#snare bear

[ncthandrake]

oh no i started randomly thinking about the quarry and now i can’t stop

[whorelaud]

OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (05)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch content suggestive, boner alert (???), jealous rafe, alcohol consumption, unresolved tension, somewhat of a fight? (+ whipped rafe because i cant get enough of him)

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 04 ¡ 05 ¡ 06

↳ cleoanderson replied to your story: you got five seconds to respond 2 my imsg.

Rafe spent the next four hours and thirty-two minutes trapped in your closet. 

By the time you let him out, the boy’s body was aching all over, having maintained the same position throughout the entire night he spent in there. He heard everything, from the two hours of catching up, to your friends spilling your secrets – to which, you attempted to dodge, aware of the latter yet snared in the cramped space.

Guilt couldn’t capture your emotions, mind fuzzing with all sorts of questions over how you planned to get Rafe out. Ending the night off early clearly wasn’t a choice, hence the girls were too busy conversing to head to bed. Waiting was the only plan you had, and you hoped Rafe could bear with it, because him exiting that closet wasn’t a good impression for both of you. 

Rafe sought to endure it, fanning himself with the clothes – said clothes being your tiny bikini pieces, hung inside to get himself through the night. Besides how hot it was, it was dim dark inside, that prior to his phone dying, the strip of light peeking through the door crook was the only thing in sight. So yeah, in his opinion, it was a rough night, he instantly grew to regret his decisions, and seeking your presence way past midnight, aware that he should’ve headed to bed, keeping the promise he vouched to his best friend.

After numerous excuses as to why everyone should sleep, you eventually strived to put everyone to bed, peeking up when you noticed Kiara, who was sharing a room with you, deep in her slumber. You aimed for your closet, tippy toeing as you made your way there, careful not to wake anyone up. 

A sigh of relief escaped Rafe’s throat as you unlocked the door, scrunching your nose with haste when it made a creaking noise, causing your best friend to stir in her sleep. The blond let his eyes fall shut, groaning as his arms stretched over his head, body stiff and aching him all over.  

You somehow managed to escort him out of your room, not giving him a chance to speak before you slammed the door shut in his face. And that, yeah, it definitely kept Rafe up at night. 

The next morning, you woke up to the loud noises erupting through your ears, jolting you awake. The living room filled with chaos, taken aback when you came downstairs and noticed Kelce, along with Topper, and his girlfriend Ruthie. Your vision instantly shifted to Rafe, who straddled one of the seats as he sipped on his cup of coffee, exhaustingly yawning mid chuckle over something Pope said. 

A ragged breath escaped your parted lips, instantly turning your head when Rafe’s gaze locked with yours, the smile on his face faltering at the action. Sure, he knew you were upset, but he didn’t think it was this serious, to the point where he couldn’t even glimpse at you without you avoiding his eyes. 

Rafe’s attention fixed on you throughout breakfast, secretly stealing glances in your direction when you weren’t looking. The blond perked up at the sight of Kelce embracing you in a hug, until you were fully wrapped in his arms, that, of course, caught him off guard, because based off his knowledge, Ryan was close with the latter, yet he didn’t mind you and him all snuggled up on the couch, merely rolling his eyes when he took notice of the state they were in.  

Breakfast filled with laughter, as you and JJ argued over who’s handing the food out, immediately scolded by Cleo, who was helping Kiara plate breakfast for everyone else. 

Each person took a corner; JJ standing along with Kiara and keeping her company while she cooked, Pope chatting with Cleo from behind the table, Sarah taking a corner with her boyfriend; John B, whom she dearly missed. And rafe, he was just there, chanting in whenever Kelce mentioned him, only speaking up when necessary.  As for Ruthie and Topper, yeah, you didn’t even want to talk about them. 

Ryan rushed everyone to get ready, informing them of the little time they had to get to the party they planned on attending, leaving them no choice but to hurry. It didn’t take Rafe long, taking a quick shower and getting dressed before he found himself heading outside, with the purpose of approaching Ryan, who was seated in his car with his legs slung over the rolled down window. 

“Where’s my car?” Rafe questioned, causing Ryan to perk up from his seat.

“Oh, Topper took it.” Ryan casually chimed back, attention shifting down to his phone.

“What the fuck, dude?” Rafe’s face scrunched with disbelief, “Why?” 

“They wanted to get there before us,” Ryan explained, “He said they were going to be late.”

“Doesn’t mean he can take my car,” Rafe scoffed, pulling out his phone. “His bitchass could’ve easily used one of his daddy’s cars.” 

“Drop it, dude.” Ryan chuckled, snatching the phone from Rafe’s hold. “Jus’ ride with us, it’s no big deal.” 

“Yeah?” Rafe’s eyebrows curled with sarcasm, “And then what? Where will the others sit?” 

“Relax,” Ryan rolled his eyes, leaning his head over the window, playfully winking at Rafe. “Someone’s in a bad mood, did you not get enough sleep last night?”

“Whatever.” Rafe scoffed, leaning against the car door, now faced away from his friend.

“Why are you in a bad mood?” Ryan giggled, poking Rafe’s cheek with his finger, merely for the latter to swerve away from the touch. “See, you’re grumpy.” 

“Fuck off,” Rafe slapped Ryan’s hand out of the way, “It’s nothing.” 

“Don’t lie,” Ryan muttered, slightly teasing him with his tone. “What is it? Is it your dad again? Is this about a girl?!”

“No!” Rafe was swift to respond, face flushing a deep shade of red at the assumption. “Drop it, it’s nothing.” 

“C’mon, tell me.” Ryan further cooed, “Now I’m curious.”

Rafe remained silent, fixing his attention on the bracelet loose around his wrist, hesitating before he muttered his next words, knowing how much of a tease Ryan was. 

“I have this friend…” He trailed off, causing Ryan to fully put his phone down, a cocky grin slowly tugging at his lips. “And he’s having problems with this girl he met.” 

“Okay, your friend has relationship problems.” Ryan repeated, emphasizing the friend.

“I wouldn’t really call it relationship problems, but– he’s confused? He knows they can’t be together but when she distanced herself from him it really bothered him.” He rambled under his breath, arms moving in front of his chest. “Because, why would she do that?! First throwing hints that she likes him, then barely even bothering to speak to him.” 

“So you like this girl,” Ryan started, “And she’s bossing you around, because you’re a loser at heart, and cannot handle rejection to save your life, am I right?” 

“I don– he doesn’t like her!” Rafe defensively shot back, grumbling at Ryan’s response. “This is about my friend, okay? Stop behaving like a dick.” 

“What do you want me to say?!” Ryan chuckled, “Your friend should stop being a pussy and pursue her, it’s not every day you find a girl who can sweep you off your feet.” 

“He can’t do that!” Rafe muffled through a frustrated sigh.

“Why not?” Ryan tilted his head with confusion, lips jutting into a pout. “Why are you so upset, this isn’t even about you!”

“I care for my friend,” Rafe stammered over his words, “I don’t want him to regret his decisions.” 

“Right,” Ryan nodded, not convinced, whatsoever. “Well tell your friend to stop being an idiot for me.” 

“Shut up.” Rafe rolled his eyes, unlocking the door to the backseat, and plopping himself on the leather seats. 

Everyone eventually made their way downstairs, with Ryan explaining the situation each time someone comes, informing them of the tight position they were put in. There were complaints every now and then, but they instantly accepted their fate, figuring out a plan for the cramped space they were dealing with. 

Sarah and John B took the passenger seat, Kiara made herself comfortable in JJ’s lap, leaving Cleo and Pope to barely squeeze themselves next to Rafe, who awaited your presence, as well as Ryan. 

After a million calls from your brother practically nagging you to hurry up, you eventually made your way downstairs, out of breath by the time you approached the car. Your eyes slightly widened at the scene of your friends squashed inside, causing you to halt as you opened the door, instantly met with the sight of Rafe, whose attention shifted in your direction once he caught a glimpse of you. 

His gaze wandered down your body, taking in the red dress you were wearing as it barely covered anything, hugging your figure perfectly, and exposing the majority of your flesh, complimenting the tone of your skin, where it should be hidden, not for his eyes to see.

“What the hell is going on here?” You asked, addressing Ryan with your question. “I’m not getting in.”

“Stop bitching around and get in!” Ryan shot back, stealing a glance in your direction from over his shoulder. 

“Where am I supposed to sit?” You huffed, eyes flickering back to Rafe.

The latter adjusted his position at your statement, flicking his nose with his thumb as he cleared his throat, the gesture causing your pulse to quicken at the silent invitation he offered. You knew exactly what he was hinting, but the idea of straddling Rafe’s lap for the rest of the car ride didn’t sound too good in the moment, especially with the unresolved tension seeping through every time the blond is in your presence.

“Why can’t we just use another car?!” You exclaimed, a breath stuttering out of your throat in the process. 

“Topper took Rafe’s car, because Ruthie’s bitch ass didn’t want to wait a little.” Sarah explained from the passenger seat, rolling her eyes over the mention of Ruthie. 

“Just get in!” Ryan groaned, “Quit acting like a fucking brat, we’re already late as is.”

“Fine,” you mumbled under your breath, nervously trailing your gaze back to Rafe, who seemed fairly amused by the fit you threw. “Can you scoot over?” 

“I’d love to,” he dramatically sighed, “But as you can see, there’s no space for me to do that.” 

You rolled your eyes at the lame excuse he used, shuffling to get in, clutching to the side of the door for support. Rafe spread out his legs, patting his lap for you to sit, the action causing you to flush with heat, as it crept past your neck, until it eventually settled on your face. You hesitated to sit, tensing as you nestled yourself on the edge of his lap, afraid he might grow uncomfortable with you fully relaxed.

You held onto the arm rest for support, plopping your head on Ryan’s seat, scoffing when you stole a glance in his direction, yet annoyed by how rude he was being. 

“Okay, now that everyone is here, I’ll take– ow!” Ryan’s sentence was cut off as you tangled your hand in his hair, striving to yank his head back. “What was that for?!” 

“That’s for being a bitch!” You pursed your lips into a thin line, gasping when Ryan flicked your forehead. “What are you doing, idiot? I just did my makeup!” 

Rafe slung an arm around your waist, pulling you with force until your back pressed directly against his firm chest, colliding with your figure in a thud. You slightly tensed under him, taken aback by the gesture, now that you’re able to detect his breath fanning over your exposed flesh, the sensation like feathers to your skin. 

“Drive.” Rafe ordered, before Ryan could swing back. “Didn’t you say we’re late?”

“Yeah, man.” Cleo agreed from Pope’s side, who was seated next to Rafe. “Stop fighting.” 

“Mhm, stop being a dick Ryan.” You snarked, causing Ryan to flip you off, all while exiting the drive through.

“You’re lucky we’re late.” Ryan exclaimed, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“You’re gonna start threatening me no–” your words caught in your throat when Rafe gave your hip a squeeze, shutting you up with the touch. 

“‘S enough.” he whispered, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, the gesture subtle, that none of your friends noticed it. 

A breath stuttered out of your chest, remaining calm as you attempted to return to the old position you were in, not realizing the amount of space you took off Rafe’s lap till now. However, your action was instantly interrupted by the hand around your hip, pressing you down when you shuffled to move. 

“Get comfortable,” he muttered through a breath, “It’s a long ride.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Rafe’s words caused shivers to run down your spine, caught off guard by the sudden boldness washing over him. The latter didn’t give you a chance to question him, fully wrapping his arms around your lower stomach, caging you with his hold, in case you decided to escape his grip. 

Music blasted through the speakers, as Sarah took charge of aux. It was nice, enjoying the company of your friends whom you missed the most, finally getting to spend time with them after so long. You sang along to the lyrics, distracting yourself from Rafe’s arms now slung loose in your lap, fingers lightly tracing circles to your thigh. 

He chuckled over the chaos, feigning oblivion to how flustered you grew, though he took notice with the way you tensed under his touch, a ragged breath exiting your chest. 

The next few minutes continued on, karaoke session breaking through the awkward tension seeping through, not letting it take over as one of your favorite songs started playing, immediately making you perk up with an excited gasp. 

You settled down when you felt your energy wear out, striving to save it for the party you were attending, knowing how grumpy you’d get when your stamina runs low. 

Your gaze trailed down to Rafe’s arms in your lap, growing intrigued when you caught sight of the appealing bracelet hugging his wrist, the turquoise and brown color mixture earning your interest. Forgetting yourself, you reached for the jewelry, taking the small beads in between your digits as you observed them with a glimpse of curiosity.

The contact of skin caught Rafe off guard, glancing over your shoulder with a hint of puzzlement shown through his expression. His lips curled into a smile, noticing the look of concentration spread across your face, too far gone to realize he was staring at you. 

Rafe admired with amusement, watching as you fiddled and toyed with the bracelet, angling his head to the side when you traced over the beads, taking it for granted and wrapping his hand around your fingers, the sight of his hand causing your breath to knock out of your chest, suddenly aware of Rafe’s presence. 

The boy grinned at your reaction, rubbing soothing circles to your palm. At this point, Rafe was fisting the entirety of your hand, fingers wrapping over your digits and swallowing your hand whole. Your eyes shifted over to the veins on his hand, trailing all the way up his forearm, the sight causing your throat to run dry, wanting nothing but to trace along each curve and line.

He took your silence as consent to further intertwine his fingers with yours, easily sliding his digits in between your clammy ones, sweaty due to how nervous you grew in the span of a minute. The action was subtle, covered by his figure so no one else could catch in on how sneaky it was.

He was acting as if this was an everyday thing– as if you weren’t still upset at him, as if he could do anything and you would lean into it like it means nothing.

And that, it drove you insane, well aware he was messing around to get a reaction out of you. He could have any girl he wanted, why would he settle for you, his best friend’s little sister, the one he barely acknowledges unless it's in a teasing manner?

You hated when he teased you, and how it would get to you, because it made you feel childish. Rafe saw you as nothing but a little sister, that at first, it didn’t bother you, but now– it was messing with your brain, making your heart ache every time he would address you, or flash a smile in your direction. 

Ending up in his lap with his fingers intertwined in yours made you realize a lot of things, one being your need for him. You wanted him, not as some joke for a laugh out of your friends, but for yourself. You wanted nothing but to have him, kiss him right then and there, even if it was wrong, forbidden. 

So you chose to enjoy this, whatever act Rafe was engaging in, it seemed to receive all your attention, captivating you whole and sweeping you off your feet. 

The rest of the car ride filled with the music playing in the background, atmosphere heavy with tension as Rafe rubbed soothing patterns to your hand, not daring to let go, even while conversing with everyone else. 

It brought a smile to your face, reducing the guilt swelling through your chest, wanting nothing but for it to last forever. 

You shuffled around in Rafe’s lap, in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, having been in the same one for a little too long. Your action was interrupted halfway through, hips stuttering when Rafe’s nails dug through your side, pressing you down in place with his hold. 

“Stop fucking moving.” He muttered over the music, his tone causing you to freeze in your spot.

Heat flushed your face, surprise washing over your expression as you took in his words, knowing exactly what he meant. While trying to make yourself comfortable, you completely looked past the bulge in his pants, growing within every time you brushed over his crotch area. 

That changes things. 

Rafe was hard, and there was a good chance you were the reason. 

This wasn't meant to happen, not right now, when your friends and brother were right there, not even mere inches away. 

Your breath heaved, avoiding his hardon every time it would poke you through the thin fabric of clothes separating you. As for the latter, he remained silent, groaning each time the car took a turn, the fraction of your body pressing to his crotch decreasing the control he barely held onto.  

A sigh of relief escaped your throat once Ryan parked the car, exiting as soon as he announced your arrival. You avoided meeting Rafe’s gaze, taking your friends’ side when they joined you down. 

Rafe disappeared out of your sight as soon as you entered the place the party was being hosted in, diverting your mind off of him, and focusing your attention on your friends, soon joined with Kelce once he took notice of your presence. 

Prior to your arrival, Kelce handed you a red solo cup, filled with cheap beer that you could barely swallow down. Besides that, things were fun, his company was a great distraction, avoiding Rafe even after he returned, now standing a few feet away from you, his burning gaze alarming you and stirring up your insides.

Rafe’s chest swelled with frustration, watching as you giggled over something Kelce said, all while his arm wrapped around your waist, as if it was the most casual thing ever. He gulped down the rest of his beer, squeezing it in his hold before he tossed it to the side, immediately aiming for another one. 

His jaw clenched with anger, confused by the sudden rage of jealousy washing over him, consuming his body as his blood boiled, wanting nothing but to move forward and punch the grin off Kelce’s face. He held back, though, well aware that he shouldn’t, because you weren’t his. 

You had freedom over who you dated, after all, you were Ryan’s sister, meaning you were off limits, forbidden to the touch, even if the only thing he wanted was to lay his hands on you, wishing he treasured you while you were still in his hold. 

It was all fun and games until Ruthie bumped into you, ‘accidently’ spilling her drink on your dress. You gasped, tugging the material off your body in an attempt of preventing it from seeping through the fabric, plan failing when the stickiness of the beer laid flat on your skin, staining through it. 

“What the fuck?” You cursed, gaze trailing back to Ruthie, who suppressed the smug smile spreading across her face. 

“Oops,” she started, cocking her head with a fake pout. “Didn’t mean to do that.” 

“What is wrong with you?” You slightly shover her shoulder, the gesture causing her to straighten up. 

“‘Fuck was that for?” She spat back, pushing you with full force. 

“Oh, so now we’re pushing?” You questioned, handing the cup you had in hand to Kelce, the latter instantly taking it in the process. “Okay, yeah, I don’t mind that.”

Rafe wasted no time when you shoved her yet again, your action riling into a heated fight as Ruthie attempted to grab your hair, merely for you to avoid it by fisting a handful of hers, pushing her head down and taking control of the situation. 

“I’ve been waiting to do this!” You grunted dodging her hand as it fumbled through the air, in an attempt to reach for your face. “Nuh uh, baby, keep those hands to yourself.”

Kelce took your side, striving to get you off of her, merely for Rafe to push him away once he was within your presence. He hovered behind you, instantly nudging Ruthie’s hand when her fingers tangled in the strips of your dress.

“Are you done?” Rafe questioned, observing as you poked out your tongue with concentration, wincing every time Ruthie tried to grab you, action interrupted within each time Rafe would dodge it. 

“Not yet.” You shot back, yanking her head back one more time before you let go. 

“What the fuck, dude?” Topper’s eyes narrowed with anger, quickly approaching the scene, and taking his girlfriend’s side as she rubbed her head with a salty expression spread across her face. “Why are you attacking her?” 

“Get a hold of your girlfriend first,” Rafe beat you to speaking, “Then come talking, she spilled beer all over her dress.” 

“It was an accident!” Ruthie defensively replied, tears welling in her eyes. 

“My ass!” You chanted, words muffled due to the alcohol in your system. 

“Why are you starting shit?” Topper shoved Rafe’s shoulder, ceasing the distance separating them. “First you let some chick hit my girlfriend, and now you’re defending her?” 

“Fuck off while I’m being nice, Topper.” Rafe warned, a smile forcing its way across his lips. “You know me, I’m crazy; I won’t hesitate to knock you the fuck out.” 

Topper’s jaw clenched at his words, avoiding his gaze when Rafe patted his shoulder, immediately reaching for the keys hanging low from his belt. 

“Next time, ask before you take my shit.” Rafe muttered, “And she’s not some fucking chick, you hear me?” 

“Let’s go, Ruthie.” Topper dismissed Rafe’s statement, “Kelce, you comin’?”

“Right, yeah.” Kelce cleared his throat, giving you a hug before joining Topper, who took his leave after his argument with Rafe. 

“Are you okay?” Rafe question, gaze travelling down your beer stained dress.

“Better than ever!” You flash him a sheepish grin, slightly stumbling over your feet. 

“You’re a mess.” Rafe muttered under his breath, clicking his teeth as he took off his jacket, and slinging it over your shoulders. “Wear this for now.” 

“I’m okay.” You attempted to take it off, giving in when he zipped it up, the jacket swallowing your body whole. 

“Jus’ wear it.” He insisted. 

You brought the material close to your nose, taking a whiff of the fabric, immediately intoxicated by the scent of his woody cologne flaring through your nostrils. 

One thing about Rafe, he smelled good, so good it never failed to make you weak, melting every time you got a whiff of his aroma. 

The sun fully set down, and eventually, people started leaving. Rafe kept you company throughout the rest of the night, complaining every time he would steal your drink, trying to limit the alcohol you consumed. 

John B took Rafe’s car after Sarah blacked out and accidently threw up over someone, indicating the state she was in. Cleo, JJ and Kiara left as well, announcing how tired they were, deciding to end the night off earlier than intended. 

It didn’t take long for the rest of you to join them, with Pope offering to drive after he noticed how far gone Ryan was, passing out as soon as he was in the passenger seat. You took your side of the car, exhaustingly staring out of the window while you let the silence seep through, the sound of the engine the only thing heard throughout the ride back. 

Rafe made himself comfortable next to you, using the fact that he was charging his phone as an excuse when you asked why he was so close, as there was plenty of space to his side. 

A scoff left your throat as your gaze travelled down to his phone, difficult to avoid with how bright it was. However, the moment you caught sight of his screen, your eyes remained glued to it, growing intrigued as he scrolled through instagram reels. 

Your feed filled with makeup and fashion related posts, that when your attention lingered on Rafe’s, it slightly caught you off guard over the big difference between them. The clips were hilarious, so funny you accidentally chuckled over one, your giggles earning Rafe’s attention as he turned in your direction. 

“What was that?” He mumbled. 

“What?” You questioned, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

“Was that a giggle?” He mused back, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“I don't know what you’re talking about.” You cleared your throat, shifting your gaze back to the window, in an attempt to avoid his eyes. 

Rafe chuckled at your reaction, relaxing back in his seat, this time with his phone angled in your direction, in case you decided to change your mind. Spoiler alert; you did, eventually melting into Rafe’s side, head slightly leaning against his arm.

Rafe contently enjoyed the closure of your touch, relaxing when you slinged your hands around his arm, for the purpose of toying with the bracelet you took interest in earlier. 

You didn’t know whether it was the alcohol in your system, or the desire seizing control of your body, but you let this play out. No matter how difficult and off-putting it was, you wanted to enjoy it while it lasted, even for a moment. 

The boy shut off his phone at the sight, letting the darkness seep through as he whispered his next words, voice merely loud enough for you to hear. 

“You like it?” He hushed out. 

“Hmm?” You drowsily hummed back, sleep heaving your eyes. 

“The bracelet.” He clarified, “Do you like it? It caught your attention earlier.”

“It’s nice.” You beamed, taken aback when he withdrew his arm from your hold. 

Rafe took the bracelet off, seeking your hand through the dimness before he slid the jewelry around your wrist, adjusting it as he did so. 

“There,” He stifled out a laugh, “Now it’s yours.” 

“That easy?” You shot back with disbelief, fingers tracing over the beads. 

“Mhm…” He trailed off, voice groggy with tiredness. “Consider it an apology.”

You chuckled at his response, falling into comfortable silence for the rest of the ride back, and if Pope witnessed what merely happened between you two, he kept that to himself, itching to go back and inform his girlfriend all about it. 

Pope helped Ryan get to his room once you arrived, having to practically carry him over his shoulders with how blacked out he was. Rafe on the other hand, followed in your steps, coming to a halt when you approached your room. 

The door unlocked with a click, hesitating to make any noise when you noticed Kiara sprawled on your, deep in her slumber. You turned back to Rafe with a smile, clutching to the doorknob as you spoke. 

“Thank you.” You said, causing the latter to snicker. 

“For what?” He shot back. 

“I don’t know?” You tilted your head, “For helping me pull out Ruthie’s hair– is that valid?” 

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line for a moment. “Well, then, I’ll leave you to it, let me know if you need anything.”

“Mhm, will do.” You hummed, watching as Rafe awkwardly shuffled around, itching to say something, yet hesitating as he turned in the other direction, striving to take his leave. 

Boldness overcame you as you leaned forward, taking the side of his face in between your fingers in an attempt to press a kiss to his cheek, plan backfiring when he slightly turned, lips landing on the corner of his mouth.

Rafe stiffened, pupils dilating as you leaned back, obviously as shocked as he was. Your heartbeat increased in under a second, the sound thumping through your ears, that you were afraid Rafe might hear it over the silence. 

“I–” you stammered, feeling your throat run dry. “That wasn’t supposed to–”

“Goodnight.” Rafe mused back, lips curling into a smile once he noticed how flustered you grew. “Sleep well.” 

“Goodnight.” You muttered through a breath, scrambling to shut the door. 

And if Rafe turned into a grinning mess once you were out of sight, it was definitely not because you kissed him. 

If that even counts as one, as you were obviously intoxicated due to the alcohol in your system. 

a/n all support is v much appreciated! sorry this ones long 🤒 i tried to make it short but yeha... i also half assed it towards the end since i got tired so im sorry wahhh ALSO the messages between them are making a comeback next ch sighh sorry for the lack of funniness im getting rusty 😥😥

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[husbandhoshi]

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

wc: 30.8k in total; part 1: 15.4k, part 2: 15.4k summary: between remembering last night’s party and pleasing your unrelenting family, you think being a princess is hard enough. then you’re thrust into an arranged marriage to royal darling joshua hong—straight-laced, infuriatingly obedient, and everything you’re not. pretending to be the perfect couple? impossible.   notes: romcom + smut (part 2), modern royalty!au in which yn is the princess of cotria/joshua the prince of acros (both fictional), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, quarterlife crisis/coming of age, very very slow burn. lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of feelings. very special thanks to @meiozis for all their help with worldbuilding and @wuahae for bearing with me through the endless drafts, scene changes, second guessing, horrible word choices, etc. you are the only reason this got done, and i love you to the moon and back <3 [read part 2 here!]

Here, in the dark, there is just you. 

The strobe lights press into your skin with all the brilliance of the sun, there's half a Modelo running down your leg, and you think you kissed the stranger behind you last week, but if you close your eyes, it's just you. No rules, no five second curtseys, no talk about the throne or whoever's ass happens to be keeping it warm at the moment. 

Here, you're nobody, and it's perfect. 

"I'm getting more champagne," Somi says, her voice careening over the music. "You sure Jihoon doesn't want any?" 

You glance back at him. He's flattened up against the back wall, holding your purse, like a raccoon caught going through the trash. This is one of the many trials he's forced to endure for your entertainment, but it's his job–not as your closest friend, but as your legally employed bodyguard. 

"No, he's on duty." 

"Right," she slurs. "Sometimes I forget you're a literal princess." 

If only it were that easy. Five drinks in and you think you can still feel your mother's vice grip on your arm and all the little white crescents of her french manicure. 

You love this song–at least, you think you do. You're too drunk to tell, but it doesn't matter. The dance floor is muggy, sardine-packed with one warm body after another, and it's heaven. The crowd moves, and you move with them. Shakira waits for no one. 

Somi must have secured another bottle of Cristal already. Soonyoung, your other partner-in-crime, hands you a flute and you take it, the glittery foam already bubbling over the lip. 

"Cheers." Out of his too-drunk mouth, it sounds like a new word altogether, but you bring your glass to his anyway. 

Tomorrow, you have a meeting with your parents. This, unlike all of your other involvements, is actually important, they said, and their voices had wound around you like a snare. 

When it gets late, Jihoon will sling your arm over his shoulders and haul you back to the palace, still tipsy and holding your stilettos to your chest like a shield. Tomorrow will come, and it's then when you'll have to try to be good. It's a useless, stupid affair, but you'll go through the motions anyway. 

But tonight, there is you and the music and the wonderful laughter of your friends, and you don't have to be anything at all. 

"Cheers," you tell Soonyoung, and you drink. 

--

There are four large topiaries in the palace garden: all lions. They stand tall in their planters, majestic and hairy with French lavender. Today you notice that the rightmost one's nose has been pruned off by accident, and he stands, snoutless, staring at his green brothers and sisters. 

You know this because this is the view from the study, and it has never changed. There is only one study in the east wing, and it is small and useless and the perfect room for your parents to sit you down and remind you that you do not, in fact, own a single thing about your own life. 

There is nothing new about this ritual. Even as a child, when you were more desperate to please, you could never be the right kind of daughter to your parents or princess to your country. Again and again, you landed yourself here, in trouble once more. 

So you stopped trying–you would find these four walls anyway, no matter what you did. Why not enjoy your Fridays instead?

By now, you’ve memorized the carvings on the armrest of the chair you’re in (a knobby column, then underneath, the whorl of a seashell). There are thirty-four terracotta stones on the way to the fountain, all spaced perfectly apart, sanded down to the millimeter. 

The scene remains unchanged. Your mother now stares down at you over the bridge of her nose, with that tight-lipped frown you've gotten so used to. Your father paces near the window, either wondering why you can't be softer, more pliable, like your older brother Jeonghan, or, alternatively, why one of the lions is missing a nose. Maybe both.

"Enjoy yourself yesterday?" your mother asks. 

"Yes," you reply, out of other answers.

"Wonderful. Then our early morning briefing with PR was good for something. You should be grateful last night's pictures won't make it out of the darkroom." 

Her voice, bitter and incisive, makes the hangover bubble up in your stomach. You and the tabloids weren't exactly on good terms, but it wasn't your fault so many people seemed to care about what you were wearing or who you were out with. 

"What did you want to meet about?" you ask, hoping to change the subject. 

You can't put your finger on it, but there's a cloying, heavy energy hanging on you. You feel as though you're on the precipice of something, although that could just be the consequences of all that Cristal ready to reintroduce themselves to your digestive system. 

Your mother clears her throat. 

"We have arranged for you to marry someone." 

And all at once, it seems as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. There's a sharp pain lodged somewhere between your chest, your stomach, and your unhappy liver. The larks sing emptily in the garden. 

"What?" Your voice sounds like it's unraveling somewhere in your throat. Quickly, frantically, you grasp at the faraway possibility that it can't possibly mean what you think it does. Marry? You can’t even remember the last time you thought of going on a second date with someone. Now you might actually throw up. 

"Prince Joshua, of the Hong family. The crown prince of–" 

"Acros. I know," you interrupt, the words jumping out of you in shock and anger. 

Of course you know who Joshua Hong is–Acros is a tiny, unremarkable country nestled into the border of your much bigger one, and Joshua their crown jewel. If you were the nation's problem, he was their darling. A bland thing to coo at when life got boring, the walking embodiment of a media training session. Smile and nod, smile and nod. He might as well be AI generated.

You wouldn't last a day with him. Not with your impatience, your opinions, or that loud mouth your parents always scold you for. Your mind swims with the mental image of the two of you on a gaudy parade float, doing that stupidly slow wave everyone seemed to insist on.

"Wonderful. So you'll pack a bag? The Hong family will be thrilled to meet you tomorrow," says your father.

"Why?" you ask. Your voice wobbles, treading over that childlike waver you never learned to control. "Is this to punish me?" 

"My dear, your brother will be ascending to the throne soon," your mother answers, looking you dead in the eyes. "It’s his face that needs to be on the front page, not you in another abomination of a swimsuit. The Hongs will keep enough of an eye on you.” 

She's right. She's always been right. Maybe not about the swimsuit, but you haven’t exactly been the PR princess your family needed you to be. If anything, you would think it made Jeonghan look better by comparison, but you know that your parents would prefer you to make appearances in something other than Deuxmoi’s Sunday Spotted. But the royal charade never fit you well either; it clings and sticks and bunches up at the seams like a cheap Halloween costume. 

"The Hongs thought their country would benefit from our money. It was an easy decision, really," your mother finishes, as if that makes you feel any less like a silly, bikini-clad pawn in a game of chess you never asked to play. 

"Does Jeonghan know?" 

"He sees its purpose,” your father says simply, like that was all that mattered. “You will too, in due time.”

He nods solemnly, which is how he closes every conversation–just another turn of the silent knife. As your parents turn to leave, their silken garbs trail behind them like ink in still water. Business as always, especially with you. 

"Your brother will be coming home from his press tour this week," your mother says on her way out. "You mustn't ruin this for him. The car leaves for Acros in the morning." 

There's a mean, barbed feeling in your heart. You don't know whether to scream or to cry, so you do what your mother taught you to do. You sit, stilled by a feeling of hopelessness, and let yourself be emptied. 

--

When you were thirteen, you learned how to ride a horse. 

Not the impractical, side-saddle way drilled into you when you were a little girl, with your skirt billowing over the fender and catching in the stirrups, but how to really ride a horse. 

It was on a night much like tonight–indigo and starless. Your brother had climbed up the marble trellis, his teenage, noodle body a perfect fit for scaling the lattice, and threw a stone at your window, just like you had seen in the movies. Jeonghan was still young, then, rebellious and unchanged by the throne. 

It was him who laced up your riding boots, hoisted you on your first horse, and pressed the reins into your palms. You remember the unforgiving hold of the leather saddle, not yet broken in. You were so sore the next day, you were bed-bound–truly a punishment worse than death, if not for another reminder that everything you do ends up hurting you a little. 

"It's great," Jeonghan had told you, breathless and haloed by the moonlight. "You can just ride. nowhere to go and no one to answer to." 

You had spent the summer this way. Every night, you learned the sound of the forest at twilight, chasing Jeonghan's mud-splattered palomino. In the mornings, breakfast consisted of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and whispering about whatever misadventure you had found yourselves tangled in the night before. 

That was before he had come of age. Before your father gave him the Throne Talk, and before he was whisked away into endless meetings and etiquette lessons and parliaments. Your inside jokes became foul, overripe in his newly coached mouth. He even learned to play golf, and he hated golf. 

Past August, you don't think you ever got your brother back.

You slide the oaken doors of the stables open, feeling your arms squeeze underneath your riding shirt. Here, it’s always quiet after sundown.

It hasn't changed since the day you first snuck in with Jeonghan. You let the green scent of the hay fill your lungs, the sleep-stir of the horses like music to your ears. Dokyeom has left the tack room open by "accident" once more, likely to avoid catching you picking the lock with a bobby pin like he had a few months ago. 

"Hey, you," you whisper, coming to the stall of your own horse. Astrid, a bay thoroughbred, was Jeonghan's gift to you on your 18th birthday, a wistful reminder of a summer now past its prime. "No surprise here, but I had a really, really bad day." 

Astrid, oblivious, noses at your palm in search of a nonexistent sugar cube. Somehow, this brings the anxious chatter of your mind to a crescendo—would Astrid come with you to Acros? When would that happen? More importantly, when were you moving? You think of a too-warm summer morning, the ridiculous, oversized brim of one of your mother's sunhats, and a moving truck. That, and a country ready to delete you from its ranks. 

It's now, with the bridle in your fists, that you hear the wheedling groan of the stable door as it slides open. Without thinking, you quickly push out the first excuse you have. "I apologize, I was—" 

"It's me." 

Jihoon. 

You would tease him about his fear of ponies—perhaps it's because he is quite literally the same size as them—but you think hearing another person tell you off would officially push you over the edge. You don't want to be dramatic, but you don't even know if Acros even had horses. 

That, and somehow he's both the first and the last person you want to see. The guilt feels a bit heavier when you know his life is about to change too, in no small part due to your own failings.

"Jihoon, I…" you start. There’s an apology that’s been sitting on your tongue, one you haven’t quite learned to spit up yet. You don’t know who it’s for—yourself, or everyone else—but Jihoon interrupts you before you can finish your thought. 

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies. 

For once, you can't read him. You wonder if he's thinking about if he'd get along with the other bodyguards, but, more likely, he's probably pitying you. You're the last person in the world that should be in an arranged marriage, and even someone who kills people for a living could tell. 

"I'll be in the foyer." 

You don't exchange any more words. Jihoon knows that there is nothing he can say that will erase what's about to happen, and like always, he is right.

After you saddle up, Astrid takes you to the forest like usual. Honestly, you've lost count of the times you've come out here to cry, usually about a boy you don’t even like, or, worse, Jeonghan declining your weekly Facetime session again. But now, you think you both know this time is very different. 

"Astrid," you groan. "Joshua looks like a Ken doll from hell. He probably pronounces tomato like tomahto and has a closet dedicated to his tweed collection. I can't marry him." 

Astrid is none the wiser. You wish she was human for a moment so you could show her the crater-sized hole that "prince joshua google images" left in your browser history. 

"Do you think he only listens to classical music? I think a Kim Petras song would kill him instantaneously." 

The mental image of Joshua Hong being struck down by the first ten seconds of Throat Goat makes you laugh, but you still don't feel far away enough from the truth.

You remember your 21st birthday, a balmy spring Friday. Jeonghan had been helping out at the local youth theater, and the opening night of their production was coincidentally the same day. Jeonghan had never been one for theater (last time, he had fallen asleep during Mamma Mia, of all musicals). You knew the press turnout was expected to be huge, but the whole thing felt like one big charade to you. 

So you had planned your big birthday bash—you only get one 21st, after all—that day. The paparazzi fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Unsurprisingly, drunk, hot girls made for a better story than Greek theater. 

You remember the raw, stinging look Jeonghan had in his eyes the next morning. He didn't even have to say anything, but you knew. The memory carves out an abyss in your chest. You knew you should have done better for your brother, but he didn’t even feel like your brother anymore. 

Still, actions have consequences, and this was a hell of a consequence. Even out here, the inconvenient reality of it seems closer than ever. but you're out of time. The night fades fast, especially ones like these. 

So you press your heart to Astrid's mane, the pale moon high over the both of you, and you ride. 

--

Late spring is kind to Acros. 

The tulips push their bright heads out of the dirt, winking and blazing in the daylight, and the green fields stretch so far they look like water. 

You had spent the car ride with your nose pressed to the window, watching all the sun-bleached buildings zip by. You mustn't ruin this for Jeonghan. It spins around in your head like an old pair of shoes in a washing machine. 

Now you stand in the grand foyer, your parents on either side of you. Jihoon hovers behind, holding the overstuffed duffel bag you had rushed to pack this morning. 

A hushed arrival such as this was unbecoming of your family, but it was necessary. Your parents had stressed that the arranged part of the deal was not meant to be public knowledge because it was bad for optics. To you, the arrangement was actually the entire deal. That, and you and optics never exactly got along. 

Waiting for Joshua and his parents gives you a moment to observe what could be your new home, although you’re still waiting for the miraculous plot twist that will save you from your fate. 

That being said: you’ve set foot in plenty of nice places, but if HGTV ran segments for castles, this would certainly be the blueprint. It’s smaller than the palace in Cotria, but you like that—it’s cozier, less cold-seeming. 

The filigreed ceilings vault dizzyingly high, and the chandelier above the muraled walls is set afire with the noontime sun. The blushing azaleas cascade from their pots, and they line the hallways with joyous pops of white and pink. Breaking the spell is the distant staccato of several sets of footsteps on marble, and you straighten your back, as if by divine command. 

Three figures approach you: Joshua and his parents. Even from a distance, you can see the trained walk of royalty, their shoulders straight enough to hold water. You’ll give credit where credit is due—they look even less thrilled to meet you than you are to meet them.

Unfortunately, up close, Joshua is more handsome than the cameras would betray. He's taller than you had imagined, too. Without trying, it looks like he jumped out of a shitty Disney movie, one where the prince says two words and still gets the girl. More than that, you notice how his face is like glass—unwavering, cruelly still. One wrong move, and you'd break him. 

"Your highnesses," you say, lowering your head in a pronounced curtesy. 

Joshua bows in response, like clockwork. He reaches for your hand, then brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it. 

At once, you feel your hackles jump up, even though many a man has done far nastier to you. You can’t tell what pisses you off more: a, the fact that he smells like a hotel lobby, or b, that he managed to get his mouth on you in less than five seconds. 

"I'm elated we have the privilege of welcoming your daughter into our home," Joshua's mother says. Like him, she is staggeringly elegant and even harder to read. "She's beautiful." 

Fortunately, she has picked the one compliment that your parents can agree on without lying through their teeth. You watch them laugh and titter amongst themselves, and it's now that you notice Joshua has been looking at you this whole time.

You think look is too kind of a word, though. It's something colder than that, more clinical, and you really don't like it. Your stylist had spent upwards of two hours today in front of your vanity this morning, mostly in a losing battle with a pair of fake lashes, and you wonder if one of them is crooked. That, or Joshua is similarly wondering just how he will endure a life wedded to you. 

"Joshua, please," his mother chides, and you watch him almost immediately pivot towards her, like he’s on wheels. "Where are your manners? You should show the princess around. Get to know each other a bit before press tomorrow." 

Press. Of course. Your least favorite word. You vaguely remember your parents mentioning it in the car this morning, but it must have gotten lost among all the other terrible things they'd told you. 

Your head starts to hurt. Joshua keeps smiling at you, empty, doll-like.

"Yes, I'd love that," you say, feeling like a deflating balloon. You were hoping his company will be better than watching four grown adults fall all over each other, but you're starting to doubt that. 

Joshua offers you his arm, and you take it anyway. 

"We'll be off then," he chirps before bowing once more. His freakishly shiny shoe nudges yours to remind you to do the same. Begrudgingly, you listen, watching your shellacked, angry expression in the patina of his loafers. 

Not a good start, but what did you expect?

You tamp down your irritation and let him lead you into the Great Hall. It's a shiny, golden tunnel, studded with glossy oil paintings of his parents, his grandparents, then the next set of old people before them. Their eyes stare at you, pools of hazy paint in their moon faces. You briefly imagine your painting up there, with Joshua's hand hovering meekly over your waist, unused to being more than two feet away from a woman his age.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Joshua says. "I think I've only seen you in pictures." 

He's referencing the one of many “encounters” you've had with the paparazzi, a la yesterday night. They take trashy photos, overexposed and grainy from the camera flash, with your ass most likely in the frame. 

You choose to let it slide—you have no choice, really. At least you have an ass. 

"The pleasure is mine," you reply. "I believe you were at the cricket championships a few months ago, right?" 

"Correct. Do you watch? I don't believe I saw you." 

"No, but my brother was there." Your footsteps echo against the marbled walls. "Just trying to think of your last public appearance," you offer unhelpfully, since you and he both know those are few and far between. 

"That's right. He mentioned you were busy," Joshua replies. "Glastonbury was that weekend, was it not?" 

He's right. It was, but you don't like the insinuation he's making. You weren't at Glastonbury anyway—your parents wouldn't let you attend, and Jihoon was unwilling to come up with a cover story for you. Because you would rather watch paint dry than attend another cricket game, you instead spent it with takeout and reruns of Rupaul's Drag Race. 

"Can't recall," you answer. "Doesn't matter. I'm not one for cricket, anyway."

"Didn't know you had a choice."

You watch Joshua halfheartedly gesture to the Great Hall. The seemingly mile-long dinner table is empty now, save for a gratuitously piled fruit bowl. 

Your country frequently hosts guests, but the Hongs are notoriously insular. You imagine the four of you, crammed together at one end of the table, making horrendous small talk every morning over wilted danishes and raspberry preserves. Somehow, your mood worsens even more than you thought possible.

"Can I see the library?" you ask in an attempt to pivot. 

"Of course. Do you enjoy reading?" 

"A normal amount." You pass by another set of windows and take note of the rose garden outside, verdant with the May sunshine. Astrid has a bit of a penchant for eating roses, which would definitely complicate your plan to smuggle her in. No matter—you’ve done worse. "I studied political science at university, so I got a healthy dose of it." 

"Didn't we all?" Joshua chuckles.

He pushes the door open to the library, which is just as lavish as the rest of the palace. You wonder how well-worn it is, how many spines have creases in them, how many dedications were speckled with a funny annotation or two. But judging by first impressions, you wouldn't be surprised if all the books still had their dust jacket on. 

"I mean, I read an insane amount of Dan Brown," you reply. "Not many of us can say we've solved the Davinci code, you know." 

You hoped this would crack a laugh out of him, but his grin is thinner than an eyebrow from the 2000s. Truthfully, you would compare this conversation to a death by a thousand papercuts, but somehow that feels preferable to the guillotine of discussing the terms and conditions of your rapidly impending marriage. You feel as though that would be violating some rule you aren't yet aware of, and you're unwilling to endure the patent leather consequences of another faux pas. 

"I've heard of it," says Joshua after much thought. "My parents were shuttling me between meetings and private lessons, so, unlike some, I was quite busy during university." 

You're not about to explain that you were equally as busy as him. Something tells you that he'd be too prideful to believe you anyway. 

"How difficult. Surely you were able to have some fun," you say, your voice betraying your distaste. "Or were you too good for that?" 

Too far. 

"I did what my position allowed," is Joshua's terse reply, and you know you've crossed a line. Still, it dazes you that the man standing next to you may have never done anything for himself in his life. Even Jeonghan did, before your parents really tightened the reins. 

The air buzzes with a silence sharp enough to make you bleed. You wish literally anyone else was standing next to you, but you realize there are no more horses or emergency cabs or Jihoons to rescue you from this one. 

"How about I take you to our room? I hope you'll find it comfortable." 

You glance to your right to catch a glimpse of Joshua. He smiles, a dutiful press of the lips, and you watch it ripple.

--

"Jihoon, it is so much worse than I thought." 

You sit on the plush carpeting of your bedroom floor, amongst your small disaster of things. Jihoon examines you, one eyebrow raised, as he leans against the bedroom door. 

"He's not around, right?" 

Jihoon shakes his head.

"I don't get it," you sigh. "I go out. I get drunk. I have a little fun on the weekends. I don't see how any of this makes me a bad person." 

"You know how traditional your families are." Jihoon bends down to pick up a hair bow that jumped ship from the vanity. "It's just how it is." 

"He treats me like some high school delinquent. I tried, but he has no sense of humor. No joi de vivre. I think he would actually explode if he knew I went out two days ago." 

"Give it time," Jihoon supplies unhelpfully. "I don't know French, but he can't be that bad. You just met him." 

“Yeah. Usually that’s a good thing. I’ve fucked people i know less about.” 

Jihoon shakes his head and laughs, one of those little cackly ones he reserves for your company. 

"Well, you have been with worse," he tuts. "Definitely worse." 

"Jihoon, be serious. This is the rest of my life we're talking about." 

“I know." He draws his lips into a line, likely searching for the right thing to say. "This sucks. I wouldn't be good at this either." 

"You're talking to me. I don't think there's a single royal thing I can do right."

He's out of words, so he bends down to awkwardly pat you on the head, which, in all your years of knowing him, is the most affection he can muster. This is why you prefer horses to Jihoon for therapy, although you appreciate the effort. 

"I'd stay, but they want me to go to some meeting," he says, jerking his thumb towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

So he leaves you, desolate and linen-covered. Back to square one. 

The room seems to echo with how empty it feels. The bare walls are painted champagne, a rich, indifferent color. They soar to an arched ceiling lined with baroque crown moulding. There's a large window facing the garden, framed by deep green velvet. Atop the vanity cradled to the wall, the ivy of the wrought mirror curls at the edges, as if escaping. The chandelier hangs low, fat and pear-shaped, and its crystals douse the room in gauzy lamplight.

At least the canopy bed looks comfortable. It's the one thing keeping you from calling this place a veritable jail cell, which still seems like an understatement. For once, you miss your own bedroom. Granted, it didn’t look much different on the surface. but despite all the paneling and the heavy velvet, you still like to think it had some personality. You still keep your pillow pet on your bed (a horse named Robert). The back wall is chipped from a Gossip Girl poster your mom made you take down.  

Before you’re able to get too sentimental, the unwelcome sight of your future husband steals you from your thoughts. 

"Evening," Joshua says, stepping into the room. He's so quiet, it takes you aback. "Still unpacking?" 

"Sorry." You gesture around you. "I underestimated my ability to overpack."

"You should have told the staff," he says, surveying the damage. "Do you need help?" 

"No," you insist. Somehow the prospect of him getting on the ground to sort out all of your things upsets you, even more than him touching all of your unmentionables. "No. Please. Just ignore me."

"Alright." 

Joshua seems to take no issue with that, gratefully. He takes a seat on the chaise at the foot of the bed. He's got a copy of Anna Karenina under his arm, probably to weigh the pros and cons of cheating on you. You don't blame him—in fact, maybe it would make your doomed marriage exciting enough to be tolerable. 

"PR event tomorrow," you start, folding up a nightdress. "Bet you're excited for that." 

“As excited as one can be before announcing their arranged marriage," he replies dryly. "But surely you have enough experience with the press for the both of us." 

So that’s how he wanted to play. Fine. You wouldn’t let him walk all over you a second time. 

"Well, I'd hope all those classes you took would be good for something."

"That's rich, coming from the case study on bad media training." 

"Oh, please," you snap. "At least I know how to have a good time." 

"I was having a great time before I was informed this was happening." 

"Forgive me. I had no idea you were so invested in my personal life." You huff as you heave an oversized armful of clothes to the closet. “Think TMZ has any job openings?” 

"Very funny," he retorts. Joshua holds up a skimpy black dress that's fallen from your pile, one well acquainted with the midnight grease of one too many nightclubs. "You dropped this, by the way. I don't really think the nightlife here will be quite to your taste, though." 

"Oh right, because this is where happiness goes to die, huh?" You snatch it back from him, feeling the knot of anger in your gut flare. 

The room seems to pulse with an uncomfortable silence, red-hot with unsaid words. You recognize the all too familiar way Joshua sets his jaw back, and you're transported all the way to the study in the east wing, snoutless lion, terracotta steps, and all. He’s not any different from anyone else, so you’re not sure why you expected anything else. 

You do the only thing you can do—bite your tongue. 

"Look," you finally say, gathering the wherewithal to call for a truce. "I know that we didn't ask for this." 

Joshua laughs. Actually, it's the first time you've heard it since you've met, and it would be an otherwise tolerable, even nice, sound if it wasn't directed right at you.

"Right, because who doesn't want to have to babysit someone for the rest of their life?" 

You take a hard swallow.  You've both done enough damage for tonight, although you'd love to see his expression when you call him the live-action version of Frollo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Maybe another time. 

Instead you think of Jeonghan, stuck in his meetings and sunk into this new, starched form of himself that you find difficult to recognize. Still, he's your brother, and you'd hate to see him suffer for it. 

"Stop. I'll be good," you say. "I promise. I know there's a lot at stake for the both of us." 

You can hear Joshua's long, drawn exhale. The furrow dug between his brows flattens out, and he seems to be reminded of everything they taught you both in Conflict Resolution 101. 

"I apologize. I got out of line," he says. You watch the cogs turn on that unfortunately pretty face of his. You hope he finally reveals that he has a much better, kinder personality that he was waiting to debut, but he doesn't. Instead he picks up yet another fallen item from your stash and hands it to you (this time, a much more presentable blouse). 

"I know we don't like each other—" You hold up a hand to interrupt him from lying to you. “—but we can do our best for the cameras. Because that matters. Hate me all you want in private." 

"Okay." He gives you a defeated look, which is all you suppose you'll get out of him today. "Deal." 

That night, there are no more backhanded compliments, quips, or mean-spirited attempts at sarcasm. 

You sink into your side of the bed, a damask-woven vat of quicksand, and watch the spears of light dance on the ceiling. If you had known your last outing was the one a few days ago, maybe you would have drank a little more, stayed out later. Maybe you wouldn't have even gone home. 

Joshua has been reading on the other side of the bed, which seems like oceans apart. The metronomic turn of his pages would have put you to sleep if it wasn't for this new fear, a black, trembling one, that's now taken residence in your chest. It feels like you are further from yourself than you've ever been, and you don't know how to get back. 

"Is it too bright for you?" Joshua's voice, now tempered by the stillness of the evening, pulls you out of your thoughts. "I can turn the lamp off." 

"It's ok," you groan. "Can't really sleep. Don't worry about it." 

He doesn't say anything. Instead you hear the oiled pull of the bedside nightstand before he places something on the bed beside you.

It's a book. Specifically, one of those trashy romances that they only sell at the airport because no one would be brave enough to read them anywhere else.

"It's no Dan Brown," he says. "Hopefully still to your liking." 

You sit up against the headboard and flip through the pages. The prince of Acros owning a book with the words "juicy", "mewling", and "best friend's brother" in the first fifty pages are enough to tide you over for the night. Probably the next week, to be honest.

"Yes, indeed, your highness. Of the raunchy summer fling." 

Joshua smiles, and this time, you think it's a real one. 

--

You hate mornings. 

You thought this one would be different, probably due to the fact that you would soon be standing in front of a few too many cameras to announce your tragic fate to the entire world. Unfortunately, it's like all your other mornings—rushed, nauseous, and now with all the added anxiety of a semi-non consensual public appearance. 

"Five minutes!" you holler as best you can, a hair pin wiggling in the corner of your mouth. Rule number one of a hard launch: don't be caught looking complacent. Even if the other half of the launch would rather be with anyone other than you. 

Joshua's in the attached bathroom doing his hair. Like everything else he does, it is painfully calculated. He might be the only person in the world who takes "pea-sized" seriously as a measurement tool. 

But even as he so carefully measures his pomade, pump by pump, you don't miss the way his eyes skim over your figure as you lean over the vanity chair to apply your lipstick. Maybe it's because your ass is practically vacuum sealed into your sundress, or maybe he's just looking for another fight to pick. Either way, there's a small part of you that takes pride in this, even if just a little. 

"Ready?" Joshua asks, switching off the bathroom light. You hate to admit it, but he looks good in a sports jacket. You remind yourself that you had to literally rock-paper-scissors this morning to use the vanity mirror because you fogged the bathroom up after your shower. "It's not a pageant." 

"Shush. You are so rude. Never interrupt a girl when she's getting ready." 

In the mirror, you watch Joshua huff behind you. Then he procures a little black box from his pocket, and a crazy sort of feeling washes over you before you remind yourself to be normal. Ten-year-old you would have cried and threatened arson if she knew this is how you would eventually be proposed to, but you have no choice. 

You're sure Joshua feels the same. He was probably hoping for something classic with all the works, and instead he's got a pissed-off Jihoon and you, internationally renowned harlot. Funny how things turn out.

"Any minute now," bitches Jihoon from the other side of the door. 

You close your compact and turn around to face Joshua, who's still fumbling with the box.

"I'm sure this is not what you anticipated," he says, finally cracking it open. “But—" 

"No speech. Just put it on." You stick your left hand out, still glittery from last week’s manicure. "Not like it means much anyway." 

"Yeah."

And just like that, it is done. You feel the shock of Joshua's huge hands over yours, then the unceremonious bite of the cold band. He doesn't linger. 

You hold your newly engaged hand in front of you. The ring must have looked better in the box—on you, it seems out of place, gaudy, yet another thing you can't quite fit into. It squeezes your finger a bit, but it'll do. 

"Ready?" he asks. 

"Let's get this over with."

If romance wasn’t already dead, then it died here, today, in your prison cell bedroom. 

You have no time to lament this, as Joshua’s already half out the door. Quickly, he seems to shed his foul, argumentative inside personality and slip into a second-skin, one that is more poised, gracious, and luminous.

Today's objective is supposed to be simple: friendly, premarital pictures to accompany a written statement to the public announcing your engagement. No paparazzi, no journalists. Still, you're starting to see why your parents decided it was a good idea to stick you with this guy. 

In the foyer, your families await you. It's as if their gaze can slow time—at least four people approved your outfit, and still, the weight of their eyes on you, ever appraising, is crushing. Immediately, your mother starts rearranging the strands of hair on the top of your head and fiddling with the sleeves of your dress, like you're some sort of doll. 

"Come, come," a member of the PR team urges. "Everything is set up. We'll be quick." 

There's a frenetic, tense energy over the palace. It's clear that this marriage is a gambit no one is happy with, and today would make it very, very real. 

Outside, there is a lone photographer. The sun, morning-ripe, reflects off his camera lens like a third eye. The lawn, freakishly green, sprawls out around you, and the blue spruce frames the scene, perfect by design. 

"I just need you to stand next to each other and smile," he says. "That's all, right?" He directs this towards your PR team, about seven too many for a task like this. One of them whispers something in his ear. Your parents watch from the shaded doorstep like wax figures in a museum. 

You and Joshua stand shoulder to shoulder, yearbook photo style. 

"Bit closer," the photographer calls out, and you smush yourself against his arm, close enough that you can appreciate he's got some muscle on him. "Alright. Hold still." 

Click. You've always hated the flash, but you root yourself obediently to the concrete. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Click. 

Your mother interrupts her conversation with a staff member—likely haggling over the minutia of the statement—and says, "Look happier," as if you're in some dystopian advertisement for a new car. 

"She's talking to you," Joshua says through the grit of his fake, pink smile. 

"Right, because you're such a peach." 

You just want to go back inside and have breakfast. 

You place a tentative hand on Joshua's bicep and turn to him, beaming like you would at a hot bartender when there are five other people waiting for a drink. 

There's a glimmer of surprise in his expression before he matches you. You can see why people dote on him so much—his cheeks get round, and his eyes magically gain the sparkles that people pay for on Facetune. God really seems to have wasted a perfect face on him. 

"Move your hand up so we can see the ring." You obey, feeling the firm cord of his arm underneath you, and you wonder where the gym is in the palace. Joshua was certainly gatekeeping it from you. "Perfect." 

You stand there, living your America's Next Top Model nightmare, before the photographer hits you with, "A kiss for the camera, yeah?" 

All the blood drains from your face. You think you actually say Huh? aloud. Joshua opts to turn to his parents to intervene, which would be funny in literally any other scenario except this one. 

"You heard him," his father replies. "Act like you're actually engaged." 

Honestly, it was a fair request. No one wanted to take any chances. Plausible rumors of an arranged marriage would backfire spectacularly. Jeonghan wouldn't see the front cover of anything ever again, and the entirety of Acros would wonder just how deep in the shitter they were that Joshua was forced to marry you. 

Your parents were already so far into the conspiracy, you overheard them talking about using unpublished paparazzi pictures and rebranding them as times you snuck off to see your unfortunate lover. Point taken. 

"Okay, okay," you laugh nervously. "Of course." 

You face Joshua, steeling yourself, and lean in. The world seems to fall away, but not how you like—it feels as though you've been sucked out of your own body and dropped into a new one that doesn't know what a kiss is or how to do it. 

He's just like anyone else, you tell yourself. You're at the club. They're playing Everytime We Touch by Cascada. 

Soon all you know is the heat of your cheeks, the shaking flat of your palm over Joshua's shoulder, and the wet pressure of what feels like a pair of lips, soft but also very unwilling. 

Click. Click. Then it's over. Everyone huddles around the camera, like animals to a watering hole. Shame, hot and heavy, seems to drape itself over you. 

"Can we get one more?" the photographer asks.

Fuck. Your stomach drops. You can't even glare at Joshua. 

"Sure thing," Joshua says easily, unaware he was the reason it went so badly in the first place. 

You take a deep breath. You imagine a good Kylie Minogue song and a tall stranger with pecs that could fit into a bra, and your eyes flutter shut. 

You decide to go for it this time. Unfortunately, you and your inept partner are on entirely opposite pages again, and you almost miss each other by a mile. When you do get it right, it's messy, two teenagers fumbling in a closet with the lights off. 

Once everyone sees this massacre, it seems they resign themselves to the same conclusion you had long ago. Someone throws a thumbs up above their head, and everyone clears out so fast, it's like nothing ever happened. 

Soon, it's just you, Joshua, and your mother with a red pen and the manuscript. Your heart is still buzzing in your chest, even though you and Joshua are now standing at a distance that makes you believe in the cheese touch again. 

"Now that wasn’t so bad," she says, before escorting the two of you back inside. Perhaps lying cushions the blow of a bad decision, but you're already in too deep. The script, the cameras, even your mother's glossy words—your life is starting to feel like a permanent movie set, and you don't know how to clock out. 

The first thing you do is take off the ring. It's starting to look more and more like costume jewelry on your untrained, bumbling hand. Even still, you can still feel its ghost on your finger, see the glare of the camera flash in the laser-cut facets. 

Worse, you watch Joshua shrug off his sport jacket, likely wondering how exactly that went so wrong, and you can feel that same sensation, still warm, right over your lips.

--

"Save me, red wine, save me." 

Home, sweet home. You're back in Cotria for the rest of the week. This morning's stint was the only thing you had on the schedule, and you told Joshua you had some business to attend to at home. 

Said business was a Niçoise salad and half a bottle of wine, but no one had to know that part. Your struggle meals were your own business, and you think you will actually disintegrate on the spot if you have to sit through another conversation about World War II with Joshua's dad. The one you had at dinner last night was plenty. 

The restaurant you’re at is a familiar haunt, but not too familiar. The ass-kissers and the groupies have gotten good at keeping their heads on a swivel, and you’re not exactly planning on another encounter with a camera. But here, the crowd is quiet enough, the food good enough, the service fast enough. It’s enough, which you’ve come to prefer. 

That's the other thing about Cotria—there’s an overabundance of everything. Department stores, parlors, dog cafes, polished bars with overpriced cocktails. It’s almost a rarity to find a place like this, quiet enough to actually talk. 

"You must be in the fucking trenches," Somi says, shaking her head. "When's the press release getting published?"

"Next week," you groan. "The good news is that they want us to go to the derby afterward."

"Okay, miss horse girl," Somi says, clinking her wine glass against yours. "You betting this year?" 

"No, I shouldn't." You shovel another forkful of leaves into your mouth. "But I really hope I get to watch it instead of pretending to like a guy the whole time." 

"I didn't see you pretending in uni," Somi says, cocking an eyebrow up at you. "And those guys are ugly. This guy isn't." 

"Okay, wait," you protest. "Ugly cute. Don't get it twisted. And they don't act like sentient wet paint. This guy sucks." 

You're reminded of the moment before you left the palace this morning. Joshua saw that same black dress that he used against you make its way into your bag, and he gave you the dirtiest stink eye you'd ever seen. 

I'm not above tattling. They were the first words he'd said to you after The Incident. 

Good thing you won't have to, you replied. He didn't even see you out because no one was standing around to clap him on the back for being a good fake fiancé. 

"Whatever." Somi picks a tomato off your plate in exchange for some of her fries. "I wouldn't mind it, is what I'm saying." 

"You slept with the bouncer to get into Annabel’s." 

"Fuck off. He was actually really good. Club entry was just a bonus," she laughs. "That reminds me—you're coming to my birthday, right? Or do you have wifely duties now?" 

"Of course I'm coming!" you insist, feeling the word duty hit like an actual bullet to your chest. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." 

"Just making sure! You know I gotta have my people around." 

You had known Somi since you were in diapers. She's the cousin twice removed of a baron, or a count, or maybe even a viscount–you never were good at keeping track of those kinds of things. Even though you had seen her at countless brunches, coronations, and garden parties, you don't think you actually became friends until you ran into her at a college party in Mykonos. She sidled up to you, smelling like strawberries and the bleachy sting of hair dye, and handed you a cucumber margarita. 

The beer here sucks, she had whisper-shouted to you, right over the shell of your ear. Wanna dance? You were inseparable ever since. 

"It's going to be huge. There are, like, 200 people on the guest list right now. Soonyoung rented a villa, There's gonna be a champagne tower, and the music won't suck. Guaranteed." 

"That sounds perfect," you sigh. "Please tell me there's gonna be a pool. I need to show off my new swimsuit." 

"Duh." Somi rolls her eyes, glittery under her extensions. "The perfect opportunity to show the world that their hottest bachelorette is a bachelorette no longer. Also, we invited Pitbull.” 

“Shut the fuck up. Wait, is he actually coming?” 

”Dunno. Wouldn’t be very Mr. Worldwide of him to flake, though.” 

Pitbull or not, you think of the heat of the strobe lights, the electric trill of the too-loud speakers. You're dancing in a dress that looks like a chunk of the moon, with the little neon ties of your bikini top peeking out the sides. There's a peach highball in your hands and no one is telling you what to do, how to do it, or that you're doing it wrong. 

Then you think of Joshua. Maybe he'd loosen up after a few drinks. Maybe he'd dance with you, put those hands to use on your hips and kiss you like he should have earlier today. Maybe he'd even be good at it. The thought makes your cheeks sting.

“Should I invite Joshua?” Somi says, wrinkling her nose at how you immediately grimace. “What if he’s actually a blast?” 

"No! No. Absolutely not." 

“What if he’s—” Then she drops her singsong voice to a whisper. “Hung? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen those pictures of him in the Galapagos.” 

Unfortunately, you have. A lurid, glassy image of your soon-to-be-husband in a sleazy pair of swim trunks comes into vision. You push past the smile, the unfair pecs, and remind yourself of that horrible, self-righteous twist of the lips that he always has. 

Yes, that’s right. That’s the Joshua you know. 

You grab the wine from her and drink it right from the bottle. 

–

Of course it had to be the one time you’re not late to an event that you forget you had swapped everything in all your purses around. You double check your bag—empty. 

You’re already down by half of your worldly possessions (still at home, your real home), and you probably left the other half on Joshua’s bathroom counter. Yesterday, you got derailed mid-task by Joshua lighting the grossest candle ever. You never thought you’d ever fight over candles of all things, but you couldn’t let him walk away from that conversation thinking wet dirt was a normal, socially acceptable, scent for a bedroom. (—It said moss on the label! —So, dirt. —Moss is not dirt. Maybe you need to go back to school.) 

You fling open the bathroom door, still checking the pockets of your handbag, before you collide into a big, sopping wet wall. 

“What the—?” You look up. The wall is not a wall. No, in fact, it is your fiancé, bare fucking naked. 

Your heart jumps up to your throat. It feels like you walked right into a porno, and you can hear Somi’s self-satisfied, witch cackle right in your ear. His dark hair seems to fall into his eyes just right, a nice change from how he normally gels it up, and you watch the beads of water from the shower, torturously glittery, run down his jaw, the hollow of his neck, right onto his chest. 

Men should not be allowed to have bigger boobs than you, at least, not dowdy Joshua Hong, who normally has the sex appeal of an eraser. And God forbid your eyes travel downward and confirm Somi’s sick and twisted hypothesis, past the washboard abs, the v-line, the trail down his— 

“Sorry, did you need something?” You blink again and Joshua suddenly has a towel wrapped around his waist. And he’s eyeing you like you ate a million cloves of garlic and then proceeded to spit on him. “Or are you just going to stand here and ogle me?” 

“I wasn't—no!” You start snatching things off the counter, anything really, and throwing them into your bag. “I just needed to grab stuff for my… my thing. You’re in the way.” 

“Right, because you need four q-tips and my razor to read a children’s book,” Joshua replies, plucking the offending items out of your purse. “It's almost 12:30, by the way.” 

“Shit. Fuck,” you stammer. You can’t glare at him anymore because you know where your eyes will end up and it is not on his face. “Stop distracting me. Whatever.” 

“Have fun,” is the last thing Joshua tells you before you close the bathroom door, that portal to hell, right back up. 

What you can’t do is return the image of what you saw back to where it came from, the wicked, glistening form of Joshua and his B cup tits. He looked so good, it makes you angry. 

Later, on the walk to the library, you reach for your lip gloss. Instead, you pull out q-tip number five and get mad all over again. 

–

The car ride to the derby feels like your own personal Saw trap, if Jigsaw wore a ridiculous hat and was actually your mother. 

Your engagement was announced to the public just a few days ago. It came with no fanfare, no warning. You were sitting on your bed, making your way through the smut Joshua called a novel, when the news app on your phone kindly notified you that you were now a taken woman. 

To some degree, the media uproar fascinated you. The idea that people with actual journalism degrees were writing headcanons about your honeymoon when you hadn’t even seen Joshua since The Bathroom Incident was surely entertaining, to say the least. But, like everything, the unsaid pressure of being a perfect princess, now part of an even more perfect couple, hangs heavy over you. 

You remind yourself this is supposed to be fun. A real couple would be pawing at each other in the backseat, perhaps pregaming with champagne or fan-casting their pick for Spirit the horse. Instead, you’re stuck rehearsing your pitch to the reporters when they inevitably ask you about how the hell this happened. You wish you could tell them you’re not quite sure either. 

Silently, you look at Joshua. Joshua looks out the window. The world rumbles under you. 

[10:15 am, race 1]

The air seizes, swirls with clay-colored dust in the morning sun. The clubhouse is already heady with the low buzz of conversation—you watch the freckled sunhats and oily toupees bob up and down in the swell of the crowd, deep in the morning’s small talk. You wonder how many of them are talking about you, given how recently the news hit. You’re used to people ignoring your media appearances, not celebrating them. 

Someone, tipping their head down to greet you, hands you a program. Joshua elects to tuck his in his back pocket. People don’t come to the derby to watch the races. Instead, it’s an excuse to gossip, day drink, and gamble, which would ordinarily be a good time for you if you weren’t overly invested in the racing circuit. 

All the way from the entrance to your seats, you were met with a tidal wave of camera flashes, all hungry for a glimpse of your first public appearance as a couple. Alongside this, a decidedly worse flurry of congratulations paired with an overly familiar touch to the shoulder or a limp handshake. Joshua is quick to respond with either a smile or some trite platitude. Your least favorite: We couldn’t be happier. Now he’s just lying for sport. 

“We should find the reporters doing interviews,” Joshua says the second his ass touches the chair, unfazed by the onslaught of perhaps a million different people. “The Sun probably wants to talk to us.” 

You’re not listening—you can’t let on that this whole ordeal is mildly terrifying for you. He has enough reasons to dislike you, and stage fright wouldn’t exactly be a good addition to the list. 

The racehorses have lined up at the track, their manes catching the daylight like holy fire. You like the one on the end. He looks like Peanut, Jeonghan’s stubborn palomino. 

Joshua says your name insistently, curdled with the annoyance that you’ve now become acquainted with, and you catch a stray camera flash from the stands. You have an audience, and the audience demands a show, even if they’re second-rate journalists like the scum from The Sun.  

“Darling,” you reply flatly. “Relax. Let's enjoy the races.” 

The horses stretch their long legs, anxious for the thunderclap of the starter’s pistol. Joshua raises a tired eyebrow before the same realization dawns on him. 

“Absolutely.” He clears his throat. “Darling.” 

You wrap a hand around his arm—somehow he makes hand-holding seem like third base—and watch his shoulders sink with a sigh, like you just popped him. 

Likewise, your highness. Likewise. 

A shot crackles through the air, and you’re off to the races. 

[12:43 pm, race 2.]

"I just have to know—how did you guys meet?" 

You know the duchess of Pemarlia to be beautiful and unashamedly nosy, and she has yet to prove you wrong on either account. 

The last time you saw her was on the beach at Lake Como last year, where she spent the entirety of your conversation asking if Jeonghan was single (and peeking into your bag to see what brand of lipstick you were wearing). Like everyone, she always seems to have a look of appraisal on her face. What makes her different is that she never really bothers to hide it; instead, she wears it like an en-vogue accessory. 

She eyes you with an intensity, sizing up your dress, your tawdry sunhat, your ring. You wonder if she’d agree that marriage didn’t look good on you, but any shorter of a dress, your mother would call you a stripper. And God forbid you leave the house hat-less. 

Now she’s no minotaur. This shouldn’t be much of a problem, save for one very small issue: you actually hadn’t planned your answer to this. You had quibbled over it briefly in the car, but you were too focused on your interview pitch to worry about minor gossip. 

"Well," Joshua starts. Through his smile, you can hear the warning edge of his voice. “It was quite ordinary.” 

"Actually," you cut him off. Not only would his version of this story be boring, it would also be horribly out-of-character for you. You did not come this far for your cover to be blown by Joshua’s lack of imagination. "Josh's parents hosted a—" 

"Brunch," Joshua finishes. Whether his teeth are gritted because he's grinning or frustrated is none of your business. “It was Easter brunch, wasn’t it, sweet pea? Four years ago?” 

The pet name makes you want to puke. Now he’s just trying to piss you off, but you know this is his attempt to play along. He's annoying, not dumb. 

"Yes, we sat across from each other.” You playfully dig your elbow into Joshua’s rock-hard side. “He was giving me the eyes the whole time.” 

You watch your hapless victim giggle, her spidery lashes wide with intrigue. Joshua is a little less pleased. 

“If you could call it that,” he replies. “I think you had chocolate on your nose.”

“Which you so kindly wiped off for me, dear.” You try to peek around the flaxen billows of the duchess’s blowout to watch the horses behind her, but to no avail. “After a morning of staring, we had to do an Easter egg hunt, planned by Joshie himself. I had no idea he loved silly little games like that.” 

“It's because people like the princess get so competitive,” Joshua says, with his laser beam grin boring into your eye sockets. “I believe I found you rummaging through the trash for eggs, like some kind of animal.” 

“Oh my goodness,” the duchess laughs. “How...charming.”  

You feel your eyebrow twitch. Only you’re allowed to ruin your own reputation, but you suppose that’s just another thing your horrible fake fiance gets to take from you. 

“Not as embarrassing as seeing Joshua leer at me from behind the corner,” you retort. “He was so enamored that when I invited him to join me, he got right down on his knees to look through the trash together.” 

“Well, did you find anything?” 

��Yes—”

“No—”

“Well—”

Fuck. Luckily, the duchess is either stupid or wildly entertained by the clown show playing out before her. Maybe both. 

“Cute,” she coos. “You must have been too smitten to notice.” 

“Absolutely,” Joshua says, as if there is a gun held to his pretty head. “Among all the garbage and the girl next to me, I suppose nothing else really mattered.” 

“If that isn’t love, what is?” she asks blithely. 

If only she knew. 

[3:45 pm, race 3]

The sun descends on the stadium, swollen and yellow with the afternoon. 

Last year, you and your friends had a betting ring set up during the racing circuit. Obviously, you had won—not too hard when your competition included Soonyoung, who only bet on horses named after food (sadly, it was not Tater Tot’s year). Somi was no better, and your brother thought every horse deserved a participation award.

This time around, things aren’t so simple. But you’d hate to say that you spent a whole day at the track and didn’t bet on a single race. Life could afford you at least one win for today. 

Again, the horses take their positions at the starting line, wound up like a line of rubber bands. The air heaves with bated breath. 

“Joshua,” you say, folding your hands in your lap as you find your target. “I'd like to propose a bet.” 

“You must be a glutton for punishment.” 

You bite back a laugh as you watch your favorite horse, the palomino, ripple in place. Fans would call her a charity case, but you know better. 

“Pick a horse. Mine is number Three, in the blue.” 

“And if mine wins? What’s in it for me?” he asks. Still, he leans forward, corded forearms on his thighs. You watch him squint as he surveys the field with renewed interest. 

“You pick,” you reply. “Choose wisely. I personally cannot wait to call in a favor from you.” 

“The chestnut one. Number Nine.” So he is competitive. “And likewise. Perhaps I'll hold it over your head until the wedding.” 

Before you can reply, you hear the starting pistol rip clean into the air. The racehorses surge forward, as if a silken ribbon through air. 

“Nine makes sense for you,” you say, eyes fixed before you. “He's flashy, the crowd favorite. Spotless pedigree.” 

“I'm picking your punishment already.” 

“I didn't say he would win.” You feel the lilt of your voice rocking upward, the tremulous beat of your heart against your ribs. “You see, Three’s had a rough season. There she is, passing Four right now.” 

“Nine is still first, though.” 

“It’s not about that,” you reply. “She does this, she starts all the way out back and then flies up. No one suspects anything—it’s like she likes proving people wrong. The first couple races of the season, she was just stretching her legs; they were small, small fry. It’s this one that matters.” 

The saddles are just blurs on the track now. To the march of the hoofbeats, Three lunges past Five, Six. The crowd roars. 

“This will be her first win. I'm counting on it. She’s come really close before.” 

Joshua doesn’t reply. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gaze has shifted. You feel it land somewhere near you, but you’re too engrossed in the race to investigate further. Perhaps he’s admitted defeat preemptively, wisely so. 

“You know your stuff,” he murmurs, the clamor of the audience almost burying him. 

“How can I not?” Three coasts past One and Ten like she’s flying, until it’s just her and unlucky number Nine. “Oh my god. Go, go, go!” 

You and Joshua rise to your feet, as if drawn by a string, now wholly invested in the race. 

“Still beating you, you know.” 

“Not for long! Come on!” 

You watch your darling number Three, against all odds, pull past Joshua’s number Nine, burning a trail past the inevitable finish line. 

From somewhere inside you emerges a joy that you hadn’t felt since this whole ordeal started. You turn to Joshua and clasp his hands between yours, somehow less wooden now, and so, so human. The crowd cheers; they come alive. 

[4:50 pm, races 4 and 5. mainly, the reporter from the sun.] 

The smaller races take place shortly after the headliner, for better or for worse. This forces you to finally face the music—the music being a dull-eyed, greasy journalist ready to sink his teeth into the public’s new favorite topic. 

Joshua is a good sport about it, or at least, he’s good at pretending to be one. 

“It was great,” is his answer to a question you didn’t hear. You’re busy going over the parts of the script that you remember. Your media team spent the better part of the morning repeating it back to you, which was helpful until it wasn’t. You weren’t sure how to tell them you’ve actually never been good at speaking to the press, since you had spent the better half of your life doing the exact opposite. 

“And what did the princess think? It’s not often we catch you for an interview, you know.” 

The eye of the camera seems to pierce through you. You can see your shellacked figure, long and distorted, in the reflection. 

“I—um,” you swallow hard. God. Pull it together. You can already hear the lecture you’re going to get on the way home today. “Yeah, big day today.”

“She’s had to really rein in her excitement, you know,” Joshua adds, chuckling. 

Briefly, you feel his hand brush against yours. Ordinarily, you’d pass it off as a fluke, but you feel the steady, insistent warmth of his palm again, first, to the inside of your wrist, then lower still. Before you’re able to really process what’s happening, he then takes your hand in his all at once, as if to say, I’ve got this. I’ve got you. 

You figure he’s cashing in his favor early–he’d much rather leave you out to dry, let you flounder a bit so you learn to read the PR memorandums the night before. I told you so, he’d say. That’s what everyone else would say, anyway. 

“The races are sure exciting, but I'm sure you’re even more excited about your upcoming wedding.” The reporter grins at you, as if he smells your fear. His hair looks like it’s glued to the top of his shiny head. “If I'm going to be honest, you were one of the last people we’d expect to tie the knot this year. We are all dying to hear more.” 

What? You force yourself to breathe, feel the air fill your lungs, to avoid making an expression you’ll regret. 

“Well, yeah, I'm sure it looks like it all happened quickly,” you answer, feeling your tongue trip over the words. Mostly because it did, in fact, happen quickly, but you can’t let them know that. “But Josh and I feel strongly about, uh, this whole thing, and—”

“Please, don’t spare us the details.” 

Telepathically, Joshua squeezes your hand. This, you understand. He’s telling you to lean on him, and you trust that. 

“Hold your horses,” he cuts in, almost too quickly, which makes the corners of your mouth twitch upward. He was definitely looking for an opening, but you, bizarrely, don’t mind at all. He turns to you and smiles. “What's the fun without a little mystery? It's been a wild ride, but I'm loving every second of it.” 

It’s this one, the lamest and most embarrassing dad joke of them all, that gets you. 

You laugh: a real one, big, loud, and unafraid. It's here, caught in the glare of the camera flash, where you find yourself hoping, even just a little, that this wasn’t just a favor, that this was a sign you could actually survive this arrangement. 

You’re not asking for love—just a little bit of like. and, right now, you think you like Joshua Hong. 

—

In the evening, you find yourself in the oaken parlor nestled away in the back halls of the Acrosian palace. 

There's a piano there, gathering dust. It's a Steinway, spindly and chestnut, almost identical to the one you have at the palace in Cotria. 

You and Jihoon had been unpacking your hodgepodge of things (unsorted, since the act of sorting would have forced you to stomach the fact that you were actually moving), when he had found your old lesson books. 

You should break in that piano, he had said. Either that, or wait for your fiance to find you. He seemed ok at the derby today. 

I guess. 

What Jihoon hadn’t seen was all the photographs you had to take after your interview with The Sun, where Joshua decided to remind you that you were supposed to hate him. By that, you mean that he managed to make every single one unbearable. (A tap of the foot: Stand up straight. A careful brush of the elbow: Let’s link arms. A discerning, tactful glance at your chest: Pull up your dress. That, or he was no better than the average man.) 

You and he hadn’t talked much after that. Hopefully, he’s fled to your cold, dark dungeon of a room to read, so he can finally leave you alone.

“Remember when your parents invited all their friends over and asked you to play?” Jihoon says, perched on the loveseat while he sorts through an old jewelry box. 

“Yeah, and I literally forgot everything?” you laugh. “Freaking Jeonghan had to check on me because I locked myself in my room for 24 hours straight. And then he had the nerve to laugh at me.” 

You thumb through the fattest book of the pile. The binding is soft; the pages now yellow and fuzzed over by time. 

On page 5, Chopin's Waltz in A-flat major. three four time or whatever, you had scrawled in defiant red ink. Page 37, a thick black line through Debussy's name on Arabesque No. 1. This is because you would always laugh at it during lessons, and you wanted to save yourself the trouble. 

“Do you want to keep this?” Jihoon holds up a choker that resembles a jock strap. “When did you even wear this? It looks like a cat toy.” 

You ignore him and start to play. You were never excellent—competent would be a better word. Still, it was enough for you. Soonyoung would ask you to play during drunk karaoke, and you could still keep up with Jeonghan when he played one of his overcomplicated duets. 

Your hands remember the velvet thud of the keys, the glide of the pedal. When you turn the page, there’s a scrawled in BITCH! next to a heavily circled allegro. Piano was one of the only things that your parents forced you to do that you actually liked. The kicker was that it didn’t even do you any good. You weren’t as talented as your parents would like you to be, meaning that, to them, you weren’t talented at all. 

It’s then that your fingers slip, and you miss a chord. In your defense, you have a fresh manicure. Always blame the nails. Your mom hated when you kept them long, even more than your hardass tutor.  

“The prince is helping with the theater production this year, right?” Jihoon holds a single earring up to the light. You think you lost the other one in Ibiza last year. “You gonna help out again?” 

“Maybe.” Another wrong note. You’re losing steam trying to read all the ledger lines and your smeared, illegible writing next to them. “I don't know. He probably won’t even want me to. I'm choosing a different piece, by the way. Bored of this one.” 

The truth about your 21st birthday was that you did actually intend to spend it at the youth theater. It was your idea before it was Jeonghan’s idea, but, at the time, you both still were a package deal.

You were on piano; Jeonghan was on whatever else he pleased. He'd always been indecisive like that. At the bench, you’d hoist the little ones on your knee and regale them with the classical version of the opening song from Paw Patrol. Jeonghan stole prop masks from the back, mostly to hide behind the curtains and scare people, you included. You’d both stay up late, paint spackled on your palms, trying to Michelangelo a backdrop with the combined artistic talent of a TI-84. 

The production became your thing, just you and him, no cameras, no press releases, no parents. But like everything else, neither you, Jeonghan, nor anyone else was able to keep those inevitable truths apart. The set pieces were repainted in Italy, the finger-painted fields turned luminescent with varnish; the pins and needles in the costumes swapped with mother-of-pearl; and, finally, you, replaced by a classically trained pianist from Juilliard. At least he was hot. 

Everyone knows the rest of the story—the red carpet, the empty seats, and the puffy pink balloons outside the mansion in Saint Tropez. 

“Oh please,” Jihoon wheedles. “You and I both know he wanted you there.” 

“Then maybe he should have fought harder.” You flip to a random page, this one marked up in pink gel pen. You remember it bled through all the pages behind it, making it a pain to read but awfully funny during lessons. “It doesn't matter. There’s probably wedding stuff I gotta deal with.” 

Jihoon lets you play this next piece uninterrupted. It’s not that it’s a sensitive subject for you—there were plenty of other things that filled the wedge between you and your brother—but it certainly didn’t help. 

You let your fingers wander over the stubborn keys. It feels good to play, even if you’re almost unforgivably rusty. You reach for the page, when you hear Jihoon again: “You know, you’re allowed to come in, your highness.” 

Immediately, your hands freeze. Like a scolded child, you become aware of how your fingers teeter over the keys, the stumbling, awkward clacking of your nails, the one or two missed quarter notes from the last measure. 

You turn to face the door, where Joshua stands, leaning against the frame like a sleazy model from an Abercrombie catalog. He probably came from the gym. Seeing him dressed down is still very weird, mostly because you can’t decide if it’s because he looks good or if it’s because it reminds of seeing your teacher at the grocery store. 

“Anyone teach you manners?” you ask, unsure if your hackles should be raised. 

“No, I was raised in a barn, just like those horses you like so much,” he laughs. “I didn’t want to interrupt. You’re not bad, you know.” 

“Thanks.” You eye him skeptically. “Thought you were gonna comment on the nails.” 

“Do you want me to?” 

“Preferably not, but it’s not like you‘d listen to me anyway.” You look for Jihoon’s reaction, but he seems to have conveniently disappeared. “Let’s play a duet. I’m cashing in my favor.” 

“Sure,” Joshua replies. “I'm no good, though. Might be more of a punishment for you.” 

You slide over on the bench, and he sidles up next to you. He smells like Le Labo and sweat, the sting citrusy and bright, close enough to linger. 

“No good?” You pick up another fat book from the stack atop the lid: The Joy of Duets. “Me neither.” 

“You have no idea,” he chuckles. “And trust me, I tried.”  

“I’ll do top?” you announce. 

Joshua snickers, and you kick him under the bench (really, just a tap of your foot). 

You spend the next two minutes tripping over a Schubert piece. Terribly, this is endearing to you. You make somewhat of a couple—you, with your horrible form, and Joshua, now squinting at the key signature like it’ll make it easier to read.

“Buddy,” you exclaim. “Left hand goes here.” Laughing, you reposition his hand mid-chord to an octave below. You feel it tense beneath you before yielding to proper technique. 

“Aw, what?” he whines. “See, I told you I was no good. Give me a second.” 

You watch him puzzle over the next few lines, pretty brow furrowed. You conclude that Pajama Joshua is decidedly better than Prince Joshua. He’s funnier, kinder, warmer. Even his hands feel softer. 

“Also, about earlier today,” you start. The words are starting to dry up on your tongue, but you figure Pajama Joshua is an easier target than usual. “I didn't know they trained you in stand-up comedy.” 

“We laugh in this country too, you know.” When Joshua says this, he grins, bumping into your shoulder like you’d been friends for a long time. For once, it feels easy, natural. 

“Well, thanks anyway.” 

“I couldn't leave my fiancée out to dry.” The word must sound ridiculous even to him, because he laughs just the same as he did when he unloaded his ridiculous puns onto the unassuming world. “No really. We’re in this together, unfortunately. It’s my duty.” 

Duty, both the knife and the wound. You can’t say you’re surprised he’s only nice to you out of obligation. So is everyone else, and you don’t know why you thought it’d be any different, especially coming from him. It’s not like you’re wearing your ring now either; you suppose you’re just as guilty. 

“You cross over here,” you tell him, changing the topic. You slide your hand over his, and it bends to you. “Thumb under. Sorry, I couldn't help but notice.” 

“It's ok,” Joshua replies. “I only learned piano because I had to. When I stopped going to lessons, I forgot everything. Now I feel like I put this piano to shame.” 

“Really? Not to stroke your ego, but you strike me as the type to be good at everything.” 

“No,” he chuckles. “Only when I have to be. I actually wanted to learn how to play guitar.” 

“No way.” 

“Yes way. I wanted to have one of those woven guitar straps, get a little pick collection going, be able to play any song from the Beatles discography. All the cliche stuff.” 

“Well, why can’t you?” you ask. “Minus the Beatles thing. Pick better music.” 

“Back then, it never occurred to me. We all learn piano.” 

“That's silly,” you blurt out. “Who cares?” 

“That's a little rich coming from you.” 

You frown, feeling all the usual unpleasantries bubble up through your skin. 

“That's not really fair.” You absentmindedly play a few keys, all disjointed. “Taking guitar lessons doesn’t make you a problem child.” 

“It's not about that, though,” Joshua says. He's avoiding your eyes. “It's everything, together. I couldn't just pick up a guitar and be someone else.” 

“Someone else? You mean you? The real you?” 

“Yes,” Joshua presses. “That's the point. I can't just do whatever I want. Sometimes the real you is more trouble than it’s worth.” 

“Someone’s dramatic. If you do everything the same, nothing will change. Maybe getting into a little trouble isn’t such a bad thing.” 

“Forgive me,” he says, mid-chuckle. “You wouldn’t call this trouble?” 

He’s got you there. Childishly, all your pride hardens to a lump in your throat, one you’ve never learned to swallow. 

“Your family needed our help too, remember?” 

“Yeah, and you think I don’t think about that every day? How, maybe, if I had done something different, then we wouldn’t be here?” 

You feel stung. You don’t know how to tell him that you’ve been trying to figure out the same thing your whole life. If you were a better daughter, you’d have spared everyone the trouble. Unfortunately, you’d gotten it wrong so many times, you stopped trying.

What's worse is that he doesn’t even sound mad—you watch his fingertips ghost over the keys of a C-scale, rhythmically, methodically. Piano scales, this marriage, everything: just things to do on his never-ending list. 

A hesitant knock at the door interrupts any possibility of you coming up with anywhere close to the right thing to say. 

“Prince Joshua, the king and queen need to speak to you.” It’s an aide, probably sweating bullets deciding when and how they should intrude on this wonderful conversation of yours.

“Right,” says Joshua, and when he gets up from the bench, he doesn’t look back. 

—

“You ready to get stuffed?” 

Good fucking morning to you—Somi’s voice, fluorescent through your phone speakers, seems to be enough of an alarm clock for you. Joshua, in the doorway dual wielding a coffee cup and the morning paper, raises a tired eyebrow.

After the events of last night, you’d wondered if he would somehow disappear at nighttime in an effort to avoid his eventual fate (you). Instead, you found him on his usual side of the bed, drinking his usual mug of chamomile tea, in his usual silence. 

You've heard that couples shouldn’t go to bed angry, but no one said anything about indifferent. Then again, you and Joshua are hardly a couple. 

“Ew,” you laugh. “No. Maybe? Should I be scared?” 

“Absolutely. You’re eating your weight in food today because I need your opinion on catering.” 

Smushing your phone between your cheek and your shoulder, you watch the mirror as your wavering reflection puts on a layer of mascara. 

“For your party?” 

“Yeah, although on second thought, maybe it’s a bad idea to bring the girl who’s gonna puke everything up anyway.” 

“My IBS is none of your business. Besides, the real food critic is Jihoon,” you reply. “Sometimes I feel like that’s the only reason he still works here.” 

“You’re coming in an hour, right?” 

You check the clock. No, you are not. You’re only halfway through a full beat and if you don’t get any caffeine inside you within the hour, you will commit a crime. 

“Nope.” You pop open your compact. “I have to change, and I desperately need to locate a coffee. I will suck a fucking bean off if i need to.” 

“I'm hanging up on you,” Somi whines. “It's too early for you to be gross and late.”  

“As if you weren’t talking about getting stuffed.” 

“Whatever.” Click.

At this point, you feel like Somi’s party is both the proverbial and literal light at the end of the tunnel. No expectations, no rules, and no semi-arguments between you and your doomed fiance. 

Then you notice that Joshua’s disappeared from the room—he probably couldn’t stand listening to your end of the conversation. Briefly, you wonder where he is. Off running an errand for his dear parents, perhaps, or maybe at the gym you still haven’t discovered yet. Even from the hefty distance he keeps you at, you can still appreciate a man who looks like he’s touched a dumbbell. 

It's only when you’re halfway out the door, almost an hour later, juggling your purse and your phone and the distinct absence of a caffeinated beverage, that you find him. 

“Come to ruin my day?” you ask, maybe three-fourths joking. 

“Don’t give me any ideas,” he replies. Under the bluebird sky of late morning, lips upturned and eyes bright, Joshua may be a sight you could get used to. Someday. “Brought you a coffee. I can’t have you sucking off a bean—the reporters would go crazy.” 

Jihoon, hovering by the car, chokes on his water. 

“Oh!” The surprise knocks the sound out of you. “Thank you. Really.” 

“Gladly,” he says, and he sounds like he means it.

He holds all your stuff as you clamber into the car, before handing it back to close the door for you. You’ll admit it’s nice, but as Jihoon starts to drive, you feel a familiar twist in your chest.

“Interesting,” he remarks. “Didn’t know you were on a coffee order basis.” 

“We’re not,” you answer. You pop the lid open. It's a cappuccino, made the classic way, milk foam bubbling out the top. Not your favorite, but it’ll do. 

More than that, it’s an olive branch. Yesterday did get weird, but you’re getting the impression that it’ll always get weird. Undoubtedly, there is someone out there who’ll get Joshua. His schedules, his straight-backed obligation, the polished photo ops and the cappuccinos made to a perfect one to one to one ratio. You know this because this is the world you came from, one that should be home to you. 

Instead, you circle each other in an unsure, clumsy dance. You can’t quite get it right. It's all the same now. The bite of a horse saddle not made for your body, the glow of your heirloom ring, now cheapened by your graceless hand, Joshua’s lonely, reaching palm as he disappears in the rearview mirror. 

—

On your arrival home in the evening, you return with two things: a few extra kilos and an absolutely horrendous copy of the Daily Mail, courtesy of Somi, who saw it at the grocery. 

"Great showing from the couple of the year," you say, shucking your copy at Joshua. "It looks like we're in Shark Tale." 

Even from a distance, the cheap ink-spackled cover shows more than enough. LIP LOCK FLOP!, it reads, although you wouldn’t really call it a lip lock. 

It was at the derby—Quick, they’re looking at us, you had said. Then what you would call a nun’s version of a kiss: you, already halfway out the door, and him, lips hesitant and pursed, as if he was asked to smooch his withering, dusty great-grandmother. 

"I'm not even going to ask what you mean by that," Joshua answers, voice level. "It's not that bad." 

He puts his book down to pick the magazine up, holding it at a distance like the image will jump out of the page and bite him. You see his expression flicker, and that's all you need to confirm your suspicions. 

"Ok, it's a little bad." He places it on the nightstand next to him face-down. "It'll be alright. It's not like the wedding will be called off over one bad picture." 

"You know that's not the issue." You sit on your side of the bed, about a full meter away from him. You kind of want to look again just to see how bad it is, but you're sure it'll be inescapable by the morning. 

"Since when did you care what the press thought of you?" 

"Since it mattered." You stare at your lap, eyes fixed on the too-new, wiggly hem of your pajamas instead of him. You can tell he's still looking at you, though–you think those big, watery eyes have some sort of flashlights in them, and you don't like it. "It seems wrong if our mistakes take up space." 

You hear him make a small noise of agreement. Joshua still won't admit that you're right, but you suppose you like that a little. At least he'll be stubborn about something, even if it's about clearly not liking you. 

"What do you suggest?" he asks, putting his book down. “We didn't choose each other, so I'm not surprised there's no attraction." 

"Ouch." He's right, but you'd rather be the one saying it. "I'm a good kisser. You aren't." 

"I'm just not good at kissing you," he retorts. 

"Evidently." You shimmy towards his side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler under your thighs, the pillows still neatly arranged on the headboard. "What I'm saying is that we should at least try to look more realistic. Like–" 

"Are you saying we should practice?" Joshua looks at you over the frames of his glasses, incredulous. 

"Yeah," you say, now too far in it to back out. "Like exposure therapy. For unwilling couples." 

The room gets quiet, as if it wasn't unbearably so before. You watch Joshua pick up his book again. He puts the bookmark in, two-thirds from the spine of the book so as to not ruin the binding, and places it over the doomed tabloid. 

"Okay." To your surprise, he turns to face you. The lamplight catches the lens of his glasses and makes his eyes look warmer than they truly are. "How should we do this?" 

The way Joshua's gaze settles on you makes you feel like you're being evaluated. An exam in Kissing 101, except the test would rather not have anything to do with you at all. For the first time in your life, you let your eyes wander to his lips, rosy and full, and you feel the pit of anxiety in your belly grow wider. Somehow he's managed to take all the fun out of one of your favorite activities, but you'll be damned if he walks away from this thinking it's you who's the problem. 

"Just...let me lead," you say quietly, now leaning closer to him. You have to ease yourself into it. You let your body respond, feel the skip of your heart, a heady flush wash over your cheeks. He smells like spearmint and clover. 

You've kissed a lot of people. None of this should feel new to you. His eyelashes skim against your cheek, and you can hear the breath he takes, quivering, gentle.

Despite all this, the first kiss is no better than any of the other ones. his lips meet yours, hesitant before they start moving. He's shy, and it would almost endear him to you if he wasn't so annoying. But then the charade is over. His nose clocks yours and it startles you both enough to draw away, ever so slightly. 

"Not my fault," you murmur. You're so close, you can see your reflection in his pupils, glassy and dark. 

"Thought this was practice," responds Joshua, unfazed. 

So you lean in again, giving it another go. Two is better—sweet and succinct. a first date type of kiss. You can taste the berry of your lip balm on him. 

Then again, except this time it's him who goes in, chases your lips. 

The scary thing is that you thought this would be much harder. You had stood in the bathroom, looked yourself in the mirror, and psyched yourself up to do the impossible. 

But the moment you meet him, now so close there's no room to breathe, you feel an impenetrable, unshakable desire crawling up your bones. Your palm finds the flat of his chest. Even under the silk of his ridiculous pajama top, you feel the heat of his skin, the restless quick of his heartbeat, and your stomach flips. 

Four, five. You're losing count. Joshua's hand trails up your arm to cup your cheek, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel your breath catch in your chest. 

He's warm, so warm. When your other hand finds the back of his neck, he makes a small sound in his throat and you like it.

It's at this point you realize there is no point in pretending. Maybe you don't want to kiss Joshua at any other moment during any other day, but you do now. You really do. 

When your tongue meets the seam of his lips, it feels all too natural. At first, predictably, he buffers a bit. For a split second, you envision him pulling away and saying you've gotten more than a lifetime's worth of practice in. 

But he doesn't. Instead, an arm winds around your waist and that's all it takes for your body to stop listening to you altogether. Lips still connected, you lift yourself to straddle his lap, right over the folded up covers, and his hands, devastatingly strong, find your hips to keep you rooted there. 

You're starting to think he isn't such a bad kisser after all—maybe he really was holding out on you, but there's something weirdly rewarding about him waiting until he liked you just a little more. Whatever that means. 

You learn that his hair is soft, really soft, at the base of his neck. You learn that he likes when you bite his lips and you learn that his spearmint mouthwash does, in fact, taste as good as it smells. 

You also learn that you, paradoxically, might not know how to love Joshua Hong, but you sure do know how to kiss him. 

--end of part 1--

[part 2 -> ]

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from National Geographic. All photographs byJoel Sartore:

CARACAL | CARACAL CARACAL Consummate predators, some small wildcats can take down larger prey. The caracal of Asia and Africa is less than two feet tall but has been filmed leaping over nine-foot fences to prey on sheep. PHOTOGRAPHED AT COLUMBUS ZOO AND AQUARIUM, OHIO

PALLAS'S | CATOTOCOLOBUS MANUL A famously grumpy expression made this Central Asian species an Internet star. Conservationists hope the cat’s celebrity will help save its habitat from encroaching farms and other threats. PHOTOGRAPHED AT COLUMBUS ZOO AND AQUARIUM, OHIO

IBERIAN LYNX | LYNX PARDINUS One of the world’s rarest cats, the Iberian lynx is slowly increasing in number as scientists release captive-raised cats and boost populations of rabbits, the lynx’s staple food. PHOTOGRAPHED AT MADRID ZOO AND AQUARIUM, SPAIN

FISHING CAT | PRIONAILURUS VIVERRINUS The cat may look peculiar, but it’s perfectly adapted to its lifestyle: Big eyes help snare prey underwater, double-coated fur keeps out the wet, and partially webbed feet and a muscular, rudderlike tail aid in swimming. PHOTOGRAPHED AT POINT DEFIANCE ZOO AND AQUARIUM IN TACOMA, WASHINGTON

EURASIAN LYNX | LYNX LYNX The largest of the four lynx species, the Eurasian lynx also has a huge range, including most of Europe and parts of Central Asia and Russia. Unlike many other small cats, its population is stable and threats are relatively low—although some isolated subgroups are critically endangered. PHOTOGRAPHED AT COLUMBUS ZOO AND AQUARIUM, OHIO

JAGUARUNDI | SHERPAILURUS YAGOUAROUNDI With long, squat bodies and tiny ears, jaguarundis are otterlike in appearance. Thanks to their huge range—parts of Mexico, Central America, and South America—and lack of widespread hunting, the cat is considered a species of least concern. PHOTOGRAPHED AT BEAR CREEK FELINE CENTER, FLORIDA

LEOPARD CAT | PRIONAILURUS BENGALENSIS. PHOTOGRAPHED AT ANDERSON, INDIANA

RUSTY-SPOTTED CAT | PRIONAILURUS RUBIGINOSUS The smallest of the small cats, the rusty-spotted cat, a native of India and Sri Lanka, can weigh as little as two pounds. Not much is known about the speckled feline, but destruction of habitat, hunting, and hybridizing with domestic cats are threats. PHOTOGRAPHED AT EXMOOR ZOO, ENGLAND

AFRICAN GOLDEN CAT | CARACAL AURATA Inhabiting the rain forests of West and Central Africa, this species is threatened by forest loss and bush-meat hunters. This seven-year-old male, Tigri, is likely the only cat of its kind in captivity. PHOTOGRAPHED AT PARC ASSANGO, LIBREVILLE, GABON

SAND CAT | FELIS MARGARITA. PHOTOGRAPHED AT CHATTANOOGA ZOO, TENNESSEE

CANADA LYNX | LYNX CANADENSIS Like the Iberian lynx, the Canada lynx is a specialist hunter, preying almost exclusively on snowshoe hare. The North American species has giant paws that help it run through deep snow after prey. PHOTOGRAPHED AT POINT DEFIANCE ZOO AND AQUARIUM, WASHINGTON

MARGAY | LEOPARDUS WIEDII. PHOTOGRAPHED AT CINCINNATI ZOO AND BOTANICAL GARDEN, OHIO

SERVAL | LEPTAILURUS SERVAL. PHOTOGRAPHED AT FORT WORTH ZOO, TEXAS

[citrine-elephant]

still thinking about this. far too much.

and maybe. mayyybe it could go along the evil dead route. just a lil.

maybe chris could be a little too eager to get leon back to shelter, only having found him unconscious in the woods. MAYBE he can have some funky bioweapon plant disease. maybe.

i think leon deserves to be caught in a bioweapon vine trap. safely entwined in thickening wooded roots of a semi-conscious living cage? growth at will to ensnare that pretty blondie? able to safely and securely snatch him up in a tight interlockin net?

saves him frlm getting bonked on the head. poor guy doesnt need any more head injuries

[revelboo]

Sparked Tarn! Sparked Tarn! Sparked Tarn! Sparked Tarn! Sparked Tarn! Sparked Tarn!

Oh my God the reversed sparklings are fucking amazing and I might be a little high from the serotonin and dopamine from reading these

Y’all are killing me right now 🤣

There’s no escaping once fully bonded. They will hunt the human down and drag them back kicking and screaming

🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️

Uno Reverse-Sparked

Tarn x Reader

• His sweet, little pet mate. Servos tightening on your hips, listening to those needy sounds you make for him. It’s almost musical. And he can’t help but wonder what Megatron would think if he saw him, saw how far he’d fallen. But he can’t stop either, you’re a blasphemous addiction. One he knows he should have ended before it ever got this far. Couldn’t let you go even before he’d fully bonded you.

• Servos almost bruising on your hips as he kneels behind you, rutting against you, he growls. That spike stretching you, pounding into you on the verge of being almost too rough. Nearly overwhelming as he ruthlessly drives you to that edge until you come apart. And you know what’s coming as he groans and drapes himself against your back, hips pumping, he growls about sparking you. You brace when his plating shifts and his spark comes into contact with you. Falling into him as he snarls and overloads inside you, bearing you down and pinning you flat, spike still pulsing inside you as he keeps his weight from crushing you.

• Groaning as he snares you before you can try to elude him like you usually do, his hips are still rocking against you as he wraps your light in his. Because he’s been filling you all rotation, wearing you out so he could have this. Have you without a fight. Ever since you’d fully bonded with him, you’ve avoided him catching you during bonding. Accepting his body, his spike, but hiding from the rest of him. Afraid of what you’d seen in his memories and he’s not letting go this time. Needs to be seen, understood. Especially by you.

• Toes sliding on the berth under you, feeling a blanket wadded up under your hip bone and his spike still stretching you, he’s got you caged, physically and mentally. Refusing to let you turn away this time. Forcing you to face what he really is, what he’s done even though you don’t want to know. Want to pretend it away and just let this be physical. His masked face brushes your shoulder as he groans, that coaxing becoming more insistent. Wanting you to see all of him, know him. And you’re scared of it.

• Feels when you finally surrender and stop fighting, accepting him, and something shifts. There’s a pull that echoes through him and it’s happening too fast, realizes what this is, but there’s no stopping it. His alarm sparking yours all over again. Until you’re struggling and he’s so shocked he lets go without meaning to. Horrified as he shoves up, spike sliding free of you as you lurch away, drawing your legs up against yourself. But he’s distracted by that delicate new spark tangled in himself, the feel of it flickering fitfully before separating. Becoming twin sparks and his head lifts on a growl as you stiffen. “Come here,” he growls and you roll on a gasp. Running from him after sparking him.

[transmutationisms]

reading material for a global southerner for whom it's challenging to see through the overly embellished front of USAID because of misinformation, please.

sure, bear in mind this isn't a primary reading area for me & i wouldn't uncritically endorse every line of every one of these etc, but here is some writing i've found helpful

news / journalism:

The Myths of ‘Democracy Assistance’: U.S. Political Intervention in Post-Soviet Eastern Europe by Gerald Sussman (2006)

USAID: The Humanitarian Face of Colonial Exploitation by Amanda Yee (2023)

USAID: AN IMPERIALIST SNARE UNDER THE GUISE OF HUMANITARIAN AID by Ramona Wadi (2014)

Weaponizing aid: How USAID and the Global Fragility Act sustain U.S. imperialism in Libya by Tunde Osazua (2024)

The friendly face of US imperialism: USAID and Haiti by Sasha Kramer (2005)

US Foreign Aid Was Always About Furthering US Interests by Carlos Cruz Mosquera (2025)

academic publications:

Development, Security, and Aid: Geopolitics and Geoeconomics at the U.S. Agency for International Development by Jamey Essex (University of Georgia Press, 2013)

The Quiet Violence of Empire: How USAID Waged Counterinsurgency in Afghanistan by Wesley Attewell (University of Minnesota Press, 2023)

Killing with Kindness: Haiti, International Aid, and NGOs by Mark Schuller (Rutgers University Press, 2012)

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |5|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Five: Unwanted Eyes

warnings: phycological suspense, violence (references to when y/n killed the bear), disturbing imagery and nightmares, PTSD symptoms, and threatening behavior.

note(s): lottie, you freak.

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Shauna woke to the sound of your breathing—quick, shallow gasps that punctuated the cabin's pre-dawn silence. She'd grown attuned to your nightmares, could sense them coming on before you even began to thrash. Tonight was different though. You were perfectly still, rigid as a corpse, only your chest rising and falling with increasing urgency.

She propped herself up on one elbow, watching your face contort in whatever private horror was playing behind your closed eyelids. Your lips moved, forming silent words she couldn't quite make out.

Should she wake you? Let you ride it out? These calculations had become part of her nightly routine.

Your eyes flew open suddenly, wide and unfocused, a strangled sound escaping your throat.

"Hey," Shauna whispered, keeping her distance. She'd learned the hard way not to touch you during these moments. "It's okay. You're here. You're with me."

You blinked rapidly, orienting yourself to reality, chest heaving as if you'd been running. Sweat gleamed on your forehead despite the cabin's chill.

"Bad one?" Shauna asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, swallowing hard, not meeting her eyes. "Just the usual."

She knew you were lying. The "usual" nightmares left you crying or shouting Jackie's name. This was something else—something that had been happening more frequently over the past week. These dreams left you distant, almost shell-shocked, unwilling to speak about what you'd seen.

"Water?" she offered, reaching for the canteen they kept between their sleeping bags.

"I'm fine." You sat up, pulling your knees to your chest. "Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you."

Shauna settled back down, pretending to close her eyes while watching you through her lashes. You stared straight ahead, occasionally touching your lips as if checking for something there. When you finally lay down again, you positioned yourself facing away from her, but she could tell from your breathing that you remained awake until the first rays of dawn filtered through the cabin's dirty windows.

------

The bear meat had lasted almost two weeks, but Shauna could sense the shift in the group's mood as supplies dwindled again. Hunting parties were going out daily now, though game remained scarce. Your reckless heroics had bought them time, nothing more.

Shauna busied herself inside the cabin that morning, organizing their meager medical supplies while keeping an eye on you. You'd barely spoken since breakfast, sitting on your bunk and methodically mending a tear in one of your shirts, your movements precise but mechanical. Another bad night, another day of you retreating further into yourself.

"We should check the snares later," Shauna suggested, desperate to draw you out somehow. "Nat said she saw rabbit tracks yesterday."

"Sure," you replied without looking up, needle flashing in and out of the fabric.

The cabin door creaked open, letting in a blast of cold air and Lottie, her cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes bright with that unsettling intensity that had become her trademark. Shauna instinctively shifted, positioning herself between Lottie and you.

"There you are," Lottie said, her gaze sliding past Shauna to fix on you. "We missed you at morning prayer."

"She didn't feel well," Shauna answered before you could. "Headache."

Lottie's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I could help with that. I have something that—"

"She's fine," Shauna cut in, her tone sharper than intended. "Just needs rest."

You glanced up, finally registering the tension in the room. "It's okay, Shauna. I'm feeling better now."

Lottie stepped further inside, moving with that ethereal grace that made Shauna's skin crawl. "I actually came to ask for your help, specifically," she said, addressing you directly. "The others are setting up for tonight, but I need someone with... special insight."

Shauna felt her jaw clench. "What's tonight?"

"Just a gathering," Lottie replied vaguely, eyes never leaving your face. "To give thanks for the bear. For the sacrifice that fed us."

The way she emphasized "sacrifice" made something cold slide down Shauna's spine.

"We've already eaten most of it," Shauna pointed out. "Kind of late for a thank-you party, isn't it?"

Lottie's smile widened, revealing too many teeth. "It's never too late to show gratitude. Especially to those who provide for us in our time of need." Her gaze flickered pointedly to your hands, still poised over your mending. "You have a gift. The forest recognizes it. I recognize it."

You looked uncomfortable now, needle frozen mid-stitch. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" Lottie tilted her head, bird-like. "The dreams haven't shown you?"

Your face drained of color so quickly that Shauna took an instinctive step forward, ready to catch you if you fainted.

"Get out," Shauna said, not bothering to hide her hostility now.

Lottie's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "I'm just trying to help. She's been chosen, Shauna. Fighting it will only make things worse."

"I said get out." Shauna moved to the door, holding it open. The cold air rushed in again, making the candles flicker.

Lottie shrugged, moving toward the exit with exaggerated slowness. As she passed Shauna, she leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. "She's already one of us. She just doesn't know it yet."

Shauna watched her go, fighting the urge to slam the door after her. Instead, she closed it carefully before turning back to you.

"What was that about?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual. "What dreams was she talking about?"

You'd resumed your sewing, head bent low over the fabric. "No idea. You know how she is now. Everything's a sign or a prophecy."

Shauna knew you were lying again, but decided not to push. Instead, she sat beside you on the bunk, close enough that your shoulders touched. "You'd tell me, right? If something was wrong?"

Your hands stilled again. "Nothing's wrong that wasn't already wrong," you said softly. "We crashed in the wilderness. Jackie's dead. We're all slowly losing our minds. What else is there to say?"

The mention of Jackie's name hung between you like smoke, acrid and suffocating. Shauna placed her hand over yours, feeling the slight tremor in your fingers.

"I'm not going to let her drag you into whatever weird shit she's cooking up," Shauna promised. "You know that, right?"

You turned your hand to squeeze hers briefly before pulling away. "I know."

Later, while you napped fitfully in the cabin, Shauna tracked Lottie to the edge of the clearing where she was arranging stones in some pattern only she understood. The others were scattered around, collecting firewood or hanging strips of the remaining bear meat to smoke over a small fire.

"We need to talk," Shauna said, keeping her voice low.

Lottie didn't look up from her work. "I was wondering when you'd come find me."

"Stay away from her."

Now Lottie did look up, her expression serene. "I'm not the one she needs protection from."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She's changing," Lottie said, placing another stone in her cryptic pattern. "Surely you've noticed. The sleepwalking, the dreams, the way she looks at the forest now – like she's seeing something the rest of us can't."

Shauna crossed her arms, fighting off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. "She's grieving. We all are."

"This is more than grief." Lottie stood, brushing dirt from her hands. "She killed that bear with her bare hands, Shauna. She looks at it every night in her dreams, and it looks back."

Something in Lottie's tone made Shauna falter. "How do you know what she dreams about?"

"I see it too." Lottie tapped her temple lightly. "Not as clearly as she does, but enough to know what's happening."

"And what exactly is happening?" Shauna demanded, frustration mounting.

Lottie's gaze drifted toward the cabin where you were sleeping. "The wilderness is claiming her. Just like it claimed Jackie."

Shauna moved without thinking, grabbing Lottie by the front of her jacket and shoving her against a tree. "Don't you dare compare them," she hissed, surprised by her own violence but unwilling to back down. "Jackie froze to death because we were stupid and cruel. There was nothing supernatural about it."

Lottie didn't resist, didn't even seem frightened. "Is that what you need to believe?"

"Listen to me," Shauna said, tightening her grip. "I've watched you pull the others in one by one with your visions and your rituals. I've let it happen because if it helps them cope, fine. But her? She's off-limits. Do you understand me?"

"You can't protect her from what's already inside her," Lottie replied calmly. "The hunger. The darkness. It was there before we ever crashed. You know that better than anyone."

Shauna released her with a small shove. "Stay away from her," she repeated. "I mean it, Lottie. No more cryptic invitations, no more talk about dreams or being chosen."

"Or what?" Lottie straightened her jacket, unruffled.

"Or you'll find out exactly what I'm capable of," Shauna said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And trust me, it doesn't require any supernatural guidance."

Something like respect flickered across Lottie's face. "You really do love her, don't you? Even knowing what's growing inside her?"

"I'm not going to have this conversation with you," Shauna said, turning to leave.

"I've seen her at night, you know," Lottie called after her. "When you're asleep. She goes to Jackie's grave and whispers to her. Sometimes she brings things – little offerings. Flowers, berries. Once, a rabbit's foot."

Shauna froze but didn't turn around.

"Ask yourself what's really frightening you, Shauna," Lottie continued. "That I might influence her? Or that I might understand her better than you do?"

Shauna walked away without responding, her heart hammering in her chest. The worst part wasn't Lottie's words – it was the doubt they sowed, the possibility that she'd missed something crucial about you, about what was happening to you out here in these endless woods.

When Shauna returned to the cabin, she found you still asleep, your face peaceful for once. She moved quietly, not wanting to disturb this rare moment of rest, and began gathering supplies for the next day's hunting. As she sorted through the pile of clothes near your bunk, she noticed something odd – your scarf, the one you'd worn during the bear hunt, had been moved from where you'd carefully placed it that morning.

She picked it up, frowning. The fabric was disturbed, as if someone had been handling it repeatedly. Holding it closer, she caught an unfamiliar scent – not yours, not hers, but something herbal and sharp.

A sound at the door made her turn. Misty stood there, her expression unusually serious behind her fogged glasses.

"What?" Shauna asked, instantly defensive.

Misty glanced at you, still sleeping, then beckoned Shauna outside. Reluctantly, Shauna followed, closing the door softly behind them.

"I thought you should know," Misty said, her voice uncharacteristically subdued. "Lottie's been coming in when you're out. She goes through her things." A nod toward the cabin indicated who "her" was.

Shauna felt her stomach tighten. "What does she do?"

"Mostly just... smells them?" Misty shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "Holds them up to her face, sometimes takes them outside for a while. They always come back, but..." She trailed off, adjusting her glasses nervously.

"Why are you telling me this?" Shauna asked, suspicious of Misty's sudden helpfulness.

Misty's gaze flitted around the clearing, making sure no one else was within earshot. "Because it's weird, even for Lottie. And because..." She hesitated. "Because she's not the only one changing out here. You've seen it too, right? In her?"

Shauna didn't need to ask who Misty meant. "She's having a hard time. We all are."

"This is different." Misty's voice dropped even lower. "She talks in her sleep sometimes. Names we don't know. Places. And sometimes she..." Misty looked genuinely disturbed now. "Sometimes she makes these sounds, like she's eating something."

A chill ran through Shauna that had nothing to do with the winter air. She thought of the way you'd touched your lips after waking from your nightmare, the way you'd avoided her gaze.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," Misty continued, seemingly regretting her candor now. "It's probably nothing. Sleep talking, that's all."

"No, you did the right thing," Shauna assured her, mind racing. "Thanks for letting me know. About Lottie, I mean."

Misty nodded, looking relieved to be dismissed. As she walked away, Shauna's hand drifted to her slightly swollen belly, an unconscious gesture of protection that had become increasingly common.

She thought of Lottie's words – What's growing inside her. What had she meant by that?

She turned back toward the cabin, watching your sleeping form through the dirty window. Who were you becoming out here? Who were any of them becoming?

And more importantly – could she save you from it when she could barely save herself?

[imaginedanvrs]

caught in a snare

masterlist

dark!wandanat x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: alcohol consumption, intoxication, mind reading, degrading, forced entry, mind control, bondage, non-con turned dub-con, oral (r giving), gun play, knife play, choking, threats of violence, inflicted violence, fingering (r receiving), strap on sex (r receiving), double penetration, anal

You were blissfully unaware of the forest green eyes that followed your every drunken move as you danced with your friends. If you were sober, maybe you would have caught on to the feeling of being watched by the redhead whose gaze was laid thick on you while you seemed oblivious to the world around you.

  “Come on,” a brunette said to your observer as she returned to the bar. “This place is a dump and I'm not feeling it tonight,” she continued with disdain, her accent peaking through so briefly it would have been missed by anyone in the club listening in. “Nat,” she huffed when she noticed her girlfriend wasn't listening, too focused on the mass of bodies dancing in the barely lit room.

  “Remember when you gave me shit for not getting you an anniversary present?” The redhead asked as she stared at the peak of skin between your jeans and shirt.

  The brunette didn't answer, instead following Natasha’s gaze and swiftly finding the object of her attention. She hummed in acknowledgement, instantly becoming just as curious by you as they watched you blatantly ignore a stranger's advances so that you wouldn't miss a second of the song that was making the walls vibrate.

  “The two in dresses are going to go to the toilets to fuck and the other one’s going to dance with the guy with the snake tattoo,” Natasha assessed.

  “Well I'm sure she won't want to stay any longer by then,” Wanda mused as she took in your giddy smile.

  As if on queue, one of your friends took the other by the hand with haste and dragged her through the club without a word to you. Meanwhile, your other friend began guiding her pursuer's hands to her hips, becoming quickly immersed in his touch. A few moments passed without you noticing your friends' engagements and Natasha tutted. Once it clicked, you looked like a deer caught in headlights. 

  You scanned the room as you stopped moving, wondering where best to situate yourself as you got your bearings and felt all the alcohol you had consumed that night hit you at once. You were clearly disorientated as you stumbled through the crowd.

  “Reckless thing, who knows who would snatch her up if we weren't here,” Natasha chided.

  “Come on, маленький, come to us,” Wanda encouraged. You couldn't hear them several metres away, nor did Wanda use her telepathic aid, yet it was the bar you found yourself clinging to a minute later.

  “Water please,” you asked the bartender, your speech slightly slurred. The pair advanced.

  “You alright, honey?” Wanda enquired with a concerned smile. It was exactly what you needed to see at that moment.

  “Yeah,” you replied, entirely unconvincing as you smiled anxiously at the pair.

  “You look ready to go home,” Wanda continued.

  “My friends are here,” you informed quickly. The older woman was right, you did want to go, but you needed to wait for them.

  “But they're not here,” Natasha noted. You bit your lip as you searched the crowd for them, missing the glass of water placed in front of you. It vanished a second later.

  “Let us help get you home, sweetie, it's not safe to be out on your own,” Wanda said. It was hard to deny her and perhaps if the pair weren't wearing their widow veils and you knew they were Avengers, you wouldn't have objected.

  “I'm not on my own,” you insisted even though your friends were nowhere to be found. “Thank you but-” Wanda didn't have the patience to spend anymore time convincing you. It wasn't conversation the pair wanted from you. 

  “We're taking you home,” she stated, eyes flashing red so briefly that you passed it off as the strobe lights. Just like that, everything seemed to fall into place and a stress free, though still intoxicated, beam appeared on your lips 

  “Thank you,” you said sincerely. 

  “You're something else,” Natasha muttered to her partner as she got up to lead the way. Wanda placed a gentle yet assertive hand on your waist and guided you to follow Natasha while she followed behind, her hand becoming firmer the more bodies you had to get through.

  The fresh air that soon hit you did nothing to sober you up and only made you more disorientated, so much so that you were oblivious to the fact you three had left through a previously locked fire exit. You leaned back on Wanda when the alleyway you found yourself in started to spin. 

  “Woah,” you muttered. The two women shared a look as they helped you into their car. You didn't know you were in a flashy stingray, but when Natasha turned the car on you noticed the expensive interior and began to panic that you would throw up in it.

  “Are you getting her address or shall I?” The brunette besides you asked. You frowned.

  “It's twenty-”

  “Shh,” Wanda assured, suddenly guiding your head into her lap. You were about to protest until you were struck with a sudden sense of peace, oblivious to the red whispered that danced around your head. You gave a contented sigh and simultaneously felt your drunken haze being lifted.

  “I don't know your names,” you spoke out without alarm.

  “I'm Wanda and that's Nat,” Wanda said sweetly. You really liked her.

  “Like the Avengers?” You asked in awe and almost missed Nat's chuckle. “That's cool,” you muttered. The pair glanced at each other in the mirror with knowing smirks. “I'm y/n.”

  “Pretty name,” Wanda commented as she tucked the hair behind your ear. “Pretty face,” she added. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks at the attention and squirmed under her gaze. Wanda returned her firm hand to your hip and you stilled.

  Pretty anniversary present, Natasha input.

  Belated anniversary present, Wanda corrected.

  Tell me she's not worth it.

  Depends how well she takes the red one, Wanda mused. She felt Natasha's excitement at the concept but kept quiet to not distract from the Friday night streets.

  Once they pulled up by your apartment, Wanda prompted for you to sit up and you thankfully did so without a wave of nausea hitting you. You weren't expecting the pair to follow you inside but simply put it down to two women helping another out, even if you were considerably less drunk than when they found you.

  “Lifts broken and I'm on the third floor. You don't have to follow me up,” you informed the pair as you almost tripped on a step. Wanda gave you a look that told you they weren't going so you led the way, unaware of the eyes that flickered to your ass.

  It was only once you were turning the keys in the lock and thanking the pair that your sense of caution returned. You, somehow, weren't drunk anymore and yet these women you didn't know were still lingering outside of your apartment. 

  “Really, I'd hate to keep you from continuing your night,” you said as you stood in the open doorway that you wanted closed.

  “It's barely begun,” Wanda mumbled as she brought her hand to your temple. You made to step away from her touch but your entire body was suddenly trapped in a state of paralysis. “Go to your room and strip,” she whispered, the tenderness she had earlier possessed now gone. Another difference was when your body complied with the order, your mind screamed at you not to. You were overtaken with fear as you made your way through the small apartment and heard the door close as the pair wandered in behind you. 

  “Oh, malysh, you should really take better care of yourself,” Wanda commented in what you now knew to be a condescending tone. You felt your anger brew as you realised she was going through your belongings while you undressed for her.

  “We'll do that for you,” Natasha suddenly spoke right behind you. She undid your bra and grazed her lips over your shoulder, smirking at the goosebumps that arose. “Be a good toy for her and maybe I'll play nice,” she whispered and you could do nothing to push her away.

  “Oh, Nat, you're scaring the poor thing,” Wanda chuckled as they watched you obediently take your underwear off. The moment they were discarded, you were given a heavy shove that made you lean over the side of your bed while your knees hit the floor with a painful thud. You whimpered at the pain it ignited and heard a pitiful coo from one of the women as your chin was lifted. Your eyes widened at what you took in.

  The two Avengers stood before you, rid of their clothes and masks and instead holding weapons. Wanda’s eyes were glowing red as she stared at you while her magic flowed freely from her fingers. The whisps flickered momentarily as you felt an intense pressure keep you down before it was listed for you to roam freely. Yet you wouldn’t dare, not when you knew what she could do along with the sinister handgun held at the redhead’s side.

  “So you do have some smarts about you,” Wanda said, confirming the rumours that had circulated in the media months ago that she could read minds.

 “”Here’s the deal, приятная вещь, you can behave and do exactly what we say,” the brunette explained as she sat herself at the head of your bed while Natasha grabbed at the back of your neck and hoisted you up to the space between Wanda’s spread legs. “Or we can make you,” she said just as the unforgiving steel of Natasha’s gun pressed into your bare back. “Either way…” she snaked her hand around to the hair at the back of your head and forced you to gaze down at her wet cunt. You wondered at what point in that twisted scene she had become so aroused, and why there was a growing ache between your own legs at the sight. 

  You weren’t blind to the fact that god clearly hadn’t spared them any favours in looks and that you, like many, had been crushing on the female Avengers for some time, but the situation they had put you in wasn’t right, so why did Wanda look so goddamn tempting?

  It was wrong, it was immoral, it was altogether fucked up, but with a sharp tug to your hair, your mouth was on the brunette. The second you tasted her, you didn’t need the threat of repercussions to keep you in place. Your tongue delved between her pussy lips and the moan you heard in response sealed your place in their arrangement and your own fate.

  “Fuck, you always have a good eye for them,” Wanda gasped.

  “Anything for you, моя любовь,” Natasha winked back. “I know she’s your present, but I hope you don’t mind if I just…” You heard the redhead trail off but ignored the distant alarm bells in your mind to instead give all your attention to flicking your tongue across Wanda in an effort to savour and explore her. 

  You were pulled from your lustful trance when you felt a cold blade press against your hip. Your eyes snapped to Wanda in a silent plea only to see her features brighten with excitement.

  “Just don’t go too deep this time,” Wanda chuckled as she watched the scene unfold with anticipation and pulled you in close enough that you could no longer catch her dark eyes.

  At the first cut, you inevitably jumped and scrambled to get away from the glistening blade but you were held in place by one strong hand to your back. Kept still against the already stained bedsheets, you whimpered and cried pitifully as Natasha’s skilled hands littered cuts across you, leaving scarlet streaks in place. 

  “Don’t stop,” Natasha warned with a deeper strike. “I’m barely touching you,” she huffed disapprovingly, pausing to let you recover and continue. You did so tentatively, waiting for the next sting to be inflicted but several minutes passed with the redhead merely tracing your skin with the back of her knife and you soon became fixated on Wanda again. 

  The cuts stung, but so did your scalp every time the brunette tugged and eventually those sensations entwined in the turmoil and were pushed to the background as Wanda’s pulsing clit became centre stage. The muscles of her thighs clamped around your head as her breathy moans and curses filled the room.

  “Such a good fucking mouth she’s got on her,” the brunette spoke and though it wasn’t directed at you, you flushed with pride. 

  Wanda came with an ecstatic cry and you swore that the taste of her cum was worth every cut that had littered across you. You missed Natasha’s approving hum at the sight, too caught up in making sure you didn’t miss a drop of her girlfriend. You swirled your tongue everywhere you could reach until Wanda was pushing you away. You whined. 

  “Greedy thing,” Wanda tutted with amusement, gripping your chin. 

  “I can’t blame her,” Natasha muttered, suddenly leaning over your body to your raised chin where, instead of kissing you, she licked the wetness that had gathered just below your lips. 

  “Let me watch you, Nat,” Wanda said as she watched you shift uncomfortably. “Give me a show.” You frowned, not understanding what the younger Avenger meant but apparently Natasha did. She wrapped her hand around the front of your throat and pulled you back with her until your calves were by your sides and your back was flat against Natasha’s front. 

  “So fragile,” the redhead commented as her hand previously on your neck travelled down gradually. She nipped along your shoulder and neck as she explored your stomach and squeezed your tits. Your breath hitched and you tried to move your neck away from Natasha’s markings but she easily overpowered you. 

  “If you keep squirming like that you might make my finger slip,” Natasha tutted as she tapped her gun against your stomach, her finger ready on the trigger. 

  “Please,” you whimpered as the redhead trailed her gun across you, settling it under your chin. Your throat briefly skimmed it when you swallowed your nerves. 

  “Please what, malysh?” Wanda asked. You looked at her with a plea that got stuck in your mouth the moment you took in how she was touching herself. “Go on,” she encouraged as she rubbed her swollen clit. 

  “She wants to hear you beg,” Natasha whispered to you, her free hand settling between your legs where she found your cunt to be as wet as her partner’s. “Do it,” Natasha ordered with a firm press of her weapon, adamant on seeing her present perform as she was expected to. 

  “Please don’t kill me,” you rushed out. Both women chuckled, seemingly not taking your request seriously in the slightest. 

  “That’s not what you really want to beg for,” Wanda said, teasing her entrance with two fingers. Your own pussy throbbed as Natasha’s digits ghosted over your neglected clit. “Beg her to fuck you,” she said, eyes dangerously dark. 

  “I…I don’t- ah!” You exclaimed as Natasha pressed hard on your clit and rubbed tight circles. “Fuck,” you cursed as you fought against your desires, inevitably loosing when you heard the redhead cock her gun. “Please fuck me,” you whimpered. 

  “I didn’t catch that,” Wanda smirked. 

  “Please fuck me!” You begged as Natasha’s rough fingers were stripped away. 

  “Why?” She mused as she dragged her wet nails down your stomach.

  “Because-” you hissed. “Because I need it, please!” You cried out, unable to distinguish if it was a plea for your life or for your pleasure. 

  “There it is,” Natasha smirked to her partner as she pushed three fingers in without warning. You were wet enough to take them, but the ache of the stretch was still very much present. “Fuck, what a tight slut,” the redhead chuckled as she thrust her fingers into your depths with persistence. You whined at the sting as Natasha scissored her digits against your soft walls, thumbing at your clit as you squirmed. 

  “You’re driving the pretty whore crazy, Natty,” Wanda moaned as she fingered herself steadily at the sight. “Does that feel good, detka?”

  “So good!” You moaned without hesitation, resting your head back on Natasha’s shoulder. She tossed the gun to the side and picked up her knife as she thrust her fingers wildly, bringing the shining blade up to your neck. You could hardly register it. You were so intoxicated with the feeling of the woman behind you filling you up, but the hot sting across your neck was prominent. 

  Your hands pinned between your bodies struggled to free themselves and grab at the knife, no matter how futile, but Natasha’s body didn't budge and your hands remained trapped. Luckily, the redhead didn’t linger too long on your neck and planted small cuts back down your torso. Though at that time, they bothered you far less. 

  “She looks so good like that,” Wanda groaned when you winced amongst the pleasure. “More,” she demanded and suddenly the cuts were deeper. A sob was dragged from your throat and Natasha merely fingered you harder in response. 

  “I can feel you gripping my fingers,” Natasha husked. “Don’t you dare cum before her,” she warned as she placed her knife against your throat again. You whined desperately in protest, unsure if you were going to be able to hold off much longer, especially when the redhead deliberately pressed against the spot that made your world spin. 

  “I can’t…I need- please!” You exclaimed as you struggled, giving Wanda the most pleading look you could manage. 

  “Poor thing,” Wanda mused as she fucked herself knuckle deep, letting you glimpse how soaked she was everytime she pulled them out. “You want me to cum?” She asked with a pout. 

  “Please,” you sobbed. 

  “Please,” Natasha mocked, curling her fingers harder. 

  Wanda came again with a low moan, shuddering against your headboard as she thrust her digits steadily through her orgasm. You thought that you yourself were seconds away from your own relief but the sadistic redhead withdrew her fingers and forced you to continue to watch the pleasure you were deprived of. You almost protested when you saw Wanda’s blissed smile but wisely restricted it to a needy whine. 

  “What’s the matter, love? You wanted to cum too?” Wanda asked, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

  “Yeah,” you said, voice hoarse.

  “You think you can manage that?” Wanda questioned as her fingertips produced a red glow until a blood red dildo appeared between the Sokovian’s legs securely. Similarly, you felt something obnoxious prod into your back from Natasha. Your eyes widened as you took in the large toy, recognising that you had never taken anything nearly that big before. Most likely hearing your thoughts, Wanda stroked the toy several times, as though giving you a preview of how it was going to stretch.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll help that you’re fucking soaked,” Natasha chuckled. A red glow appeared again though that time Wanda wrapped her magic around your body as she lay on her back and draped you over her with only your ass in the air for Natasha to grab. 

  “Wait,” you stammered when the toy brushed past your clit and teased your hole. Feeling the wide head spread your lips apart, you looked to Wanda to plead for more preparation but you didn’t get the chance because the redhead was forcing you down. 

  The stretch was unforgiving in its pressure and burn, forcing your soft walls apart with every inch it took. It filled you up in its entirety as Wanda guided your open mouth to her nipples where your moans became muffled and your eyes fluttered closed dutifully. 

  “Almost in, you just need your slutty holes filled by us, don’t you?” Wanda asked as she stroked your hair, a stark contrast to her words and the actions of her girlfriend who was forcing her inside you. “You just have to lay pretty and take it,” she said as the rest of the toy was shoved into your cunt. 

  “There you go,” Natasha hummed. 

  “Hurts,” you wheezed before your mouth was forced back around the Sokovian’s nipples. 

  “But it feels so good too, doesn’t it?” Wanda cooed as she lifted you off of the strap on only to slam you back down as she began to thrust. In your position, she could only pull out half way but it meant that the stretch lingered for longer while the pleasure emerged. 

  Once you were all consumed in the bliss of Wanda fucking your throbbing pussy, you jumped as Natasha spit on your ass and let it dribble down until it reached your tightest hole. You whined when she grazed her thumb over your ass, letting it hover in the anticipation of what you knew she was about to do and didn’t quite want to stop. 

  Natasha pushed her thumb past your ring just as Wanda filled you up with her fake cock and you let her nipple go with a gasp, clawing at the bedsheets around you to help adjust to the intrusion. “Fuck!” You groaned as the redhead toyed with your ass. She flexed and pumped her thumb inside you several times before replacing it with two fingers that had you spinning. 

“So fucking tight,” Natasha grunted. “Feel it, Wand.” You didn’t understand what that meant and you missed the red hues covering Wanda’s iris as she peaked into her partner’s mind to experience what she felt, cursing at the ghost sensations around her fingers. 

  “Ruin her for me, Natty,” Wanda encouraged with twisted adoration and began fucking your cunt with a refreshed vigour you weren’t prepared for. In that same split second, Natasha pulled her fingers out and pushed her strap against your ass, gripping your hips harshly as her cock stretched you open. 

  “Too much,” you protested but the redhead merely pushed your face into the bed and used it as better means to fuck you with. Suddenly, you were more full than you ever could have imagined as both your cunt and your ass were stuffed with the older women’s cocks while you lay weak against them. 

  Natasha spit on her dildo as she dragged the toy out of you, stroking it several times before pushing it back in entirely. Tears soaked your bedsheets at what you could’ve sworn felt like being split open to accompany the redhead’s toy down to the base with her hips flush against you. 

  The moment they began thrusting together, you crumbled, unable to handle the force they used to fuck you or the fact that it felt so fucking good. Your moans were incoherent against the bed but no one seemed to care when the wet sounds from your cunt spoke loud enough for you. 

  “Such a good fucktoy,” Natasha groaned as she snapped her hips against you. “Happy anniversary, moya lyubov,” she grinned, pushing your head down further as she leant over you to embrace her girlfriend in a heated kiss you hardly registered. Their pace didn’t falter as they made out over you, continuing to pump themselves into your holes harder. 

  You couldn’t even move between the pair. You were trapped between their overpowering frames as they thrust as deep as they could each time and rubbed every nerve enough to make your body weaker by the second. You were consumed by them, all together entangled in the mess of twisted pleasure you only became more lost in until you reached the point of no return. You couldn’t communicate this to the pair but luckily one of them was already in your head. 

  “Cum, sweet thing,” Wanda coaxed. “Show us how much of a desperate slut you really are.” With that, you tripped and stumbled over the edge in a disorientated blur, falling blissfully through the air until you were slumped right back in that bed with the two Avengers who showed no signs of stopping. 

  “I can’t,” you tried to tell them, yet you did just moments later.

  “We’re going to have so much fun with you,” Wanda whispered against your ear as she slowed her pace for you to be able to process her words. “We’re just getting started,” she told you when an unrelenting pressure started around your neck once more.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Devil's Snare part.2

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Description: Having realised that he's fallen in love with his handmaiden, Aemond tries to sway her heart to him despite her shy and introverted disposition. But he quickly finds that her heart is not easily won. Can the Prince succeed in winning his Lady with an unlikely combination of books, Vhagar, and advice from his sister Helaena.

Part 1 Part 3

Writer's note: thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed part 1. Hoping this doesn't stray too far from the direction you want it to go in. I have another part planned but would also welcome suggestions :)

Warnings: female reader, dual-pov narrative, slow-burn, mention of Granny Vhagar (she deserves her own trigger warning), lots of angst and lots of fluff too, pining, potentially ooc Aemond (although our Lord and saviour Ewan Mitchell agrees he's really just a Teddy Bear). Lengthy as always because if there's one thing I can't do it's get to the point.

Y/N huffed in frustration as she tried to replicate the braided hairstyle Helaena's handmaiden had shown her to little success. She tended to wear her hair in the same practical style each day, not having much skill in this regard. But her newfound intimacy with the Princess had led her to a friendship with her maid, who had a particular skill for elaborate hairstyles. Realising she would be late to her morning duties should she restart, she tied off the braid and set off for Prince Aemond's chambers. In truth, she now preferred to arrive at the Prince's chambers early so she could greet him for the day before he headed off to the training yard and she wouldn't see him again until that evening.

They had come to form what Y/N supposed could be considered a friendship, if any such relationship could exist between a servant and a Prince. Though she could not help her natural timidity, which prevented her from ever feeling truly comfortable in his presence and often prone to stuttering over her words. Prince Aemond seemed more than willing to accommodate this facet of her personality. He always listened to her so attentively, never interrupting her when she stumbled over her words as others often did in frustration.

With the gentle encouragement of Prince Aemond and his sister the Princess Helaena, Y/N had slowly begun to come more and more out of her shell. She recalled only a few nights ago how the Prince had made her laugh so carelessly, completely forgetting her introverted tendencies. He had been kind enough to lend her books from his private collection as she became more comfortable with reading under Helaena's guidance, and he had explicitly told her to select any that should interest her. As she was dusting the upper shelves in his chambers one evening she'd reached for an ornate tome of red leather that she could now tell concerned dragons. Y/N had always been fascinated with the creatures, thinking them godlike and otherworldly and was eager to learn more about them now that this was possible. It took a few attempts of her reaching as far as she could on tiptoe for her fingertips to even graze the spine of the book, it being on the top shelf and Y/N eventually resorted to jumping for it to no avail. Giving up with a huff to blow the hair that had escaped from her braid out of her face, she startled to see a hand reach for the book she'd wanted.

It had amused Aemond no small amount to see his handmaiden's ill fated attempts to reach the book she wanted from his shelves but he'd quickly stepped towards her as she'd made a jump for it, not wishing her to do anything which might cause her injury. He felt a satisfying sense of pride at being able to be of assistance to her, extending his own arm for the red book which he easily reached with his tall stature. It gratified him to feel she might have need of him and that he could be someone she looked to. Handing it out to her, he smiled encouragingly as he saw what volume had taken her interest this time. "So it is dragons you wish to read of? Have they long held your interest Y/N?" Taking the book from him, Y/N's eyes lit with a spark of uncontained excitement Aemond had rarely seen in his handmaiden. "I have since I was a young girl, they are such magnificent creatures. So beautiful and yet so powerful."

Humming in agreement at her assessment, Aemond's smile only grew as he leaned his head closer to her. "Would you like to meet one? I should be glad to introduce you to mine own, Vhagar." Y/N's face paled slightly at his suggestion. "I think I would be terrified if I were to actually meet a dragon in the flesh, My Prince. But I thank you for your most generous offer." Aemond feigned a pensive look for a moment. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Y/N the fierce dragon rider has a certain ring to it? Does it not?" Aemond's heart swelled at the sweet sound of her laughter, the laughter he had provoked from his shy girl. And yet, he wished her to know that she would never have been in any danger had she taken him up on his offer, Vhagar would heed his commands and surely sense the importance this girl held for her rider. Looking at her earnestly as her laughter quietened, he spoke in a tone he hoped would convey the truth of his words. "You would always be safe with me, Y/N."

Y/N felt her heart flutter at the memory of Prince Aemond's words and as she passed along the halls of the Red Keep she briefly wondered what the Prince might think of her new hairstyle. She almost scoffed at herself for the ridiculousness of the thought, unsure of where it had even come from. As if the Prince should ever think of her hair, or indeed think of her at all when she was gone from his sight. Y/N looked down to ensure she did not trip in her haste as she neared the Prince's chambers. Just as she rounded the corner to his chambers she collided with a hard figure, letting out a yelp and closing her eyes tightly as she braced for a fall. Arms quickly wrapped around her to stop her momentum, one encircling her waist, the other wrapping around her shoulders. Y/N opened her eyes to find it was the Prince Aemond himself holding her and she smiled sheepishly up at him in embarrassment at the situation they found themselves in.

"I apologise My Prince, I was not looking where I was going." Quirking his lip up at her, Aemond pulled Y/N back up but maintained a gentle hold on her elbows to steady her. "I am only glad I was here to catch you little one." Y/N blushed at that and turned away from him slightly to hide it. A second later the Prince had let go of her entirely, taking a step back.

"I will see you later, Y/N."

Y/N tried to look anywhere but at Prince Aemond's eyes as she nodded.

"Yes, My Prince. I wish you a good day."

The Prince wasted no time in turning on his heels to stalk away from her and she could not help but feel that perhaps she had made him angry.

Aemond had waited in his chambers longer than was usual that morning, hoping to catch even a brief glimpse of his pretty handmaiden before he left to spend the day training with Ser Criston. He'd noticed she had begun to arrive earlier at his chambers and he felt hope surge in him that perhaps she sought him out, that she might enjoy their conversations as he did. When she did not show and he could tarry no longer he let out a growl of frustration and practically stormed from his room. Coming round a corner at such a great speed Aemond's eyes widened in alarm as he smacked straight into the very girl who consumed his thoughts. Quickly wrapping his arms around her so she would not fall, he frantically ran his eyes down her form to reassure himself he had not hurt her.

Aemond was momentarily stunned as Y/N opened her eyes and graced him with a sweet smile that had him tightening his hold on her, relishing the feeling of holding her in his arms. He scoffed inwardly at her apology, he had been only too happy to catch her, and had hoped to amuse her with his playful response. But as her cheeks reddened to a deep scarlet and she turned her face away from him, he relented. He pulled her to stand upright, though he could not help maintaining a light hold on her elbows in case she should stumble. Aemond did so love to see her blush, having convinced himself it must mean he had some power to affect her as she did him. But he did not wish to embarass her and cause her to put any more distance between them. He felt keenly that there was a wide enough chasm already.

The Prince tried to keep his tone even and remove any hint of the frustration he felt. He had begun to fear the worst, that Y/N would never feel truly comfortable with him, and if that were the case how could she ever learn to love him? Was he truly so displeasing to her, so terrifying? Anger coursed through his veins at the blow he had been dealt by the Seven in losing his eye, a disfigurement which he feared would also cost him the love of the woman before him, which he had come to covet above all else. Not wishing to show his already timid handmaiden his anger, he took his leave quickly.

Y/N gnawed on her bottom lip in her anxiety. She'd been stewing the entire day over her brief meeting with Prince Aemond that morning and inwardly cursing herself for her reaction to his simply helping her. It had clearly angered him, though she knew not why. She found herself wishing she were not so timid, that she could meet his gaze more easily, not stutter so much when she spoke to him. But the Seven had made her so and she could not see her natural disposition disappearing anytime soon. Nevertheless, she endeavoured to present a more welcoming figure when he returned to his chambers that evening and mend any infraction she had inadvertently caused.

As Prince Aemond reentered his chambers for the evening, Y/N turned to greet him with a warm smile lighting her face. "Good evening, My Prince. I trust you had a pleasant day." Y/N often greeted him as such, and the Prince would always readily respond with details of his training with the knight Ser Criston. She had hoped that falling into their normal routine would smooth over any irritation he might still feel towards her, but the smile fell from her face as he only continued to stand in the doorway staring at her. They passed a few moments in silence before Aemond spoke, so softly she had to strain to hear him. "You've changed your hair." That had been the last thing she'd expected him to say to her and she felt her heartbeat increase at the fact that he had noticed.

"The Princess Helaena had her maid show me some braiding techniques when I expressed an interest. She is kind to me."

"It is lovely." At Prince Aemond's words Y/N felt her cheeks burn and butterflies erupt in her stomach. But she forced herself not to shy away from his complement, lest she offend him as she had that morning.

"Thank you, My Prince. I am glad you should think so." Aemond's already handsome features lit up in a genuine smile, seemingly content at her accepting his compliment.

"You are always lovely."

Y/N's mouth parted slightly in surprise. Complimenting a change in hairstyle was one thing, calling her lovely another entirely. She could not understand his motivation for such a compliment, and felt immediately suspicious of it, despite the wild beating of her treacherous heart. She was just a servant girl, and could not possibly hope to have any claim to the heart of a Prince, so what did he mean by calling her lovely? Not knowing how to respond for the best,  Y/N bystepped his words altogether and cleared her throat awkwardly. "I had the wine you requested brought up, it is on the console, and the books you requested brought from the library are on your desk. Will there be anything else this evening, My Prince?"

Y/N watched with regret as the Prince visibly stiffened at her cold tone, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. "That will be all, Y/N."

"My Prince", with a deferential curtsy she strode past Prince Aemond. Y/N quickly grew ashamed of her suspicion in him and her subsequent rudeness as she saw him cast his head down and shift to let her pass.

"I cannot sway her heart to me, Sister. Everytime I believe I have made progress, it is quickly followed by another mistake on my part which only seems to push her farther away from me." Aemond had sought his sister's advice, following his disastrous attempt at complimenting Y/N. He feared he had only made her uncomfortable given her cold reaction. He felt pained at the possibility it was him she found so objectionable, as opposed to an ill advised compliment.

Helaena looked thoughtful as she considered her brother's words. "What have you attempted so far to win her affections, brother?"

Aemond reccounted everything he had tried to do to make Y/N more comfortable around him. He'd hoped to build a friendship with her at first as a conduit for expressing his true romantic affections for her at a time when she would be more amenable to this.

He watched as Helaena pondered for an agonisingly long time on the correct response. But as a woman he expected she would be able to find a solution more ably than he could. "I think you should find a way to spend more time with her. You say it is normally only in the mornings and the evenings that you are together for a very brief time. Perhaps with more time spent in your company she will grow accustomed to your attentions and develop her own affections for you in turn." Aemond thought Helaena's suggestion wise and one he should have considered earlier. All this time he had been so concerned with ensuring he did not overstep any lines with Y/N, so very aware of her shy disposition, that he had not tried to orchestrate any more interactions than those she was already used to. But perhaps he needed to try a more direct approach to win his handmaiden over to him. He quickly developed a plan Helaena would have rejected out of hand had he voiced it.

For the second time that day, Y/N was frantically preparing tea in the kitchens, nestled in the lower levels of the Red Keep. Careless in her haste, she accidentally tipped some of the hot water she'd been pouring onto her hand. Letting out a string of curses, she quickly applied some cold water until she could no longer feel the sting so keenly, then hurried to set the already cooling tea on a tray, aware of the distance between the kitchens and the royal chambers where she needed to be. Prince Aemond had started to ask for tea to be brought to him twice a day about a week ago, having never expressed any inclination for it before. It did create some challenges for Y/N in trying to ensure the Prince's tea was delivered to him hot, all the while having to cross such a great distance in the Keep to do so.

And yet he always asked her to sit with him as he drank his tea, asking her various questions about herself, her childhood, her likes and dislikes. His line of questioning was often quite strange to Y/N, asking her what colours she liked best, whether she preferred the colder or warmer months, what flowers were her favourite. She had not thought any of these things about her should interest a Targaryen Prince. But she could not find it in herself to be irritated with his regular requests for tea, as she had come to look forward to these moments with Aemond. She did not know when she'd begun to think of him so informally, as Aemond rather than the Prince. It seemed to occur naturally over time as their tentative friendship grew and she spent more time in his presence. If Y/N was being completely honest with herself she'd even begun to harbour somewhat romantic feelings for the Prince. Blushing every time he met her gaze or their fingers grazed as she handed him his tea, she was sure he'd find her ridiculous if he should ever find out.

Rushing into his chambers, aware she'd taken much longer to deal with her burn, she began setting the tea before Aemond, stiffening as she heard him speak behind her.

"What is this?" His eyes had fallen on her injured hand and he spoke tensly...dangerously. "Did someone hurt you?"

Y/N quickly moved to dispell this theory as she noted how his hand clenched and jaw tightened. "No, My Prince. It is only a small burn. I was not careful enough when handling the tea this afternoon in my haste to make sure it arrived still warm." At her answer a look of pain seemed to cross the Prince's face as he stood, gently taking her hand in his to assess her injury. She realised she did not like to see him so distressed over her. "It is only a little thing. It will heal."

Gazing down at her, his own good eye boring into her own, a penitent look fell over his features. "I do not much like tea. You do not need to bring it to me any longer. I would not have you hurt yourself again on my account."

Y/N was confused for a mere moment before anger took its place. She had thought it strange when he'd begun to ask for tea so regularly, having never expressed an inclination for it before. And here she'd been running about the Keep several times a day, trying and even burning herself in the attempt to fulfill his request when the kitchens were so far from his chambers on the upper levels of the Keep. Only to find he did not even enjoy the tea. Why would he do such a thing? She roughly ripped her hand from his hold, stepping back from him even as he began to follow her. "Were you laughing at me? Was it a mere jest to watch me run about the Keep all day for no reason?" She did not know where she'd found her courage, or perhaps the audacity to address the Prince in such a manner.

He looked positively alarmed now at the fierceness of her glare, having never inspired it before.

"No, of course not."

"Then why?"

"I only wished to spend more time with you"

The unexpectedness of his answer halted Y/N where she stood, allowing Aemond to close the distance between them until they stood nearly chest to chest.

"With me. But why?"

Aemond moved slowly as if she could bolt at any second, perhaps giving her the chance to pull away from him again if she wished. Recapturing her hand in his, he raised it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on the palm of her hand where the burn was. Pulling away, he held her hand against his heart and Y/N couldn't fail to take his meaning even though he didn't say the words directly. He must have an affection for her, perhaps not so strong as that which she held for him, but still there. In this knowledge, she supposed his actions though misguided could be considered sweet. She found herself at a loss for words, her mind swimming with the possibilities of what this could mean, and the inherent dangers of having feelings for a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms as a lowly servant girl.

In the moment she felt unable to decide whether she wanted Aemond to reciprocate her feelings or not, and whether she was comfortable with his advances. He'd seemed to sense her indecision as he gazed down at her face. Releasing her hand and lowering it back to her side, he stepped back from her until he was leaning against a side table. He was always so respectful of her, attentively watching for any signs of her discomfort and responding in kind. She was torn, wanting to reach for him again but knowing within her heart that nothing good could come of their feelings for one another. Better to repress them now rather than let them continue to grow and inevitably lead to dissapointment when he married a courtly Lady or Dornish Princess.

"Good night Y/N."

Y/N's eyes snapped up to meet Aemond's, expecting to find irritation or perhaps disspointment with her confused state. She was startled to find only steely determination in his eyes. "Good Night, My Prince." Willing herself not to turn around and look at him, in case she did something truly reckless, she headed straight for the servant's quarters.

Aemond felt more sure of himself than he ever had that he could win Y/N's love. He felt certain she already harboured an affection for him, she was only indecisive on whether to act on it, perhaps unsure of his intentions. This was understandable and he would seek to remedy it, for he had seen how her eyes had softened as he'd kissed her hand, how she had subconsciously curled her hand around his tunic once he'd placed it against his heart, as if to pull him closer to her. But watching her inner turmoil play out in her expressions and in her silence, he resolved to be patient, stepping back from her to allow her space to think. He loved her and was now convinced she at least held some feelings for him, in the end it did not matter how long it took to convince her of the fact.

@sapphiresandferrari

@pinkykats-place

@superintenseart

@callsigncrushx

@idonotknowenglish

@lportes-22

@misspinkonmars

[b00kdiary]

Alright, based on your ACOTAR unpopular opinion about tamlin...I will get on my knees and beg you to write a Tamlinx plus size reader fic where she helps him heal and he is just head over heels in love with her Pretty please with sugar on top 💚

Beauty & the Beast | Tamlin

ACOTAR Tamlin X Plus Sized Reader

When Y/N finds Tamlin dying in the forest, she has no choice but to save him. Even if everything in her wished this male dead. Like two storms colliding, they meet. A broken High Lord, a hopeless healer. It almost sounds like fate.

Warning: PART ONE Mature themes (18+), swearing, fluff, and eventual smut next chapter.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

"Wake up!" I hissed, "Wake up, you lumbering brute!"

The beast groaned, his lithe body writhing beneath my hands—hands that pressed desperately against the mortal wound at his side, trying to staunch the relentless flow of blood.

His golden fur was matted with red, the blood oozing from the gaping hole beneath his fifth rib. My palms were sticky with it, and the bitter, metallic scent filled the air. If I could smell it, I knew every predator and prey in the forest could too.

I shifted on my knees atop the muddied ground, my wide eyes canvassing the vast forest around me, scrutinizing every leaf and log and skitter of feet. I strained my ears, listening for any noises that would indicate that more of them were coming.

I glared down at the beast before me, that wolf's head lolling on the floor, his lion's body limp with pain, and those bear's claws coated with guts and gore.

"You're going to get us both killed," I cursed him, cursed myself, cursed the Mother and the Cauldron, and every other forgotten God out there for forcing this upon me.

I had found him passed out in this forest passage, a death rattle trembling from his lungs. If that hadn't been bad enough, my heart nearly stopped dead at the sight not fifteen feet ahead— Naga, five of them, ripped to utter ribbons and scattered across the dirt.

They had put up a furious fight if the scratches and claws and teeth marks covering him were any indication. Enough of a fight that one had managed to strike a deadly blow to the male before it died.

He had been dying when I found him, had lost so much blood for a second, I thought he was dead.

And now here I was— desperately trying to save him. Save the High Lord of Spring.

If he could even be considered that anymore.

I grit my teeth, steadying my breath as I let my power surge through me. White, incandescent light blazed from my hands, channeling directly into the wound. It stitched torn flesh, mended tendons, fused bones, and restored the ruined skin.

Only for a second though, before the injury tore open yet again and a fresh bout of blood began leaking through the gaps in my fingers. It was the same cycle I had been enduring for several long minutes now, and I began to fear his body would not take any more of this.

"For the love of the Mother," I pressed my palms down hard enough to hurt, hard enough for his muscled form to jolt. "You need to wake up, you need to change back to your Fae form!"

Panic rose in me like a tidal wave as his breathing grew shallower. This forest had become a death trap; these lands teemed with danger. If Naga roamed here, then so would bogeys, exiles, and Cauldron knows what other horrors.

Here, on this cursed ground, with this wounded, defenceless male, we were prey. We were as vulnerable as rabbits caught in a snare, awaiting death. And it was all because of him, the state he was in, the state of these lands, the monsters that had been tormenting the people and villages.

It was all because of him.

Anger blazed through me, bringing tears to my eyes. In a moment of desperation, I did something cruel, something that made my very soul weep. I plunged a finger into his wound, the flesh and blood squelching as I repeatedly stabbed into him.

On the third brutal stab, his fierce green eyes snapped open, shining like emeralds amidst the darkness.

The High Lord of the Spring Court roared.

The very land trembled with that roar, and I cringed as birds took flight from trees and the forest animals began dashing away — from the horrible power and anger that radiated off this beast.

He flipped, as fast as I could blink, snapping jaws and growling, nearly knocking me straight onto my ass as he did so. But as quick as that anger came, it was replaced by something far worse, far stronger.

The High Lord groaned, his mammoth form staggering back to the ground as pain overwhelmed him.

"What have you done?" He commanded, in a voice that was nothing Fae or human or safe. He tried to drag himself away from me, but somehow, I was the stronger one in this situation, keeping my hands staunching his wound. "What have you done to me?"

"Will you stop fucking moving?" I hissed, trying not to balk as those soulless green eyes latched onto me and he snarled. "I didn't do this to you, but I am the one saving your gods-damn life."

His claws extended at my words, latching onto the ground. He glared at me as if he wished that it had been my flesh instead.

"What are you doing— "

His voice was the epitome of raw, primal danger as his form moved, snatching back from my hands, from the white light that had begun leaking from it. I swore because as soon as my pressure disappeared, a steady tap of near-black blood began to ooze and puddle under him.

I gasped as he staggered onto his bloodied paws, so fathomably large that he eclipsed the forest, eclipsed the sun and sky above. The blood didn't stop leaking, yet that did little to deter the beast as he tried and failed to step away, swaying and groaning as he did so.

"Stop, you need to lay down," I fought the urge to grab him, cringing at the gore and blood painted across my hands, stuck under my fingernails. "You need to turn, I can't heal— "

"Do not touch me," Another monstrous snap of teeth and threatening snarl when I reached a hand to him. "Do not touch me, witch."

"Witch?" I laughed sardonically. "I am a healer you bastard, and I am trying to save your ungrateful ass."

He hunched forward, grimacing in pain, a pain I saw hollow out his green eyes. It took more effort than it should have for his powerful head to lift and those eyes to meet mine.

"Mind your tongue when you speak to me, witch," He warned, sharp, terse words undercut with laboured breath. "Do you know who I am? I demand respect as High Lord— "

"You demand nothing, you are nothing," I erupted, my voice rising with my temper as I pointed at him. My hands were bloodied, almost symbolic really. "Look at yourself, look around you. You are Lord of nothing, you are Lord of no one, and none but me is here to aid you."

He staggered another step, paws shaking from his weight. If he heard my words, if he felt the sting of them, I couldn't tell.

"You need to turn back to your Fae form if you want to live," I continued, my tone still unforgiving. "My magic is useless to you like this, I can't stop the bleeding until you turn."

"And if I do not?" He retorted, words beginning to slur together. Somehow, he didn't look so scary now—  he almost looked afraid. "Will your healer heart allow you to leave me here to die, Witch?"

"Turn," I said again, almost pleading now. Because the blood had begun to slow, and I knew that would not bode well for him. "Please, turn."

He blinked, long, dark lashes fluttering and that terrifying yet magnificent beast face stared at me, stared through me. I wondered if he was contemplating death if the darkness in his eyes was him resigning himself in defeat.

"If not for yourself," I said, my words strained. "Then for your people, for this court. Do not – do not abandon them wholly, Tamlin."

Tamlin. It was the first time I had uttered his name and as if the darkness had been pulled like a blanket from his eyes, I saw clarity shine within the green hues.

One second that foreboding, golden beast towered above me, and then the next, light flared, and I had to shield my eyes to endure it. It took me a moment to reorientate myself and when I had, my breath caught at the sight before me.

Tamlin knelt in the mud, with his head hung low, long blonde hair eclipsing his strong, beautiful face. Those broad shoulders hunched in, his body a canvas of muscle, carved and dipped and moulded to perfection.

He looked like a broken king. A bloodied monarch kicked down to the status of a mongrel.

His moon-pale skin seemed to shine under the dim Spring sun, his chest heaving with shallow breaths as he composed himself. The wound was worse in his Fae form, so much worse. I swallowed back the tinge of bile rising in my throat at the distinct sight of bone marrow and tendons peeking out the gaping hole.

"Cauldron, I need to heal that now— " I reached for him, and the infuriating bastard jerked back. I growled. "Do you want to die?"

His chest rose, faster now, his large, calloused hands curling into fists in the mud.

"Because believe me, your death would bear little impact on me, or anyone else." I continue harshly. "In fact, under different circumstances I'd probably be more incensed to watch you bleed out."

"Then let me bleed, Witch," He rumbled.

"If you die, we're all fucked." I spit, crawling angrily through the mud towards him, my dress streaked in dirt and filth beyond saving. "Because you have no heirs and no powerful contenders in your shitty court to supersede you. It's just you. And as useless as you are, at least the breath in your lungs is keeping this territory from completely collapsing."

His head lifted as I stopped before him, and my breath caught at the first real sight I got of his face.

Cauldron, he was beautiful.

Carved with an effortless kind of regality, his face was a canvas born of strong contours and noble lines that screamed power. High cheekbones, a straight, precise nose, and full yet firm lips, curled into a snarl that allowed the smallest glimpse of the sharp, white teeth beneath.

But it was his eyes that stole the air from my lungs.

Vividly green, deep and endless, like the heart of an ancient forest. And like a forest, they were still, fathomless, soulless. They stared through me.

He didn't argue with my condemning words. In truth, he didn't even seem to be affected by them.

But he unfurled his fists in the mud. And it spoke the words he wouldn't say.

Exhaling a deep breath, I shifted closer on my knees, closing the final gap of space between us. My small shaking hands reached towards that gaping bleeding hole, slowly, like one would approach a wounded animal.

Which Tamlin seemed to be. Wounded. Broken. Damaged beyond repair. The High Lord of Spring was a shell of the male he had been.

It was almost sad. Almost.

He sucked in a sharp breath as my palm connected with his torn, ruined flesh, squelching. I steepled my fingers over the open wound, his skin hot and electric against mine.

"This is going to hurt," I warned softly.

"Careful, or I'll think you care, Witch." He drawled, head bowed low again.

"Not likely," I muttered, and I thought I saw a hint of a sardonic smile.

I didn't dwell on it. I didn't view him as anything other than something I despised.

I clenched my teeth, forcing my breath to steady as I unleashed my power. White, incandescent light poured from my hands, sinking into the gaping wound. Flesh knit together, torn tendons wove back into place, shattered bones fused seamlessly, and raw, ruined skin smoothed as if untouched.

The air hummed with magic, the light pulsing in time with his shallow breaths—until, at last, the wound was nothing more than a ghost of pain left behind.

His chest expanded with a deep, powerful breath and with the exhale, the forestry around us quivered. It was raw power. And yet I had the distinct impression that it was a mere whisper of what he truly possessed in his arsenal.

It was the crumbs of what remained after months of stagnation and stifling.

He groaned, hunching forward, his fist meeting the ground to steady himself. Instinctively, I reached forward, small hands gripping his broad shoulders and using my strength to keep the brute from collapsing and eating dirt.

An electric hum of power burned through my palm where it met his skin, so potent it prickled through my bloodstream and straight to my heart, thumping it loud and hard, again and again.

Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum—

He tore his body from mine, a snarl rumbling in his chest. "Unhand me, Witch. I'm fine."

My eyes narrowed into slits, palms curling into fists and retreating to my sides. "Yeah, you seem fine. Perfectly normal to keel over in the dirt."

Emerald eyes shot to mine, narrowed and sharp with anger at my sardonic tone.

"And you're welcome by the way," I spat, tossing my braid over a shoulder and rising to my feet indignantly. "You know, for saving your life."

My dress was ruined, the simple blue cotton stained with mud and blood and Cauldron only knew what else. The fabric stuck wetly to my body, clinging uncomfortably to every swell and dip and roll I had.

His gaze flickered from my face down my body. His snarling expression didn't shift, but there was a distinct flare in his eyes. Like a male seeing something that he couldn't deny, even if he wanted to.

Heat bloomed my cheeks, and I roughly cleared my throat, straightening my spine. "Guess we're done here. Try not to die again, High Lord."

I bowed mockingly, enjoying the grumble of annoyance that revved through his chest. Before straightening, shooting the male one last scathing look and turning on my heel in the forest and walking away.

I cringed at the blood caking my hands, cringed more as I tiptoed over the mutilated bodies of the Naga scattered around. I'd need to find a stream, or some kind of well, if I walked into the next village looking like a mass murderer I'd be chased off with pitchforks.

Perhaps if I—

A pained grunt broke through my inner thoughts and my feet stopped before I commanded them to. I turned back around and then huffed. "Oh, for fuck sake."

The High Lord of Spring was passed out on the floor, face buried in the dirt.

I hesitated and then trudged back towards him, cursing the Mother for my misfortune.

***

When my senses finally returned, two things became clear.

One: Night had fallen, meaning I'd been unconscious for hours.

Two: The loud, foul-mouthed witch who had saved my life was still here.

With more effort than I cared to admit, I turned my head to the side, the movement sending a dull ache rippling through my skull. A rough, lumpy branch pressed against my neck, its bark biting into my skin.

Blinking away the black spots that danced at the edges of my vision, my gaze settled on the witch.

She crouched before a crackling fire, her small, plump hands outstretched toward the flames. Now and then, she plucked a broken branch from the pile beside her and tossed it into the fire, the wood hissing as it caught.

My eyes traced over those hands—clean now, the dried blood and filth scrubbed away. She must have found water. Where there had once been crusted gore, there was only smooth, unblemished skin, her nails polished and pristine, glinting faintly in the firelight.

I recalled how they'd glowed, incandescent and pure, when she'd pressed over my gaping wound and healed me. The heat had been both excruciating yet relieving, the feeling of that fatal hole closing inch by inch felt like a breath of fresh air after an eternity trapped underwater.

She was a healer, though in five hundred years, I'd never encountered a healer like her, or any female like her. Brazen, out-spoken, mouthy beyond what was smart or necessary.

If I didn't owe her a life debt, I'd likely have torn out that viper tongue of hers. Or plucked out those sharp, piercing eyes that glared and narrowed and rolled as if I were a pest she had stumbled across.

Cauldron, the witch had infuriated me enough that I'd almost forgotten I was dying.

My gaze unconsciously swept over her form. Another distracting thing I would begrudgingly admit to. Her body was pure sin. A temptation any hot-blooded male would be unable to deny.

I rake down the spoiled fabric of her dress, the blue cotton stained red from my blood, dried and flaking. It clung to her obscenely, highlighting the swells of her ample figure in a way that would make any God-fearing male send up blessings to the Cauldron and Mother above.

Much to my chagrin, I was staring. Even with a splitting migraine, and a soul-deep ache, I was staring.

"Finally awake, sleeping beauty?" That viper tongue of hers drawled, and my green eyes snapped up from her body to those unforgiving eyes.

My gaze narrowed.

Her eyes rolled in response, and she chucked another log onto the fire, the flames crackling and rising high. Against the backdrop of the dark, silent forest, the amber fire kissed her skin, highlighting the plump curves and the tart persona.

"You're welcome," She muttered drily. "You know, for saving your life. Again."

"I wasn't dying, Witch." My voice rumbled out like a thunderclap.

"No, you just passed out into the dirt, sweating, heartbeat near non-existent and then didn't awake for half a day," Another eye roll, "Sounds perfectly normal to me."

I tried to raise myself onto my elbows. Tried and failed. A growl rumbled in my throat.

"You came back." It wasn't a question. Just a statement. As flat and unfeeling as my soul felt.

"Seemed a waste for me to make such an effort to save your life, only for you to die from exposure," She shrugged. And I had the distinct impression this female truly did not care if I lived or died.

It should have offended me, perhaps hurt me, but instead, I found it begrudgingly admirable. She hated me and had no qualms being up front about it. That kind of honesty was rare.

I vaguely recalled her words earlier.

"Bastard."

"I am trying to save your ungrateful ass."

My lips almost tugged into a faint smile, a flicker of something akin to amusement blazing to life in my chest. It was an emotion I hadn't experienced in such a long time; I had difficulty even placing it.

My eyes sharpened upon her as she began to walk over to me. Instinctively, I curled my fists in the dirt, feeling the pinprick of my claws hidden just beneath the skin. If she felt my hostility, my aggression, she didn't acknowledge it.

My face was steel, immovable, as she knelt by my sprawled figure. Her face was a mirror, I quickly realised—steel, immovable, and cold—as if it was her instinct to resent being near me, too.

She reached for me, a damp scrap of cloth in her palm. I jerked back, and she glowered.

"Stop moving," She bit out, "or I'll pin your overgrown ass down."

Cauldron, she was a demon.

Ignoring my deathly glare, and the flash of sharp canine teeth, she merely placed the damp, cold cloth against my neck. With more tenderness than I'd expected, she began to carefully soothe my overheated skin.

My breath caught at the first touch of coldness, like ice meeting molten fire. But also cause of the brief touch of her skin against mine. Those soft small fingers grazing my throat and collarbones with each precise, gentle stroke of the cloth.

Her face betrayed nothing as she ran the cooling cloth over my skin, water droplets running down the carved muscles along my pectorals and abdomen. Though she clearly held contempt for me, this female soothed and cared for me with a touch that could only be described as God's-send.

It was the first moment of peace I'd felt in.... so long. Too long.

The forest around us eerily silent, except for the distant noises of lurking animals heard in snapping branches or rustling bristles. The moon above glowed— Dimly. Like everything in Spring, it was dim, depleted, as if the energy had been sucked dry from it.

Because of me.

Spring Court was weak, broken, vulnerable. Like me. A mirror image of the barren landscape that was my soul.

The Witch ran the cloth down my sternum, and the tingle rippled like dominos across my spine.

"For a Witch, who obviously disdains my mere existence," I said, more strained than I'd like. "You're helping me an awful lot."

Another drag of that cloth, down my stomach, my abdomen clenching. "Would you rather I let you die?"

"I think you would rather I die," I mutter.

Those eyes roll again. "I already told you; your death would do more bad than good."

"If you die, we're all fucked. Because you have no heirs and no powerful contenders in your shitty court to supersede you. It's just you. And as useless as you are, at least the breath in your lungs is keeping this territory from completely collapsing."

Right. I was the last thread holding this court together. Ironic considering I'd been the one responsible for its downfall to begin with.

"Have we met before, Witch?" I caught her small wrist in my large, calloused hand. Pressed my thumb against her pulse point and felt it race. The only sign that my presence affected that ice-cold exterior.

"No. we haven't." She said, her wrist in my hand still. "Though I doubt you would remember even if we had. Why bother, I'm only a lesser Fae. Common folk."

Her sharp words had my fingers tightening around her wrist, not painfully, but firmly. "So, you hate me without even knowing me?"

"I know enough."

My fingers tightened further. "You know nothing, Witch, I am—"

"I know that before, you ruled this land like one would rule an army: with an iron fist," She gritted out. "I know of the tithe you forced upon your people, even those who could barely feed their kids. The sanctions you placed as punishment when the common folk could not deliver to your heathen demands. The utter lack of mercy you had."

Her palm curled into a fist, her pulse pounding like a war drum under my thumb.

"I know that you are the reason that Spring had crumbled to the ashes," She continued on her unforgiving tirade. "Some blame Feyre Cursebreaker for the ruination of Spring. But me? I blame you."

Something cracked open in my chest at Feyre's name. The old wound leaking blood, so much, I swear I tasted iron on my tongue.

"Listen here, Witch," I snarled, tugging her by the wrist I still held, until her face hovered over mine. "Control your tongue, before I—"

"Before you what? What, you swine?" She breathed, fire in her eyes. "Because from where I stand, not only is your power little more than a spec, but your strength is even less. So do not threaten me."

My claws inched out my knuckles as I glared this viper down. She didn't so much as blink at it.

"It was your stupidity, your arrogance, your entitlement over Feyre that led you to allying with Hybern, led you to 'winning' her back," She continued, "And the ruin she inflicted upon spring, upon Ianthe, upon your sentinels, and army... it was all your doing."

"She betrayed me," I barked. "She betrayed us all."

"Feyre laid the traps," She scoffed, "But it was your selfishness, your pig-headed, easily led insecurity that made you fall straight into them. You betrayed her first, we all know it. So, stop lying to yourself and me."

"You don't know," I breathed, fist closing like a vice around her wrist, talons pressing to the delicate skin, not yet breaking through. I felt like a fire was burning through my heart. "You don't know, Witch."

"Perhaps not, perhaps that truth is one only you, Feyre and the Gods share," Her voice shook, those eyes glossed with anger and tears. "But after? What excuse do you have for abandoning this Court, Tamlin? What excuse is enough to explain what this land has become?"

The pain in her words felt as raw as her reaching into my chest and squeezing my stagnant heart. My eyes clenched, from weakness, from pain, from denial. I wasn't sure.

Her fingers gripped my chin hard, shook my face, forcing me to open my eyes again. "Look at me! Damn you, look at me!"

I did.

Tears welled in her eyes, her plump cheeks burning red and streaked with tears. But still her lip curled at the corner, a flash of white teeth.

"The sun barely shines; the moon hardly rises!" She continued, voice breaking. "The very earth itself is dying, because you have given up. You roam these lands, resigned in your beast form, and each day this court suffers more and more for it."

My talons pierce the delicate skin of her wrist, scarlet blood pooling from the pricks. But she doesn't flinch at it— I imagined her emotional pain overshadowed the physical.

"And the monsters that dwell here," A noise akin to a sob comes from her and I flinch. "Do you even know what is happening in the villages? What atrocities the common folk are enduring?"

A fresh bout of pain speared my chest. I was feeling again. Fuck, I forgot how much it hurt to feel.

"Monsters— Naga, Bogey, Puca— they roam these lands, uncontrolled," Her chest heaves as she says each word, "But it's our own people, the Fae of these lands, who terrorise us so greatly. Pillaging villages, murdering, raping, stealing, burning homes and business, taking children and wives!"

Breathing became a burden. As if the forest around us disappeared, and the pain that had throbbed in my body and mind and soul had been washed away, all I knew, all I felt, was this female. Her sorrow. So strong, I could taste her tears on my tongue.

My fingers loosened around her wrist, talons retreating into my skin.

"I watched my village burn as they came," She cried, "I saw homes and houses ruined, I saw men slaughtered and their heads spiked on lances and paraded. Women raped and violated before their families. Children beaten and chained. Barely a handful of us survived."

Something wet and hot began leaking down my cheeks, saltiness bursting across my tongue. I blinked back the fog over my eyes, wanting, needing, to see her anguished face above mine as she raged and sobbed.

Cauldron, I was crying.

When was the last time I'd cried?

"All these innocent people dead, violated, lives ruined. And do you know what they prayed for? Begged for?" She snarled at me, a gut-wrenching sob tearing from her mouth. "They prayed to the Cauldron for the High Lord to come save them. They prayed you would come, and you didn't!"

My body jerked, and I damn near almost begged her to stop. Please stop talking. Please stop making me feel this. Please stop.

"You didn't come," Her shoulders shook, head bowing forward as she whispered again and again. "You didn't save them."

Please stop.

Her face blurred in my vision, a cloud of endless tears falling. I didn't speak; I didn't make a sound. I had nothing to say— no excuse, no reason, nothing that could ever undo this. Nothing.

"Feyre betrayed you, but you betrayed us," She breathed. Her head lifted, and those agonised eyes locked onto mine. A look of condemnation from a thousand souls. "You betrayed us."

A gurgled noise bubbles at the base of my throat, the muscles clenched so tight I could barely get down a breath. My fingers tightened around her wrist almost desperately.

She watched me.

Waited.

My lips parted, mouth opening— speak, you fucking bastard, say something, say anything! Nothing came out, no words, no sounds, nothing.

She scoffed, tearing her wrist from my hold, severing the connection between us, and I felt it like the loss of a limb. I watch her hand swipe across her face, smearing snot and tears angrily.

I reached out my shaking hand as she rose and stalked away.

"Sleep, Tamlin," She said coldly, settling onto a log beside the fire, her back to me. "And pray the monsters don't come out to play tonight."

***

I don't know when I fell asleep. Or how.

Perhaps from exhaustion, or pain, or perhaps my bleeding heart drained any reserve I had left until my body had no choice but to sleep.

But when I awoke, I knew two things yet again.

One: It was morning, and the dying sun shone overhead.

Two: The Witch was gone. 

___________________________________________________________

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[aerynwrites]

Mistaken Identity

Halsin x fem!Reader

A/N: based on this request. this was such a cute idea! I hope you all enjoy! :3

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: none - just pure fluff

The forest is peaceful today, not that it isn't usually peaceful in your little part of the woods. But today feels…different somehow. 

It’s just like any other day you’ve had since you settled down in your cottage in the middle of nowhere, desperate to get away from the cities and towns and the bustle of people. You tended your garden earlier in the morning to avoid the worst of the day's heat, and now you’re checking your hunting traps, this trip already proving more fruitful than the ones in recent days. 

You’re working on checking your fourth and last trap, a large rabbit caught in your snare when you hear the faint shuffling of leaves, followed by the snapping of twigs. You stand upright, rabbit in your hand as you turn in a circle, eyes trying to find the source of the sound. 

You’re not an expert on the natural world just yet, but whatever is approaching sounds larger than you're ready to deal with. You quickly tuck the small animal into your pack, muttering a quick prayer for its soul before moving to go back the way you came. You’re just coming out of the small clearing when you come face to face with the largest cave bear you’ve ever seen. 

It’s massive. It’s head nearly level with your own as you both freeze in your tracks. Fear courses through you, making your heart pound as blood rushes in your ears. Any and all advice on what to do when encountering a bear has left your mind frustratingly blank, only allowing you to watch the creature in wide eyed terror as you opt to stay completely still. 

It doesn’t attack you immediately which you take as a good sign, but it does raise its head slightly, nose twitching as it sniffs and huffs at the air before lowering it’s head and taking a few steps towards you. You want to take a step back as it moves closer, but you find yourself rooted to the spot as the bear approaches you, nose sniffing curiously at the bag slung over your shoulder. 

Your hunting bag. 

“Oh…” you let out a shaky sigh, as you pull the bag off and set it on the ground slowly, revealing the contents of it to the bear. If this is what it’s after, maybe you can slip away as it eats your kills. 

“It’s rabbit…a few good juicy ones,” you say, finding yourself calming ever so slightly as you speak to the bear. 

He continues to sniff at the bag before letting out a disinterested huff, nosing it back towards you. 

Is he…letting you have it back?

Cautiously you reach down to pick up the bag once again, slinging it over your shoulder when the bear makes no sudden moves. 

“Thank you…” you trail off, feeling silly for thanking a bear who can’t understand you. 

Before you can question the odd situation you find yourself in, it gets even more odd. The bear approaches you again, but this time he presses his nose into the crook of your neck, his wet nose cold against your skin and causing you to shriek as you scramble away - both from surprise and fear. 

He doesn’t chase after you like you thought he would, instead the bear lets out a small huff and tilts his head to the side, as if considering you. You decide to take that moment to make your retreat, before he can consider you long enough to make you his lunch.

You back away from the creature slowly, planning to just keep going until you're out of sight. But before you can get very far the creature lets out another chuff and turns away from you to head deeper into the forest. You stop as you watch him disappear into the foliage, and can’t help the curiosity that courses through you. 

What an odd bear.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

If you’d thought that would be the only encounter with the unusually docile bear, you were wrong. It seemed like almost any time you left the immediate area around your small cottage you would stumble upon the bear. 

At first you were still hesitant. Still very aware that this is a wild animal very capable of killing you. But as days turned into week, and weeks turned into months…the large bear became a pleasant constant in your life. Pretty much your only friend out in this isolated part of the woods. 

You’re thick as thieves, the two of you. He’d always be near when you were preparing your kills, happily eating whatever you discarded. But you noticed he had a certain fondness for the fruits in your garden and the honey from your hives rather than the meat you prepared, so you’d started to grow a little extra just for him. 

You’ve started to notice he’s present in your days more often than not, lumbering beside you wherever you go and staying near if you stop. He also loves to be pet - something you find quite endearing. The day he practically rolled over when you scratched behind his ears was the day you hoped he’d never go far. 

And he’s a very good listener. Even if he’s not much of a conversationalist - you can’t seem to shake the odd feeling that he understands you. You don’t ever feel like you have much to say, but your occasional trips to nearby villages offer some conversation and it’s like your bear companion would huff or growl or chortle at all the right moments. He rumbles in agreement if you ask him questions or growls if he seems upset…

In fact…the longer you spend around the unusual creature the more… human he starts to seem. 

You shake your head at the thought as you weed your garden. You know it’s not possible, but the entire thing is just so out of the ordinary you suppose your mind can’t help but try to find explanations for it. 

You tug at a particularly tough weed, pulling hard enough that when it comes free from the ground you fall back onto your hands. 

“The weeds are particularly nasty this time of year.”

A surprised shout falls from your lips as you whip around to the source of the voice, stumbling quickly to your feet at the same moment. 

You’re not used to visitors this far from the nearby towns, and you're certainly not used to large handsome eleven men looking at you from the other side of your fenced in garden. 

The man holds his hands up placatingly, lips tilted up ever so slightly in a small smile. 

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to frighten you.” 

You can’t stop the scoff you let you, hand clutching at the fabric over your chest. 

“Well, you certainly have an odd way of showing it,” you chastise lightly, still wary of the stranger. 

He bows his head in apology, one hand coming up to rest over his heart. “My apologies again. I tried knocking on your door but no one answered…”

“So you came to snoop around in my backyard?” You ask, brows raised as your arms cross over your chest. 

The man lets out a small laugh, and you try to ignore the fluttering feeling it produces in your belly. 

“It would seem that way, yes,” he says, voice light. “But in truth I only wanted to introduce myself. My name is Halsin, I’m an archdruid in the grove just down the road from the abandoned village.” 

An image flashes in your mind, of a wooden door partially hidden by foliage. You passed it when you would travel to a town several hours away. You’d once tried to investigate the area only to be warned off by a few druids at the top of the wall. 

You’d made a point to stay away since then. 

You shift on your feet slightly, a sudden anxiety flaring up in your chest at the presence of someone like an archdruid seeking you out. Are you on their land somehow? Have they come to run you off after you’ve just started to build a life for yourself here?

Halsin must notice your shift in demeanor, as he holds his hands out towards you in a calm manner. 

“I did not come to disturb you,” he promises. “Only to open the gates of the grove to you. It has been many years since people other than ourselves have made this land home.” 

You finally take a few tentative steps forward. Hands falling to your sides. “I didn’t get a very warm welcome when I stumbled upon your… grove, the first time.” 

Halsin’s lips fall slightly at that. “Yes, some of the others are more wary of outsiders,” he admits. “But nature connects all living creatures. I only came to make the offer in an effort to ease your time here. The grove is much closer than the nearest town, and we most likely have what you need if you’d ever like to trade.” 

You’re stunned slightly by his offer. It takes you almost an entire day to get to the closet trading town. The grove he speaks of is much closer, less than an hour's walk from your home. You'd be a fool to turn down the offer. So, with a small nod of your head you accept. 

“That would be…wonderful,” you admit, noticing the smile returning to the Druid's lips. “Thank you.” 

“The pleasure is mine,” Halsin says, his eyes turning to the sky. “I must be going. If you wish to enter the grove just tell them I paid you a visit and offered you sanctuary, they will let you pass.” 

You nod once again, and Halsin turns wishing you farewell, your name falling sweetly from his lips. 

It’s only when he’s out of sight do you realize you never gave him your name.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

The next few weeks pass in a surprisingly blissful and giddy blur. 

You took Halsin up on his offer to visit the grove, and true to his word you were let in without much fuss, the arch druid himself waiting when you entered. He introduced you to one of the druids who was the main trading hub in the grove as well as the healer Nettie in case you ever needed anything in that regard. 

You had expected the tour to stop there as he left you to your devices, but he continued to show you the grove, his home and his favorite things about it. 

You visited often after that, always under the guise of visiting to trade or buy but secretly using the trips as an excuse to see Halsin. The man has grown on you, and more often than not, you find your thoughts drifting to him as butterflies erupt in your chest. 

With each encounter you think you find him returning your small flirtations. A teasing comment here, a hand on your back there. 

On your most recent trip to the grove, Halsin had shown you a secret little alcove tucked away from the more busy parts of the small colony. It overlooked the river and you could tell Halsin spent much time here by the small bedroll tucked neatly against a large rock and the small pouches of provisions. 

You’d both snacked on dried meat and fresh fruit as he told you stories from his youth, laughter ringing out in the small clearing at the more mischievous adventures he’d had. 

You’d just popped an apple slice drizzled in honey into your mouth when Halsin turned to look at you, eyes dipping down to your lips. 

You’d paused, chewing the bite quickly before swallowing. “What? Have I got something on my face?” You ask, brows furrowed. 

Halsin didn’t respond at first, and it was in that deafening silence that you realized just how close you two were sitting. At this angle, with Halsin looking down at you, your noses are mere inches from another and you can feel his breath ghosting gently over your cheek.

He slowly reached a hand up, resting it against your cheek as his thumb wiped gently at the corner of your mouth. Your lips parted slightly at the action, and Halsin leaned just that much closer, his lips just barely brushing yours when a distant call of his name snapped you both back to reality. 

You let out a frustrated sigh as you flop back onto the furry heap behind you, ignoring the annoyed huff your companion lets out. “He was going to kiss me!” You say, exasperated. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. If we hadn’t been interrupted…”

You sigh as you sit up and turn to look at the bear who has become one of your closest companions. He’s been more absent as of late, and at first you had thought it was because you’ve been at the grove more often and you just haven’t been around to see him. Something that made you feel bad at first. 

But even on the days you weren’t at the grove, your companion was nowhere to be found, even despite the bowls of fruit and honey you’d leave for him. 

Today is the first day you’d seen him in days, and it was just in time for him to listen to you rant about the elf you’ve fallen head over heels for. Though, he doesn’t seem to mind. You move so you’re able to wrap your arms around the big bear's neck, your face resting just behind his head as you lay against him. 

“I…I like him a lot,” you admit. 

You know the bear can’t understand you. You know it’s foolish to talk to an animal. But you can’t help but talk to someone about how you feel. You can’t exactly talk to Halsin about this considering he’s the subject of your thoughts. 

The bear seems to still beneath you as you continue, as if listening intently to your words. 

“He’s so kind,” you continue. “He allowed me into his home and shared so much with me despite not knowing who I was. And he’s funny too,” you let out a small laugh at that, heat rushing to your face. “And handsome…”

You sigh and shake your head. “I feel like some people might find him intimidating or rugged in a bad way if they just saw him and never talked to him but…I think he’s beautiful. His smile is so captivating, and anytime I look at him I want to reach up and trace his scars before finally, finally kissing him…”

You huff, pulling away from your furry friend only to find bright hazel eyes already on you. “Listen to me,” you chastise. “Talking to a bear about my silly crush.” You smile and reach up to ruffle the bear's ears gently. “At least you’re a good listener.”

You move to stand, the bear doing the same, his nose nuzzling at your hand as if begging you to stay. 

“I know, I know,” you say softly. “I haven’t been around as much. But I have to get ready. I…I invited Halsin over for dinner tonight,” you tell him, smiling when he gives a small groan of what you assume to be encouragement. “I promise tomorrow I will have the biggest bowl of fruit and honey you could ever eat. As a sorry gift.”

The bear huffs at this before sitting down and plopping back to the forest floor, resting his head on his paws. You smile and ruffle the fur on his head one last time before heading home. 

You have a druid to impress.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

The knock to your door comes just as you’re about to finish off the meal you’ve prepared. You roasted some fish you caught in the nearby river and paired with vegetables from your garden, and even a loaf of fresh bread you managed to scrounge up. 

You silently tamp down the anxiety building in your chest as you rush to the door, wiping your hands on your apron before opening it to greet the tall druid on the other side. 

Halsin smiles down at you from the threshold, eyes twinkling as he gazes at you. “Hard at work, I see.”

You furrow your brows at his greeting, and Halsin takes the moment of confusion to reach up and wipe a thumb gently across your cheek. It’s then that you register the flour on your cheeks, heat rushing to your face as you reach up to try and wipe away any excess when he drops his hand. 

“Oh that,” you laugh. “It’s probably from the bread. I just finished getting everything ready if you want to come in,” you say, stepping aside and gesturing for him to enter. 

He smiles warmly at you, accepting your invitation before closing the door behind him. He then reveals a wine bottle he’s had in his hand, offering it out to you. 

“A gift for a most gracious host,” he says in a way of explanation. “Though I must admit it is nothing as elaborate as you’d find in the cities…It’s still better than nothing.”

Your lips tilt upward at the kind gesture, and you reach out to take the bottle. “I’m sure it’s lovely, oh-” your eyes widen as you take in the pale color of the wine inside. “And it’s a white wine…That’s perfect for the meal, white always pairs wonderfully with fish.”

You let out a soft laugh as you turn the bottle in your hands before looking up at Halsin once more. “It’s like you read my mind.”

A flash of… something flickers in his eyes at your words, his lips twitching downwards ever so slightly. “Something of that nature, I suppose.”

You quickly shrug off your momentary observation, moving instead to take off your apron and wash your hands before serving dinner. You also take this moment to run a damp rag over your face when Halsin isn’t looking, clearing away any more unwanted blemishes. 

Once you’re through, Halsin helps you carry the various plates and bowls to the table, eyes widening slightly when they land on the flaky fish steaming on one of the large plates. 

You set a plate in front of him as he takes his seat, speaking before you can stop yourself. “I chose fish because I wasn’t sure if you ate… meat,” you scrunch your nose. “Although now that feels silly considering fish is a type of meat-”

Halsin cuts off your worried rambling by reaching out to place his hand over your own where it rests on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s wonderful,” he assures you, withdrawing his hand with an amused sparkle in his eye. “And I can assure you that meat is a part of our diet,” he teases. “Though I could see why one may think it would not be. Death is a part of life in nature, creatures passing in order to provide for another.”

You nod, relief washing over your anxiety. “Yes, of course. That makes more sense I suppose,” you say before gesturing to the food steaming before you. “Well, help yourself. We don’t want it to get cold.” 

Halsin smiles and obliges your invitation, but instead of serving himself he moves to serve you first. 

“Oh!” You say, instantly reaching out to stop him. “You don’t have to do that, you’re the guest you should eat first-“ 

“I insist,” Halsin interrupts, already moving to place a piece of fish onto your plate. “You took the time to cook and invite me into your home. The least I can do is serve you before myself.” 

After a moment of hesitation you acquiesce, smiling as you sit back in your chair while he finishes dishing out your meal to you and then himself. 

Once the food is plated, the night moves much quicker than you would have liked, conversation flowing easier than you ever anticipated. Talks of what’s been happening in the grove to what you’ve recently planted in your garden to everything in between.

Halsin tells you of his childhood and the adventures he’s been on and you tell him of your life growing up in the city to what led you here to your own little slice of wilderness. It’s only when your plates are empty, bellies are full and the mess cleaned up does Halsin suggest a walk.

You eagerly agree, following his lead out of your small home and into the forest now blanketed in faint orange light due to the setting sun. Halsin seems to have a specific place in mind, taking your hand in his own as he leads you through the woods. 

You can’t stop the smile as he laces his fingers with yours.

“So, do you have a specific place in mind?” you ask.

Halsin smiles. “I do, it’s a place of great importance to me, and one of my favorite places of solace in the forest.”

Your brows wing up in surprise as you look up at him. “What makes this place so important?” 

“I…” he trails off for a moment, “I met someone very special to me there.”

You nod, your curiosity piqued even more at this information. Who could he have met there? And why was he sharing it with you?

You don’t have time to voice your questions though, as Halsin’s steps start to slow just as you enter an all too familiar clearing off the bank of the river. It’s the very same clearing where you met your bear friend, and where you often come to sit with the large creature. You were here just this morning. 

Halsin must sense your familiarity with the space, because he gives your hand a small squeeze. “You know this place?”

You nod, lips tilting upwards fondly. “Yeah I…” you feel heat rush to your cheeks. “You’re going to think I'm crazy but…I’ve actually befriended a bear that I think lives in the woods. This is where we end up a lot of the time.”

“A bear, you say?” he asks, voice lacking the surprise you expected to hear. 

You turn to face Halsin, that feeling of familiarity that you had when you first met him tugging at your mind. “Halsin…why did you bring me here?”

The druid lets out a small sigh. “I will be honest that I had a plan in mind when I brought you here,” he begins, turning to face you as he takes both of your hands in his own.

“My life has been a long one, and I have taken many lovers. My heart does not stir lightly, especially as the years pass me by…” slowly, he reaches up to cup your cheek. “But it does now. I feel more for you than I have in centuries. But there is something I must tell you.” 

Your heart is pounding in your chest, blood rushing in your ears as Halsin speaks. He’s confessing to you, telling you the one thing you;ve yearned to hear for weeks now. Yet, you can’t help the anxiety that roils in your belly. What could he possibly have to tell you? 

“I…I feel the same way,” you tell him, swallowing thickly. “You can tell me anything.”

Halsin smiles, but you can’t help but notice the slightly guilty look on his face as he does so. “I only hope you feel the same after I reveal what I must. I’ve come to care for you, deeply - but even I know no relationship can be built on lies.”

Halsin pulls away from you then, and your anxiety skyrockets. But before you can question him, a burst of light blinds you, leaves and grass exploding in the space where Halsin was and leaving behind a -

Bear?

It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but when they do, your heart leaps into your throat. Halsin just turned into a bear - something you knew was possible among druids but…

He didn’t just turn into a bear. He turned into your bear. The bear you’ve spent months feeding and befriending. The bear you’ve spent nights talking to about anything and everything. 

Including Halsin. 

You’ve been talking to Halsin about Halsin. About your feeling for him, about that day he almost kissed you before getting interrupted. 

“Oh my gods… ” You gasp, one hand coming up to cover your mouth. “You - You’re the bear. The bear I've been - that means…” you let out an embarrassed groan, covering your eyes as you hope for the earth to open up and swallow you whole. 

“You heard me this morning! ”

You hear another burst of magic, and then two warm calloused hands are wrapping around your wrists, pulling your hands from your burning face as you look up at Halsin in his human form once more. 

“It was not my intention to deceive you,” he says softly, eyes full of regret. “When I first stumbled upon you that day all those months ago it was my intention to avoid this area of the forest after that, but…” he sighs. “Something about you called to me. Your kindness, your lack of fear around the bear of whom so many are afraid. It is…rare for me to be able to be my full self around others. Most people want the man and tremble at the bear, but it is just as a part of me as this is.”

He sighs again, eyes falling away from yours as he takes a step back from you, dropping your hands. “I…understand if this turns you away. It was a deception, despite my intentions never being malicious.”

You watch him silently for a moment, letting the information sink in. despite what most people may feel, you find yourself lacking any of the anger you expected. Instead all that comes out of you is a laugh, a laugh that turns into a long string of bubbling laughter. 

Halsin seems surprised by your reaction, and when you finally manage to compose yourself you step forward and take his hands in yours again, lips split into a smile. 

“So, that means you heard what I said this morning? About the day you almost kissed me?” you ask, voice soft.

At the reminder of your earlier conversation, Halsin smiles again, cheeks tinged with a barely there blush. “I do.”

“Will you kiss me now?” you ask boldly.

Halsin chuckles, eyes sparkling with delight. “It would be my pleasure.”

Then his lips are on yours. 

It’s just as you imagined it, his lips soft and gentle against your own despite his size. His hands move to rest against your hips, squeezing as he moves to deepen the kiss. You feel his tongue run along the seam of your lips, and you eagerly let him in, unable to stop a whimper as he enters your mouth. 

He tastes like the tart wine you had with dinner and something you can only identify as him. It's heady and soft all at the same time, and you find yourself craving more of it, more of him. 

Your arms slide up to wrap around his neck, pulling his body closer to yours just as he pulls away from your lips. His chest heaves, his breaths puffing against your cheek as he looks down at you. 

“You truly are beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush a kiss against your cheek. “Inside and out. Silvanus has blessed me, this day.”

You smile. “And hopefully for more days to come.”

Pressing a quick kiss to your lips, Halsin wraps his arms around your waist. “I would have you for as many days as you’d allow. Man or bear.”

You giggle at that. “Why not both?”

A deep laugh escapes the man before you and he spins you happily in the air before taking you both gently to the forest floor, the grass blessedly cool through your clothes as he comes to hover over you. 

“You shall have me however you desire, my heart,” he says, before leaning down to kiss you once more.

You happily reciprocate, hands reaching up to thread through his hair. And as you lay amongst the grass beneath the setting sun…you couldn’t be happier you’d met a bear.

[arbitrarykiwi]

Pill Poppin!

Thanos/Choi Su-bong (Player 230) x Fem producer!reader smut one-shot

Summary: you’re a self made producer, making tracks for many underground rappers, but one client always gets under your skin. Choi Su-bong. He’s forgot to pay you on more than one occasion, shows up to your studio like he owns the place and is so cocky it’s annoying. When he shows up to your studio at 2am randomly, he comes bearing gifts- one of them being the little pill you’ve been dying to try.

Warnings: smut (18+), drug usage, weed and alcohol mention, pill swapping, reader is described to have used various drugs before, you take a lil aphrodisiac pill with him <3, sex under the influence, spit- lots of spit, oral (f receiving), pet names (slut n bitch is used a couple times), dirty talk, squirting, creampie, i feel like Thanos in himself is a mf warning, there prolly more- read at your own risk.

You huff, clicking the same three buttons yet again, removing a small snippet of some drums and clipping it back- trying to get it right.

You tucked your knees up onto the chair you sat on, reaching out to grip the desk- pulling yourself forward on the wheeled chair, tucking yourself comfortably in front of the mouse and keyboard.

Recently, you found yourself working late nights in the small music studio you rented. For some reason the summer months had people lined up at your door with cash in hand offers for your beats. So there you found yourself, blanket over your shoulders, knees tucked up to your chest as you work on the same .5 seconds of the track over and over- trying to get it right.

Your eyes are tired, your ears ringing with the same loop of drums, snares, and mouse clicks. The routine ensemble of sounds is interrupted by three loud and harsh knocks at the door to your studio.

It causes you to jump, launching off your headphones and whipping around in your chair to glare at the door. Maybe you misheard it?

Three more loud knocks, the force shaking the door. You look over to the large digital clock, 1:45am. You weren’t expecting anyone.

You get up out of your chair in a slow creeping motion, the fluffy blanket dropping off your shoulder and piling into the black chair you just got out of. You make your way over to the door- your slippers shuffling against the carpet.

When you make it to the door you look back to your workstation- open alcohol cans and a tray full of weed. Great- you think. Could be the fucking cops you’re opening the door to and you have nearly an ounce scattered around the place.

You unlock the door, unchain the deadbolt and crack it open, peering around the door with an annoyed scowl. Your body is tense as you see who’s at your door. The light from your music studio floods the street from behind you in a thin line. You can’t make out exactly who’s there, but you see it’s definitely not a cop- no weapon belt or badges and you sigh, much more relaxed, shoulders dropping.

You open the door more- your face still in the scowl. “You knock like the fuckin’ cops. Now what do you-“

You’re cut off as the light floods out into the street, revealing who exactly is at your studio this hour. “Su-bong?!” You say both annoyed and surprised.

“I’ve been telling you~ it’s Thanos, baby.” He says pushing past you and into your studio. You scoff, opening your mouth to object but you don’t, instead closing the studio door behind him and locking it back with a sigh.

“Okayyyy,” you draw out, the word accompanied by a roll of your eyes, “Thanos.” You correct with a scoff. You scowl when he makes himself comfortable on the couch in your studio, like he owns the place.

“What are you doing here. It’s late and I already gave you your track…” your tired eyes widen as you dart to the computer “…didn’t I?!” You say frantically, sitting back in your chair and pulling it to the desk, beginning to rapidly open your email to see if you actually sent it to him- that had to be why he showed up so randomly.

You hear him laugh, “Señorita,” he called out with a cocky tone, you can hear the stupid smirk on his face even with your back turned to him, “you sent me by beat, it was perfect. I can’t just come by to see my favorite producer?” He says leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

You groan, annoyed that he made you so worried, you grip a small plush bear that sat at your desk, turning around and throwing it at him, “You fucking asshole!” You yell. He simply catches the bear midair and laughs. Then you spin the chair you sit in to look at him, and eyebrow raised in an accusatory look. “So you came by…at…” you turn to the clock behind you, “2 in the morning just to see me?” You ask.

He shrugs, “Yeah exactly that. Wanted to see your pretty face.” He says, tilting his head with his smirk widening, almost akin to the cheshire cat. You cross your arms and glare at him.

You knew he either came around when it was time to pay or cause trouble. He was no stranger to paying you late for the tracks you send him, or showing up to your studio high out of his mind in the middle of the night to beg you to record an incoherent track, or to crashing on your couch in the studio when he gets evicted for a week before he gets a new place, or to even beg you for free work.

For years he has caused you nothing but trouble but you still worked with him, you still let him crash on the couch, and you still let him have new beats despite having not paid for the last one you made him. You were attracted to him in some weird way but it pissed you off so much. You realize now, at 2 in the morning as he lays sprawled out on your couch, legs up and laid back like he owns the place, you snap.

“I don’t care what you’re here- it’s 2am, You barge in here, acting like you own the place. I really am fucking doing any free work for you, I’m fucking sick of you coming around here late at night and pulling dumb dumbass stunt.” You scold your anger beginning to rise. “And you know what else-“

You’re immediately cut off by him bolting up off of the couch, bounding over to you in a single step. His hands slam against the armrests of the chair you’re sitting in, caging you in. His face is inches from yours. You can’t even see his irises, his pupils are blown out beyond belief- he’s beyond fucked up. The quickness of him changing from annoying but somewhat charming to terrifying is… well terrifying.

His teeth are clenched, his breath is heavy and it comes out in heaving puffs as he glares at you. “You just don’t know when to shut your fuckin mouth.” He seethes, emphasizing his words by slamming his hands on the armrests of the chair, the sheer force causing the chair to shake. “Rude bitch.” He spits out.

Your initial fear is taken over by rage, you sit up taller in your chair, your gaze narrowing, “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” He says, his voice raising. One of his hands picks up from the armrest and grips your chin. The grip is rough, painful, you’re sure it will leave bruises if he didn’t let go soon.

You swallow thickly, trying to pull back from his grip but it’s impossible. “You’re going to fix your attitude and shut the fuck up for one second.” He growls, pushing your face back and releasing his grip. You know better than to move or speak.

You look up at him with wide eyes as he pulls back, standing up straight. “I came here for multiple reasons.” He growls, his voice still raised and seething. “For one, I brought all the money I ever owed you and then some.” He says, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out a massive wad of cash and throwing it onto the desk next to you.

“Second, I came to show you that the last track you made, the song and music video I put out hit over 3 million views allowed me to get a hook up for you with the big DJ that you always ramble on and on about. He wants to work with you.” He says pacing around the room, your mouth just drops open, you can hardly process what’s going on.

He pauses his pacing, returning back to you, arms on the armrests of the chair- caging you in again, but this time it isn’t as violent. “And lastly, I remembered you whining that you didn’t get to try that new shit that just dropped yet so I brought you some. I came to do it with you so you’d have a fucking trip sitter.” He seethes.

You genuinely think you’re already tripping and you know you’ve only smoked maybe one blunt in the last hour but you could not believe what you were hearing. He’s brought you what looks like seven times what he owed you- something in all the years of knowing him you’d never thought he would have done.

He somehow got your beat to not only go viral but the vitality got your favorite DJ to converse with him. You couldn’t even fathom that he remembered your various rambles about how much you liked this specific DJ- but somehow he remembered and set up a collab for you?!?

And lastly, he remembered a passing comment you made about wanting to try the new colorful pills that had hit your shared circle of people, not only bringing it to you for free- but offering to stay with you while you tried it for the first time.

He smirks, scoffing when he realizes you’re at a loss for words. “You just keep running your mouth and don’t let me fucking talk. So what is it? Huh??” He asks his hands coming up to either side of your face to cup your jaw and force your neck to crane upwards. “You gonna keep bitching, or are you gonna be nice?” He says, shaking your head back and forth like you were just a dog or something.

You swallow, wanting to hit him or yell at him to get out but the way he looks at you, the crazy stunt he just pulls and his proximity- you simply bite your lip then nod. “I’ll…” your voice comes out hoarse, cracking as you speak. You don’t even get to try again before he’s laughing. “Where’s that bratty attitude of your’s now? Can’t fuckin’ speak now, huh?” He speaks in an amused growl. His hand taps on your cheek in quick succession, “C’mon now, speak up.” He says in a mocking, sing-song voice.

You clear your throat before speaking, “I’ll be nice…” you say softly, “Thank you..” you add. You don’t even have to be asked- you mean it. All these years of wishing. hoping that somehow he’d show some signs of actually caring about you- he finally did it, in his own weird way. He came here late at night to give you gifts you don’t think even your best friends could think of.

He seems to relax some, letting out an annoyed sigh but collecting himself. He already hated that you made him feel all weird- like how he feels he has a heart condition with the way he swears it skips a beat when he hears you laugh or now- when you were just standing up to him, oh so defiantly, and so quickly turning into a deer in headlights, wide eyes looking at him trying to wrap you mind around what’s going on.

It’s cute.

You’re cute.

He lets out a low noise, one that reverberates off his chest and resonates deeply in his throat. He keeps his hand on your jaw, his eyes tracing over your face- pupils blown out- he’s already high. His hand that’s not keeping your face in place comes up to his neck, gripping at the silver chain and pulling it up, hand running down the length of the chain to grip at the large cross locket at the end.

“Now do you want the shit or not?” He hisses, dangling the cross locket in front of your face like a toy. And when you nod, staring at him with a frenzied, wide eyed stare- the grin that spreads across his face is wicked. “Good girl…” he hums, dropping the locker and taking a step closer to you.

He’s standing between your legs as you sit stunned, so close to you that you can smell his cologne and the undertone of the last blunt he smoked- it’s oddly intoxicating. His hand still on your chin forces you to look up at him, almost painfully so, pulling you so your chin is practically touching his stomach.

The best part about this, he thinks- you just let him.

You just let him manipulate you, looking up at him like he was your king who was bestowing you with a royal gift. Your lips are slightly parted, he can feel your heavy breaths against his stomach, and fuck, if it isn’t one of the best ways he’s seen you.

“You’re always so bitchy ya know that?” He chides with a smirk. He stares at you some more, just taking you all in, his thumb moves to run along your bottom lip. “’m not!” You call out at his insult, his eyebrow quirks up as he hears you try to talk back to him. It’s funny how you think it will do anything, given the position you’re in- the position you so compliantly let him move you into.

“Mhm sure…” he lets out in a long drawn out hum, his grasp suddenly becomes harsher, making you let out a whine at pressure, “then what was that dumb fuckin’ stunt you just pulled? Hm?” He says, leaning down, his face inches from yours, teeth clenched and words coming out in terse angered syllables.

“Yelling at me like that…” he says, his grip loosening and his words becoming almost a playful scolding. “S’like no one ever taught you manners.” He says with a pout, his voice soft- almost pitiful. “S’okay…Thanos‘ll teach you…” he says, both his hands coming up to old your face, squishing in your cheeks and shaking your head.

It’s a little unsettling how rapid his emotions seem to change- it should terrify you but you’re not normal…no, the way it puts you on edge and unnerves you only makes a warmth grow in your lower stomach and your thighs press together desperately.

He notices your thighs, pressed together and rubbing against each other- trying to get some sort of relief for the heat that envelops your cunt. It’s a quick movement that has you keeling over in your chair, his hands drop from your face and push your knees apart. “And here you are…” he growls, bringing his face so its level with yours. “…rubbing your thighs together like some bitch in heat when I’m trying to talk to you.” You can’t help the moan that slips out your lips, the absence of the pressure your thighs were creating brings the ache in your cunt to tenfold.

The movement forces you to realize how much he’s effecting you. It brings up years of pent up sexual tension that has your chest heaving and your panties beginning to feel damp. “I-“ you choke on your words, embarrassed at how easily he caught on to you trying to ease the ache in your pussy by squeezing your thighs, “it’s not what you think.”

When the words fall out of your mouth, you know it’s dumb. It’s stupid. Lying through your teeth when you know there’s nothing it’s it could be.

“Oh really?” He says laughing, his hands forcing your legs apart even as they try to fight his grip to try and close. His eyes move from your face to your clothed cunt- shielded by your sweatpants and underwear. “So if I checked right now, your pretty pussy wouldn’t be soakin’ your panties?” He says, moving his face down from being level with yours to being level with the crotch of your pants, laughing at your desperate attempt to hide how needy you really were. You shake your head no.

He laughs. He knows you’re lying….there’s a darkened spot on your sweatpants- there’s no way of hiding it yet you’re still set on lying to keep some sense of pride. How adorable. Despite the two layers of clothes, you can feel his breath and it has you draw in a shuddering breath. “Like I said…someone oughta teach you some manners…don’t you know lyin’s bad sweet girl?” He hums, eyes looking up at you from his spot between your legs.

“So I’ll give you a chance…since it seems you haven’t been fucked good enough…haven’t been set straight.” He rambles on, breath fanning over your covered cunt. You can hardly hear what he’s saying, you can only focus on how good the purple haired male looks between your thighs. “So let’s try again…” he says, placing a kiss directly over your clit that’s hidden by your sweatpants. You jump at the contact, body twitching and hips chasing his mouth. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth as your heavy breaths turn into soft whines. “If I checked…and think about this real hard princess..” he says, with a wicked grin, “If I checked, your cunt would be soakin your panties, huh?”

You nod, “Mhm…” you hum through your bit lip. He grins and rewards you with another kiss to your clothed pussy. “Seeee~” he says in a sing song voice “S’not so hard is it?” He’s pulling back, standing back up straight to hover over you.

“Now…you said you want some of this shit?” He says, gripping at the cross locket that you know holds the drug you’ve been desperately wanting to try. “Y-yes…” you respond, he looks at you with a warning glare. “Y-yes please.” You correct yourself.

He nods, hand reaching out to hold your chin, “atta girl, you’re learning.” He hums, thumb rubbing over your bottom lip. “Open up f’me.” He says, and you obey, your mouth opening. He lets out a soft laugh, the hand that was cradling your jaw in its iron grip moves to the back of your head. His fingers entangle themselves in your hair to keep your head right where he wants it. “There you go….” he praises, “Now you’re listening, not so hard is it?” He says with a shit eating grin. His eyes scan you, “Fuck you look good like this…” he says, mumbling through gritted teeth.

He keeps you held there, mouth agape as he moves to grip the cross locket again. With a shaky hand, he opens the locket and dumps two of the colored pills out. You watch on as he closes it, fumbling with it a bit to get it closed back with one hand.

When he drops the chain and locket back down, it falling back on his chest, he pops the two pills in his mouth. “Tongue out.” he commands, his words muffled by the pills he has tucked in his cheek.

You suck in a breath, trying to tell yourself to have some shame- to tell him off and kick him out. But as you intend to move your mouth to yell at him- no words come out- instead you obey. Tongue lolling out of your mouth.

He seems to catch on to the way your mind fights itself- he can see it in the way your eyes dart around, trying to look anywhere but him, to talk yourself out of this. But your eyes return back to him, looking up at him oh so expectantly, and giving in once again- waiting patiently for whatever he has to offer.

He tilts your head back the slightest bit, sucking his teeth. You’re confused at what was going on until a trail of his saliva drops down from his pursed lips. It hit your tongue in a warm wetness, one that you had you letting out a breathy whine, eyes rolling into the back of your head when you taste him. Your tongue sinks back into your mouth, lips closing.

Only when you close your mouth, his spit mixing with yours, do you realize he’s spit one of the pills he had tucked into his cheek, into your mouth. You chew the pill, knowing it will make the effect of the drugs hit you faster.

He hisses, your little sound doing numbers on him. He reaches down with the hand that’s not in your hair to palm his erection. As you watch on, tongue licking your lips and pupils beginning to dilate, he continues- only gripping at his clothed cock harder under your gaze.

The way you can’t figure out what to look at, his face or where his hand fists the tent in his pants has him snapping. He surges forward, and bends down attaching his lips to yours in a frenzied manner.

You whine into his mouth, arms coming up to lace around his neck and pull at the purple baby hairs at the base of his neck. It’s a messy, sloppy clash of lips and teeth.

You’re quick to haul yourself into a standing position, pressing your body against him, fingers pulling at his hair and keeping him bent down. His hands are over you in a feverish haze, trailing under your shirt to grip at your waist. The warmth of his hands makes a jolt run up your spine forcing you to arch into his touch.

His teeth bite down on your bottom lip, pulling at it as he parts to begin yanking your shirt over your head. You step back, pulling it above your head by yourself- you suddenly feel so so hot, like your insides are on fire. When you look back up to him he smirks, grabbing the sides of your head to pull you close to him.

His palms cover your ears, painted nails tangled under your hair as he stares directly into your eyes, when he finds what he’s looking for his grin widens, “You’re starting to feel it, huh? Works quick doesn’t it?” He mumbles in a low voice, he was looking at your eyes.

Your pupils, although you couldn’t see them, were blown out, a sight that only made him want to devour you more. It was like you were a little fawn, looking at him like he was a wild wolf about to strike. You bite your lip, letting out a ‘mhm’ as you nod.

He laughs at your state, his hands moving down the sides of your neck over to your arms- running the tips of his fingers down your skin. He continues, looking down on you as his colorful nails trace along the swell of your tits, running over the top of your bra before ghosting his thumbs over your nipples hidden behind the lace fabric of your bra.

It was insane how pleasurable it felt. Just a simple touch has you keening over, falling into his chest with heaving breaths. It felt like his fingers electrocuted you in waves that only helped to force syrupy drips of arousal out of your cunt and into your panties.

“Heh…yeah it’s working.” He mocks his hand cradling your back, running up your spine until he reaches the back of your bra, doing it with an expertise that should make you uneasy- he’s had to do that many times before- but you just pull away and try to hurriedly shove the straps off your shoulders and pulling the fabric off.

He wants to mock you, degrade you for being so easy, so shameless- but when he finally sees the tits he’s been dreaming about for years, his mouth is watering. He’s back on you like lightning. Hands reaching up to massage the flesh in his palms. “Fuck…I knew you’d have a perfect set of tits on you…fuckin picturesque.” He rumbles, eyes transfixed on how the flesh of your breasts spills out between the spaces of his fingers when he squeezes harder.

“F-feels s-so fucking good..” you whine out it’s raised at the end, like you’re questioning how you can be this worked up with him fondling your tits. He bits his lip and nods, “Awh I know sweetheart…” He coos, a pout forming on his face that you know isn’t sincere. “…see the thing about this drug here that you were so eager to take…without asking what the trip is like I may add…”

He says, like you’re some dumb girl new to the drug scene- you weren’t. Far from it. But he did have a point. You just heard about how good the trip was, not what made it so good.

One of his hands drops from your breast to wrap his arm around your waist caging you into him. The hand that was still attached to your breast moves to pinch your nipple, pulling at it, “…it’s main highlight isn’t the visuals like the shit you’re used to doing…” He begins to talk again, smiling at how you twitch against him, “’s the feeling of euphoria it gives you when you’re getting fucked stupid. Makes every touch so so so…” he repeats, every ‘so’ he’s pulling harder at your nipple, “so much better..” he finishes finally releasing your nipple, eyes trained on the way your breast falls back against your chest with a lewd jiggle.

You can only pant against him, hands gripping at his shirt and nodding helplessly. You want his clothes off. You want to feel him against you. You whine, pulling your head off his chest to stare up at him, tugging at his shirt like some needy puppy.

“Manners slut. C’mon. Haven’t even touched you properly and you’re already too fucked out to speak?! Tell me what you want..” He scolds in a degrading, it’s so mean and debauched, like he’s looking down on you for not being able to contain yourself and the feelings that this new drug gives you. But fuck, it just makes your cunt throb.

“P-please, wanna feel you. ‘S not fair, I don’t have a shirt on.” You say, defiantly, hands pulling at the hem of his shirt. He scoffs, as cock-drunk as you seem and as fucked out as the drugs make you- you’re still your firey self, always talking back.

“When have you ever seen me play fair.” He says with a laugh, quirking up an eyebrow- he was right up until the cash he brought you tonight he would play you out new beats despite the many he had yet to pay you for. His hands reach down and capture your hands, both wrists engulfed by his tattooed hand. “I’ll humor you this one time since you’re so desperate…” he says with a chuckle, releasing your hands and pulling his shirt over his head.

He was toned, well built, a brick of a man really. His baggy jeans hung low on his hips, the waistband of his boxers visible. A truly delicious sight. You stand there, stunned and mouth agape, eyes trailing to the defined ‘V’ of his hips. At the visual in front of you your body seems to become even hotter than before- your face flushing pink, your thighs rubbing together and your pussy practically weeping.

He pulls you back into him, your tits pressed against his bare chest, mewling at the warm sensation that envelopes your nipples. You two meet in a mess of tongue and lips again, his tongue immediately entering into your mouth, spinning around yours in a sloppy dance. One of his hands slips between the two of you, maneuvering under your sweatpants and panties, immediately petting at your sopping pussy.

At his touch you both moan into each other’s mouth’s. You nearly sob out when his finger parts your folds, collecting your thick wetness on his fingers- brushing over your clit. He can help but growl into the kiss feeling just how wet you are, it makes something primal in him snap.

He’s spinning you around and pushing you onto the couch he was on when he first arrived. It has you crying out in surprise as you land on the leather. He’s wasting no time, gripping at the waistband of your pants and panties, pulling them down and off your legs.

You feel so bare and vulnerable in front of him. Shirt and bra long gone, legs spread and pussy on display for him as he looms over you still in his jeans. He’s dropping to his knees, hands gripping at your ankles to force your heels up onto the couch. It surges you forward, allowing him to place his large hands on the backs of your thighs and push them back.

He observes your cunt with a wicked devilish gaze. You’re already red and puffy, so worked up and he had only barely started. Your arousal is a mess between the back of your thighs, dripping down your ass. He thinks he’s in heaven.

“Such a fuckin’ slut…” he muses, hands sliding down your thighs, thumbs moving to spread you nice n’ wide for him. “Already so sloppy just from a little pill and groping.” He says, his voice degrading as he emphasizes his words by rubbing his thumbs up the sides of your pussy, meeting at your clit before circling back down to spread you open.

Even this is almost too much, your face is flushed, hand over your mouth as you try to keep yourself for sobbing out in pleasure at such little stimulation, and thighs already threatening to close, twitching back against his hands. “Oh no, sweetheart…” he says, sitting up a little, hovering over you as he forces your legs open and back, your knees touching the back of the couch where your back rests, “None of that. You wanted to act all big n bad and take that pill, you wanted to tease me and work me up by yelling at me, so you’re gonna take whatever I fuckin’ give you….”

You’re about to retort, tell him you yelled at him because he pissed you off but you’re cut off by his tongue flattening against your pussy, licking a long slow stripe up to your clit. He stops, bringing his tongue into his mouth and fully tasting you.

You don’t know how, but his pupils seem to dilate even more, a low chuckle coming from his throat. “Now I knew you had to have good pussy….” He drawls on, leaning back in to your cunt to repeat the same action, this time making an obscene slurping sound- collecting as much as your arousal as he can before pulling away and swallowing. “But this sweet cunt…even better than what I could have imagined all those times I’ve beat my dick to the thought of fucking you on my tongue.”

There he goes, rambling on in the most raunchy way he can. You can hardly wrap your mind around the pleasure you’re feeling now, the situation you’ve found yourself in- let alone the idea that he seemed to have masturbated frequently to multiple ideas of you.

He’s back on your cunt, tongue dancing through your folds. And he’s messy. It’s a crazed, hungry effort that seems to have no real rhythm. You’re embarrassed by the wet, slurping sounds that come as he eats you like a man starved. His eyes are closed and he’s shaking his head into your pussy like a dog, literally bathing in the syrupy juices that continually flow out of your pussy.

Your hand reaches down, gripping at his purple hair, hips grinding down, trying to chase his tongue with your throbbling clit anytime he slips it back down to your weeping hole. His eyes dart open and the view of him, cat like eyes peering at you through thick lashes, mouth buried in your messy cunt. You moan out what you want to be his name, but it comes out as babbled breathy syllables.

He fights your grip, pulling back with an evil grin. His mouth and chin are covered in your arousal as he stares down at you, “What you want more? ‘S not enough for your needy cunt is it?” He hums, his tattooed fingers coming up to play with your pussy.

He’s just running his fingers through your folds, smearing the creamy liquid that gushes out of your cunt, grin widening as he watches white sticky webs collect between your folds, pulling apart anytime he plays with your pussy. “‘S not enough, I know it isn’t…you need more don’t you….practically cryin f’me.”

Your eyes widen, one finger circling your entrance, collecting a drop of your arousal before bringing it up to his lips. He makes a show of licking it up. It’s when it hits you- he’s not even taking to you. He’s talking to your pussy. The realization making you writhe and whimper, hips twitching trying to find any sort of stimulation.

“Poor thing….so neglected. Probably have had a good fuckinf’ in a long while, hm?” He coos at your cunt, lowering his face back to be level with your shining entrance. “S’okay Thanos will help you out….” He mumbles, placing a kiss to your clit. His arms wrap around your thigh, dragging you impossibly closer to his mouth.

You hate that he’s right, it’s been so long since you’ve been with anyone let alone been fucked on some sex enhancing pill that also has you high out of your mind. It only just makes you so much more receptive to his touches- like you haven’t been touched in a millennia. Like his touches are that of pure bliss, a tangible heavenly experience that will definitely ruin you for any other man who try’s to get with you.

It’s so much at once. It has you seeing colors you didn’t even think existed. You can’t even think straight, only babbling out praises like he’s your savior. His tongue is all over you, working up to flick lightly at your clot before wrapping his soft lips around it, sucking into his mouth. You can feel yourself dirty the leather of the couch under you, the wetness pooling under your thighs and ass.

He moans into your cunt, pulling away to stare at your raw pussy, licking his lips clean of your taste. Then he’s spitting directly on your clit, the warm saliva hitting your cunt in a messy spatter that leaves a warm hot trail anywhere it touches. It is so fucking filthy, scratching desires in you that you never knew you had. It has you crying out a babbled string of pleas for him to put his mouth back on you.

He laughs, taking in your needy state, pussy covered in his saliva, puffy and red, begging for more. His tongue delves back into you. It’s a viscous onslaught of licks and sucks that has you convulsing and creaming around his tongue.

His tongue makes its way down to your sopping hole, circling your entrance before thrusting itself into your walls. It’s a heavenly feeling, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull and your back arching up off the couch.

His tongue fucked you ravenously, like you were the last meal he’d ever consume. His fingers are squeezing your thighs so hard you know there’s going to be circle shaped bruises once he removes his hands.

“Oh god..” you whine out, it’s a pathetic shuddering sound that only makes him laugh against your cunt, your moans and words only making him pull you down onto him. He’s so fucking messy. It’s something straight out of a porno, you’re sure of it. He’d pull back every so often to spit in your cunt to only go right back to fucking his tongue into your walls- drinking up his spit and every bit of your creamy arousal.

It’s so good. Too good. You want to push off the blooming heat that begins to swell deep in your cunt, to drag this out, but you can’t. You’re sitting up, hands trying to dig into the leather couch, trying to ground yourself.

You’re moaning out pathetic pleas of “‘s too much” and “more, more, more”. Your cunt is erratically spasming against his fingers, you know you’re getting close.

“Gonna cum all over my face, huh girlie?” He muses up at you, words muffled against your pussy. His fingers don’t let up, curling up into your tight walls with fervor. You’re gushing around him, anytime his fingers push into you they come out covered by even more of your thick arousal. “Want you to make a mess f’me.” He continues on.

You nod, biting your lip and entangling your fingers into his hair. “OhmygodOhmygod-“ your voice comes out in a high pitched mess of words, shaking against his tongue. The feeling of your orgasm beginning to build inside you is almost too much. It’s never felt like this, it’s an almost violent insatiable itch, one you’re chasing even though you feel so sensitive to the point it almost hurts. You’re almost scared of the orgasm that’s building up in you.

“Yeahhhh…that’s it’s, you got it sweet thing.” His words seep into your ears like the sweetest melody, “Needa have you cummin’ on my face.” He says, almost begging for you to allow him such an honor. His words spur you in to not shying away from the feeling. All you can think of is how badly you want to cum and how badly you want to please him.

His fingers rapidly pump in and out of you, every motion beginning to let off a wet sloshing sound. You sob out, looking down to watch on as his tongue flicks over your clit and fingers slam into your cunt. “H-holy fuck I’m g-gonna… oh fuck…I’m gonna cum!” You cry out.

You hear a growl in response from the man between your thighs, a low primal, no, a feral sound that vibrates off your clit. It sends you over the edge, your hurled to your orgasm before you can even realize it.

It has you seeing starts, sobbing out a mix of his name and obscenity’s as you cum. And you cum hard. You can hear it gush out of you like a fountain, soaking his face and chest. The slurping sounds he’s been making only becoming louder, like he’s drinking glacier water after being stuck in a desert.

Your head falls back onto the back of the couch, your hand forcing his head still with a strength that surprises not you and him. Your hips grind in helpless jerking motions as you continue to cum, his fingers stroking your walls and beckoning every last drop of your cum out of you.

He pulls back slowly, fingers pulling out of you, his breath coming out in heavy pants. You come back down, breath still catching in your throat as you try to regain your breath. Your eyes open to finally see the extent of the mess you made.

His chest, chin and mouth is covered in your glistening arousal. He’s sucking your cum off his fingers and just staring at you with a shit eating grin. “I-I just…” your voice trails off, genuinely surprised at what just transpired. It has never happened before.

“Squirted?” He finishes your sentence while he pops his fingers out of his mouth. “Yeah, I know princess.” He says in a low mocking tone as he leans over you, pulling you into a kiss. It’s slow, methodical, he’s making sure you taste yourself.

He pulls away, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you. He collects it with his thumb, puts his digit to your lips and nods approvingly as you take it into your mouth. “You oughta get used to it. Gonna be happening a lot with me.” He mused.

In a quick motion his thumb is pull from your lips. He’s standing back, eyes trained on your fucked out form as he begins to remove his pants. He kicks them off into the corner of your studio, his boxers soon following.

When you finally see the cock that was causing the huge tent in his pants, you’re at a loss for words. He’s girthy, long, and he’s got a mean upwards curve. It stands attention, pre-cum leaking from the fat cock-head. He moves his hand across your pussy quickly, the motion making your body jolt. His hand then wraps around his length, twisting his wrist up and down his dick with the help of your cum.

He’s sitting down next to you on the couch, reaching over and pulling your limp form onto his lap, his fist still working around his dick.

“Haven’t broken you completely have I?” He mocks, staring on as you watch his fist squeeze his angry red tip before moving down his shaft. Even though you know you’re overly sensitive, all you can think about is how his cock would feel deep inside you. “N-no, ‘m not broken, want your cock inside me s’bad.” Your words are slurred, you can’t even believe the sentence you said- usually you’d have more shame.

But fuck did that little pill he gave you have your body already working itself up, cunt pulsing around nothing in anticipation for the fucking you were about to get. He lets out a low chuckle, his fist releasing his dick. It hits your stomach with a hefty ‘plap’ sound.

You look down, biting your lip when you see his cock resting against your stomach, the swollen tip resting just below your navel. You suck in a breath, relaxing just how deep he will be. “Gonna be able to take it, princess?” He mumbles, pressing a thumb against his cock, pushing it further against your stomach, the hot thick skin of his cock pressing into the flesh. “See how deep I’m gonna be?” He questions, eyes trained on his cock against your stomach, imagining what it’s going to feel like to be balls deep in your tight cunt.

You just nod in let out a hiccuped moan, canting your hips forward to try and brush your clit against the underside of his cock. “Imma take it…I can, I promise.” You pout, raising your hips the smallest bit and gripping the base of his thick length.

When your hand wraps around the length and your fingers don’t touch, you realize fully what you’re getting yourself into. “Go on then…you said you could take it.” He says, a shit eating grin on his face as he sees your concern in your face- how was he going to fit.

He shifts back on the couch, spreading his legs more and looking down at where you run his leaking cock head through your dripping folds. He bites his lip and lets out a muffled groan as he feels your wetness immediately begin soaking his length.

“Mhm…there you go.” He says, arms thrown languidly behind his head, watching you with dark eyes as you begin to sink down onto his cock. You cry out when his bulbous head slips past the tight ring of your cunt. His head throws itself back a sigh slipping past his lips as he feels your walls squeeze around him, enveloping his cock head in a warmth he never wants to leave.

“That was jus’ the tip, come on you can take more. Like you said you can take it all..and we’ve already gone over how lyin’s bad pretty girl.” He says using your own words against you, and that seems to spur you on, sinking deeper onto him.

You finally drop down, your hips connecting with his pelvis, his tip kissing your cervix. You let out a sob of his name. He lets out a porn worthy moan his hands immediately darting down to grip at your hips in a bruising strength, keeping you still.

He swears he might cum then and there. Being buried balls deep in your tight cunt, your arousal spilling out on his pelvis, it’s better than he could have imagined.

And he’s imagined it. More times than he can count.

“F-fuck you’re so god damn tight…” he hisses out, head dropping back forward so he can look at you. Your lips are dropped open, eyebrows upturned, eyes watering from just how full you feel. “O-oh my god…” you mumble out looking down to where you two connect.

It’s shameful how much your arousal has already dirtied his pelvis and your inner thighs with a milky white sheen. With the drugs in your system you can feel every inch of him in ways you didn’t even think was possible. Your hands are braced on the strong muscles of his abdomen, your breasts heaving with every shuddering breath you take as you try to accommodate his thick cock into your cunt.

“‘S big isn’t it?” He boasts, quirking up an eyebrow, a cat like grin on his face. The way you’re already fucked out he’s so composed makes you whine, nodding your head. When you finally move your hips the slightest bit and clench around him you’re rewarded with the sight of him breaking the slightest bit. He lets out a breathy sound, almost a choked whine. Hell, he’s also tripping ass on the same drugs you were- even if this isn’t his first time like you, it still has his nerves on fire. He can feel every clench and spasm of your pussy around his cock. Every drop of arousal that seeps out around him, he can feel it before it even comes out of you, feeling it swell in the depths of your cunt- being forced out by the intrusion of his thick length and trickling down the top of his cock, down the length of it, eventually dripping out along his pelvis.

“Your pussy feels s’good baby- fuck- c’mon get to work, use those hips” He says, looking at you with a hooded gaze, lip caught between his teeth- hands still resting behind his head. You take in a large breath, lifting up your hips only a bit. The drag of his cock along your walls is deliciously sinful. You know you’re fucked- figuratively and literally. No man is ever going to make you feel this good.

You repeat the motion, not even lifting half way up his dick before dropping back down. It’s so much. “Ohhh…” he hums in a low locking tone, “you can do so much better than that.” He growls, it’s harsh, you know it’s a demand.

You situate yourself better on his lap, leaning forward on him, arching your back, and placing your hands in the in the spaces his arms leave on either side of his head and resting them against the back of the couch.

When you begin to move your hips, this time guiding them expertly up and down the entire length of his cock it doesn’t take long until his hands come to grip at your ass. He’s growling, restraining himself from thrusting up into you and taking over- truly ruining your pussy.

His hands are splayed open-palmed on your ass, moving with the flesh that recoils anytime you connect back down onto his lap, his swollen cock-head kissing your cervix. “Fucking hell!” He laughs out, it’s laced with a frenzied growl- like this was he’s been waiting for all the years he’s known you.

He’s no stranger to looking at your ass. Watching as the flesh jiggles when you wear those thin pajama pants that you wore when he came to pay you late, watching as you bend over to fix some cord in your set up or even the one time he was at the same party you were- being graced with the visual of you shaking your ass playfully against one of your friends.

But this? Fuck this was so much better than watching you.

“Mhm…” he moans, nodding his head as you look at him in a fucked-out haze, a moaning mess as you continue to ride him. “This fucking ass…” he growls through gritted teeth, hands gripping the flesh in a rough grasp, “Always knew you’d know how to ride cock like a good whore.” He spits out, one of his hands coming into contact with your ass- a sharp sting that has you meaning out his name. “You know how many times I had to beat my shit to the visual of your ass bouncing against me like this?”

His words are filthy. Raunchy. You’re sure if he kept talking you could cum right now. You surge forward, capturing his lips in yours. He swallows each of your moans greedily-lips messily moving with yours. Your tongue dance in a sloppy manner that has spit trailing down your tongue.

You continue to bounce on his cock, crying out into his mouth. Anytime you lift your hips up there’s a wet, sticky sound that resonates throughout your music studio. He pulls away from the kiss, his hands coming up to hold your face, keeping your face close by his. His eyes flutter close and a shuddering breath comes out of his lips as he feels your ass bounce against him more fervently now that his hands aren’t holding the plump flesh in place. He opens his eyes, letting out a low growl, his hands gripping your face, tighten the slightest bit. “Fuckin’ look at you…taking all of me…’s fuckin’ deep isn’t it?” He chides, it’s a degrading mocking tone that has your eyebrows turning up as you nod.

“Mhm s-so fuckin’ deep ohmygoddd.” You cry out in response, leaning back the slightest bit and reaching your arms behind you, placing your hands on his knees as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock. He bites his lip, eyes trained on where you two connect. Watching with blown out pupils how your cunt continuously gushes around him, adding to the white ring that’s forming at the base of his cock.

“So fuckin messy…” he coos, one of his hands coming down to rub his thumb across your clit. You let out a high pitched sound- almost like a squeak- at the sudden added stimulation. “Ohhh…” he groans, his thumb circling your puffy clit, “…that was a cute sound.” he growls in praise. His thumb and pointer finger begin to rub up and down the edges of your cunt, tracing the outline of where his cock is splitting you open.

You continue to raise and lower your hips, circling them and spearing yourself on his thick cock. “‘M stretchin’ you out baby…” he hisses, the image he’s one he swears is the most beautiful sight he’s seen- your cunt gaped obscenely wide, squeezing his dick, leaking more and more creamy arousal everytime you drop your hips onto his lap.

You feel your thighs ache, but the way his cock effortlessly hits your g-spot each time you slam down has you continuing your motions, letting out pathetic whines in protest. He chuckles, his hand that’s still resting behind his head comes down to smack your ass.

You moan out, falling forward on his chest, your hips gyrating desperately. “Oh c’mon, can’t do it no more? I gotta do everything for you?” He says in a degrading, mocking tone. Both his hands find purchase on your ass, gripping and massaging the flesh. You whine and writhe against him, making feeble attempts to keep riding him- but your thighs just ached too much and he was making you feel so full.

“P-please…” you whine out, your head in the crook of his neck, breath fanning the skin, every moan and whine right under his ear. “Awhhh now you’re begging?!” He says with a chuckle, beginning to bounce his legs, it’s not enough but it bullies his pulsating cock further into you. “Not even ridin’ me that long sweetheart…I’m gonna fucking ruin you..” he says, laughing at how fucked stupid you already were.

“F-fuuuck” you moan out in a sinful song as you twitch against him, “you’re so big, it’s so much…” you babble against his flesh.

He hums, his hands on your ass beginning to guide your hips up and down his cock, a sob wracks through your esophagus as you’re closer to what you finally need, “And yet here you are…” he growls, “creaming all over my cock and taking it.” He says beginning to thrust upwards into the warm velvety walls of your cunt. “S’not too much” he says, thrusting up hard into you, it makes a raunchy squelching sound, pushing more of your syrupy arousal onto his pelvis “…you can take it, you’re a big girl.” He says, every word is punctuated by a thrust and echoed by the sound of his balls slapping against your ass.

You cry out, your hands raking across his shoulders leaving blooming red stripes in their wake. You can hear him growling, it’s a primal low rumble that reverberates through his chest as he fucks up into you. It’s a brutal, rough pace that continues to speed up with each thrust.

You let out a surprised squeak when he grips your ass harder and stands up. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders his hands holding you up by your ass. His hands lifting you up and dropping you down on his cock like you’re a ragdoll.

It makes his dick reach places you never thought would have been possible. You’re completely speared on his cock, your sopping wet cunt only aiding him in dragging you along his veiny length.

“Fuck!” You cry out pathetically, tears beginning to water in your eyes, it felt so. fucking. good. “Mhmmm…” he says biting his lip and nodding, “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you.” He says with a chuckle. The deep thrust of his cock and his words are brutal. Mean.

“And you’re gonna let me…cause you love it.” He hisses, hands never letting up on splitting you on his cock. Your face tells him all he needs to know, your eyebrows are turned up, your lips parted and tongue lolled out, drooling down your chin. “Yeaaahhhh you do…” he coos, mockingly.

His cock bullies its way into your cunt, pushing past your sparking walls to kiss your cervix with the head of his cock. “You’re fucking squeezing me sweetheart..” he chokes out, “pussy’s fuckin addicting.” He adds, looking down to watch how your cunt slides up and down his cock, leaving streaks of milky white arousal arcross the expanse of his girth.

“Messy fuckin’ cunt, just fuckin creamin all over me.” He babbles, you can tell with the way his thrusts were speeding up, slamming you down even harder, that he was close to cumming. And you were too.

“Want you to squirt on my cock..make more of a mess f’me. You can do that, yeah?” He growls, looking back up to you and you nod furiously, “mhm, please- oh my god- ‘m so close.” You whine out, words cut off by heaving cries.

“Touch yourself.” He orders, “let me see how you play with yourself.” You obey, a shaky hand releasing itself from his shoulder to rub circles on your clit. Your fingers slip lower, feeling just how much he has you stretched out before returning up to your clit.

Your fingers draw figure eights, working in sporadic movements to push you further to the edge. You look up at him through lashes that were clumped with tears. You feel like you’re floating, it’s such a delicious pleasure that you know you’ll dream of for days to come.

“C’mon princess…” he growls, hands slamming you down brutally as his hips thrust up. Every movement makes a raunchy sticky sound, anytime he drives his cock deep inside you it makes the same wet sloshing sound as before- you’re so close. “Cum f’me, princess, wet my cock.” He growls, his thrusts becoming sloppy, impaling you down onto his dick.

“Fuck ‘m gonna…” your breath is heaving “I’m gonna cum,ohmygodfuckfuck!!” You scream out, fingers swirling over your clit in rapid movements to drive you over the edge. A sob wracks through your body and with a silent cry of his name you cum.

It’s a violent gush of clear liquid, spraying out of your cunt and flowing down his cock, covering his pelvis and even dripping onto the carpeted floor. When he feels it, head snapping down to watch your cum flow out of you, your hand still moving frantically against your clit and spraying your cum around- he breaks.

He cums deep inside you. You can feel every thick rope paint your insides. You both let out strangled moans, the feeling of cumming deep inside your warm cunt is a heavenly feeling that has Choi Su-bong’s eyes rolling into the back of his head.

He thrusts you two lazily through your orgasms, each push of his cock into your cunt forces globs of his cum out and around his length. He slows to a hault, his hands moving up to wrap around your back pulling you flush to his chest.

He slowly backs up and when the back of his knees hit your couch, he sits back down. You both moan at the movement, his softening dick thrusting back up into your over sensitive pussy. “Shhh I know…” he says, shushing you, hands reaching up to brush back your messy hair.

“Did so good f’me.” He coos, smiling up at you. You’re still in a haze, leaning into his hands and nodding. “Fucked you stupid, did I? You can still speak can’t you?” He jokes, you laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. “Made me squirt twice…and I didn’t even know I could do that…so yeah I’m a lil tired, sue me.” You bite back playfully.

He lets out a loud laugh, hands dropping down to your hips. “There she is….there’s the bratty lil producer I know.” He says with a grin, you roll your eyes in response. “Well we’re gonna see if we can make it at least 6 times.”

Your eyes shoot open, “W-what?!” You asked incredulously. He smirks hands beginning to massage your hips.

“Another thing about that lil pill I gave you…” he says, his eyes looking down to where you two meet, it’s a mess of his and your cum, a delicious sight, “it also helps with stamina.” He says, his thumb brushing over your clit.

And you realize he’s right, with that one touch your body is ignited again, your hips starting grind against him- proving he’s right. You’re ready to go again.

This was gonna be a long night.

hiiiii lovelies!! I hope you enjoyed this lil one-shot. I literally just had my mind FIXATED on gettin’ fucked up and fucked by this man 😩

ALSO I MADE IT TO 100 FOLLOWERS?!!! THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!? I’m off work for the week soon and I have some really exciting plans coming up as a thanks for 100 friends!!! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[sparklingblu]

Parádeisos

Miyeon X Male Reader

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

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

That's because they have never seen Miyeon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You are awake"

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

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

"Ogygia" she mused.

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

"Yes" she nodded.

"But it's not real" You protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Men are all the same"

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

"Stop staring" she snapped.

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

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

Was that a compliment? You doubted it.

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

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

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

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

"What should I call you then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, actually I studied all about it"

Her eyebrows raised, like your words made no sense.

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- × - × - ×-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look, I can explain"

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

"Wait but how-"

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

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

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

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

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

- × - × - ×-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hot" she replied and looked down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Anything?" you started imagining scenarios.

"Yes"

"Like what?"

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

"What was that, Miyeon?"

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

The corners of your mouth twitched into a wicked smile.

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

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

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

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

"I promise!"

"Fine..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Miyeon. lay on the bed sideways but hang your head off the sides" you ordered as you get off the bed and Miyeon complied, shifting her position so that her head now hanged loosely from the side of the bed.

"Good slut" you praised as you take your position in front of her, gripping her throat and shoving your dick all the way in. Your balls slapped her nose and her eyes widened but then relaxed. You started thrusting your cock into her wet vulgar hole, admiring how her thraot bulged from the foreign object entering it.

Miyeon let you use her hole without complaint, lying there still as you get closer to nirvana with each thrust. You pulled your cock out all the way then back in with so much force, Miyeon's body jerked.

"Miyeon. I'm gonna..."

Your flood gates broke open. You shoot load after load of thick cum into Miyeon's throat, which she gulped down eagerly. But it must have been too much, because she started to cough, which is hard to do with a cock in her throat. She could drown in your cum, she asked for it. You kept thrusting until you finally came down from your euphoric high.

You pulled out your cock and the mixture of spit and cum flowed down from her mouth to every part of her angelic face. She murmurs in a ragged voice. "Thanks..."

"You are welcome" you said, admiring the beauitful mess, which is Miyeon. Her chest heaving and her mouth gaped open like a fish. Her face covered in spit.

She started to get up from her position, her hands pressed against the bed for support, but you had other ideas. As she was just getting off the bed, you pushed her head back down into the mattress, her lower body dangling from the side of the bed.

You pushed her head deeper into the mattress muffling her scream. With the other hand, you pulled up her white dress from the hem, exposing her round ass.

"Gosh, you are already so wet"

You saidbas you collected the juice within her folds with your middle finger and shoved it into her asshole, which clenched it down in a vice grip. You pull your finger free from her grasp then shoved it into her ass again.

As you finger her asshole, her pussy dripped even more, flowing steadily down to her bedsheet, staning it with her juice.

"Are you turning on from getting your ass fingered?" you asked. She replied in something that sounded like "Mmmf....umff".

"You must be desperate, huh? How long has it been since these holes are filled?"

You pull out your finger and slaped er ass, making her cheeks jiggle. You groped her ass some more, before you shove two fingers into her wet folds, extracting another inaudible sound from Miyeon.

You started pumping your fingers, gliding them in and out of her cavern. It clenchednon you tight like it's worried your fingers will stop thrusting. But she didn't need to worry because you were not going to leave the wet goodness of her hole anytime soon.

Miyeon let out more muffled moans and her body writhed like she was being tasered. But that's not so far from the truth because your fingers are sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through her.

With your free hand, you slapped her ass again, the way it wriggle almost hypnotic. The white backdrop of her skin marked with your handprints. You brought your palm down again and again, until her ass becomes nothing but a crimson plane.

"Look how much you are dripping. Do you like being spanked that much? No wonder Odysseus ignored you. You are such a whore"

Miyeon is no longer protesting, not even muffled sounds escaped her mouth anymore. She just lays there, face down ass up and let you toy with her body. The movement of your fingers became swifter, spraying juice each time they collide with Miyeon's depths.

Her pussy squelched happily each time your fingers enter, as if showing its gratitude. And it should. Miyeon had called you a pervert twice. Maybe she's right. But that pervert is the only one who can save her from her eternal damnation of the denial of pleasure. She should be thankful.Her legs started to quiver and you realized she was close. But you wouldn't be too hasty in giving her release.

You stopped, pulling out your fingers. You pulled up Miyeon's head and turned it a 180 degree, looking down at her eyes, far gone.

"Why..why do you..?"

Her protested are quickly cut out by your tongue which entered her mouth, swirling and tasting every inch of her another hole, which you just filled up with your cum a while ago. But you didn't care. Her lips feel velvety, just like all those fabrics she weaves. The tenderness of it got you asking for more. Miyeon returns the action by wrapping her own tongue around yours. It took two to tango after all.

Your other hand reached for her clothed boobs, pushing out from the textile of her dress. Miyeon's bosom is not one you can call big but they are not tiny either. It's just perfect enough for you to grope and pinch her nipples, already rock hard from the stimulation.

You pulled back, a trail of saliva glistening between her lips and yours. She looked at you with those needy eyes of hers, begging you to give her the release she desperately needs.

"Please...I....I need to cum..." she mummuredm She looked so pathetic you almost felt sorry. But after the treatment she had given you all those time, why should you be?

"Look at you, begging to me" you mocked. "Miyeon, you are nothing but a cockhungry whore, admit it"

Her face flared up. Then she tried to hide it and fails.

"I'm not a whore....I just need..."

"If you keep lying to yourself, you will never get the reward you seek from me"

"But I'm not a whore..."

You chuckled. "Aren't you the one who asked me for my cock? Beg me to taste it. Hell, you have been a whore since the beginning of time, falling for every man who ends up here"

Her expression turned confused, like she's debating with herself on your words. Finally, she spoke again.

"I.....I'm not falling for you. I don't even like you"

Oh, now she wanted to play it rough.

"Is that so? Then I guess you don't need me"

You turned to leave, which is all a trap to lure Miyeon to your dungeon of lust. And she fell right into it.

"Wait!" she called. "Don't leave"

You turn your head and raised an eyebrow. She was sitting on the bed now, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

"I....I will say what you want me to, so please don't leave"

"And what will you say?"

"I...I'm a....whore" Her voice reduced to a whisper at the last word. She looked own, her face burning with shame.

"I can't quite hear you from here"

"I'm a...whore" she said again, a bit louder than the last time. But you were not satisfied.

"Still can't hear you"

"I'm a whore!" she shrieked much to your surprise. "I need your cock so please use me"

You had done something that no one had ever achieved. You had ripped Miyeon of whatever remnanta she left of her pride, dginity and grace she had feigned all this time. Now she's no different from a typical whore who will let you use her for money. In Miyeon's case, she didn't need money. She needed your cock.

"That's more like it, no need to be shy" You walked up to her and hold her chin between your thumb and index fingers, admiring the angleic features of her face, from her aquiline nose to her sharp chin. A drop of cum from earlier still hanged on one of her eyebrows.

"Show me that ass" you ordered and she doesn't complain, getting on all fours and raising her ass for your eyes, her dress becoming nothing but an added luxury for you to feast on.

You got behind her and hiked up her dress to her waist, giving you full access to her ass. You dug a finger into her pussy, retractedband licked her juice off it. Maybe it's a nymph thing or you are just overwhelmed with desire but it's the sweetest thing you have ever tasted.

"Please, I need your cock inside me" Miyeon whined again, no longer hiding her desperation.

"Patience, slut" That came out so lame you promise yourself not to say that ever again.

You lined up the tip of your cock to her pussy, which was already convulsing with anticipation. In the beginning, you just pushed in your tip, testing the waters. Her pussy was wet enough you don't need to put any extra effort. You don't know if she is a virgin with the way her walls hugged you and gripped you like they are familiar with the alien object entering it but that's a question for another time. For now, you only have a single task to complete, filling her up.

"More..." Miyeon pleaded. That breathy voice of her with a hint of melancholy is what ignited the flame inside you.

With no further words, you pushed you whole length into her opening and she letbout a guttural moan. The way her walls swallowed your manhood leaves you struggling not to make a sound.

"Fuck, Miyeon, you are so tight..."

"Yes, fuck my tight pussy, I need your cock pounding me"

With each vulgar word that left her mouth, Miyeon push her hips back, trying to fuck herself on your cock. But you were going to be the one in charge. You held her tiny waist, stopping her from going further.

"I'm gonna fuck you, not the opposite, remember?"

"Yes..yes, sorry. I just need it...Hhng!"

Her apology was cut short when you start bucking your hips slowly, getting your cock accustomed to her wet cavern. Each thrust left you feeling breathless, the friction against her slick walls like no other feeling you have experienced. At this moment, you feel like you are the luckiest (and only) person on Ogygia.

Miyeon's moans grew louder with each pump of your cock, occassionally begging you for more. But she didn't need to because you are going to give her your all, satisfying the needs of her pussy that haven't been fucked properly for eternity.

So you picked up the tempo, waves rippling across her ass each time you thrusted into her. If her pussy was wet before, now it's a river, juice flying everywhere with each thrust you gave her. And she tool it like a champ. You think you eere going fast enough but she kept begging for more, to ruin her, to pound her into oblivion.

And who are you not to comply when you were held captive in the most heavenly place of the most beautiful woman(or nymph, whatever) you have ever seen. You channeledbevery single ounce of energy into pounding Miyeon's pussy and the effort started heating your body up, your hair slick with sweat.

Miyeon's not so different. Her dress is sticking to her skin with her own bodily fluid while she closed her eyes, drinking up the ecstasy only your cock could give her.

You wrapped your arm around her waist and pulled her back against your chest, tracing your tongue across her ear while the rhythm of your cock remained unwavering. She tilted her neck to one side, beckoning you to taste her even more and you obliged, licking across her jaw up to her temple.

"Mhmm....yes, just like that....god, don't stop.."

You helpee her pull off her dress completely to have full access to her goddess like body. You cup your hands on her boobs, which are so soft they can melt from your touch. You squeezed and kneaded, adding a side dish of pleasure to the main course of your cock against her pussy.

You let a hand travel down between her legs and there you attacked her weak spot, rubbing her clit. Miyeon's eyes widened at your ambush and her body start to shake violently. You pinched her nipple and she lets out the most euphonius of squirms, which graced your ears like a melody. Miyeon was so overcome with pleasure, she no longer seem to be aware of her own actions. She bucked her hips back each time you pull back your cock, wanting to be filled up at every millisecond. Her milky white was now glistening from all the sweat dripping down from the heat of the moment.

The deadly combination of your fingers and cock finally let her to her orgasm. She moaned at the top of her lungs, juice spilling out of her holes like a dam breaking open. Through her high, you keep fucking her, bringing you closer and closer to your own climax.

"Yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me"

Miyeon cries as your cock kept burying into her to the hilt and back even after she had cummed. Her body twitched and writhed with each thrust her now sensitive pussy took. You were not so far from following Miyeon, the clench of her walls driving you to the finish line until...

"God, yes, fill me up. Cum inside me. Fill your slut with cum"

Miyeon screams as you finally deposited your load into her cunt, sending shots after shots of thick white liquid into her. Your hips bucked wildy, filling her up with each movement. The bliss that you felt is phenomenal, out of this world. Arcs of pleasure coursed through your veins like electricity. You finally come to a halt, panting. You slapped her ass one last time and pull out.

"Oh, god....." Miyeon panted as she lays there on the bed like a broken doll, her face that of pure satisfaction. Her pussy leaked a steady stream of your cum down to her sheets, which were already filthy enough with her spit and juice. But that's what she wanted. She's a slut afterall.

"You are welcome" you said as your body suddenly grew tired from the intense session you went through. You sat down at the foot of the bed, closing your eyes, steadying your breathing. Your mind was still in a state of bliss, imagining what to do with Miyeon next after you recharged again. But for now, you needed rest and you were too tired to walk back to your own bedroom. So, you rested your back against the bed, dozing off.

- × - × - ×-

"Mister?" a female voice rings in your ears.

You open your eyes, an air hostess is looking at you like a pest, unwanted.

"What..what?" you mutter drowsily.

Her eyes glitter with amusement when you yawn.

"We have landed, we have been trying to wake you for fifteen minutes. We thought something happened to you. We have even called the medics"

"Fifteen minutes?" you looked around the empty aircraft, deprived of passengers.

"And you were mummuring some words like... Ogygia and Calypso?"

Your face flushed and look down at the book on your lap, half opened. "The Odyssey" said the cover. "Odysseus and the island of Ogygia" said the title of the chapter on the right page.

It was all a dream. A product of your arousal and obsession. It felt so real, however, you start thinking maybe you really have been to Ogygia and Miyeon have somehow returned you back here.

But that's a fantasy. Just like the photos of Miyeon that filled your gallery, your obsession. Despite the madness, you grin and the air hostess stares at you, her mouth gape open.

"Sorry" you apologize, stading up. Your phone chimes and you look down, only to be greeted by your wallpaper of Miyeon, your own version of Calypso.

This is going to be a long day.

-x-x-x-

(Wrote this a bit longer than I intended to. Thanks for reading as always~)

[lanafofana]

Temptation

Pairing: Raphael x Tav(f)

Word count: 3.6k

Summary: She won't sign another contract but she’s not opposed to a different kind of deal

Rating: Explicit [🔞MINORS DNI]

Warning: Porn! Filthy depraved devil porn! A little bit of hate sex (PnV with a little PVP), ( she throws hands twice)(but he's into it). Cunnilingus, because it wouldn't be a Lana fic if a tongue wasn't getting shoved in someone's [redacted]. A little bit of toxic relationship dynamics at play (devil gonna devil). SMUT SMUT SMUT

No beta, we die like pumpkin pie (listen, it's been a long night)

💖✨Kudos to @dr-demi-bee for the prompt✨💖

AO3 Link here for all who celebrate the time honored tradition of validating authors via kudos etc etc etc

“The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.”

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Raphael doesn't look surprised to see her anymore. Merely gives her a look when she finds him on the balcony of his Archive and snaps his fingers to conjure her a drink that appears in her hand before returning his attention back to the fiend giving him some kind of report in the guttural language of the infernal.

She slips away, perusing his collection of tomes from some kingdom long dead and sipping at her wine. It's too sweet, cherry rich and decadent but the alcohol burns pleasantly warm in her belly. Later, sprawled across a lavish settee, an open book in her lap, Tav is trying to untangle a web of mental snares that have put her in a melancholy mood of late when Raphael finds her.

He doesn't say anything for a long time but she can feel his gaze taking her in with more precision now that he can afford his full attention to the task. The predator, sizing up the prey. Her skin prickles.

She's returned to his house with more frequency of late and though he’s never brought it up she’s struck with the sudden anxiety that she is overstaying her welcome. Draining her glass of wine she swishes the liquid around her mouth while watching the crystal goblet refill in a blink. He's never asked why she’s decided to help herself to his company or tries to dissuade her attention when she comes calling. There's a mystery there she’s too afraid to pursue. She sighs and takes another drink.

Footsteps, steady and deliberately slow, approach. The predator, stalking their prey. Turning a page in the book she isn't reading Tav pretends his proximity doesn't send a bolt of heat and fear fizzling along her spine. In her peripheral he stops, a looming metaphor for the direction her choices are driving her to. A finger, warm and familiar, presses against the soft vulnerable space just past the jut of her chin and tilts her face to meet his.

“Have you come to bargain?” His dark eyes drink in her face, giving nothing away.

He already knows the answer to that question but she answers it anyway, deriving a weird sort of comfort from the repetitive nature of this exchange they've replayed so many times they might as well have memorized a script.

“No.”

His eyes narrow and she doesn't hear the snap but her wine glass and book both vanish. Standing involves significantly more motor skills than she presently possesses so, with a smirk, the devil offers her a courteous hand and hauls her up. Her breasts graze against the broad expanse of his chest before she gains her bearings and straightens. He doesn't let go of her hand.

“What then do you seek from the House of Hope?” His voice is mocking but his eyes are hungry. Tav knows the steps to this dance by heart but she’s hungry too. Famished.

Grasping the collar of his opulent coat she tugs him into her orbit, sliding a hand into his hair and pressing her lips to his. He tastes like hellfire and forbidden fruit.

The edges of her vision white out for a moment when he displaces them to his quarters, his infernal magic buzzes against her tongue pleasantly. Pressing close with nothing but fabric between them she shifts, a calculated movement to stoke the fire of his desire.

“Crawling and secret she constructs her own web, a trap for her prey, fallen into instead.” Raphael wedges his knees between her legs and, hands tight on her hips, bows her back to wrest control from her. Dizzy with drink and anxiety and lust Tav grinds against his thigh, seeking the friction that will at last unwind her mind.

“Needs work,” she critiques unnecessarily, breathless and smirking. He nips her bottom lip, pulling the plump flesh taunt in chastisement but it makes her lashes flutter, her clit throbbing against his thigh.

Huffing a laugh at his petulance she pulls away. Pulling her clothes loose and discarding them under his dark gaze while backing towards the bed. The backs of her knees hitting the edge of the mattress, she beckons and –after a moment– he follows, unbuttoning his doublet slowly.

“Go on then,” she teases, heedless of the black warning in his face, “Seduce me with your limerick.”

“A mouthwatering fruit, this human heart.” He sheds his jacket, the shirt too, preening under her appreciative stare. “Devastating, damned, and doomed from the start.”

She swallows, mouth dry as he approaches and comes to a stop close enough to feel the heat off his skin.

“Dazzling, delicious but,” he looks at her critically for a moment, “Not very rare, this cracking soul is fetid with,” Raphael leans in, to take in her scent deeply. Closing his eyes he murmurs lasciviously, breath hot against her ear, “Despair.”

She throbs with need.

Wrapping a hand around her throat he pauses only long enough to take her pulse, sneering at the staccato beat, before sliding his hand down her chest, to her breast. With both hands he gropes her roughly, squeezing and tugging at her nipples till they pucker, rosy and stiff. The expression on his face hasn't changed much, cold and disdainful but his eyes. She shivers under the blistering heat of them.

“Take what you came here for, creature.”

The words are hardly out of his mouth before her hands are on him pulling him close with a rough hand in his hair, yanking his head to the side, putting her teeth to his throat.

She bites him savagely, electric at the needy whine he tries to stifle unsuccessfully. She laves her tongue against the red teeth marks soothingly, hands on his shoulders. His hands have migrated too, palming the swell of her ass. When she runs the edge of her teeth down the column of his throat and licks the dip of his collar bone he smacks an asscheek, the crack sharp and loud in the otherwise quiet room.

In retaliation she sinks her teeth into his shoulder so hard he repeats the action on her other asscheek. She cries out, her inner walls slamming down on nothing.

“Tell me, my dear,” his voice, rough and deep, is commanding. Tav clenches her thighs together in response.

Nothing and no one comes for free in the House of Hope. Each visit to his bed, a transaction between her hunger for his body and his hunger for her pain. Their unspoken devil’s pact. She knows exactly what he wants and her stomach flips in trepidation.

Hands full of her ass he is not gentle when he pulls her against him, grinding her against the hard length of him through his trousers. She whimpers, drawing her nails across his shoulders and scoring livid marks into his skin. “Tell me,” he repeats, a furious snarl, as he shoves her to the bed.

“Then ask, you fucking monster,” she hisses, hitting the mattress with a soft ‘oof’ as the wind is briefly knocked from her lungs.

He follows her descent, aiming to cage her body with his but a spike of adrenaline has her scrambling out from under him. Awkwardly she heaves her way to the head of the bed but he’s faster – stronger– and he snatches her ankle in a fierce grip, dragging her back within range.

Wrapping himself around her, thick cock against her ass, bruising fingers holding her captive against his chest he chuckles. The sound chills her in the same way it sends another trickle of wet desire between her legs.

Close to her ear he breathes his full query at last. “What is the root of your despair?” Her stomach sinks down to her toes, the red flush of her desire doused cold.

What was your last wickedly depraved thought, he's asked her before. When did the thrill of bloodlust last blind you completely to sense; do you hate anyone more than you've hated yourself? She may have never signed another contract with him but somehow he’s found a way to drain her soul, piecemeal, all the same.

“Tell me,” he murmurs against her skin, parting her thighs to drag a finger along her slick wet slit.

The reason for the wine becomes clear to her in that moment. She’s never had inhibitions where sex is concerned. Has never considered it a trial to use her body and let it be used for its skill with a blade, on either side of the sheets.

But put enough wine down her throat and inevitably the secret hurts that haunt her begin to spill out from between her lips.

The devil growls at her hesitation, flipping her over and pinching a nipple between his teeth slightly too hard. Demanding her attention and supplication in all things.

“I–,” she gasps and leaves half moon indentations on his skin when he sticks his tongue in her belly button, swirling his tongue there lazily. “I’m sad, all the time,” she confesses in a rush like it will hurt less to say it fast. Her heart pounds. “I hide from my friends, from everyone, and suffer alone. I’ve always been alone, I’m pretty sure I'll always be alone because it’s–” her breath hitches on a strangled sob when he just barely presses his thumb to her clit and leaves it there, teasing. Torturing. She doesn't want him to ever stop. “I’m too much to be around. Too much unhappiness in one person to inflict on anyone else.”

“Self pity,” Raphael groans with relish and she bristles because of course he's right. “Never looked so lovely than on the utterly pathetic,” the words burn, as they're intended to. “Look at you, mourning yourself to the point of self destruction.”

Blood rushes to the surface of her skin, blooming red and hot across her throat and cheeks. Within her bosom she aches. Raphael hums with pleasure, as drunk on her internal agony as he is on her body.

Feeling flayed open she wails, hands scrabbling for purchase on his skin and in the rumpled bedding, when he sinks a finger fast –and hard–and deep in her dripping, aching cunt. She bites her lip and breathes through the discomfort of letting him see her. The despair and self pity on full display for his perusal. He feasts on her pain like a man deprived of fresh air, reveling in the cocktail of humiliation, fear, and miserably pathetic sorrow.

“Entrust me with your soul and you'll never be alone again, for as long as your pitiful soul flickers,” he vows, working a second digit in with the first. She’s so wet her lips squelch lewdly around his scissoring fingers to punctuate his words.

He means it too. It's far from the first –or the last– time he has promised an eternity to her. Her soul nestled within his grasp forever, damnation tempered with endless companionship. A demon’s version of love. Eternal ownership. The ache in her chest sharpens to a knife’s edge. Thrusting her hips against his hand, her breathing changes, getting deeper and faster as her orgasm inches tantalizingly closer.

Her legs are open but her heart's been closed so long the hinges squeak and grind in complaint at being disturbed. Maybe that's why his canny words rend instead of pierce, like they're claws mauling instead of hands gently stroking. Devils don't know kindness but there's a world of gentleness in the way he peels open her ribcage to curl up in her chest cavity with his insidious intent.

“Kiss me,” she begs. Begs, hoping it will be enough to stem the tide of his incendiary words. Words spoken with the intent to hurt, to disturb, to split the cobbled pieces of her being back into shattered fragments he can hold in his hands. To mold her, shaping her to his will. Without ceremony he crushes her with his mouth, his body, and his desire.

Raphael moves against her, heavy and too big, a threat and a promise that tastes like cherry wine and feels like coming home. The kiss, a miscalculation on her part, steals his voice but replaces wounding words with bruising force. Shoving his tongue into her mouth he seeks only to consume and she moans around the wet intrusion, curling a hand tightly into the hair at the nape of his neck until he hisses against her teeth.

She lets him continue only for so long before the hand she has locked in his hair tugs viscously and she gets a glimpse of his pupils blown wide before his eyes flutter closed. The Archduke Supreme would never admit to his proclivities in bed but he’s not the only one studying his prey during their encounters.

She maneuvers until he's beneath her, breath stuttering in his chest as his ardor intensifies with her forceful take over. The meticulous Archduke Supreme, Lord of the Nine Entire, Devil of False Hope, Cania’s Conquerer might have eaten her whole for the audacity of asking for control in the bedroom but when she takes it…

He groans, squirming and wanton, when she peels herself away from his lips to sink the fingers of one hand around his throat while the fingers of her other hand tug on the laces of his breeches.

“Tav,” he growls, the reverberation of his vocal chords against her hand shooting directly to the heat that burns in her core.

She pulls her hand from around his throat to pull back and strike him across the face. His hips surge up against her desperately. “Silence,” she warns, nimble fingers slipping his throbbing cock from its confines.

The fat head is wet, a glistening mess of his own precum. The smell makes her mouth water. Wrapping her hand around the shaft she pulls at him experimentally, running the calloused pad of her thumb across the leaking slit on top and along the thick vein beneath his glans until he whimpers. The sound makes her smile, the power of her unique position sending a rush of wet slick through the lips of her vulva, dripping down the inside of her thighs.

Moving the hand she just had wrapped around his erection to her own throbbing need she drinks in his expression while he watches her fuck herself on two fingers. She leans back to give him a better view while she circles her own clit, biting her lip and shifting her hips in time with the movements until she’s close, almost too close.

The devil never looks more beautiful than when he’s languishing untouched, desperate and needy and simmering with helpless fury.

“Open that pretty maw, creature,” she sneers, an echo of his earlier epithet.

Obediently his lips part and she leans forward, shoving her fingers into his mouth, pressing against the molten heat of his tongue.

“Suck.”

Tav's eyes flutter, nearly rolling to the back of her skull as the Duke follows her instruction, locking his lips around her slick coated fingers and sucking hard enough to tear her soul through her fingertips. She moans, positioning herself above his pelvis and undulating her hips to rub his delicious head through her slippery folds.

Inside his mouth his tongue swirls across the pads of her fingers and he echoed her moans; pleasing, pretty, broken little sounds that have her sinking onto his cock halfway in her excitement. He bucks, too sharp teeth grazing erotically against her fingers and she withdraws them to backhand him; whip fast and snapping his lust drunk face to the side. He gasps and she revels in the feeling of him jumping against the walls of her sex.

Pulling herself upright she arches her back, giving him a pretty view as she plays with her own breasts, running the tips of her fingers along the goose pimpled flesh of her abdomen.

“Like what you see, devil?” She taunts, sinking a little more around his girth. “Tell me, Archduke,” she smiles cruelly. “Tell me how much you want to fuck this sweet mortal cunt.” She twists her nipples and sinks a little lower on his cock, watching the expressions flit across his face faster than he probably even registers them. She smiles, all teeth. “Beg.”

“Please!” He doesn't even hesitate, voice gone tight. “Please, let me feel you sink that perfect tight cunt onto my cock.” He releases the most delicious open mouthed whine when she does, enveloping him completely. “Please!” He blurts, hands fisting in the bedding, muscles quivering with the restraint to keep from fucking into her.

The stretch is nothing short of divine. Her hips yearn to move, to rock against him, grinding his hips into the bed but she pauses, balancing on the precipice.

“Please, what?” She demands, relishing in the widening of his eyes, the way his mouth hangs open.

“Please,” his eyes close briefly and he swallows thickly, “Archduchess Supreme, My Lady Eternal.”

“Good boy,” she murmurs, warmth suffusing her entirely when he keens at the praise.

Planting her hands on his chest she wastes no more time, fucking herself on his thick cock; fast and hard and rough. Between her fingers she pinches his nipples, leaning forward to swallow his cries as she rides him to the brink. Between her thighs he cants his hips, mindlessly matching her thrust for thrust as his orgasm barrels within reach.

She slips a hand between their bodies, pinching her swollen clit and cries out his name and a litany of swearing as she crests her final peak. Her mind whites out, the walls of her cunt bearing down on his cock so tightly he spills into her with an inarticulate groan.

Their bliss reached, their movements stutter clumsily to a stop, chests heaving and breathless pants peppering the air with the soft sounds of post coital exhaustion.

Tav disengages from Raphael's body slowly, flushing at the rush of slippery fluid that leaks out of her. The devil looks at the mess between her legs, unabashed, a pleased smirk hovering in the corners of his mouth.

Running a finger through their combined spend, shivering on the cusp of overstimulation, she holds his gaze as she reaches up to paint his lips with it.

He doesn't even blink, licking the shine of his own seed from his lips and making a pleased noise, deep in his chest, that echoes in the throb of her empty cunt. Leaning into him, chest to chest, Tav chases the taste of them on his tongue with a redolent kiss, slow and tender. His hands drift along her sweat slick skin, raising goose bumps with each delicate graze of his nails.

Wrapping his arms around her Raphael flips them, startling a sound from her that he chases with teeth and an amused chuckle. Before she registers what he's doing the devil is wedged between her legs, pushing one of her legs wide, fingers sunk tightly into the plush thickness of her thigh while the fingers of his other hand part the puffy lips of her sex.

He stares, transfixed, for only a moment before he bends his head, slotting his lips against her wet, sticky heat. The predator devours the prey. The gluttonous wet sounds of him licking and suckling at her sex sends her brain rocketing away on a tidal wave of sensation. She grasps the back of his head in shock and a haze of overwhelming arousal.

“Raphael!” She cries out when he locks his lips around her clit and sucks. “Nnnggg– ahhh!!”

“Say my name again,” he growls, immediately spearing her with his tongue and twisting to lap at every drop of her slick heat. “Say it!”

“Ra– Raphael! Oh– nnngggahhh!!” If she is his Archduchess then he is her god and she cries out to him, exultantly. “Raphael! Yes! Yes! RAPH–”

He hums his pleasure and the vibration has her sinking both hands into his hair, pressing him closer– harder–

She flexes her hips, rocking against the sensation of his mouth taking her apart, heart slamming against her ribs as her mind spirals faster and faster and–

“RAPHAEL!” Tav’s mind flies apart as she screams her release, back bowed, thighs clenched tight around the Archduke’s ears.

She comes back into her body to the feeling of her fingers being disentangled from their iron grip on his hair. She releases him immediately, flexing her digits and collapsing against the bed as a wave of exhaustion slides over her.

“You,” she pants breathlessly, boneless and still buzzing for the high of her orgasm. “That was–

“Delicious,” he finishes for her with a sinful smile that does nothing to soothe the thunderous beating of her heart.

This time it is the devil who stretches himself over her body, skin against sweaty skin, and presses the taste of her arousal and his spend between their lips in a filthy kiss. When he pulls away Tav’s dazed expression pulls another smile to his face, this one different from the one he usually shows her. Her stomach clenches but in the next moment her face is split in a jaw cracking yawn and when she looks again he looks the same as he always does.

“Sleep, my dear,” he says in a tone that conveys he neither cares if she does or does not. With a snap of his finger he is dressed and polished once more. He drags his eyes down the length of her naked body with an appreciative leer. Another snap and he's gone in a flash of hellfire.

Tav forces her body to move though her limbs feel made of jelly. She crawls between the sheets, the luxurious material cold against her heated skin. Sweat on her scalp and elsewhere on her body sends a shiver down her spine. Cocooned, safe, and spent, she sleeps.

That's All Folks!

[revelboo]

good lord I just very recently found your blog and it's everything I've been begging for out of a transformers blog I'm so weeeeaaaak for transformers x human content, I've been kicking my feet and SO giddy giggling or crying over pretty much every chapter of "everything is Alright" and let me tell you I spend every chapter screaming to myself that everything is NOT alright, I love them and how you write them SO much, literally tore through Everything Is Alright in a few days just to be blessed that you're still kicking with this tasty brilliant feast and UGH the glee I felt ripping into the new update like it's my favorite brand of chocolate 👌 your writing is such a comfort and is so,,,, hot chocolate on a winter night while huddled in blankets with a heating pad type feeling, literally so good, actually had to get up and pace around in petty anger about Megatron being like "yessss a bargaining chip" bc SIR THATS EXACTLY WHY THEY DIDNT TELL YOU ABOUT THE HUMAN DONT BE SHOCKED, seeing your takes on Starscream and Soundwave too are so GHRRHRGRHRGRHR/pos, just so good, you're cooking and we're all eating very very well

Thank you!

Everything Is Alright Pt 81

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• It’s worse, hearing him say it. Admitting to the things he’s done, to how cold he can be. And you’ve seen that indifference from time to time, felt that chill but not in a long time. But as he speaks, his voice is empty, cold as ice. Like the things he’s done mean nothing to him. There’s no regret, no horror. He’s just recounting them like someone mentioning the weather. When it’s over, you’re both silent aside from the ragged way he’s venting, the only give away that saying all of it affected him. “You think I’m a monster, don’t you?” He asks and your chest hurts. Because he is a monster, he’s awful and unrepentant, but he’s your monster. The one who’s so gentle with you, who wipes away your tears, and takes care of you like you’re the only thing he actually does care about. And maybe you’re a monster, too for still loving him despite how awful he is, despite how what’s he’s done hurts your soul.

• Tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling because he can’t look at you, he waits for the condemnation. Can’t bear to see the disgust there. Because how can you not despise him now? You’ll ask to be freed and then realize how awful he really is when he refuses, because he can’t lose you. Even if you hate him, you’re his and he won’t let you go. “You were,” you say, words so soft he almost can’t hear them. “But I don’t think you still are.” And now you’re lying to yourself, wanting to believe he’s better. That he can change when he’s not so sure. Unable to crush that fragile hope of yours as he slides a servo against your side. So he’ll let you choose to believe that he’s better than he is. That he’s not as awful as he knows he is and that he can change. Again, he thinks of all things he wants to say to you, but never can. Wanting to live up to your hopes and knowing he’s just going to fail you.

• “You’re going to be disappointed,” he mutters, lying back on his berth and lifting you on top of him, servos lingering. Your soft ‘maybe’ hurts, but he laughs anyway, the sound bitter. All those things just there on the tip of his glossa that he can’t bring himself to say. He’s always had a way with words, but he has none now. Can’t say them, but can show you. Knows you don’t want this, him, right now even as he pulls back the protective panels around his spark and nudges you toward it. Your eyes still red and tired when you push back even as he slides you closer and you give in. “Let me have this,” he says, as you sigh at him. Lying down against him and dipping your fingers down, tendrils of spark energy reaching out hungrily to snare you as you both shudder at the connection.

• It’s like falling. Like when he mass displaces under you even though you don’t actually move, but part of you gets pulled into those luminous waters that are him, his spark. Drowning in him as he envelopes you, wrapping himself around you. Protecting you as his emotions and thoughts wash into you like a tide. All the things he wants to say and can’t. What you are to him, that thought so tentatively offered, so fragile. Love. Afraid of rejection, so scared of being alone. Always alone, always betrayed. Tangling in him, you swim through him. Seeing everything. The good and the bad. Fear so visceral it leaves you breathless, hate and despair so hot they burn you. And his love, consuming and desperate. So overwhelming it’s almost terrifying even as you gather him to you. All of him, the monstrous and the good and claim it as yours. Accept it. Aware that the real you is crying, the broken, ragged sound of it echoing through you.

• Sitting on the side of his berth, Soundwave’s hands begin to tremble. Unable to sense you suddenly, your mind just disappearing from his awareness. The Seeker. Had he taken you away from the base like he had before? Had he accidentally hurt you in a fit of temper? Frantic, he reaches out for that warm chaos that’s your mind, finding nothing. The disconnect too sudden, almost crippling with how abrupt it was. You were right there in the back of his processor and now you’re gone. Just gone. And it’s his fault, all of it coming apart even though he’d been trying to protect you and Starscream both. Because he needs you, the warmth of your mind humming in his own, the softness of you against him. Staggering upright, he finds himself striding out of his quarters, his cassettes watching worriedly. Almost running down the hall, because he needs to know. Even if you’re gone, if Starscream did the unthinkable to you, he has to know.

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