show of taking Aiden prisoner but his idea had been shot down. The crew of the Dyn Marv would come after the Kaer Morhen, and Geralt would have him walk the plank. Lambert kept his hand on his sword, pirouetting as he surveyed the docks one last time before he turned to board his ship. There was a chill in the air, the wind whipping around the ends of his trousers and biting into his skin. The stars shone brightly down from the heavens, a map to pirates and merchants alike. Each constellation told a story, according to the half-siren who delighted in entertaining their crew each night. The cloudless nights were always a highlight of their time at sea. From the Kaer Morhen, the stars were absolutely stunning, and Lambert could often be found on deck, dreaming of the other worlds that they would never see. Jaskier’s tales brought the stars a little closer, weaving the songs he sang with siren’s magic until they were all relaxed and in good spirits.

Lambert just hoped Aiden would like it too. The pirate sighed and strolled onto the deck, his boots clicking against the boarding plank as he left the shore. The rest of the crew should already be on board, and he was hoping that Aiden had managed to sneak on from the docks. “The lover returns,” Jaskier’s melodic voice trilled down from the rigging. Lambert peered up at the half-siren, blue eyes almost glowing in the dark. “Successful trip?” Lambert grunted and lifted the hatch to head towards their sleeping quarters below deck, ignoring Jaskier’s prying ways. Geralt would probably have him on cooking duty as a result but, in all honesty, he couldn’t give a fuck. He was half-way to the hammocks that would be his home for the next few weeks at least, when he was pulled into the armoury. “What the fuck?” he managed to choke out as the cold edge of steel pressed against his throat. “You really need to sort out your security,” Aiden purred and Lambert felt his shoulders relax, an ache deep in his chest easing at the rich sound of the other pirate’s voice. “Kitten,” he breathed, even as the knife at his throat pressed a little harder. Aiden scoffed, “Seriously, Lamb? A rival pirate sneaks onto your ship without you, or any of your crew noticing… and you’re relieved?” “Relieved, and more than a little turned on.”

The knife was gone from his throat at an instant, but before he could move, the sharp tip of the blade tickled under his chin, forcing him to lift his head as Aiden swept round into view. “What am I going to do with you?” Lambert smirked, “Oh, I have a few ideas.” “Show me to my room, pirate,” Aiden’s lips brushed Lambert’s cheek, before he nipped at the skin beneath Lambert’s ear. He felt a warm shiver down his spine, the night might be like ice outside but Lambert had a feeling that he wouldn’t be cold, not tonight at least.

[hopeamarsu]

I just couldn’t get my mind to stop thinking of Beach Bum Pero and well, this is the result:

Word count 1,1k

Pero Tovar x female reader

Warnings: Sort of fluffy? Maybe a tiny bit of angst thrown in the mix

Written on my phone, not proofread much so please excuse all obvious mistakes. Be kind.

Pero Tovar was a free man.

No more war, no more fighting, no more orders and chain of command and most importantly, no more strict rhythm in his daily life.

He was free to choose his own time, his own rhythm and his own path. Which is why he’d chosen the beach he thought. The sand under his bare feet, the warmth seeping into him from where the sun had heated it. The same sun hitting his skin and the way waves lapped on his body as he went for a swim or a surf. He felt free, he felt light and he felt like there wasn’t anything burdening him.

The only schedule he had was with the local bar, meaning they would call him when they needed someone to help out, being it working behind the bar or at the door. The door gigs weren’t his favorites but according to the owner his looks deterred the worst of the worst. Maybe it was his scar, a memento of his past life, maybe it was his constant frown he wore when not on the beach, Pero didn’t know. But the owner paid good money and money put food on the table. And Pero never said no to food.

Thankfully the bar didn’t need him today and Pero was free to sit down, his board propped up behind him and just watch the sun set in the horizon. Quiet, calm and serene, just how he liked it. The sky was painted with orange, red and pink hues as the sun was disappearing under the cool blue sea and Pero felt calmness wash over him. This was his life, his salvation and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

He ran his hand through his shaggy mane, absentmindedly thinking he was overdue for a cut but at the same time enjoying the idea that he could keep his hair long and shaggy if he wanted to. The sleeve of his worn striped shirt caught his eye and he studied it for a moment. It looked like it could use a little mending, but that could wait, he decided. There were moments to experience, a worn cuff hardly meant a thing in the universe.

He swept his gaze across the sandy planes, solitude and sea his usual companions, when suddenly something caught his eyes. A metallic object flew across the air, hitting the waterfront, followed by a piercing scream. Pero jumped to his feet in an instant, some of his old ways rooted deep into his subconscious, and started stalking towards the sound.

“Fucking hell!”

You stood near the can you’d thrown, shoes in hand as you stepped back and forth the sand.

“Fucking idiotic piece of shit! I hope you rot in hell!”

“Is something the matter, señorita?”

You whirled around, aiming your shoes towards him, which made Pero throw up his hands, trying to defuse the situation. “Hey, hey, hey! No need to throw away good shoes.”

“Shit, sorry!” You dropped your shoes, the alarm of someone sneaking up on you switching to concern. “I’m so sorry.”

“No problema. But still, is there something on your mind? I saw the can flying and…” Pero trailed off, gesturing at the can still half in water, waiting on an explanation. You sighed, bending down to pick up the object you’d thrown earlier in anger.

“Yeah, I’m… uh, it’s just...” You closed off, turning to look at the dimming sun, before continuing. The words weren’t easy, but the silence between you and him wasn’t uncomfortable as he patiently waited for you to continue.

“You ever feel like your not good enough? Like you are the one everyone uses to advance themselves further, the one that can be thrown under the bus in a moments notice and the one nobody will think twice of?” You asked, not really knowing if you wanted an answer or not.

Pero remained silent, waiting on you to continue if you wished so. He found it a good tactic; reading people and their body language had served him well in the past. He spend the moments studying you, the way your shoulders hunched forward a little, your body curling on itself either in sorrow or in anger. Which, he couldn’t yet tell but he recognized the symptoms he’d been through before choosing the lifestyle to ease up on his own demons.

“I’m literally this close to quitting my job. I’m just a cog in someone else’s wheel and I’m tired of it.”

You plopped down on the sand and brought your hand down next to you. Your voice was tired, your eyes sad you kept your gaze at the water. It was clear there was a lot going through your mind and none of them good thoughts.

Pero remained standing, unsure of how to proceed now. Should he sit down, should he return to his own spot and leave you alone or try to offer some words of advice?

In the end, he only knew one thing and that was that he was drawn to you and he wanted to ease your worries, even if it was only by doing something small. So he held out his hand, palm faced up and let you study it for a moment as you switched your gaze to him before crooking his fingers a little, almost a come here -motion but with all of his fingers instead of just the one.

Pero waited on you to make a decision. Take it or not to take it. Trust him or not to trust him. He watched your eyes flit between his face, his scar and his hand. Your face swept the beach, trying to see just how many people were left and if it was wise to trust a complete stranger.

Usually he wasn’t fast to trust people either, so he understood the hesitation well. But something magnetic drew him into you, kept him rooted to the spot and not withdraw his hand. The fact that you hadn’t thrown the shoes at his face yet and the look in your eyes clearly torn between logic and desire told him you felt the same.

So he took the leap. “I’m Pero. Would you like forget all this for a moment? I know a cheap bar close here where we can talk and laugh and drink. Sounds like you need it.”

A warm palm met the other and he pulled you up, twisting his other hand to rest low on your back. For a moment you just looked into each others eyes and he found himself unable to describe the feeling running rampant in his body, miles and miles more intense that the best wave he’d experienced or the first morning of freedom he had after leaving the service.

The sun dropped down low, under the horizon but still you stood on the beach, in the arms of a stranger, eyes locked to one another and the world had never felt more right.

Everything taglist @clydesducktape @wayward-rose @themuseic @miraclesabound @clydesfavoritegirl @a-true-janian-reply @10blurredsmoke10  @caillea @mind-p0llution

[jemmahazelnut]

Autumn bath

Summary: It's November and Laxus wants to take a dip at sunset. [Freed/Laxus]

Link: AO3

Fraxus Week 2021, Day 3. Prompt: Sunrise/Sunset.

Autumn bath

They had just completed a mission. It had been simple enough compared to the missions they usually took, they had only had to free a rare species of dolphins that had been captured by traders in black. It had therefore taken them very little time and now Freed was sitting on the beach watching the animals as they moved away from the shore, finally free to swim. Evergreen, Bickslow and Laxus had already returned to the inn for dinner. On the other hand, they had done well, it was really getting cold.

“Are you going to stay here all night?” came a voice behind him. Freed didn't even turn to recognize who he was. Laxus joined him without sitting down, the rune mage smiled.

“No, I'll be back soon” he replied, standing still to listen to the waves of the sea, and the winter air, while the sun was lowering on the horizon. He liked to have a few moments of calm, especially after spending the whole day with his teammates. He heard a thud and turning around saw that Laxus had dropped his coat on the sand.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a frown.

“Don't tell me you can't get there alone,” Laxus said with a smirk that only meant trouble. Freed arched an eyebrow wondering what idea was going through his mind and vowing to say no to whatever he asked. It was really getting late and he had stayed there just to get some peace of mind. Laxus, however, took off his shirt and Freed realized that he wanted to swim in the sea.

“It's November” Freed pointed out “You're completely out of your mind, can't you feel the wind? And the water will be frozen”.

“Oh, come on, is Freed the Dark afraid of some fresh water?” Laxus teased him as he approached the sea.

“You'll get a fever and we have to go back to the inn,” Freed insisted. He wouldn't give in. That was a completely crazy idea, no matter how much Laxus insisted, Freed wouldn't accept or follow him.

All those thoughts were thrown away when Laxus dived into the sea, re-emerging a few seconds later and showing himself in all his beauty. Freed really tried to resist, but how could he do it? He simply couldn't, not with Laxus practically naked with droplets of water running through his muscles. The last rays of the sun were reflected on his abs and on his face making him look even more handsome than he already was. His wet boxers barely hid his body, and his arrogant smirk definitely won over the runic wizard.

“Come on, draw that heat rune and go in,” Laxus urged. Freed didn't really have the strength to say ‘no’ and drew the rune, then undressed himself and went into the sea, gathering his hair in a bun so as not to wet it.

“If I get a fever, it will be your fault,” he muttered and Laxus laughed heartily, swimming farther out. Freed smiled slightly, he couldn't really be angry, not when he saw Laxus so happy and when he heard his loud laugh. With a few strokes he caught up with him but he had come to a point where Freed couldn't touch the sand. He aimed his gaze at the sun which was lowering more and more, so he didn’t notice the dangerous grin on his friend's face, and when Laxus grabbed him by the head pushing him underwater, Freed was completely taken aback. He squirmed and managed to free himself by surfacing and spitting out salt water.

“You're a bastard” he said “I tied my hair just to not wet them, what the fuck” Freed snapped, but Laxus continued to grin satisfied.

“What a pity” he said sarcastically. Freed narrowed his gaze.

“You won't have war, if that's what you're aiming for,” he chilled.

“Let it bet?” said the blond, widening his grin and Freed knew that that meant trouble. With a single stroke Laxus was close to him, grabbing him by the shoulders and throwing him back under. Freed, disadvantaged by his height, was unable to rebel and felt the blond man fiddling with the elastic of his hair, removing it and untying his hairstyle, and then stuffing something between his locks. Freed emerged running a hand through his hair and noting with horror that Laxus had taken a sticky seaweed.

“You’re dead” Freed hissed and threw himself on his friend's shoulders, trying to throw him under, but it was useless. Laxus was much more muscular than him, in fact with a quick gesture the blond threw him back. At that point Freed decided to use his magic and with a rune he teleported some algae and sand directly above his friend. When he saw the result, he smiled smugly.

“You play dirty,” Laxus snapped as he tried to pull the stuff off of him.

“We’ve never established any rules on the use of magic,” Freed replied and then erased the rune of heat from Laxus and the blond began to tremble and cursed. Freed laughed. “Is the great Laxus Dreyar afraid of a little fresh water?” he mocked him as his friend had done before.

The blond shot him a grim look and began to swim towards him. Freed immediately swam to shore and then ran, but the blonde caught up with him and grabbed him by the shoulder and in the heat to escape his grasp, Freed staggered and fell to the ground, with Laxus headed over him. Freed swore as he saw his hair getting dirty with sand, and heard the blond's loud laugh in his ear.

“I won even without magic,” he said arrogantly. Freed didn’t reply as he felt his face begin to warm from the proximity of their bodies.

“Good, now get up” he dryly trying to get up, but Laxus only made him turn him, and Freed found himself in an even worse position than the previous one, with his friend still lying on top of him who was raised on his elbows. Laxus was staring at him with a victorious grin and Freed could see his chest rise and fall with each breath as he felt the grip of Laxus' hand on his shoulder. A hand that after a while climbed up to reach his neck. His friend's expression softened and Freed remained motionless for a moment, not knowing how to react and feeling his heart pounding.

Laxus tilted his head to the side, running his hand over his fringe, pushing it away from his face.

“Your hair is really a mess,” he commented hoarsely and Freed tried not to shiver at that closeness and touch. He just stayed silent, peering into Laxus's gaze and noticing that he too was blushing. Or maybe it was the sun's rays. He had no idea, but he was sure that his friend was getting closer and closer.

And in fact, a moment later he kissed him. Freed closed his eyes and let himself be drawn into the kiss. He reached behind the blond's nape and pushed him to intensify it. He could feel Laxus' hands rising through his hair and the taste of salt between their lips. It was beautiful. When they parted, they stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, both red-faced and out of breath.

“Well...” Laxus started awkwardly but stopped probably not knowing what to say. Freed smiled running a hand through his damp hair and pushed him back on him. They kissed a second time, more intense than the first, and when they parted, they both sat back down on the beach, both with smiles on their faces.

Freed look at Laxus. In that moment and with those reddish lights he looked even more handsome than usual. Only after a while did he realize that his friend was shivering with cold.

“We better go inside,” he said at that point. Laxus turned to him and nodded and then giggled in amusement. Freed frowned.

“Nothing, it's just that your hair is in a mess,” he said. Freed raised a slightly frown and amused eyebrow at the same time.

“You know how to be romantic after the first kiss,” he commented ironically and Laxus blushed slightly. “Really,” Freed continued “It's the perfect atmosphere, first kiss, sunset, beach, and in any case, you manage to ruin it by making me notice my hair dirty with sand and seaweed” he continued to tease him, while Laxus stared at him in an embarrassed silence.

“You know I'm not good at these things,” he replied in a mutter. Freed at that point smiled and stood up, extending a hand making him rise from the ground.

“Yes, I know,” he said softly as Laxus stood up beside him. Freed felt his cheeks blush, although he already imagined his friend's response. He just hoped that Laxus didn't notice it, and that he blamed the sun's rays. “Would you like to go out on a date tomorrow?” he asked him.

The answer was obvious.

***

Freed heard a door slam and woke to hear Laxus swear from the inn hallway. Freed yawned and turned to see what time it was, almost groaned to see it was 5.30 in the morning. Why was Laxus already awake? He knew Laxus woke up early but that was too early even for him. He decided to ignore it and turned in bed, slipping even further under the sheets. He just wanted to sleep, he had already had to stay awake until three to finish reading a book. He heard footsteps walking down the hall again and then sneezing. Freed opened one eye fearing that Laxus had caught a fever.

“I told him it was a bad idea to take a bath now,” he thought. He almost decided to ignore him, but eventually pity got the better of him and he reluctantly got up, put on his slippers and took some healing herbs. He left the room. After taking a look around and seeing that no one was there, he walked towards Laxus's room. He knocked softly and heard a grunt.

“What are you doing awake already?”. Obviously with his developed senses Laxus had recognized him. Freed walked into his room and closed the door behind him.

“You’ve a fever, right?” he asked wearily, barely holding back a yawn. He got no response and this time Freed yawned without bothering to hide it. “I told you,” he muttered as he approached the bed.

“I'm fine,” Laxus snapped, but one glance was enough for Freed to see that this wasn't the case. He was cold, and placing his hand on his forehead he also felt that it was warm. He sighed wearily and took a glass of water, dissolving some tablets inside and passing it to him. “I don't drink that shit,” Laxus said immediately. Freed wasn't really going to fight.

“Do as you like, as long as you don't complain if your fever doesn't pass,” he muttered. Laxus then sat up on the bed and threw down all the contents, making a face. Freed yawned again and the blonde patted him on the shoulder.

“You don't need to stand up, you know,” he told him.

“I'm awake by now, I won't be able to go back to sleep,” Freed replied with a slight smile. Laxus snorted.

“I think our date is postponed,” he muttered in a bad mood and Freed looked at him softly.

“No problem,” he replied with a slight blush. He was pleased to know that the blonde really wanted to go out with him. Not that he didn't already know, but it was nice to hear that. Laxus snorted evidently in disagreement and glanced at the terrace window. Then he stood up and grabbed Freed by the wrist forcing him to follow. The boy didn't object and watched Laxus open the window and go out.

“Laxus, don't you think you've already caught cold enough?” he asked feeling the fresh morning air and wrapping his arms around his body. Why did he have to fall in love with an idiot who didn't learn his lesson?

“It can't get any worse now,” Laxus said and then told him to follow him. Freed at first wondered where, but then he saw Laxus turn into lightning and climb onto the roof of the inn. “But what is he thinking of?” Freed wondered, without asking questions decided to follow him. Anyway, he surely wouldn't have fallen asleep by now. He went up to the roof and sat down next to Laxus.

“Why did you want to go up here?” he asked. Laxus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and Freed saw him blush slightly, but then saw his lips curl into a slight smile.

“You said I can't be romantic, right?” the Dragon Slayer asked. Freed didn't understand and stared at him silently, still half stunned. Laxus nodded to the sky and the magician finally looked away from his friend to observe the first light of dawn. He found himself smiling spontaneously as the pink lights illuminated the city. It was truly a wonderful sight, especially for him who usually got up late and hardly ever saw dawn. There was a surreal calm, only the first birds could be heard chirping and the waves of the sea behind them.

“It's wonderful,” he admitted and turned to his companion, who in turn turned to him. They looked at each other for a moment and under his gaze Freed felt his face warm up. Then he took courage and pushed himself slightly forward. Laxus did the same and immediately after the two boys joined their lips in a sweet and short kiss. When they broke apart Freed could feel his heart leap and a tiny smile formed on his face. Several times he had thought about what it was like to kiss Laxus and that… well, that was perfect.

He turned back to look at the sky, and rested his head on Laxus's shoulder. He felt the blonde wrap his arm around his shoulders and the smile on Freed's face widened. Fever or not, that moment was just perfect.

[woniepop]

girly girls

Pairing: Kang Taehyun x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: bullying, cursing

Genre: slice of life; fluff; angst

Summary: Three times a popular girl and a nerd were enemies, and one time where they weren’t

a/n: this fic was inspired by my all time favorite movie, Legally Blonde. I enjoyed writing this fic and I really hope you enjoy reading it :)

Y/N L/N has never been someone who liked to be cast in the shadows. Always being the center of attention, y/n has become one of the, if not the most, popular girls in her town. Homegirl is always dressed like an icon even when doing mundane tasks. Girls like her have never really been into anything “nerdy.” She associates herself with more of the bimbo kind, if you will. It was never really a secret, but she studies incredibly hard to get the chance to go to her dream school and become a great computer scientist. Being in such a large friend group of female fashion icons, there was never really anyone who wanted to talk about topics with math or computer science. 

Kang Taehyun, however, is this awkward and incredibly smart boy. Never really associated with popularity, he’s only had about four friends in his life and absolutely no dating experience. He’d always been one to shy away from attention. At most times, he found himself quietly observing others. All this, and he’s still what you would consider the teacher’s pet. He gets all his assignments done, A’s on every test, and raises his hand for every question. As a computer science enthusiast, he has worked his butt off his entire life, filling his schedule with robotics clubs, different languages of code, and coding camps. Senior year was his year. He had finally got into his dream school, TXT Tech, and had already created a very very detailed plan for the future.

Currently, Y/n’s mother was constantly trying to persuade her about fashion school. Having an incredibly fashionable mom wasn’t always the best for situations like these. TXT Tech results were coming out, and even though Y/n was confident she was getting in, there’s still the chance she might have not. Nervously waiting in front of her laptop, she sits impatiently refreshing the page for her results. Within one sentence she hops up from her chair in awe. Obviously attending the school was going to be a big turning point for her, and she was so excited to have been admitted to TXT Tech. 

As Y/n got settled on campus, she finds no one else that looks like her. Obviously, because she stands out, all attention is drawn to her. She’s confident, stylish, and hot. In a sea of gray and tan business outfits, Y/n wears a nice pink pantsuit. She’s relishing in all the attention, not seeming to mind that it’s not good, because she knew she looked good. 

Her first encounter with Taehyun couldn’t have gone worse. Walking to her class, pink drink in hand, she struts confidently to the lecture hall for her computer engineering class. Not paying attention to where she was going, she bumps into a tall figure. This clearly wasn’t the best way you could go about your first day, but all Y/n could do was apologize. 

“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t see where I was going and-” she rambled. Pausing in the middle of looking up, a very handsome and slightly awkward boy stands there, obviously pissed off and very annoyed. He scoffs and continues on his way to his next class.

Her second encounter with Taehyun was not great either. Clicking her high heels against the floor, she walks to her first class of the day. She had to get there early, she always had to sit in the front of the class. Taehyun on the other hand, nose buried deep in his book, walks directly to the middle. Despite loving programming, he could only handle so much attention. The class had started off well for Y/n, reviewing the class syllabus of “Principles of Programming Languages.” Taehyun, however, was pissed. He had not been called on once and was so frustrated. 

“Y/n, can you tell me the five most commonly used languages of code?” the professor asks smugly. Y/n knew what he was doing. She was being set up. She knew he thought she didn’t know and that lit a fire in her. 

“Python, Java, Javascript, C#, and C” she answers confidently. Hearing this, the professor nods his head. He wasn’t expecting that. 

Taehyun saw this as a perfect opportunity. His hand shoots up and he comments, “Sir, that’s actually incorrect. C++ is actually more popular because although C  has served as the foundation for writing languages like Python and Ruby, C++ is a newer language of code and therefore is compatible with more technology.” Taehyun confidently looks down to wear Y/n sits and smirks. Of course she wouldn’t know that. She’s only the popular rich girl that got in with Daddy’s money. She didn’t actually know anything, right?

It had been a few months since school had started, and finals were just about to come around. For this class’ final, they had to submit a partner project and code a simple game. At this point, it had been very blatantly established that Y/n and Taehyun were enemies. They despised each other. Always competing with each other in class, snickering when the other person got annoyed. It was a silent war between the two of them and everyone could feel the tension in the air. Obviously, it was no surprise they always came up at the top of the class, interchanging the first spot every test. What was surprising, however, was seeing their names together on the partner project roster. 

Taehyun was furious. College was supposed to be his bitch, but now he’s acting like Y/n’s bitch. He was so pissed off. Computer science was supposed to be where he had the upper hand. The one place he could feel himself. Where he was finally better than the stupid popular kids. And yet, he’s here, competing with one of them. It wasn’t fair. She was a girly girl, she wore bright colors everyday, she even had a sparkly notebook. How was she so smart? There was no way, it’s just the laws of the universe. You had to choose between looks and intelligence. That’s just what the gods above said. There’s no take backsies. 

It’s no secret that Y/n is a fashionable girl and having a female centric hobby isn’t really something applauded at this university. Knowing of Y/n’s insecurities, let’s talk about Taehyun’s. Having always worn non adventurous, boring, clothing, he’s known from the very beginning that Y/n’s beauty has helped her in life. Life is never fair, and it shows. Taehyun never ever got those advantages, and now here he is competing with someone just as smart as him. 

 As his jealousy grows in the back of his mind, he decides to use this time to take revenge. The next few days are spent typing away in the library, collaborating and researching for hours upon hours. Knowing that this project was worth 40% of their grade, they spent all their time trying to make this game perfect. 

The day of the presentation of their near perfect game rolls around and Y/n was confident. She had spent countless nights coding this with Taehyun and on her own. Starting the presentation off, Taehyun pulls up a game completely different to the one Y/n coded with him. “In this day and age, gaming has become a hobby more popular than it’s ever been. With platforms like twitch and youtube, all different types of games can catch the eyes of a wide audience. With this in mind, I’d like to present to you Jackbox Party Pack 8. Roleplay games have become the genre of choice for many gamers to play, and viewers to watch.” 

This was not the first person shooter Y/n had coded with him. What was he doing? Y/n stood there, not really knowing what to say. Opening and closing her mouth, she couldn’t form any words. She should have known this was a set up. “Ms. L/n, please continue.” The professor says. She couldn’t. She felt like she was frozen. She was so embarrassed and she should’ve seen it coming. With cheeks welling up in her eyes, she runs out of the classroom. 

With a smirk, Taehyun continued on, explaining how the game worked and how he had coded it. He had spent the past few nights coding it by himself and he was incredibly proud. Paying no mind to Y/n, he stood tall and smiled throughout his entire presentation. Obviously, like any normal person, guilt started growing quickly in the back of his mind. He finally realized he had fucked up. 

Running after Y/n, Taehyun felt incredibly guilty. He had taken the competition too far, and now he’d made someone innocent fail a required class. After running for what felt like hours, he found Y/n crying under a tree. He knelt down and offered her some tissues. Aggravated, she smacks the tissues away and tells him to leave.

Y/n, on the other hand, felt so angry. How could he do this to her? She hadn’t done anything wrong, and if he didn’t like the way she dressed or the way she conducted herself that was fine. All she needed was her to believe in herself and that got her into TXT Tech. While thinking about all the ways she could end Taehyun, she feels arms wrap around her. They’re 🤮Taehyun’s. Before she can rip his arms off, he speaks up. 

“Look Y/n, I’m really sorry about that whole thing I pulled back there. I’ll talk to the professor and give him the real project. I really took it too far and I’ll do anything to make it up to you.” He begs. 

“Um,, no? I don’t care? That was literally so embarrassing. If you really wanted to make it up to me you’d leave me alone.” Y/n pushes him off her harshly and storms off. How dare he? It probably took his two seconds to come up with that half assed apology. This was unbelievable. 

Y/n started trudging through the grass back to her dorm. All she wanted to do was take a warm shower and cry in her bed. She hated everyone. She wanted him to suffer just as much as she did, but she couldn’t do that. 

After two whole days of sobbing in her bed, she decided she was craving her signature pink drink. She really didn’t feel like going out, but delivering one drink would cost like $15. Y/n throws on a casual pink outfit. It’s very different from what she wore at the beginning of the school year, but the one thing that never changed was the color pink. Even in her depressive mood, she still wanted to dress up. She felt most comfortable wearing stylish clothing, that was her home. 

Stepping into the store, she sees Taehyun sitting at a table alone. You know when you see old people sitting along and you feel so bad for them you start tearing up? Like what if they lost their spouse or something :(((((. So anyway, Taehyun gives her lonely old people energy and regardless of what he did to her, she decides to keep him company. 

“Hey, um, can i sit here?” Y/n asks. Taehyun was so surprised. She wanted to sit with him? But he was so mean to her? He nodded his head and sat quietly. The past two days she could tell Taehyun had done a lot of thinking. She could tell he did it because he felt threatened. That wasn’t enough to forgive him, but at least she was being nice about it. 

Taehyun gets up and leaves. He comes back with a pink drink in hand, maybe as an apology. “I really want to apologize to you again, Y/n. Yesterday I don’t know if you saw, but the professor graded the actual project instead, and I had told him everything and that I’d deserve it if he failed me instead.” Y/n wanted to be happy but she wasn’t. She didn’t want him to fail after helping her code the game with her. Maybe she was so nice to him because she had matured, or maybe because she felt something different in Taehyun. Even so, a little embarrassment, she thought, wasn’t enough to cause a person to fail their whole class. Holding his hand on the table, she nods, a silent way she decided to forgive him. 

“Well, at least we’re not the worst team. I think group 7 coded a Niki Minaj roblox world.” Taehyun jokes. 

She laughs. “That’s so funny, what the heck? I guess we just have some hardcore barbs in this class.” People like Taehyun and people like Y/n were never meant to be friends in the first place, but maybe now they were starting to. Y/n, who was always challenging the term “girly girl.” Who always stressed that you have to believe in yourself when the rest of the world is against you. Y/n who became successful, without changing who she was. Y/n, who was feminine and wanted to show that was never a weakness. And Taehyun, who was always unadventurous. Who was never into fashion but still managed to pull off his nerdy outfits with his cute face. The passionate Taehyun whose only hobby seemed like studying. Gossiping for hours at the cafe, they realized this. They were starting to become friends. No one ever expected them to even be able to hold a friendly conversation, but here Y/n was, challenging everyone again. 

[mymoonagedaydream]

Only the Good Die Young (part 8)

Summary: Things finally seemed like they were falling into place

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment, harmful relationship with parents, smut references, the FLOOF of it all

Author's Note: It’s the finale, goddamn I’m gonna miss all this Billy Joel stuff. Thank you so much for all the love for this series. Who knows, maybe we’ll come back to these two eventually, but for now they’ve definitely been through enough. Bless ‘em.

---

The rest of the date was surprisingly nice.

You managed to coerce Bucky back to beer after the sewer water he’d ordered had all gone, and it turned out that the restaurant took their ‘bottomless breadsticks’ promise a little too seriously, doing everything but force-feeding you by hand to get them gone.

You just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was hanging over the two of you.

After what he said, you’d tried your best to dig a little deeper, but he changed the subject pretty quickly once he realised how upset you were- and it was almost impossible to get more information out of Bucky once he’d stonewalled.

Either way, you knew you’d have to talk to him more about it soon, even if you didn’t particularly want to.

It was his face as he said it. You never wanted to see that again.

Stuffed and a little tipsy, the two of you spilled out of the restaurant and started heading home. The evening air was a chilly, but Bucky had wrapped his jacket around your shoulders before you’d even begun to feel the cold.

After walking for a while, you came to a corner you recognised, and decided to take him on a little detour.

You tugged his arm towards the turning. ‘Shall we take the long way back? We can walk along the river.’

‘Sure, but if you fall in I’m not coming in after you.’ He gave you a wide smile and snaked his arm around your waist, letting you lead him down the side street.

A comfortable silence fell as you approached the water, both of you watching the ripples distort reflections from the harbourside restaurants and bars. Reaching the edge, Bucky turned to carry on walking along the path, but you stayed in place and pulled him back.  

He moved to stand opposite you, looking a little confused as you took both his hands in yours. 

'Buck, what you said earlier, I really think we should talk more about it.'

'Nah, it’s alright. It was in the past. Like you said, things are good now and that’s all that matters.'

‘No, I didn’t mean, uh-’ Christ he was slippery, using your own words against you like that. ‘Look, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. If it’s still affecting you, it matters, and it’s good to talk about it.’

He turned his head, staring at the water, deep in thought. You didn’t let up. You brought your hands up to his face and pulled it back towards you, raising your eyebrows at him expectantly. 

He took a deep, shaky breath.

'If I keep talking, I might say something that drives you away. I don't know if I could take that.'

‘Bucky, I don’t care about your past.’ His face changed suddenly, tensing a little. You rubbed your forehead and winced, realising that your tone had been much firmer than intended. ‘That came out wrong.’

He let out a small chuckle, pulling you closer and smirking. ‘First you want me to talk, now you tell me to shut up.’

‘No, what I meant was, nothing you’ve done in the past could change my opinion of you now.’ You wound your arms around his neck. ‘Unless you were a serial killer, but even then I might let you try to convince me that they deserved it.’

‘Oh they did.’

You laughed, moving to cup his face and stroke your thumbs across his cheeks. Feeling his hands pressed against your back and staring into his glowing blue eyes, something inside you burst or erupted or... Christ, you weren’t sure, but next thing you knew your mouth was writing a cheque that you weren’t sure Bucky would want to cash.

‘I love you, Buck.’ His face dropped slightly in shock. Fuck it, you were all in now, might as well carry on. ‘Properly. Get a dog together type love. Put up with you stealing the covers all night type love. I’d even go as far as to say-’

He cut you off, pressing his lips against yours and squeezing your waist tight. You relaxed completely in his arms, not sure that you’d be able to stay on your feet if he suddenly let go, but too caught up in the moment to care.

He pulled away an inch, just for just a second, to whisper ‘I love you too. Just stop talking.’

You weren’t sure how long the two of you were standing there by the river, it was becoming increasingly easy to lose time while you were tangled up with Bucky.

The rest of the walk home was a hazy, fragmented mess of staggering for a few minutes at a time before getting distracted and clumsily fumbling at each other. You found yourselves regretting taking the long way, both of you becoming more and more impatient to get back to the privacy of the apartment, and not making it past the floor on the inside of the door when you did.

But hey, at least neither of you ended up in the river.

---

You’d found it. The perfect apartment.

It was pretty small, but more than enough for just the two of you. The beach was a couple minutes walk away, but it was a fifth floor apartment, so the front window had a sea view. It even had underground parking, so Bucky wouldn’t have to rush to the window to check on his bike every ten minutes.

He was out at the store when you came across it and you couldn’t stop yourself pacing around excitedly until he got back. You practically jumped him as soon as he came through the door, dragging him over to your laptop.

After a quick flick through the pictures, he dug his phone from his pocket. ‘It’s ours. What’s the number?’

‘Oh, well, we should probably go see it first.’

‘Nah. How bad could it be?’

You nodded slowly and let your gaze wander around his flat, lingering on the carpet stains and the patch of mould in the corner.

Yep, things were starting to make a little more sense.

‘What’s the hold up?’

Your eyes flicked back to Bucky, looking at you excitedly, phone still ready in hand. A warm smile spread across your face. Maybe it was time to take a page out of his book.

Stop thinking so much, close your eyes and jump.

Bucky made the call, you sent over all the information they needed, and then you waited. 

And waited. 

All evening, checking Bucky’s phone every ten minutes. It was like torture. 

Nothing had come through by midnight, so the two of you gave up and slunk off to bed, trying to stay optimistic about finding somewhere else but inwardly completely gutted.

---

You woke up the next day to the smell of cooking bacon and the sound of Bucky humming to himself in the kitchen. Stretching yourself across the empty bed, you could easily have slept for another couple hours, but you were too curious to see what he was up to.

Your hand found your phone on the bedside table and you checked the time, your head darting away from the pillow in shock when you saw that it was creeping up to midday.

Pulling your pyjamas on, you trudged through to the front room, seeing Bucky stood over the stove.

‘What’re you doing?’ You walked up beside him, settling into his side as he snaked his arm around you, gazing at the pile of food he was pushing around the pan.  

‘A proper breakfast, I thought we’d celebrate.’

You nodded sleepily, a little confused. ‘Celebrate what?’

He looked down at you, sporting a wide smile. Your drowsiness slowly melted away as you realised what he was talking about.

‘We got it?’

‘We got it.’

Some kind of throaty yelp noise escaped your mouth, making Bucky burst out laughing. You threw your arms around his neck, squeezing him as hard as you could, feeling tears welling up in his eyes.

When you finally let go of him, he dug his phone out of his pocket and showed you the email from the landlord.

‘Wait, this says we move in at the start of next month?’ He nodded proudly. ‘Buck, that’s two days from now.’

‘Yup. Better get packing.’

Turns out he’d already hired a van to arrive the next day and nipped out while you were asleep to buy packing boxes. You had no idea who this guy was and what he’d done with Bucky, but you weren’t complaining.

Finally, it felt like things were falling into place.

---

The drive to your new home was about an hour. 

You’d hoped the ride would be relaxing and cathartic, but you spent almost the entire time white-knuckled, gripping onto the dashboard. Bucky drove the moving van in exactly the same way as he drove his motorbike, he didn’t even seem to notice the sound of all your possessions sliding around chaotically in the back.

He finally parked up outside the apartment block and you reverted back to religion for the first time in years, thanking god that both of you survived the drive.

The building wasn’t particularly attractive, sitting in an unremarkable side street opposite a seedy looking off-license, but you still felt the excitement bubbling in your stomach as you hopped out of the van and surveyed your surroundings.

Bucky gave you a wide smile and walked towards the door, approaching a man in a cheap suit who you hadn’t even noticed. The keys were exchanged, and suit gave you a polite nod before turning and walking down the street. 

That was, quite possibly, the only easy interaction you and Bucky had ever had with a third party since you’d been together. 

You knew life was going to be a whole lot easier after leaving that fucking town, but you certainly hadn’t expected such immediate results. This was incredible. 

You grabbed a box and followed Buck up the stairs, bursting through the door into your new home. 

The first thing you noticed was the view. It was even better in person. 

You unceremoniously dropped whatever you were carrying and walked towards the window, seeing the vast ocean spread out in both directions as you got closer.

Bucky came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

‘Whatta you think?’

‘I love it.’

‘It needs a bit of work.’ He briefly surveyed the walls and the ceiling. ‘I think the last people here had dogs, there’s still some-’

You swivelled round in his arms and placed your hand firmly over his mouth, feeling him smiling against your palm. ‘I don’t care. I love it.’

Bucky mumbled something into your hand. You rolled your eyes and moved it away from his face, prompting him to repeat himself.

‘Me too.’

It took a couple hours to get everything out of the van, and when you’d finished, the two of you found yourselves staring at a messy pile of boxes dumped in the middle of the living room. 

A unanimous decision was made that there was no point starting to unpack before having something to eat, even though you’d spent the entire drive shoving handfuls of doritos into each other's faces.  

---

So, for the first of many times, you and Bucky watched the sunset over the sea. 

Sitting on cardboard boxes in your cheap flat, eating pretty terrible Chinese food, with nothing in the world but a few dollars and each other. 

And it was perfect. 

---

@shawnie--jo @brilliantbellesoares @livingoffsavvyillusions @noiralei @bebeyeni @kingkassam @newyorkgoddess @sir-lili @im-squished @dancer3205 @thefallenbibliophilequote @supernaturalwintersoldier @adriannajackson @rhumphr4

---

[jaedore]

BINDING BONDS | 6

< prev | next >

parings: jung jaehyun x reader

genre: ceo!au, arranged marriage!au, (semi) angst, consumption of alcohol, asshole/player Jaehyun, swearing

[ ☽ smut (implied) | ◇ angst | ☼ fluff ] 

note: BB deals with themes of mental and physical abuse, which can be upsetting for some readers. If you feel uncomfortable reading these types of plots, you are advised to not continue

[ 6.5 k words ]

Breathing was the last thing your body could do, you were thankful that Jaehyun’s parents were still asleep as you bolted out of the door, not giving anyone notice of your absence. The wind hit you when you finally managed to step out on the stairs that led to the grand door, giving your lungs the fresh air you desired. Knowing that there was no way Haewon was going to be awake this early, you called Mark knowing that he’d pick up. 

“Are you okay?” Mark immediately asked, he could hear your heavy breaths from the other side of the line. He wasn’t sure if you were tired or actually in trouble. 

“No, I-I’m at Jaehyun’s place. Can you please pick me up? Now?” You fretted, your free hand gripping onto the collar of your jumpsuit, it was the only thing your shaking body could hold onto right now. 

“Yeah, yeah okay. I’m on my way right now,” Mark hung up. 

You sat on the steps, bringing your legs to your chest almost as if you were caging your heart from bursting. You clutched your head, recalling the events from last night. The feeling of Jaehyun’s fingertips still burned your skin, the feeling lingering from last night. The remembering image of him hovering above you, the way his hands set a fire, and the way he brought pleasure to you, a feeling you haven’t had in such a long time. You tighten your fists that were full of your hair, gently pulling on them. Yes, the way he made you felt amazing, but you couldn’t also tune out the words he said last night. You like that don’t you, you little slut? Look at you, you’re my bitch and I own you. The thoughts began to pursue your mind, you didn’t know what was tightening anymore, your fists, or your heart. 

You know those words shouldn’t mean anything and just meaningless words of pleasure, but you couldn’t help but feel anxiety and panic swallow you whole. It only reminded you of the times when Jaehyun would criticize, snarl at you, and call you cruel names. Before you could feel yourself falling apart, you heard Mark pull up to you. 

“Hey,” not bothering to shut his door, he ran up to you on the steps, “Is everything okay?” 

“I-” you couldn’t even finish your sentence because everything just crumbled. Mark knelt on the stairs, coming down to your level and rubbed your shoulders. 

“Let’s go to the pier and talk, okay?” He assisted you in the car and drove off to the place you both go to find tranquility. 

You didn’t speak a word, you couldn’t. You felt like your lips were sealed from Jaehyun’s kiss and that if you were to speak, misery would escape. When Mark pulled up, you two walked to the end of the pier. The sun shined brightly and the morning breeze reveled with your hair as you sat on the bench that overlooked the horizon meeting the sky. Mark sat alongside you, waiting until you were ready to speak.  

You released a sarcastic chuckle, “I’m sorry for always calling you when I’m like this.” you fumble with your fingers. 

“No, it’s okay. I don’t know what you’re going through, but I’m glad you called me instead of being alone.” 

You couldn’t ask for a better friend, how is someone this kind, this sacrificing to you? No one ever has and it felt like a weight on your shoulders, “Jaehyun’s parents invited us to dinner last night,” you began. 

“Yeah? How was that?” he asked. 

“I don’t know, Mr. Jung kept on pressing me about questions, which is good I guess, but it makes me question if he doubts my ability to carry Audace or if he’s worried about us being a joint company. Anyways, because of that I had a little too much wine, so did Jaehyun, and his parents offered for us to stay the night,” you sighed, body falling onto the weight of your propped shoulders that stood on your knees. 

“It’s okay,” Mark cautiously patted your shoulder. 

“No, it’s not, Mark!” You burst at the sea. Maybe you were shouting to the world, but maybe it was also at Mark since he’s told you to give Jaehyun a chance, too bad it was your own doing. 

Slightly flinching from your outbroken tone, Mark knew something was deeply troubling you, but he didn’t want to pry because he didn’t want you to become overwhelmed. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, falling back into the same position from before.

“Y/n, please, tell me what happened,” he knew it wasn’t healthy for you to keep it all in or to keep stuffing it down, so he tried his best to help you communicate with him without provoking you.

“We hooked up after dinner,” you whispered in such a quiet tone that Mark had to lower himself to your level. 

“Oh,” he replied in the same tone and with his mouth shaped in an “o”. 

“Yeah, I know. And I know I should feel different or whatever but it’s what he said to me, Mark.” 

“What did he say?” 

“He was like ‘you like that don’t you, you little slut’ and saying ‘I own you, you’re my bitch’,” your voice broke from the hurtful remarks, “which I know is said through dominance when fucking someone, and it shouldn’t even matter, but-” you paused to exhale a sharp sigh, “-it just hurt hearing that because he’s called me that at the beginning of all of this. Maybe I’m just being sensitive and overdramatic but-” 

“No, y/n, you’re not. It’s okay to feel this way, especially when he’s treated you so badly in the past. Do you want me to talk to him?” Mark cautiously asked. 

“No, I don’t want you two fighting again,” you hiccuped, “plus, it’s probably best if I do.”

You two sat on the bench as you managed to calm down while gazing at the horizon. The orange and yellow hues evaporated into blue as the sun rose to the sky. At that moment, the world seemed endless, like there were infinite amounts of decisions to handle this, you just have to be wise enough to pick the right way. So how come you felt like you were losing hope in yourself? Because you were confused and scared.

“You hungry? Let’s go grab breakfast,” Mark asked, giving you a sad smile. 

Is that how it was going to be now? Constant sadness? Nonstop crying? The heavy weight that sat on your shoulders felt like the weight of the world. You know that you need to talk to Jaehyun, but you couldn’t bear to talk to him and look him in the eyes, not after last night’s event. 

Mark drove you two to a small cafe, picking up a small scone for you before dropping you off at the apartment, “take your time to feel better, okay?” 

You hummed before shutting the car door and making your way to the building. A slight fear settled in your bones, nervous that Jaehyun was home, but when you opened the door there was a sense of quietness. You closed the door quietly then went up to your room. Plopping yourself onto your bed, you couldn’t help but feel a wash of sadness come over you, you were so confused and anxious. You thought to yourself that it shouldn’t hurt you, but in reality, it really did. Words hurt, Jaehyun’s words hurt. 

You covered your face with your hands, letting your body shake out the sobs for hours. It felt like you were going through a heartbreak, but this time it’s your own heart. 

Jaehyun laid in the little bed in his old room with his gaze stuck on the ceiling. This didn’t make sense to him, you don’t make sense to him. He thought you two were doing great, making progress, but what did he do wrong last night that made you leave this morning without telling him? He’s called and texted you several times but quit when you never picked up.

“What the hell?” He chucked his phone off to the side, hard enough for it to bounce off the bed. 

Jaehyun tried remembering everything that happened last night, in an attempt to figure out what resulted in this, but he would always circle back to you under him. The image of you writhing under him from the way he touched you, your hair sticking out in all directions since it was no longer intact in a slicked ponytail, and the red and purple spots that littered all across your neck following your chest and stomach. Yet you left and it felt like everything was just an illustration of his imagination.

With frustration clouding his mind, Jaehyun got up to get himself ready. He dressed in the same clothes as last night, receiving a short waft of you from when you straddled him and stripped him from his clothes. Jaehyun swung the thought of you away as he descended the stairs. 

“Are you two not staying for breakfast?” his mother asked, walking towards Jaehyun who was already at the door, “where’s y/n?”

“She left to take care of some things at work, she’s sorry she couldn't stay. I’m off too, I’ll see you guys later,” he greeted his mother before shutting the door and driving off to the apartment. 

You were so tired after the overwhelming emotions that you cried yourself to sleep, it felt like you two hadn’t moved forward from the past. The past where you always cried every night because of Jaehyun, whether it was a cruel argument or awful words that were exchanged. It wasn’t usual for you to cry this much over some guy, but it was unavoidable, maybe you do have strong feelings for Jaehyun. 

Jaehyun came into the apartment, sensing you were home from the warmness he felt. That, plus your shoes were on the side looking like you took them off in a rushed matter. He looked up to your room, the image of your closed door tainted his mind, reminding him that nothing has changed, nothing has progressed between you two. Jaehyun sighed slowly walking up to your door, his hand lingering on your knob deciding if he should open it or not. Calmly, he stepped away, figuring that you might need the space. From the bottom of his heart, he hoped that you were okay, that you ate and took care of yourself. He wished that you’d come out and talk to him, hug him, kiss him. Jaehyun couldn’t tear his eyes from your door as he cowardly backed away. 

You woke up with a throbbing headache, the pressure from crying hadn’t dissolved from your temples. Shifting to where your drawer stood, you look at the clock sitting on top of it to realize you’d been asleep for two hours. Haunted by your thoughts, you curled your legs closer to your chest, into a fetal position as though you were trying to save the last ounce of warmth you had left in your heart. The occurrences of last night replayed over and over again like a broken dvd. Is he home yet? You wondered. The sounds of pots and pans from down below confirmed your thoughts. 

Throwing your sheets aside, you walk to open your bedroom door in the quietest way possible. You could spot Jaehyun shuffling around the kitchen like he was looking for something missing in his dish. You wondered what he was making today but suddenly felt guilty because it seemed like he was always doing the cooking for you and you just left him hanging this morning, somehow he’d always find room in his heart for you. It was a little past noon and you didn’t intend on eating for the rest of the day. Your thoughts overpowered your appetite that you suddenly didn’t have one anymore. 

Before your eyes became heavy again, you heard a dull knock, “y/n?” Jaehyun whispered against the door. 

You looked at the door, debating if you should go out, but if you did, that meant that you’d have to explain yourself and you couldn’t find it in yourself to speak to him currently, “I’m not hungry.” 

“Okay,” you heard the small faltering in his voice, “I’ll leave some in the fridge for you to eat later.” 

Jaehyun didn’t give you a chance to say anything before shifting from your door. What did I do wrong? He scratched his head as frustration was replaced with curiosity. 

For the rest of the day, you didn’t bother coming out, nor did Jaehyun come to bother you. He figured that giving you time and space was the right thing, you’ll talk to him when you’re ready. You did what you did best, avoiding him. You waited for him to go back into his room so you could come out to grab a snack or to go shower. You avoided him in the morning, waking up early enough to not see him and coming home late into the night, fully knowing that he was asleep. 

Work did its job at distracting you, you were thankful that you were releasing a collection soon, you needed it to be busy. You needed to run around until your feet ached at the end of the day, you needed to attend meaningless business meetings to dehydrate your mouth and brain, and you needed to get Jaehyun charred from your thoughts. You would occasionally receive a text or call from him, but like always, you ignored it. 

[ Jaek-ass: Are you hungry? I can drop off some lunch for you ]

[ Jaek-ass: Did I do something wrong? ] 

[ Jaek-ass: Please answer ] 

Voicemail: Hey, I’m not sure what happened between us and I don’t know why you keep avoiding me and ignoring my calls and texts, but please, when you’re ready let me know. I want to talk. 

Voicemail (2): Please y/n. 

You sat in your office chair occasionally replaying his voice mainly to see if there was a hint of cruelness or deception in it, but there wasn’t. Every ounce was glazed with hopelessness. He managed to fill your entire voicemail box and you didn’t bother to delete any of them, that way he wouldn’t be able to leave any more messages. Too bad that didn’t stop him because he just kept calling you, ring after ring, even if you silenced your phone, the screen of his name appearing distracted you. Were you callous to ignore him?

That’s how it went the entire week, you avoided him, you disregarded his calls and texts, it was like you were trying to wipe him from your memory. It was until one day when you were sitting in your office, looking over the financial statements that you heard jumbled words and shuffled steps coming from the hallway. Your head shoots up when your secretary barges in, the sound of it snapping you from your focus.

“Ms. y/l/n, I’m so sorry for barging in but-”

“She’s here isn’t she?” It was a man’s voice, a voice you only heard through voicemails, his voice sounded full and in tune, real and raw. Jaehyun walked into your office with heavy steps, ignoring your secretary’s commentary. He walked up to your desk, thighs pressing onto the edge, and bored his eyes down at you, but they were painted with anger, more in frustration and anguish. 

“C-can I help you, Jaehyun?” You stuttered. You tried your best to hold a strong front, but it was inevitable when he made you feel so many things. You felt craven, like a weakling for not being able to explain yourself to him. 

Jaehyun’s face softened as soon as he saw you, the tension disappearing, “I just...I just wanted to talk.” he whispered in a broken tone. 

“Okay, okay,” you nodded, standing up to meet him, “we’ll talk when I get home, okay?” you extended your lips into a small smile.

“Okay,” Jaehyun nodded back, seeing your eyes filled with comfort. He walked out of your office with his head hung low and his steps now soft. 

“I’m so sorry Ms. y/l/n,” your secretary bowed several times before you. 

“No, it’s fine,” you didn’t even look at your secretary, your gaze was glued on Jaehyun’s back as he walked out. 

When you came home, Jaehyun wasn’t back from work yet. Since he’s made dinner for the both of you several times, you figured that even if you weren’t talking to him, the least you could do is make dinner. After changing into comfortable clothes, you ended up making a quick pasta, quick enough that by the time you were done, Jaehyun still wasn’t home. You shrugged, packing some in a container, figuring that he just got caught up in the wind at work. 

You laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling as your hand trailed down your chest. Your small hand follows the ghost trails of Jaehyun’s, remembering how each inch of his touch enlighted a fire to your skin that night. You looked at your clock and as each time you did, an hour ticked by, there was no sound of the front door shutting or Jaehyun’s steps making way to his room. By 9pm, your lids felt unwieldy and you felt uncomfortably chilly. Crawling into your bed, you stared at your clock and waited for him to come home, but you never heard him. 

Turns out Jaehyun did come home that night, late again. As much as he wanted to speak to you, it was unreasonable to do it this late. He looked at your door, hoping you were sleeping and getting a good rest after knowing you were having a hard day, just like him. Jaehyun walked into his room, undressed himself to shower, hoping the hot water would release all the tension he held in his body. 

As the water trailed down him, Jaehyun couldn’t help but think about you that night at his place. Even if you two were intoxicated and out of your minds, he couldn’t get the image of you out of his mind. Laying below him, squirming from the overwhelming sense of pleasure he gave you, the way his name spilled like honey when you climaxed, the swole of your lips, and the way your eyes held love for him. 

He couldn’t help but think what went wrong, he replayed that night over and over again, trying to recall what he did, what he said. Jaehyun went over every minuscule detail, what you ate that night, what his mother said, what his father said. As best as Jaehyun could, he even tried to remember the things he said to you that night. Oh no. Jaehyun’s hand flew to cover his mouth. That’s why she’s upset...it was because of what I said while we were having sex. The vile words that came out of his lips of how worthless she was and how he owned her made his stomach drop. Jaehyun knows he only said it while in the moment, but he should’ve known better. He should’ve known that you were sensitive when it came to that, sensitive because of him. 

Jaehyun sat on his bed with his head in his thoughts, not even bothering to dry his hair, a little wet puddle formed below him on his pillow. Everything that he’s ever said to you, done to you, you have every right to still be upset, even if it was in the moment and you both were intoxicated. Jaehyun knew that he should’ve been better, better for you. 

When you woke up the next morning, Jaehyun was already gone. You wondered if these were one of those times where you’d each ignore and avoid each other again like teenagers, but nothing stood out in your mind to have him do that. You waited up for him, but you didn’t hear him come home. He wouldn’t be mad that you fell asleep...right? You were so tired you couldn’t wait for him. 

Jaehyun didn’t even leave some breakfast to you, it’s like he never even came home. There wasn’t a sign of dishes or pots being out of place or plates that filled the sink, because the same dishes you washed and dried last night still sat on the rack. You let out a sharp sigh, skipping breakfast to go straight to work. 

Sitting in his office, Jaehyun sat in the meeting, back stiff and eyes glued at the presentation in front of him. As much as he felt the need to sleep at the presenter’s monotonic voice, he stopped himself, afraid of getting backlash from his father. The Marketing supervisor’s presentation in marketing towards local business was dull, uninteresting. They’re the marketing department, at least add some flavor. 

We’re international trade, why are you presenting towards local businesses? Jaehyun pinched the bridge of his nose and immediately stood up, gaining glances from his employees as he left the conference room. 

Jaehyun propped his elbows in his desk, palms supporting his head, neck filled with stiffness and back supported with fatigue. The reminder of you came to him as he remembers you telling him that you’d talk to him, but he just got so brushed up at work that when he came home last night, you were already sound asleep. What kind of man would Jaehyun be to wake you up?

This is so stupid, you sighed. You and Jaehyun were both being immature cowards, avoiding and ignoring each other. You both wanted to so desperately talk it out, make things work, but there was always a sense of fear that things would just go back to normal or that one of you would betray the other. You hate that feeling and that’s why you promised yourself that you’d talk to him tonight. 

But fate liked to play with you, it mocks you like a push and pulls game. This time it was your turn to be buried in paperwork and for Jaehyun to be alone at home, waiting if you were ever going to come. You did as much as you could for as long as you mentally could. When you finished, you took your blazer off, feeling like you were finally released from the grasps of work. You sighed, looking at the clock that lit on the dashboard of your car, reading the time read that displayed the time a little past midnight.

You quietly open the door to your apartment, careful not to make so much noise as you walk up to your room. You got yourself ready for bed, showering, and taking care of yourself. You headed down to get a small snack for your grumbling stomach, but before you could even reach the first step to go down, you heard shouting from Jaehyun’s room. You debate whether or not you should check up on Jaehyun since you two weren’t really on talking bases. As you were about to take a step, you heard him make the same noise again, so you quickly strode to Jaehyun’s room. 

Your hand rested on his knob, what if he doesn’t want to be bothered?...But what if he’s hurt? You shook your head as you slowly creek the door open. Jaehyun was laying in bed, limbs spread out, and his chest quickly rose and fell. You tiptoed softly to the side of the bed to get a better look at him, but it didn’t look better. Jaehyun was sweating profusely, panting, his body was uncontrollably shaking, and his lips mumbled incoherent words. You thought he was sick so you gently nudged him a little bit, to wake him up, just in case he needed to know that he was going to be okay. 

Jaehyun didn’t budge, his body reacted as if you didn’t even touch him, as if you weren’t even there. When you grabbed ahold of his hand, Jaehyun’s hand managed to snatch yours in a tight grasp. You jolt from the impenetrable grip with wide eyes and a frozen body, fear electrifying it. Your stare shifted from his hand on your wrist to him, Jaehyun sat awake in bed, eyes enlarged like he had just seen something horrific. 

“Jaehyun,” you breathed, his head snapped to the sight of you at the edge of his bed. Even though you looked worried, your eyes told him that you were scared.

“Oh,” he silently gasped, letting go of your hand, “I’m sorry.” 

“Are you okay?” You rub your wrist away from him, you didn’t want to make him feel any worse.  

Jaehyun let out a heavy sigh, tense fingers running through his hair, “I just had a nightmare, that’s all,” his voice quiet. To you, it sounded like fear, almost like he was afraid to speak up. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You timidly asked, not trying to pry into his mind. 

“No, but can you just...can you hold me? Or at least stay with me until I fall back asleep?” his voice broke. 

You blinked a couple of times, processing what Jaehyun said, in case you were hearing things, “O-oh, um, sure.” you slightly nod, worried that if you were to decline, he’d have a harder time sleeping. 

Jaehyun scoots himself over, lifting the sheets for you to get under. You slide under the covers, the heat radiating off his body welcomes you from the chill of the air conditioner. You open your arms to him, trying not to convey how awkward you are, and Jaehyun slowly, but surely comes to you. His head lays on your chest, his arms wrapping around your waist, as your arms envelope his head, and your legs tangle with his. 

After a while, the sounds of his extended breathing and the calm of his body made you think that maybe Jaehyun had settled down and fallen asleep, but as you gently pull back to confirm, his grip around your waist tightens, enabling you to leave his grasp. As you were about to call out his name, you heard sniffling coming from below you.

“Please don’t leave me alone,” Jaehyun sniffled louder. 

You slightly frown, a little piece of your heart chipping off, “I won’t, I won’t,” you cooed him. 

Jaehyun’s breathing became heavier and his sobs became louder, along with his grip around your body. You stroked his hair with the hand that rested against his head while the other drew circles on the soft area between his scapulas, hoping that the touched patterns would give him peace. 

“I’m sorry-,” he choked out a cry. 

“No, don’t. It’s okay, you can cry,” you brought him closer, your cheek leaning against the top of his head. 

You two stayed in that position for a while. Limbs tangled, but not like nights after sex, more like the boat and anchor. This time you were his anchor. You continued running your fingers through his hair while occasionally rubbing his back. You’ve never seen Jaehyun this vulnerable, but it didn’t disturb you. It brought another side to him that you admired, he wore his heart on his sleeve, and while being in such a vulnerable state, he wanted you to be there with him. 

I hope he’s never alone in moments like these. You wish, a small breath coming from your lips.

Jaehyun felt overwhelmed by the nightmare he’d just experienced. He couldn’t stand being alone and he needed you to stay with him, your presence gave him solace. It calmed his heart in the toughest ways. No matter how much you two didn’t talk to each other, he just wanted to be held by you. Only you, to feel your touch, to hear your breaths, and to be near your comforting aura.

When he felt the faltering of your fingers combing through his hair slow down and the fingertips on his back halt, he slowly backed away to see your sleepy figure. You felt the cold air pool at your chest from Jaehyun’s missing body and instantly opened your eyes. 

“Jae-”

“Shhh, it’s okay, you can go to sleep. I’ll be fine.” Jaehyun stroked your head as he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“No I’m okay,” you yawned, rubbing your eyes. 

You shifted onto your back, staring at the ceiling, while Jaehyun did the same. It dawned to you that you hadn’t been in here before, or at least not that you could remember. To Jaehyun, his room held a feeling of comfort and security, a way to escape the wrath of his father. You laid next to him, wondering what he was thinking about because he’d been staring for longer than you have. 

“Everything okay?” You quietly asked, caution coating your words.

Jaehyun paused in thought like he was trying to find the right words, “why are you asking me if I’m okay?” 

“Oh-” you were slightly startled from the blunt question, it shifted the mood in the room, “I- you were just crying and I was just making sure you were okay.” 

“I should be the one asking if you are okay,” he gulped, gaze still glued at the ceiling. 

“What do you mean?” you questioned, confusion blinding your thoughts.

Jaehyun suddenly shifted his body until he was facing you, the sudden proximity brought butterflies to your stomach. One little nudge and he’d be back on your chest. Using as his arm as a pillow, he said, “I’m sorry for saying those things to you while we were...you know, having sex. I should’ve known it would’ve upset you, I should’ve been more careful. I promise I’ll work on it, it’s just...a bad habit,” Jaehyun whispers the last part. 

You looked at him surprised, how did he know? Your brows furrowed as you turned your head to him. Looking into his eyes to find some sort of message, the only feeling you received was gentleness and sincerity. 

“How did you know?”

“To be honest, it surprised me when you left me the next morning. Then you wouldn’t talk to me, then I got busy, and we just ended up playing this cat and mouse game. I kept replaying that night over and over and over again, trying to figure out what exactly I did wrong. And it hit me tonight that it was what I said to you. I’m so sorry,” it was Jaehyun’s turn to search your eyes, but it was so hard to read you. He wasn’t expecting forgiveness, he’s long away from that. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to say anything, you weren’t okay, you were hurt. It reminded you of the past, the beginning of the relationship and it’s something you’d like to erase. You gave him a small smile, blocking the tears from brimming your eyes and mustering up enough courage to say, “I will admit it that it did hurt me. It reminded me of the past and it’s just not something I want to remember, but thank you for apologizing.” Turning your head back towards the ceiling, you let out a sigh, while Jaehyun turned back also. 

You two stayed in that position for the rest of the night, no one had the energy to speak, so you two just continued staring straight up waiting for the sky to give you both some sort of signal to speak up. You pondered asking what his dream was about, the dream that seemed to have shaken him up so much. 

Jaehyun spoke up as if he read your mind, “I had a nightmare that my father was hitting me...again and again. It was a never-ending cycle,” he pauses in thought before continuing, “my father abuses me.” 

You quickly whip your head in his direction as your body propped yourself on your elbow, “he...really?” your throat felt dry and you struggled to find the words your mind tried to say. You suspected it from the times you’ve seen the tense expression on his father’s face whenever you two were around but brushed it off as strictness. From the corner of your eye, you could always see how apprehensive Jaehyun was because of that. Now you know why. 

Jaehyun hummed, still gazing at the ceiling of his bedroom, “he’s gotten better as I got older, but it was really bad when I was young.” 

You sat up, the blankets draping over your petite body, “Jaehyun I-I’m so sorry,” a gasp escaped from your scorched throat. 

“No, it’s okay- no it’s not okay, but I’ve learned to accept it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to accept it. Jaehyun,” you inhaled a sharp breath in hesitation whether or not you should ask your next question. 

When you paused, Jaehyun finally switched his gaze to you, who looked deep in thought. He could see the concern in your eyes and the anxiety your hands held. Maybe that was a little too abrupt and sudden, he thought. 

“Does he still...hit you?” You carefully asked as if you were stepping on eggshells. 

Jaehyun looked at you with innocent eyes, you could tell just from the looks of it and it squeezed your heart. “Oh, Jaehyun,” you frown in realization, Jaehyun mirroring you, a gesture that he was about to cry again. You pulled him close to you, “you don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry for asking,” you said in a hushed tone, stroking the back of his head gently.

Jaehyun tightly grasped his arms around your waist again, locking behind you. He felt like a little boy, but you were the only thing that was holding him down on Earth currently. As you held him, you felt his body shake like the trauma was trying to leave his body, but his mind blocked it. Broken sobs escaped from Jaehyun’s lips, his grip on you bunched your shirt in his fists. Before you knew it, tears began to form at the brim of your eyes as you witnessed and heard how broken Jaehyun sounded. You held the poor boy close to your heart, quietly wiping the tears from your eyes. You didn’t know why you were crying, because it wasn’t about you, this was about Jaehyun. 

Hearing silent sniffles from you, Jaehyun pulled away, “are you crying?”

“No, I’m not,” you quickly skim the back of your hand across your eyes, hoping there weren’t any signs of puffiness or redness. 

“Please don’t cry,” Jaehyun caressed your cheek. 

You leaned into his touch, the soft skin of his palm radiating comfort, “I’m sorry, I just can’t believe that he’s been hurting you all this time.”

Jaehyun wrapped his arms around you, bringing you to his chest. He was afraid that if he let you continue to speak, he’d cry even more. Despite his broken state, he hated seeing you crying, especially when it’s because of him. Jaehyun knows he’s already caused you so much pain, so that’s always the last thing he wanted to do. 

Jaehyun cradled you while your heart shook. You sat in his lap, protected in his arms, crying, for he never grew up with the same love as he did, never received the infinite amount of love from his parents, for never having a father figure to look up to. The amount of hurt he caused you in the past was replaced with the love that he never got. You promised yourself you’d give him the love he never got. 

“Don’t cry for me, I’m okay now,” Jaehyun lowered his lips to your forehead, it gave you a different feeling from the last time he kissed you. It was filled with a full heart, a heart fully intact of safety.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccuped. 

“Don’t be,” he gazed into your eyes, “stay here tonight?” he tenderly cupped your cheek. 

“Of course,” you took his palm, kissing the warm surface. 

Jaehyun laid you down with him, taking you into his arms again and cradling you, making sure to chase away any more of your worries. You rested your head against his chest, hearing the steadiness come back to his heart. You smiled, taking in the scent that clung onto his clothes, a scent you know you’d never get tired of. Jaehyun’s hand sneaked under your thin shirt, tracing circles on the small of your back. No sexual tension, just actions filled with affection. With tired eyes and vulnerable bodies, you both fell asleep in the warmth of each other’s arms. Joined with comfort and safety, hushed breaths leaving his lips and the linear beat of each other’s hearts were the last things you heard that night. 

As faint sun streaks kissed his eyelids, Jaehyun woke up to the peaceful sight of you cuddled on his chest. Your hair splayed everywhere for you forgot to put it up like you usually do, the morning puffiness made you look cute, making Jaehyun chuckle. He lowered himself to kiss each of your crimson cheeks, your forehead, and the little point of your nose before gently lifting you off of him. Tucking you into his sheets, the scene didn’t look bad to him. You in his bed gave him an alleviating feeling. 

Jaehyun walked off to the bathroom to get ready for the day to only see his red, swollen eyes. He hadn’t cried like that since high school and he’s had that nightmare plenty of times, but the fact that he cried so much last night just because of that, made him slightly sick. He averted the thoughts when he heard you shuffling in his bed, looking back at you, you mumbled something he couldn’t understand as you shifted to lay on your stomach. A curve on his lips formed as he watched how beautiful you looked. 

With heavy eyes, you reached for Jaehyun’s warm body but felt nothing but empty blankets. You opened your eyes to see him gone, so this is how he must’ve felt. You got up to see if he had left for work, but only realized he was cooking in the kitchen when you reached the steps. 

“Good morning,” Jaehyun greeted you as you walked to the counter beside him. 

“Hi,” you raised your brows at him flipping pancakes, “pancakes?” 

“Yeah, I hope you like them. They’re blueberry.” 

“Of course I do,” a smile unconsciously appeared on your face. 

“Do you want to get the table set?” Jaehyun asked, chin pointing to the plates. 

You hummed, grabbing the plates, and setting the table. Then you realized there was a bouquet of blue Forget Me Nots sitting in the center with a note stuck to the base. 

“Oh,” Jaehyun stood beside you with a plate of piled pancakes, “you’re not supposed to see those yet,” he scratched the back of his head. 

“What’s this for?” Your brows furrowed. 

“I-” Jaehyun paused before fully turning his body towards you, “I just wanted to thank you for last night. You were there for me during the hardest time and despite everything that’s happened, you stayed with me. Thank you, y/n.”

You chuckled at his grand gesture, “you didn’t have to get me flowers, Jaehyun. Breakfast is more than enough,” you smiled at him. 

“I know, but I just wanted to tell you that I’m in love with you.”