#no shade to crystal people

[martianbugsbunny]

I feel at though I am constantly on the brink of becoming a crystals person and that worries me

[cheezyharu]

Pokeddexy 2023 | day 22: Fave Tera Type

I love ghost Tera Type a lot! I don't even know why, I just like the vibes????

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

I'm only going to say this definitively once, because this is simply not a hill I feel like dying on, though it is important enough to me, anyway.

Bruce Watson is the Mike Campbell of Big Country.

Here's my main point (okay, maybe my point-and-a-half) about that. (The first part is my half-a-point - the end is my MAIN point. LOL)

If you're not a Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers fan, do you know who Mike Campbell is?

But you've heard of Tom Petty. You know who Tom Petty is.

Well...I hate to say it, but Big Country aren't so dissimilar despite the fact that the frontman was not so narcissistic as to put his name in the band name.

IF you know OF Big Country, you have probably heard the name Stuart Adamson (unfortunately, I have to suggest that this is especially likely as it pertains to his death).

But unless you are a slightly-more-than-casual fan of Big Country, you probably have not heard of Bruce. And guess who WROTE THE MUSIC for MANY of BC's most beloved songs - including "Wonderland"!!!!!!!

No, Bruce didn't generally write lyrics for Big Country's music (excluding The Journey), but according to liner notes, he did write or co-write the music to many of Big Country's most successful songs - the music, without which, the lyrics would just be some nice poetry (maybe. Sometimes. LOL). And obviously I'm making this point because Mike Campbell wrote the music for the majority of Tom Petty/and The Heartbreakers' biggest hits.

Bruce Watson is the Mike Campbell of Big Country.

[indulgentdaydream]

I added these two together. I hope you guys don’t mind! Since I added them together I’m also making this a two parter. My first one ever!!

Comparisons Pt.1

Jason Todd x Jealous!Insecure!Fem!Reader || Angst/Fluff || Word Count: 2,488

Part 2

Warnings: not proofread as of yet. Maybe will after i post who knows

After a six hour morning shift as a dishwasher, you were ready to head home.

It was the early afternoon, your shift having ended at 12. It was sunny. Warm, but not too hot. You were still in your work clothes, simple black pants and a black t shirt, your tote bag full of belongings over your shoulder. It was nice weather for the half hour walk you had back to your apartment. Better than the weather you’ve faired before.

Jason usually picked you up after your shifts, no matter where he was, as long as he wasn’t on patrol. He never wanted you to be seen in public near the Red Hood. He didn’t want you as a target.

“It’s bad enough I come straight here after patrol some nights.” He had said once.

“I’m just that irresistible, eh?” You had smiled.

He laughed, kissing your shoulder, “Damn right, baby.”

This day, though, you knew he was busy with a certain case he was working on. One he wouldn’t tell you about. He had been hard at work on it for the last few weeks, barely able to make much time for you. You didn’t mind. He tried as much as he could, even if it ended up being a five minute phone call, or a visit in the middle of night in between beaten-up thugs.

The sun hits your face and warms your skin in a comfortable way. Your headphones blocked out the Gotham noise, making the moment more enjoyable. Your favourite music instead of honking horns, sounds of engines, distant sirens, and people yelling.

You were stuck in your own world. You began thinking of asking Jason if he wanted to take you for a ride on his bike later. If he was free. You knew it’d be hard for him to say no. He loved taking you for rides. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know that.

You turn a corner, stuck in your head. Thinking about what you were going to do when you got home. You weren’t used to the morning shift.

You start your walk down the road, passing busy storefronts. Crystal shops. Pet stores. Mostly cafés and diners. You briefly considered working as a dishwasher at one of these places instead so you didn’t have to walk as far.

Maybe you and Jason could go to a diner tonight? That was a hopeful thought. There wouldn’t be time.

You’re walking past the third outdoor seating that takes up most of the sidewalk, small bistro tables hidden from the sun by large, white, beach-style umbrellas. Nearly identical to the two others you had passed, only different colour schemes.

You stare straight ahead, the extended seating narrowing the sidewalk and making it harder for people to walk around. You’re nearly halfway past the café when a hand reaches over breaching the shaded area and entering the sunlight to gently grasp onto your wrist.

You’re already twisting, ready to pull the mace Jason had bought you (though you more-so believe stolen from Batman himself, as you could see where he had scratched out the bat symbol on the canister) out of your tote bag and aim, when your eyes land on the owner of the arm, stretched across the thin barrier separating the seating from the sidewalk.

It’s Jason. His face hidden behind sunglasses, a small frown on his lips as he looks up at you from the shade. He waits for you to slip off your headphones before speaking.

“I was waving to you,” his thumb absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand. “You didn’t see?”

“Sorry,” You smile in relief at him, stepping closer to the barricade so as not to impede the flow of foot traffic. “I was more focused on getting around.”

There was someone sitting across from him. You didn’t think much of it at first. You saw red hair. That was regular with Jason, since he was always hanging around with Roy. Or Kory.

That’s who you thought it was. Roy. Nothing different at all. You turned to greet him, a smile ready on your face.

The second you clocked the pretty face, the waist-long, flowing, shiny red hair, your smile faltered.

Artemis gave you a sincere, friendly smile, her fingers swirling her straw in her cup.

Something churned in your stomach, “Hello.”

Jason’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly once, speaking up, “Why didn’t you call me to pick you up?”

You look back to him, “You said you were busy today.”

He frowns again. Technically, he had never said that. But it was true.

“Sit with us,” Artemis said, pointing behind her. “The entrance is there. We’re almost done anyways. Jason can drive you the rest of the way.”

You nodded, sending the best smile back to Artemis that you could muster in the moment.

As you approached, Jason reached towards the empty table behind him, flipping the chair and placing it at their own table, in between him and Artemis, facing where you had just been standing.

Something in the back of your mind noted how he didn’t even stand to do it, his face still pointed towards Artemis, his eyes concealed by his shades, hiding his expression. You sit down, placing your tote bag on the ground beside on, on your right, between you and Jason.

He picked it up and moved it onto the table without a word.

“This is my girlfriend,” Jason introduces you, his hands back on the table, folded in front of him. “This is Artemis. She’s helping me with my case.”

You nod, your mouth suddenly dry as she smiles at you again, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she smiles again, stretching out plump lips to present straight, shiny teeth.

Jason’s quick goes back to talking with her about whatever they had been talking about before you had walked past, wrapping things up.

You weren’t even capable of listening at this point.

You trusted Jason. You’d always trust Jason. This was for the case and nothing more. You knew that.

Jason had never really spoke about Artemis before. He had mentioned her once, in the early months of your relationship. You had done something. He had later asked you not to, saying he had a bad memory of it from his ex. He had never even mentioned her name. You knew he didn’t like talking about her.

However, you had been out with Jason and Roy at a bar once. Roy had briefly mentioned Jason’s ex, since she was included in the story. Jason had changed the topic fast after that. Then when he’d gotten up to use to washroom, you’d asked Roy to tell you more about her.

“Just what she looks like,” You reasoned. “So I can recognize her if need be.”

Roy hesitated in telling you, but he still did.

You trusted Jason. However, you were losing trust in Roy. He had never mentioned how gorgeous this woman is.

Her skin was smooth. Not a blemish or wrinkle in sight. You tried not to stare, but you couldn’t help it. Her hair was perfect. Her skin flawless. On further inspection you even realized she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

She wasn’t wearing any makeup and she looked that good?

Artemis lifted her coffee cup to her lips, nodding to something Jason was saying. Nothing you understood, anyways. Even if you were listening. You caught sight of her flexed arm as she finished off the drink. She was strong. Probably worked out nearly as much as Jason, but far more slim than he was. But in a good way.

She smiled again, wide, displaying her pearly whites. You ran a tongue over your own teeth, pursing your lips quietly in thought. Yours weren’t anywhere near that.

Your arms suddenly felt itchy as you looked over Artemis’ again. You looked down. You needed to take your eyes off of her. You were being stupid. Jason had broken up with her. Jason had picked you. He had been dating you for nearly a year and a half.

Your eyes drifted to your own arms, spots of acne along biceps. No definition in sight. Your under eye bags suddenly felt like they were on broadcast. Your face felt gritty, your hand coming up to absentmindedly scratch at the break out you had along your cheek. The frizz of your own hair visible in the corner of your eyes.

You looked back up, looking out at the busy street. Jason had chosen you. Jason loved you. Jason kissed you everyday and always made sure to tell you how much he loved you.

Except in the past few weeks while he had been busy with this case.

Had he been working with her this whole time?

You glanced back down as Jason placed his hand on your knee. He always did this when you guys were out. You look back up at him. He’s leaning on the table with her other arm, straight-faced, nodding along to something Artemis was saying. Even her voice is pretty. Her tone carrying a confidence you were failing to find in the moment.

You looked back down to your own legs, Jason’s thumb moving lightly back and forth over the side of your knee. He didn’t even know he was doing it. He never did.

You looked over to Artemis’ legs, hidden underneath a pair of jeans. Even then you could see how skinny hers were. Could see that her thighs weren’t spilling off the sides of the small metal bistro chair.

Soon enough, she was standing, beginning to say her goodbyes. You swallowed thickly. She was tall too. An amazon, you remember Roy mentioning. How could you forget.

The crop top she was wearing fit her nicely, showing off her toned stomach and even dipping down at the neckline to show some cleavage.

You looked away, your arms folding across your stomach, hiding your own torso.

She smiles at Jason. You quickly look to Jason and find him smiling, too. A genuine smile. One he had yet to give you while you’d been sitting here.

You’re his girlfriend, you remind yourself. He loves you.

She smiles at you and gives her farewell. You can only nod. You watch as she leaves.

God. She was nice, too. Nicer than you had wanted to be to her.

She walks in the direction you had come from. Her hair flowing behind her, an expensive-looking purse hanging from her shoulder. Most men walking past stop to turn and look at her. She ignored them all.

That never happened to you. In fact, Jason had been the first guy to ever even ask you out. You never understood why you were his choice. Not when he was able to pull women like that.

Jason pats your knee and pulls you out of your thoughts, “Want to get anything before we go?”

You can’t even face him. She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. A fucking amazonian warrior.

You stare down at the table, catching sight of your own hands. Your nails worn from your shift at the restaurant, fingertips still wrinkled from the water.

Why the hell would he ever stay with you if she was still in his life?

“No.” You finally answer. “Thank you.”

He nodded, sighing as he fished out his wallet to pay for their coffees. He counts the bills and change, speaking with his head down, “How many times have I told you not to walk around with your headphones on?”

You lift your head to look at him, “What?”

He doesn’t look at you, his eyes still hidden by his shades. “Your headphones. You get so lost in your music you couldn’t even see me waving to get your attention.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the table, “I was looking past you. I didn’t expect to see you—”

“I was calling your name, too. If your headphones were off then you could’ve heard me.” He tossed a twenty onto the table, leaning forward on his elbows to look at you. “Anyone could sneak up on you.”

You pursed your lips, your brows tightening at him.

Why did she get a smile and not me?

Jason gestured to your bag on the table, “Same with this. The hell you putting it on the floor for? You wouldn’t notice it was taken until far too late—”

“You don’t have to drive me,” you interrupted. “I’ll walk.”

Jason cocked his head slightly, looking genuinely curious, “Why? Car’s right over there—“

“I’ll walk.” You repeated. Firmly.

You needed the walk. You had to try and work the jealousy out of your mind before you got into it with Jason. You didn’t want to argue. Not now. Not in public.

Jason sighed, running a hand over his mouth, “Don’t be like that.” He started to stand, his keys jingling in his hand, “Come on.”

He reached to take your bag for you, a large brown envelope already in his hand. Whatever Artemis had given him.

You reached out and snatched it from his hand. You stood, throwing it over your shoulder. “I’ll walk.”

Jason stared at you for a moment, seemingly frozen in place.

He sighed through his nose, “What’s wrong?”

You took a deep breath trying to control your emotions. This was stupid. Jason had broken up with her for a reason. Had been dating you for the last year and a half for a reason.

Unfortunately, your mouth was working faster than your mind, “Don’t act like you didn’t start this.”

Jason pushed his shoulders back. He tried again, “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, frustrated.

“Fine,” he stuffed his free hand in his pocket. “Just don’t be wearing your headphones while walking around.“

You were tired. Your shift had been long. You were worked up from your mind running all the comparisons between you and Artemis. It was still running them, you suppose, as otherwise you wouldn’t have said, “I guess you wouldn’t have to worry about her all the time. She can handle herself.”

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his first shown emotion since that smile he’d given her, “Who?” Then they shot up almost just as quickly. “Artemis? Is that was this is about?”

You felt your face heat up in embarrassment at his realization. He’d figured you out.

His shoulders tensed, “Do you really not trust me?”

The way he had said it, his tone, has made it sound like the silliest thing in the world. Now it made you feel even stupider. Of course you trusted him.

You caught people staring in the corner of your vision. You ducked your head back down.

You gripped your tote bag at the straps over your shoulder and stormed off.

You heard Jason call your name as you passed by him again, on the other side of the barrier, headed back to your apartment.

Hope you guys enjoyed!! Pt 2 will be out later this week!!

Update!! Part 2 is here!!!

Part 2

[voidsentprinces]

Reminder: A Realm Reborn wasn't particularly about us. It was about the Eorzean Factions, it was about the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and their interactions with and thwarting Gaius and the XIVth Legion. We were just a useful champion slowly growing to fame but not truly a Warrior of Light until literally the prelude to the Castrum raiding mission.

The Parting of Glass wasn't about us either. It was, once again, about the world. And how it had begun changing after Gaius's fall and the brief period of peace away from Garlemald's Shadow. About Alphinaud beginning his arc of growth with hubris and the creation the Crystal Braves and what it might of looked like IF the Scion's good nature was lent to anyone and everyone. And thus opening itself up to the very corruption Minfilia feared to move away from the Waking Sands and to the Rising Stones in the first place.

Heavensward isn't about us. It is about Alphinaud's continue growth, learning of Ishgard's past and history. Hubris, arrogance and narrow viewing lead Alphinaud to steps of the Foundation, it has lead Estinien astray and made Ysayle believe she is a messiah incarnate. And through the journey, each of them grow as they learn the terrible truth about the Dragonsong War. Estinien in particular has his eyes opened and no longer simply seeks revenge on Nidhogg but to get to the bottom of it all. So no other shepherd's son has to live as he has. Ysayle learns she is a shade and a faux Shiva not truly Hraesvelgr's beloved or even in the same category as her. She learns swallow such delusions and embrace what Saint Shiva stood for in its entirety. Which means leaning to lay the road for peace between Ishgard and the Dragons and opening a path to this by sacrificing herself for those she loved so dearly. Alphinaud learns from all of this and more and is humbled by the duty of a knight, the fervor of a dragoon, the sacrifice of a saint, and the courage of his companions and of Sharlayan's arrogance from Master Matoya. To put others before himself and allow others to support him when he falls.

The Far Edge of Fate isn't about us. It was about how Ishgard carries on after Thordan and the Heavens Ward are shown to be the monsters they are. How the remnants of the church, the knights of Ishgard, and the civilian population react to the realization with rejection. How facing off against Nidhogg possessing Estinien, the Warriors of Darkness, and the machinations of Ilberd force Eorzea and Ishgard to look inward and know truly where they should go from there. To ignore the easier road and take the higher path no matter the strife and hardship it provides them. Because when they reach the otherside they would be better for it. Finding that courage, after five years of procrastinating and hemming and hawing, the Eorzean Alliance finally begin to mobilize to free Ala Mhigo from Garlemald and perhaps take on the Empire itself.

Stormblood isn't about us. It is about Doma and Ala Mhigo fighting for the survival of their people and cultures. Facing the parts of their society that were spurned and used as tools of hatred against their principles. That provided the necessary cracks required for Garlemald to break them down and oppress them in the first place. And how reforging under those values and those long histories of violence can make a new path and come to terms to over throw the tyrants who fed on their weakened states and make a strong unity still.

A Requiem of Heroes wasn't about us, it was about the world facing down the barrel of war with Garlemald. And uncovering its origins, its founding father was an Ascian. How Varis is forced to face down the lie as Elidibus wears the skin of his son and the great grandfather he and other Garleans were taught was a walking god in all but name was a sham and a daemon bent on causing more pain and suffering than mankind ever deserved. How the effigies of hate and pain choose to use their fervor to help their people instead of turning against them once more. How every person can change and be given a second chance. How that second chance is what that person requires or if they are pushed the wrong direction, can caused tragedy to unfold. And lastly, it is about our companions, slowly. One by one. Being dragged to the unknown. The story slowly taking away the players on the stage until finally...

Shadowbringers was about us. It was about how we were instrumental to the world so much that it lost nearly all hope in another timeline. How a group of your fondest friends began and how your comrade's furthest decendents acting on the hope of your legend and stories. To provide a plan of action and lead to happier world. How even when everything seems lost and gone and your purpose seems to turned everything around you into twisted monstrosities. That you can bring the night and wait in comfort for a dawn to bring better days. And the tenacity of your aid providing a world on the brink, the love, the compassion, the understanding, the strength, and the will to stand up to a flood of destruction and spit fate in the eye. Even it costs them everything, they keep fighting until they can see a brighter tomorrow.

Death unto Dawn was about what the tomorrow brings. How it could be another fight but to find what is WORTH fighting for. The memories of those you fight and lived amongst, old studies and things of the past being made to provide the answer to the future, making right wrongs even against those you had wronged unfairly, and to gather together and keep each other safe. You are not alone out here. There are those who will help you along to a brighter future.

Endwalker was about you and yours. About how everyone reacts to an uncertain future in different manners. How some would make ready to flee at the approaching storm, while others would fight, and others might even push you further to the edge. But even when all is lost, call upon the memory of happier times to light the way with hearts aligned shining brilliantly against despair and finding your place amongst those memories.

Growing Light was about us teaching another to hear, feel, and think and experience the world seemingly gone. That everything needn't be give or take. It can be a charitable, warmer place if we make it. It can be kinder and even in the face of unrelenting and undying destruction. Hope will spit out a tooth and stand up once more.

I say all of this because, I've seen people mad that Dawntrail is leaning hard about being about Wuk Lamat and others. To which I say so what if Dawntrail is about Wuk Lamat and Koana? So what if its not about us? We've had four story lines about us. Now we must impart what we've learned to the future as they face similar and sometimes overwhelming odds. To stand tall against the onslaught and make their own choices, their own way to bring a smile to all they hold dear. How family needn't be blood related, they can just be a group who sit down at the table at the end of the day. And speak, laugh, cry, and love. Unto this trail to dawn we shall light way for the future of our world and everything this new dawn brings is worth it.

[xxcrystalinerose]

KEEPSAKE ART!! KEEPSAKE ART!!

I've been waiting for this in particular and there are some very interesting looking keepsakes so let's talk about them!

Hecate's is just the sigil we can find on and around characters allied with the Unseen (Nemesis) or witches (Medea, Circe). So I'm going to assume the sigil itself is called the Silver Wheel.

I had to research what Odysseus' is supposed to be (because I haven't ever read the Odyssey) but it turns out this is a type of game of chance called knucklebones? Interestingly it's something taught by Palamedes to his countrymen during the Trojan War, and Palamedes was the guy whose trickery forced Odysseus into the War and Od never forgave him (in most accounts, Od also killed him later). Oof.

I've wanted to make keepsake-based art for these, but since I don't know what they're supposed to be I was forced to speculate. But I don't need to any longer!

Nem's keepsake is... a literal evil eye charm. I don't know what I expected really! But it has a thread on it, so maybe Nem wears it on her armor? Hung on the back of her cuirass perhaps, to ward off malice directed against her back as she leaves after dealing retribution?

The skull on Moros' keepsake looks adorably polite (just like the man). I like that the 'pin' part is similar to one of those tiny sewing pins. It has the color of the Fates on it; did they give this to him? From its appearance, it's likely the Pin was supposed to be worn to fasten his sash.

Hermes' keepsake is a vial of mercury. Also known as quicksilver. 100/100 pun game and mythological reference here, Supergiant.

Artemis' keepsake is likely a reference to the sacred hind of Artemis, which is said to have golden antlers (likely represented by the golden accessories on the antlers).

Heracles' keepsake is from the name itself without a doubt a fang from the Nemean Lion, whose pelt he is also wearing on his person (my favorite iteration of this trope by the way).

Medea's is almost definitely the Golden Fleece, but looked like that either due to her curses, vengeance, or she just decided to singe it out of spite, as the in-game name is blackened fleece. The Medea we meet in game is likely her after enacting vengeance against Jason (can we see what's left of him? Or his shade? Please?).

I did not expect Circe's to be an ADORABLE pink crystal piggie. I wonder if SGG will discuss Circe's tendency to curse people into animals, judging by the pink sheep pigs on her island... and the entire Odysseus situation, because hoo boy.

Icarus' keepsake is a slightly modified Daedalus hammer. It doesn't look that much different, maybe to signify his doubt of his own skills and his belief that he will never escape his father's legacy and shadow? He's not yet found the courage to come into his own.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Slip Into Me part 2: Crash Into Me✨

QZ! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I really really love this Joel, and I love @alltheirdamn for letting me scream about these two with her 🩵 QZ! Joel is making me swoon 💕

Summary: After getting caught in the rain, Joel pulls you into his apartment. But you get much more than you bargained for from the brooding, broad man. You might’ve just fell for his chocolate eyes and soft Texas voice.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 12.2k

Chapter Tags: Tension, yearning, teasing, protective and soft Joel, no use y/n, teasing, oral (fem receiving), unprotected piv, cream pie, age gap (female late 20’s, Joel is 50), switching POVs, QZ! Joel

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  As the weeks go by in the sweltering summer, you start to see Joel Miller everywhere. When you’re organizing and polishing weapons for FEDRA, you sometimes see him walk by. He always looks like he’s on a mission. Furrowed brows, a scowl across his sculpted face, a large hand running through his tousled greying locks, a bite to his words when he’s deep in conversation with one of the FEDRA soldiers. 

   He seems to command people around him, acts as if he is the one ordering them around. You see they listen to him as he bites out a snarl their way, see the way they almost cower and can’t seem to keep eye contact when he’s giving them valuable information. You should be afraid of him, you think, but you’re not. You’re only intrigued more and more every single time you see him snap demands and push people to the edge. 

   He’s strong, broad, dominant. He likes to be in control, loves to push the soldiers to their breaking point like he did with Seth. He knows how to get his way, knows exactly how to play games with FEDRA. 

   He could snap the neck of any man that even tried to get their hands on him or order him around. His menacing gaze is all it takes for them to back off enough, drop whatever argument they try to start. You know this because you’ve been watching him on the streets when you work, stealing glances every second you can when you see the tall, broad man who saved you so many nights ago. Now you’re hooked. 

   You catch his dark brown eyes on you all the time, flicking amber shades your way when he catches you off guard while you’re working. You feel the heat in your cheeks burn hot when his eyes skate down your body, pretending like you don’t even notice. You notice, though. You always notice. 

   His looks aren’t harsh and threatening when he looks at you. His eyes are softer, jaw relaxed when he gazes your way. It calms you, like floating in a crystal clear lake in the middle of a quiet forest. Sometimes he nods your way, brushes against your shoulder as he passes you by on the busy streets, says a few words here and there in the dining hall. It’s like clockwork now, your favorite thing of every day is just to get your eyes on him. Even if it’s just a flicker of his broad shoulders disappearing in a sea of people or a brush of his fingertips in the dinner line.

   Sometimes when you’re focused on sorting through weapons, you can feel his eyes on you. He watches, stares with those hungry brown eyes. You’re not sure what exactly he’s hungry for, but you can tell he’s starving for something, begging for a taste of whatever that may be. 

   You feel his vision burn holes through your skin, feel the sweat glide down your skin when you look up and lock eyes with him. It makes you dizzy, makes you choke on a gasp when he focuses intently on you. He watches you day after day, this much you know. You don’t exactly know why, but maybe he’s trying to be protective, watching you from a distance to make sure you don’t get into any more trouble. You don’t mind. In fact, you prefer him to. Having a handsome, older man looking out for you is the last thing you expected here in the Boston QZ, but it made living here that much better. 

   He sees you shining FEDRA weapons day after day, watches the way you take careful attention to wipe every speck of grime off the sturdy edges of the guns. Sometimes you don’t look up, too busy working to notice him staring your way. 

   He tries not to look, careful to not stare too long, afraid he’ll awaken something he shouldn’t ever feel again. But when you lift your face and catch his eyes, he can’t help but stop and stare for just a few seconds too long. He thinks your eyes are the most beautiful shades of gemstones he’s ever seen, sparkling like glitter when they catch the rays of golden sunlight. 

   He sucks in a breath, clenching his jaw before he turns and gets back to work. He hates to admit that he finds you attractive, glowers at the fact that he cares what happens to you. 

   He shouldn’t dare start the cycle, shouldn’t walk the narrow ledge of developing feelings for a girl, especially a younger, absolutely gorgeous girl like yourself. He’d be a foolish man to even entertain the idea of thinking of you that way. But he’s fucked either way, so why not break his own rules. Hell, he already broke those rules when he fucking dreamt of you the other night. Your body splayed wide across his sheets, sweat collecting like rain over his skin every time he tasted the sweet jasmine scent of you, his lips crowding yours while your nails dragged down his back, your moans filling the shell of his ear with lust and want. 

   He snaps himself out of the moment and continues on with his day, giving you one more flick of his greedy eyes while you watch him walk the opposite way all wide-eyed and intrigued. He’s so fucking stupid for wanting you, but he can’t lie to himself that he’s not interested. Ever since he saved you from that piece of shit Seth, he’s wanted to take care of you. That’s the last thing he needs. Someone else to look after, but maybe he can keep himself away. 

   He chuckles to himself, scoffing at his own arrogance. Of course he can’t stay away, at least not for long. He’s fucking hooked off a girl that wandered into the QZ gates just a few months ago looking for a means to find a home. You didn’t come looking for him, but he sure as hell found you. 

   And now he’s fucked.

   The end of a long work day drags to a close when you scuff your feet over the warm pavement. The sky is murky, dark clouds collecting above you that threaten rain at any second. You make your way down the filthy streets, passing soldiers that brush past you and look you over as if you’re trouble. You just roll your eyes and huff, carrying yourself back to the warmth of your own falling apart apartment walls. At least there FEDRA can’t see you, can’t order you around like they do day after day.

   The humid air fills your lungs, the dark clouds opening up to patter rain down on your tired shoulders. Just a little longer, a few more feet and you’ll be inside. Almost there. Almost. 

   All of a sudden, you collide with a broad chest that feels like a thick brick wall. You gasp, thinking it’s a FEDRA soldier, eyes wide with fear until you look up and find familiar syrupy eyes, softer than the last time you saw them. Joel.

   He clasps a hand around your bicep and stops you dead in your tracks. “Well, look what we got here. In a hurry there, darlin’?” He smiles down at you, a crooked grin splayed across his plush lips, a trail of dust covering the top of his forehead, lines mapped out as he knits his thick eyebrows together. 

   Sheesh. He looks so good.

   “Just heading back home.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, not giving away the heat that builds underneath your warm cheeks. 

   “I see.” His eyes rake up and down your body, just a mere couple seconds. Enough to simmer heat low in your stomach. “You doin’ okay? Seth ain’t givin’ ya anymore trouble, is he?” His jaw ticks just the slightest, irises darkening as he thinks about the night he attacked Seth.

   You shake your head, crossing your arms to taper off the nerves running wildly through your veins. “I’m okay. Just getting by. And no, Seth hasn’t even crossed paths with me since that night he… since you…” Your voice falls off as you swallow the words. Since he saved you.

   He nods his head, a small smirk appearing like he might’ve said something else to Seth without you knowing. You can see him pushing Seth against the wall, his meaty hands wrapped tightly around Seth’s shirt, black eyes narrowing while he bites a sharp demand to stay away from you. And that’s exactly what you think he did. 

   Your eyes grow wide at the realization. He was like a protective watchdog, always ready to snarl his teeth and attack if someone messed with what was his. But you aren’t his, so why did he feel the need to even do that for you?

   His head cocks to the side, a lazy smile sliding across his lips, making his coffee colored eyes shine that much brighter. Jesus. He’s so fucking hot. 

   “Might’ve straightened him out. I’ve been keepin’ an eye on him. Don’t worry ‘bout him. It’s taken care of.”

   You stand there staring, mouth agape like you’ve got a speech impediment, words stumbling out of your mouth like you’re in front of a full gym giving a speech. “Oh. You didn’t have to… I mean, I could’ve handled it.”

   “Didn’t seem like it,” he mutters, dark eyes pooling in your vision as he shifts his weight, the tight denim button-up clinging to strong arms, biceps bulging with every moment he makes in the heat of the day. 

   You groan, biting the inside of your cheek before you say something stupid. He relaxes his jaw and gives you a smirk like he’s up to no good. When you don’t say anything else, he mutters another sentence. “FEDRA keepin’ you on your toes?”

   “How’d you guess?” you huff, eyes locked on his tightly.

   He chuckles and gives you a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “I’ve seen you around. Workin’ on shining those weapons. See how miserable you look.”

   You gawk at him, unbelief in your wide eyes. “So you’ve been watching me?” You cross your arms and cock your hips, one eyebrow raising as you wait for his answer.

   He pushes his thick fingers through his sweat-filled tousled curls and stutters, ticking his jaw as he looks carefully at you. “No, that’s not… I’ve jus’ seen you around the QZ. That’s all.” He leaves it at that with a disgruntled huff.

   You take your tongue and run it along your bottom teeth, assessing the lie that falls right out of his mouth. You know he’s lying through his teeth. You’ve seen him watching you, day after day. He can’t fool you, but you play along with his little game. “Hmm. Okay then.” He gives you one more cautious look and flexes his fingers, pushing them deep inside his pockets. 

   Before he can say anything else, rain starts pelting down, soaking through your worn t-shirt as you try to cover your hair. “Shit. C’mon, let’s get out of the rain.” He grabs you by your bicep and leads you up his staircase, out of the drizzling rain. You mindlessly follow him, thankful to get out of the soon to be monsoon. And then there you are, standing in his quiet living room, just like that day he took care of you after the FEDRA incident.

   “You want some tea?” he asks as he slams the door, sliding past you as he stalks into the dimly lit kitchen.

   “Ummm yeah, sure,” you answer as you watch him get some tea bags and mugs out of the stained cabinet.

   “Tea ain’t my usual choice, but it sure beats havin’ nothin’. Shit, what I wouldn’t do for a fresh pot of coffee,” he sighs as he starts to boil hot water over the stove.

   You lean against the chipped kitchen counter, twiddling your thumbs nervously as you listen to the rain fall softly on the glass window, your eyes looking up through your long lashes as you watch Joel work. He paces impatiently, tapping his thumb against the worn-out fridge, his denim button-up straining against thick biceps every time he flexes his arms.

   How can he be so hot and dismantled at the same time? It shouldn’t be allowed.

   Gulping, you take a breath and say the first thing that comes to mind. “How did you like your coffee?”

   He turns his head quickly, his threaded eyebrows relaxing slightly, giving you a once over, a move that makes you shiver in place. “Jus’ black.”

   “No creamer?” you smile.

   “Does it look like I like creamer?” He gives you a stern look, but all you can do is shrug and give him a tight-lipped smile to try to alleviate his grumpiness.

   “I dunno. Guess a tough man like you doesn’t like sweet things in their life?” 

   He ticks his jaw and laughs, running a palm down his patchy beard slowly. “Ain’t nothin’ sweet in my life, darlin’.”

   “Would you want something sweet in your life?” Your eyes grow wide at the realization of what you just said. You were basically asking him if he wanted you. What the hell did you do that for?

   His chocolate eyes grow a shade darker as he assesses you, one eyebrow raising in curiosity while his mouth stays in a firm line. 

   Great, now he’s even more grumpy.

   But ever so slowly, he answers with a hint of amusement in his deep voice. “Depends on who’s askin’, I guess.” 

   The room grows silent as you look down at your dirt-covered boots mindlessly, nerves pounding through your skull. When you have the guts to look up again, his eyes are still fixed on you. And suddenly, the room grows ten degrees hotter. 

   You’re about to say something stupid, but he drops his gaze and tends to the tea. Apparently, it started to boil over when sweat pricked the back of your neck after he looked at you like there was fire licking his dark brown irises. 

   You wonder what it’d feel like to lick along his…

   “Here.” Joel interrupts your heated thoughts and hands you a ceramic mug, the warm tea steaming out of the top, surrounding your senses with a hint of citrus and honey. He nods to the table and demands you sit, his eyes swarming yours as he takes a place across from you, a blue mug of his own in his large hand, fingers curled over the sturdy handle.

   You carefully sit against the rickety wooden chair, gently blowing on your tea, cooling it down just like your body needs. Joel puts you on edge, and it’s terrifying that you feel this way about him. You should be very afraid of a man of his stature. He could kill a man in a split second but oddly, that just makes you feel at peace.

   An awkward silence falls over the room, the pelting rain against the window the only noise to save you from your racing thoughts. He saved you, took you in yet again, gave you a place to shelter from the rain, made you tea. You should thank him. You will thank him.

   Taking a generous sip from the citrus flavored tea, you clear your throat and meet his dark eyes with yours. “Umm, thank you, again.”

   “For what?” He sets his cup against the dusty table and shifts his eyes back to yours, something like surprise taking light.

   “For getting me out of the rain and for the tea.”

   He nods his head, and a faint smile shadows his plush mouth. “It was nothin’. Don’t mention it.” A slight grunt leaves his lips when he slides to the back of his chair, his tousled curls moving ever so faintly with the movement. Silver threads line his sandy hair, and you can’t help but to wonder what it’d feel like to run your fingers through it. It probably feels like silk. Smooth and velvety. 

   Rain continues pounding against the brick building, shades of muted greys lining the outside sky, night drawing near. Your eyes shift to the corner of the room, and you notice an old acoustic guitar with worn-out strings, still intact. 

   Leaning forward and nodding to the guitar, you say, “You play?”

   Joel whips his head around and huffs when his knee knocks against the leg of the wooden chair. “Mhm. Played a long time. Found it in an abandoned building out on a run. Figured it needed a new home.”

   Taking a second to assess his calm features, you pry just a little more, clearing the air. “Would you play something?”

   His jaw ticks, threading his eyebrows together in concentration. “You don’t wanna hear me play,” he laughs, shaking his tousled curls in return. 

   “Please?” you whisper gently, making puppy eyes at him, hoping the innocent look can convince him enough. 

   He looks at you intently, his eyes softening just the slightest, flexing his fingers like he’s trying to resist. He wants to resist but ultimately, he ends up giving in when you push him that much further with a small smile.

   “Oh, Christ. Fine. Why the hell not?” He grunts as he raises to his feet, heavy boots dragging over the thick flooring. Watching him grab the rustic guitar and bringing it back to his chair, he collapses and crosses one leg over his knee and positions the guitar securely in his arms. “Jus’ don’t give me a hard time. The guitar’s out of tune, and I’m out of practice,” he scoffs.

   “I would never,” you smile, feeling a blush creep along your cheeks as his eyes flick to yours for just a couple seconds, enough to make your stomach flutter from the contact. 

   He drops his head back down and hums, taking a moment to run his calloused fingers along the thin strings, dust blowing in the low lighting of the dining room. After a beat of silence, he starts strumming, a quiet melody flowing through the room, making a gentle lullaby that could put you to sleep.

   You can’t help but stare in awe as his thick fingers meticulously strum along the cords, each note more beautiful the longer he plays. He’s well experienced, probably played for years before the outbreak, and it makes a small smile curl against your mouth as you watch Joel lose himself to the song. 

   “Future Days” by Pearl Jam. It takes you seconds to recognize it. It’s a song your dad used to play you in his truck. A song that meant a lot to you because it reminded you of the good days. Days where there was no worrying about being killed or mauled by a clicker, only worrying about getting through the days that were filled with sunshine and laughter. Days that weren’t dark and ominous like today.

   But Joel? He seems to light up the room, even through his grumpy demeanor. He’s got a soft side. He’s got passion. And music was clearly a passion of his in a time before this. 

   You can’t describe it, but you love watching him. The slight pinch of his eyebrows, the crease of the deep wrinkles that map along his tanned forehead, and his eyes. Dark chocolate pits that seem to sparkle every once in a while. Like right now. They’re practically glowing and God, they look so beautiful. You wonder what it’s like to drown in those shades of brown. You might just float instead of sink. 

   “Future Days, yeah?” You let the words slip out, his eyes immediately shifting up to yours while his fingers still fluidly strum along the strings.

   His brows pinch together in speculation, his eyes flicking over you in deep assessment. Clearly surprised at the words that just came from your mouth. “You know Pearl Jam?”

   “Of course I do. They’re one of my favorites.”

   He lifts a brow quizzically and looks at you dumbfounded. “Didn’t take you to be the type to like rock music.”

   “Guess you don’t know enough about me to make that sort of judgment, huh?” you banter off, crossing your arms across your chest and giving him a snide smirk in return.

   “I reckon not…” He continues playing quietly, the soft melody floating through your ears like the rolling tides of the ocean, waves crashing through your chest. His deep brown eyes meet yours again and then he just stares, something forming in his glowing irises but yet still leery. He’s not sure about you, but he’s damn curious, that’s for sure. 

   But you’re not far off because you’re more than curious about him. You want to probe deep inside that locked up mind of his. Maybe take a key and pry it open so you can paint a pretty picture in there just so you can see what makes him tick. 

   After a beat of silence, except for the strumming of cords and the pelting of rain, Joel speaks again. “You ever play?”

   You shake your head and smile. “No, always wanted to, though. Never got the chance to before all hell broke loose in the world.”

   “Mmm. I see,” he hums, and then he goes silent again. His eyes still roam over you, maybe even trying to unlock a piece of your mind. That’s what it feels like when he stares at you like that. All deep and intense, like he just might swallow you whole one of these days.

   “You give lessons?” you ask quietly, hoping your question won’t send him pushing you out in the cold rain.

   “Depends on the day. Depends who’s askin.” That’s all you get from him. It’s neither a yes nor a no, but you have a feeling that tiny crack of a smile that’s blooming on his lips means it’s a yes. And you can’t help but feel all warm and tingly from the anticipation of those strong arms around you, guiding your fingers, lips brushing against your cheek, eliciting commands that you just have to obey. 

   Joel Miller is a menace on the streets of the QZ, but deep down he’s got a soft spot. And you think you just might find it. 

   Minutes go by, maybe even an hour. You don’t keep track. All you can focus on is the quiet strum of the guitar, his wandering brown eyes, his hidden smile that peeks out at just the right moments, the deft fingers that guide along the worn strings. You’re hypnotized by him, and you just can’t stop looking at the tall, broad man with pretty eyes. 

   It’s not until he stops playing and sets the guitar against the wall that you see the faint glow of the digital clock reflecting off the black stovetop. Your eyes grow wide, and it doesn’t take long for Joel to see what you’re staring at.

   “Shit. It’s after 7:45 p.m., past curfew,” he murmurs, pushing a hand roughly through his tousled curls like he fucked up big time.

   “Oh no. I completely lost track of time! I’m sorry, I should go.” You push yourself forcefully out of the wooden chair and rush toward the front door. Just as you’re trying to pry it open, Joel pushes hard against it and growls.

   “No!”

   “No?” you ask shocked, standing back to look into those focused dark eyes.

   He sighs and shakes his head. “Y’can’t be caught outside after curfew, remember? FEDRA would have your ass.”

   Taking a moment to compose yourself, you snake your arms across your chest and mewl. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

   Joel flicks his eyes toward the leather couch and back at you, weighing his options carefully, and then he sighs. “Y’can stay here for the night.”

   Dropping your arms in disbelief, a soft awareness spreads over your surprised face. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

   “‘M’sure. And don’t worry ‘bout it, trouble,” he smirks with the flash of his teeth. “Got a spot right over on that couch with your name written on it.”

   You chew your bottom lip and smile. “Guess thanks are in order then.”

   He laughs and stammers out, “Jus’ promise me to try to stay out of trouble, but I know that’s hard for you since your nickname is trouble. Ain’t that right?” A sly smirk spreads across his plush mouth, and an eyebrow ticks up slowly, like he’s calling you trouble all over again. You think it’s your new favorite word when it comes from his mouth.

   “Guess so,” you giggle, flipping your hair behind your shoulder.

   “Umm. I got a spare blanket and pillow y’can use. Let me go grab ‘em.” He leaves the room and leaves you waiting, slowly removing yourself from the entryway and making your way toward the tiny living room. The one with the sunken couch and white curtains that hang loosely around the glass window that leads toward the FEDRA infested streets. You’d rather not look out to see your prisoners that hold you captive in this city, so you divert your attention to the hanging portrait of a painted herd of wild horses that sits above the leather couch. It’s prettier than facing the outside world where nothing but turmoil and death lay. 

   “Here ya go. Hope this’ll do,” Joel says, handing you a fluffy white pillow and a soft beige blanket, warm enough to keep you cozy tonight.

   “Thanks, Joel. Really, I appreciate this more than you know.”

   “It’s really nothin’, darlin’. It’s the least I can do.”

   When your hand brushes against his rough skin, you freeze, gasping at the electric spark that zaps through your fingers. You think he feels it too because he jumps back and stares at the back of his hand, like he just got burned by your touch. 

   Gently laying down the blanket and pillow on the couch, you watch him carefully, mulling about what just happened. It was nothing but yet, it was everything. All it took was one touch, and he fucking set your entire skin on complete fire. 

   Breaking the thick tension, you help deter the awkward silence away. “How long have you been here in the QZ?”

   He looks back up hesitantly, and the flames in his eyes immediately die out. “Too damn long.”

   “How long?” you press.

   “Close to twenty years. Too fuckin’ long,” he scowls, something like anger contorting on the edges of his sculpted jawline. And you get a sense that this was never a home for him. It was just his own personal hell.

   “Oh. That is quite a long time… I can’t imagine being inside these walls that long,” you mumble, afraid to raise your voice beyond a whisper, not wanting to stir up a concoction of grief.

   Was that sadness beyond those deep brown eyes, golden flecks that reflect a hint of sorrow, tragedy, heartbreak? You’d like to know. Maybe one day you can scratch that surface, see what’s really under Joel Miller’s brick walls.

   “Exactly. I can’t imagine anyone bein’ here for even a year, but here we are. Jus’ some slaves to FEDRA. But I won’t let them boss me around. Hell, I boss them around most days,” he growls, a storm of violence in those pools of autumn darkness. “Fuckers can only make me do so much. One of these days I’m jus’ gonna snap.” A crack of thunder makes you nearly jump out of your skin, adding to Joel’s wrath that makes him fume and tick his jaw. He’s angry, as he should be. 

   “I see that. You really don’t take shit from anyone, do you?” You give him a small smile and surprisingly, he gives you one right back.

   “Maybe from Tess, but not anyone else if I can help it,” he chuckles, huffing out a long sigh.

   You shift your weight on the wood beneath your feet and drag your tongue along the roof of your mouth, preparing to ask something you probably shouldn’t. He’ll shut you down, maybe kick you out, have Tess knock some common sense into you. But you just can’t get the fascination and curiosity of what he does out of your head. Smuggling is dangerous, but wouldn’t you be in good hands with Joel? 

   Here goes nothing.

   “So, the smuggling. How’d you get in it?” you press gently.

   His eyebrows raise in response, and a quizzical expression bleeds down his face. “Why do you wanna know?”

   You shrug in response. “Because I’m curious.” 

   Keen eyes stare you down, and his jaw clenches at the words. “Well, you don’t jus’ pick that field. They place you there. If they think you’re good, strong, slick. If you can show ‘em you’re trustworthy enough, jus’ like a fuckin’ watchdog, then they’ll be breathin’ down your neck for you to smuggle for them.”

   “Sounds… interesting.”

   He chuckles, shaking his head in agitation. “Ain’t really interestin’ to be under watch of those lowlife scums they call soldiers. What’s interestin’ is gettin’ the fuck out of these gates. Bein’ out there in nature away from their hateful glares is what’s fuckin’ interestin’. You stay in these gates too long and you start to go a little insane.” He huffs, scuffing his weathered boot along the wooden floor in irritation, his eyes lit up like onyx flames.

   Clearly, he isn’t a fan of his job, but that doesn’t deter you from wanting to learn a thing or two from him. “Could you teach me?”

   His jaw goes slack, and his eyes widen at the question. “What kind of question is that? Didn’t you hear what I jus’ said?”

   “I heard you just fine. But I’m being serious, Joel! I want to learn!” you mewl, crossing your arms and jutting out your bottom lip like you’re pouting. You’re being ridiculous, but how else are you going to show him you really want this?

   “Nah, sweetheart. You’re too—”

   “I’m too what?” you spit, turning your head and pursing your lips tightly together.

   “You’re weak and you’re slow,” he boldly states, not even caring if he thinks that’ll hurt your feelings. He obviously doesn’t care.

   “Then teach me!” you stomp, throwing your arms down at your sides and balling your fists, just like a child who wants their way.

   “Teach you? Are you high?” he chortles, pressing his fingers against his temples in frustration.

   You take two steps forward and curl your fingers against the bottom of his denim button-up, desperate for a yes. But he pries them off and pushes your hand away. “Joel, please! I want to know how to defend myself, how to fight, how to survive. Show me how to do that.”

   He scoffs and shakes his head no. “You don’t know what you’re askin’, sweetheart.”

   “Yes, I do. Come on, please?” you beg, putting on the big puppy dog eyes, hoping that’ll be enough to persuade him.

   “I said no. It’s too dangerous,” he states with finality in his deep tone.

   “And this entire world isn’t?”

   Joel flinches and gives you a stern look. “Jus’ quit askin’.”

   You sigh loudly and groan. “Fine. If I find myself pinned against a wall by a soldier again because I couldn’t defend myself then I—” That seems to get his attention, and something changes in the light of his dark eyes. Something snaps, and he stands a little taller, his spine fully straight. 

   “Take out your knife,” he murmurs lowly, his husky voice almost coming off as a growl.

   “What?” Your eyes widen, and you’re shocked he’s saying yes in his own way.

   “Take. Out. Your. Knife.” He accentuates every syllable, snarling the words like he’s giving you an order. 

   “How do you know I still have the knife you gave me?” you question him, your tongue prodding at the inside of your cheek, eyes slightly narrowed in challenge. You shouldn’t challenge the Joel Miller, but it could be fun.

   “Take out the goddamn knife if you want to learn so badly. I know you have it. I can see it in the outline of your jeans.” He nods to the curve of the small knife in your front right pocket. Of course he’d notice that. He has the eyes of a panther. 

   “Oh, right,” you mutter, digging the balls of your feet into the floor, your fingers hovering over the pocket.

   “Well, we ain’t got all night, trouble. C’mon then.” He curls his fingers, demanding the knife, dark eyebrows furrowed together and his plush lips in a tight line.

   “What do you want me to do with it?” you ask, grabbing the end of the bronze pocket knife and pulling it free.

   “I want you to take it from me,” he states simply, like it’s as easy as writing your name in pencil.

   “Take it from you?” you scrunch your forehead together in question. That’d be too easy, wouldn’t it? 

   “That’s right. Take. It. C’mon now. Don’t be shy. Show me what you got,” he beckons, egging you on. Before you know what’s coming, he snatches it out of your curled hand, not even giving you a moment to flinch. 

   Shit, he’s fast. Just like lightning. 

   “Hey!” you shout, sweeping your arm out in front of you to try to steal it back. He steps back and wags the blade in your face, grinning a mile wide as he taunts you on.

   “Gonna have to try harder than that, trouble,” he teases, smirking devilishly your way as if this will make you snap.

   You shake your head and scoff, laughing under your breath. “You want trouble?”

   “Yeah, I really do,” he chuckles, tossing the knife in the air and snatching it back in a second. 

   “I’ll give you trouble, Miller,” you glare with narrowed eyes.

   His eyes darken with fire flecks glinting in his eyes, and he’s practically smoldering. He curls a thick finger his way and coaxes you forward. “Oh, I know. I’m counting on it,” he muses.

   And that does it. Those fucking heated brown eyes send you forward, nearly barreling into him, but he moves out of the way effortlessly, leaving you to run into the chipped counter. 

   “Nice try, sweetheart. You can be quicker than that though,” he jostles, tapping the edge of the bronze blade against his dark jeans.

   You huff and jump at him, curling your fingers around the end of his denim button-up just as he moves away. You lose your grip and tumble forward, almost tripping on the blue rug by the broken coffee table. When you get your feet underneath you again, you let out a frustrated growl. “Give it, Joel,” you demand.

   “Come. Get. It,” he bites out, flashing his teeth as a smug grin cakes his face. He’s having so much fun with this that it starts to get under your skin. One more wicked smirk and you bare your teeth and go lunging for him. 

   Just as you reach out and skim the blade, his body collides with yours, and then he pushes you against the peeling white wall, locking his arms tightly around you and caging you in, to the point where there’s nowhere to go. You’re stuck, trapped against his heavy weight, and you suddenly feel so vulnerable and breathless.

   “That’s not fair,” you choke out, your meek voice betraying you.

   “Not fair, huh?” he chuckles, slipping his hands closer to you, skimming the outer edges of your shoulders, the heat penetrating past the cotton of your layers as he slides down to the curve of your hips, pressing just enough to make heat rise like a tidal wave in your chest. 

   Oh, God. He’s so warm, and the way his broad chest feels against yours sends sparks shooting down your nerve endings. He’s so close that you can practically taste the sweat of his tanned skin. His lips probably taste like sunshine and sweet tea. And as you breathe him in, you swear you can almost feel him inside you, right where you need him most. 

   “You’re not playing fair,” you pout, mesmerized by the curl of his smirk, his mustache shadowing over his plush lips. 

   Whiskey. That’s it. That is what you’d taste if his lips decided to meet yours. And you want it, the rush of him kissing you. You need it desperately. You might just die if you can’t have just one taste. 

   He chuckles and twirls the edge of the blade around a loose strand of hair, making you gulp at the slow motions of the bronze weapon. “You think a soldier is gonna play fair with you? You think a raider is gonna go easy on ya? You think anyone is gonna let you off jus’ like that?”

   His dark eyes bore into yours, and there’s nothing playful about his gaze. Not this time because he’s trying to teach you this world isn’t kind, and you can’t always take the easy route out. “No…” you whisper, letting your eyes drop to the ground, right by his leather boots. 

   “No, they ain’t.” He tips the cool bronze end of the blade under your chin and pulls your gaze up to his, his eyes lighter and full of onyx shards that nearly have your heart in your throat. “Now try again.”

   You push him off you with a huff, banging your fists on his broad chest like that’ll do you any good. He barely flinches, only chuckles in amusement.

   “You think this is funny?” you scoff.

   “Maybe,” he laughs, tossing the knife back and forth while he stares at you with humor glinting in those dark eyes of his. 

   “Oh? What’s so funny, tough guy?” You reach out and swipe through the air, barely missing the handle of the knife. 

   Shit. 

   Another chuckle leaves his lips, and he just shakes his head in enjoyment. “You,” he answers plainly with a smile.

   “Me?!” you scream, trying your best not to lose control.

   “Yes, you. Think you’re so tough, but you’re jus’ a feisty little pussycat, ain’t ya?” he teases, throwing the knife out of reach while you work to slip your fingers around it, but it’s too far away.

   “I’m not a pussycat,” you seethe, your lips pursed in anger at the crude name.

   “Sure act like one. All teeth and paws, but you can’t even get a lick of a mark on me. Can you, pussycat?” The flicker of amber crosses his irises as he smirks at you with trouble written all over the creases around his eyes. He wants to get under your skin because he thinks this is fun. But all it’s doing is making you mad as hell. 

   “I’m not a cat,” you spit with venom on your tongue. “I can take you,” you challenge.

   A smirk curls over his mouth and his eyes lace with darkness. “Show me what you got then, trouble. Show me those sharp claws you got. Come. Get. Me. Pussycat.” 

   The taunting words out of his mouth start a fire in you, and then you snap from irritation. You go full force on him, punching your arms and clawing right and left, but he averts from your advances each time. 

   “Y’can do better than that, pussycat. Don’t fuckin’ hold back when I know that feral cat is deep inside you,” he taunts, his strong body zipping around the little space between the dining room and living room.

   “Give it,” you growl, eyes slitting with anger fuming from your body. 

   “Then take it,” he barks.

   You lash out again, Joel ducking and reflecting off each movement you give him. It’s like he knows exactly what move you’ll make next, like he knows everything before you can even think. And it’s frustrating when you know you have no chance at getting your knife back, unless he hands it over, which he won’t. Joel Miller doesn’t give up but neither do you. 

   Thunder cracks against the gloomy sky. And when he turns his head to look out the foggy window, you see your opening right there. Your body moves, your leg kicking out, trying to make him topple to the ground, but you’re too slow. His head whips around and instead of him falling, it’s you. 

   His foot catches the inside of your ankle, and he smiles as victory flashes across those dark brown eyes. You tumble down, your body free falling for only a second until you’re met with the harsh kitchen table colliding against your back. You grunt, pain radiating through every bone in your body like you just got knocked off a horse. 

   Joel’s broad body crawls on top of you, his hands snaking their way around your wrists and pinning them high above your head, to where you can’t move. The bronze knife falls to the table with a loud clatter, but you can’t wiggle free to get it. You’re completely and utterly stuck because Joel’s entire weight is pressed firmly against yours.

   Your eyes widen into large domes, your mouth suddenly as dry as a desert because this beast of a man is hovering over you, and it shouldn’t be erotic at all, but it’s hot as hell. You’re equally terrified and turned on at the same time. 

   “Like I said, darlin’. Slow and weak. Gonna have to work on that, won’t we? Pussycat.” A devilish smirk curls against his lips, and his eyes are lit with fire. The kind that’s dangerous and tempting, that’ll maybe burn you alive.

   You try your best to kick him where it’ll hurt, but he pins your leg down with his knee, glueing you in place to his large body. “I’m not a cat,” you snarl, bucking your hips up, but you’re only met with the leather of his belt and something that feels a lot like his cock hardening. You gulp at the realization and cower back down.

   “Maybe not. But you could be. All cute and feisty tryin’ to fight. Shit, might jus’ be a new nickname for you. But I think trouble fits you better,” he smirks proudly at the name he branded just for you.

   “You think I’m… cute?”

   His jaw slackens and the smug smirk is gone in a flash. Maybe he didn’t realize what he was doing, but he was definitely flirting with you. And maybe you invited that, kept it going, but the way he’s looking at you all soft and lost, just like a homesick puppy, is almost swoon-worthy.

   “No. I uhhh… that’s not what I was tryin’ to say,” he stutters, licking his bottom lip slowly as his eyes swirl with hesitation.

   “But you just said…”

   “Enough. I was jus’ tryin’ to teach you a lesson. That’s all.”

   “I see…” A hint of a smile meets your lips because a red blush stains his cheeks at the question. He’s flustered, just like you are.

   His tight grip doesn’t let up on your wrists, his broad body still laying on top of yours, hovering like a buzzing bee, his heart racing a mile an hour. You know because his fast breaths are mixing with yours as thick tension fills the air like the fog clouding the outside of the living room window.

   His eyes flick down to your lips, his golden flecked irises swirling with something like desire. Maybe he wants to kiss you. You think you’d let him because the thought of having his plush lips melded to yours makes butterflies flit through your stomach and other places you don’t want to think about. 

   He shifts his eyes back to yours, and your body hums with need. Those syrupy brown eyes could bring you down to your knees. God, they’re so beautiful under the dim light of the dining room, making them look like molten lava and painted sunsets on the beach. You could just drown in them if he’d let you. 

   He’s struggling, his body tight and his breath ragged, fighting something he doesn’t understand. You almost think he’ll kiss you by the way his eyes flick back and forth undecidedly. Joel Miller may not be weak, but he’s got something in that thick head of his that’s weak for you. 

   “Joel?” you whisper, watching the way his eyes widen when they stare waveringly at your mouth.

   His jaw clenches into a tight fist and then he’s climbing off you, freeing your wrists from their restraints, leaving you feeling empty and breathless with a need that thirsts to be quenched. 

   “I uhhh, got a shower. Y’can use it if you want,” he murmurs quickly, like he’s in a hurry to get away from the heat of the room because it’s stifling in this moment. And the way he was looking at you just a few seconds ago? It was like he wanted you. And maybe he does. Maybe, just maybe…

   “Ummm, yeah. Thanks,” you mumble, collecting your bearings as you smooth your shirt out, the inside of your thighs burning with desire. Joel lit a spark in you, and it set your core ablaze like fire.

   “Towels are in the first cabinet on the left. Jus’ help yourself.” He threads his fingers through his disheveled hair, nervously pulling at the strands like he’s in pain, like he’s fighting something.

   “Joel?” you ask again, calling his name like it’s the only name you know.

   “Yeah?” His voice is deep, clipped, like he wants to run far far away from you.

   “So. Does this mean you’ll teach me?” 

   His eyes linger on you for just a second too long, and the tick in his jaw tightens as he thinks it through. Eventually, he nods with a tight-lipped smile. “Consider that your first lesson. We’ll go again tomorrow.”

   “Really?” A large smile covers your face, and your eyes light up with glee.

   “Mhm. Don’t make me regret it. Goodnight, trouble.” He disappears through the thresholds of his room, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall, waiting for what? Something, but his door stays shut tight.

   You sigh and make your way into the bathroom, flipping on the lights. It’s a simple layout. Cracked tiles in the shower, a tan shower curtain, a small ceramic sink with a fading countertop, stained white walls with small water leak marks on top of the ceiling, a rugged blue mat in front of the tub. Slightly better than your rundown bathroom. 

   After finding a folded white towel in the cabinet and turning the faucet of the shower, you strip your worn clothes and step in, letting the grime and sweat wash down the drain in a swirl of sudsy soap. It feels weird being in Joel’s shower, but you’re grateful anyways. He could’ve said no, could’ve kicked you out, but he didn’t. He did the unspeakable. 

   He let you stay. 

   After relaxing for several minutes under the warm spray of the shower head, you cut the water and dry off, squeezing all the leftover water droplets from your clean hair, brushing your fingers through the tangled mess. 

   When you take a step out of the shower and onto the now damp rug, you freeze. There, right on the edge of the counter, is a folded up navy colored t-shirt that wasn’t there before your shower. Your eyebrows pinch together, questions rolling through your wide eyes. You didn’t hear him open the door, not when you were under the noisy shower head. 

   As you pick it up, you see it’s long enough to fall past your knees, and it’s soft and smells like Joel. A hint of pinewood and smoke lathering in the cotton of the material. You inhale his scent, breathing deeply in before you slip it over your head, the cool cotton molding to your body like a weighted blanket. All warm and cozy and his. 

   But why did he leave this for you? He could’ve left you to throw on your sweat-drenched clothes from earlier, could’ve given you some old ratty thing. But he didn’t. 

   Shaking your head in disbelief, you let the door click open with the twist of the doorknob and step out, your eyes falling on his closed door like you could walk right through it, breaking every barrier down he had built against him. But instead, you decide to retreat to the couch and snuggle into the thick blanket, the worn leather sticking to your clean skin, your head hitting the pillow in just the right spot.

   Visions of Joel flood through your mind the moment you close your eyes, remembering the intense knife lesson, his broad body hovering over yours, his dark eyes staring directly into your soul, tempting you to mold your lips to his. He wanted to kiss you, at least you think. And maybe you should’ve helped him take that leap, but you didn’t. And that’s your downfall you’ll always regret. 

   Sighing deep against the fluffy pillow, you toss and turn until you fall asleep. The soft pitter patter of the rain lulling you into a deep sleep after a brutal day in the heat. The last thing you see before you slip into darkness is the color of mahogany eyes haunting your mind.

   Joel tosses and turns, letting the slick sheets wrap around his legs, groaning against the mixed feelings that swirl around his conflicted mind. You. You’re the reason he can’t sleep or think straight. All he sees are the flashes of your pretty eyes, eyelashes batting against the deep blush that painted your cheeks crimson when he was hovering over you on the kitchen table, your wrists constricted around his fingers, just a breath away from his mouth meeting your glossy lips.

   He groans and lets the palms of his hands dig into the socket of his eyes, muttering curses under his breath. He doesn’t get feelings, doesn’t get wrapped around pretty girls’ fingers, but you have him wrapped tight like a noose around his neck, one step away from tipping over the edge to his death. 

   He can’t help himself, can’t fight off the way he wants you so fucking badly that he can hardly stand it. He shouldn’t want you, but here he is like a whiny dog begging for attention. He wants you to want him like he wants you. And maybe you already do. He doesn’t fucking know anymore.

   He should’ve never saved you from Seth, but he’d never forgive himself if he let Seth lay one more finger on you. And then he invited you inside to shield you from the rain, offered to let you stay, kept you past curfew when he knew this would happen. He should’ve sent you off to Tess’s apartment, but he didn’t. He didn’t do one goddamn thing that he should’ve. 

   And now you’re trapped like a fly under his watch. Because now… he’s never going to let another man touch you. Not under his radar. Not ever. Unless it’s him…

   It’s only a few steps from his bedroom to the couch, would only take a second to brush his palm down your cheek, let his mouth envelop yours, only a breath away from wrapping you so tightly around his tired body that you’ll never be able to let go.

   He’s being selfish, but he can’t help it. He fucking wants you, but only time will tell if he’ll fully give in to what he truly needs.

   You…

   A loud clap of thunder stirs you from your deep sleep, nearly sending you tumbling off the edge of the sunken leather couch. Another big boom explodes across the dark night sky and has you tossing the blanket aside. Your stiff body shakes from the thrashing storm as you push yourself off the faded couch, rubbing the sleep from your tired eyes. 

   You pull back the torn curtain and fix your eyes on the blackness of the storm, large lightning strikes splitting across the sky, reflecting off the foggy glass. Your slow breaths fill the room, your finger sliding down the windowpane, condensation dripping down the clear glass. You never were a huge fan of thunderstorms, unless they were calm. Slow, gentle rain storms were always something you loved but this? Well, it certainly had you on edge. 

   You spend the next few minutes pacing across the wooden floors, taking caution not to be too loud, not wanting to wake Joel up. You can’t sleep, can’t process that you’re in his apartment, in his shirt. 

   God, you really hope he doesn’t walk through that closed door because the only thing you’re wearing right now is his shirt and your lacy panties. Even though the length of the shirt covers your thighs, you still feel completely vulnerable and bare. 

   Chewing the edges of your long nails, you pace back and forth nervously against the wooden floorboards, careful not to step on a creaky spot. The thunder claps through the sky, startling you once again. You jump back with a jolt and hit the side of the coffee table, catching yourself from falling face down to the floor. But before that happens, you step on a particularly noisy wooden plank and an ear-splitting groan carries through the entirety of the room, alarming anyone who’s mere feet away of your mistake. 

   Shit.

   And in less than ten seconds, Joel’s door pops open with a squeak and out slips Joel. Your eyes widen at the picturesque view that stands in front of you. You gulp and step back, taking in the broadness of his entire body, like it was being displayed in a fucking art gallery. 

   His tousled curls are disheveled and pushed back, making his deep brown eyes somehow brighter, like the midnight moon. A short sleeved white t-shirt clings to his bulky arms, the large veins cascading and spidering down the entirety of his tanned arms. His grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, one hand shoved deep inside his pocket, the other running smoothly through his greying locks. 

   You’d be lying to yourself if you said you felt nothing for him because right now, your heart is thundering loudly in your chest just by standing in his presence, wearing his t-shirt. And suddenly, you feel exposed and completely naked. 

   “Thought I heard something in here. You alright?” he asks carefully, eyes locking like a magnet with yours.

   You gulp and push a lock of hair behind your ear nervously. “I’m fine. Just the storm woke me up, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I’m sorry if I woke you, I didn’t mean to,” you press, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of his shirt that clings like static to your clammy skin. 

   He holds out a palm to silence you, but he only shakes his head and laughs quietly. The sound reverberates down your body like music. “S’alright, darlin’. Didn’t wake me up. Wasn’t having much luck sleepin’ anyways.”

   “Oh, I see.” Your hands clamp together behind your back in a nervous fit of jitters, your mouth suddenly as dry as a desert. 

   Why the fuck are you so nervous? He’s just a guy, but then again he’s not. He’s Joel Miller, and there’s nothing remotely average about him. 

   “The couch comfortable enough? I know it ain’t much, but it’s the best I got,” he drawls, flexing his bicep each time he runs his thick fingers through his soft curls, making you nearly pant at the sight of the ripped muscles pulling at the edges of his t-shirt. 

   “It’s perfect, Joel. Seriously, you didn’t have to let me stay.”

   He chuckles and sighs slowly. “Like I said, it’s no trouble.”

   “Thank you.”

   Shaking his head slowly, he replies, “Gotta stop thanking me, sweetheart.”

   “And for letting me shower and borrow your shirt. You really didn’t have to.” Your fingers pick at the frayed edges of the t-shirt, your eyes widening when you see his dark eyes roam the expanse of your body, flicking his gaze up and down your legs at an extremely slow pace, your cheeks burning with redness seeping in. 

   You don’t know why, but his smoldering stare sets your core completely on fire. 

   “Again, don’t mention it. And uhhh… it looks better on you.” You nearly choke on the words that just slipped free from his lips, like it was all casual and not a compliment. He basically just told you how good you look in his clothes. And that in itself makes your insides smother with need. 

   “You didn’t have to, you know,” you laugh, eyes peeling to the floor, a nervous flutter kicking inside your chest. 

   “But I really did…”

   Your eyes snap back up to his, tension forming like the thick fog that covers the windows. And suddenly, the room feels much hotter than it should be. Almost like a suffocating sauna.

   He takes a step forward, the floorboards creaking beneath him, and then he takes another, one step closer to you. His eyes flick down your legs once more, his golden brown irises glistening with something like mischief and fire igniting with every glimpse of your skin. 

   The scent of pine cones and autumn permeate throughout the still air, igniting your heightened senses, kicking them into overdrive the closer he gets to you. His smoldering eyes rake over your body, a smug smile tugging at his plush lips, and there’s trouble written all over that smug look. The kind of trouble you wouldn’t mind falling into. 

   Thunder crashes outside, making you jump at the sudden explosion of the raging storm, putting you on edge even more than when Joel walked into the room.

    “You scared of storms?” he asks quietly, eyeing you closely, eyes roaming down your bare legs in slow motion, lurching your heart in your throat.

   “No,” you barely mouth, gulping as you watch his hand rake down his patchy beard slowly, his eyes devouring your skin. Fire burns hot in your core the longer you watch him. Maybe he’ll pounce, put the fire out himself or make it burn ten times hotter.

   “You sure ‘bout that?” He smirks, lighting the fire into a full on inferno. You’re burning.

   Another step closer, thunder vibrating in the dark sky behind you, his breath fanning warmly across your face, conjuring feelings that shouldn’t even be blooming in the first place.

   “I said I’m not scared,” you mutter courageously, holding your breath, scared of what you might smell if he takes one step closer.

   “Then why are ya shakin’?” He takes two more slow steps toward you, prowling like a starving wolf, ready to sink his sharp teeth into the side of your neck. 

   “I’m not.” But that’s a damn lie. You might as well be shaking the entire floor with the way you’re shuddering violently in place.

   Another step and then he’s toe to toe with you, the smell of mahogany and pine trees invading your body, making you want to just melt into the fragrance of his scent. 

   He smells like honeydew and a warm summer’s day. And you’re fucking addicted.

   “You are. Fuckin’ tremblin’, sweetheart.” You audibly gasp when he brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, lingering his fingers slowly down your jawline, pulling out need and yearning like you’re dying for just a drop of his taste, his tongue.

   “I’m not scared of the storm…” you answer calmly, your voice giving away with how badly you need him. 

   God, you want him. Almost as badly as you want to be out of the QZ.

   “Then what? You afraid of me?” He cups your chin and lifts your eyes up to his, pulling out a sound that almost sounds like a moan. He chuckles at that. You’re so embarrassed.

   “No…” you murmur, your voice deceiving you once again. 

   “Well, ya should be,” he smiles, his honey eyes turning into deep black pits, making you want to drown in his dark pools of lust. 

   “Why’s that?” you whisper, voice cracking when his other hand pulls you by the waist, your body flush with his broad chest.

   “‘Cause you scare the hell out of me,” he states with a sharpness to his deep timbre. 

   “But I didn’t do anything…” you mewl, too scared to back up, not wanting to break the thick tension that permeates like fire around the room.

   Another crack of thunder makes you jump, but he only pulls you tighter, his warmth coursing through your entire body. 

   “‘Course you did. Comin’ around here with those big, beautiful eyes. Tryin’ to sweeten up my life. Causin’ a bunch of ruckus and trouble. Who gave you the right, huh?” he asks accusingly; his voice soft but ravenous.  

   Your eyes widen at the meaning of his words. He called you beautiful. “Joel… I’m not trying to...”

   “Ya are. And I won’t stand for it. Won’t stand a goddamn second of it. Now c’mere and fix the mess you started.” 

   Before you can say anything, he cups the back of your neck and pulls your mouth to his. He crashes his lips desperately against yours, knocking the breath clear out of your lungs. It’s not soft or slow, it’s reckless and electrifying as you match his energy and kiss him in the same starving-like way. 

   You part your lips and let him slot in. His tongue dances wildly with yours, a sultry tango that spins out of control. You wrap your arms tightly around the back of his neck and he picks you up and wraps your legs around his hips, pinning you against the crumbling walls while you moan desperately into his mouth. 

   He takes his lips off yours for just a breath, enough to pant out a series of serenaded words. “Christ, you taste better than a cold glass of whiskey. Might have to brand you as my new favorite flavor, trouble.” He clashes his mouth back on yours, moans bleeding into each other like the whiskey that burns through his bloodstream.

   “Joel, need—” you whine between thunderous kisses.

   “Know what you need, sweetheart. Don’t worry. Gonna take real good care of ya, babygirl.” You moan at the name babygirl and let him whisk you away to his bedroom. 

   The door crashes against the wall as he barrels through the room, throwing you on his large bed, your fingers brushing against the cool sheets. He hovers over your body, eyes marinated in complete darkness, dying to sink his teeth in your skin.

   “You look mighty pretty in my t-shirt, sweetheart. But you’re gonna look even better when you’re completely naked in my bed.” You pant as he rips the t-shirt over your head, tossing it on the floor in a heap, leaving you in nothing but your lacy panties that are completely ruined. 

   “Jesus Christ,” he groans, taking his large hand and slowly dragging his fingertips down your body, slowly making his way between your breasts, down to the waistband of your panties. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” 

   You buck your hips up to try to get friction, and he just chuckles as he leans over and hovers his large body over yours, slipping his white t-shirt off until his hairy, bare chest is flush with your skin, igniting your nerve endings like the lightning that strikes the dark sky outside. 

   His mouth suctions to your collarbone, sliding up to ravish your neck, sucking and biting till you pant his name out, his fingertips trailing over your core. You suck in a breath when he takes his thumb and slides it between your clothed folds, rubbing light circles over your clit. 

   “J—Joel,” you gasp, a fresh wave of slick covering the lace with the friction he’s giving you.

   “S’that right, darlin’? Haven’t even gotten these off you, and you’re already fuckin’ drippin’ for me,” he smirks, teasing his fingers beneath your waistband, making you practically beg with your wide eyes and open mouth. 

   “T—take them off, please,” you whine, thrashing beneath his hold, begging for more. You want more, need more. 

   “That what you want?” he smirks, lust-filled eyes black as midnight, feasting those deep pits right on you, threatening to swallow you whole.

   “Y—yes,” you choke out, gulping when he brushes over your clit again, eliciting more slick in your lace. 

   He smirks devilishly up at you while he drops to his knees on the rickety floor, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You gasp when he takes his time pulling your panties down, savoring your naked body under the moonlight, licking his lips when he sees you bare and writhing for him, your slick reflecting in his glassy irises. 

   “Goddamn it. You’re so wet for me, sweetheart. C’mere.” He gives you no time to comment back until his large tongue is flat against your slick core, slowly licking a thick strip up the entirety of you. 

   “Ohhh,” you moan while he meticulously circles your puffy bundle of nerves, eyes blown wide at the mere bliss he’s giving you. 

   “Taste so fuckin’ good. Like sweet, sticky honey. Fuck.” He growls as he slips two thick fingers inside your dripping hole, caking his fingers in slick while he makes out with your puffy clit.

   You thread your fingers through his tousled curls, hear him groan as you rake your fingernails against the crown of his head. And when he hits that spot, you arch your back as he repeatedly curls his fingers against the spongy, sweet spot inside that you can never reach yourself. Your eyes roll back into your head, your body humming with electricity. And soon you’re every single lightning strike that flashes in the cold, rainy night. He’s the thunder that crashes through your veins, bringing you to life with every flick of his tongue and motion of his experienced fingers. 

   You’re right on the edge of coming undone, your hips writhing beneath him, slick covering his thick beard. The sight makes you want to spill right there just by looking at the glistening slick sticking to his beard, his mustache, his lips. And God, you fucking love the sight of him covered in you. 

   “Joel, I’m gonna—”

   “C’mon, baby. Come for me. Cover me, spill for me. Wanna taste jus’ what I do to you,” he growls, releasing his fingers and filling you with his tongue instead. He tongue fucks you fast and hard, making you snap as the feeling takes you over the edge.

   “Joellll—” you cry out, feeling the white-hot heat slide down your body, releasing a flood of arousal and slick against his mouth, covering him in your orgasm. He slowly laps it up like it’s the breath of life, consuming all of you until there’s nothing left between your thighs except his thick fingers and warm tongue. And then you’re nothing more than the glistening raindrops that pelt the side of the bedroom window softly. 

   “That’s my good girl,” he praises, crawling over you, crowding his sweat-covered body with your own, slowly lifting your legs over his shoulders. You have no argument, can barely speak, but you need him like you need air to breathe. 

   “Joel—need you. Need you to…” He stops you right there, smirking when he starts to pull his grey sweatpants lower. Dark coarse hairs appear, and you choke on a gasp when you feel just how hard and big he is against your thigh. 

   “Shh. Save your breath, trouble. Gonna need it for what I’m about to do to you next.” He smirks like the handsome devil he is, his pupils blown as he stares at you like his next meal. 

   His grey sweatpants and black boxers fall to the floor, and your mouth drops open as his thick, hard cock springs free against his soft tummy. He’s massive. Deep veins twist around the underside of his cock, his tip angry, red, and leaking precum. He’s so fucking beautiful from his glowing dark eyes, to his disheveled hair, to his broad body, and to his giant cock. 

   He’s all just so fucking perfect, and you want him to be yours. 

   “You gonna keep starin’ with your mouth wide open, sweetheart?” he teases, taking his tip and smothering it over your folds, collecting more slick as you groan beneath his touch.

   “Maybe,” you giggle, grinding your pussy against his tip, begging him to take you. 

   “You want this, sweetheart? Want me?” he asks softly, staring down at you with vibrant chocolate eyes, golden flecks glittering bright under the moonlight from the window. 

   “Yes, want you, Joel. Please, take me. I’m yours.”

   He smiles  and then he crashes his lips down on yours, smothering you in him. He pushes inside you slowly, stretching you out like you’ve never been stretched, moaning into his open mouth as he starts to rock back and forth, thrusting as deep as he can go inside you until you feel him bottom out.

   Pretty soon Joel’s matching your moans, an exchange of pleasure coursing through your bloodstreams. He feels like heaven each time he claims you with his cock, rutting deeper and deeper until you can feel him everywhere inside you. It’s a euphoric bliss, thunder crashing outside the window, lightning tearing through your veins.

   Joel Joel Joel. He’s all you feel, all you see, all you hear. He’s everything all at once. The missing piece you’ve desperately been searching for your entire life.

   “You feel so perfect, sweetheart. Takin’ me so well. Want you to come again. Come for me, baby,” he coos, teeth clenching with every deep thrust he gives you.

   “Ohh,” you moan when he takes the pad of his thumb and starts circling your puffy clit, putting just the right amount of pressure where you feel it the most. 

   “Come on my cock, babygirl. Let me feel you. Fuck. Squeezin’ me so tight,” he grits out, your walls clenching tight around his thick length. You scream out his name as you come undone around him, your release drenching his cock as you squeeze him. 

   “Atta fuckin’ girl,” he praises, his dark eyebrows threading together as he concentrates to hold on. “Where do you want me, baby? Not gonna last much—longer,” he seethes, teeth clenched from his own building release.

   “Inside me,” you whine out, panting.

   He speeds up his thrusts faster and faster, and then he spills his warm seed inside you, both of your moans crescendoing together like a symphony of rolling thunder. He takes his time slipping out of you, dragging his release between your thighs. He grabs a towel from the bathroom and cleans you up, then pulls you toward the head of the bed until both of you are collapsed, panting breaths and glossy eyes staring back at one another.

   You both just lay there for minutes, bolts of lightning lighting up his beautiful, sweat-covered skin, igniting fire in his onyx eyes. He almost looks ethereal, so flawless that no one could touch him. But you touched him, and he lit you up like a thousand galaxies colliding straight into your heart. 

   Another moment passes and then he’s softly tracing the pads of his calloused fingertips across your cheek, mapping lines that connect right back to him. 

   “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers out, brushing a loose strand behind your ear as softly as the rain that patters lightly against the window. 

   “You think so?” you ask quietly, eyes wide and mouth dropped open the moment the word beautiful slipped off his tongue.

   He takes the pad of his thumb and runs it along your bottom lip, gently humming in response. “Yes, sweetheart. So beautiful,” he repeats, the words sounding like melodic music to your ears.

   “Joel, I—like you,” you say bravely, your fingers tracing the coarse hair on his broad chest.

   “And I like you. A lot,” he smiles, eyes melting into a warm, syrupy color. One you want to drown in.

   “Enough to be mine?” you whisper out meekly, afraid of what he’ll say.

   “Sweetheart… I’ve wanted you from the moment I set eyes on you. Wanted you the minute you stepped foot into my apartment that first time. Wanted you the second those beautiful eyes of yours tore open my soul.” His soft brown eyes are tearing your walls down, and you’re stunned in awe.

   “You… want me?” you breathe out, breathless.

   “Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckles, tracing heart shapes on your skin. “There’s not a second I don’t want you. You’re mine. Now c’mere.” He pulls you to him, his lips colliding with yours, and then you slip into the softness of him, tangling your body with his until you’re one.

   When the kiss ends, he keeps you against his warm chest, his hand running lazily through your hair, his lips brushing against your forehead. You get lost in his warmth, in his musk, in his woodsy scent that you revel in. He’s everywhere, surrounding you, melding into your soul. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

   You’re falling hard, fast, but he’ll catch you. Every brush against your skin just solidifies that, his lips making it official. You’re mine. His deep timbre lingers in your mind, and then you’re falling into a deep sleep in his arms while the rain soothes you into bliss.

[candycandy00]

congrats on 2k!! Character: Gojo AU Setting: Mascarade Level: NSFW Mood: Writer's choice Kinks: Praise and Spanking

Once Upon a Time - A Gojo x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! First up is Cinderella starring Gojo! You met Prince Gojo as a child and fell in love, but you’re sure he doesn’t remember you. When you’re forced to take your stepsister’s place as his “pleasure” for the evening, you’ll get your reunion, but it might not be what you hoped for.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Fairytale AU. Gojo as Prince Charming. Reader as Cinderella. Dubcon. Coercion. Oral. Spanking. Rough sex. Light bondage. Mentions of abuse by the wicked stepmother and stepsisters. 

Any and all feedback would be appreciated so much! There will probably be three parts. Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear.

The crowds are bigger than usual today as you walk along the cobblestone street, carrying a bag of items you bought at the local market. You’re in a hurry to get home and start dinner before your stepmother gets angry. If you’re even a few minutes late, she’ll either take the rod to your arms or not allow you to eat. 

Someone in the crowd calls out, “Look, there he is!” Another voice, feminine, excitedly yells, “Prince Gojo!”

The sound of his name stops you cold in the middle of the street. You look out across the river of people, across the roadway reserved for carriages. On the opposite street, flanked by guards in crisp uniforms, you spot him. 

He’s difficult to miss. Taller than everyone else nearby, with stark white hair, flawless skin, and crystal blue eyes brighter than the sun. He’s smiling and waving at the people as he makes his way down the street. 

You can’t help stopping to watch, dinner be damned, because you and the prince have history. Even if you’re certain he doesn’t remember it.

You were ten, he was twelve, and you didn’t even realize he was the prince. He’d introduced himself as Satoru when he found you ducked behind a set of stone steps leading to a flower shop in the town square. You had run away from your house after the first time your stepmother used a rod to beat welts into your arms and hands. You were crying, covered in marks and bruises, still grieving over the recent loss of your father. 

That’s when a radiant boy with an angelic smile appeared, asking you what was wrong. You were embarrassed to be seen that way, so you wiped your face and said you were fine. 

“You don’t look fine,” he’d said. “Want me to help you?”

You couldn’t fathom how a boy so close to your age could help you, but you were glad that someone wanted to. Soon after, you heard voices calling out the name he’d given you, and he blanched. “Ugh, that’s my nanny,” he said with a grimace. Then he looked straight at you with those beautiful clear eyes and said, “You ran away from home too, right? Let’s run away together!”

Satoru took your hand and pulled you out from behind the steps, dragging you along with him as he ran down the street. As a child, at that moment, you thought you were actually free of the abuse you endured at home. Satoru was going to take you far away, and you’d never come back. 

Of course, you were both children, so running away together meant making it to the edge of the woods and playing among the trees for a few hours. You held hands and danced beneath the shade of the forest canopy, chased a rabbit that refused to let you pet it, pretended to be a princess that he rescued from an imaginary ogre, and laughed together under the setting sun. 

It was the most wonderful day you’d ever had, until you both got hungry. When he suggested going back, your heart sank, but even at that age you understood the reality of your situation. 

Back in town, you stopped in front of a fancy boutique and looked through the display window. It was full of dazzling dresses, hats, and jewelry. But what drew your attention most was the pair of delicate glass slippers, with their shiny inlaid stones and lovely shape. 

Satoru stood beside you. “Do you like those?” 

“They’re beautiful,” you replied, staring at them longingly. You’d seen them there many times before, and you spent every available moment standing in front of that window, enjoying the view. 

Satoru disappeared, and a few seconds later a lady came to the other side of the window and retrieved the slippers. You watched in shock as Satoru walked out of the boutique with a package in his hands. He reached it to you. “Here. We probably won’t see each other again for a long time, but maybe these can cheer you up when I’m not around.”

You opened the package, already knowing yet not believing what was inside. Those beautiful shoes were in your hands! Even though you didn’t fully understand how valuable they were, you did grasp that not just anyone could walk in and buy them. “But… they cost a lot of money, don’t they?” 

He grinned. “That’s no problem for me. And I know they’re too big for you now, so when you’re older, and they fit you, come see me. I’ll make sure you never cry again!”

You hugged the shoes to your chest as you looked up at him. “How will I find you? Do you live nearby?”

He laughed. “Oh, you’ll find me. Trust me.”

At that moment, a royal guard appeared, looking a bit frazzled. “There you are! The whole castle is in a state of panic, Your Highness! Where have you been?”

Satoru shrugged. “I was just playing with my friend.”

The guard called to another passing guard, “I found Prince Gojo!”

Your eyes went wide as you realized exactly who you’d been playing with all day. As the guards led him away, he looked back at you over his shoulder and winked.

From that moment on, you have been deeply, madly, in love with Prince Gojo. 

When you got home that night, you managed to hide the shoes before your stepmother found you and punished you severely. You knew she would either take them for one of her own daughters who were slightly older than you, or sell them. 

Occasionally, when you’re certain that no one will see, you pull the shoes out and admire them. They make you think of Satoru, of his beautiful crystal eyes. You’ve been trying them on for years, and now that you’ve grown up, they fit you perfectly. 

He told you to find him, but you know exactly where he is. At this very moment, he’s only feet away from you. But the reality you’ve come to accept, one he probably didn’t realize himself as a child, is that someone like you could never approach the crown prince. You’re the daughter of a minor lord who died years ago, leaving his meager fortune to his wife, your stepmother, who only shares enough with you to keep you alive. You have nothing but shabby old dresses to wear, and you smell of sweat and hard work. 

No, best to simply love him from afar, to long for him, ache for him, but never reach out to him. 

As you watch, he disappears into a cafe, two of his guards following and the rest remaining outside to keep the crowd from storming the place. Prince Gojo is extremely popular with the common people, especially since his father has basically turned most of the ruling duties over to him. Poverty is rare, crime is even rarer. Prince Gojo’s policies have benefitted everyone. Add to that his otherworldly beauty and his friendly personality, and you have a monarch that’s beloved by all. 

A few times a month, he comes to the small town surrounding his castle and spends all day and evening there. He interacts with the people, hears their concerns, and patronizes local businesses. You’ve heard whispered rumors that he invites pretty young noblewomen to his room at the inn. Your heart burns to think of him with other women, so you try not to think about it at all. You’ve also heard that he’s being encouraged to take a wife soon. You try to think even less about that. 

In the end, you make it home ten minutes late, and your stepmother gives you ten lashings across your extended arms with the rod. You barely flinch when the rod connects with your skin. You’re used to it by now. Even though you’re an adult now, you have no means of surviving without her support. She controls your father’s estate after all. You have no choice but to endure her abuse. 

While you cook dinner, your two stepsisters sit at the table, demanding to know when you’ll be finished. 

“Just a few more minutes,” you tell them, stirring the pot of stew on the stove before checking the bread in the oven. 

“It better not be longer than that,” one of them says, “or we’ll tell mother you’re slacking off!”

The other laughs loudly. “So hurry it up, Cinderella!”

You wince. Cinderella isn’t your name. It’s a cruel nickname your stepsisters gave you after you cleaned the fireplace one day and emerged covered in dirt and cinders. 

Without another word to them, you finish dinner. When your stepmother joins them at the table, you serve all three of them bowls of soup, along with fresh buttered bread, and then take your much smaller serving to your tiny bedroom to eat alone.

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

Prince Gojo is sitting in one of the finest restaurants in town. The food doesn’t compare to the luxurious dishes he’s served at the castle, but he enjoys trying new dishes. He smiles to the cook who brought out his plate. 

“It looks delicious!” he tells the elderly man. 

The man beams with pride. “Thank you so much, Your Highness! We’ve prepared a special dessert for you as well. Please let us know when you’re ready to try it.”

Gojo grins at him. “That sounds great! I appreciate your kindness!”

Once the man walks away, Gojo looks across the table at his friend-turned-advisor. “So? Do you have things lined up for me tonight?”

Geto Suguru smiles as he takes a bite of his own meal and slowly chews, then wipes his mouth. “Not yet, but I will by nightfall. Just enjoy your dinner and stop being horny for five minutes.”

Prince Gojo laughs. “You know I can’t do that! I don’t know why you don’t pick a girl for yourself. I see the way they look at you. They’d probably rather sleep with you than me!”

Geto shakes his head. “You bring enough drama to my life already. I don’t need romantic entanglements making it worse.”

Gojo lowers his voice. “Romance has nothing to do with it. Just unmarried adults enjoying each other’s bodies for the evening.”

“Regardless, I’ll pass for now,” Geto says. He takes another bite, swallows, then asks, “Do you still want the lady I bring to wear a mask?”

“Of course. When I’m in town looking out over my loyal subjects, I don’t want to be recognizing faces and remembering fucking their brains out.”

Gojo says it in an airy, careless way, but it’s important to him. It would be too awkward to climb out of his carriage and see a dozen faces he’s covered in his cum.

He’s been inviting ladies from town to visit him at the inn for a few years now. When he first came of age, he started going to high end brothels. But his presence in such places caused a scene every time, and he felt too exposed to try some of the more… daring activities he was interested in. The last thing he needed was a bunch of vulgar rumors going around about him.  

It had been his friend Geto’s idea to invite noble ladies to privately visit his room at the inn. Being a rich, handsome prince who is actively searching for a wife means there’s no shortage of women throwing themselves at him. But he had stipulations: no women under age twenty, no married women, and no women who were not excited to be there. 

Geto does the selecting and vetting, keeping a keen eye out for any hints of someone being pressured or coerced. If he gets even the faintest whiff of something like that going on, he shuts it down immediately. That’s why Gojo can relax and enjoy himself, even if the ladies pretend to be shy or reserved at first. 

Prince Gojo signals for the old man who owns the restaurant. “Sir, I’m ready for my dessert now!” he calls, then he gives Geto a sly grin. “At least my first dessert of the evening.”

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

Later that night, after you’ve cleaned the kitchen, tended the fireplace, and sewed a loose button back onto your stepsister’s coat, you finally sit down for the night and pull out a tattered old book to read. You’ve read it dozens of times, but it’s one of your favorites. 

You only make it a few pages in before your door bursts open. Your stepmother gives you a stern look and says, “Come to the kitchen. Now.”

This is somewhat unusual for her, as the woman is normally in bed by this hour. You wonder what’s going on as you walk into the kitchen behind her and find both your stepsisters sitting at the table. One of them looks upset and the other looks worried. 

Your stepmother walks over to stand behind them. She puts one hand on the shoulder of the one who looks angry. “We have a situation that needs resolving,” the older woman says, lightly rubbing her daughter’s arm. “This little fool volunteered to go see the Prince at the inn tonight.”

You feel like you’ve been punched in the chest. Your voice sounds tiny and hollow when you say, “What?”

“Obviously she’s not going,” your stepmother says, and you feel a sense of relief. 

The stepsister turns to look at her mother. “But I want to go see the Prince! He’s so handsome!”

There’s fury in her eyes as your stepmother says, “No daughter of mine is going to be a whore, even for the Prince.”

Your stepsister frowns. “I’m an adult! I can do as I please!”

“Not while you live under my roof!” your stepmother says firmly. “Now we have to do something to fix this. Changing your mind suddenly would anger the Prince, and we do not want to risk his wrath.”

Without really thinking, you speak up. “I don’t think he’s the kind of person to get angry about that.”

Your stepmother glares at you. “Stupid girl! What would you know about the Prince? He’s a man, and they’re all insatiable beasts! No, the only way to salvage this night is to send someone in my daughter’s place,” she says, looking at you pointedly. 

No. No no no. She can’t be thinking of sending you, can she? You don’t know which scenario is more horrific: your abusive stepsister being intimate with the man you’ve loved for most of your life, or you having to be intimate with him while he doesn’t know or care about you at all. You’ve never even been touched by a man before. “I can’t,” you say weakly. “Please don’t make me do this.”

Your stepsister looks between you and her mother. “You’re going to send her?! Cinderella?! That’s not fair! I want to be the one who goes!”

An outburst like that from you would have earned you at least fifty lashes, but your stepmother merely gives her a warning look and says, “Think about what you’re saying. The Prince will sully her, use her up, and then toss her aside. She’ll be forgotten by morning. Do you really want that for yourself?”

You feel tears in your eyes, and your heart is pounding wildly. Is that really what will happen? You’d rather die. You’ve dreamed of the Prince making love to you since you were a teenager with blossoming desires, but if it’s just hollow, loveless sex from his perspective… you can’t imagine anything more unbearable. 

“I won’t do it,” you say, surprising yourself. You’ll take however many lashes you have to. You can’t endure having your heart broken in such a way. 

Your stepmother looks at you with cold eyes. “You’ll do it or you’ll get out of my house. Right this minute. I’ll cut you off completely.”

You’re stunned by the threat. This is your house! You were born here, all your memories of your father are here. You sometimes go into his untouched study just to feel his lingering presence. The thought of being locked out, with nowhere to go, while these people lounge around in your family home, fills you with both sorrow and rage. 

“Alright. I’ll do it,” you say, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. 

You’re given one of your stepsister’s dresses to wear. It doesn’t fit perfectly but it looks much better than the rags you normally wear. Before dressing, you wash with rose-scented soap, fix your hair as best you can, and even dab on a bit of your stepsister’s lip color. Before leaving, you glance at the small cupboard in your room where the glass slippers are hidden in a brown cloth bag behind some books. 

Would he remember you if you wear them? Would the sight of them stir some distant hazy memory of a pitiful little girl he was nice to once? You open the cupboard and pull out the bag, clutching it in your hands. If they could make him feel anything at all for you, even just a tiny spark of nostalgic affection, maybe you could endure this. 

You carry the nondescript bag with you as you walk out the door, not wanting your stepmother to see them. There’s a carriage waiting for your stepsister outside, but you’re the one who climbs in. You change out your plain satin slippers for the ones made of glass, praying they will give you strength. 

When the carriage arrives at the inn, a guard helps you out and directs you to go inside. Your heart is like a hammer in your chest. You’re finally going to be face to face with the man you’ve longed for all these years. 

And he’s going to have no idea who you are. 

The inside of the inn is cozy, not too lavish, but clean and comfortable. There’s a welcome room, with a desk set up to accept guests. There’s a set of wooden stairs going to the upper floor, which itself creates a balcony over looking the welcome area. You can see rows of doors from down here, and you wonder which one Prince Gojo is waiting in. 

Another guard ushers you up the stairs. You walk very carefully, afraid of damaging the glass shoes. At the top, a door opens and you see the Prince’s advisor, Geto Suguru. You’ve seen him often in town, almost always by Prince Gojo’s side. He gestures for you to come inside, so you do, finding yourself in a room much larger than you expected.  There are two chairs, and Geto takes one while telling you to take the other. 

As you walk across the wooden floor, your shoes make more noise than you intended. Geto looks down at them. 

“Glass slippers? How unusual,” he says before his eyes flick upwards to study your face. “What’s your name?”

You feel a stab of panic. Should you give your stepsister’s name? Or would you get in trouble for lying? “Um, would it be alright if I use a nickname?”

“Of course.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Then call me Cinderella.”

He raises his eyebrows at this, but says nothing more about it. “I’d like to discuss some rules before you go to see the Prince,” he says. When you nod, he continues. “You are not to discuss anything that happens in the Prince’s room, with anyone. Even your family. The Prince has some rather… eccentric tastes, so some of the activities he engages in might seem strange or perverse. You are welcome to refuse these activities if they make you uncomfortable. If at any time you decide you don’t want to do something, simply tell him to stop, firmly and clearly. Our Prince may be a ravenous beast, but he’s still a gentleman. He will treat you as a lady and respect your wishes.”

You feel a bit of relief to hear that, though you wonder if word would somehow get back to your stepmother if you refused to sleep with the Prince.  

“Do you understand?” Geto asks, watching your face intently. 

You fidget in the chair. “Yes, I understand.”

He’s quiet for a moment, staring at you. Then, “Did you come here by your own choice?”

You look up at him in alarm. Does he know? How could he? You have to cover for yourself somehow. “I want to see the Prince,” you say, and the honest emotion in that statement gives your voice an earnest edge. 

“I see,” he says, then he stands up. He pulls something from a pouch and hands it to you. It’s a lovely silk mask in the shape of a butterfly. “The Prince insists you wear a mask to protect your own identity. It’s to help you feel less self conscious.”

You hold the mask in your hands for a moment before pulling it on, tying the ribbons behind your head to secure it. You’re not sure how you feel about it. He definitely won’t recognize you now, but there was almost zero chance of that happening anyway. 

When ready, Geto opens the door and leads you out, then to the next door over. He knocks three times, then opens the door. “Go on in,” he tells you with a charming smile.

You take a deep breath, willing your hands not to shake and your heart not to race. Then you walk into the Prince’s room, Geto behind you. 

Prince Gojo is sitting on the bed, but he stands up when you enter. Here in front of him, you can see just how tall he’s grown over the years. With a start, you realize this is the closest you’ve been to him since that day when two children held hands and danced in the woods. His face is even more beautiful up close, his eyes even more striking. And he’s wearing that same easy going smile you loved when you first met him. 

“Allow me to present Miss Cinderella,”

Geto says. 

“Cinderella? That’s a unique name,” Gojo says, those eyes you love so much looking right at you. 

“Th-thank you, Your Highness,” you say, lowering your head in a tiny bow. He spoke to you! And you spoke to him! 

Looking at the floor, you notice that the room is covered by an ornate rug. That’s why your shoes made no noise. You hope he notices them, but so far his eyes seem to be drawn to your chest and your hips. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Cinderella,” he says, looking at your eyes through the holes in your mask. “Let’s enjoy each other’s company tonight.”

You nod, too nervous to speak again. Beside you, Geto laughs breezily. “Don’t be so shy. The Prince does bite, but I’m told it feels marvelous.”

Prince Gojo frowns at him. “Suguru! Don’t say things that might give her the wrong idea!” 

Geto shrugs, then says, “I’ll take my leave now. You two have fun.”

Prince Gojo is smiling at you. “We definitely will.”

Before leaving, Geto’s eyes shift to your feet for a moment, then back to your face. He leans closer to you and says in a quiet voice, “I hope your Prince is everything you’ve dreamed of.” And then he’s gone, sweeping out of the room and shutting the door behind him.  

Now alone with the Prince, you feel your nerves becoming increasingly frayed. He steps closer to you, probably eager to begin. He’s a healthy man in his prime, after all. You’re still looking down, afraid to meet his gaze. His eyes are so piercing, they scare you. 

Suddenly you feel his hand on your face, and he gently tilts your head up so that you have to look at him. “Are you actually frightened?” he asks, the self assured grin from before gone. “Or are you just shy?”

“I’m just shy, Your Highness,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice from quivering. “I volunteered of my own accord.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “Now just relax, and I’ll take you to heaven.”

You blink up at him, feeling heat spread over your skin. “O-okay.”

He leans forward, and you think he might kiss you, but instead his head dips and he kisses your neck. “Take off your clothes,” he murmurs against your skin. 

You shiver at his touch, your nerves practically on fire now. He steps back to give you space, and begins unbuttoning his crisp white shirt. With a feeling of defeat, you step out of the glass slippers and sit them aside. You glance over to see that he didn’t even seem to notice them. He’s too busy pulling the belt off his pants. 

With his shirt now open, you can see his finely toned chest and abdomen. He looks like he was carved from stone. You blush furiously as your fingers fumble with the buttons and ties on the bodice of your dress. You’ve never worn it before tonight, so you’re unfamiliar with its various closures. 

Prince Gojo steps close again and helps you with the dress. You can’t help noticing that his hands seem practiced and skilled at opening women’s dresses. When he’s done, you’re left in your thin but modest slip, feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been. The fabric is white, nearly sheer, with thin straps at your shoulders. It hangs to your knees, and beneath it is only a pair of panties.  

He doesn’t remove your slip right away, perhaps giving you more time due to your shyness, but his large warm hands glide over your body as he kisses your throat again. 

You can’t keep yourself from trembling at the feel of his soft lips pressed against your skin. He draws back to look at you, at what’s visible of your face beneath the mask. His thumb traces over your red lips, painted with your stepsister’s lipstick. 

He wears the most angelic expression as he looks down into your eyes and says, “I’m gonna cum in this pretty little mouth.”

You draw in a sharp breath, your heart pounding so hard you’re certain he can hear it. Before you can say anything in response, he’s tugging your arm to pull you toward the bed, where he sits down. He spreads his thighs apart, gives you a sultry look, and says, “Kneel for your Prince.”

Part of you wants to flee from the room and never look back. But another part wants to do literally anything he says. Caught between these two urges, you ease yourself down to your knees before him. He opens his pants and reaches one hand in to pull out his stiff, hard cock. You stare at it, comparing it to all the silly daydreams you entertained over the years, trying to imagine what it looks like. Somehow, it’s even more magnificent than you pictured in your mind. Tall and pale and beautiful, like him, with a tip flushed slightly pink. It’s much bigger than you thought it would be, though it’s also the first one you’ve ever seen outside of crude drawings.

He reaches down and takes one of your hands, then pulls it to his thick shaft. Your fingers curl around it carefully, and he moves your hand up and down. “There, just like that,” he says, releasing your hand so that you’re stroking him on your own. It feels strange. You assumed a cock would be a bit more delicate. You’d seen boys fall over in pain if they were hit there, after all. But Prince Gojo’s is sturdy, firm, strong. You notice the tip is glistening, and you lean forward slightly to get a better look. 

“Why don’t you have a taste?” he asks, staring down at you, a casual smile on his lips. 

Your eyes shift nervously from his beautiful face to his leaking cock. You lick the edges of your lips, forgetting the lipstick you’re not used to wearing. Then you extend your tongue and flick it lightly over his tip, smearing some of the clear fluid. It tastes different from what you expected. Not bad or gross at all. It simply tastes like him. You give another feathery lick, then another, and then you feel his hand on your head, patting it. 

“You’re adorable,” he says, smiling sweetly at you. “Now open wide and take my cock down your throat.”

You flinch at the words. Hearing such vulgar things being said in his lovely, pleasant voice is making your head spin. But you do as you’re told, opening your mouth widely. And as he pulls your head forward, you feel his hard cock slide between your lips and rest on your tongue. 

Yet another act you imagined countless times. And now, you have the cock of the man you love in your mouth, so instinct takes over. Your tongue moves, licking the meaty shaft and drenching it in your saliva, helping it to ease further in. Your lips finally reach the base, creating a red ring there as you struggle to breathe through your nose. He fills your whole mouth, and much of your throat. It’s uncomfortable, but you’ve dreamed of having him in your mouth for so long, you don’t mind the ache. 

You feel confused as you begin bobbing your head, moving up and down his length with your lips. The Prince you’ve longed for is using your mouth for his own pleasure, not really caring who you are. But this is your only chance to touch him, to taste him. Should you just let go of your romantic dreams and let yourself enjoy the physical sensations? Can you even separate the two? 

After a while, Prince Gojo takes hold of your hair and pulls your head back, not harshly but firmly. “Mouth open, tongue out,” he says, “and don’t spill any, Cinderella.”

On your knees in front of him, you open your lips and let your tongue hang partially out of your mouth as you look up at him. Your lips are quivering, your eyes glassy, as he strokes himself a few more times before shooting ropes of sticky cum onto your tongue. Most of it slides into your open mouth, but some drip down your chin. Reflexively, you catch some of it with your fingers and lick them clean. 

This cum is precious to you. It’s proof you pleased him, and it comes from your beloved. You feel the need to savor it. You glance up to find the Prince staring at you with slightly widened eyes, lips parted, a pink tint to his face as he watches you enjoy his seed. 

For a moment he doesn’t say a word, seeming almost transfixed, but then he laughs and says, “Oh no, you spilled a few drops. Looks like you disobeyed your Prince! How shall I punish you?”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” you tell him, still licking your lips to gather any cum you missed. 

He stands up, then helps you to your feet. “To start with, let’s get rid of this,” he says, sliding your slip up your body and over your head. His eyes move to your bare breasts, making you blush again, but then he reaches forward and pulls your panties down to your ankles. You step out of them somewhat clumsily, trying to keep your legs together. 

Taking his seat on the bed again, the Prince takes a moment to look you up and down. Your face is burning with embarrassment. The Prince is seeing every inch of you! 

After a moment, he takes hold of your arm and pulls you toward him. He’s still wearing his unbuttoned shirt and his pants, making you feel even more exposed. You allow him to move and maneuver your body however he wants, and soon you’re in the most humiliating position of your life: lying face down, your naked body draped across his lap.

He pulls your wrists together behind your back, holding them in place with just one hand while his other hand rubs over your ass. When he squeezes the flesh there, you give a tiny squeak of surprise. You can’t see his face from this position, but you hear him laugh. It’s a sound you’ve always adored. Then you hear his smooth voice, a little deeper than usual, say, “So cute and helpless. So many things I could do to you.”

The words make you squirm a little in his lap, and to your horror you realize you’re wet. You can feel a slickness between your thighs, and you pray he doesn’t notice. 

His hand leaves your ass, and then suddenly comes back down in a slap that makes you yelp and jerk. His other hand is still firmly holding your wrists, so you’re still in position as his hand comes down again, making a loud sound that reverberates around the room. 

It doesn’t really hurt, just a bit of a sting. You have plenty of experience being hit by someone who actually wants to hurt you, so you can tell the difference right away. No, what makes this so bad is the embarrassment, the vulnerable position, and the fact that you can feel your arousal smearing all over your thighs. Should you tell him to stop? He would, you know that. But your heart is so conflicted. You want to be with him, in any capacity, but simply being used this way is emotionally damaging. 

He gives a few more slaps to your ass, then rubs it again. When his hand slides down between your legs and his fingers reach the wetness there, you freeze, going still as a statue, barely even breathing. You feel his fingers part the damp flesh and then stroke the sensitive little nub inside.

“Ahhh!” You let out a shameful cry, trying to jerk away from him, but he’s still holding you in place. 

He withdraws his hand. “You’re drenched, Cinderella. Do you like being at my mercy? Restrained and helpless?”

Your mind races. Do you enjoy it? Of all the scenarios you imagined with Prince Gojo, this one was never part of it. But you can’t deny the thrill of being held down by him.

He gives another slap, and you cry out again. There’s a pause, where he doesn’t move or say anything, then his hand releases your wrists. You feel him rub gently over one of your arms, and remember the welts covering them. 

Suddenly he turns you over in his lap and pulls the both of you up. “Let’s do something else,” he says, for the first time seeming a tiny bit awkward. He directs you to lie down on your back while he pulls off his shirt and pants, finally standing fully nude in front of you. 

It’s a glorious sight. Every single inch of him is truly beautiful. His clothes had made him seem thinner than he actually is, and now you can see the taut muscles along his arms and torso. He notices you staring, and grins. 

You blush and look away, but it does you no good. In the next second he’s climbing onto the bed and pushing your legs widely apart. You gasp in surprise, mortified, but as he stares down at your dripping, bare pussy, there’s a hunger in his eyes. 

“I told you I’d take you to heaven, remember?” he asks, and then his head lowers, and you feel his lips on your delicate flesh. 

Your body jolts, but he has his arms around your thighs, holding them apart while his fingers open your folds. His tongue glides over your swollen clit, coating it in his saliva. You begin to tremble, your hands gripping the sheets for dear life as his lips close around the little bundle of nerves, suckling gently. He pulls away, only to press his tongue inside you as his thumb rubs circles into your clit. 

You cry out, over and over, your back arching off the bed. You love him so much! And he’s bringing you such pleasure! You think your heart might burst. 

Something is going to burst. You feel something building, like pressure inside your core. His thumb is relentless, becoming more aggressive as his tongue gathers your wetness and slurps it into his mouth. You’re so sensitive, the stimulation almost hurts. 

But he keeps going, his thumb only moving faster, applying more pressure, until finally the dam breaks. Pleasure washes over you like a flood, your body twitches and shakes, and Prince Gojo’s thumb slows to languid, soft motions while you ride out your first orgasm. 

You’re left panting, dizzy, your skin flushed and dewy. You look up to see the Prince raised up on his knees, staring down at your spread open body, licking his thumb. 

If you can burn one image from this night into your memory forever, this is it. He’s never been more gorgeous. But then your eyes move down and you see that he’s fully erect again, his cock somehow looking even bigger than before. 

He slips his hands under your ass and lifts your hips from the bed, pulling you to him. You almost panic. You almost tell him to stop. You wanted your first time to be with the Prince. But you wanted it to be romantic, full of love. Now, he’s about to take your virginity, but he doesn’t love you. He doesn’t even know your name. 

You close your eyes, deciding to let it happen. You suppose you should consider yourself lucky to be deflowered by the man you love. 

You feel him push into you, slowly, and you’re shocked by how deep he goes. You feel yourself stretching, maybe even ripping, as a small amount of warm fluid, probably blood, leaks out around his cock. He’s clearly trying to be careful, but he’s just too big, and his fast breathing indicates he’s having a hard time holding himself back. 

You feel his hand on your face. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice strained. You nod, then you hear him say, “Look at me.”

You open your eyes, only to be met with his stunning eyes boring into you. “I’m gonna start moving, okay?”

“… okay,” you say in a tiny voice, feeling like a small prey animal beneath a giant wolf. 

He begins thrusting then, slowly at first but going so very deep. At some point he picks up speed, his hands gripping your hips tightly. Soon he’s practically slamming into you, grunting each time his cock buries itself to the hilt in your aching pussy. 

You feel so many emotions, you can barely make sense of them. 

The man you’ve loved for so long is inside you! 

He doesn’t care about you at all. 

He’s enjoying your body, you make him feel good! 

He’s done this with countless other women. 

He made your body come alive with pleasure! 

He’s being too rough with you. 

That roughness, that pain, is somehow turning you on. You’re practically gushing as he pounds into you! Your body is as confused as your heart. You can’t even tell what hurts or feels good anymore. Then you realize with some alarm: you don’t care. You don’t care if he hurts you. You only want to feel him. 

Completely overwhelmed, you feel tears flood your eyes, and you can only hope the mask hides your face enough, that you can hold back your sobs, so that Prince Gojo doesn’t realize how you feel. 

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

Prince Gojo grunts when he feels Cinderella clench his cock tightly, like her pussy doesn’t want to let him go. He can’t remember the last time he’s been this riled up. 

At first, he thought she was just putting on a shy act to tantalize him, but when he thrust into her for the first time he realized she was a virgin. Probably not an act then. 

That probably should have concerned him, but she’s so wet and so tight, the little moans and cries she makes are so sweet, that he’s losing control of himself inside her. 

He hasn’t missed the way she looks at him, even through the mask he can see there’s something beyond the usual admiration or shallow crush on a popular figure. And the way she licked up his cum as if it were her last meal… he literally felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

And so he shoves into her as deeply as possible, loving the feel of her around him, and when he looks down at her face again, he realizes she’s crying. Tears are dripping down her cheeks, under the mask, and her body is shaking. It’s almost enough to make him stop. Almost. 

Instead he leans down over her, pulling her upper body up and into his arms, cradling her. “You’re so pretty,” he says in his softest voice. “You feel so good. You’re taking my cock so deep…”

She sniffles, burying her face in his shoulder, her hands clutching his arms. Then he hears her voice, so quiet yet so clear, say, “Satoru…!”

He freezes, his eyes wide. Her face is hidden from him, but he heard her clearly. None of the women who visit him at the inn have ever called him by his first name. It’s always “Your Highness”, or if they’re the bold type, “Prince Gojo”. 

But the way she said it, as if it was natural to her, surprised him. His name, a personal, intimate thing for him, reserved only for those closest to him, spilled from her soft ruby lips like a prayer. The sound of it, somehow familiar, sent a shiver rippling through his body. 

He pushes in deeper, his fingers digging into her skin, and she cries out, clenching him even tighter. Her whole body quivers as she cums again, little sobs wracking her form. The feel of it is enough to push him to his own climax, and with a groan of pleasure he cums, realizing a moment too late that he came inside her instead of pulling out. 

He holds her as they both come down from their shared high, her warm walls still clamped around his throbbing cock. After a long while, much longer than with any other woman, Gojo separates from her and they both get up from the bed. 

They both dress in silence. He’s usually chatty at times like this, but his mind is elsewhere, still in those moments when he was inside her, when she said his name. 

He glances over to find her back in her dress. She reaches up toward her mask, probably to remove it and wipe her eyes, but he stops her. 

“Don’t take it off until you’re out of the room,” he says, though part of him wants to rip it off immediately. 

She looks at him then, and gives a small, uncomfortable smile. “Of course, I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“This way is better for both of us,” he tells her, though he feels conflicted. He wants to ask her name, her real name, but that would defeat the purpose of the mask. Instead he says nothing as she gives a small bow and leaves the room. 

Gojo flops across the bed and sighs, his thoughts still full of Cinderella. After a moment, he notices a sound coming from outside his room. Perhaps on the stairs?

Click, click, click. 

Over and over. The sound calls to him. He stands up and crosses to his door, opening it slowly and listening. 

Click, click, click. 

What is that? It stops, then starts again but softer. He walks out and looks over the railing, down to the first floor. Cinderella is walking toward the door. The light glints off something on her feet, and he focuses on her shoes. 

Are those… glass slippers?!

It can’t be! 

Suddenly everything snaps into place. The familiar welts on her arms. The way she looked at him as if she knew him. The way she called him by his first name. 

The way tears spilled from her eyes. 

It’s her! The girl he’s been waiting for all these years! 

He runs toward the stairs, shouting, “Wait!” but she’s already going through the door. 

By the time he runs down the steps and flings the door open, she’s gone. He looks both directions on the street, but it’s dark, and there are still crowds of people moving about. She’s nowhere to be seen. 

Cinderella has vanished into the night. 

[sparklingblu]

Parádeisos

Miyeon X Male Reader

(Wrote this one based on the tale of Calypso in the Odyssey, bear with my obsession of mythologies)

People call Helen of Troy the face that launched a thousand ships.

That's because they have never seen Miyeon.

Not like you have any idea what Helen looks like. But if a hundred thousand people go to war for her, she must have been a pretty big deal. You would do the same thing for Miyeon. But there isn't anyone who will steal her to start a war or rather, no one can't. That's her problem.

As you stared at her amidst the lush grass under the shade of the trees, you couldn't help but admire how she looked so ethereal, almost inhuman. The way her hair fluttered in the breeze, the delicate fabric of her dress hugging her frame, her eyes that reflected the color of the summer sky. All seemed perfectly orchestrated to capture your attention like a snare and pulled you in deeper like a vortex.

She plucked a flower with her slender fingers and a faint smile crept across her face. You were glad because she rarely smiled, always foreboding with a mysterious expression with her brows furrowed. You wanted to help her except that when you tried to talk to her, she became silent. A few words here, a few words there. Never enough to make a conversation. At this point, you are certain she hated you.

As if to prove your point, she met your gaze with a scowl and tured her attention back towards another organism that wouldn't bother her unlike you. You sighed, shifting your body to turn towards the wide blue sea that seemed to stretch endlessly. The occasional waves rising and falling, sweeping away the white sand of the beach, glittering in the sunlight like diamonds. The crest of the hill surrounding the slopy geography of the island on either sides slithered down smoothly to encircle the beach at either sides.

It's an absolutely panoramic view and you could stare at it for hours. But that's what you had been doing for god knows how long. "Time flows differently here" Miyeon had said. For the love of god, you could have been stranded on this island for a millennia. Everyone in the outside world you know gone forever.

Considering, they even remember you exist. You have never been much of a social type. You were sitting in a corner at prom, sipping on coke when others danced around with their dates. That doesn't mean you are a nerd either. Sure, you studied and your grades weren't bad but not enough to be considered a geek.

You grew up, graduated with a major in Classics and through highs and lows became a professor at a relatively young age. Things were starting to look good when you got a call from a University in another city, telling you you have been chosen. You got on a plane a week later, headed to a new start. Nothing could go wrong, right?

Except that everything did. The first thing you remember is the way the plane suddenly jerked. Then came the sound of the air hostess on the intercom and the flashing emergency lights. You held on to your oxygen mask and prayed to whatever god is out there as the jet spiralled to a free fall. Your internal organs felt like they were on fire.

The sound of the aircraft colliding to a surface of water is the last thing on your mind before you passed out.

Dead would have been a luxury compared to the agonizing pain that accompanied your wake. The first thing on your mind, of course, I'm alive. Then you opened your eyes and started doubting.

The warm glow of the fire in the hearth and the crackling firewood sent a wave of relief over your psyche. You were lying in a bed so fluffy it could have been a cloud. Pulling down the sheets, you sat up.

The faint smell of a stew brewing greets your nostrils, churning your stomach. How long have you been out without food or water? You were clueless.

The rest of the room is circular, the walls solid rock. Countless little crystals the size of your fist glowing like fireflies were embedded in the ceiling, casting an eerie gloom over the cave, making the shadows dance. You have watched in a tv show that Heaven is where you stay in your happiest moments forever. This was not so far from it.

You have always imagined living in a little house by the ocean, free from the hustle of the outside world. Just reading a good book and basking under the sun everyday. Is that it? Have you achieved that?

Out of the corner of your eyes, a shadow slithered across the wall, making you jerk your head to the other side.

And god, you finally believed you are in Heaven. Because there was an angel.

Near the foot of your bed stood a girl. Her doe eyes slowly studying you like an interesting specimen. She blinked and her eyelids flattered gracefully. The smell of the stew got stronger and you realized she is holding a tray with a bowl in it, which, no doubt, contained the stew. She held it far enough not to stain her white column dress, which accentuated her curves in the most elegant way possible. Her long blonde hair was swept to one side of her shoulder, up to her collar bones. Her rosy lips unfolded.

"You are awake"

Just three words but melodic enough to pull you back into reality.

"Yeah...where am I?" You uttered, hoping the answer is Heaven.

"Ogygia" she mused.

"Ogygia? Like the one where Odysseus..?"

"Yes" she nodded.

"But it's not real" You protested.

"It is" she retorted with an expression like she was offended. "You are at the heart of it"

"So...that means you are...?"

"Enough questions" she snapped, placing a bow on a low stool that had somehow magically appeared.

"Have some. It will heal you" she said, though her tone didn't sound so enthusiastic. "I will check on you later" And just like that she walked out from an opening at the corner.

You might as well have been dreaming. You are in Ogygia? That's impossible. It doesn't really exist. Or does it?

The story from the Odyssey, an extremely long poem by Homer that you learned back in university rushed back to you. So basically, there's a hero name Odysseus and he went on quests and all. Then at some point, he got stranded on an island called Ogygia where he met a nymph named Calypso, who was punished by the gods for a reason(it will be too long to explain so let's just skip it) and damned to stay there forever. Immortal but unable to leave.

Calypso kept Odysseus on the island for seven years, trying to win his heart but he was either faithful to his wife or just in general hate nymphs. He rejected her everytime until he was finally able to leave the island.

A tragic tale. But that's all to it. It's a tale. If this island is Ogygia, does it mean the girl is Calypso? She doesn't look much like a nymph but god, she is beautiful. Maybe Odysseus was stupid enough to turn down such a beauty.

But that's a matter to deal with later. Currently, your stomach was growling like a wild beast and the smell of the stew is the only thing on your mind. You picked up the bowl and took a spoonful. A warm feeling spread through your core, easing the pain earlier. It tasted a bit like chicken but you couldn't be sure. You dug in, until the bowl left no evidence of the stew and your hunger was qenched.

Calypso or whoever the girl is didn't seem too happy with your arrival but you felt thankful. She took you in afterall, though you were not sure how you ended up here in the first place. You doubt you were worthy like Odysseus to be saved by the gods.

The stew seemed to be working its magic because you started to feel drowsy. Your eyelids felt weighted down by hundred pounds of iron. You set the bowl back on the stool and submerged yourself back in the warm embrace of the sheets.

-

You didn't know how long you slept but when you open your eyes again, the fire in the hearth had been put out and the crystals in the ceiling have sheathed their glow. A ray of sunlight poured through a hatch in the ceiling.

All your fatigue had been replaced by a new kind of energy. You felt like you could outrun a stallion. (Well, not literally) You got up and stretched. To your surprise, you were wearing the same clothes before your plane crashed. They looked no different from before, cleaner even.

Maybe the girl have washed them? A tinge of excitement ran through your spine. But it quickly disappeared when you remembered she didn't even seem to want to be near you, much less took off your clothes.

You walked through the opening through which the girl had went out before you fell asleep. It opened up into another part of the cave. This one much wider.

A small bed almost identical to the one you slept in lied on one side and a loom on the other. On its side laid stacks of fabrics of different textures and colors. So she's a weaver, you thought.

There was an opening at the end of the cave, giving way to an endless plane of green. You emerged, and the view left you breathless.

As far as your eyes could see, the ocean stretched all around the island. The cave was on a hill, which descended to another hill then to a beach of sparkling white sand.

The most intriguing of all, however, was the garden which stood atop a nearby hill. Filled with vegtation, orchards and endless variety of flowers you had never seen before, it looked like something straight out a fairytale.

You walked down the hill, breathing in the fresh breeze blowing from the sea. You were thinking things couldn't get any better when your eyes caught sight of a slice of heaven.

The girl was on the beach, laying on a blanket, her eyes closed. The two piece swimsuit woven of velvet hugged her body perfectly, outlining every trace of her curves. Her bosoms rised and fell with each breath she took, her flawless skin glowing luminously in the sunlight.

Did she weave that swimsuit herself? You would never know. But you are enjoying the view too much to care. Each breath of hers seemed to fuel your impulse just to walk to her, rip off that swimsuit and-

"Men are all the same"

The words snapped you out of your fantasies. She sat up and turned her head slowly to you, her brows creased.

"Stop staring" she snapped.

"Ehh....I wasn't..."

"Save it" she cut you off. "You slept like a baby"

Was that a compliment? You doubted it.

"Yeah..thanks for you know...saving me"

"I didn't have a choice" her expression turned gloomy. "Sometimes, I don't understand the gods"

"Eh...yes..." you muttered, suddenly remembering the question that has been on your mind. "So you are Calypso..?" you finally dropped it.

She scowled. "God...they still called me that" she picked up a seashell from the sand and twisted it in her fingers. "I grew tired of that name long ago"

"What should I call you then?"

"Miyeon" she answered, throwing the seashell away into the waves. "And you?"

"Gabriel" you answered. "Well, my friends call me Gabie though"

"Gabriel it is then" Miyeon said. A drop of sweat rolled down her temple and god you just wanted to-

"How do you know about me?" Miyeon asked again, crossing her legs smooth as silk.

"Someone named Homer wrote this really long poem and you are featured, you are pretty popular"

"Popular?" she scoffed. "Not for good reasons, I'm sure"

"You did keep Odysseus all to yourself for like seven years so-"

"Oh, shut up" her expression darkened on the mention of her old flame and you knew you had hit a sore spot. "That was like....three thousand years ago, I'm amazed people still talk about it"

"Well, actually I studied all about it"

Her eyebrows raised, like your words made no sense.

"You are a fool" she said. "And a pervert"

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Look, I know you have been staring at me, just because my eyes are closed doesn't mean I can't sense you"

"Can you blame me?" you asked, and now you did sound like a pervert.

She let out a chuckle. "You do have your way with words, Gabriel. However, I won't yield" She stood up, brushing off the sand from her thighs. "I guess you are stuck here with me, feel free to explore this dump. If you are hungry, there's something I made" She pointed to a wooden table in the garden. As she bent over to pick up her blanket, you were blessed with the sight of her toned ass.

"So, I can't leave....?" you asked.

"Well, you might...but it's never sure" she replied. "Enjoy doing nothing everyday"

As she walked back up the hill, your mind was left in a state of disbelief and awe.

-

So, your days on the island of Ogygia begun. And just like Miyeon said, you did almost nothing. Well, it's hard to do anything else except nothing when you were stranded on an island with no electricity or internet. If you were Miyeon, you would have died of boredom long ago even if you were immortal.

Your daily routine consisted primarily of naps and more naps. Whenever you went to your room in the cave to sleep, you never saw Miyeon in her bed. Even when it's nighttime. When you woke up in the morning, she's already in the garden or sometimes at the loom, weaving different dresses of every color. You had to admit her handiwork was impressive but you wondered what's the point of making such dresses if there's no one to show it off to. Well, there's you but it's highly unlikely.

You didn't need to worry about food. They were always on the table in the garden when you needed them. Or you could pluck a fruit from the orchard. Miyeon didn't mind.

You had gone around the island in circles. Mostly, it's hills, trees and grasses. There's a small forest at the east end but you didn't explore it just in case something dangerous lurk there. You have never been much of a fan of dark, secluded places anyway.

That left you with only one option. The beach. You would either sunbathe or just walk around idly, picking up seashells sometimes (which you threw away back into the sand later). The ocean is not bad either. The water is always the right temperature, not too hot or cold. But even swimming, one of your hobbies, become another another gruesome task to get the day by when you did it every single day.

The only silver lining is the ocassional views you get of Miyeon. When she was either sunbathing or swimming, you would sit in a shade and watched her like a film. Maybe she didn't know or she just didn't care because she never gave you a single glance.

Once, the wind blew strong, lifting her skirt up just enough for you to see her cheeks and you praised the gods.

But that's it. You just get to watch. Until now, you had never realized how internet porn is one of the greatest inventions made by humans. Jerking off to your thoughts all the time isn't really doing the job.Thankfully, you have an active imagination. Sometimes, you imagined Miyeon, riding you, sucking you off.

That lead you to wonder, does Miyeon have those urges too? Probably, seeing how she was head over heels for that Odysseus dude. So maybe, she did find a way to relieve them.

You didn't know if someone who have been imprisoned since the dawn of time knew how to masturbuate. Maybe you could teach her. If she didn't turn you into guinea pig first.

You try ticking a mark on a tree nearby with a gardening knife for each day that pass but it got hard when you sometimes fell asleep on the sand under the morning sun and woke up to be greeted by the same warm rays, feeling like you had been out for at least a week.

All this time, Miyeon and you barely interacted. You tried to start conversations, asking her if she needs help in the garden or trying to get her to teach you weaving. But of course, she simply shaked her head, not bothering to waste a word on you.

Apart from being in the middle of nowhere, you thought being ignored by the only person accompanying you is bad enough. Until the events of one night changed it all.

- × - × - ×-

The wind whistled in your ears. The pressure of the air so strong you felt like you are gonna be crashed flat. Darkness ruled every corner of your vision. You were falling, deeper and deeper into the eternal abyss. The growls of beasts echoed from the depths.

You thought you would never stop falling, until something sharp speared your chest.

You woke up with a start. You were sweating like crazy despite the breeze blowing through the hatch in the ceiling. The first dream you had had since you were here. Or rather, the first nightmare.

Feeling thirsty, you looked around for water but had no luck. Usually, Miyeon left a jug on the bedisde table but there wasn't one that night. So you got out of the bed, wiping away the sweat on your forehead.

You found your way out of the room from the glow casted by the crystals. As usual, Miyeon wasn't in bed. You looked around. No water here either. As if to mock you, an unfinished shawl in the loom depicted the shapes of blue waves.

You walked out of the cave, maybe there was some on the garden table. The night was quiet other than the chirps of cicadas. The full moon shone brilliantly on the canvas of the night sky.

Was the moon always full here? You couldn't remember. The distant sound of waves crashing and falling pierced the night.

You headed towards the garden, which beauty never ceased to amaze you. Certain types of flowers bloomed and glowed silver and gold along the path that lead straight across the place. Trees that don't exist in the outer world cast shadows across the shorter plants. It would always be a mystery how Miyeon managed to took care of all of them without fail. You were near the vineyard when you heard a faint sound from the center of the garden.

Beneath the willow tree in the heart of the garden sat a humanoid figure. Your heart skipped a beat. The fear that the nightmare earlier gave birth to still clouded your mind. You never believed such absurdities like ghosts exist but if Ogygia is real, what else could be?

Taking careful steps, you slowly approached to the source of the sound. The moonlight casted a faint glow and the scene in front of you unfolded clearly.

The person beneath the willow tree was no other than Miyeon. But a different version you have never seen before. She sat there, laying against the trunk of the old tree. Her whole body bare. Her legs spread out so obscenely yet so ethereal. The depths of her pink cavern being sown by her middle and ring fingers. She lets out a moan as equally melodic as a sonata with each thrust of fingers into her pussy. Her tits rock hard and heaving with each breath. Those doe eyes of hers that were filled with elegance were now rolled back with pure lust. Her fingers that brought life to her loom now became nothing but a mere tool for her pleasure.

As if under a spell, your gaze was rooted to the scene before you, your heart racing faster with each passing second. If someone came and make you and offer to trade immortality for this moment, you would have rejected it.

Miyeon's body started to shake violently, her toes curling and uncurling. The dripping juice from her pussy start forming a puddle on the grass. Finally, her body jerked, spraying her sweet nectar all over the green plane. She panted softly, sweat trickling down her temple, her blonde hair a messy nest.

That was when you knew you were fucked. Even if you tried to turn now, you would be in her range of sight. If you tried to hide, she could sense you. So you just stood there like a statue, not daring to breath.

Miyeon's eyes slowly opened then focused on you. An expression of pure awe formed on her face which quickly turned into one of disgust and fury.

"You!" she yelled, her voice still hoarse from the moaning earlier. "How long have you been here?"

"Don't get me wrong! I was just trying to-"

"You fucking pervert" she yelled, trying to cover up her assets with her hands. Her brows furrowed and If looks could kill, you would have been dead a thousand times.

"It was an accident, ok? I'm not trying to peek on you. I was justrying to get some water"

"That's your excuse!?" she shriek, her tone no longer mellow. "I should have left you to die on the beach if I have known you are a creep"

"Look, Miyeon. I swear I wasn't trying to-"

"Oh, then what's that?" she pointed below your waist.

You looked down and notice the bulge. Your cock so hard it feels like it's gonna pierce your trousers. You shouldn't have but you blushed.

"Look, I can explain"

"You don't need to explain, get out of here. Leave my island!"

"Wait but how-"

"Leave me alone!" she yelled so loud you thought the ground is going to crack open.

"Fine fine" you replied in a rush and walked out of the garden as swift as you could.

However, the scene you witnessed was embedded in your memory for as long as you live. The way the moonlight showered on her skin, the pure baloney of the hidden side of Miyeon that you never knew exist. The way she reacted was totally opposite from her graceful and tranquil manner. She looked like she was about to kill you and you believed she could.

The silver lining? You knew she did masturbuate now, which meaned she has sexual urges just like anyone. This would have made you hopeful but after what happened, it didn't seem to matter. She hated you now. If you were to wake up as a guinea pig the next day, it wouldn't be a surprise.

With a heavy burden on your mind, you sighed and headed back to the cave.

- × - × - ×-

Your train of thoughts were cut off by a melody that graced your ears. Miyeon was singing. You had heard her sweet voice many times but it never failed to grip your heart. It was just the perfect balance of harmony and rhythm. Most of the times, you don't understand a word she is singing. But you can swear you heard her sang Love Story by Taylor Swift once. You have no clue how she even knew the song.

Miyeon continued her song while she picked flowers of various colors from the garden. A tulip here, a lily there. And another one you don't know the name of. Regardless, her movement were as poised as ever, which brought back the memory of that night.

Since the day of the incident, Miyeon have not uttered a single word to you. She still made you food and occasionally weaved new clothes for you but whenever your gazes met, she would either avert her eyes or scowled.

As the time went on, the silence became unbearable. Sure, she didn't speak to you much before. But it wasn't total silence. Now, you felt like she had ignored your existence which she probably did. It's true that you had been staring but it wasn't intentional (though it was a nice surprise). She was too consumed with rage to hear you out. At least she didn't burn you or turn you into an animal.

You thought of attempting to clear the air between you but you are worried it would push her away even further. You sometimes felt homesick, wanting to return back into the human world. But no one could help you with that, not even Miyeon. According to the myth, the gods had saved Odysseus from this island by sending Hermes, the messenger god, asking Calypso(or Miyeon, whatever) to free him. But Miyeon isn't obsessed with you like she was with Odysseus to even keep you captive. So, there isn't a need to free you. Maybe you can try building a raft and sail away. But staying here seems better instead of dying of hunger and thirst in the middle of the ocean. This island was made by the gods themselves and it can't be escaped in an ordinary way.

You are not so happy with the idea that this island made its inhabitants immortal. What's the join of being immortal if all you do is sleep, eat and swim everyday? You are stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Miyeon's singing had stopped and now her gazes were back on yours. She scowled again but this time her eyes didn't waver. She beckon you with her hand to the cave. A jolt of excitement run through your body. Is she finally forgiving you? Or she's planning to kill you in the cave.

Nevertheless, you sat up and followed her across the hills, her shapely hips swaying with every step. You entered the cave after Miyeon and found her sitting on her bed. The expression in her eyes was unreadablele.

"Look" she spoke the first words in a long time. "Maybe I overreacted"

You wanted to say "Of course, you did" but you forgot about it. "Yeah, I'm sorry too" you apologized, though a part of you didn't want to.

"I was just...you know..." A faint blush appeared on her cheeks. "Trying to...eh..."

"I get it" you said. "That's a very normal thing, humans do it too"

"I know.." she said in a low tone. "But being seemed by someone else, it's embarrassing....and..." she paused and bit her lower lips.

"And?" you asked. You expected another word of resentment but what she said surprise you.

"Hot" she replied and looked down.

You can't believe your ears. She thinks being watched is hot? Her mask of innocence was starting to unravel slowly.

"Hot...?" you mused. "So you like me watching you?"

"In a way, yes" her fingers ran along the bedsheets. "You don't know how it feels to be alone for so long without anyone. Anyone who can satisfy my urges. I try to do it myself but I'm never satisfied. I need something else.....I need...."

'A cock' you thought. All these times, she had never been anything but a cockhungry slut. You shouldn't have been intimidated by her right from the start. Afterall, you are the only one who can give her what she needs.

"I know what you need" you said. "And I have it, don't I?"

Miyeon swallowed and nodded. You had never seen her so vulnerable it give you a sense of superiority. The tables have turned.

"Look, I'm desperate. I'm sorry for the way I acted. But I can't help thinking about your....cock. Since I saw that bulge, I have been in heat" As those filthy words left her mouth, her face turns so red it could have been a tomato. "So, you know, can you...?"

"Eh....I see..." you said with a hint of mockery. "I thought you think I'm a pervert"

"That was long ago!" she quickly retorted. She's that desperate, huh? "And I apologize for it, so if you can just give me...your cock..."

"It's not something that I can just give easily. I have my pride too, you know" That's bullshit. You were just as desperate as her. But you masked it better.

"Please, I will do anything" she begged again.

"Anything?" you started imagining scenarios.

"Yes"

"Like what?"

"I...I can suck you off..." she murmured quietly.

"What was that, Miyeon?"

"I will give you a blowjob" she said, much louder this time.

The corners of your mouth twitched into a wicked smile.

"Hmm, I don't know....is it really worth it?" you pushed her even farther.

"Please, I will make sure you are satisfied. You can cum wherever you want"

The idea of her perfect body covered in cum finally lead you to your decision.

"Alright but I will leave if you are not good"

"I promise!"

"Fine..."

"Please lay on the bed" she said, gesturing towards her bed.

You follow her orders, sinking into the feather bed. Miyeon slowly crawled up your legs until she reached your crotch area. She traced her fingers along your already bulging cock like it's something delicate.

"Finally..." she murmured dreamily as she slowly pulled down your pants and it sprung up to hit her in the nose.

"This smell..." she brushed her nose against the underside of your shaft. Then she pressed it to her cheeks, making her head look so much smaller. "So big..."

Finally, she started planting wet kisses along the side of your cock, sending a jolt to your spine each time. Those rosy lips of hers brushing against your unholiest place. After she pestered your shaft with kisses, she moved to the tip, where she trailed her tongue slowly across the sensitive slit then swirling her tongue.

"God, Miyeon, don't stop..." you tried not to sound desperate but it gets harder with each dance of her tongue.

She slowly started to take your tip into the warm embrace of her mouth, moving her head in a constant pace. Her fingers stroke from the base to her lips, then back again. The way her fingers move is just as masterful as the time she weaved, tracing every pulsing vein.

Her lips opened up to take more of your cock, half of it now being licked and gobbled in her warm cavern. Her pace increased, matching the rhythm of her fingers. The sound of spit squelching echo around the room. Each time your cock disappeared into her mouth, she would hum, sending vibrations across your shaft.

With each twirl and twist of her tongue, her pace increased even more. She had swallowed most of your cock now and her hands were on your thigh, holding on for support.

"Mmmphh" she mewled as your whole manhood disappeared into her mouth and her nose pressed right against your pelvis. She held you in her throat for a moment before she comes up for air, gagging and spilling spit. After a second of rest, she went down again, swallowing you like a vulture. Her blonde hair bobbed with each movement of her head. You realize her mouth does more than just sing. Her tongue is no less masterful as it traced along the underside and dance on your tip.

You fetl like your body is floating. The pleasure of her mouth made you yearn for it more and more. You didn't want this feeling of pure bliss to stop.

Her cheeks hollowed, sucking the life right out of you as her tongue greedily lapped up your precum. You were not a virgin and you had had your fair share of experience but the way her mouth worked is out of this world. (It literally is) She came up for air again, her chin dripping with her spit mixed with your precum.

"Ugh......so... juicy....." she panted s she looked at you with eyes full of ecstasy. And that look reminded you, you need her mouth back on your cock right now.

Without warning, you grabbed her hair and impale her mouth on your cock, stuffing her throat with your length. She struggled at first then calms down, as you hold her there, your fingers tangled in her locks. Her throat pulsed against your own pulsing cock, squeezing your tip.

"You don't stop unless I tell you to, ok?" you demanded.

She nodded furiously, feeling the lack of air as your cock blocks all her pathways of oxygen. You jerked her head up from her hair, look at her ruined face, then pressed it onto your cock again. You repeated the motion rapidly, using her like a fleshlight.

As he throat constricted around your mamba, you started feeling the familiar sensation of the finale approaching to this act. There's so many ways to fill Miyeon up or paint her. Then an idea came to your mind.

You stop thrusting Miyeon's mouth on your cock and let go of her hair. Her head tilted ninety degrees, gagging loudly then coughing.

"Miyeon. lay on the bed sideways but hang your head off the sides" you ordered as you get off the bed and Miyeon complied, shifting her position so that her head now hanged loosely from the side of the bed.

"Good slut" you praised as you take your position in front of her, gripping her throat and shoving your dick all the way in. Your balls slapped her nose and her eyes widened but then relaxed. You started thrusting your cock into her wet vulgar hole, admiring how her thraot bulged from the foreign object entering it.

Miyeon let you use her hole without complaint, lying there still as you get closer to nirvana with each thrust. You pulled your cock out all the way then back in with so much force, Miyeon's body jerked.

"Miyeon. I'm gonna..."

Your flood gates broke open. You shoot load after load of thick cum into Miyeon's throat, which she gulped down eagerly. But it must have been too much, because she started to cough, which is hard to do with a cock in her throat. She could drown in your cum, she asked for it. You kept thrusting until you finally came down from your euphoric high.

You pulled out your cock and the mixture of spit and cum flowed down from her mouth to every part of her angelic face. She murmurs in a ragged voice. "Thanks..."

"You are welcome" you said, admiring the beauitful mess, which is Miyeon. Her chest heaving and her mouth gaped open like a fish. Her face covered in spit.

She started to get up from her position, her hands pressed against the bed for support, but you had other ideas. As she was just getting off the bed, you pushed her head back down into the mattress, her lower body dangling from the side of the bed.

You pushed her head deeper into the mattress muffling her scream. With the other hand, you pulled up her white dress from the hem, exposing her round ass.

"Gosh, you are already so wet"

You saidbas you collected the juice within her folds with your middle finger and shoved it into her asshole, which clenched it down in a vice grip. You pull your finger free from her grasp then shoved it into her ass again.

As you finger her asshole, her pussy dripped even more, flowing steadily down to her bedsheet, staning it with her juice.

"Are you turning on from getting your ass fingered?" you asked. She replied in something that sounded like "Mmmf....umff".

"You must be desperate, huh? How long has it been since these holes are filled?"

You pull out your finger and slaped er ass, making her cheeks jiggle. You groped her ass some more, before you shove two fingers into her wet folds, extracting another inaudible sound from Miyeon.

You started pumping your fingers, gliding them in and out of her cavern. It clenchednon you tight like it's worried your fingers will stop thrusting. But she didn't need to worry because you were not going to leave the wet goodness of her hole anytime soon.

Miyeon let out more muffled moans and her body writhed like she was being tasered. But that's not so far from the truth because your fingers are sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through her.

With your free hand, you slapped her ass again, the way it wriggle almost hypnotic. The white backdrop of her skin marked with your handprints. You brought your palm down again and again, until her ass becomes nothing but a crimson plane.

"Look how much you are dripping. Do you like being spanked that much? No wonder Odysseus ignored you. You are such a whore"

Miyeon is no longer protesting, not even muffled sounds escaped her mouth anymore. She just lays there, face down ass up and let you toy with her body. The movement of your fingers became swifter, spraying juice each time they collide with Miyeon's depths.

Her pussy squelched happily each time your fingers enter, as if showing its gratitude. And it should. Miyeon had called you a pervert twice. Maybe she's right. But that pervert is the only one who can save her from her eternal damnation of the denial of pleasure. She should be thankful.Her legs started to quiver and you realized she was close. But you wouldn't be too hasty in giving her release.

You stopped, pulling out your fingers. You pulled up Miyeon's head and turned it a 180 degree, looking down at her eyes, far gone.

"Why..why do you..?"

Her protested are quickly cut out by your tongue which entered her mouth, swirling and tasting every inch of her another hole, which you just filled up with your cum a while ago. But you didn't care. Her lips feel velvety, just like all those fabrics she weaves. The tenderness of it got you asking for more. Miyeon returns the action by wrapping her own tongue around yours. It took two to tango after all.

Your other hand reached for her clothed boobs, pushing out from the textile of her dress. Miyeon's bosom is not one you can call big but they are not tiny either. It's just perfect enough for you to grope and pinch her nipples, already rock hard from the stimulation.

You pulled back, a trail of saliva glistening between her lips and yours. She looked at you with those needy eyes of hers, begging you to give her the release she desperately needs.

"Please...I....I need to cum..." she mummuredm She looked so pathetic you almost felt sorry. But after the treatment she had given you all those time, why should you be?

"Look at you, begging to me" you mocked. "Miyeon, you are nothing but a cockhungry whore, admit it"

Her face flared up. Then she tried to hide it and fails.

"I'm not a whore....I just need..."

"If you keep lying to yourself, you will never get the reward you seek from me"

"But I'm not a whore..."

You chuckled. "Aren't you the one who asked me for my cock? Beg me to taste it. Hell, you have been a whore since the beginning of time, falling for every man who ends up here"

Her expression turned confused, like she's debating with herself on your words. Finally, she spoke again.

"I.....I'm not falling for you. I don't even like you"

Oh, now she wanted to play it rough.

"Is that so? Then I guess you don't need me"

You turned to leave, which is all a trap to lure Miyeon to your dungeon of lust. And she fell right into it.

"Wait!" she called. "Don't leave"

You turn your head and raised an eyebrow. She was sitting on the bed now, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

"I....I will say what you want me to, so please don't leave"

"And what will you say?"

"I...I'm a....whore" Her voice reduced to a whisper at the last word. She looked own, her face burning with shame.

"I can't quite hear you from here"

"I'm a...whore" she said again, a bit louder than the last time. But you were not satisfied.

"Still can't hear you"

"I'm a whore!" she shrieked much to your surprise. "I need your cock so please use me"

You had done something that no one had ever achieved. You had ripped Miyeon of whatever remnanta she left of her pride, dginity and grace she had feigned all this time. Now she's no different from a typical whore who will let you use her for money. In Miyeon's case, she didn't need money. She needed your cock.

"That's more like it, no need to be shy" You walked up to her and hold her chin between your thumb and index fingers, admiring the angleic features of her face, from her aquiline nose to her sharp chin. A drop of cum from earlier still hanged on one of her eyebrows.

"Show me that ass" you ordered and she doesn't complain, getting on all fours and raising her ass for your eyes, her dress becoming nothing but an added luxury for you to feast on.

You got behind her and hiked up her dress to her waist, giving you full access to her ass. You dug a finger into her pussy, retractedband licked her juice off it. Maybe it's a nymph thing or you are just overwhelmed with desire but it's the sweetest thing you have ever tasted.

"Please, I need your cock inside me" Miyeon whined again, no longer hiding her desperation.

"Patience, slut" That came out so lame you promise yourself not to say that ever again.

You lined up the tip of your cock to her pussy, which was already convulsing with anticipation. In the beginning, you just pushed in your tip, testing the waters. Her pussy was wet enough you don't need to put any extra effort. You don't know if she is a virgin with the way her walls hugged you and gripped you like they are familiar with the alien object entering it but that's a question for another time. For now, you only have a single task to complete, filling her up.

"More..." Miyeon pleaded. That breathy voice of her with a hint of melancholy is what ignited the flame inside you.

With no further words, you pushed you whole length into her opening and she letbout a guttural moan. The way her walls swallowed your manhood leaves you struggling not to make a sound.

"Fuck, Miyeon, you are so tight..."

"Yes, fuck my tight pussy, I need your cock pounding me"

With each vulgar word that left her mouth, Miyeon push her hips back, trying to fuck herself on your cock. But you were going to be the one in charge. You held her tiny waist, stopping her from going further.

"I'm gonna fuck you, not the opposite, remember?"

"Yes..yes, sorry. I just need it...Hhng!"

Her apology was cut short when you start bucking your hips slowly, getting your cock accustomed to her wet cavern. Each thrust left you feeling breathless, the friction against her slick walls like no other feeling you have experienced. At this moment, you feel like you are the luckiest (and only) person on Ogygia.

Miyeon's moans grew louder with each pump of your cock, occassionally begging you for more. But she didn't need to because you are going to give her your all, satisfying the needs of her pussy that haven't been fucked properly for eternity.

So you picked up the tempo, waves rippling across her ass each time you thrusted into her. If her pussy was wet before, now it's a river, juice flying everywhere with each thrust you gave her. And she tool it like a champ. You think you eere going fast enough but she kept begging for more, to ruin her, to pound her into oblivion.

And who are you not to comply when you were held captive in the most heavenly place of the most beautiful woman(or nymph, whatever) you have ever seen. You channeledbevery single ounce of energy into pounding Miyeon's pussy and the effort started heating your body up, your hair slick with sweat.

Miyeon's not so different. Her dress is sticking to her skin with her own bodily fluid while she closed her eyes, drinking up the ecstasy only your cock could give her.

You wrapped your arm around her waist and pulled her back against your chest, tracing your tongue across her ear while the rhythm of your cock remained unwavering. She tilted her neck to one side, beckoning you to taste her even more and you obliged, licking across her jaw up to her temple.

"Mhmm....yes, just like that....god, don't stop.."

You helpee her pull off her dress completely to have full access to her goddess like body. You cup your hands on her boobs, which are so soft they can melt from your touch. You squeezed and kneaded, adding a side dish of pleasure to the main course of your cock against her pussy.

You let a hand travel down between her legs and there you attacked her weak spot, rubbing her clit. Miyeon's eyes widened at your ambush and her body start to shake violently. You pinched her nipple and she lets out the most euphonius of squirms, which graced your ears like a melody. Miyeon was so overcome with pleasure, she no longer seem to be aware of her own actions. She bucked her hips back each time you pull back your cock, wanting to be filled up at every millisecond. Her milky white was now glistening from all the sweat dripping down from the heat of the moment.

The deadly combination of your fingers and cock finally let her to her orgasm. She moaned at the top of her lungs, juice spilling out of her holes like a dam breaking open. Through her high, you keep fucking her, bringing you closer and closer to your own climax.

"Yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me"

Miyeon cries as your cock kept burying into her to the hilt and back even after she had cummed. Her body twitched and writhed with each thrust her now sensitive pussy took. You were not so far from following Miyeon, the clench of her walls driving you to the finish line until...

"God, yes, fill me up. Cum inside me. Fill your slut with cum"

Miyeon screams as you finally deposited your load into her cunt, sending shots after shots of thick white liquid into her. Your hips bucked wildy, filling her up with each movement. The bliss that you felt is phenomenal, out of this world. Arcs of pleasure coursed through your veins like electricity. You finally come to a halt, panting. You slapped her ass one last time and pull out.

"Oh, god....." Miyeon panted as she lays there on the bed like a broken doll, her face that of pure satisfaction. Her pussy leaked a steady stream of your cum down to her sheets, which were already filthy enough with her spit and juice. But that's what she wanted. She's a slut afterall.

"You are welcome" you said as your body suddenly grew tired from the intense session you went through. You sat down at the foot of the bed, closing your eyes, steadying your breathing. Your mind was still in a state of bliss, imagining what to do with Miyeon next after you recharged again. But for now, you needed rest and you were too tired to walk back to your own bedroom. So, you rested your back against the bed, dozing off.

- × - × - ×-

"Mister?" a female voice rings in your ears.

You open your eyes, an air hostess is looking at you like a pest, unwanted.

"What..what?" you mutter drowsily.

Her eyes glitter with amusement when you yawn.

"We have landed, we have been trying to wake you for fifteen minutes. We thought something happened to you. We have even called the medics"

"Fifteen minutes?" you looked around the empty aircraft, deprived of passengers.

"And you were mummuring some words like... Ogygia and Calypso?"

Your face flushed and look down at the book on your lap, half opened. "The Odyssey" said the cover. "Odysseus and the island of Ogygia" said the title of the chapter on the right page.

It was all a dream. A product of your arousal and obsession. It felt so real, however, you start thinking maybe you really have been to Ogygia and Miyeon have somehow returned you back here.

But that's a fantasy. Just like the photos of Miyeon that filled your gallery, your obsession. Despite the madness, you grin and the air hostess stares at you, her mouth gape open.

"Sorry" you apologize, stading up. Your phone chimes and you look down, only to be greeted by your wallpaper of Miyeon, your own version of Calypso.

This is going to be a long day.

-x-x-x-

(Wrote this a bit longer than I intended to. Thanks for reading as always~)

[randombush3]

(extremely talented, creative) stalker

alexia putellas x reader

based on this and a poem from when i was little. i chose alexia because she fit the character more and i rushed this immensely because i was being pestered for attention by multiple creatures. oh and i went for something decently light-hearted bc these hozier fics have been affecting my soul and ruining my spotify daylists.

happy monday people x

p.s. not proof-read because it's lunchtime and i'm hungry (edit: i just did my proof-read now and i've realised that it was in fact not lunchtime??? it was past lunchtime and i was just zoned out!)

Alexia doesn’t care much for art. Sure, she admires the effort, the time such talent sits behind a canvas and marks something that was once blank until others begin to value it. She agrees with the masses about the beauty of quaint watercolour paintings of the coast, and she lets Mapi rave about charcoal and graphite and oils as if she understands what is so special about the varying media. 

She knows she is only here today because the art is about sports. The gallery seems almost reluctant to allow the athletes in, worried they have brought with them their football boots and cones to dribble around, but it would be bad practice to prohibit the muses from the collection. She isn’t an idiot, though, and she knows that no amount of forced reading about the artist and other sophisticated matters will slip her seamlessly into the crowd. 

There are lots of people; people she has never heard of, but make it clear they are far superior to her by the way in which their eyes politely drop to the tattoos inked onto her calloused hands. Their skin is soft, accustomed to the stems of crystal champagne flutes, and the drawings that hold so much personal meaning to the footballer are scrutinised to the point of silent… offence.  

So much for appreciators of art, she thinks to herself, counting down the minutes until it is acceptable for her to leave. 

With a huff and a vow to never – no matter how much she earns – forget where she has come from, Alexia staggers, uncomfortable in these particular heels, towards the painting she deems easiest to understand. 

It is the largest in the room: deep, crimson reds on top of familiar greens, streaks of gold falling out of a ponytail. 

Call Alexia egotistical, but anyone would be drawn to a painting of themselves. 

The artist has done a good job, she guesses, not entirely sure if there is a deeper meaning behind the grass stains on her socks or the crumpled shading of her Spain jersey. It is a little creepy that someone she does not know has captured her likeness so expertly, so practised. 

“The nose isn’t quite right,” a voice says beside her. 

Alexia turns in surprise, amused enough by the stranger’s observation to examine her painted face, eyes not drawn from how majestic her image is beginning to seem. She sees no obvious issue, and so she replies, “I think it’s fine.” 

“Just fine?” 

She is still staring at herself, now impressed by the grandeur of the painting; its size, its quality. “Well, I am unsure how someone painted me so accurately when I was never called in for a… I don’t know, a consultation? And it seems a little weird to me that my hair is loose, because I tend to slick it back so it doesn’t fall out of my ponytail, and, you know, I always have something written on my boots, but otherwise, it’s fine. I doubt anyone here has ever watched a football match, so none of this will matter to them.” 

“It doesn’t bother you that someone might pay millions for a painting that you have deemed not-quite-right?” 

The voice is somewhat too interested, and suddenly Alexia swivels around to face its owner properly, worried she has spoken her mind to a journalist. 

“Those millions go to a charity that will improve women’s sports every–” 

You are definitely not a journalist, although once, when art really wasn’t paying, you had off-handedly typed out a few articles for one of the bigger galleries. 

Alexia knows you are not a journalist because you are dressed to be in front of the cameras, not behind them. 

Your hands hang by your sides, but in a rather unnatural manner as though you are itching to do something else, and she is briefly overcome by the horror that you seem elegant enough to be a potential buyer. Has she put you off? 

“Oh,” you interrupt, “don’t be so profound. Sometimes you footballers sound like change-making machines.” 

“There is change to be made,” she responds indignantly. 

“Hence the exhibition,” you allow with a little smirk, nodding towards the rest of the room. Although the biggest of the collection, you had asked for your painting to be displayed in the corner; a filter, in a sense, to ensure no one throws money at the largest thing in the room just because they can. “It creeps you out to be painted?” 

The question is curious, but Alexia no longer feels like she has been caged in an interrogation room. 

She thinks about her answer for a moment, torn between returning to gaze at the expanse of the scene in front of her or staring at you, wondering if you count as one of the works of art on display. 

“I have never met the artist,” she explains neutrally. You laugh, and it sounds infused with champagne and nervousness. “What? It’s like having a stalker. An extremely talented, creative stalker, but someone who studies me in secret nonetheless.” 

“No, I understand. She must have researched you until the ends of the Earth.” 

“The artist is a woman?” She isn’t sure she is surprised, but she asks you anyway, wanting to anchor you to the spot. 

“Alexia, this is an exhibition for women’s sports.” Your point is valid, but you have said her name and she is far more intrigued by the way that had sounded to praise you for your intelligence. You let out an airy breath and click your tongue. “I’d even say, given by the way she has painted you from the back, that the artist fancies you.”

“It’s the squats,” she easily replies with a giggle. “Who is the artist?” 

You take a step towards her, the sharp points of your heels clacking against the concrete floor. She follows your index finger to the white plaque beside the canvas, reading the name written in small, black letters. 

“I haven’t heard of her.” 

Alexia sounds so thoughtful that you have to hide your smile behind your palm, coughing to provide an excuse for the action. 

“Because you’ve heard of quite a few artists, haven’t you?” 

“I know the main four.” 

“The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?” 

“No.” 

Again, you laugh, and it is melodious and rich and Alexia wants to hear it for the rest of her life. Which is not normal, she tells herself, because you are some loaded stranger and she is only here for another hour before she can escape back to the pitch and her teammates who like her tattoos and admire her and respect her hard work without seeing her as some tacky social-climber who scrounged an invite to an area of society where she is institutionally unwanted. 

“Picasso,” she then offers, rather petulantly, looking at you with a childish frown. In her head, she estimates the distance between your bodies, noticing how you have not returned to your original position. 

“Ah, well done. He’s quite niche.” She doesn’t appreciate the teasing, and so she steps sideways to… put a stop to it somehow. Obviously, the plan had never truly been formulated, and it comes across as a half-lunge to push you away, but then you are swinging your arms as though the conversation is boring you and she desperately wishes you’d stay put. 

“What do you think about the painting?” she fires into the shortened space between you, the question wrapping around you like a rope that ties you to the spot. 

“It’s boring.” She scoffs, because after all, it is a painting of her. “The poor artist must have been tortured by the task, having to force her eyes to stay open while watching football matches.” 

And if Alexia were not so distracted by the way your swinging hand has begun to brush against her own, she would probably catch you out there and then. 

(But your touch is electric and she is otherwise engaged.) 

“Like, come on, can’t the sports photographers just get their pictures blown up? No one needs such an outrageously huge portrait of Alexia Putellas in their home, or stadium, or whatever. I reckon the artist is now regretting the angle she painted from, anyway, in case some pervert with more money than sense bids for it and hangs it up in his bedroom.” 

“Bedroom?”

The tips of Alexia’s ears go red, a stark contrast to the expensive silver hoops she sports, and you stop your fidgeting, hand resting on top of hers – perhaps unintentionally – as her misunderstanding wedges an awkward pause into the middle of your rant. 

“Sorry,” you apologise, “that was probably not the best thing to say, considering it’s a painting of you.” 

Alexia runs through what you have said, hoping her subconscious has caught it while her mind was preoccupied with what your sexual orientation might be. “Why have you come here if you are so against the principle of it?” 

“I was required to,” you explain, through half-gritted teeth and a jaw that tenses with leftover annoyance from a conversation you had with the coordinator. 

Seizing the opportunity to get a humorous punch back, Alexia quickly fumbles out a, “someone’s important.” 

She’d celebrate her victory over you, the way you blush in embarrassment, if you hadn’t started anxiously playing with her fingers. Suddenly, the air that bridges the gap between you is set alight and Alexia stares at where you are connected. 

You hastily pull away. “Sorry,” you say for a second time. “I have to sell this, and I’m nervous.” 

“Sell wh– The painting?” 

“No, Alexia, I’ve been sent by Real Madrid to hold you hostage so I have to sell this act.” Briefly, fear washes over the footballer’s face, tanned skin paling at the idea that you have a weapon concealed in the satin folds of your dress. Then, your hand makes a decisive movement and your fingers are intertwining with hers before she can run to safety. “I thought it was best to lure you in by flirting with you.” 

“You’ve been… flirting with me?” 

“God, imagine if I actually were here to kidnap you.” You hold up your joined hands so that she can see for herself. “Is your weakness women who bully you?” 

She blushes again, unsure how to handle what you have insinuated. 

Alexia grasps onto what little dignity remains and straightens herself, shoulders rolling back as she emulates the confidence she has been painted with. “Only pretty women,” she drawls. 

She is about to use whichever line appears in her mind first, completely unashamed by it because she has guessed you would tease her no matter what leaves her mouth, but some evil, cruel person clinks a small fork against their glass, clearing their throat, and your hands quickly return to your body, your attention drawn away from the conversation. 

“Thank you all for coming,” announces the event coordinator, clearly gearing up for a speech. “There will be time for more chatting later, but I cannot resist showing off our most talented artist any longer.” 

You roll your eyes. The expression is directed at Alexia, who chuckles privately, sunshine blooming in her chest that you have spared a silent comment just for her. 

“Y/n, darling, where are you?” 

An authoritative gaze searches through the crowd and lands on you.

The dots connect, Alexia begins to feel like an idiot, and you are sashaying away before she can ask you to stay.

[babyblue711]

Surrender

(Modern AU) Aegon II Targaryen x Female!Reader x Aemond Targaryen - Part 2 (read Part 1 Here) Summary: Having spent the week at the Targaryen's countryside estate, you find yourself pulled into an unexpected tryst when Aemond confronts you about your mixed signals. Words: 5K

Warnings: NSFW, Sexual Content 18+, Smut, Language, Alcohol, Threesome, Lots of Sexual Shenanigans A/N: As requested by popular demand, here is Part 2! I think this was the most fun I've ever had when writing a fic. (And please, for the banner, let's pretend Ewan has one eye for Aemond's sake 😅) I hope you all enjoy! 🔥

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Various forms of tension now fill the house and you can’t help but feel responsible. There is a magnetic attraction that lingers in the air between you and Aegon, but your playful text to Aemond had clearly not been well-received; he had never bothered responding and was now resolutely ignoring you. In return, you mirrored his behavior, determined not to let it affect you.

On Sunday morning, Helaena approaches you with an enticing offer: to extend your stay for the entire week. With your laptop in tow, the prospect of working remotely from their opulent estate is exciting, especially since it means you can continue spending time with Aegon.

Luckily, neither Helaena nor Daeron knows about your hookup with him. For the rest of the week, he visits your bed each night and it is the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. He’s a generous lover, prioritizing your pleasure before his own and his attentiveness afterwards is always exceptional, although he never spends the full night with you. Mindful of Aemond’s text message, you try to tone down your lusty moans of rapture, but you still feel like he knows what’s going on regardless.

On the last full day before you are set to return to the city, you and Aegon make plans to go for another trail ride. However, after lunch he starts to complain of a stomach ache leading Aemond to step in and offer to take you riding instead. This unexpected turn of events leaves you feeling momentarily stunned, given Aemond has been doing a very good job pretending you didn’t exist up until that moment. Despite your reservations, you agree to Aemond's proposal, still feeling a little wary of his sudden change of heart. 

“You can ride on Sunfyre this time,” Aegon groans from the couch, referring to his grey gelding, as you and Aemond head out the door. 

At first you are unsure of what to expect, but soon find yourself embarking on another memorable riding adventure, only this time with Aemond. It quickly becomes apparent that he shares your love for horses and the great outdoors, if not even more passionately than his brother. You make a bit of small talk as you ride, but most of the time, the gentle plodding of your horses’ hooves and the swish of their tails are the only things that can be heard.

The day was hot and humid, though cooler in the shade of the woods along the trail. A few miles into your ride, you come across a babbling stream with crystal water and decide to stop to let the horses rest and take a much needed drink. 

“Thank you for letting me ride Vhagar this week,” you say sincerely, taking a refreshing gulp of water from your canteen, “She’s a good horse.” Aemond offers a small smile, affectionately patting his mare on the neck. 

“No problem,” he replies casually, “She seems to like you and, to be honest, she doesn’t warm up to most people. Typically bucks them off within a few minutes,” he glances up to gauge your reaction. “I figured that’s why Aegon had you take her out, so he could laugh when you fell off,” he adds nonchalantly as if he didn’t just throw Aegon under the bus. 

Your expression falters briefly, causing you to second guess your perception of Aegon if what Aemond is saying is true but you quickly regain your composure.

“Fortunately, that didn’t happen,” you manage to say as Sunfyre starts to paw, splashing water everywhere and soaking your boots. You urge him from the stream before he decides to roll in the cool water and Aemond follows on Vhagar; you swear you think you see a small, smug smile tug on the corners of his lips. 

As you head back home, the mood seems to lighten and you finally feel like you have a small breakthrough with Aemond. Unlike his brother, Aemond’s nature is more naturally reserved, but you are growing to appreciate his calm demeanor in contrast to Aegon's chaotic behavior. He isn’t as quick to laugh or make jokes either, but you manage to coax him into opening up by asking about his interests, particularly books. He eagerly shares insights into the history of the Targaryen family and their estate, keeping the conversation lively until you reach the barn.

You hand Sunfyre off to the attending groom once more, feeling hot and sticky from your ride, eager to get back to the house to take a cool shower. Aemond falls into step beside you. 

“So you and Hel are headed back to the city tomorrow?” Aemond inquires casually.

“Yeah we are, have to get back to the grind,” you say with a sigh, a note of reluctance in your tone. The week spent away from the city, immersed in fresh air and nature, had been incredibly rejuvenating and you weren’t ready to leave just yet. Fortunately, Helaena is also your flatmate, and the prospect of returning to hectic city life isn’t as daunting when you have a familiar companion by your side.

“What are your plans?” you ask him in return, aware of his involvement in the family business and his regular trips to the city too. 

“I have a flight to catch to New York tomorrow. Work trip. It’s always hard to leave Vhagar…” he trails off with a slight hedge to his voice and you sense he may have more to share, but something seems to be holding him back. 

“Hmm,” you murmur noncommittally, letting the moment ride out, feeling if you were patient, he would speak. It works a little too well. He takes a deep breath before he begins. 

“That text you sent a few days back…” he starts and your heart instantly leaps. Oh god, here we go, you think, now deeply regretting how shameless you had behaved in the moment.

“Did you mean it?” he asks curiously, catching you completely off guard. You had thought he was about to scold you and you certainly didn’t expect him to be inquisitive instead. Your previous words seem to swim in your mind: [Join us next time, then?]  

Did he think you had been serious? You really had only meant it to tease. Regret bubbles in your stomach. 

“I still hear you every night,” he says quietly, gently, not like a reprimand at all, and you continue to feel more unsettled with each passing moment. You blush, embarrassed that you were having this conversation in broad daylight with Aemond of all people.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, truly, I…I tried to be more quiet…” you stammer, trailing off as he takes you by the arm, turning you to stop and face him. You stare up into his crystal blue eye, so much lighter than his brother’s, noticing how much taller he is than Aegon too. Up close, his beauty is so breathtaking, the leather eyepatch that covers his left eye only serves to complement his perfect appearance and intrigue you further. Aemond never spoke about what happened to his eye and you were too intimidated to ever ask. 

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off abruptly. “Your offer, did you mean it?” he asks more insistently and you feel like you could shrink under the intensity of his stare. Did you really want to have a threesome with him and Aegon? Cowardly, you opt to take the easy way out.

“It would be up to Aegon, I suppose,” you manage to choke out, feeling confident that Aegon would never agree. The way he possessively devours your body, like he is trying to consume your very being when you are together makes you think he isn’t the type to share.

Aemond nods, seeming satisfied with that answer as he abruptly resumes walking back to the house and you can barely keep up with his long strides. What the hell was that about? 

Feeling refreshed from your cold shower, you open your bathroom door, still wrapped in only a towel to see Aegon sprawled across your bed, giving you a calculated stare. Your heart skips a beat at his unexpected presence in your bedroom and he has a look in his eye you don’t think you’ve seen before. 

“So,” he says lightly and gets right to the point, “You want to have a threesome with Aemond?” 

You gape like a fish out of water as you backtrack. “I - I didn’t say that. Aemond mentioned it to me on the way back to the house,” you mumble, trying not to feel like you’re in trouble.

“Oh really?” he raises an eyebrow, glancing down at his phone, scrolling as if he’s looking for something, “What’s this then?” 

He holds out his phone and shows you a screenshot of the message you had sent to Aemond earlier in the week, inviting him to join you and Aegon. Aemond clearly has shown Aegon proof of your “offer”, the traitor. Clearly, your lighthearted jest has taken an unexpected turn and signals have been crossed between these two brothers. 

Aegon cannot contain a look of triumph as your guilty eyes flash back to his face. Before you can explain more thoroughly he smirks, “I didn’t know you were also into my brother…”

“Aegon, it was just a joke, I was teasing him,” you try to clarify your intentions and prove you aren’t trying to hide anything, now thoroughly wishing you had been this direct with Aemond too. You didn’t foresee it coming back to haunt you like this. 

“Really? Because that’s not what Aemond said,” Aegon counters, “So do you want to? It would be hot watching my brother fuck you,” he adds provocatively and your breath catches in your chest at his words. 

So many emotions whirl through your mind in an instant. Shock. Guilt. Bewilderment. Confusion. Hurt that he would give you up so easily to another man. Excitement. Lust. Desire. Simultaneously, another thought tugs at your heart: a mixture of determination and defiance. You had been so sure that Aegon would be the one to tell Aemond ‘no’ and you were starting to question his attachment to you, if indeed there had been one at all. If he was so willing to share you with someone else, perhaps you should make him regret this decision. The thought of making Aegon insanely jealous ignites a spark of mischief within your chest.

“Fine,” you say coolly, lifting your chin. “I’d love to fuck your brother,” you taunt seductively, pretending not to care more deeply about Aegon than you do and deliberately trying to push his buttons, but Aegon only gives you a devilish grin. 

“Brilliant. I’ll tell him then,” and with that, he springs off your bed, his earlier stomach ache seemingly forgotten, and bounds out the door in search of Aemond. 

You were a nervous wreck the whole rest of the day. What had you just agreed to? You curse your need for revenge on Aegon. 

That evening, you opt to quietly observe Aemond, feeling a need to familiarize yourself with the person that you would soon be sleeping with. While Aegon could be abundantly charming when he wanted to be, Aemond was simply grace incarnate. You pay particular attention to his interactions with each sibling: he is tolerant of Aegon’s antics, patient with the youthfulness of his younger brother, Daeron, and generously kind to his sister, listening to her discussions about various bugs with genuine interest, as if her words are the most interesting thing in the world. Coupled with his ethereal beauty, you start to question that Aemond might actually be the better of the two brothers. Boyfriend material flashes through your mind. 

At last, you bid the group goodnight for the evening and retire to your room. As soon as you shut your door, you sprint to the bathroom, rushing to brush your teeth, apply more deodorant and fix your hair, trying to make yourself as presentable as possible for perfect, proper Aemond. You aren’t sure why you were doing this; why do you care what Aemond thinks of you so much?

Finished with your “prep”, you put on your usual pajamas, wishing you had brought something a little sexier than an oversized t-shirt and shorts and sit on your bed to wait. Soon a soft knock comes from your door and you know instantly it’s Aemond. Aegon never knocks.

“Come in!” you manage to squeak out, voice unusually high, feeling nervous. Aemond enters, looking entirely unruffled, carrying something behind his back. He approaches the bed and reveals his surprise, holding out an expensive bottle of champagne. 

“I figured there’s no hurry,” he remarks casually with a shrug as he opens the bottle and takes a gulp, handing it to you. Feeling a bit unconventional drinking expensive champagne straight from the bottle, you take a sip, enjoying the tangy liquid that runs cool down your throat. 

You both sit in the middle of your large bed facing each other, talking softly while taking turns swigging from the bottle. Soon, you find yourself relaxing and enjoying his company, forgetting that Aegon was supposed to be joining you. You didn’t even wonder where he was. 

When the bottle is empty, you start to feel properly tipsy as Aemond lays a large, warm hand on your leg. You stiffen instantly, unable to help yourself, glancing up into his intense, one-eyed stare.

“I just want to ask, one more time, if you’re sure you want to do this,” he says with soft sincerity. 

This is it. Your way out. You didn’t have to sleep with Aemond. However, you were finding yourself more and more drawn to him as you discovered his admirable traits. You believed deep down that Aemond was genuinely kind, one of those "nice guys," so to speak. Moreover, defiance still pounds in your heart at the thought of making Aegon jealous, if he decided to show up at this point.

“Yeah, I want to Aemond, truly,” you respond genuinely, placing your hand overtop of his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He nods and seems to relax, his sensuous mouth curling into a true smile.

“Should we start without him?” you whisper, alluding to Aegon. 

“Yeah, fuck him, I’m not waiting,” Aemond replies boldly before grabbing you by the ankle and pulling you across the bed so you’re right next to him. You slide easily on the soft satin comforter and giggle in delight. Aemond’s lips meet yours and you sigh into his mouth as you melt into him immediately. 

Aemond's kiss ignites a fire within you; while you considered Aegon a skilled kisser, a few moments with Aemond had you wondering who was better. His kiss is effortless, your lips fitting together flawlessly, his gentle tongue playfully exploring your mouth, as you take turns sucking on each other’s bottom lip. You moan softly as you instinctively grasp his hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you. Already you can feel your core getting slick with desire and an ache forming at the apex of your thighs.

Aemond maneuvers you to lay on your back and settles overtop of you, lightly pressing you under his weight and you surrender once more to a new man, but this one you think might be more worthy than the last. Still clothed, you are fully immersed in battling his tongue when you hear a low whistle.

“You fuckers started without me,” Aegon growls, low and deep, and you jump, startled since you hadn’t heard him come in. You break the kiss with Aemond, turning to look at Aegon standing beside the bed, seeming completely unfazed seeing his younger brother on top of the girl he’s been fucking all week. Aemond ignores him completely as he kisses your exposed neck, pretending like there’s been no interruption. You notice Aegon is holding his own bottle of champagne and a bag of popcorn, now grinning like a barn cat that has just caught the biggest mouse; he moves to sit in the corner and waves his hand for you to continue. 

You roll your eyes and return your attention to Aemond, who is now sucking a hickey onto your collarbone. You decide to get things moving before you lose your nerve now that you have an audience. You slide Aemond's shirt off, taking a moment to appreciate the contours of his fit physique by tracing your fingers across his chest and along the defined muscles of his back. It's almost like a choreographed dance as you and Aemond smoothly help each other out of your clothes, moving with such synchronized ease that it feels like you're perfectly attuned to each other.

As you remove his shorts, his cock springs free, large and heavy against his thigh. Taking him in hand, you give him a few experimental pumps, making him grunt appreciatively; you find yourself absentmindedly wondering who is bigger, the Targaryen men are clearly blessed in this particular department. 

You try to ignore the sounds of Aegon chewing popcorn as you and Aemond settle back onto the bed, completely unclothed now. Aemond doesn’t seem to mind being naked in front of his brother and you take his lead as your heart flutters nervously, still mindful of having a witness. He bites down onto the fleshy part of your breast, sucking with enthusiasm and you don’t even care about the mark you know it’ll leave. He moves on and takes one of your nipples into his mouth next, rolling the other between his fingers as he works his way down your body, finally settling between your thighs and licking your soaked pussy like a lollipop; you both groan with pleasure. You spread your legs wide for him and start to knead your own breasts, putting your body on display for Aegon, feigning more confidence than you felt in the moment. You glance over and see him watching you and Aemond hungrily. 

Aemond’s lips lock around your bud and he sucks harshly causing you to buck your hips into his face and cry aloud, your breath picking up as pleasure courses like electricity through your body. You feel him slip a finger inside of you followed by another and he crooks them against your sweet spot all while continuing to suck on your bud like he is trying to slurp the thickest milkshake. 

It’s not long before your thighs are shaking around his head as you wail in ecstasy, your orgasm ripping through your core, pussy clenching tightly down onto Aemond’s fingers. You no longer notice Aegon’s presence and you secretly hope he’s burning with jealousy at the way Aemond is unraveling you thoroughly. Aegon clears this throat as you come down from your high and return to your senses.

“I want her on top, Aemond,” he commands from the dark corner of the room. You think Aemond will refuse as he isn’t the type that usually takes orders, and especially not from Aegon, but he lays on his back and positions you to hover above him. Achingly slow, still sensitive from your climax, you spear yourself on his hard, thick cock, sinking inch by delicious inch, savoring the stretch of your soft velvet walls. You breathe through your nose as you try to relax and welcome Aemond into your body, joining as one.

You both groan in unison when you finally sit flush against him, his cock buried deep. He gives you a moment to adjust and lets you set the pace. Knowing Aegon is seated behind you, you lean forward slightly, bracing your hands against Aemond’s chest, arching your back as you ride his cock, letting Aegon get the best view of Aemond’s thick length sliding in and out of your tight pussy, no longer feeling insecure about being watched. In this position, your sensitive bud rubs consistently against Aemond’s pubic bone and you can already feel another orgasm mounting deep in your belly. You toss your hair and moan loudly in pleasure, uttering filthy words to Aemond, knowing full well Aegon can hear you too. You want to leave him without any doubt just how much you are enjoying his brother. 

Beneath you, Aemond looks like a fallen angel. His one eye is hooded and dark with lust, the angles of his exquisite face are sharp in the low light, his sensual lips are parted slightly as he pants softly while you move up and down on his length. His luminous blonde hair is splay out on the bed, creating a sort of halo around his head.  You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful in your life.

Spurred on by your passionate words of lust, Aemond grasps your hips and picks up the pace, fingers digging into the soft flesh and you hope for bruises. Taking control, he fucks up into you from below, hitting your sweet spot repeatedly. You start mumbling nonstop again, like you always do when you’re about to cum.

“Yeah? You gonna cum on my cock, sweet girl?” Aemond says in a low growl as he watches your tits bounce above him. 

“A-Aemond, don’t stop,” is all you can manage as your peak crashes over you with the force of a hurricane and Aemond groans as your pussy tightens like a vice around him. He rides out your climax, sustaining your pleasure as you soar into oblivion. Finally, feeling like jelly, you topple off of Aemond and onto the soft bed, breathing heavily and trying to recover from your second mind-blowing orgasm. 

“My turn,” suddenly, Aegon stands on the edge of the bed, totally naked and stroking his hard, thick cock. Now that the two are visually out for comparison, you think Aemond’s might be a tad longer, but they are both just as thick.

Your brain feels fuzzy, swirling with endorphins from the rush of your climax. Despite your haze, excitement pulses through your chest when you see that Aegon has finally come to play, hoping he got tired of watching Aemond fuck you so thoroughly. Although being with two men at once is entirely new territory, you trust them completely to take care of you properly and not abuse their positions of power. With a new sense of confidence, adrenaline surges through your veins and you decide to take charge.

“Lay on the bed,” you direct at Aegon and he obeys you instantly, climbing onto the bed and laying his head on your pillow. You crawl over to him, swaying your hips seductively and meeting his dark blue gaze.

“So, did you enjoy watching that?” you purr innocently while taking his cock in your hand and squeezing. 

“More than you know,” he manages to respond before you lower your head and take him in your mouth. Maintaining eye contact with him, you put on a bit of a show as your tongue teases the sensitive tip.

Realizing Aemond is watching from afar, you look over your shoulder at him while continuing to pump Aegon with your other hand. You consider him for a moment, impressed with his endurance as he still hasn’t cum himself, despite riding out your orgasm while buried deep within your body. 

“Aemond, I need you too,” you whine, tossing your hair over your shoulder and bringing your ass in the air, giving him a pointed look; his lips lift in a devilish smirk. 

As Aemond comes to kneel behind you, there is a kinetic sort of energy that passes between the brothers as their eyes meet and you feel a shift as the energy in the room suddenly becomes charged. The hair stands up on the back of your neck and you aren’t entirely sure why; all you know is that you suddenly feel like a lamb caught between two apex predators. Undaunted, the thought makes you chuckle; Aemond has already begun to pick you apart with absurd precision and you feel ready for more. 

You take Aegon into your mouth again as you feel Aemond spread your ass cheeks apart with a firm grip, taking a moment to admire the view before re-entering you from behind, moving slowly to help you adjust to this new angle. You moan in pleasure as Aemond’s cock hits your sweet spot perfectly in this position. Aegon grunts as your moans reverberate around his dick and you hear him whisper “yeah, that’s it,” as your head bobs along his thick length. With one hand wrapped around the rest of Aegon’s girth that you can’t fit into your mouth, the other grips his thigh, trying to hold yourself steady as Aemond’s hips snap roughly into your backside. 

“She really does have the most perfect cunt, brother,” Aemond rumbles, grunting in appreciation as he watches his fat cock slide in and out of you, glistening with your arousal. “You were right.”

“I told you she could be our perfect little slut,” Aegon groans in agreement and gives you a dark smile. You try to ignore the fact that they are talking about you like you aren’t even there. Despite your senses being fully enveloped in a primal sort of lust, you feel a small prick of unease. How much did they discuss about you before today? Have they planned this all along?

You hardly have time to consider further before Aegon takes you by the hair and earnestly starts to fuck your mouth, spit dribbling down your chin as he thrusts in and out. You hollow out your cheeks and try your best to take him, choking at times as his cock touches the back of your throat, all while Aemond continues a steady pace fucking your pussy from behind. Tears prick your eyes and Aegon wipes them away with his thumb, murmuring “good girl” softly and encouraging you to keep going. You watch as his abs contract in pleasure as your tongue swirls around the sensitive tip; you find it becoming more difficult to focus on Aegon as Aemond brings his hand around and starts to play with your bud, rubbing tight, fast circles. Your breath is caught in your chest and you let out a sultry moan. 

For a moment, all that can be heard is heavy breathing, grunts of pleasure, skin slapping erotically, and a juicy sucking noise from your mouth as your orgy progresses. With Aemond’s expert attention on your bud, your walls start to flutter again and you redouble your efforts to suck off Aegon, determined that you both should cum at the same time; his breathing is becoming labored and you know he’s close. Within a few more moments, the three of you climax together in unison; Aegon grunts as his girth pulses in your hand, shooting his seed down your throat just as Aemond’s cock pumps his into your pussy, emptying deep inside you. He gives your ass a hard slap and you wail once more as mind numbing pleasure courses through your belly as your pussy milks Aemond dry.

Swallowing your mouthful, you collapse, exhausted, onto the bed next to Aegon, completely worn out by your third orgasm. Aegon pants softly beside you and Aemond plops down on your other side, the only one to still seem composed despite the sheen of sweat on his chest from his own exertion. 

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence as your breathing returns to normal. Aegon rolls to his side and captures your lips between his own. You think he’s just giving you a sweet sort of kiss as a “thank you” for a great time, until he takes your leg and swings it over his hip, reaching down and playing with your sensitive bud. You buck you hips away from his hand and whine pathetically, telling him without words that you are almost too sensitive to touch at this point. He shushes you gently and you feel him reach down to your entrance and gather Aemond’s spend that’s leaking from your pussy, bringing it up and circling your bud with a featherlight touch.

You feel Aemond move until he’s spooning you from behind, trapping you. He brushes your hair to the side as he starts to pepper your neck and shoulder with kisses while his large warm hand caresses your back, moving down to squeeze the ample flesh of your ass. Despite your exhaustion, you feel yourself getting aroused again at their attention. Aegon’s skin is burning as you lay facing him, chest to chest, and Aemond is just as hot against your backside. You feel caught between two flames, like you could catch fire entwined around the brothers.

Aegon continues to kiss you slowly, circling your bud, your leg still hooked over his hip when you feel another set of digits come to play at the entrance of your pussy. You flinch slightly, but Aemond doesn’t enter you digitally, instead seeming to gather more fluid on his fingertips. Without warning, you jump when you feel him spreading his spend on your asshole. Aemond hushes you sweetly, kissing right below your ear, as he starts to push ever so gently on your puckered hole. 

“Come now,” Aegon whispers against your lips, “You didn’t really think we would be done with you already, did you?” His hand moves up to tightly grip your thigh around his hip, holding you in place as Aemond slowly starts inserting a digit into your ass, causing you to moan and arch your back, unfamiliar with this new intrusion.

“Hmm,” Aemond hums appreciatively, nibbling on your earlobe as Aegon watches your face. The pressure is mounting as Aemond pushes his thumb into your ass and realization dawns that they are far from finished with you. They aren’t going to stop until every last bit of you is sore from stretching around their thick cocks repeatedly; their intention to possess you both at the same time becomes abundantly clear as Aemond works to open your tight puckered hole and you know they’ll continue to cover your body in bite marks, hickeys, and bruises, effectively marking you as their own. They haven’t even begun to truly consume you yet. 

“Yes, sweet girl,” says Aemond, an authoritative edge to his tone, “We’re just getting started.”

The story continues in Part 3

Tags: @rhaenyslay, @elizarbell, @aemondsscar, @peonamay, @cyeco13, @quinnquinn317, @multyfangirl, @myfandomprompts, @thekinslayed, @pandemonium105, @fan-goddess, @vencuyot

[solangelo]

On the evening of September 30th of 2014, @solangelo was founded and many mods and ten years later this blog is still active! In honor of the duration say hello to this event!

All sorts of artists and creators are welcome, submissions of fanart, fanfic, fanedits, playlists, cosplays and anything else your heart desires are welcome to be added to the collection!

Instead of providing alternate words, the prompts list has been divided into two sections, the first section seperates Will and Nico into individuals. The second prompt list is intended to be more focused on their relationship, and in most cases should be a word that connects to the corresponding word of that date for Will or Nico. For example, day 7 uses the words Refract and Crystal for Will and Nico and then Rainbow as their combined word.

The prompt list was intentionally designed to allow people who just want to create content for Nico or Will but not necessarily them together to also participate! Feel free to mix and match the lists throughout the week, or if you like an extra challenge you're welcome to try and use all 3 words for everyday of the week!

Prompts are only ever just a suggestion, so please feel free to submit works even if they are not necessarily inspired by one of the lists below!

Prompt List by date: Will // Nico

Day One (09/29/24) - Dawn // Stars

Day Two (09/30/24) - Growth // Earth

Day Three (10/01/24) - Light // Shade

Day Four (10/02/24) - Cure // Precious

Day Five (10/03/24) - Scry // Knowing

Day Six (10/04/24) - Endure // Insomnia

Day Seven (10/05/24) - Refract // Crystal

Prompt List by Date: Relationship Based Prompts

Day One (09/29/24) - Hearth

Day Two (09/30/24) - Life

Day Three (10/01/24) - Boundaries

Day Four (10/02/24) - Love

Day Five (10/03/24) - Reflection

Day Six (10/04/24) - Confession

Day Seven (10/05/24) - Rainbow

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[peachesofteal]

Dad!John Price/female reader This has been living in my head

“Beautiful out, isn’t it?” 

The old woman on the docks hitches her shoulder bag higher, eyes fixed on nothing in the distance. John hums an agreement, low pitch slow to rise from his chest. It’s not a dismissal, but not conversation. Non-committal. About as much as you’ll get from him, on a day like today. 

He keeps his focus on the expanse of the bay. A metamorphic magma layered coastal cradle holding entire populations of people, and animals, those that live on land… and at sea. 

He’s waiting for a fleck of dust on the horizon, a small speck that will slowly turn into ferry, one that carries some passengers, a few packages, bundles of mail by the heap. It is beautiful today; he doesn’t disagree. But it’s not because of the weather.  It’s because the ferry is carrying more than just a few passengers home. It’s carrying his worst nightmare. The final nail in a coffin. His own personal hell.

And… 

His brightest light. His favorite part of everyday. His everything. The reason his heart still beats.

Both on the same boat. 

The sun shines through the tips of the trees, bright on his face, casting an amber yellow glow over the harbor, and he basks in it, even with the brittle cold. 

The warmth of the light is foreign this time year, a time year when creeks all run underneath a quickly thickening layer of ice, morning frost lingers beneath cloud cover, and bears sleep.  

The town will be full of life today. The bar at the top of the hill, the only one in town, will be burning the midnight oil, everyone appearing at some point throughout the night, eager to have one last rousing round with neighbors and friends before the true cold of winter sets in. 

Of course, they don’t hate the cold. They wouldn’t live here if they did. 

Life is different in the winter. Year round. Life here revolves more around the weather and the seasons than anywhere else he’s ever been, or lived, and everything from the kelp to the whales, the deer and sea lions, the people, and the wolves, depend on the promise of perpetual change. 

The tide washes through little pebbles of ancient volcanic rock like a lullaby, one so familiar he swears he can hear it when he’s working, when he’s worlds away in his mind. It’s peaceful, full of memories, nostalgia beating in his blood for something long gone, long past. 

His heart aches, for a moment. Long enough that his brow furrows, and his hands find his pocket, anxiously feeling for the chain. 

The ferry shatters his memories, blaring across the beach, and the old woman gives him a smile. 

“Early today.” This time, John does respond. 

“Good.” 

“You must be John.” She offers her hand, face half hidden beneath a large hood and knit muff, black pants and coat nearly matching his. 

He hesitates, fingers flexing, and she doesn’t miss a beat, moving on to step around him, speaking briefly to the ferry captain, an old grizzled man who stared at John the entire trip, blatant curiosity wrinkling his frown lines. 

The wind cuts through his jacket, snaking beneath his layers, forcing his muscles tense. 

Bloody freezing. He's been cold, plenty, but this bitterness has bite.

She squints and jerks her head towards the end of the dock, sunlight glittering in her eyes. They’re beautiful, a rich shade of coffee and hazel, golden spotted and drusy, a cluster of crystals inside dark pupils. They’re a color he could drown in. The kind of eyes he could see in his dreams for the rest of his life.

The kind of eyes capable of disarming him, before he's even drawn a weapon.

“C’mon. Truck’s got heat.” 

“Mari says you’ve never been a Ranger before.” She tries to make casual conversation with him, patting the steering wheel as the truck sputters to life. Gears grind, they churn, and she smiles, glancing at the road before putting it in gear. It’s old, rusted in a quaint way, the kind that makes him think of old industrial parks and aging tanks, a rugged red chipped away above the passenger wheel well, rubbed raw by salt air. 

“I have… relative experience.” He’s careful with his words, hesitant about over divulging, and she shrugs. 

“With people? Or wildlife?” He points his face out the window. With people, sure. With bears and wolves and whatever else lurks in these woods, less so. 

The truck climbs a windy road, pushing up above the cove, narrow pitted pavement flanked by forest so black he can hardly see a meter inside the tree line. The shadow that lingers inside the tree line is primordial, alive, and he blinks when he thinks he sees something moving, deep in the dark. Douglas fir, silver fir, white pine flash by, occasional road signs with pictures of animals and speed limits dotting the way. “Logging is big industry out here. Forestry feeds a lot of families in this area, but it can be a point of contention.” She motions past him to another cove, one tucked just around the bend from where the ferry came in, its surface covered in shaved logs, all nearly uniform in size, floating together in rows upon rows, waiting for their next voyage. 

“That what you do? Er… logging?” Her hands are rough, skin cracked, nails trimmed short, and the coat is utility. Built for labor. For weather. It’s a natural conclusion. 

“No. I run the nature center in the late spring and summer. No tourism in fall or winter though, so I find other things to do. Work for the park. Tag trees. Winter trail maintenance. Wildlife management.” The truck rattles into a left turn, and she waves at someone in an oncoming car. “Guess I kinda work for you now.” Her chuckle is light, sweet, and his cheeks feel warm. “What brought you all the way up here?” 

Bloody hell. 

“Needed a change of pace.” 

“Long way to come for a change.” She muses, and he agrees. It is very, very far. Three planes, two ferries, this truck. Hours of travel, temperature dropping in ten degree increments every time he stepped outside. He doesn’t know how to answer that, how to tell her, what he’s doing here, how to say he had to leave things behind. 

The island changes, geology shifting, granite turning to mud and grass, darkness fading as the truck putters into its final descent.

He instinctively taps the tags in his pocket, a nervous tic that’s develops over the last few months since he took them off for the last time and clears his throat. 

“Yes. It is.” 

The ferry sidles up the wooden dock, rocking in the waves, captain giving the small, older woman next to him a friendly wave. At his side, a woman stands, straight backed and proud, eyes sharp against the setting sun. 

Is that…

You catch his gaze, glancing at the Ranger badge on his coat, and then nodding, hand lifting in acknowledgement. 

His breath freezes in his chest. You’re stunning. Beautiful, like the land, like the strait, and for a second, he forgets himself. 

Igneous rock hardens in his stomach, in his heart.

He's lost at sea. Lost in the swell. An eddy line of devastation sweeps him out, past the lighthouse on the rocks, past the pod of resident orcas, past the point of no return.

He's drowning.

Only to be brought back by one of his favorite sounds in the entire world. 

“Dad!”

[early20sfailingplenty]

Lowkey, I want to see Vincent go insane because his s/o got hurt by a tourist. It’s just something about scary men who get pissed that their partner gets hurt and stops at nothing but get revenge is so 🥰🥰

I love the thought of this!

TW; canon-typical violence, discussion of canon events, dehumanisation of Dalton and Wade (canon-compliant), Bo pukes (unrelated to canon events - I'm not that strong lmfao)

I've always thought that Dalton and Wade got especially brutal deaths because of one simple fact: they messed around in Vincent's House of Wax. It's his domain, it's clear as crystal; it's his hunting ground, it's where he prepares and then displays the best of his trophies.

The House of Wax is his; Wade feigning to burn one of the sculptures was a genuinely asshole move (seriously, who the fuck sees someone else's hard work and starts melting it? Fucking ass) and earned him a place in the House of Wax; he mocked Vincent's work, so Vincent turned him into the very thing as a petty revenge.

Dalton, for his part, destroyed Vincent's latest project, tore the face off of his still cooling artwork and I don't know about you, but if I spend hours making something and then someone deliberately started messing with it, I'd be more than slightly murderous too.

(Though, in Dalton's defence, if I looked up and saw Vincent looming over me like that, I'd lose my head and squirt all over the floor too - I get it, dude).

All this to say... Vincent went apeshit on these two kids because they messed around in his domain. He's possessive, obsessive, deeply passionate and always in control of what he's doing. When Vincent puts his mind to something, he is ruthless and there's absolutely no stopping him.

So now imagine what he'd do, the acts of sheer depravity he'd perform, if his beloved got harmed? He'd be so vicious, so genuinely unhinged, that when Bo later sees what happened to the people he sent Vincent's way, the remains of the bodies would have him stomping outside to throw up in Lester's rose bushes, and even Lester would have to literally scrape them up off the floor with whatever gardening implement he can find. A shovel, maybe. A bucket of water to sluice them away would also work.

There's roadkill, there's roadkill, and then there's... whatever the fuck Vincent did to these people.

There's blood dripping off his twin blades, his overalls are caked in it, he's squelching somewhat in his worn boots as he walks, there's viscera splattered across the wax floor, and somehow there's blood on the ceiling... you know not to ask. But Bo's an interesting shade of porcelain you've never seen before, and even Lester can hardly bear to look.

And you? You're off to the side nursing your injury; nothing life-threatening, and later on you'll be joking with Bo, "'tis but a scratch", but Vincent's reaction has you feeling more than a little loved. Safe, protected, cherished, by the most relentless and brutal of the three Sinclair brothers.

[ivestas]

a good shot

Summary: König had a staring problem, so you confront him about it. 

Tags: sniper!fem!reader x konig, platonic!141 x reader, barely edited, awkward, unintentional confession(?)

Word count: 1.1k

Note: my mw2 obsession is real. been trying to deny it but its all that occupies my brain.... send some reqs?? i have such a bad habit of saying that then not following thru but i promise i will LMFAOOO (nah but fr tho im working on ur guys’ requests, just veryyyy slowly since, again, mw2 brainrot) also sorry if this seems rushed, i just wanted to get this idea out of my head hehe

König had a staring problem. 

You really didn’t know why, but whenever he was near, you could practically feel his gaze burn a hole through your skin. 

You weren’t one to care for stares—you were used to it, especially in your early years as a merc. Most would just be curious why a woman was wearing a bullet vest, especially civilians. 

But... König’s eyes were intense. Nothing like the curious—or even hateful—looks you were used to. 

You were sure you hadn’t done anything wrong; you barely spoke, never really caring too. You kept to yourself. You didn’t particularly stand out next to your flamboyant peers. 

So... why? 

You’d first asked Soap about it: he was a people person, always seemed to know someone’s intentions in an instant. 

However, he was confused. “He stares at you?” 

"You hadn’t noticed?” 

“No? I barely see the lad in general, always skulkin’ in some shadow.” 

“Seriously?” You frowned. “Then you think you’d know why?”

“Hmmm... here, maybe if I get my crystal ball and ponder for a bit I can find out!” 

"Shove the ball up your ass instead.” You snorted. Soap laughed, probably at his own joke than yours. 

Getting up, you headed to your next target: Ghost. 

You found him in the mess hall, taking apart his rifle on one of the cafeteria tables by himself. Without a second thought, you slid beside him. He didn’t acknowledge you.

Propping your head up with a hand, you look at him. Despite it being night, he’s still wearing his balaclava and shades. You decided it’s best not to make a comment about it since you’re trying to pry answers regarding the Austrian Colossus. 

“You’ve noticed König staring at me, right?” 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“Do you think you’d know why? I’m sure I hadn’t done anything to piss him off, but he’s always just... you know...” you widen your eyes, leaning in. “Doing this. I don’t know whether to be unsettled or flattered.” 

Ghost carefully puts two pieces of his rifle together, a satisfying click resonating in the air. “Maybe he’s surprised why the 141 got a clown for a sniper.” He intoned. 

“Says the guy wearing a skeleton balaclava and tinted shades—scared the enemies are gonna find out you’re actually just a loser with nothing to his name?” You said the words too quickly, and when Ghost looked at you, he probably knew the thought was bubbling in your head. 

"...” 

“...” 

You couldn’t help the laugh that crawled out your throat, and you noticed that the corners of Ghost’s eyes crinkled. 

“...So you don’t know?” 

He snorted. “I’m no psychic.” 

Sighing, you rose from your seat, leaving Ghost once more in his own bubble. 

You really didn’t want to, but you realized you were gonna have to ask from the source itself—König.  

Now, you didn’t consider yourself a shy or anxious person, but there was something so imposing about König; maybe it was the fact he literally towers over you like some Goliath, or maybe it’s the fact he only speaks in raspy monosyllables, or, maybe, it was the fact that he just always stares at you, but you couldn’t deny the nervousness that writhed in the pit of your stomach. 

But curiosity shined over it, because just why would he just stare? 

So, you decided to head to the shooting field: it was an open secret that König often lurked there at night, shooting away at the targets from the day. No one really complained since he’d replace the targets with new ones at the end of every session.

The walk was short; just a quick turn through some halls and out through a door and you’re in the range. 

König was some meters away, hunched over a stack of crates and a sniper under his arm. His back was to you. 

You stepped on a stray stick just beside your foot. His head shot up. 

He turned around in an instant, sniper tight in his hand. 

They were right. He’s antsy. 

“Hey, König.” 

“...” 

You slowly approached as though he were a frightful deer... but perhaps a cautious bear would be a more accurate descriptor. He could kill you in seconds. 

Like anyone can. It doesn’t scare you. 

Admittedly, it’s a little exciting.

“Can I talk to you about something?” 

“...yes.” 

 “Your eyes—uh, you stare. A lot.” 

His gaze flickered away. 

“Just wondering why you just... stare. I’m pretty sure we’ve never spoken, either—”

“We’ve spoken,” he cut in. Rough and light, as usual. “Mostly on missions though.” 

“Oh... well, I’m just wondering if I pissed you off, somehow? Earned your ire? I’m dumb, I forget and I can be socially unaware—”

“No, no, no!” His eyes rounded, the sniper loosened in his hands. “No, you didn’t! I just, well...”

“...well?” You echoed, prompting him to continue. 

He did. 

“You’re nice to look at.”

Your brain froze. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“I’m sorry, is that weird?—it is, isn’t it? I apologize, I—”

“No, wait, I’m really flattered, I just—” you laugh breathlessly. In disbelief. “That’s just really fucking flattering.” You can feel your face light up with heat, and all the neat composure you’ve built wash away completely. 

Now, you’re reduced to a blushing schoolgirl at a complete loss for words. 

What were you supposed to say? What does that even mean? Is that an admission of some crush, or were you just eye candy to him?—and did you like that, like his attention or are you just that deprived of contact? 

You force your eyes to his, and you realize he’s hunched over, rubbing at the metal butt of his sniper with a thumb, eyes everywhere except on yours. 

"So...” you rubbed your wrist. “What now?”

He finally looked at you. “Huh?”

You were this far already, you weren’t gonna back down yet. Even if your heart was slamming against your chest. “You just called me pretty? And I have a feeling you’re easy on the eyes too—maybe this is too quick—but wanna hang out then? Like, talk and stuff... because... I’m pretty?”

König stared for a moment before breaking into a laugh. “It would be an honor.” 

“Then let’s hang out right now! Stay here, I’m gonna grab my sniper and we’re gonna shoot shit till bullets’re covering the ground!!” 

König extended his sniper. “Use mine. I want to see how you shoot.” His eyes fluttered, gaze awkwardly averting yet again. You were beginning to find it endearing. “You’re a good shot. And I’d like to get better.” 

“And watching me will help you?”

“Yes,” he said the word with earnest, eyes bright. 

A crooked smile pulled at your lips. Fuck, you weren’t used to this. 

But you liked it. You liked it a lot. You just hoped you could eventually make him feel the same. 

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