#refillable foundation

[jasminewilson143]

"Foundation Trends in 2025: What's New in the Beauty World?"

The world of magnificence is always changing, and 2025 is shaping up to be an interesting year for setting trends. Whether you’re a cosmetics aficionado or a complete glam junkie, there’s something new on the horizon that will disrupt your perfect routine. Let’s go into what’s hot, what’s game-changing, and what you absolutely need to know about restaurants in 2025. Why Do Establishment Patterns…

[javier-pena]

circumstance

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Word Count: 2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: On a stormy night, you’re haunted by a ghost from your past.

Warnings: dub con | unprotected p in v sex | creampie | unsanitary sexual practices | cheating | coercion | possessiveness | (brief) fingering (f receiving) | biting | oral (f receiving) (mentioned) | mentions of food and alcohol | mentions of blood and war

Notes: God idk what it is with me and seeing random pictures of Pedro characters that make me go feral. Anyways, wrote this in an hour, hope this is anything. I had Latin in school but I’m not vouching for any of the Latin words in this. I mostly wrote this because I’ve had a vendetta against international bestselling author Robert Harris ever since I was 15 years old. This is loosely based on a scene from his novel Imperium that has been haunting me for almost 20 years now. Also based on this post by @ozarkthedog.

***

There’s war. Outside the city, the land is burning. Behind the city walls, life goes on as it always has. There’s decadence and dissipation and life. That’s your part of the story. That’s all you’ve ever known. The comfort and the safety. That’s all you’ve ever needed to feel fulfilled.

During the night, when the city quiets down, when the people return to their homes and the public life ceases, you can sometimes hear it, like a storm brewing over the distant sea, like the rumbling of a volcano miles and miles away, taking deep breaths before spewing its fiery death. On clear nights, nights free of clouds and wind, nights where the air is so heavy it feels like a blanket weighing you down, you can even see it, the light from the battlefield, the glow of a carnage that swallows everything, even itself.

This night isn’t clear at all. This night brought rain and hail and thunder so violent it shakes the foundations of your house. You’re alone, reclining on your triclinium, too drained from dinner to move much. The storm promised some reprieve from the muggy summer air, but the heat is worse now than it was this afternoon. The wine you had with your meal, the glass in front of you now refilled a third time, combined with the weather makes your head feel like it has been wrapped in wool. Even breathing seems laborious.

But there are footsteps against mosaic floors, and footsteps mean visitors and visitors mean business. Business at such a late hour is never a good sign. With a groan you stand, with a sigh you straighten your tunic, and then the footsteps are drowned by a clap of thunder so loud you flinch.

What follows it is not the sight of one of your servants or even your husband. In the gloomy darkness that always follows a flash of lightning a shadow moves into the room, and when your eyes have adjusted to the dim lights of the lucernae all around you, you flinch again, this time with cause.

A man is standing before you, looking like the slain ghost of a soldier from the battlefield nearby. He is covered in dirt and grime, wet from the rain, wet from the blood he has recently spilled. His armor looks black in the darkness, and your eyes flicker to his side in trepidation only to discover that he’s still wearing his sword. He’s still wearing his sword, going against the rules of your house, the rules of your husband.

“Where is he?” the stranger asks, his voice deep and dangerous like the thunder outside.

You could play dumb, you could act like you don’t know who he’s talking about, but in that voice you discover something familiar, like a memory of a distant dream, never quite forgotten.

“He isn’t here,” you reply. “He might come back later, but he’s with the senate.”

The man steps closer, quick strides that take him right to the foot of your triclinium. You step backward until you reach its head, trying to put the piece of furniture between the two of you. Your hands are clammy.

“Good,” the stranger answers with a twitch of his lips that’s all too familiar for all the wrong reasons. “I promised you I’d be back for you, and I always keep my promises.”

There’s a doorway behind you leading through a small peristyle straight to your husband’s tablinum. You glance at the court, at the shrubs and flowers and fountains that you know are there but that are currently hidden by curtains of rain and darkness.

“Don’t –,” the stranger starts, but it comes too late.

You turn and run, skip down the two steps from the porch into the garden itself, your feet splashing into puddles as you run and run. Heavy footfalls behind you, heavy breathing, and a heaviness in your heart, calling back to a similar moment years ago that happened on such a different day full of laughter and sunshine and secret kisses exchanged in secret corners.

You reach the doorway to the tablinum. “Stop!” you bellow, and to your surprise he does. To your surprise, this works, and you don’t know what to do with that. “What do you want, Acacius?” you ask, your heart growing even heavier when you name him.

“You know what I want,” he answers, the rain loudly hammering against his armor, the water dousing his hair, making his curls stick to his forehead. “I came back to collect what you owe me.”

“We were children,” you remind him.

He’s up the steps faster than you can say those three words, the years between now and that summer afternoon seemingly having left no traces.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he growls, the storm raging over the city reflected in his eyes.

You step backwards into the tablinum, one hand protectively slung across your stomach. “You should leave, Acacius. I have nothing more to say to you.”

But there is only so far you can go before your back connects with your husband’s writing desk. And once it does there is nowhere for you to run to.

“I don’t need you to say anything.” His face is cast in shadows now, but when another flash lights up the night sky, you see that his expression is completely blank. “I just need you to lift up those expensive skirts of yours and let me take what’s mine.”

“Go back to that battlefield of yours,” you reply. “Go back and defend Rome like you’re supposed to. Or are you too much of a coward still?”

You should have known he would not take that kindly, should have known that provoking him wouldn’t make him leave. But when you feel his cold, wet hand wrapped around your wrist, when you’re being yanked into his chest, turned around, and shoved up against the desk, it still catches you by surprise. Some part of you, the one that never left that sunny afternoon, didn’t think he’d have it in him. Another part wanted him to.

His body presses into you with such force the desk scrapes against the stone floor with a creak loud enough to be heard over the storm. The sound that cannot be heard is the gasp you let out when he pushes up your tunic, exposing your legs to the humid night air.

“Don’t –,” you start.

He shushes you, one dirty finger touching your lips. You can smell the storm and the blood on him. He can feel your shaky breath.

“Just this once,” he mumbles into your hair.

Maybe you should fight this, but you don’t know how. He kicks your feet apart, and maybe you should kick back, connect your heel to his shin, and run. He bites the spot where your neck connects to your shoulder, and maybe you should bite his finger that is now resting against your lips while the rest of his hand is wrapped around your chin and throat, bite down hard until the bone cracks. He runs his other hand down your backside and pushes it between your legs, groaning at the warmth and wetness he finds there, and maybe you should use this moment of weakness to climb across the desk and search for something to defend yourself with.

All of it passes and you do nothing. All of it passes and you push backward against him, sucking his finger in between your lips. He pulls it out of your mouth, grabs the hair at the back of your neck, and pushes your head down toward the desk, your shoulders straining in protest. The groan you let loose is read as defiance by him.

“I told you to be quiet,” he hisses. “Just …”

He trails off and at first you don’t know why but then the hand at the back of your neck is gone and you sigh with relief, a sound that turns into something less human when he pushes two fingers into you.

“God, you’re tight,” he groans, his forehead resting against your shoulder.

“Please …,” you try again, but you’re not quite sure what you’re asking for.

There’s a rustling sound behind you, leather and fabric being moved frantically, and then his fingers are gone, replaced by something thick and heavy spreading you open. You lift yourself up on the tips of your toes, trying to adjust, trying to lessen the burn, but he digs his fingers into your hips and pushes you back down, right onto him.

“Stay,” he orders. “Just … just take it.”

His words are slurred now, and your vision is blurry, your eyes wet from biting your lip so hard you can taste blood on your tongue. He rocks into you, and your nails scrape against the wood of your husband’s desk, leaving marks in their wake. But you do as you’re told.

“That’s better.” He bites your shoulder again and you gasp from the sudden burst of pain, gasp from the way you constrict around him in response. He laughs, a rumbling like thunder, then pushes your upper body against the wood, holding you down, one hand in your hair, the other firmly locking your hip in place.

Another bolt of lightning must have illuminated your face, turned sideways for him to see the trepidation in your eyes because he says, “Don’t cry. I’m going to take good care of you.”

You don’t know how to tell him that you’re not crying because you’re afraid of him. You’re crying because you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this way, the last time sex wasn’t just a duty you had to fulfill but something someone wanted from you, and just from you, so much so he would abandon his duty to take what’s his. You don’t know how to tell him you’re terrified of what that discovery might mean for you and your marriage, how you’re hoping your husband is going to walk in right this very moment and free you from the bonds that bind you to him.

Acacius starts to lose control of his body then. He’s pushing himself up deeper and deeper into you, groaning louder with each thrust. You know those sounds, dread them when they’re coming from your husband, encourage them now with desperate whimpers of your own. He grips your hair again, pulls you up flush against his chest so hard you yelp with pain, fumbles with your tunic until he finds that bundle of nerves between your legs that he loved to kiss when you were both free to enjoy each other’s company. But it’s just for a brief moment he considers your pleasure before hitting the desk with his open palm, holding onto the wood, and letting go.

You close your eyes, waiting. It doesn’t take long for him to let out a sigh, to still deep inside of you. You can feel him twitch, you feel his hot release, but most of all you feel the sting of a promise broken. Your whole body is on edge, wound up, pulled taut, and there is nothing he’s going to do about it.

When he’s done, he pulls out of you and lets your tunic fall down around your legs. You turn to face him, your cheeks burning with shame, but his face is once again hidden behind all those shadows that come with a starless night.

“You wanted to take good care of me,” you point out, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I just did,” he says, running his thumb from the corner of his mouth along his bottom lip. “You’re mine now. Leave that between your legs for him to find.”

“Acacius …,” you try, a name once so familiar then so strange now growing familiar again.

He crowds you against the desk, chest to chest this time, and wraps his thick fingers around your throat. The kiss he presses to your lips is hard, devoid of all tenderness. “Mine,” he repeats. “Never forget that.” And then he’s nothing more than heavy footsteps against mosaic floors.

[inkdrinkerworld]

dick always says he's not the type of guy to get jealous, but we all notice how he looks at guys who stare at your tits for too long when you're in a pretty dress at those fancy dinner parties(( all he wants to do is rip the dress of you but instead he has to spend the night talking to old rich people and his siblings

Cw: a little suggestive 18+ ONLY

He’s seething, though he’s really trying not to. You look gorgeous and men are staring, how is that your fault?

It isn’t. It just pisses Dick off because he can’t even have his arm around you for ten minutes without someone coming up to talk to him about the event, Waynecorp or something similar.

God he hates these events even more now.

“Baby, I’m gonna go get a refill want anything?” You tinkle your empty glass as he comes back from the longest conversation he’s ever been in about Bruce’s multiple foundations that Damien had saved him from.

“No, stay here a minute?” You’re leaning against a counter, and Dick wastes no time pressing himself close to you.

You’re in deep purple dress that sits on you perfectly, it makes your legs look long, and your hips sway just so, but most hypnotic of all is the way it hugs your chest- a square neckline that gives you the best cleavage and if he wasn’t your boyfriend, Dick would’ve felt gross for staring at your chest all night.

“What’s wrong?” Your hand rubs his back though you desperately want to run it through his gelled back hair.

“Nothing,” he breathes in your perfume, intoxicated all over again. His lips press at your neck and jaw, knowing if he were to kiss your lips he’d mess up your make up- it’s happened a few too many times in the past.

For all the years you’ve been together, you know Dick very well, and you know he’s at his breaking point with the gala.

“You look so perfect,” he whispers, eyes roving your face as though he’d forget how you looked tonight the second you were back home. “Too perfect,” he continues and you smirk. “Everyone in here is looking at you and I want to gouge their eyes out.”

You laugh then and Dick smiles. “Baby.” You huff and he shrugs.

“It’s not a problem per se, it’s just that I can’t do anything about it because everyone wants to talk to me and I have no time for the real fun.” His eyebrows dance and you roll your eyes.

“Which is what, Grayson?” You know exactly what he’s talking about.

“You, me, in a bathroom stall. No clothes.” You feel heat pool in your belly and it’s obvious Dick can tell too. If his smug face is anything to go by.

“Kiss me?” Your hands are playing with the lapels on his tux, eyes fluttering and Dick can’t deny the call of your mauve lips.

The kiss is hot and charged and Dick’s hands fall to your neck and the back of your head, keeping you close till you have to pull away from your breathlessness.

“Fuck gorgeous,” he mutters, his thumb rubbing your bottom lip. “We’ll leave soon, yeah?” His hands fall to your waist and squeezes, a soft groan leaving his throat as he feels you shiver a little.

You nod, a little dazed, lips chasing his one last time and Dick indulges you till he hears someone clearing their throats behind you.

���Grayson, stop mauling your girlfriend and come mingle. Bruce is up my ass about where you are.” Damien gives you a little wave and you flush, even more so when you realise Dick has stolen some of your lipstick.

“Dick your lips.” You mutter, reaching in your purse for wipes.

“It’s fine gorgeous, I’ll be twenty minutes and then we’re out of here.” He kisses your forehead and is gone again and you can’t help but pull out a mirror to take a peak at your lips and smile when you see that your lipstick is all at your chin.

[fayes-fics]

It's That Time Of Year

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: It's that time of year... when you could use a fake boyfriend.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex, dirty talk, hand as gag, quiet sex, sex in childhood bedroom. Fake dating, family dynamics, lots of feelings, friends to lovers.

Word Count: 11.3 k (eek Im sorry)

Authors Note: Here's my tropetacular winter 2023 Benepic! Request fill for @broooookiecrisp (HERE), who wanted fake boyfriend trope with Benedict accompanying the reader to the USA to spend Christmas with her family. I hope you like it, my dear. Thanks to @colettebronte for the read-through. Enjoy and happy holidays! 🎄

December 20th 

“Thank you,” Benedict clinks his champagne glass against yours, “for everything.”

You blush and look down from his intense blue-eyed gaze, staring instead at the untied bowtie around his collar that seems almost more attractive than when fastened.

“It was nothing,” you demure.

“It was not nothing!” he scoffs, giving you a gentle shoulder bump as you both lean on the high-top table.

“Alright, it was my job then,” you modify, giving him a modest smile as you hotch slightly - beautiful though they are, you cannot wait to take off these high-heels.

“And you are excellent at your job,” he asserts before downing the rest of his champagne and refilling both glasses from the bottle before you. 

He is lingering much longer than you thought he might, long after all his family and all the guests have left. The event was over a while ago, and all around you, the venue staff are clearing tables and stacking chairs.

Tonight was indeed a rousing success. Your first-time event managing the end-of-year fundraising gala for the Bridgerton Family Foundation, they hit a new record amount raised. Standing next to you is the newly minted CEO of that organisation, Benedict Bridgerton, looking far too dashing in his custom-fitted tuxedo. Empathetic and naturally in tune with the needs of others, he is indeed the perfect replacement to run the charitable arm of the family business now that his mother has decided to retire. In previous years, you both took deputy roles - him to his mother, you to your old boss - this was the first year you both stepped up to the plate to run things, and if you do say so yourself, you have both done an excellent job of it. A delightful working partnership built on years of friendship since meeting at university as an exchange student.

“You deserve a long Christmas break after this,” he breezes.

“Going home to the States in a couple of days,” you nod. “I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it in equal measure, to be honest,” you confess, this second glass of champagne acting like a truth serum. You didn't want to or even get the chance to drink earlier, but a little tipple to round off the rewarding night is lovely, especially in present company.

“How come?” he seems genuinely curious, his forehead knitting adorably. Of course, he wouldn't understand; he comes from an idyllic family.

“I am very much the black sheep,” you shrug, twirling a finger absent-mindedly around the rim of your glass. “Being childless, unmarried and single at thirty-three in a midwestern family is unheard of and thus the subject of much ridicule.”

“Wow,” his eyebrows shoot up, “that's…,” he hesitates.

“Judgemental? Parochial? Small-minded?” you supply dryly on his behalf.

“I was going to say traditional… but sure, those work too,” he chuckles.

You giggle a little, then sigh. “So a mixed blessing, really. It's nice to see them all; I just wish they were a bit less them, you know?” you gesture vaguely into the air.

“A boyfriend would really take the heat off?” he queries.

“Hah!” you can’t contain the bubble of amusement at the mere thought. “Chance would be a fine thing. But, yes, that likely would take the edge off the worst of their barbs.” 

“Well, I’m at a loose end,” he comments, seemingly changing the subject. “The family is spread to the four corners of the globe this Christmas. Mum is going to Costa Rica for a retired ladies' trip with Lady D. Don't ask,” he adds amusingly, holding up his hands. “Kate and Ant are taking their kids to Lapland, and my various siblings are travelling or staying with partners. Weirdly, it’ll be our first Christmas apart. At least we will all reunite for New Year's at Aubrey Hall.”

“Aww, that sounds nice,” you offer neutrally.

“What I'm saying, y/n, is…,” he continues slowly as if waiting for the penny to drop, “if you need a fake boyfriend, I am available. It’s the very least I can do after all of this,” he explains, gesturing around the room. “Plus, it might be novel to experience a typical American Christmas,” he shrugs casually.

You can’t help it; you gape at him. Completely floored. The idea is utterly left-of-field and yet so exciting your heart pounds. If there is one downside to working so closely with Benedict these last few months, it has been the exponential growth of your inappropriate feelings for him. He is so sweet and handsome; no one would be immune, frankly. It was bad enough when you were at university together; now, well, it’s slightly lethal. Your mind boggles at him playing the role of a doting boyfriend; your body, however, seems very enthused, a warm flush creeping over your skin at the mere thought.

He chuckles nervously, a likely reaction to your stunned silence. “Listen, it was just a silly suggestion; you don’t have t-” 

“Yes!” you squeak, interrupting and grabbing his jacket cuff boldly when he seems to be withdrawing. “Please,” you add almost as an afterthought, unsure how to thank someone for such a generous offer.

His face breaks out into the most handsome grin.

“Excellent! Then, it's a date!” he exclaims, tilting his glass towards yours again. “Well, a fake date,” he amends with a lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip.

Oh god. What am I letting myself in for?!

___

December 23rd

“Are you sure about this? You can still back out...” you offer, fidgeting in the bag-drop queue at Heathrow three days later. 

“Please. What else am I going to do? Sit around my flat, billy-no-mates, and eat a sad M&S ready meal?! You are literally rescuing me,” he counters, probably exaggerating for your amusement.

Very much following the motto of not looking a gift horse in the mouth, you had texted Benedict your flight details that same night, and he has made it all happen in the hours since. Somehow, he managed to wave the Brigerton magic wand and secure what was probably the last seat on your direct flight two days before Christmas. Unluckily for him, he has to slum it in economy with the rest of the plebs like yourself. He couldn't even get a seat near you; he's stuck down the back, in the middle, near the galley.

“How about we swap seats at least?” you offer, guilt creeping in, looking at your printed boarding pass. Not only is Benedict doing you a favour, but he’s also pretzelling his tall self into an uncomfortable seat. The least you can do is offer him your aisle seat.

“I’ll be fine,” he dismisses, waving a hand and fishing out his passport as you are called to the desk.

“Travelling together?” the pretty, painted lady breezes at you, holding out a perfectly manicured hand to take your passport and ticket. Then you watch her practically melt as she claps eyes on Benedict.

Tsk. Typical.

“Not exactl…” you begin.

“Yes,” he cuts in with a winning smile. “Sadly, we couldn't get seats together, though,” he pouts a touch theatrically.

“Oh! Well, let me see what I can do about that… It is Christmas, after all,” she winks at him conspiratorially, then taps on her keyboard.

A few minutes later, your bags are checked in, and you are upgraded to Premium Economy. The lady was apologetic that you still couldn't get seats together but a row apart instead. You are pretty sure if there was space, the handsome bastard would have gotten you upgraded to business without even trying.

Oh, to be a pretty Bridgerton.

___

Twelve hours later, you are in a taxi, tired but grateful for the additional legroom on the flight, even managing a few hours of light napping. Benedict is similarly sleepy, both of your heads lolling around as the car zips down the road. By the time you reach your family home, it’s evening, but to your body clocks, it's the middle of the night.

As you slide out of the taxi, a long arm wraps around your shoulders, and you startle.

“Best to look convincing from the off,” Benedict mutters as he throws his duffle bag on top of your suitcase and trundles them up the path with his other hand.

You nod and dutifully wrap your arm around his waist over his puffer coat, slightly annoyed at how good it feels, as if your arm belongs there. 

“This is so American it's almost a cliche,” he jests, looking up at your parents' house, holiday string lights twinkling in the dusk.

You giggle at his remark and bump him with your hip, quickly escalating into a friendly tussle. He hauls you into his arms and swings you in front of him.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, your limbic system alive at the feel of him pressed into you even behind heavy coats.

“Just go with it,” he responds with an easy confidence and that dazzling smile. As if in slow motion, his lips descend, and you reel as they lightly brush yours, an explosion behind your ribs at this passing touch.

Over your shoulder, you hear the front door opening and realise it’s for show, for a particular audience. You are grateful for the forethought but completely discombobulated from this partial kiss.

How am I going to survive a week of this?

“Mrs y/l/n, Mr y/l/n,” he calls as you linger in his arms, not wanting to turn around just yet.

“Well, hello there. This must be the famous Mr Bridgerton,” your dad's opening line. “We have heard so very little about you. Before yesterday anyway,” he adds, already twisting the knife in early as you pull up to the porch.

“That may well be because I asked her not to,” Benedict rebuts smoothly, releasing you to give a firm handshake. “I love the element of surprise,” he adds with a smile you have seen him deploy before, a weapon’s grade charm offensive.

Your mother’s face is a picture. “Well, well, we certainly didn't expect someone quite so handsome to accompany our daughter,” she drawls, verging on flirtatious. 

Benedict drapes his arm around your shoulders and nuzzles your hair. “Whyever not? She is simply wonderful,” he sighs, his hot breath tickling your scalp before letting you go again.

Damn, he is good at this.

“Hello, mom, dad…” you greet politely before moving in for a short hug from both.

“Happy holidays, darling. Let's get inside,” your mother fusses.

Within a few minutes, after some casual pleasantries are exchanged as you remove coats, you watch your mother give Benedict a tour of their home, including, to your chagrin, your childhood bedroom, which is a time capsule from your teen years. At least the dog-eared band posters have been taken down. As you drift back to the living room, Christmas music plays from a speaker behind the tree. Your family loves to go all out on the holiday decorating. It does feel festive and cosy, though.

“It will be a full house with all of our kids and their spouses staying tonight. So there are no spare rooms. You are on the sofabed in the den, Mr Bridgerton,” your dad comments, gesturing to the room next door; the message very clear.

“That's fine,” Benedict huffs genially, “and please, call me Ben.” 

“I might actually head to bed now,” you admit over a stifled yawn. “My body thinks it's 2am.”

“Same,” Benedict chimes.

“Oh, you should stay up, try to get into the timezone,” your mother clucks, always with an opinion about how you are not doing things how she would. “Ben has not yet been introduced to Tucker, Travis, Tegan and their spouses. They are all still out at dinner…” she indicates, listing your siblings and looking most perturbed at your decision.

“Tomorrow, Mom,” you assure.

“Alright,” she capitulates with a sigh, mostly when she sees Benedict yawn behind his hand. 

“Goodnight…” you offer to all and go to leave the room, but as you get to the door, Benedict stops you with an arm shooting out.

“Don't I get a goodnight kiss, my love?” he pouts.

At first, you look up at him shocked, then a flick of his eyes over your shoulder makes you realise he is continuing the ruse. 

“Maybe,” you flirt back, jetlag somehow making you daring. An ideal excuse to be coquettish, even though your parents likely can't hear your exchange above the music playing. They can certainly see your body language, though.

“Oh, I see. What do I have to do to earn it?” Benedict plays along, a dangerous smile and a large hand low on your lumbar spine, pulling you into him. 

“Tell me you will miss not sleeping next to me,” you boldly request, a little cheeky smile tugging at your lips to see how far he will let you push this.

A long finger swipes a tendril of hair out of your face and behind your ear, a thumb curling under your chin.

“Every night I'm not sleeping next to you is my misfortune,” he replies, sounding wistful, his eyes seeming to burn with something approaching sincerity. It makes your stomach swoop like you are standing on a cliff edge on a windy day.

“Good answer,” you stumble in acknowledgement, pushing up onto your tip toes, heart in your mouth.

“I do what I can,” he answers against your lips and then draws you into a slow, plush kiss. 

His mouth doesn't open, but it doesn't matter; the hint of wetness on his pursed lips has your body reacting, a charge ripping through your being. A sudden yearning for him to push you against the wall and plunder your mouth with his tongue. When he withdraws, you know your pupils are blown wide, but you are taken aback that his are, too; the dampness on his lip shines in the glow of the Christmas tree. 

Your father pointedly clearing his throat breaks the spell, and you jump apart as if burned.

“Sorry,” you both mumble and Benedict pulls the most adorable ‘oopsie, my bad’ face. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” he says tacitly.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

As you climb the stairs slowly, exhaling the breath it feels like you have been holding since he grabbed your arm, you know that kiss will be replaying in your head for weeks. If he keeps this up, you may well combust. 

This was a fantastically bad idea.

___

December 24th

You awaken on Christmas Eve when it’s still dark outside. A glance at your phone says it’s right after 4:30am. Already knowing you won’t get any more sleep, you throw open your case and grab slippers and a hoodie, deciding to head down to make a coffee.

You almost jump out of your skin when you see a silhouette sitting at the kitchen table.

“Sorry,” Benedict atones as he sees you clutching your chest, “time zones.”

“Same… coffee?”

“Please…”

As you potter around, making a pot as quiet as possible, he scrolls on his phone. You join him once it’s brewing.

“How is the sofa bed?” you ask, wincing guiltily.

“I've slept on worse,” he obfuscates jovially. 

“Sorry, if I’d known there wouldn't be a spare bed, I would have booked a hotel,” you apologise, rubbing your temples.

“No, it’s tradition to stay with family at Christmas,” he rebukes with a smile.

“Thank you again for all this,” you mutter, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets. “Have you done this fake boyfriend thing before?” your question is only partially in jest.

“No, what makes you say that?” he huffs bemused.

“You, uhh, have been doing an excellent acting job,” you shrug. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think they quite believe I could land you, but I’d argue you have been very convincing regardless….”

“Don't say that,” he frowns, cutting in. 

“You don’t think they buy it?” concerned things may not be working as well as you believed.

“Not that,” he waves a dismissive hand, “the other thing. Why wouldn’t they believe you could ‘land me’?” he rounds off with a quotation gesture.

You bark a laugh. “Have you seen you?  

“Stop,” he seems genuinely ticked. “That is all shit. I would be lucky to have you,” he mumbles, not meeting your eye, staring out of the French doors into the inky blackness. It won’t be sunrise for another three hours this time of year. “I am lucky, in fact, to have you as a friend,” he adds, his thoughts sounding far away.

“Well, same. I still have no idea how to repay you for all of this…” you admit.

“I already said, none needed. Why would I not choose a little foreign adventure with a good friend when the alternative is Christmas alone?!” he scoffs as the coffee machine beeps.

Unsure quite what to say, you get up to make a cup, knowing without asking how he takes his. Retaking your seat, you pick at the idea again.

“I think we should strategise…” you mutter into your mug.

“About what?”

“The plan. Now you have some inkling of what they are like, maybe we should talk tactics…?” you trail off, not sure even yourself where you are going with this.

“It's simple, isn't it?” he counters, taking a gulp of coffee. “We hold hands, hug and kiss occasionally, you know, act like a couple….” he shrugs as if it's the simplest thing in the world. Maybe it is to him; his heart probably doesn't pound when you so much as touch.

“Okay, well, I guess we can improvise. But let me know if it all gets too much. Send me a secret code or something,” you offer.

“Like a safe word?” he chuckles.

“Something like that,” you allow, trying to mask the heat you feel creeping up your sternum at the very thought.

Just then, his phone vibrates on the table.

“Sorry, it's Ant. I should probably take this,” he apologises, standing up.

You swallow a sip of your coffee, trying not to think too hard about anything, when suddenly he leans over your shoulder from behind, the phone still buzzing in his hand.

“By the way, my safeword is Byron,” he rumbles silkily into your ear. “Not that I’ll ever need it,” he adds, walking away casually while you try to bring your heart rate back to normal.

Dear God, this man is going to kill me.

___

You take your coffee back to bed when Benedict doesn't reappear after a few minutes and end up passing out again for a couple of hours. By the time you are awake again, the house is a hive of noise and activity. You pass Kallie, your oldest brother's wife, in the hallway, and she punches your arm lightly.

“Welcome home, and well fucking done!” she winks, and you frown, confused what she’s talking about. She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “That delicious slice of Britishness in there,” she elucidates. 

Shit! It just occurs to you that by falling back asleep, you left Benedict alone to fend for himself in the melee of your family. The poor man must be mauled alive by now.

So when you enter the kitchen, the last thing you expect to see is the sight before you. Benedict, with an apron on, tossing American-style pancakes like a pro on the hotplate while your family chatters around him, applauding as he serves up another perfect-looking batch.

“Darling!” he calls when he sees you. “Come here!” he exclaims warmly, holding out his arms.

Unsure what else to do and powerless to resist the opportunity, you walk over and allow yourself to be swept into his arms. He presses a kiss onto your cheek. He smells like butter and syrup, and you want to burrow into him.

“Sorry I left you alone in the lion's den,” you say close to his ear so only he can hear.

He smiles into your hair. “They are fine, honestly; I can handle it,” he assures mutely.

You pull back and swipe a tiny fleck of batter from his face, enjoying the round of his cheekbone as you do. What makes an odd weight land on your ribs is how his pupils dilate fractionally as you lick the dot off your thumb.

“Delicious, Mr Bridgerton,” again, unable to stop yourself from flirting with him now you have the excuse.

Something in him looks almost wild as your gaze locks.

“Get a room!” your brother, Tucker, jeers from the table.

Part of you wants to sass back some version of ‘apparently we’re not allowed’ and ‘I wish’, but all you can do is smile at Benedict as he mirrors your expression.

“More, please, Mr Brid-un,” your youngest nephew toddles over, holding up his plate expectantly.

Benedict finally looks away and ruffles the little kid’s hair. “Certainly, Brandon,” he offers warmly.

“What I find fascinating is how a proper British gentleman knows how to make good old-fashioned American pancakes,” your mother pipes up from her seat at the kitchen island.

“Oh, my nanny was an American,” Benedict waves the spatula as he pours more batter onto the hotplate and begins a new batch.

“Your grandmother was from the colonies?” Travis mocks, feigning outrage.

“Oh no… not that sort. My umm nanny nanny, as in the lady who looked after us as kids,” he explains, looking somewhat sheepish.

“Shhiittttt,” your sister Teegan drawls, looking up from her phone for the first time. “You’re like actual rich, huh?”

“Language Tee!” your mother warns from across the room.

Teegan pulls a face and then turns her attention back to Benedict, awaiting his response.

“Please, can you all not be so… y/l/n,” you cut in, holding up your hands to the gathered family. “For once, can you all just…?” you taper off, hoping they will read between the lines.

“How’d you two meet?” Dean, Teegan’s husband, calls out, ignoring your plea completely.

“We actually met at university many years ago,” Benedict explains, flipping the pancakes as they bubble. “But we started working together last year on various projects, and well, we grew much closer.” 

So far, so truthful.

“Then, well, one memorable day, when we successfully wrapped up a project we had worked on so hard together, I realised she meant so much more to me than a friend,” Benedict continues, sounding so sincere you almost believe it yourself. A tiny flutter in your chest that the project he refers to could be the Gala. “I kept it to myself for a while, but late one night, I couldn't resist, and I confessed my feelings. I am the luckiest man alive because it turns out she felt the same. And, well… here we are,” he concludes, shooting you a look so loaded you forget it's a yarn for a few seconds.

“Friends-to-lovers, I stan,” Claire, your other sister-in-law, comments. She always has her head stuck in some romance book.

As Benedict serves the next batch, the focus of the room is pulled to your nieces and nephews as they overload their pancakes with toppings, and you are grateful to be out of the glare of the family spotlight temporarily.

“How did I do?” Benedict murmurs into your ear as he sidles up next to you, wrapping an arm around your back. There's a tinge of pride in his voice. He knows he has them eating out the palm of his hand, and fuck if it isn't so attractive.

“I should tip you…” you joke, not wanting to give away quite how flustered you are.

“I accept payment in kisses,” he breathes, his smouldering stare sliding down to your lips as you crane your head to look up at him. 

It's only a few minutes later, as you grab a pancake from the stack that you realise he didn't say that at volume anyone else could hear… it was purely for you. And you have no earthly idea what to do with that thought.

___

The rest of Christmas Eve passes with your family’s usual rituals, with Benedict beside you, playing the doting boyfriend to perfection. Each brush of his makes your adrenaline spike—a divine torture. 

While dinner is cooking in the afternoon, your parents usher most of you out of the house for a walk in the bracing cold to build up an appetite. And so you stroll, Benedict’s gloved hand in yours.

“So Ben, is everyone in London not married with kids, or is it only my sister who can't seem to figure it out despite her old age?” your sister Teegan digs as she pushes the buggy next to you.

“Well, we are a similar age, and I'm not married with kids either,” he points out breezily.

“Yeah, but…” she halts, realising there is no response she can think of. “Wait, why don't you have kids yet? Don’t you want a family? I thought you said you had lots of brothers and sisters?”

“I do come from a big family, yes. And I suppose one day, yes, I do want kids of my own,” he adds, seemingly honest as you listen intently, your heartbeat in your ears, “but I feel no rush yet.”

“So you’re not knocking this one up anytime soon then?” your brother Tucker stirs, checking your shoulder roughly from the other side.

You can't help but feel a blush darken your cheeks at that and refuse to look up at Benedict. You open your mouth to tell Tucker to shut up, but Benedict cuts across you.

“If anyone has come close to being someone I would consider having kids with, it's your sister,” he admits casually, as if talking about the weather. But for you, it feels like you are back on that proverbial cliff edge about to dive over, heart racing. It takes every fibre of your being to keep walking and acting naturally, grateful for the gloves between your joined hands; not sure you could handle his skin touching yours as he says such things.

“Ooooooo,” Tucker singsongs, “going to the chapel, and they’re gonna get mar...”

“Cut it out!” you grouse.

He peels a laugh, then jogs on ahead to catch up with Dean.

“I’m sorry about that,” your apology hushed as you keep walking, Teegan falling behind you to deal with one of her kids' tantrums.

“Why? It's an inevitable question when you meet your other half’s family,” he points out, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you wander as a pair.

“Yes, but… it's a bit much, considering they just met you hours ago. They are intentionally stirring the pot. Trying to scare you off,” you frown, realising what they are doing as you say it aloud.

Benedict stops walking, and it makes you halt, too. “Nothing could scare me off,” he assures, his face soft with understanding as he cups your jaw. His cold, damp glove is a balm to your flushed, embarrassed face.

“Right,” you nod, “cos this is all fake…” you add quietly, trying to hide the defeated tone.

“Anyone who knows how great you are would not be scared off by the idea of a future with you,” Benedict says soothingly, a thumb stroking your cheekbone.

“Well, when you meet a candidate who fits that bill, send them over to me, yeah?” you quip brittly as you look off into the distance, unable to meet his hazy, sincere eyes.

His response is interrupted by your niece tugging on his coat.

“Uncle Ben, can I sit on your shoulders? Please? Daddy already has Brandon, and my feet are so tired,” she whines in that dramatic way only little ones do.

Benedict laughs and releases you. “Certainly, Sofia,” he smiles as he hauls her onto his shoulders, uncaring of the mess her little boots smear onto his coat as he does so.

“Faster! Go faster!” she orders, and genially, Benedict obeys, moving ahead and breaking into a light jog as she giggles loudly and holds onto his chin.

You try to ignore the flutter in your chest at the sight of him with a kid on his shoulders, as if he were born to do so.

This was such a mistake…

___

“When are you moving home, y/n?”

You knew this was likely coming. The question your mum has to ask every time you visit. And every year, your answer is the same.

“I don't think I will be, Mom,” you explain calmly as you pass the plate of peas to your sister, not wanting to look at Benedict, who sits opposite you at the long table. “I love London. It feels like home,” you add with a shrug.

“Yes, but this living abroad thing is supposed to be a phase—a young person thing. You are mid-thirties now. It's time you settled down,” she frowns.

“I am settled,” you reply neutrally, “I have a place of my own that I love.”

“Yes, but an apartment, sorry ‘flat’,” she self-corrects sarcastically, “that’s not a real home. A home is a house with a garden in a safe town with good schools for your children,” she lectures.

This line of discussion used to annoy and rile you up, but you have become weary of it over the years. The rest of your family is tucking into their food but listening smugly, having towed the traditional family line.

“I think home can be many things,” Benedict pipes up from across the table. “A home is about where you feel safe and secure, surely Mrs y/l/n?”

“Well, yes…” your mother falters, slightly taken aback by his interruption but still charmed by his effortless congeniality.

“Then I would say your daughter’s home is London,” he smiles disarmingly. “You should see her there; I encourage you to visit sometime. She has a home she has made beautiful. She has many friends, and she is amazing at her job. She is happy. I, for one, cannot imagine her anywhere else.”

Again, you can feel your heart beating at his sweet words, even knowing they are all for show; it's lovely that someone has your back for once, defending your choices.

“But what of the schools, Mr Bridgerton?” your dad piles in, “I have heard nightmares of the school system in the inner cities, in this country and yours,” he shudders.

“My family has always gone to a superb prep school in Chelsea. I see no reason why our children could not do the same when the time comes,” Benedict responds with a winning smile.

You almost drop the corn casserole at that line.

Plonking it heavily on the table and taking a deep breath, you finally pluck the courage to look over at him. Looking back at you is a playful smile and a wink. And suddenly, you know what he is doing. It likely appears genuine to others, but you know him too well; you know all his facial tells. He is doing this for sport. To entertain you. The kaleidoscope of emotions you feel is near exhausting, relief mixed with a tang of disappointment that it's all for show.

“Well, that's wonderful news, Benedict,” your mother squeaks. “I cannot wait to hear more once you are engaged,” never failing to find an opportunity to take a dig.

“You will be the first to hear, I promise,” he smiles winningly and takes a bite of food. “This is delicious, by the way,” he adds, “I hope you will share the recipe with me, seeing as we will likely be family one day...”

And just like that, he expertly manoeuvres your mother onto the only topic she loves more than marriage - cooking. As if he could intuit how to steer the conversation. Relieved, you sit back and finally take a deep breath, then a bite of your admittedly delicious plate. You are even grateful he manages to distract them long enough that there are no jibes about your weight.

Maybe this wasn't such a mistake…

___

A few hours later, with the little ones tucked up in bed, the adults gather around the tree with the fireplace roaring and the festive music softly playing. It's time for gift exchange, a family tradition away from the hubbub of Christmas morning with the focus on the children ripping through all the gifts Santa left for them.

You are enjoying the buzz a second large glass of wine provides when the focus turns to you. Benedict sits beside you and slides a hand onto your knee. Still, your body reacts, but you attempt to act as if it doesn't make your blood pump hard in your head.

“Benedict, we didn't know you were coming, so I'm sorry we have no gift for you to open,” your mother says sheepishly, “and y/n, we have done as you always ask; we have sent you a gift card over email,” she explains, “which makes me sad as you have no gift to unwrap….”

“That's fine, Mom, thank you. And don't worry, I don't need a gift,” you assure, taking another swig.

“Actually….” Benedict clears his throat, “I have a gift for my girlfriend if that is okay?”

You look agog at him.

“But… I didn't get you anything,” you splutter, even as he moves his hand from you and reaches behind his back, revealing a small navy velvet box.

“Don't worry. It's nothing really, just something small,” Benedict assures, even as you can feel everyone’s eyes on you as you reluctantly let him place it in your hands.

Slowly, you pull at the tail of the lovely soft gold ribbon until it relents. With your heart in your mouth, you snap open the box. Nestled in more navy velvet is a tiny, beautiful crystal penguin, your favourite animal.

“Ben…” you are lost for all other words, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“I remember you loved the larger one my mum had on her desk,” he explains lowly as you stare transfixed by all the facets catching the twinkling light. “Every time we had a meeting, you would stare at it or play with it. So I knew I had to get you one too, for your desk… or wherever you want to put it,” he modifies sweetly.

You can't help it - the swell of emotions makes you throw your arms around him as you clutch the precious item. It's like he has managed to distil everything you could want from a Christmas gift - something personal, tailored to you, nothing too extravagant but small, elegant and beautiful. And that he had the forethought to bring it across the Atlantic with him makes your heart burst even more. He is possibly the best friend you could ever have. You fervently wish he was so much more.

“I can't believe you remember that,” you mumble. “This is perfect and beautiful. Thank you, Ben, thank you so much.”

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he says into your hair at a volume you know is designed to be heard by the room.

“Merry Christmas,” you return quieter, only for him.

Vaguely, you hear your mother moving on to hand a gift to another, perhaps embarrassed by the display of affection between you. Grateful that the family focus seems to have shifted to someone else, you go to pull away from the embrace, but Benedict draws you tighter into him. 

“Lovers don't let go so quickly,” he whispers. “Now I'm going to kiss you again if that is okay…”

Your tummy flips. “Okay…” you barely struggle out the word.

Then his hand is on your cheek, and time seems to slow like treacle; his eyes burn into yours as he moves in, then flutter closed as his lips meet yours. Again, it is like a rollercoaster, a thrilling plunge as his lips move over yours. It's like the previous night, respectful with a closed mouth but so sweet and promising, so much more a whole ripple runs through your body. You need more, so much more, desperate to climb into his lap and demand a real kiss, audience be damned.  When you part, he tilts his forehead against yours and smiles gently, licking his lip as if savouring the taste.

“I'm glad you like it. The gift that is,” he clarifies, a sweet mumble.

You giggle. “I love it, Ben, thank you. I'm sorry I didn't get you anything; I feel terrible.”

“Being here with you is gift enough,” he assures in a voice that melts your insides, which you assume is for the audience.

My god, this man will be the death of me.

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant fog of wine, your siblings holding court and telling stories as you listen, feeling the weight of Benedict’s hand again on your leg as he sips on a whiskey. Once again, you feel the creeping of jetlag and decide to turn in around 10pm. You give Benedict a peck on the cheek before he can draw you into another confounding kiss and make your escape upstairs with a glass of eggnog and your book.

As you settle into bed, you try not to let your thoughts spiral as you catch sight of the crystal penguin in its box. Instead, you tell yourself he is a good friend and rich; it's likely nothing to him, and not to read too much into it.

___

December 25th 

At some point, you drift off to sleep, book in hand, the timezone still catching you out. You only realise it when you are awoken suddenly around 2am by a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you croak, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to adjust to the light; you had fallen asleep with the bedside lamp on low while reading.

The door opens ajar, and Benedict’s handsome face pops in. “I saw your light on…” he says softly, “just wanted to check on you.”

You put your book aside, pull the covers around your neck and feel an odd flutter as he closes the door behind him. He looks cosy in long tartan pyjama bottoms and a soft dark t-shirt.

“I'm sure your dad would kill me if he knew I were here,” he jests as he hovers a few feet away.

“Come sit,” you pat the bed next to you, even as you feel strange about him being here, dead of night on Christmas Day. 

He nods gratefully and perches on the edge of your bed. It's a full-size mattress, bigger than a twin, but not a double bed. You can feel his weight tugging the bedding tight over your thighs.

“Thank you again for my gift, truly,” you gesture to the box on your bedside table.

“I had to. I couldn't think of anything more… you...” Benedict smiles that demure smile with downcast eyes that always makes you want to shake him and tell him to stop looking so fucking adorable. Or mount him. Or both. You have to bite your lip to stop blurting out your errant thoughts.

“But still to buy me such a wonderful gift and put up with my family… I mean… you deserve a medal,” you shrug.

A hand clamps onto your knee through the bedding, but it still surprises you. 

“Stop it,” he gruffs. “I'm going to need you to stop. Seriously. I chose to come here. It's been fun. Something different. Yes, your family is a bit… intense, but everyone’s is. Each has its own special blend of crazy. You’ve seen the Bridgerton brand of dysfunctional up close,” he points out, knowing without saying more how much you have watched them bicker over the years.

“But you’ve said all those lovely things, made up all these amazing believable stories…” you argue back weakly.

“Every single thing I have said to your family has been the truth,” he responds solemnly.

You replay a few choice record-scratch moments in your head. “But what about the stuff about me being the person you could see yourself having kids with and where these imaginary kids would go to school…” you point out, wincing as you do.

“I told no lies,” he answers each syllable enunciated slowly, staring you down.

It feels like your whole world tilts when he utters those words.

“What are you saying?” you query, breathier than you mean to sound but needing him to spell it out.

He sighs, but a mischievous grin twitches the corner of his mouth. “You are much smarter than this; don't be obtuse now, y/n,” he rumbles, something in the challenging way he says it catches a fire behind your ribs.

“Ben…” you warn, so many contradictory feelings at once.

“You are all the things I said and more, and you must know how amazing you are,” he offers softly as you feel your eyes misting.

“Please don't,” your last vestige of resistance, still not believing what he says can possibly be true, too close to a festive miracle. Part of you thinks that at any moment, you will wake up alone and bereft.

His fingertips brush your cheek, and you inhale sharply and look up to see him inches from your face.

“Fine, if you don't somehow believe my words, maybe you’ll believe my deeds…”

It's the last few words out of his mouth before his lips meet yours.

This time, it's not for an audience; it's just for the two of you, and it almost stops your heart. A hesitant, soft, sweet brush that becomes more as he leans in and deepens the kiss. His lips part yours as your mind grinds to a halt, tentatively following his lead, kissing him back… the catalyst, the permission he needs. A large hand rounds behind your head and pulls you forward. Suddenly, it's a tidal wave, his tongue rolling greedily over yours, becoming hungry, urgent, desperate, your body awash with chemicals, scarcely able to believe Benedict, the star of every one of your spicy dreams, is here in your childhood bedroom, kissing the very life out of you in the early hours of Christmas Day.

“Lay down,” he murmurs into your skin as his lips glide over your cheek, and you follow his order without thought, shuffling down obediently until you lie flat and stare up at him transfixed. 

It’s as if he’s taken your disbelief as a challenge to prove how very real this is. With one hand, he tosses aside the covers and crawls over you until he is engulfing you, surrounding you with his scent that makes your mouth water. His lips are hot on your neck as his hands map your body, lingering in places you are self-conscious about. 

“Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” he sighs as if disputing your internal monologue, his breath ghosting warm over your collarbone. 

“Stop…” you demure, wriggling under him, feeling bashful.

“No..” his crooked smile is lethal as his head pops up from worrying your throat with a little edge of his teeth. His hand skates your clothed breast, and on instinct, you push up into it, your nipple hardening as the heat of his palm seeps through your nightshirt. “Please take off your top,” he implores, his mouth finding your lips again. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt of touching your naked body.”

“I can’t believe this…” you mutter, shaky, confounded that it could be true—the man you desire desiring you back just as wantonly. He lowers his body between your legs, surging his hips so you feel something insistent inside his pyjamas.

“Now, do you believe me?” he dusks into your ear.

“Benedict…” falls from your lips as an excited shudder.

“Say my name again, please,” he huffs right against your cheekbone, pinning you under him with his pelvis.

“Benedict,” you repeat, revelling in the effect it seems to have on him.

It gives you the courage to whip off your top. The noise he makes as he realises you are naked underneath it is a beeline right between your legs.

“Shh,” you hush, giggling, a rush through your veins, not wanting anyone to disturb this, as he slides his lips down over your skin towards your breasts.

“I cannot,” he remarks gleefully,  “not with such a bounty beneath me.” 

His lips clamp onto your left nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Might wake fam…” you stumble out, impressed you can even do that.

He pulls up, his biceps in tense relief as he balances on his fists curled on either side of your waist. “Then lock your damn door,” he growls in a way that has you clenching.

“No lock…” you squeak, wishing beyond belief you had one.

“Shit, really?” he sighs, leaning back down to kiss over your sternum. “I’m not sure I can be quiet; I’ve wanted this for too long…”

You go to query that statement, but he moves to your other breast and does the same, so the only sound you are capable of is a guttural moan.

“Shh,” he hushes you back cheekily, tilting his head up from your chest, eyes sparkling and face so achingly handsome you still can barely believe this is happening,

“We really do have to be quiet…” you point out reluctantly.

“I know,” he sighs into your breastbone, dropping a soft kiss there. “I want to tell you so many things….” 

“Whisper them to me…” you beseech, running your fingers through his lush, thick head of hair, tilting your breast back up to his mouth.

He smirks and catches your unsubtle hint, once again using his talented mouth to make you shudder under him. He runs a finger down your centre line to your belly. 

“Your body is perfect,” he sighs. You go to protest, but he shoots you a disapproving look, so you bite back your words. “I could get lost for hours tracing your lines,” he hums, his featherlight touch tickling as it crosses under your belly button, making you giggle. “Hmm, a little ticklish too,” he sounds utterly captivated by that discovery, throwing you a very troublesome expression.

“Don't use it against me…” you warn, knowing he will ignore you, a fizzy feeling at this playfulness.

“Oh, I just might…” he chuckles as he runs his tongue lower over your torso, a hot, damp line that leaves fluttering in his wake. “I could do this all night…your skin is so soft,” he purrs, inhaling deeply, nuzzling his nose above the line of your pyjama bottoms. “You always smell so fantastic,” he sighs, using his teeth to tug on the ribbon. 

You’ve never had someone be this vocal during intimacy. It makes you feel reassured but also slightly bewildered by just how aroused you are getting, Benedict’s resonant voice skittering compliments over your skin, making you embarrassingly wet. Your hands greedily pull at his t-shirt, hoping he will get the hint.

“If you want something from me, you have to say it,” he teases as he switches to using his fingers to undo the bow on your pyjamas. 

“Please take off your top, Ben,” you mewl, even as your heart pounds at the idea you will soon be naked under him.

“I will,” he promises, “in a minute…” 

As if sensing your apprehension about removing your last item of clothing, he leaves it in place, shuffling lower and stretching your legs wide with his shoulders. You gasp loudly as his mouth, hot through the thin cotton protecting your modesty, sucks insistently over your slit. A large hand curling around your hip to stop you canting off the bed. Your clit throbs, and your pussy leaks copiously down your bottom.

“Fuck I can tell how wet you are even through this fabric,” he stutters.

“I'm sorry...” you squirm, embarrassed.

He surges upright, grabs your hands from around his head and cages them on the mattress beside your hips.

“Let's get two things very clear,” his voice stern but achingly seductive. “One, your body is incredible, and you should know by now how much I desire you. Two, if you ever apologise again for being turned on, I will be annoyed. Do you know how proud I am? That I can do this to you? How absolutely rigid this makes me?” rutting his hard cock against your left calf to prove his point. “I want your desire running down to your knees. I want you mindless and trembling with need for me.” 

“O-okay,” you stumble out, entranced. This filthy poetry and feralness is beyond anything you could imagine him capable of. You have seen hints of his menacing potential, but full force, it’s breathtaking.

“Good,” he smiles crookedly, releasing your hands. “Now lift your hips so I can get you properly naked,” the slightly bossy rejoinder really working for you.

Mutely, you do as bidden, his fingertips trailing fire down your hips as he tugs the material over your thighs, impatiently pulling them from around your ankles and tossing them over his shoulder, his gaze locked onto your body. He groans a curse, and you again find yourself clenching around nothing at his untamed response.

Whispering his name is a reflex, your fingers carding again into his hair as he lowers his mouth and suckles the skin of your hip before slowly, almost torturously, winding his way lower towards your centre. Every place he touches feels alive and fluttering, him whispering reassurance and praise into your flesh, like a sensual requiem that catches your breath. By the time he trails his nose down the crease where your thigh meets your body, you are panting, eyes screwed shut, head tilted back, anticipation knotting your guts.

“Look at me,” he orders softly, his face framed by your thighs as you gulp and look down the plane of your body to him. “Don’t look away; I want to see your eyes when I do this,” his breath hot on your slit.

He unfurls his tongue and ploughs through your wet flesh, making your toes and fingers curl. You have to bite your lip and curse behind your teeth, the sensation overwhelming, his eye flashing fire in his blown pupils at your bodily reaction. You hiss loudly, needing to call out so bad your lungs ache. You twist your pillow to bite down on a corner but keep your eyes on him as told. He chuckles pridefully, the sensation shooting up your pelvis, then keeps going. Teasing around your clit with a lathing action that is nothing like you've had before, devouring, using his whole face, strong arms wrapping your thighs in a vice-like grip, held lewdly open It feels so good that within moments you are panting. Still, part of you is tense, scared about your ability to be silent.

“Relax,” he breathes, shaking your hip gently in his grip, sensing the tension in your being. 

“I'm worried I won't be able to stay quiet enough,” you admit, muffled around the pillowcase, looking away to stare at the ceiling as he busses a soft kiss onto your inner thigh.  

“One moment…” he withdraws and hops off the bed. You watch, vaguely dazed, as he drags a heavy chair against the door and wedges it under the handle so it can’t be opened. “There, now we should get some warning.”.

When he turns back around, you instinctively pull the cover over yourself to hide your naked body, even as you can’t help but stare at the tent in his pyjama bottoms, mouth watering at visions of what lies beneath.

“Don’t do that,” he reproaches softly, “show yourself to me.”

Reluctantly, you push the sheet away again, squirming slightly as his eyes roam your body lasciviously as he prowls over to you, stripping off his t-shirt as he does. His naked torso is perfect, toned and honed, and as he crawls over you, you are hypnotised by the view. 

“You are so beautiful,” he sighs, dropping a kiss on the tip of your nose, the scent of your arousal on his face. “Never cover yourself in front of me; you should be proud of your body.”

You’ve never had someone say that before, and your insides are molten, a need for him that burns so bright, an inferno purely of his making.

“Tell me what you want,” he proposes, lacing your fingers with his, kissing your fingertips, then sucking them into his mouth, looking at you expectantly as you stutter at his warm, wet, talented tongue lathing over your fingertips.

“Everything…” you blurt out honestly. “Anything. This is all wonderful… Can I return the favour for you?” you deflect, brushing your other hand tentatively over his bulge as he hovers over you.

“Yes, you bloody can,” he growls, releasing your fingers from his lips as his eyes flash dark. But he grabs your hand away from his cock, calming his tone. “But not tonight. Another time…”

“Another time?” you echo, temporarily stunned by the idea this isn't a never-to-be-repeated Christmas miracle.

“Yes. Why would you think this a one-time thing?” his brow knits as he drops a kiss on your cheek. “What about my actions and words tonight suggest that?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” you concede, “just history…”

He cups your jaw. “The past is the past. This is now and me,” he states clearly, running a thumb tenderly over your lip. “I will do whatever you want. If you tell me to leave this room right now, I will, and I won't think any less of you…”

“Don't you dare,” it's a snarl from some dark recess deep inside you, your legs twining around his to lock him in place.

“There she is…” he chuckles, that lopsided grin taking over his face before kissing a line down your throat. “Now tell me what you want, y/n.”

“I want you inside me,” you confess, running your hands over his naked back, loving the play of muscles under warm skin.

He groans at your words, an edge of teeth on your jugular, making you ripen, feel daring. If he wants to know just how wild he makes you, you are going to show it. You grab his face and drag it up until he is over you again, his pupils blown and his hair a mess from your tugging.

“Fuck me, right now, Ben,” you demand hotly, pushing your body up into his and delving a hand inside the back of his pyjamas to grab his shapely rear, keen for him to be as naked as you.

He snarls and pins your arms beside your head on the pillow.

“Do you have any condoms?” he breathes hot in your ear.

“Ah shit,” your head thumps back, chastising yourself for not planning better. But then this seemed like such an unlikely outcome, frankly miraculous; why on earth would you have?

“Good thing I came prepared then,” he teases, releasing his grip to produce a small packet from the pocket of his pyjamas.

“You….” you scold, equal parts impressed and irked, running your fingers around his waistband. 

“It was a sincere wish, not an expected conclusion,” he smiles bashfully, his lips meeting yours for a searing kiss as he slips off the last of his clothing.

A shiver runs down your spine as he bears you into the mattress, naked, his rigid cock brandishing the inside of your thigh. He keeps kissing you over and over until your lips feel tingly from the slight hint of stubble around his. You wrap all of your limbs around him, craving for your bodies to be melded.

When he pushes up slightly to rip open the packet, you glance down and see, nestled in a patch of trimmed hair, a sizeable but very pretty cock. You can’t resist reaching out and touching it, loving the feel of steely strength under the silky texture; his soft groan is like music to your ears. Sighing his name, you are impatient for him to be inside you, already knowing it will feel wonderful, part of you craving skin on skin. 

Again he wears that demure smile, looking up at you through his lashes, so you take over, eagerly rolling the condom onto that pretty cock and then pulling him down on top of you forcefully.

“I like it when you are just a little bossy,” he confesses into your mouth, one hand pulling the cover over you both, then sliding between your bodies to guide himself towards you.

“I like it when you are a little bossy,” you counter, but then all your words die out as his cock slides insistently into you.

Your eyes roll back as he inches inside, so much heat and girth, your body stretching to accommodate his invasion. You both seem to utter a curse, and your hands grasp each other tight.

“You feel amazing…” he murmurs as he bottoms out, the feeling of fullness so perfect.

You whisper your agreement as he withdraws and surges back in, your feet curling around his legs, toes sliding into the light fuzz on the back of his calves. There are soft sighs, both of you trying to muffle your sounds as he sets a languid pace, your body rolling with his; each push has your walls clinging to him, your breasts squashing against his broad chest. What strikes you most as you move together is that nothing is awkward; it all feels natural, predestined, an easy intimacy that suggests months or even years together rather than a first time.

He feels so good moving inside you, so perfect; all you can do is cling to him, trying to convey with your eyes what you dare not voice. Afraid that if you open your mouth, you will release the noises you are fighting to hold in, blazing in your lungs. His stare is blistering, too, a blush across his face that speaks of desire and denied words, his neck corded, a pulse beating wildly in his prominent vein, a sheen gathering on his forehead as he pushes into you over and over.

His breath is hot on your temple as he shifts, dropping a shoulder and reaching down, looping your leg into the crook of his arm, the sheet pulling taut around your knee as he does. He hits a new spot deep inside with his next thrust, which has you digging your nails into his back and whimpering behind your sealed lips. It's as if he is doing his damnedest to break you, make you cry out, and it's the best torture you have ever known.

You huff out of your nose as he does the same, both sounding winded, as he picks up the pace, your teenage bed starting to squeak in protest.

“Shhh,” you plead with the furniture as much as him.

He stops moving, buried in you, and reaches above, stuffing a throw pillow between the bedframe and the wall, his arms flexing deliciously right over your face, the scent of his body spiking your need. It makes you grasp your thighs around his hips and flip him over, landing with a bounce, him still inside as you are on top of him now.

“Wow, that was…” he looks both astounded and exhilarated.

“Surprising?” you supply with a triumphant crooked smile of your own, your hands tracing the lines of his pectorals.

“Wonderful,” he clarifies, his hands grasping your hips as you start to ride him. The way he looks up at you, with dark pupils and a bitten lip, makes you fearless. Starting a leisurely pace, you place your hands over his on your hips, fingers lacing as his eyes slip from yours briefly, transfixed by his cock disappearing into you.

He groans low, undulating beneath you, pushing up as you sink down, his eyes back to your face, a prideful expression as your mouth drops open, his cock nudging deeper than ever before, almost a dull ache that you need, moving faster now, chasing that hit with every downstroke. You can feel your body flushing hot from the exertion, your thigh muscles burning slightly. Still, you don't waver, too addicted to that feeling of being so utterly filled, his cock dragging all the right places inside that switch off your brain and forget everything, every doubt, every uncertainty about yourself and your body, and just chase pleasure. 

“My god, you are beautiful,” he gasps, “I love to see you like this, so untamed, so free…” 

The compliments just drip like whispered jewels from his tongue as he guides your joined hands up to your breasts and grabs them with a force that fans the heavy, hot feeling in your pelvis, his knuckles snagging your sensitive buds. It makes you want to ride him forever, your clit throbbing each time you sink down, tugging temptingly but not enough to quite tip you over. The clawing sensation of being so close makes you drag your fingernails down his torso and clench around his cock. He stutters and looks at you hungrily, possessed, and then, before you know it, the room tilts as he rolls you back under him, again never leaving your body.

He withdraws and thrusts back into you with such force the wind is knocked out of your lungs, the pillow muffling the thud against the wall. Something in the atmosphere shifts; an urgency, like the heat that has been simmering, is now boiling over for both of you. He grabs your knees and encourages you to wrap your legs high around his torso, tilting your pelvis to a new angle, and when he moves, you cry loudly behind your lips, his body glancing at your clit.

He hushes you with a prideful chuckle. So you grab one of his hands and place it over your mouth, knowing you cannot trust yourself to stay quiet now. The hitch in his breath as you gag yourself with his palm is like poetry. 

Oh, Ben, you have no idea what I may want from you one day…

Your errant thoughts run to your darker fantasies, things you’ve never done before but are intrigued by, and in every one of them, it's him. Treating you just a little rough while you beg for more.

“Whatever you are thinking,” he gusts into your ear, moving faster now, “I hope it involves me.”

You nod, feeling his fingers flex across your face.

“Good, I can't wait for you to tell me,” he rasps lowly.

A bead of sweat forms along his hairline as the whole bed rocks now, the trapped pillow muffling the sound, his punishing pace pushing you ever closer to orgasm, pleasure spiking with each thrust. His hand grips your jaw; something about that pressure and the sweet words he murmurs is a contradiction of primal and tender. Sex before has always been one or the other for you; blended together, it's a potent elixir.

He takes you hard, without mercy, and you silently beg him with your eyes for just that; his cock feels so hot and rigid, pounding into you as your cries are muffled by his tangy palm. The onslaught is perfect, and you are teetering on the edge just as he pleads roughly with you to come with him. So you let yourself go, your mind blanks out, your body bucking under his violently. Shuddering convulsions fanning out from your pussy, gripping tight around him and racing through every ounce of your being, muscles taut, eyes screwed shut, a scream trapped in your lungs. He stills above you, his hand releasing your mouth as that bead of sweat splashes down onto your nose. He curls around you, coming hard, huffing gulps of air and twitching almost violently with tiny aftershocks.

After a pause filled with panted breaths and strokes on overheated skin, he carefully withdraws and discards the condom.

“Merry Christmas,” you giggle into his neck as you collapse together.

He hauls you into his embrace, tucking you under his arm and kissing your dewy forehead. 

“Merry Christmas indeed,” his answer ragged, wrapped in a warm laugh.

And that is how you both drift off - exhausted, sated bodies entwined, damp skin pressed together.

___

A few hours later, you are awakened by overexcited nieces and nephews thundering down the stairs, eager to see what Santa has brought them. It takes a moment to recall what transpired overnight, a telltale delicious residual pang between your legs, followed by the realisation you are alone. Part of you relieved Benedict has snuck back to the safety of the den, but a larger part sad not to be waking up in his arms. Sighing, you roll over and spy a jaunty cartoon penguin Christmas card propped up on your bedside table. Upon opening, you beam, immediately recognising the beautiful, looped handwriting.

Y/n 

Thank you for the most magical night. Leaving this bed might be the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be on Christmas Day or, indeed, any other day of the year. But I don't want your father to be angry with me. I have a lifetime to disappoint him… if you will let me. 

I can't wait to see you downstairs.

Merry Christmas,

B xx

P.S. I may have just booked a hotel for the rest of our stay. I think we deserve some privacy ;)

You giggle, elated; the exciting prospect of nights in a hotel and the pledge of a lifetime ahead makes your stomach leap—this could be the start of something. You momentarily clutch the card to your chest, revelling in your joy, before burying it into your book for safekeeping and going to take a shower.

When you descend the stairs, out of the picture window, you see most of the family gathered on the street with the kids circling on their new bikes. But as you round into the living room, a sight melts your heart. Benedict sitting cross-legged on the floor with Sofia, a novelty Santa hat perched on his head, surrounded by shreds of wrapping paper, festive music playing in the background as he puts batteries in some loud plastic toy that will no doubt drive everyone up the wall for the rest of the day. 

She whoops with delight as the toy noisily springs to life and runs away to play with it. That's when he looks up and sees you watching from the doorway, his face lighting up. Slowly, he gets to his feet, and then you gasp as he wordlessly pulls you into his arms, brings your hand to his face and kisses your knuckles before starting to waltz.

“I didn't know you could dance like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you tease, impressed, allowing him to lead you around, dodging haphazard toys and boxes.

“Oh, there are so many, many things you have yet to learn about me, Ms y/l/n,” he proclaims alluringly as Frank Sinatra croons from the speaker.

♫ It's that time of year  When the world falls in love Every song you hear seems to say Merry Christmas May your New Year's dreams come true. ♫

“I hope you don't have plans for New Year's,” he whispers into your hair as he brings you to a halt. “I would very much like you to accompany me to Aubrey Hall. As my girlfriend,” he explains, grinning. “Not fake,” he adds drolly after a pause.

You laugh, feeling lightheaded and giddy, but just as you go to answer, you are both interrupted by a little hand tugging on his jeans. 

“Uncle Ben, you are my favouritist,” Sofia declares solemnly. “Will you visit every Christmas?”

Meeting your gaze, his expression contains multitudes. 

“It would be my greatest honour, Sofia,” he replies to her, even though his eyes never stray from yours.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

Lights divider by @/saradika [x]

[swamp-chicken]

wild life ep. 2 ficlet - ethubs, 648 words

There’s a fragile pink flower sitting in Etho’s base. It’s wilting a little in the sun, its leaves starting to brown and curl at the edges.

Bdubs can’t help but admire it as he plans out his tower and builds up his walls. There isn’t much else in the way of inspiration around here. The island’s a construction zone, a mess of cobble foundations and building outlines, jagged walls and chests spilling over with useful junk.

It’s a pretty flower, even though it’s wilting. Gem has even potted it— a stupid luxury this early in the game. And she has given it to Etho, so sweet and so kind, and called Etho family, and Bdubs, overhearing, has swallowed down the sting and convinced himself that it doesn’t hurt at all. Because family is stupid luxury, too.

“It’s poison,” Bdubs cautions after Gem bounces away. Etho ignores him, picking up the pot and cradling it in his hand. His smile lights up his entire face.

“Don’t eat it!” Bdubs snaps, but Etho just shakes his head, still grinning like an idiot.

Etho turns the flower so he can admire it from all angles. “I’m gonna save it!” His voice is warm. “It’s my precious gift from Gem.”

Bdubs scoffs and turns back to his work. “Sure. Save it.”

Bdubs has tried to save things before. He protected them in walls of stone and snow, held them close, squeezed too tight. He played the game all wrong, wore his loyalty like a noose. It drew tighter and tighter until it strangled him— until he was knocked to the ground with the taste of iron spreading across his tongue. The snow blanketed him until he was completely erased.

Etho places the flower down in his base. “Nobody’s gonna touch it, okay?” There’s laughter in his voice, the creep of irony. “No one touch my beautiful flower from Gem!”

Bdubs can’t help but laugh along. “You know how this goes, don’t you?”

Etho smiles up at him. “I do.” Bdubs is almost taken aback by the brilliance, by Etho standing there in his tower foundations, eyes shining, the copper gleaming in the sun.

Bdubs has to work to speak around the sudden tightness in his throat. “If you put value on anything, it’s over.”

Etho shrugs and falls silent. Bdubs thinks he understands why Etho did what he did, all those years ago.

Night falls. In the glow of torchlight, Bdubs is building his tower block by block.

Etho’s tower has grown next to his, but his doorway is still unfinished. Light spills out of the tower and pours onto the grass. On the next trip to refill his inventory, Bdubs can’t help but glance inside.

It’s homey. Etho has laid down wood floors, a crafting bench, some chests. Etho himself is in there, too. His back is to the doorway and he doesn’t notice Bdubs’ approach. He must be busy with something. Bdubs can hear him humming the way he does when he’s concentrating, quiet and off-key.

Etho steps back and now Bdubs can see the water bucket in his hand, the task that Etho was so diligently working on. The pink flower: no longer wilting, but standing tall.

“Bdubs!” Etho exclaims, and Bdubs flinches. “How long have you been there?”

Bdubs shifts his weight. “Just checkin’ up on you.”

“And?” Etho asks.

“Copper tower, check. Golden ratio, uh… I gotta count.”

Etho snorts. “You’re pretty nosy for a guy who said we were all gonna mind our own business this season.”

“Yeah, well…” Bdubs doesn’t have a retort. “The flower looks nice.”

“Mm,” Etho agrees. His gaze sharpens. “Don’t get any ideas!”

“No, I—“ Bdubs is choking. “I’d never.”

“Never?”

Bdubs is uncomfortable with the skepticism in Etho’s voice, uncomfortable with the wave of emotion cresting through his body.

“Goodnight, then,” Bdubs says. And he quietly returns to his work.

[peachybeom]

hickeys ♡

slight suggestive

beomgyu x reader

You stared intensely at the empty bottle of concealer in your hand, as if your continuous gaze would magically refill the product which was now hollowed out inside it.

Defeated, you set down the bottle on the slab and inspected yourself in the large mirror situated in front of you.

You were dressed in a strapless black dress, for which you had saved up for almost an entire month.

Your makeup was light but sophisticated and hair rested gently on your shoulders in long beachy curls.

This look was as admirable as you can present yourself to be, and you were satisfied with it- until your eyes again travelled to the giant reddish blue bruise imprinted firmly on your neck.

You cursed your luck, when you found out that you had run out of the concealer, one you usually used often to cover these love bites, because everything else in your makeup kit just seemed not to be doing the trick.

You tried everything-using three different shades of foundation, excessively rubbing your skin with a toothbrush, even spraying your hair stiff to hide the sore spot but nothing seemed to be working.

You let out an irritated scream and slammed your hands loudly on your vanity.

Today was one of the most important day in your and Beomgyu’s relationship. You two had been going out for almost an year and Beomgyu’s parents had invited you to their yearly business celebratory dinner.

You knew this dinner was a big deal because it was supposed to be attended by important people along with family, the higher ups who held valuable assets in Choi Businesses so naturally you had planned well in advance, picking out your dress weeks ago, practicing civil conversations one could have with their boyfriend’s parents again and again in your head so you could leave a good impression on them.

“Is everything alright babe?” Beomgyu asked in a concerned tone.

You turned to look at your boyfriend and your breath almost got caught up in your throat.

He was still in the middle of getting dressed, hair slicked back neatly and shirt buttoned up halfway through the top.

Choi Beomgyu screamed perfection, without even trying.

You quickly brought yourself back to reality and scowled at him.

“This is your fault,” You said pointing at the hickey now almost turning red.

It was indeed his fault. Last night Beomgyu acted unusually needy and demanded attention. One too many glasses of wine later you both found yourselves on the couch exploring every crook and crevices of each other’s body while a marvel movie played out in the background softly.

Beomgyu stepped closer, and bent slightly almost closing the gap between the two of you.

“Wha-what are you doing?” You stuttered at the sudden proximity.

“Hmm I think I could have done better,” Beomgyu responded in an amused tone, touching your neck gently.

“Beomgyu!” You slapped his arm and pointed at the clear bottle placed at the side of your table.

“I ran out of the concealer and now I have no idea how to cover this up, I’ve tried doing everything-oh my God we only have an hour and half left!” You panicked burying your face in your hands, this was not how you planned to start your evening.

“Hey hey hey it’s fine we will figure something out,” Beomgyu said holding your hand in his, biting back a smile.

The truth was that you were making a big fuss of the party. Though today was an important day, Beomgyu knew that his parents would adore you as soon as they met you.

They wouldn’t mind if you didn’t act perfect- nobody would but still he let you plan and plot every move for tonight just because he thought you looked cute doing it.

“Let’s try looking up on the internet yeah?” Beomgyu said in an attempt to calm you down.

After a few minutes, there you both sat on the floor of the bedroom, makeup brushes and palettes scattered everywhere in the room.

“How about we cover it up with a band aid?” Your boyfriend suggested as he scrolled through his phone searching for remedies on hiding hickeys- his search history similar to a teenage girl who just spent the night at her crush’s house for the first time.

“No that would look too odd,” You responded pouting.

“You know what I think I should just give up and change into something else, even though this dress costed a fortune,” You continued in a disappointed tone.

“No I found something! wait a minute,” Beomgyu exclaimed loudly before getting up and leaving the room hurriedly.

After a while Beomgyu returned with an ice filled bowl and sat down next to you.

“Tilt your head,” He ordered.

You carefully obliged and closed your eyes involuntarily when the small block of ice came in contact with your skin.

“I’m supposed to rub it on the hickey for a few minutes and it will disappear,” Beomgyu explained, but you hardly paid attention because the sensation of the ice mixed along with his breath on neck for even just a second had you on cloud nine.

A few minutes would be torture.

Beomgyu seemed to have caught on your reaction and decided to tease you further.

He purposely added another ice cube between his fingers and your neck and applied slight pressure causing it to melt faster.

“Almost done, just a little more,” He whispered, lips grazing your ear seductively.

You bit your tongue in response holding back your breathe successfully.

“Or we can speed it up a bit,” Beomgyu moved closer to your neck and gently licked the droplets of water forming just on top of your hickey.

“Oh my god,” You let out breathy moan, tightening your grip on the chair next to you.

“You don’t want me to stop, do you Y/N?” Beomgyu smirked as he moved his lips upwards to nibble at your ear.

You tried to reason with yourself, reaching out for Beomgyu’s hand which was now slowly making its way towards your cleavage. He applied a bit more pressure pressing the now melted cube of ice to your hot skin, this caused you to squeak.

“G-gyu...”

He was right, you couldn’t ask him to stop, you won’t ask him to stop. Maybe if you were in the right state of mind you would, you both had to leave in an hour and neither one of you were close to being ready- but to hell with it, you thought as you grabbed Beomgyu by his shirt collar.

“No don’t stop,” You pleaded, eyes filled with desperation.

This was enough of a response for Beomgyu to pull you towards him and hurriedly pull down the zip of your newly bought dress.

You were late to the party- fashionably late, as Beomgyu described it.

But you had a good time. With Beomgyu by your side, you seemed to have bonded well with both of his parents.

His mother adored you, continuously passing lovely comments, few directed especially at the slick turtleneck dress you were wearing that night.

[fact-dogsarehappiness]

Right and so Steve drains the pool for the winter and never refills it. His parents aren’t home enough to care so he doesn’t think it matters until the kids start hounding him for a pool party. He wants to make them happy so he fills the pool only to immediately drain it again. He tells them a lie about a crack in the foundation that he can’t afford to have fixed right now. They take him for his word (friends don’t lie) and lay off. It’s not until years down the line when Robin catches Steve staring at the empty pool from the kitchen window that anyone brings it up again

Robin’s the only person who knows that every time Steve looks at the pool, he sees Barb

Robin’s the only person who knows that he’s had nightmares about her dying in the pool since he found out what happened to her

Robin’s the only person who knows about the panic attack he had the last time he tried to fill the pool because he started worrying about the same thing happening to one of the kids

Robin’s the one to suggest he fill the pool once more (for good this time). That he should use dirt and rocks. That he should plant flowers and strawberries where the pool used to be so that he doesn’t have to look at it and see Barb’s death anymore

So that he can look in his backyard and see life

[realprissygirl]

my current makeup + beauty shopping list ❤︎ ྀི

hair

shark airwrap styler

more amla oil

fenugreek powder

luxy x acquired style mega curls bundle

mermade style wand mega bundle

miss jessie’s curl cream and gel (my absolute fav curly products)

nails

new liquid monomer

crystal katana

more dnd polishes

glitter base cover powders

apres gel x bond refill

bedazzled led lamp

nails charms

body

aquaphor healing ointment

braun epilator

african net sponges

urea cream

glow getter body wash

dove holiday deodorant

new belly rings (sparkly and dangly)

makeup

danessa myricks groundwork defining neutrals palette

one size pressed and loose powder

patrick ta major dimension palettes

kryolan setting spray

one size cheek clappers (both pink ones)

fenty fu$$y and confetti gloss bombs

a base restock (reups on my fav foundations, powders, and concealers)

buxom plumping glosses in clair, sophia, dolly, white russian, kanani, gabby

rhode peptide lip tints

fenty skin tint

elf halo glow

skin

paula’s choice bha exfoliant (bought this stuff three times now i’ll never let it go)

turmeric soap

joseon relief sun

argan oil

fragrance

victoria’s secret pink cotton candy mist

african body oils (yummmmm)

victoria’s secret shimmer bombshell mist

full size kayali vanilla candy rock sugar

gourmand fragrance oils

victoria’s secret daydream mists

purr by katy perry (i have meow ˖𓍢ִ໋)

victoria’s secret vanilla bean and macadamia mist

victoria’s secret pink glazed holiday mists

victoria’s secret pink seasonal scents

sol de janeiro sets

britney spears candied fantasy

sabrina carpenter fragrance collection

[baronessvonglitter]

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 19 🍒

"Hungry Heart"

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 6,022

Summary: Going to Jackson for a wedding seems like just a friend doing a favor for a friend, but old acquaintances and new attitudes don't always make for a great combination.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (reader is 39, Joel is 56), takes place June - December 2023, mention of eating food/drinking alcohol, mention of divorce, language, No Smut, mention of infidelity, post-divorce strife, Ellie is kind of a delinquent (will be discussed in next chapter), brief glimpse of lumberjack!Joel, forced proximity, mutual pining (mostly on Joel's side), Joel tries to be an authority figure and Ellie ain't having it

Author's Note: thank you to everyone who's stuck around to read this and been very patient with me! my birthday was last week so there was a lot going on, otherwise I would have had this out earlier. So.. we've got these two together again, but the reunion isn't exactly a happy one..

Series Masterlist

June 2023 San Francisco, CA

It's not until you're seated in a booth at the trendy new sushi bar downtown that you begin to doubt your agreement to meet Sarah while she's in town for a work conference. You'd said yes initially, then waffled about it in the coming weeks, and now you're drinking sake to fortify yourself. Your therapist told you it's a bad idea to mix alcohol with reacquaintances, but you're already refilling the ochoko when you look up for a moment and spy Sarah approaching you through the crowded restaurant.

You've never thought about what she might look like. A part of you imagined that you'd be sitting down to dinner with the same kid from twenty years ago. But Sarah has grown up, in her thirties, a successful attorney. And, from what you gathered by spying on Joel's Facebook account years ago, she's also a mother.

"Thank you for meeting me," she says, embracing you the way women always embrace each other, something you never got used to because of you lack of female friends. She smells like expensive perfume, the kind you spray on yourself at Sephora just for fun, and is dressed in a white maxi dress with blue floral print. She looks amazing, and you silently berate yourself for wearing black distressed jeans, a Rolling Stones tee and your lucky red Converse.

"You're all grown up," you remark, a hint of sadness in your tone.

"You look beautiful," she says in return. "You don't even look like twenty years have passed."

Little does she know you spent forty dollars on a concealer to hide your undereye circles, and were talked into spending another twenty on something called a lip oil that makes your lips sticky and tastes like cheap pineapple, which you wiped away on the restaurant napkin as soon as you sat down.

Settling down to small talk, you neglect to look at your menus, annoying the waitress who stops by to take your order three times and ultimately just comes by to refill your drinks.

Sarah lives out east in Boulder, Colorado, practicing law alongside her fiance Theo. They have a son together, ten year old Finn.

"Theo proposed when I got pregnant," Sarah says. "But I wanted us to build a foundation first, construct our little family. And when the time was right, I proposed to him."

She shows off pictures of Finn, sharing the funny and cute anecdotes that parents do, and when she asks about Ellie you do the same: Ellie in the hospital, just hours old, wearing a tiny knitted pink and blue hat as she glowered at the camera; Ellie at four, playing T-ball, one of just two girls on an all-boys team; Ellie at ten winning the school spelling bee.

Being an Army wife gave you the opportunity to see the world, experience things you otherwise wouldn't. Japan, Germany, Italy.. you were happy that Ellie got to experience them too.

But even that couldn't save your marriage to Justin.

There were infidelities on both sides, and when you found out about his, it was almost a relief to discover he was not Nice Justin, just a man who had affairs. In the midst of your own liaisons, you felt vindicated, though the fun wore off easier than it had in your youth.

Filing for divorce was only difficult considering Ellie. Justin didn't fight it, handing over full custody. It was the only part of the process that broke your heart. Now you were just repeating a history of broken families. Once the divorce was finalized it was like throwing up after being nauseous for so long, just good to get it out of your system.

("I kept my married name, just to piss off the new wife," you tell Sarah, who snickers in response. "That's understandable.")

Settling in San Francisco where you like the neighborhood and the schools, life seems easier.

"Ninth grade history," you answer when Sarah asks what you teach. "I introduce Romeo & Juliet to kids who are the same age as those characters."

And now, with the niceties out of the way, there's nothing left to talk about but the past.

You've been dreading it.

"I never apologized for what I did," she says.

You nod, inviting her to continue.

"You probably know this by now, but I was the one who called your mom."

Of course you knew it all along, but hearing it is a different thing.

She got her number from your phone when you weren't around. And, unable to get the picture of you and her dad out of her mind, she dialed it one day and explained to your mom what she saw.

"Why?" you ask.

She averts her eyes a brief moment. "Deep down I always knew there was something going on with you and my dad.. the day of my party when I walked in on you, it was a rude awakening. It's one thing to know something is going on, and another thing to witness it. And later, when you left, I realized I'd taken it too far."

Sarah goes quiet and so do you, despite the chatter in the busy restaurant.

You ask, "Did Joel ever find out it was you?"

She nods. "I told him later.. after he started seeing that awful girl you were friends with."

That part of your life, the bubble of jealousy and despair in which you made your home, seems so long ago. "Hailey," you remind her.

"Yeah.. she didn't last very long. Dad broke things off when he caught her stealing from him.. and when that happened I realized he was just better off with you. But.. by then it was too late."

By then you were already apart. The damage had been done.

"Was he angry at you for what you did?"

Sarah shrugs. "It was a silent kind of angry. You know how he is. We avoided each other for weeks until it became impossible. And by then.. you were gone."

You take a moment to reflect on your memories of Joel. "How is he?"

She smiles, as if she knew or even hoped you'd ask about him. "He's good. He's in Jackson now. Wyoming. Tommy's there with his new wife.."

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. "And, uh.. your stepmom?"

She looks blank for a moment. "You mean Tess? No, they divorced a few years ago. She was nice, it just didn't work out."

You don't know whether to feel sorrow or relief at this fact, but for once you decide to be petty and let the relief take over, hoping he went through a fraction of the pain you endured.

Sarah toys with her salmon roll. "I'm sorry," she says, nodding to herself as if giving herself strength to do it. She looks you in the eye and you catch a glimpse of the girl she used to be. "I'm sorry. For starting everything."

So many times you've imagined what it would be like if you hadn't been found out by anyone else. Would you still have stayed in Austin? Would you and Joel have had more time together?

"It's in the past, right?" You manage a smile, happy that this is out in the open. A part of you feels like a weight is lifted. Things may not have happened the way you wanted, but now you can reconcile the things you can't control anymore.

"This is probably the wrong time to say this," Sarah continues, "but I'd like to invite you and Ellie to my wedding this December, in Jackson. You won't have to worry about airfare or hotels. Theo and I will cover your ticket and.. well, everyone's staying at my dad's. He has a huge house in town, enough for close family. I'd really love it if you would come."

"Justin, you're really fucking me over, do you know that?" you try to speak as quietly as you can into the phone while laying out outfits for the Jackson trip. "Ellie's going to be brokenhearted. You told her you'd have her the entire two weeks."

On the other line Justin sighs, the new, younger Mrs. Williams can be heard in the background. "I promised Svetlana first. We really need this time together," he whispers as well, likely not trying to instigate another argument with his wife.

You have some choice words for Svetlana, but are interrupted when Ellie quietly walks into the room, well aware that the discussion is about her. "I'll call you back."

"Let me guess.." Ellie sits on the edge of the bed. "I'm not going with Dad for Christmas.."

There's no point in lying to her. She's a sharp kid. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, kiddo. He and your stepmother are taking an extended honeymoon in Malta," you tell her gently.

"You mean Slutlana?"

"What? Ellie, that's rude. Don't say that." You pause. "Don't say that to her face, at least."

She's quiet, and at times like this you regret that she's essentially living the life you lived at fourteen, always wondering when Dad would come back, if he even wanted to spend time with his own child.

"So.. I'm going with you?"

You nod. "Thank god your probation is over. It'd be nice if you paid Marlene a visit, or at least called her," I said, speaking of the parole officer assigned to Ellie after a particular incident. "We should send her some Tiff's Treats or something, she deserves a gift after putting up with your delinquent self." You playfully toss a tee shirt at her.

"Can I say bye to Riley?" she asks, hope evident in her eyes.

"No," you're adamant on this one thing, as lax as you were before the trespassing situation.

"Mom, my probation's over. I'm not gonna get in trouble just for talking to her."

"I don't care. I'm not going by the judge's rules, I'm going by mine." You pause. "You'll just have to come with me to Wyoming."

Sarah had gone to the trouble of sending a beautifully embossed wedding invitation, done in traditional cream and gold, with photos of the two of them as children, as teens, and one gorgeously done couples photo. Theo's cute, and Sarah seems happy with him.

"Boring," Ellie says in response to the wedding festivities. "Why would anyone want to get married?"

You decide not to give her a response. At her age you didn't understand the fuss about weddings either.

Forgoing Sarah's offer of paying for your flight, you rent a Chevrolet Suburban for the drive over.

"You do realize we'll be driving for over fourteen hours, right?" Ellie says, helping you put the suitcases and bags in the roomy luggage hold.

"Yep. I checked it out on Google Maps."

"What happens if you get tired?"

"We'll drive during the day and find a rest stop or a motel at night," you shrug.

"You know.. I could take over the drive sometimes," she offers.

"Okay, kiddo. Why not?"

She brightens. "Really?"

"Absolutely fucking not." With a smile you open the passenger door and she hops in, grumbling,

Only so much music can suffice a long ride, and somewhere outside of Reno, Ellie busts out a dog-eared copy of a book Justin had given her as a gag won the spelling bee.

"Oh no, Ellie, for god's sake, not the puns," you whine dramatically.

"Yes, the puns," she grins. "How else am I supposed to spend my time on this boring-ass road trip?"

"Brace yourself. We've only been on the road less than four hours."

She groans, slumping forward in her seat, revived shortly when she decides to recite every single pun in that damn book, and when you give her that Mom look, she simply grins and tells you, "That's what you get for turning down a plane ticket."

Three days later you arrive. Jackson Hole is picturesque, especially in winter, as it it was just made to be the snowy backdrop on a postcard or a highlight on Instagram.

You turn down the main thoroughfare of the town, a light dusting of snow already falling from the heavens as you peer out the window, frowning in concentration as you try to familiarize yourself with the location. Ellie's buzzing in your ear like a mosquito, singing along to something on the radio. You turn the volume down. "Quiet down, I can't see."

She nearly bursts at the seam with withheld laughter. "You want me to quiet down... because you can't see?" she teases.

"Ellie!" you groan. "We're already late for lunch with the family."

Promising yourself you'll settle in a hotel after what you hope will be a painless reunification with Sarah and the rest of the Millers, you find your destination and drive up a perfectly paved driveway. Joel's house, a craftsman-style facade done in red brick and accented with carved gable peaks, looks exactly like a house Joel would own.

Parking close enough on the curved driveway without blocking in any other cars, you take a moment to rest, stretching your neck and shoulders.

"Should've let me drive," Ellie says from her seat as you both start to disembark.

There's a smart remark on your lips but when you turn to her you're distracted by a figure at the side of the house.

Someone's chopping wood, splitting logs with precision, though not necessarily speed. He's wearing just a white tee shirt, jeans, boots. You let your eyes linger on his physique. Who is that? you wonder.

As if he can hear your thoughts or sense your presence, the figure turns and wipes the sweat off his brow.

You know him in an instant.

Joel.

Your heart feels like it's going into arrhythmia.

"Come on, Ellie," you hurry her up the walk and to the front steps.

"The bags--"

"Fuck the bags." You press the doorbell nervously, willing Sarah or anyone to open quickly.

"You made it!" Sarah practically mauls you as she greets you, giving both you and Ellie a hug.

You're swept inside where it's nice and cozy, the air scented with pine and gingerbread. Christmas garlands are strung over every doorway, along the staircase railing, the windows, and the fireplace.

"Was my dad out there? I told him he needs to start getting ready. I don't want him coming to the luncheon all sweaty," Sarah says.

"What? No. I didn't see anything.. anyone," you stutter.

"I'm happy you're here, because we're actually going to have lunch at the Tipsy Bison instead. It's Tommy's bar, you probably passed it on the way up here."

"Oh, uh.." you're distracted by Ellie precariously sloshing a winter themed snow globe, the thought of Joel is still spinning around in your sleep-deprived brain, and Sarah is still talking to you like you don't look completely zoned out and anxious.

To make things worse, Joel comes in, carrying most of yours and Ellie's luggage. His white tee sticks to his sweaty skin, his face pink with exertion and dewy with sweat, his hair dark with more gray now than ever, and on his beard too. His eyes, those dark depths you've lost yourself in so many times, peer into yours, and for a moment you forget to breathe.

"You left the trunk open," he murmurs, as if it's a quiet admonition, a secret he doesn't want to tell.

"Oh.. thank you. You didn't have to do that." Your nervous glance at him gives your blushing away because you see his face redden as well.

"Dad, can you believe she has a kid now?" Sarah says excitedly.

There's a jolt of fear when you realize father and daughter are going to be in the same room, and neither of them knows it.

"Uh, Ellie, this is Joel Miller. He's, uh, Sarah's dad, and I used to babysit Sarah.. a long time ago.." Being put on the spot, you falter your words.

"Put 'er there, Joel," Ellie says, holding out her hand for him to shake, which Joel does, the start of a tiny smirk on his lips.

"We all lived in Austin together, with your Aunt Sofia. I mean, we didn't live together but we were neighbors," you babble, feeling even more blush creep up your neck. "Way before you were born, kiddo."

Meanwhile Sarah's eyes dart from Ellie to Joel to you, and back again, slower each time, as if she's piecing the puzzle together. Her eyes linger on Ellie, her expression unreadable before settling on you. You quickly glance away.

"Let me take that from you," you motion to the luggage Joel's carrying.

"Nah, I got it. I'll show ya to y'all's rooms." He hefts the suitcases and bags like they're nothing and heads upstairs. You have no choice but to follow him, sneaking a little glance at how his great his ass looks in his jeans.

"Nice place you got here, Joel," Ellie remarks, eyes skyward, surveying the landing at the top of the stairs.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "Do you always address your elders by their given names?"

"Ellie," you whisper harshly. "Mind your manners."

"Damn, sorry," she mutters back.

"Sorry, Joel. She's--"

"Hey, why do you get to call him Joel?"

"Because I'm an adult," you say under your breath.

"He's older than you. Like, a lot. Like, Grandpa Bob's age."

"Stop it," you say through clenched teeth as Joel clears his throat.

"I can put y'all next door to each other--"

"I call this one!" Ellie claims the first door on the left, grabbing her bags and leaving Joel to lead you a little further down the hall.

"'M afraid this one is right across the hall from mine," he mumbles, leading you inside the comfortably decorated bedroom to set your things down.

"Thank you," you murmur, heart thrumming in your chest. This is the first time you've been alone with him in fifteen years. "You.. have a really beautiful home here, Joel."

He looks around, eyes darting anywhere but yours. "Thank you, that means a lot. Built it myself-- well, with Tommy's help."

"Really?" It's hard to pretend you're not impressed. "Must've been a lot of hard work."

"Yeah, it was. But she's sturdy." Joel gives a sturdy pat to the wall, and you can't help looking at his hand, the way his thick fingers splay out against the dark green wallpaper. Those are fingers that used to find their way inside you, curving just so in order for you to come quickly while his lips and tongue worked in tandem to--

Ellie's voice comes from the other room. "Wow! You guys have cable? Do you have HBO?"

"No Euphoria!" you shout back, scoffing when she quiets again.

There are too many questions on the tip of your tongue, too many things you want to say but not when you're so nervous that your hands are shaking. Staying quiet is easier. More awkward, but easier.

The room fills with unspoken words and missed chances as the two of you shift uneasily, not knowing where to start, not knowing if you should start.

"Didn't know ya had a daughter," he grumbles. "Not 'til Sarah told me."

"Yeah. Ellie's.. precocious."

A ghost of a smile graces Joel's lips as he looks at you and for a moment in time you feel eighteen again.

"How old is she?" he asks.

"She turned fourteen this past spring." God, please don't let him do the math, please don't let him do the math.

Instead he gives a low whistle, wears a teasing smile. "You look good for bein' the mom of a teenager. You still look beauti-- still look the same," he finishes.

You're thirty nine now and in possession of all the complexities that come with your age. There's more gray in your hair than you care to admit (which Ellie tells you not to dye because it "looks cool"), and there are a few more pounds on your person and a few more lines on your face than you're happy with, but his compliment warms you nonetheless.

"You look.. good.. too." Jesus, how did this man age like fine wine? If anything, the past two decades only served to make him hotter. It's unfair.

He takes a step forward, his face determined, lips pursed like he's still calculating his decision. "I.. I wanted to say--"

This time Sarah comes up, dressed for the cold, putting on her gray gloves. "Dad, get in the shower already," she scolds him. "I'm taking her and Ellie to the Tipsy Bison. We'll see you there."

Joel's eyes set on you. "I don't mind takin' them."

You open your mouth to speak, even though you have no idea how to respond. "Honestly, I'll drive me and my daughter. And we can get a room in town."

"No way, Jose." Sarah loops your arm through hers. "You're staying with us and that's final. So, will you let me drive you, or do you want to wait for my dad?"

Waiting for Joel.. it seems you've spent the majority of your youth waiting for him.

"Can we go with Sarah?" Ellie asks, solving the problem for you.

In truth you would have liked a moment to rest, to sleep, to puzzle over the strangeness of the day so far. You're almost a thousand miles from the home you've made after your divorce, under the same roof as the man who changed your life in ways good and bad, harboring a secret from him and his family. Not to mention Ellie's ignorance of her origins.

Sarah herds you and Ellie into the Tipsy Bison, a spacious bar establishment on Main Street, part of the scenery you must have driven by without noticing upon driving into town. Inside is the typical decor you'd expect: neon lights advertising every brand of beer and alcohol you can imagine, taxidermy mounts of bears, bucks, and elk. Pool tables are at the far left, dartboards to the right, a couple of foosball tables as well. There's a stage beyond the pool tables, ready for a band or DJ, a makeshift dance floor in front of it, and colored lights remain still overhead, their brightness dulled and stilled by the daytime.

There's a homey, cozy feeling as you glance around. The bar spreads along the far side beyond a range of tables and booths, boasting a wide variety of booze. Working behind the bar is a face you haven't seen in awhile: Tommy.

He comes out to greet you, his smile and bright and joyful as you've always known him to be, and part of you feels guilty that the last time you were together you'd been drunk, making out next to his truck, after meeting in a bar just like this one.

"Hey you!" He envelops you in a tight hug, and you start to feel better. Bygones are certainly bygones in his case.

"Tommy, it's good to see you again," you smile, pulling away to get a good look at him. "You've hardly aged. What's with you Millers, are you all vampires or something?" You cast a playful look at Sarah, who's bringing her fiance and her son to meet you.

Tommy shrugs, a playful grin on his lips. "You're more than welcome to join our Legion of the Undead," he jokes.

You're introduced to Theo, Sarah's husband-to-be, who's on the quiet side, a contradiction to Sarah who's chattering away about him, and Finn, who's an exact replica of his dad, eyeing you and Ellie with a shy smile.

Ellie manages to find a friend in him as you and the others get to catching up. You're introduced to Maria, Tommy's wife, the roundness of her baby bump just barely showing. She oversees the caterers as they start setting up for lunch. Tommy and Sarah talk about you like you're a part of the family instead of someone who knew them for a summer and changed things forever, even in some small way.

"Sarah tells me this is your place now," you speak to Tommy, who's behind the bar and pouring you a drink.

"Sure is," he says, sliding the drink across the bar to you. "Don't know anyone who orders a gin and tonic in the middle of winter," he says, teasing you.

"I'm eccentric," you smirk, taking a sip of the crisp, slightly bitter drink.

"Should be you behind this bar, Cherry," he winks.

"Oh god, no one's called me that in forever," you groan, doing a quick check on Ellie to find her attempting to play pool with Finn.

"How's business?" you ask him.

"Good, good," he nods. "Just glad to be settin' down some roots, buildin' somethin' for when the baby comes."

"Congratulations," you smile. "You and Maria seem like a good fit."

"Well.. y'know.. can't fuck around forever," he chuckles, then he spots someone at the entrance.

"Hey, brother!" Tommy raises his hand in greeting and you stay still, wishing you could sink down into the ground or better yet, become invisible completely.

The old-fashioned jukebox ends a Fleetwood Mac song and drifts into "Hungry Heart" by Bruce Springsteen starts, the catchy, melancholic combo of piano, drums, bass, guitar and saxophone wafting throughout the bar. You keep your eyes on your drink, willing for all of this to be just a dream, some intrusive thought you've put incredible detail into, prolonging your grief over lost love.

But there he is, a barstool between you, giving you your space while ready to jump up at a moment's notice if you want him closer. Your casual glance gives you away when you stare too long at him, clad in a green flannel shirt, his gray tee peeking beneath. You could swear it's the same flannel shirt you wore at the cabin, in the days when you were younger and carefree, before bad things happened to separate you.

Joel catches your look, lips twitching into a smile as his hands wrap around a glass of whiskey.

"So, what took you away from Boston?" you ask, putting your lips to your drink so you're not tempted to ask too much. It's an attempt to break the awkward silence.

"Lot of things," he mutters, staring into the amber liquid. "But mostly I followed Tommy out here."

"I was in Boston with him for awhile." Tommy shakes his head. "Hated it. I'll never set foot on the East Coast again if I can help it. I came out here, met Maria, started a family."

"And Sarah was already out here, buildin' a life. Just made sense for us all to be together again."

You look at both of them, glad the conversation isn't just between you and Joel. "The house is amazing. Joel told me you both built it."

The look of pride on their faces is endearing.

"We did, and mine too, across the street from his," Tommy adds.

"What happened to the contracting business?"

"We expanded it," Joel answers, a twinkle in his eye though his expression remains serious. "Made a nice chunk of change. Got branches in Oklahoma, Arkansas, even as far as Georgia."

That would explain the six-bedroom house, the fancy week-long wedding rituals that Sarah has joyfully swept you up in, and the catered lunches. The Millers have become quite financially well-off.

You listen to the brothers talk about some of the adventures they've been on, the good and the bad that has passed and ultimately brought them here, with you, once again.

The lunch spread is impressive: Texas style barbecue of ribs, brisket, and chicken; side dishes of beans, potato salad, grilled corn on the cob, macaroni and cheese, and mouthwatering desserts of pumpkin and pecan pies, cheesecake, banana pudding, and peach cobbler.

You haven't realized how hungry you are until you realize you have to remember to force yourself to eat slower, accidentally spilling a little barbecue sauce on your shirt. Embarrassed, you wipe it away, glancing at Ellie and finding her doing the same thing, just shoveling forkfuls of food in her mouth.

"Easy there," Joel's voice booms from across the table. "No one's gonna take it from ya," he playfully chides.

You were so absorbed in your lunch that you didn't realize he was right across from you. "Ellie," you scold her quietly. "Slow down."

"This is slow for me," she answers.

"Mind your mama," Joel says gruffly, his tone is authoritative.

She looks up at him, in annoyance and surprise. "You don't tell me what to do."

"And you don't talk back like that." Joel's voice gets a little more strict.

"Joel, stop," you intercede, your voice just as terse. The chatter around the table has dimmed but it's obvious everyone has their focus on you three.

"The kid obviously needs some fuckin' manners."

You scoff. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

His eyes lock with yours, dark and cold. "I see where she gets it from. I guess that's what happens when a dad ain't around to teach some respect."

"Fuck this," Ellie mutters, pushing back from the table and throwing down her napkin, quick to get up and leave.

Your face is flaming red with both anger and embarrassment as your gaze burns through Joel's. "There's something wrong with you. Seriously," you mutter before getting up to go after her.

Joel goes after you. Sarah goes after Joel.

"Ellie!" you call out, watching her walk off in the direction of the house.

"I'll get her," Sarah volunteers, gently touching your arm. And then you hear her speak to Joel under her breath, something like "You're ruining it," before she hurries up to catch Ellie.

It's you and Joel now.

"Babygirl," he starts, his voice low.

"Babygirl?? Fuck you!"

Joel goes pale, obviously not expecting that. "I deserve that. I deserve for you to hate me."

"Hate you? No, you deserve worse than for me to hate you! How dare you yell at Ellie like that? I never once saw you treat Sarah that way."

"She never acted like that," he huffs.

"Do us both a favor and just stay away from us for the rest of the week. I'll see about getting a motel tonight, just.. fucking leave us alone."

He mutters Christ, and reaches for you, pulls you to the side of the building. "I'm sorry, all right?"

"Yeah? Tell her that." You could easily leave. He's not restraining you, but you stay. "Is that all you have to apologize for?"

He looks guilty. "No, of course not. I've been trying to talk to you since you got here--"

"Fifteen goddamn years and I don't hear anything from you? And now you.. what, you expect me to fall into your arms like I'm a stupid fucking teenager again? Go to hell! Nothing is that simple anymore!"

You hadn't meant for all your rage to come spilling out, it was just supposed to be about Ellie, but now that you're face to face with him, you can't help wanting to rage at him. Joel backs away from you, his eyes on the ground, hands on his hips, jaw set.

"Longer than that, actually," you softly correct yourself. "San Antonio.. you fucking left me. On my birthday."

He steps forward, not ready to back down. "I went to jail for you. On my birthday."

"I didn't ask you to do that! I didn't ask for anything but for you to love me! And you stopped!"

"No, I didn't," he whispers, arms hanging at his side even though they itch to reach out for you, hold you, make it better again.

"Don't say that," you warn him, backing away. "Don't insult my intelligence, Joel. You don't know what I went through after you left me. My heart was broken for years!"

"You were just a kid. I.. I thought I was doin' right by lettin' you go."

"I wasn't better because of you breaking up with me. I got worse! So much worse!" You don't dwell a lot on the past, specifically the college years that are now mostly a blur of hookups and hangovers, but now it all comes rushing back. Joel was your safety net and he took all that away from you once you started to freefall.

"Bullshit. You got married," he says bitterly.

"I did that so I could feel normal again. I tried to save myself. But it didn't matter in the end because he didn't love me either. Though I have to say, my divorce hurt a hell of a lot less than your abandonment."

Joel starts to look his age. The lines in his face deepen with worry and regret as he absorbs your words, mulling over everything that has happened. "I'm sorry--"

"Besides, you got married too! So please don't play like you're such a saint. You hardly look the part." Your anger has warmed you, given some spice to your blood so that you don't even feel the cold anymore. You roll your sleeves to your elbows, fists curled, adrenaline pumping as you finally tell him everything that's been locked away inside your heart.

"I don't accept your apology," you grunt, adding, "And don't ever yell at our daughter like that ever again!" You storm off, wishing you'd brought your jacket but it would mean having to walk past Joel, back into the restaurant and out again, and you're already walking away. It seems one of you is always walking away from the other.

It's snowing again when you find Sarah and Ellie, further down in front of a storefront, steaming cups of hot chocolate in their hands. Both are smiling, chatting, seemingly getting along. You know you should reprimand Ellie, tell her to apologize to Joel, but how can you be a hypocrite that way when you won't even talk to him yourself? All you can think about is leaving, going straight to the motel and picking up your things at Joel's later.

Sarah talks you into staying, warning of bad weather coming in soon. She apologizes for Joel, and you apologize for airing your grievances so publicly.

"Just don't do it at the rehearsal dinner tomorrow," she smirks. "Then I'll have to leave your ass out in the snow."

That evening you and Ellie keep to your rooms. You use your phone for distraction when your attention span keeps drifting from your novel, but even technology isn't the answer. There's only so much Merge Mansion you can play, and not even True Detective can hold your attention for long. You decide to rewatch Narcos (for the plot, you tell yourself) when Ellie knocks on your door.

"What's up, kiddo?" You press pause and scoot over on the bed, offering her to get comfy next to you.

"Have you seen the news?"

You're on Do Not Disturb and haven't gotten any of your usual notifications.

"There's a blizzard coming tonight. Sarah says sometimes the main roads get snowed in and we won't be able to get out."

Oh Sarah Miller, the purveyor of bad news. "She told me something like that. How long do they expect conditions to last?" You're already checking your phone.

"Could be days, maybe even up to a week," Ellie shrugs.

"Great," you mutter. "So we're stuck here even after the wedding?" It's the day after tomorrow.

"Please don't make us go to the motel. Sarah's really cool and really nice. And I even like Theo and Finn.. even Joel isn't so bad so long as he stops talking to me like a dad."

That night, as the blizzard blows in, turning everything outside completely white, Joel tosses in his sleep in his room across the hall from yours. It's not the howling winds keeping him awake; he's lived here long enough to get used to such natural disasters.

There's something you said to him, earlier outside the bar. It was an explosive moment, with words exchanged like bullets. But in the midst of it all he took away that one sentence: don't ever yell at our daughter like that ever again.

Our daughter?

dividers by @saradika 👑

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[shinyfreshbirds]

HC abilities for the zombies in session 7 (if they didn’t die before session 7 and each got their own abilites instead):

Skizz: heart armor/golden hearts— similar to secret life where donated hearts would stack with existing hearts, he could donate little chunks of hearts as armor to others or add them to his own healthbar. Activation would be locked on a cooldown, but the hearts wouldn’t disappear when ability is used again. These donated hearts wouldn’t be refillable with food or anything though, once they’re gone they’re gone, just like in secret life. Could work sorta like a golden apple, with similar particle effects or like a halo of gold when activating. This whole ability would be a reference to secret life with the heart foundation obviously, but also it would be homage to last life and his final sacrifice there. Skizz is always super loyal to his teammates so it would fit if his ability was something that could allow him to help the people around him overtly, while also helping him to survive like the other red abilities. Grian’s mimicked hearts could also stack with his, for as long as the 5 mins the ability is copied.

Mumbo: I mean it has to be redstone obviously, but the question is how that would look. At first I was thinking maybe he activates redstone contraptions by proximity but that would introduce SO MANY opportunities for dying. Instead, he could have a sort of remote or zoom-in (similar to Martyn’s) that activates different redstone from a distance. Like, he could press a lever from across a field, and could know that there’s redstone there just by being able to look at it. Like x-ray vision for redstone and longrange activation once he sees it. He could set up traps that others wouldn’t be expecting, or use people’s own traps against them. It would also be really funny, in my opinion, if he had night vision, but that it tinted everything red instead of looking normal or green. Could call it ‘seeing red’ or something. It would also fit as a red life ability with some defensive capabilities since he would know where traps would be to avoid them, and similarly it would be great for offense if used to full potential. Also it’s sort of a watcher ability, which might freak Grian out.

Bonus:

Cleo: since she wouldn’t have her zombie goons, she should be able to summon real zombies (that wouldn’t attack her) on a shorter cooldown. They’d be more effective than Skizz, although probably not as effective as Mumbo, but they wouldn’t have nearly as much backtalk either. She and Bigb would have stronger parallels too, and the G’s team could do some interesting stuff with Impulse swapping people into a deathpit of zombies and creaking, or Scott disguising as one of her minions.

[thesamoanqueen]

Blackwater XVII

Raiting: 18+

Warnings: drama, street fights, violence, smut.

A/N: I'm on time and with a long chapter, more drama than usual and a touch of smut that always serves as moral support, just saying

Sitting at one of the tables of the empty fancy restaurant where their meeting had taken place, Y/N had seen them leave as they had arrived, with their business suits, documents and a couple of nods instead of shaking hands. Roman didn't like those people, she felt it and she didn't like them either to be honest. She had stayed on the sidelines watching them talk from the terrace overlooking the bay, with a glass of rosé that she hadn't drunk, away, so that they wouldn't pay attention to her, she hadn't heard, but she had seen enough. They had used the border moved to the south as an excuse, of course, but she had grown up learning to see beyond lies, sensing intentions behind the façade of good men. The border was the beginning, everything else was what they were aiming for, they were laying foundations to bring him down and they would have done so, at the slightest sign of failure.

Vultures.

Something inside her stomach had turned, she felt nausea in her mouth and the pure instinct to drag him away from there, immediately, far away from those political speeches full of respect, home maybe, in their reserve, safe from everything and everyone. Her she-wolf would have done it, but Y/N stood seated, letting Paul handle that circus of leeches and ties, only gifting one of those men an heavy look when he seemed to notice her for a moment. She stood there, observing as Roman had also done, without scenes that could put his alpha role in more problems, until everything was over and he had joined her again.

She had read annoyance and tension on his face, felt the stress through their bond and her hand had left the glass, keeping him anchored to her for a moment, face pressed into his beard, while he breathed in her scent covering her body with his own shadow.

- Wait for me here a little longer, I'll be right back and we'll leave – he whispered in her ear, leaving a kiss on her forehead and making her smile.

When he pulled away from her he seemed less rigid, but it lasted just long enough for his brown eyes to look back inside. Paul stood with the phone in his hand in the dim light of the restaurant and the same happened to her smile. She saw both of them disappear this time, quickly, into one of the private rooms and she went back to the glass, drinking finally the rosé to get rid of the bitterness in her mouth.

She didn't want to get carried away by suspicions or give free rein to her she-wolf and mood swings, but she really had the impression that that whole thing was getting worse hour after hour. Meetings, phone calls, even that apparent calm over the whole city and around them, as if everything would implode at any moment, an endless series of red flags in front of her. It was bad, the kind of atmosphere that awakened her instincts and told her to move away. Instinct had helped Y/N more times than necessary growing up alone, always on the road, but now it wasn't the right time. She had something to support, home, family, and the time she spent watching those false good men claim at their expense had made Y/N realize what her priority really was.

After refilling her glass she let out a heavy breath, mind racing, eyes focused on the sparkling wine with its little bubbles popping one after the other as was happening to everything around her. A distant noise reached her while she was still there alone and her gaze moved from the table to the stairs leading back to the parking lot.

Down there, her inner wolf warned, as more noises were added and Y/N put the glass down.

She was absolutely certain that those men had left, wind coming from the bay was already cleaning the smell of their aftershave and ironed suits, but there was someone else besides Solo down there and as soon as Y/N understood, she immediately stood up, leaving the terrace once and for all.

- Uce, we're not here for you, Solo! Calm down! – she heard more clearly, as she went down, another thump like a body slamming and only when she reached the short driveway next to the parking lot she saw them.

Jey had ended up against a car parked in front of a service door, Solo pressed against him in an attempt to attack him, Jimmy holding his torso by the shoulders to prevent who knows what.

She hadn't seen them for too long and despite everything, she looked them from head to toe trying to know if they were okay, if there were marks or cuts on them too as on Roman. None of them immediately noticed that she was there, keeping to fight from side to side, until Solo smashed his fist into the bodywork of another car and they both took opportunity to slam him into the car, trying to put space and breath.

- How much longer do yall have?! Is there a second round or what huh? – she called them before they started again, sounding like a mother scolding her kids and all three of their heads lifted up, looking with big eyes.

She saw Solo straighten up, move in her direction to anticipate something that would never happen, but her eyes didn't stay on him too long, quickly landing on Jimmy who already had one hand in the air.

- Y/N listen- he started and finished.

- I'm listening, bet it and I'm hearing you guys fighting like it's your backyard.

Whatever they had in mind was bullshit. They were grown ass men, brothers who should have been thinking and instead they were arguing in a restaurant’s parking lot acting like rabid puppies in the mud, it was ridiculous, stupid and shameful. Their family had enough problems to deal with, serious problems and they were there, bickering and making things worse, wallowing in an argument that shouldn't have even existed and they started with "listen" as if she was the one making a scene, oh, she had heard and seen enough already!

- Please Y/N – Jey stepped forward, his jacket twist, the face of someone who needed a real break.

He wasn't hurt, he had no visible signs, but he still looked worse than his two brothers and seeing him in that state made her frown. They shouldn't have been at that point.

- Please what?

- Stay out of this, we didn't come for yo either… we here for him, no one is coming for yall, you have nothing to do with this.

Him.

No way.

They wanted him. They had come there for him. She had to stay out of it.

She gritted her teeth, stifling the menacing growl that had risen in her throat, hands tingling at the memory of his blood, in their home, chest suddenly heavy.

They kept repeating it, they didn’t want her around when she was already there. They had told her that they were all a big family, they had treated her as part of their family and after she believed them she was no longer accepted, now she had to step aside, stand, watch and what then? She hadn't asked to be Roman's mate, she had never even looked for him in her whole life, but she actually was, now they were together and she didn't want to step aside anymore, she didn't want to lose anything anymore, she didn't want to lose him and that request, after being dropped in out of the blue, didn't sound good.

- You won't see anyone like this - she stated deadly serious and Jey immediately became nervous, turning in circles to control his mood, while Solo clenched his fists, aiming at him as if he was an enemy who had to be defeated.

Y/N saw Jimmy trying to reach out to stop him, hold him back, but he wriggled away without a second thought, heavy eyes, pacing along an imaginary line like a caged animal.

- Y/N we have nothing against you. We have to see him, he has to listen to me now, him, not you. You have nothing to do with it, you’re out of this mess, I need you to stay out of this, we care about you - he was flustered, conflicted, he was physically struggling to control himself, was clear and she didn't like that attitude at all.

- For real Y/N listen, stay here, both you and Solo, we'll explain everything as soon as- Jimmy tried in his place, taking a step in her direction unlike him and Y/N glared at him.

- I'll explain something to you two, because it's obviously not clear in your minds. Don't tell me where I should stay or what I should do, don't dare you – she warned, hearing Solo blow a threat from his nose.

- Y/N please, you have nothing to do with this shit, she doesn't have anything to do with it, not like this Uce, she shouldn't be here – Jey kept babbling, also taking it out on Jimmy, when he seemed to give up on every attempt to convince her to let them do it for the umpteenth time.

Exasperated, she approached them in the parking lot with every intention of personally putting them back in line, while they were ranting about who knows what among themselves.

- I have nothing to do with it? I've been trying to help y’all hot heads solve this stupid thing from the beginning.

- There's nothing stupid Y/N! – Jey snapped though, as if that single comment was enough to flip his switch and Y/N froze – it's not nonsense anymore, not since he decided to take it to these levels! We're trying to do what he didn't do, I don't want you to end up in this shit like my boys, you have nothing to do with it, that's not how they raised us! Step aside, I'm begging you! – he blurted out, leaning forward as if he had been punch in his stomach, looking straight at her for the first time even though his brother kept whispering in his ears that he had to let it go.

She stared at him in silence, taken aback by the way he was begging her, by the pain she felt on him and something inside her clenched in empathy. Jey was a hothead, but that reaction was too much even for him. She had the sudden feeling that they were fighting an enemy she couldn't see, something she didn't yet understand, but she had no time to ask or speak when Roman's aura hit them from not far away. A couple of seconds of panic, confusion and then rage, uncontrolled, furious behind her.

- Stay the hell away from her! Move, now! – his growl, mad, deep, seemed to echo throughout the entire place and Y/N turned just in time to see him storm down from the stairs, marching against Jey.

She saw his eyes change even though he was still in his human body, teeth menacing, veins popping out as he passed her, and the air around him thick, heavy. Even once there he didn't slow down and she instinctively reached out, trying to hold him, keep him close but it was useless and Y/N saw him pass her without half a glance, reach that invisible line and pass over it, to go straight to Jey’s face.

- We were not touching her, no one was hurting her, we would never do that, she’s family – Jey quickly assured, shaking his head as if Roman's presence had crept inside, threatening to make it explode.

Something in him had triggered just by seeing him, another kind of tension and despite everything Y/N watched him look away, avoid staring at her again, stagger along that line on which Roman had positioned himself with authority, suffocating his frustration to show that he hadn't had no bad intentions against her. Neither him nor Jimmy would ever lay a finger on her, she was certain of it even if moods had heated up, but Roman didn't seem so and it was pretty clear from the way he had curled his mouth.

- And I should believe it? Believe you? - he growled again, looking at him from the few inches that separated them with disgust - I had your word that you would watch my back, I trusted you and look how it ended. Again. I give you another chance and you repay me like this Jey? Wasn't enough for you the first time?

She had only heard stories of that first time, confused, among other conversations, ended quickly so as not to have to keep the door of memories open for too long. It was something that no one in the family liked to talk about, a kind of trauma from which you cannot heal and she didn't need details to understand that it had been more serious and indelible than they pretended, she just had to look at them now, facing each other as if they were ready for war. She had never asked questions, she hadn't tried, but she knew. Whatever had happened back then, it hadn't been resolved, not completely, for any of them even though they had pretended it was that way for years and when Jimmy stepped forward, Y/N realized there was no room to pretend anymore.

- It was not him who kicked you in that face, it was me and I would do it again now after what you did.

He's not Jey. Stop them. He'll hurt him.

- Now you running your mouth?! – an ironic laugh to humiliate him - bullshit must have burned even that little brain you had, I didn't start it and I'm not doing anything even now – and annoyance erasing it, to make him serious again and push Jey to straighten up, quick, to keep them separate.

- You throw the boys in, they had nothing to do with it. Let em out of this story, was just between us, they love you, we love you too Uce, it shouldn't have ended like this! Why you like this?! There was no need!

Frozen watching them go against each other, she frowned, speechless as she felt the two boys of Jey being pulled into the mix until Solo took her attention, walking to go and support Roman as his brothers were doing for each other.

They will throw hands. We're a pack. They dont have to.

- So is on me?! Am I the fall of our family, of yours Jey?! Is this what you want to tell yourself so you can step forward and get a chance to the top again, lil Jey?! Because I'm going easy on you. It was not me who lost the pack's land to those strays, it was not me who attacked at the border! Who made this mess? Who attacked first? Who's splitting their family in two because it's no longer enough where he's been keeping his ass all this time?! Talk! I asked you a question! – Roman's voice seemed to echo in her head, his rage, his anger growing uncontrolled and that dangerous, suffocating aura as he insisted on targeting Jey.

He wanted to break him, he wanted to make him give up, she felt it, he was pushing more and more even though Jey was shaking his head with hurted, body going back and forth in a neurotic tic, trying to avoid exploding and Jimmy put himself in front of his brother again, shielding him, raising his head without even a hint of the usual smile.

- You really like turning things around, don't you?! It's become a habit, but you can turn them around as much as you like, in the end the only one who’s destroying the family here is you - she heard him accuse heavily, sending back the same disgusted look and Roman twisted his mouth, offended, furious - you and those dumb ideas you keep in your head thanks to his games – he pointed and Y/N didn't need to turn around to understand who he was referring to, someone who preached those words every hour of every day – you demand respect and treat us like dogs, you say we are your blood and you don't even allow us to be near you, you want everyone to hang on your mouth like bitches and you don't listen to anyone. You're out of control and someone needs to stop you, once and for all dawg, we're not the problem!

He's not the problem. He’s not like that. They’re lying.

Jimmy's words rang in her head, an old memory of the days, months, when she had arrived there. The person he was talking about wasn't the one Y/N knew, it wasn't Roman, it was what she had tried to run from, who the world saw when Roman had that necklace on and a deal had to be solved at any cost, it wasn't the family man to whom she had grown fond. She knew it, they should too. They had grown up together, they knew him, they were like brothers.

A laugh, another, a bitter one and a hand scratching his dark beard in a nervous gesture through which she clearly read, that pearly, perfect smile, which clashed terribly with the situation they were in. She saw him turn, roll his shoulders and point at them, addressing her, after having ignored her until then to seek support in front of those accusations.

- What did I tell you?! I knew it, I knew it would happen, that they would justify themselves - he said, recalling the conversation they had had in the suv on the way there - they put everyone on risk attacking me, everything I have built for the bloodline, but they are the ones who want better for the family and I'm the monster!

Without him there probably it wouldn't have been any Bloodline territory, they wouldn't have had the lives they had, the possibilities and doors he had opened up, without him at the head of the pack none of them would have been the same person she had known. Others would have occupied his role, others would have taken advantage of what he claimed as a birthright for himself and his family, they would have arrived like hungry strays, destroying and building a world in which perhaps people would have continued to see them as savages, others ideals. Y/N knew he was right, that by putting him at risk everything would have collapsed, because she had seen everything in those men faces in that same place as soon as they smelled a crack and she had seen in the past her family destroyed after another crack.

And despite everything she couldn't conceive that Jey and Jimmy could risk so much for selfishness, for an argument, those accusations, all that mud...

- You're the one dragging everyone into your shit! You're the one putting us in danger! Solo was out of the loop until a while ago and what happened? You made so many people hate yo ass that they sent him to help and you've been taking advantage of him ever since! – Jimmy persisted, forcing him to turn around again, to glance at Solo who was next to him – and he’ll continue to do so Uce, until you stop being useful to him too and he finds someone else to manipulate!

He cannot be serious…

Y/N saw Solo eyes go from his brother to Roman, silently and if only for a moment, she was not the only one to see it, because Roman grew tenser, his face darker as he aimed at Jimmy this time, clenched fists.

- Solo knows his role, he knows what's best for everyone, unlike you two.

- Maybe your brainwashing is working for now, but you can bet we won't wait for you to drag our brother down with you! Neither him nor her – Jimmy suddenly pointed and Y/N stared at him with wide eyes, while Jey tugged at him, trying to stop him, to make him look away, pulling his arm down.

- Leave her out, no – he suddenly objected, his hands planted on his twin shoulder to push him away.

- You wanted to talk her, we'll talk to her now, right here – he said directly to him, his dark eyes never leaving her.

- Jimmy!

- Don't you dare

Jey's desperate call drowned out Roman's whisper, but everyone heard it anyway and Y/N finally managed to look away, to control, seeing him already with his head down aiming for Jimmy who showed no signs of wanting to shut up and even seemed satisfied with having found a weak point. A shiver ran down her spine as she suddenly felt the weight of their bond, his tense muscles, his will to hurt, while Paul tried to pull her away, mumbling something that she didn't listen, ears filled with the growl that came from Roman’s throat, bestial, terrifying.

He will snap. He’s not in control. He will snap.

- Where do you want me to start? – Jimmy pushed again, ignoring Jey, attracting her attention again – from us who had to improve her mood, what about the documents with your name, maybe the trial because you didn't want her to step out of your bubble or why not, from her house that you bought so she has nowhere to run away from you anymore?!

Every word hit her, taking something away from her, pushing her down towards that abyss that she thought she had left. It was like a cold shower, as if it had ripped away a part of her body that she hadn't known had and pain everywhere, one heartbeat less, an unpleasant shiver inside her bones, that fear that she had overcome present again. Her trust that trembled for a moment too long.

He’s a liar. He's lying to take him down with us. He’s lying to us.

Speechless, lost, she watched Jey tug him, push him away with a growl she didn't hear and turned to look for Roman, his expression unchanged.

He had promised to take care of her. He had given his word to her. They were mates, he would never have done those things to her. Not him, he was home. Jimmy was lying, to attack him, to hit him through her and it was so cruel, so senseless, him too was her family, her pack. Why was he saying those things if before she had been asked to stay out of it, why blame her too after all the attempts made to help him and his brother? She had the impression of witnessing everything from afar, a spectator in front of that crack that had now widened, causing everything to collapse: voices louder, Jey and Paul yelling, Solo growling with a mad face, Roman a few step away from her with that chilling expression.

- He cares about everyone the same, mate or not, we're fine as long as we do what the great tribal chief wants and when that doesn't happen it's over. He only cares about himself and what he can achieve! He just want something from you, wake u– Jimmy raged, speaking directly to her, but he barely had time to finish before a hand grabbed him.

And that sound, loud in her head like a thunder.

Who knows when in that brief moment, Roman had lashed out, slamming him down without regard, squeezing his throat, crushing his face against the bodywork of a car. The thud of his head banging made her jump, and the chaos that was escalating all around her filled her ears, along with the growl that Roman was emitting. He was out of his mind, his chest pressed against Jimmy's shoulder with all his weight, his biceps bulging as his cousin gasped with wide eyes, the other hand pinning his arm behind and teeth exposed, sharp, ready to tear him to pieces there.

- I told you to shut your mouth bitch – he ordered, his alpha tone allowing no replies even if Jimmy was incapable of even coughing at that moment.

Paul tugged her arm, trying to convince her to move, perhaps turn so as not to watch, but she was incapable of looking away, of taking her attention away from Jimmy's liquid eyes seeking help, his only free hand moving at random, feet hitting the car wheel trying to move his body, kick maybe. She could smell his rising fear in the air, a shiver down her spine seeing him suffer a little too much, panic dirtying his reactions and despite what he said, Y/N broke free from Paul hold.

- Roman- she tried to call him, but Jey beat her to do so, holding onto Roman’s arm to stop him physically.

- Let him go!

His attempt was only partially successful, forcing Roman to change his grip, holding JImmy by the head and freeing the wrist with which he had held him down. His weight still prevented him from standing up straight, but Y/N watched him recover, breath, while Roman shifted his attention to his twin, pushing Jey away with a growl and a slap in the face.

Not like that. Not Jey, he loves Jey. Dont-

- Or what? Huh Jey? What?! Will you keep complaining? Because that's all you know to do! – he yelled at him furiously, while his cousin gritted his teeth in an attempt to bear his rage.

They were poised on a fragile balance, too much for their moods at that moment, she could feel it, see it and when Roman slammed Jimmy's head against the car again to make him stop shaking, even that thin thread that was still holding them together was cut. Jey sprinted exactly as he had done to her a few minutes before, but unlike what had happened with her, he didn't just stay behind any lines, putting aside all forms of respect to smash himself into Roman's side with more force than Y/N would have guessed. Although his cousin was physically bigger, that push was enough to pull Roman off Jimmy and throw him on the ground, causing her to freeze. A breath and Jey went on top of him, hitting without waiting, forcing him to raise his arms to block the quick blows to head, neck and belly, defending himself from an attack that once again he hadn't expected.

Stop them! Stop them!

Anxiety mixed with fear hit her, rapid, sudden like Solo who in a chain reaction also sprang forward, reaching them to pull Jey away, giving Roman time to breathe. He threw him away, onto the asphalt, making his brother roll against a car, crazy eyes towards his own blood and Jimmy who had finally caught his breath, charging him with a kick in the face before allowing the younger to attack again. Y/N saw his head snap to the side, his heavy body stagger until he rested his knee on the ground and Jey, once again on his feet, overcoming him to throw himself again at Roman who this time, grabbed him by the neck, choking him with a grimaces, in pain for the fists that were hitting him again. With Paul screaming like a slaughtered pig next to her, Y/N watched them attack each other with their teeth in full view and a blind rage that would lead them to rip each other's throats sooner than they imagined. One blow and another, without stopping, without regard for the blood they shared and which now flowed through their veins like sewer water. She clenched her fists, anger mounting, her heart tight in her throat and when Roman landed against a bin, touching his head again where she had seen it open just the day before, her body moved without thinking twice.

- Stop it, all of you! Enough! – she screamed mad, standing in front of him while he still struggled to stand upright, blocking Jey not far away with a warning growl and a pointed finger.

Jimmy tried to support him anyway, his face swollen and short of breath, but his brother frowned, one arm held in front of him to once again create that invisible line he always stood on. She saw Paul recover from the shock, grab Solo, stop him, to keep him from charging again and felt Roman putting his arm around her waist in the same attempt to get her out of the way.

- I want you two to go away, now and if I see one of you near my house or here again, I'll slap you personally – she warned them, standing her ground, pushing away Roman's hand as he tried to pull her back.

She had seen and heard enough.

- Y/N… don't do it… – Jey asked once more and Roman, behind her, answered by snapping his teeth in warning.

- Go away, as far away as you two can. I won't say it again – she ordered, as serious as she had ever been and in his dark eyes Y/N saw compassion as well as a reflection of herself, for an instant, before Jey turned around deciding to put an end to it.

***

He had grown up watching his dad and uncle going around the country trying to provide for the family, side by side, sweating blood to keep the tables full and roofs over their heads. He had listened to people talk behind their backs, seen the way they looked at them and how they both still kept their backs straight, proud of their efforts and what they meant to those who followed in their footsteps. Roman had never lacked for anything, but it had certainly not been a great life before, yet as he grew up, when it was his turn, his dad had spared him nothing. He had always pushed Roman further, he had always kept him with his feet on the ground, saying that he could do better, that he needed more to provide for everyone and all the speeches made had been indelible in his mind, in the choices he made: there was always a higher level to reach, hunger was omnipresent, nothing was enough.

His dad had been a big man, now he was slow, pale, he didn't go far from his small house in the suburbs, years took their toll, and yet every time they saw each other, even though Roman had to bend down to greet him, his eyes always looked at him from high. He loved him, his efforts had been a way to honor him, but that day, as had rarely happened in the past, those eyes were too much... especially after what had happened.

- Paul said you were having a talk – he remembered, running a hand over the white goatee he had had since Roman was just a kid.

His phone call had come at a bad time and the Wiseman had been clear, it hadn't been out of courtesy. Since he stopped traveling for business they had seen each other more times than usual and the fact that he seemed to care for Y/N like a daughter and she loved spending time with him too had only favored those family reunions. But that day was different, that day he had an extra wrinkle on his forehead, one that he knew and the ulafala around his neck, the same one that he had placed on Roman when the day had arrived. He was an elder, not his dad.

- A meeting. I'm sorting things out for the border. Its under control – he assured, even if there was still work to be done, because he had every intention of doing it and putting an end to the madness that all idiots out there hoping for his fall had put into their heads.

- Control is not a word you should use – his dad warned him and Roman took a breath to calm himself, struggling to find the right words.

He was the alpha, the head of the table, he didn't have to justify his actions, but the elders were the exception, they had always had the right to the last word in their pack, in the family, it was them who chose him for the role he had and he respected them. He just had to find a way to make his father understand once again that he wasn't exaggerating, that the power he had at his disposal also meant that he had to make tough choices.

- It was necessary to- he tried, but his dad silenced him raising a trembling hand.

- There are things that must stay separate. Its law, we taught you the law’s value, to honor it. I'm sure you remember and want laws to stay the same, especially now that you too can build a family of your own and may find yourself in the position others are in now.

Our pack.

He knew the laws. And he knew the risks of being at the top. His moves were always calculated to advance their legacy and secure their future, even when it was threatened from the inside. He had been patient, he was trying even now, sitting on a ridiculous chair in the living room of his father's house discussing the family future, while a sports program lit up the tv. He knew what he had done and he knew why he had done it, it wasn't instinct that guided him, but his head: the chaos that those two idiot had caused could have destroyed them all, could have put the entire family in danger, the future him and Y/N would build together, their legacy, he had chosen what was best. What he had done to punish them had not put their families at risk, it had been a warning to get them back in line and they still hadn't understood, they had destroyed the last chance they had. It wasn't him who had forgotten, it wasn't him who had done wrong.

- Jey asked to challenge you again – his dad said in a heavy voice, interrupting the silence between them and Roman stared at him in disbelief.

Jey had asked what? When and how was it possible?!

How did he dare…

- Jey can't ask for anything, the alpha talks to the elders, he's not- he exploded, anger building rapidly and vanishing at yet another look and nod from his father.

-He has permission – he announced dryly.

The weight of the room and humidity of the evening fell on him suddenly at those words and Roman found himself staring at the carpet under the coffee table as he had done too many times as a boy when his dad scolded him for having made something wrong.

He can't, he doesn't have the right, he can't.

Only the alpha had the honor of talking to the elders, of asking them for advice or support, he was the link between past and future, the protector and guardian, it was his privilege and no one else's. He was the alpha. They had chosen him, they had approved when years before him and Jey had clashed, under the tree he had in his backyard, in front of which he had built his house, they had put the ulafala around his neck, they had recognized his efforts, the sacrifice made for the sake of their family… he had done everything to get them to where they were, he hadn't let them down… why then? Why did they listen to him? Why were they willing to reconsider him for Jey?

Confused, he met his father's gaze, the same eyes that had looked at him with admiration that day and now stared at him with disappointment and regret.

- Everyone's? – he demanded to know, already feeling his head explode.

It was his family. They couldn't all be against him. Not them too, not his father too.

- Whats happening is not tolerable, son. Get ready, I taught you better – he ended, avoiding saying anything else to go back watching the TV with an all-too-serious expression.

And Roman knew there was nothing left for him to say.

For a long moment he stand there, looking at him, his tanned skin that under the screen light had that unnatural color and all the traces that time had left. His shirt full of flowers, as if he was still on the islands where he was born, which he had told him about continuously for decades. His weak body, now used to living in that cheap armchair, to the peaceful life that Roman was guaranteeing to all of them. He loved his dad, he respected the elders, but he was wrong, they were all wrong and he would prove it to them once again.

He stood up with growing frustration, silently greeting him with a nod that received no response, leaving him there, in front of his TV with the ulafala still around his neck.

***

There was no way to change things at that point. In another moment she probably would have shifted, she would have run as far as she could, maybe in the heart of the Blackwater reserve, but giving control to her wolf would not have made her feel better and would not have erased Jimmy's accusations for her mind. After everything she had been through, all the chaos, telling her that everything around her could be a giant lie... nothing more than a trick to manipulate her, out of a thirst for control, had hurt and Y/N still couldn't find a explanation to give herself peace even after hours. Roman had warned her and she had continued to keep her guard down, hoping to be able to put a band-aid on a wound that had never stopped bleeding. She couldn't believe that Jimmy and Jey had gone to that point, yet the accusations, the looks full of hate, resentment, echoed in her mind. She didn't want to or couldn't believe it was the other way around though, not after everything her and Roman had gone through together. Jimmy had described an alpha that had been willing to do anything for the necklace placed around his neck, someone she had tenaciously rejected when she arrived there. However, Roman had proven himself to be someone else with her, he had done anything to prove it. That person wasn't the man who had taken her out every day or night for months to learn every detail of her life before him, he wasn't the one who watched over her while she slept, who showered her with unnecessary attention and listened to her every word, who couldn't take his eyes off her as if she was the most important thing in the world, who only let his guard down with her.

Something inside her had clicked watching them fight in that parking lot, something inside her had taken control. She had not been able to stand by and watch impartially, it had been a visceral, desperate, furious impulse that had brought back old memories: her mama had done the same that day, she had chosen her unknowed mate, not Y/N’s dad and her choice had changed everything forever. She would have liked to blame her wolf, the increasingly frequent mood swings, but the truth was that the human part of her had also made a choice when she saw Roman on the ground. With cold blood and without scruples Y/N had followed the bond, she had chosen his side, also turning against someone else who she really loved. Now there was no plan b, no alternative, it was really just her and him.

With a heavy breath, she gazed out the window at the suv parked in the driveway since he returned from whatever meeting he'd had after they'd split up, deciding to go look for him wherever he was out there. He hadn't set foot in the house and when Y/N finally found him, following a trail of his scent to the backyard, his gaze was glued to the huge magnolia tree visible from their bedroom, hands hidden in his pockets.

He needs us by his side. He's our mate. We are bond.

He was as if frozen and although Y/N couldn't see the expression on his face, she physically felt, inside herself, the weight of everything and the effort with which he stubbornly stood. He couldn't give in or go back, none of them really could anymore.

- It's starting to get cold… – she said, cautiously stretching out her hands and ending up wrapping her arms around him, curling up against his back – I gotchu.

Home.

She felt the calm of the Blackwater reserve descend on both of them, that sense of security that she had only felt with him after too long, the mind quieting from the chaos they were experiencing, before he decided to speak, voice hoarse.

- You did it- she heard him acknowledge, without moving.

Y/N was burdened by the choice she had taken, she had never wanted them to come to that point, she loved the twins no matter what, but she would not step aside, not even after watching what had happened when Roman had lost controll. She wasn't afraid, she wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty for a reason and she didn't regret her words, her fears were different and protecting what was between her and Roman meant preventing them from come true.

- I made you a promise. We'll make it together, we'll have each others, you said it first – she repeated seriously – I can get dolled up every single day since is that what is expected from me as your mate, but I'll bite with heels on if things get bad – she added and finally saw Roman turn around, his eyes fixed on her.

She knew he didn’t like it, she felt it, convincing him to let her have a role, a real role that was out of his comfort zone seemed like the most difficult task of their relationship, but unexpectedly Y/N only saw him raising his hand to cup her cheek.

- Would you do it again? – he asked unexpectedly calm, running his thumb over her soft caramel skin and she did the same on his shirt, retracing the places where they had hit him – like today?

- You would step in and do the same for me, yes

Those words weighed on her tongue like condemnations. No one had ever done anything for her, no one had ever really been on her side except her father and the bloodline. Roman repeated it continuously, without stopping and she trusted, really trusted him in what they built together day after day. In the parking lot she had only outpaced him, life had put her in a corner, showing her what was true, but that kind of loyalty was reciprocated, she believed him. They were mates for a reason.

His hands moved immediately, sliding along her neck, to that spot that wouldn't stop calling him. A shiver ran across her skin as she saw his brown eyes fix there with far too much concentration, his solid grip tightened and she held her breath, clinging to his shirt.

- You have no idea what I would be capable of to keep everything – she heard him said, his voice velvety as he uttered what sounded like a threat against the world.

Y/N knew that side of him, she had glimpsed it several times: when they had met for the first time and she had tried to run away, after the trial, the morning he came back from the border, that afternoon in the parking lot against his cousins. It was what she didn't want to see, what Jimmy had perhaps talked about, but she knew that wasn't all, it was the burdens and difficulties that brought him to that point. It was up to her just to ease his thoughts a little, to make him understand that it wasn't necessary, not always, not when it was just them.

- Not here though, not today, right? – she whispered, stretching into his arms, to distract him.

His eyes moved from her hot spot to her face, sliding to her mouth and then into her gaze, when Y/N rested her eyes on him, biting his bottom lip softly to coax him. She held them on him, tasting his hot breath, clinging to his body as it seemed to push away the cool evening air and felt him answer quickly, holding her pressed against his torso. One of his hands trailed down her arm, feeling her back still tight in the red dress she hadn't taken off and further down, on her round hip he always clung to. His tongue removed from her mouth the heavy taste of promises and choices of that long day, soft, fat and she let out a moan, feeling him discreetly take control of her, moving it against her cheeks and the roof of her mouth. Almost climbing on top of him, Y/N clung to his neck, catching her breath after a long moment and immediately feeling him breath against her sensitive ear as she scratched the back of his neck and fumbled, back now pressed against the tree's trunk.

-Mine – he growl low, rough, his skin against her, ripping a beat from her heart caught in her throat and made her stomach vibrate.

His hot tongue licked her earlobe, all the way down her jugular, to her exposed collarbone and she crouched, digging her nails in, holding back the moan her wolf cried to let go.

She wanted it, she wanted to be marked as desperately as him, and yet the human part of Y/N still couldn't. Everything, but not that, not yet, not when she needed to be near him and keep a clear head. Getting marked would cause her hormones to skyrocket and she already struggled to keep them at bay normally, she didn't need to go into heat when he was fighting a war in the family and at the border.

- Tell me what I can do… i want to help - she tried, feeling his firm grip on her hips, searching his eyes again, leaving another sloppy kiss on his full lips.

Roman looked at her with an already lust gaze, recklessly licking the taste of her from his mouth and his fingers became a little more domineering, digging into Y/N’s flesh through her dress.

- Turn around, hands on the tree – he ordered, forgetting yet another attempt and despite being what she also wanted at that moment, Y/N stared at him confused.

- Here?

She had no problem doing it in unconventional places, especially not with him, but she had the feeling that he had a very specific thought in his head that had little to do with his hard-on. And despite everything, when she saw him take off his jacket to be left with only his shirt, handing it to her so that she could lean on it, Y/N nodded, pressing herself against the trunk, while he rolled the dress around her hips to remove her lingerie. She saw that piece of fabric fall carelessly onto the grass and felt the air pinch her sensitive, heated skin, just before Roman ran a finger over her pussy, stroking slowly to feel her wetness. She moaned without holding back, her arousal growing uncontrollably, body too quickly softening and watering under his attentions, bending as soon as she felt the intrusion of his big hand.

-Here – he echoed, bending down to place a kiss on her bare shoulder, fingers already working her furiously, too quickly since the beginning – Its all… mine. I can do whatever I wanna do whenever I wanna do.

His call made her mewl as much as feeling his erection slam against her ass, tense, hot, his fingertips pressed tenaciously to that spot just beyond her spongy curve that he always found, even in the middle of the backyard. She closed her eyes, sinking into the darkness of her head, hearing the sounds of the forest mix with the slimy sound of her own body and Roman's heartbeat which sprinted angrily, releasing all the frustration that was smoldering inside him.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @reignsangel444 @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @love-islike-abomb @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @reignsx @reigns-central-blog @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @thedonsfactory @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @tribalchiefdaily @2baddies2furious @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @usosthetics @mahi-wayy @jxtina-86 @harmshake @harlem11680 @southerngirl41 @blkbutterfly816 @spritelucozade @smile1318 @joannasteez

[chairofchaos]

Coffee & Psychotherapy: Something New

Pairing: Eris x Azriel (AZRIS IS BACK IN TOWN, BABYYYY) Summary: In which Azriel encourages Eris to see a mind healer, and they start the healing journey together. This, of course, requires copious amounts of coffee, and possibly some new thing called “hot chocolate”. For Day 3 of Eris Week: Healing @erisweekofficial Rating: Teen Word Count: 2.6k Tags & Warnings: domestic fluff, tiny, tiny, tiny bit of angst, because our ken dolls are traumatized, but it is sweet and soft and gentle, like so many other things in my repertoire (kidding lmao), coffee and hot chocolate should be listed as tertiary characters. OH and TW for mention of Beron (sorry)

Read it on Ao3 HERE! (or below the cut <3)

A/N: Happy Day 3 of Eris Week! Thank you to @tsunami-of-tears for the gorgeous dividers! Shoutout to @dusk-muse who I may have forced to request some idea for fluff. Kudos to @ninthcircleofprythian for her help reminding me of this coffee post (HERE), which loosely inspired this fic in that most of the ACOTAR characters would greatly benefit from some therapy.

That being said, I am not qualified to write actual therapy things, so there will be no actual therapy session content. There are passing mentions of what was discussed in a session, but it’s like 3 lines total. This is centered around domesticity and love. <3

Eris loved coffee. He loved the simplicity of buying the roast beans from the shop, the sound of the grindstones, the scent of freshly ground coffee beans. When he and Azriel had first met, they drank coffee each morning. Eris drank it black. And Azriel, without fail, filled his cup with enough sugar and cream that even Eris’ mother had noticed it with some concern.

Azriel hated coffee. But he liked what coffee could do for him. He was never without a mug, so much so that Eris kept buying him mugs of different shapes and sizes, different spellwork to keep his coffee warm, to make all coffee added to it sweet, to refill automatically. Eris liked coffee. Azriel just liked feeling awake.

Because Azriel was a horrible sleeper. Terrible. Eris didn’t know what to blame - court of origin, childhood trauma, his former line of work, his shadows whispering to him constantly. All were contenders for the crown of keeping the former spymaster awake at all hours of the night.

Eris was no saint, either. Cauldron knew he kept his mate up some nights. But the Cauldron also knew Azriel would get out of bed in the middle of the night and take off into flight, not returning until he knew Eris would also be awake. After the first time, they would rarely talk about where Azriel went or what he did. Instead, Eris would press a mug of overly sweet coffee into his hands and they would sit together in silence on the front porch, Azriel’s head on Eris’ shoulder and their hands clasped together.

Despite the way the habit had begun, Eris treasured those moments with his mate. Watching the sunrise radiate through the autumn clouds, it was easier to forget the foundational pain which motivated them in this tradition.

This morning was different. Eris woke to find Azriel’s side of their bed cool, the blankets rumpled as if his mate had spent half the night fidgeting restlessly until he simply gave up. The sun wasn’t up yet, so he got up, yawning as he flicked a hand at the fireplace. Reinvigorated, the coals flickered back to flames, Eris’ power breathing new life into them. He would drag Azriel back to bed if he could, and the cozier the room was, the more likely Azriel would be to let him when they were done watching the sun rise.

The hallways were dark, but the kitchen lamps were lit. Eris blinked sleepily at them, yawning once more as he stepped into the kitchen. 

Azriel stood there, hands on the edge of the sink as he stared out the broad window. His shadows swirled lazily across the expanse of his back, their dark cloak about him in a guarded comfort.  “Good morning.”

This was new. “Good morning, Az.” Eris paused, but Azriel didn’t move. “Are you alright?”

Azriel nodded, reaching to pick up his mug. “Just drinking my coffee.” One shadow twined around his leg, then darted to Eris and nestled behind his ear. ‘Upset,’ it whispered. Eris nodded. Clearly, he thought. But he wouldn’t say that to the shadow which only wished its master well.

It was rare the shadows deigned to speak to him. He wasn’t entirely sure how it happened in the first place, though he suspected it had something to do with the piece of his soul that was Azriel’s, and the piece of Azriel’s that was his. Whatever limited power it granted him, he was thankful for the insights of the shadows into his mate’s moods, whenever they chose to share.

“Az,” he began as the shadow spun back towards Azriel. 

“I made coffee,” Azriel interjected. “It’s in the kettle.” 

Eris nodded, crossing the room. “Thank you.”

They were silent for a moment. Eris poured his coffee, then crossed to stand beside his mate.

“What’s wrong?”

Azriel gave a wry smile, nudging Eris with his wing. “Couldn’t sleep. Too many memories, I suppose.”

“You’re drinking your coffee black,” Eris observed, taking a sip of his own. “That’s unlike you.”

“And you are observant, as always.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Azriel shook his head. “No. Not now. I had something I wanted to tell you, though.”

“Alright.”

“I’m going to see a mind healer tomorrow morning.”

Eris smiled. “Okay.”

Azriel looked at him, turning to lean against the counter. He paused a second, looking pensive. “I want you to come with me. I checked your schedule, you’re available. I know it’s last minute, but I want to talk about something, and I’d like to do it there.”

Eris nodded slowly. His mate wasn’t one to do things half-heartedly. “Can you tell me what it’s about? It might help me to be a little prepared.”

“I want to talk about you.”

“What, specifically?”

Azriel shrugged, scooping his mug up in his left hand and cradling it against his chest. “I’ve been seeing the mind healer for a couple of months. It’s been my meeting every week, the recurring block on my calendar that’s marked as ‘busy’. I wasn’t ready to talk about it, I don’t think, but I want to. And I want you there, if you are willing.”

“I am willing. What do you want to talk about?”

“I think you should see someone.”

“Someone.”

“A mind healer. Not mine, probably, but someone.” Azriel sighed, looking over his shoulder at the trees ruffling in the breeze. “You internalize the way I do, and I think you might find it helpful.”

Eris nodded. “I’ll go tomorrow. But I can’t promise anything.”

Azriel smiled. “That’s all I ask.”

“What did you think?”

The remains of dinner were spread in front of them; the pumpkin ravioli Eris loved, a pitcher of apple cider which would probably get mixed with some bourbon later that night. Azriel took a bite of the spiced cake. It was one of his favorites, Eris knew. No wonder the cook had been so amused when he made the request. The pumpkin ravioli was time consuming, and Eris never requested it except on special occasions, which meant Azriel had made the request for him. Perhaps it was an effort to soften this very conversation.

“I think it was good,” Eris shrugged. “It wasn’t what I expected.”

“Is there anything we talked about you wanted to come back to?” Azriel set his fork and knife down, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t want to go to bed with things unsaid.”

Eris smiled. “Thoughtful. No, not really. Why were you drinking your coffee black yesterday?”

Azriel chuckled. “I was wondering if you would come back to that.”

“Do you blame me? You hate drinking it black.”

“I know. I wanted to try it again.”

“For any particular reason? Or just because?”

“Just because.”

“Did you like it?”

Azriel laughed. “No. I still hated it.”

Eris smiled. “I’m not surprised.”

Azriel was right. It was helpful, the sessions with the mind healer. Eris hadn’t expected to feel as challenged or as supported, but he was both. He could discuss anything. Though they often touched on the day to day stress he experienced as High Lord, they just as easily discussed his childhood, his family, and the horrors of war. 

He enjoyed the walk there and back. He had winnowed, at first. He had been concerned about being seen at the building, preferring the anonymity winnowing straight into the office could provide him with. Over time, he found it peaceful to walk, whether it rained or the sun was on his face as he came and went. His route took him through some small roads in the city, roads he knew but wouldn’t have regularly walked had it not been for the small healing office on Maple Street. It gave him time to think, and every other week, he walked by the market set up along the street adjacent. 

The area held mostly offices, service-oriented businesses with at least a few employees each, and the market benefitted. They rotated through the city, ten different locations for two weeks worth of opportunities for sales. 

The shops participating rotated on occasion, so Eris always made a point of engaging with them, occasionally stopping on his way home to buy lunch or something to send to his nieces and nephews in Day and Night. Today, it had been raining, and the smell of cinnamon and chocolate wafted on the foggy breeze as he passed through, an umbrella in his hand. The less he used his powers in public, the more unnoticed he would go.

“May I interest you in a hot chocolate?” a merchant called to him from under his canopy. “Favorite of the Winter Court, and it’ll warm you on a day like today!”

Hot chocolate. “I’ll take one,” he smiled. The merchant smiled in return. “Certainly. Would you like coffee extract? It will give you the wakefulness of coffee without the flavor, or I can give you a coffee hot chocolate mix for the same effect.”

“I’ll take one with no coffee, please.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Eris stifled a laugh. He was unable to be anonymous, even dressed as simply as he was in a blue buttoned shirt and trousers.

When the merchant handed him the mug, she said, “The mug is spelled to return, unless you wish to buy it. My children make them– they own the pottery studio on the eastern side of North Village.”

“I have plenty of mugs at this point, unless my hounds decide they want to break them again,” Eris explained. “I appreciate it, though. If you have a moment, may I ask you a question about the coffee extract?”

The merchant nodded. 

“Does it provide all the same effects as coffee? I know someone who drinks coffee like water, but hates the flavor.”

“This may be good for them, then. It can be mixed in any drink to the same effect, though of course we mostly put it in hot chocolate.”

“You wouldn’t happen to sell the extract, would you?”

The merchant shook her head. “I don’t have enough at this point to be able to do that.” She paused, then added. “I could maybe sell you a bit for a trial, and then if you liked it, I could provide a supply as an importer. It may be expensive.”

Eris waved a hand. “That’s no matter. May I add a hot chocolate with the extract, please? I’ll have him try it today, and then I can let you know.”

She nodded. “Give me one moment to make it for you.”

Eris watched as she scooped a tan powder into a mug. If Azriel liked it, his sugar consumption would decrease considerably. Plus, he would likely enjoy the drink. He liked chocolate more than most people Eris knew, save perhaps Nesta and Gwyn. And Azriel wouldn’t have to drink coffee. The merchant added the hot chocolate, stirred for a few seconds, and then set the mug on the table. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Eris handed over a few coins. He took her contact information, making a mental note to contact her before the end of the week. She sent him off with a smile and a wave, his umbrella tucked carefully between his wrist and his body to keep it in place as he walked with his hands full.

He walked in silence, only pausing to greet the occasional passersby, until a small wisp of a shadow darted out of the sky and wrapped itself around his wrist. “Is everything alright?” The shadow darted away again, quick as it had come. Was Azriel alright?

Eris heard him before he saw him, the loud flap of wings announcing his descent. When Azriel landed next to him, his hair plastered to his forehead, Eris grinned. “Hi.”

“Are you alright? You’re usually home by now.”

“I’m fine,” Eris said, extending the mug which held the concoction. “For you. Walk with me?”

“What’s this?” Azriel quirked an eyebrow, but took the mug all the same.

“Hot chocolate, she said. With a coffee extract that apparently has no flavor, but gives you the same benefits of wakefulness.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“I hoped you’d say that.”

They set off, Azriel tucking Eris close and replacing the umbrella with his wing. “How was your session?” 

“It was good,” Eris sighed. “A bit of discussion about Father.”

“Ah. Feeling alright?”

Eris nodded. “Tired, but fine.”

“Maybe it’s a good day to cancel the rest of your meetings?” Azriel suggested slyly, nudging his shoulder. “Seeing as it’s so dreary. We can spend the rest of the day together.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working with the guard this afternoon?”

“Cobblestones get too slippery,” Azriel protested. “I wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings when they slip and fall.”

Eris snorted. The Autumn Guard was more than used to rain, and trained on those cobblestones every single day. They had learned how not to fall.

“And this isn’t at all an excuse to spend the afternoon together?”

Azriel grinned, pressing a kiss to Eris’ temple. “It’s a good excuse.”

“Uh huh,” Eris laughed, pausing their strides with a grin and a hand on Azriel’s arm. “Convince me.”

It wasn’t a challenge as much as a tactic to get Azriel to kiss him. Their first date, they had both been guarded, despite their admissions the previous week that they had been dancing around each other for far too long to ignore the ongoing attraction. “Go on another date with me,” Eris had asked at the end of the night. Azriel had smirked, then said, “Convince me.”

Eris had taken the opportunity to kiss him. Ever since, they’d used the challenge as an invitation.

“Happily,” Azriel grinned, sliding an arm around Eris’ shoulders. He kissed him deeply, cradling Eris’ head in his arm. Eris sank into him, the exhaustion of a session with the mind healers hitting him full blast. “Consider me convinced,” he murmured, laughing against Azriel’s lips.

Azriel pulled back, grinning. “Good. Especially since I already canceled your meeting with Lord Merton.”

Eris snorted. “Of course you did.”

“Do you blame me? You know, my mate buys me delicious drinks. I do love this, by the way.” Eris amended the mental note to write to the merchant immediately. “And he kisses me in the rain like he’s drowning and needs me like air. Not to mention, he hasn’t taken as much as half a day off since Solstice two months ago.”

“Alright, alright,” Eris laughed, pressing a kiss to Azriel’s temple. “Let’s take the afternoon off. Maybe today calls for just sitting by a fire.”

Azriel grinned, leaning in for another kiss. It was sweet, and soft, and Eris found himself humming his satisfaction against his mate’s lips. 

“Agreed,” Azriel grinned. “Maybe in bed. Warm blankets await.”

They resumed their walk, sipping their respective drinks. When Eris finished his, the mug disappeared in silence, and he slipped his hand into Azriel’s.

“Az?” Azriel hummed in response. “Do you think we’ll ever be done with the mind healers? There’s so much to sort through. I wonder if we’ll ever get through it all.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s hard to say. It doesn’t have to end, which is a good thing. And maybe, if we feel good for a while, we take a break, and we go back.”

“Do you ever worry it will feel like a failure?”

“Do you think it’s a failure if you need help again?”

Eris shrugged. “Maybe.”

Azriel nodded. “You could talk about that next week, if you think it will help you. And maybe we can talk about that at our next combined session.”

“We should do that again. It’s been a while.”

“Alright. Let’s get it on the calendar. Any chance we could make it a date, too? I’d love to get some more of this hot chocolate.”

Eris smiled, resting his head on Azriel’s shoulder. “It’s a date.”

Taglist: @lilah-asteria @unanswered-stars @c-starstuff-man0

If you want on or off the taglist, give me a shout!

[redvexillum]

@ritualofcirice MY LOVE. I must say - when I first asked what you would like to read for Kinktober, this was definitely not on my bingo card. Wow. Didn't think I would ever revisit this story again, @crackrodent is going to end up getting a big head from someone asking for more. Thanks for keeping me on my toes, you two.

WARNINGS/TAGS: an☆l sex, dub-con, p in a, psychological, emotional s☆x, character study of adam after damnation, sinner!adam, hate f☆cking, a lot of my head canon and interpretation of adam is in here, bottom!val, top!adam, writer strongly recommends you read on camera before you read this

Every great man was destined for his downfall if he lived long enough.  

Adam, the first man, was no exception, and now he found himself deep in the bowels of Hell, where darkness dripped from every corner. The loud, heart-pounding music rattled the very foundation of the place, vibrating beneath his boots. The filthy moans of sinners and cruel laughter filled the air, a cacophony of debauchery. Bright, strobing lights flashed across the dingy walls in a kaleidoscope of garish colours, turning the room into a living, breathing beast of chaos.  

The stench hit Adam first – alcohol, sweat, and something sharp, bitter, acrid – mixing with the smell of lust and sin that clung to every surface. This was an abyss, a den where bodies tangled together, shameless and hungry, a paradise for the damned. Adam had spent his days here since his descent into Hell, trying to drown out the weight of his existence.  

“Hey, you gonna pay off that tab?” a voice grated, cutting through the chaotic noise. The bartender was grotesque, an overgrown, green-skinned creature that loomed more like a bloated shrimp than a demon, all greasy grins, beady eyes and three sets of arms.  

Adam’s blood-red eyes gleamed, catching the colourful lights in a dangerous glow as he grinned. His twisted horns glinted darkly in the room’s neon flashes. “Told you, I’ll pay when I get the damn money,” he sneered, voice low and venomous.  

Disgust curled through him. Filthy, repulsive creatures – the kind he could easily tear apart if only he had his weapon. If he could, he’d kill them all. “Now, pour me another.” He shoved the cup across the bar, the screech of glass on wood grating, like nails on a chalkboard. “You do know who I am, right?” 

His muscles coiled, ready to snap into action, and he watched the flicker of fear dart across the bartender’s eyes. It was fleeting but delicious. The fear of the damned before the firm man, the fallen Adam.  

The shrimp demon, trying to hide his terror behind a mask of disdain, scoffed before silently refilling the cup and sliding it back toward Adam. He scurried off without another word, eager to escape the confrontation.  

Adam stared down into the swirling amber liquid, feeling the weight of the room pressing in on him. This was Hell, after all. The land of eternal suffering and carnal pleasure, where demons thrived in their depravity.  

But for Adam, it was more than that. This was the place where both his wife and sons had fallen. Cast here while he was still admitted to Heaven, before his inevitable plunge.  

Lifting the glass, Adam’s mind wandered, flickering to thoughts of his past, of his lieutenant, Lute, and the women he’d had by his side. Were they still loyal to him? Did they even care that he had fallen? Or were they relieved, glad to see him gone? Anger began to churn in his chest, ugly, gnawing feelings of betrayal, disappointment – things he refused to name, emotions he tried to drown in the endless swirl of vice and violence.  

The bitterness in his gut rose with every passing thought, but before those dark feelings could consume him, Adam downed the drink in one burning gulp. The alcohol blazed a trail down his throat, momentarily silencing the storm. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze already searching the room for some sinners to help numb him further. They were always successful at filling the voice with something primal yet, unfortunately, fleeting. Sex had always been the answer – if only for a few hours.  

Before he could rise, though, a shadow loomed over him. Something in the air shifted. He looked up, and his lips twisted into a snarl.  

The demon standing before him was an eyesore. Lilac-skinned, tall, and spindly with an absurdly gaudy outfit – a pair of heart-shaped glasses perched on his angular nose, a feathered hat sitting askew, and a hot pink coat lined with fur. The demon looked ridiculous, a garish mess of mismatched colours and clashing fabrics.  

Adam’s red eyes narrowed, leaning back against the bar with an eyebrow raised, his voice a low growl. “The fuck do you want?” 

The demon’s smile oozed malice, his voice high-pitched and slick, the kind that made your skin crawl. “Ah, a pleasure to meet you, First Man... Adam, correct?” His tone was drenched in slime, the kind of voice that made everything around it feel dirtier just by association.  

Adam despised sinners with every fibre of his being, yet there was a twisted thrill when he saw them quake in recognition of his status. The fear in their eyes – the reminder of who he was and all he had once commanded – fuelled him like the strongest drink.  

“That’s right,” his lips curled into a feral grin. “What’s this? You want my autograph or something?” He snorted, a mocking sneer playing on his face. “Too bad you’re uglier than sin itself. Now scram,” he added with a dismissive wave, his fingers already twitching to flag down the bartender for a refill.  

But the moth-looking demon beside him remained stubborn, his laugh forced but unwavering, and through those ridiculous pink glasses, his red eyes glower – a prey thinking he was a predator. “My name is Valentino,” he cooed, his voice all smooth velvet, layered with sweet malice. He eased himself onto the stool next to Adam. “I thought you might be interested in a deal, or perhaps...a proposition?” 

Adam’s laughter was sharp, derisive, filling the smoky air with scorn. His grin spread, amused by the look of faint disgust Valentino tried so poorly to hide behind that grin. But, Valentino pressed on, his voice laced with false compliments, his eyes narrowing just slightly at the edge of each hollow word.  

“You see,” Valentino continued, feigning politeness as he withdrew a long-stemmed pipe from his coat, drawing a deep breath that released plumes of sickly sweet pink smoke. “I own most of the strip clubs in this district.” 

“Skip to the damn point,” Adam sneered, legs sprawled as he leaned back with a smirk, letting Valentino’s facade crumble just a bit more. Watching him struggle to keep that thin smile of professionalism brought Adam more satisfaction than any drink could.  

Valentino took another long drag from his pipe and then, with a snap of his fingers, flagged down the bartender. Without a word, the shrimp-demon quickly poured before them with shaking hands.  

Valentino’s lips curled, sharp as a knife, his crimson eyes gleaming with a sinister glint. “If you agree to film one pornographic scene with me, all of this,” he gestured with a lazy flick of his wrist, “booze, drugs, women – or men, if you like – would be yours. Free of charge, for as long as you’re here.” 

Adam barked out a loud, hearty laugh, seizing his drink and downing half of it in one go. “So let me get this straight,” he snorted, his voice filled with mockery. “You’re offering me a lifetime supply of booze and sex for filming one little scene? With you?” 

Valentino’s long, manicured fingers brushed along the fur of his collar, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. “Precisely,” he purred, lips curving in a delighted, almost mocking smile.  

Adam’s stomach twisted in disgust, a shudder rippling through him as he sized Valentino up with obvious disdain. “Hell, no offence, but you look like a damned stick bug. I don’t do bugs – or dudes.” 

Valentino’s smile faltered, a barely restrained growl rumbling low in his throat as he took another drag from his pipe, his eyes flashing with irritation. “You’d do well to reconsider, considering that tab of yours keeps growing. And I have every reason to believe you’re not in a position to pay it off anytime soon.” 

Adam’s laughter faded, and for a moment, he considered. He was only able to get by because many of them recognized him as the general leading his army of angels to slaughter them. But he wasn’t sure how long he could bully them to give him free shit from just fear alone.  

His gaze slid across the room, lingering on a few scantily clad sinners flaunting themselves on the dance floor, their eyes hungry and vacant, lips parted in anticipation. A lifetime of indulgences, endless nights filled with booze, bodies, and numb pleasure – all it took was one decision.  

With a dark chuckle, he drained the rest of his drink, feeling the warmth buzz through him, loosening his muscles as he leaned back against the bar. Hell wasn’t going anywhere, and he’d be stuck here for a while. He might as well enjoy his damnation.  

“I’ll do it,” Adam said, the words dripping with mocking resignation, an edge of dark humour tugging at his grin. But he lifted a finger, wagging it in Valentino’s face. “On one condition.” 

Valentino’s eyes narrowed, his mouth curling into a slight, intrigued smile. “And what would that be?” 

Adam leaned in close, voice dropping to a murmur, his gaze glimmering with a glint of wicked satisfaction. “You’ll be the one getting fucked, and you’re gonna call me the Dick Master while I’m deep inside you.” 

He couldn’t help but smirk when he saw Valentino falter, just for a moment, the confidence in his polished demeanour cracking. It was faint – a small, barely audible squeak escaping him, but Adam heard it. The anger simmering beneath the sinner’s facade was palpable, flickering like embers in his crimson eyes. Valentino’s smile wavered, clouded with confusion and barely restrained fury.  

Alcohol surged through Adam’s veins, heightening his arrogance as he leaned back in his chair, legs spread wide in a gesture of dominance. “You should be grateful I even agreed to fuck you,” he drawled, his hand lazily gesturing toward his crotch. His grin widened as he saw Valentino’s gaze flicker downward, lingering on the front of Adam’s pants before meeting his eyes again. “Bet you’ve never had the honour of fucking an original man’s dick before.” 

A sense of thrill bubbled within his chest, his heart pounding with a heady mix of excitement and ego. He could see the tension rising in Valentino, a mix of shame and intrigue flashing behind this ridiculous pair of pink glasses. 

“My dick is the best dick,” Adam declared, a wicked grin pulling at his lips. “The original dick. Every single cock in existence? They all descended from mine.” He chuckled, a dark, throaty sound, as he waved the bartender over. He pointed to the two glasses – his empty and Valentino’s half-full, before snatching Valentino’s drink and draining the rest of it without a second thought. “Think about it, man. You’d be one of the lucky few in Hell to say you got fucked by the first dick ever created by the big man upstairs.” 

The bartender, clearly eager to avoid whatever was unfolding, poured Adam’s drink almost to the brim before hurriedly excusing himself. Adam took a long swig, savouring the burn of the alcohol as it fuelled his swagger. “My dick? God’s perfect creation,” he said, his words drenched with self-satisfaction. “A perfect dick.” 

Valentino, to Adam’s surprise, remained silent. His face was impassive, but his eyes betrayed him – they darted back to Adam’s crotch now and again, clearly absorbing every arrogant word. Adam continued, emboldened by the alcohol and the sinner’s silence, rambling on about the magnificence of his cock in absurd detail. Time seemed to blur as drinks kept flowing, and his words slurred together, becoming a hazy tirade of self-praise.  

By the time Adam paused, Valentino’s cheeks were faintly flushed, his posture rigid as though trapped between fury and reluctant agreement. Finally, Valentino cleared his throat, his voice tight. “Fine,” he muttered, extending a hand in a gesture of surrender.  

It was settled. One porno shoot, with Adam fucking Valentino, who would call him Dick Master, in exchange for a lifetime of sinful indulgences. Booze, drugs, sex – Adam could have it all. How hard could it be? After all, an asshole was just another hole, right? Just a second pussy, basically.  

-- 

The next morning, Adam prepared himself for what was sure to be a bizarre day. He tipped back half a bottle of scotch, the last of what he’d swiped from the club. No one questioned him anymore – he'd simply pointed at Valentino and declared his tab paid for all eternity. It was done.  

He did, however, have a secret. As much as he mocked this whole situation, he’d caught glimpses of Hell’s porn stars during the annual extermination trips down here. Billboards featuring Angel Dust, the infamous spider sinner with the absurdly fluffy chest, had always caught his eye.  

Sure, the guy was part of some redemption nonsense rub by that bitch’s annoying daughter, but Adam would be lying if he said he hadn’t “researched” the tapes he smuggled back up to Heaven. Most of it was male-on-male action, sure, but Hell’s sinners didn’t hold back on the kink. Maybe Angel Dust would show up for this shoot...but Adam quickly shoved the thought aside. He wasn’t about to entertain that idea.  

When he arrived at the studio, it wasn’t what he expected. It was surprisingly clean, sterile even, with bright lights pointing at a heart-shaped bed covered in tacky pink satin. Adam wrinkled his nose in distaste. Everything about this place screamed tacky. The entire setup looked like something out of the cheap, over-the-top romance movies he sometimes saw the girls watch.  

Valentino was already there, standing by the bed with his usual sleazy smile. Adam barely spared him a glance, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, ready to get this over with. “Let’s get this done,” he muttered through a yawn, his disinterest clear. He didn’t miss the way Valentino’s eyes darkened, a vein pulsing with tension along his neck.  

Without wasting time, Adam stripped down, kicking off his pants and tossing his shirt aside carelessly. He stood before Valentino, who was lounging on the heart-shaped bed, his eyes raking over Adam’s body. That absurd coat Valentino always wore? It wasn’t just fabric – it was part of his wings, and as he shifted, Adam noticed the faint gleam of a gold chain hanging from his pierced nipples.  

Adam’s stomach twisted, the acrid burn of alcohol mingling with nausea at the thought of what he was about to do. The whole sordid arrangement churned in his mind; sure, he’d had his share of cheap thrills, but at least those sinners had something appealing.  

Valentino, though? He was about as appetizing as roadkill. The only thing pushing him through this was the promise of endless booze, sex, and indulgence – a freedom he would taste over and over again for the rest of eternity.  

“A deal’s a deal,” Valentino finally murmured, his tone drenched in irony as he shrugged out of his clothes, revealing his bare, lanky frame and a cock that only served to highlight Adam’s confidence. Adam let out a low, mocking laugh, not bothering to hide his disdain. He stripped off his own clothes and let his dick stand at the centre of attention.  

Valentino rolled his eyes, his lips curling into a tight smile. “Alright Dick Master, time to fulfill your end of the bargain,” he said dryly, his voice layered with sarcasm as he gave a cursory glance over Adam.  

Adam forced himself to smirk, stretching out each step as he advanced. “You’re not my type,” he shrugged, eyeing Valentino with open distaste, “but hey – free booze, free girls? I’d do a lot worse.” 

Standing just inches from Valentino, he leaned in, their bodies almost touching. He shut out the details of Valentino’s bony frame and imagined instead a lithe, slender woman – anything to get through this nightmare of a deal. His cock, fuelled by raw ego and the throbbing pulse of hatred, began to rise. “You read for this?” he gave a sharp grin, his tone low and predatory, “This is the original dick – God's masterpiece.” 

Valentino scoffed, an eye-roll barely hidden behind his pink glasses, reaching for a bottle of lube and slicking his hands. He tossed the bottle aside with a flick of his wrist. “Let’s just get it over with,” he muttered, voice flat as he began to idly stroke himself.  

“Sounds like you’re all too eager,” Adam shot back with a smug grin, his hands lazily pumping his own cock. “So, I just need to fuck you until I’m done, right?” he confirmed, voice dripping with mockery.  

Valentino forced a nod, raising his hands in mocking air quotes. “Yes, Dick Master,” he gritted out, almost sound tired of this whole event that he specifically sought Adam out for. The fucking bitch.  

Adam’s jaw clenched, anger bubbling beneath his intoxicated haze. Here was this scumbag – this lowly sinner – who had practically begged for his cock, acting as if he were the one doing him a favour? Adam tightened his grip, stroking faster until he was hard and ready, his cock red and angry.  

The direction shouted “Action!” and, in a single, brutal motion, Adam seized Valentino by his thin, bony waist, flipping him onto his stomach. Valentino’s wings flared out briefly before settling awkwardly against the bed, his limbs visibly tense.  

“Lube!” Valentino choked out, scrambling for the tossed bottle, which he shoved over his shoulder with a scowl. “Here,Dick Master,” he spat, his tone a barely contained snarl.  

Adam chuckled, dark satisfaction pooling in his chest. Seeing this sinner – sprawled on all fours, well six, powerless, waiting – was better than any liquor that burned his tongue. He leaned down, letting the weight of his words hang heavy. “Say please,” he said, pressing the head of his cock teasingly against the taut ring of muscles. “And maybe I’ll consider it.” 

Silence stretched between them as Valentino’s shoulders tensed, but Adam could feel his resistance breaking. Finally, a strained, venom-laced whisper reached him: “Please,” Valentino ground out, his voice threaded with hate, his crimson eyes burning behind those pink lenses.  

With a wicked grin, Adam snatched the lube, twisting off the cap, and squeezed out a gratuitous amount, letting it trickle down between Valentino’s cheeks. The slickness glistened, pooling in the hollows of his ass, and Adam watched with cruel satisfaction. 

Before Valentino could utter a word of protest, Adam rammed his cock into the tight confines of the sinner’s ass, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal motion. The heat and pressure of Valentino’s body wrapped around him like a vice, and despite himself, Adam’s jaw clenched, a groan tearing free as the overwhelming tightness milked him.  

“Oh, fuck,” Valentino moaned, his head dropping low as he raised his hips higher, practically begging for more.  

A twisted laugh escaped Adam, sharp and bitter. It was no surprise – every sinner down here was a whore, eager to debase themselves further in Hell’s inferno. As long as he kept his focus on Valentino’s back, he could pretend he wasn’t fucking a gangly bug but some faceless chick from the week before. “Look at how fucking tight your ass is,” Adam growled through gritted teeth, his hips snapping forward with brutal rhythm. Each thrust sent his heavy balls smacking against Valentino’s own.  

“Say my name,” Adam snarled, his voice dripping with contempt as he thrust deeper, faster, his movements rough and punishing.  

Valentino’s body trembled beneath him, his face pressed against the mattress, his moans vibrating through the bed. “Oh fuck, Dick Master,” he whimpered, his voice breathless as the second pair of hands reached back, spreading himself wider to accommodate Adam’s thick, relentless cock. “Fuck, dump your hot cum in me, Dick Master,” Valentino begged, his words filthy and desperate as the cameraman steadily approached closer.  

Adam’s vision clouded with a lust-soaked fury. Valentino’s submission, the way he trembled, the way his body clung to him – it fed into Adam’s anger rather than appeased it. His hands slapped away Valentino’s own, and with a savage grin, he brought his palm down hard on Valentino’s ass. The sharp crack echoing in the room. The sting radiated through his hand, and the whimper it warned set another spike of satisfaction through him.  

It was a sin to sodomize another man, wasn’t it? The thought flickered idly in Adam’s mind, only to be crushed by the weight of his bitterness. What did it matter? Sin was all he knew now, and the moment he’d been cast from grace, the moment He turned His back, Adam had given up any pretense of goodness. His lips curled into a snarl; his legs spread wider as he began to pound into Valentino with savage intensity.  

Fuck everything.  

That had become Adam’s motto long ago when his world shattered. Since his fall, since the exterminations, he’d lived by it – both in the literal and metaphorical sense. He had killed his sons during the first extermination, slaughter the flesh of his own blood. His ex-wife Lilith had found sanctuary in Heaven, probably gloating in her new peace, untouched. And his second wife? Gone, disappeared without a trace. Adam had nothing left but the rage that ate him alive.  

His hand cracked down again on Valentino’s ass, the sound of flesh on flesh satisfying in a way nothing else could be. Valentino cried out, his moans filthy, his body shaking with pleasure at the brutal treatment. The anger, the frustration, the hatred for everyday spent surrounded by the scum of Hell boiled over in Adam’s chest. Each slap, each thrust, was an outlet for the festering fire coursing through his veins.  

“Call my fucking name,” Adam growled, driving forward, his hips pistoning with reckless abandon. He wanted to hear Valentino scream it, wanted to own that moment of debasement.  

“Fuck! Dick Master! Dick Master!” Valentino panted, his voice a broken, trembling echo, repeating the words as his body bucked beneath Adam. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, wet and slick, the lube drying into a sticky crust as Adam’s cock pounded mercilessly into the sinner’s ass.  

For Adam, there had always been one thing that set him apart. He was the first human to enter Heaven. He had been chosen. He had been faithful. 

He had been good. 

But that had been before. Before he was cast out. Before he killed his sons. Before Heaven turned its back on him. Now, there was nothing left but bitterness and betrayal, nothing but the rage that consumed him whole.  

Despite it all – despite being cast from Eden, despite the endless punishment, despite every sinful act he’d committed since – he had once believed he was good.  

But those damned red eyes. Every day, those scarlet irises watched him, glimmering with a twisted amusement that ate away at his mind. The sharp, curling horns at the top of his head were a sick reminder of the devil who’d robbed him of his wives, his peace, his faith.  

He was adrift, wandering without purpose or end, chained to a fleeting pleasure that only numbed him for a moment before reality pulled him back – back to a body drenched in the physical proof of his sin, of the brutal truth that he was no longer good... 

...that he had failed.  

The surrounding sounds – the gasping moans, the slap of skin on skin – faded to a hollow echo. He shut his eyes, shutting out the sight of Valentino beneath him, the sight of his own hands gripping those narrow hips. Pleasure built, higher and higher, even as his anger sank, deeper and deeper, until it smouldered at the base of his chest, another ember in the ever-burning pit of his agony.  

And then he released.  

A ragged gasp tore from his lips as his eyes flew open, his grip bruising Valentino’s hips as he felt himself pulse, his body rocking through the blinding flashes of his release. Pleasure surged through him, mingling with the hollow ache it left in its wake. Slowly, he pulled out, the cool air hitting his spent, sensitive skin as he came down, left empty and raw.  

Valentino rolled onto his back, sprawled with his own cock half-hard, his skin gleaming with sweat. “Oh, Dick Master,” he purred, a wicked glint lighting his eyes, “how about a second round?” 

Adam nearly laughed, not from humour or satisfaction, but a bitter disdain that twisted his mouth into a cold, unamused smirk. He folded his arms across his chest, looking around the gaudy studio, ignoring the cameras still rolling. “Sorry, pal,” he said with a shrug, a tinge of mockery lacing his words, “I’m a tits-and-ass kind of guy, and you’re missing the goods in every department.” 

Valentino’s smirk faltered, a flicker of surprise parting his lips, but Adam didn’t care. He’d fulfilled his end of the deal. 

“So,” he barked out, his voice loud and grating, “where’s my booze and my women?” His laughter rang out, harsh and hollow, a shield against the torrent of dark thoughts that clawed at his mind. Beneath that sharp, crooked grin, his heart twisted, the empty laugh barely covering the grimace that ached to break free. 

All he wanted was to drown. 

To drown in sin. 

To drown in fleeting pleasure. 

To drown in the pit of his own damnation. 

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

more sexual tension with arranged!reader please? (only if you're up to ofc)

It's not sexual tension. Not on her side. She's mostly just touch starved and depressed.

Alfred took a deep breath and glanced down at the plate you were dutifully picking at and looked at Bruce who was frowning.

You did eat. Sure. Just small amounts at a time. Little nibbles here and there. Not enough protein. And that worried him, Alfred could see it. You were starting to look frail.

Even the staff had noticed- talking in hushed whispers. Speculating among themselves. Alfred had heard everything from rare genetic disorders to some sort of tropical wasting disease. It was enough to make him roll his eyes. It was laughable.

You were losing weight from not eating properly and being under a lot of stress. If your mother was anything to go by once you had children- if you had children- you'd fill out again. It was a known fact that Samra was ALWAYS insecure about her weight. She hated any woman who was smaller than she was. And kept telling people how hot she USED to be. It didn't make her many friends- unless it was with other wives that were both new money and shallow.

"Are you going to the Preservation meeting?" Bruce asked.

"Or course," you answer. "The Batman's last fight with the Joker did considerable damage to the foundations of the Federal bank- corrupt as it is, the architecture is historically significant the architect was instrumental in-"

Alfred half listened to your explanation, refilling coffee and trying to push more to eat at you. Fruit, pastry- anything you were partial to in the morning. What he was really doing was watching Bruce mentally take notes. Absorbing the information. A far cry from him growling at you- dismissing you as an irritant.

But no. He didn't have feelings for you. Certainly not.

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Lulu Merle Johnson

Lulu Merle Johnson was pioneer in education and the first African American woman to earn a Ph.D. in the state of Iowa. Born on September 14, 1907 in Gravity, Iowa to Jeanette (Burton) and Richard Johnson, her mother was the daughter of freed slaves, and her father, who was formerly enslaved, owned and operated his own barbershop. The family were the only Black residents in the town and were highly respected.

Johnson’s family moved to eastern Iowa when she was entering her senior year. In 1925, she graduated from Clinton High School, where she was captain of the girls’ basketball team. After graduation, Johnson enrolled at the State University of Iowa (now the University of Iowa). Out of over 2,000 students, there were only 64 Black students–14 women and 50 men. University housing was segregated, so Johnson and the other Black students had to reside in off-campus housing.

Lulu Johnson obtained all three of her degrees from the University of Iowa. She earned a Bachelor of Arts in history in 1929, followed one year later by a master’s. Throughout the 1930s, Johnson worked on a doctorate in American history. She received support from the Rockefeller Foundation.

Johnson, a member of the Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, challenged the university’s racial structure. As an undergraduate, she insisted on sitting in front row seats assigned to white students in her political science class. As a graduate student, she protested the university’s pool policies. All University of Iowa students were required to pass a swimming test. The university was willing to let Johnson as well as the other Black students waive the test in order to keep them out of the pool, so they would not have to drain and refill it for the white students. Johnson and the other students informed their instructor that they would attend class at 5:00 am and take the swimming test, making the pool unusable for the remainder of the school day. Her action ended the university’s racially-discriminatory pool policy.

In 1941, Lula Merle Johnson became the first African American woman to earn a Ph.D. at the University of Iowa. Her thesis was “The Problem of Slavery in the Old Northwest, 1787-1858.” She held academic appointments at a number of HBCU’s, including Talladega University in Alabama; Tougaloo College in Mississippi; Florida A&M; and West Virginia State College.  In 1952, she accepted a position at Cheyney State College in Pennsylvania, where she was a history professor and dean of women. Dr. Johnson retired from Cheyney State as the director of the Department of Social and Behavioral Science.  She moved to Millsboro, Delaware and spent the remainder of her life traveling with her partner, Eunice Johnson. She died on October 18, 1995, at the age of 88.

In 2018, the Graduate College at the University of Iowa established the Lulu Merle Johnson Fellowship, which provides funding and support for Ph.D. students from underrepresented racial and ethnic minority groups. On June 24, 2021, the Johnson County (Iowa) Board of Supervisors voted unanimously to change the county’s name to Lulu Merle Johnson County. The county was originally named for Vice President Richard M. Johnson (1837-1841), a slaveholder who never resided in Iowa and claimed credit for killing Shawnee Chief Tecumseh during the War of 1812. Lulu Merle Johnson County is only the second in the nation named after an African American. (The other is Martin Luther King County in Washington.) The University of Iowa, where Lulu Johnson received her education, is the county seat of Johnson County.

https://www.blackpast.org/african-american-history/people-african-american-history/lulu-merle-johnson-1907-1995/

[thescaryhyperfem]

New sona. Stupid alien!!!!

Resume:

Name: Xem / Zip / SCP-3214-J

Pronouns: any

From: SCP-321-J (The Awesome Universe)

Gender: alien

Sex: "quem é vc"

Sexuality: No attraction, Yes relationship. (I hope there's a term for this)

Text Transcript:

SCP-3214-J "With the power of PLUR!"

Containment Class: Euclid

Secondary Class: Joke

Risk Class: Caution

Disruption Class: Vlam

Special Containment Procedures:

SCP-3214-J is kept in a bedroom cell in Site-19, as requested by the anomaly. The room must be refilled with 2000s or 'scene' aesthetic related things every month, or the anomaly will start to get less happy over time. The room must be cleaned every day, but nothing in it sha'll be taken from the room besides trash.

Internet access and free roams around the facility are allowed unless unsupervised by a higher up.

Description:

SCP-3214-J is a white, bald and fat humanoid creature with green alien-like antenna on top of it's head. The only faces they make resemble old online memes, such as the troll face. SCP-3214-J seems to take a big interest in old media and memes, and also things that relate to what the anomaly describes as "PLUR" media.

SCP-3214-J is a peaceful creature, as it doesn't show any type of aggression, anger or sadness. who claims to be from SCP-321-J but somehow landed here.

SCP-3214-J's anomalous properties comes in when they physically interact with anybody of any species. The touched person will feel an immediate wave of peace and a calming feeling, and they will forget everything stressful for them for aa certain amount of time, which seems to be controlled by the anomaly.

SCP-3214-J is also able to shoot rainbow lasers out of it's body, causing the shot individual to be stunned, and then happy for a few seconds.

SCP-3214-J is often used as a therapeutic object for other foundation personnel. The anomaly is as helpful as SCP-999 when it comes to free therapy.

SCP-3214-J is capable of speaking every language, including the ones that are no longer spoken and alien speech. The anomaly's accent resembles that of Dr. Gears, but if it was "mixed in a blender".

Addendum 1 (12/11/2015):

SCP-3214-J was found wandering around in Japan, trying to buy candy from a local store. The anomaly was forcefully captured, but people were sad about the foundation's decision.

SCP-3214-J was locked in a cell in Site-##, where multiple tests were made.

Addendum 2 (01/01/2016):

SCP-3214-J breaches containment, releasing multiple rainbow lasers at whoever tries to attack it with a smile on it's face.

SCP-3214-J ran to the O5's council, then begged to be taken to Site-19, while speaking fluent English, shocking the O5.

Addendum 3 (02/01/2016):

SCP-3214-J was relocated to Site-19 at a common cell, where it started to attempt more containment breaches. It was, apparently, trying to get the materials to decorate the wallpapers.

Addendum 4 (12/02/2016):

Its room is decorated. It is happy.

Addendum 5 (13/04/2016):

Tests were made regarding relationships. Any attempts of sexual, romantic or other interactions were met with a big hug, which made people forget what they were doing.

Addendum 5-1:

SCP-3214-J tells the foundation regarding it's orientation. It says, in German, that it doesn't feel attraction but does enjoy relationships of any kind.

Addendum 6 (14/04/2016)

SCP-3214-J starts going by the name of "Xem" and "Zip", and starts using any pronouns.

Addendum 7 (16/04/2024):

haiiiiii intermnet!!?

- Xem, 2024

Addendum 7-1:

Xem was allowed to have internet access.

(the numbers on the image were slightly wrong)