#so to others its an advanced happy birthday

[1920sladydectective]

Serve or Perish Trying - A Noxian Message

Ambessa Medarda and a lowly servant of a visiting dignitary have some fun....

Kinda oblivious reader gets a lesson in serving lol. This is not proofread, nor will it ever be. Tenses and stuff keep changing but whatever. Thank my wife for this gang.

D/S dynamics, degradation, reader is new to this. Mostly non descript female reader.

Love you, be kind I am rusty! Minors DNI I stg. Cross Posting to AO3

Crimson suited her. It flowed like a damning waterfall from hardened, certain shoulders. 

There was doubt in her gaze, not of herself - never that - but of your usefulness to her. Whatever she wished for, her face told you she had found it. 

She had found you, nestled in a corner of her opulent ballroom awaiting instructions from your Mistress; a Duchess from a neighbouring Kingdom who had been invited to Lady Ambessa Medarda’s birthday ball on account of her fine trading connections. Not that you’d know her speciality in fabrics, considering the filth she kept her servants in. Presentable but ugly and misshapen, meant as a reminder of your station. 

You had been drifting into a daydream, the beauty of Noxian balls harsher and more pressing than other lands. It wrapped you up, threatened to choke you with its splendour. Everything here was a message - everything would surrender to the red and gold might of Noxus one day. 

Horrified, both for your job and then more pressingly your life, you were dragged from ponderings by a firm, calloused hand cupping your chin. Lady Medarda was holding you like trussed up livestock. The red fabric seemed silkier up close, gentle etchings swirled in it, fine gold thread adding a shimmer to her movements. 

Should you speak? Bow? Had you offended her?

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?” Steel cut through your panic, grey eyes bemused.

“I-I’m terribly sorry Lady Medarda,” You blurted, cheeks aflame, “Please accept my-”

“Enough of that,” She snorted, “Tell me your name child,” 

It fell from your lips, mouth staying agape.

Her thumb traced along your lip, “I was unaware I’d been given another present, the gifts are over there dear,” 

A nervous laugh tittered out under her grip, her eyes darkening into charcoal pools. No wonder she was a renowned warlord, even light flirtation was a battlefield with her. Her hand slipped from your face, resting on your hip instead. 

“Who should I give my thanks to for such a delightful offering?”

A pause, your dry mouth swallowed in search of moisture, “Duchess Montgermaine is my Mistress my Lady, I am to serve her wine,” 

A sharp eyebrow raised, “Are my servers not enough?”

“Of course not, my Lady,” You attempted a demure smile, “She just-”

“Is a drunkard,” Lady Medarda snapped bluntly, relishing in the surprised giggle you let out, “Is she not?”

“Well, I couldn’t say,” You bit your lip, the inferno from her gaze fueling you, a hazy spell embracing you under her touch. 

“A secret between friends then, Precious,” 

Her advances were interrupted by the Duchess herself and you feared she may lose her head for it. Medarda turned, face frustrated, as Montgermain began to ramble about their happy trading union. 

“She is yours, I am told,” You are gestured to lazily, bangles jangling, as her words are choked back into her overindulgent throat. 

You had never seen someone interrupt your Mistress, let alone belittle her so. It made your body throb. This seemed to summon the warlord's eyes as if she could sense it on you. 

“Unfortunately yes,” She babbles, glare fixated on you, “Dull girl, you know how hard finding help is Ambessa,” 

“I suppose you won’t mind my taking her then,” She sneers with fake civility, “I am sure I can find a way to use her,” 

Use you. It echoed, red and gold smothering you as you had feared. You were as good as hers now, your naivety at the seriousness of her advances crystal clear. It seemed an extravagant way to gain staff. 

“I’d be happy to oblige you,” the Duchess slurred, “No skin off my nose,”

The interaction ended there for Lady Medarda, it seemed, as she turned and pushed you against one of her guards. They ushered you away down a corridor, her wolf-like grin lingering in your eye as she looked away. 

Heavy doors swung open to reveal a large, smooth bedchamber. It screamed of her, each corner loomed as she did. Flurs covered the bed and an enticing fire showered the room in an orange hue.  You were not unaware of your chances here, should you fail to impress her it was highly likely Lady Medarda would simply kill you. She had killed many more for far less. That felt less like a death sentence and more like a challenge, an otherworldly desire to please overwhelmed you.You would spar if necessary or clean or scribe or bathe her. Whatever it took, you resolved The guards left quickly, leaving you alone. 

Unsure of how long she would be or if she would join you tonight at all, you curled at the foot of the fire. Sitting on a chair felt too presumptive, the bed entirely off limits as hers. 

Time slipped by like sand through a sieve, your eyelids grow heavy as you stayed perched. 

“Undress me,” You were unsure when she appeared and how you’d missed it, a stormy smile yanking you forward. 

Twitching, unsteady hands stroked against her dress, you undid it and pulled it off, careful not to linger too long on any part of her body. 

Fuck. There was no underwear to even attempt to remove. 

“Anything else, My lady?” You muttered, eyes down. Thick hands slammed you down, your knees crashing into harsh marble. The pain had tears forming, eyes darting up in shock. 

Lady Medarda slapped your face lightly, as if disciplining a dog, “Eat,” she commanded, pushing your jaw forward. 

Oh.

Soft, dewy folds rested just above your mouth, your task for her Ladyship suddenly obvious. Your small tongue dashed out, unsure as it lapped against her. A triumphant sigh rattled from her chest, grip encouraging your ministrations. The inferno was back, eating you whole, turning you to dancing embers. Warmth leaked from her onto your lips, wiping your mind into a blissfully clean slate. Each pulse of her core had you licking harder, deeper, fuelled by her certain guidance and your primal bliss. 

You were inexperienced and sloppy, but Ambessa hardly minded. Your emptying eyes and desperate gasps against her cunt were more than enough to close that gap, her head lulling back in pleasure. Her pillowy thighs robbed you of the small gaps of air her clit had allowed, pressure weak but noticeable. Another Noxian message - serve or perish trying. 

This was far from a death sentence, it was salvation.  Like a mutt you rutted mindlessly at her feet, your own leaky ache coating your thighs. 

“Dirty girl,” Ambessa cooed, riding your face more harshly, a smirk on her lips, “Unable to stop yourself,” 

You whined, nose pushing against her clit as you nodded, spluttering in oxygen noisily. She would be your undoing, towering and crushing your sense of self, moulding it for herself. 

Fingers tugged against your locks as Ambessa roughly used your face to find her completion, grunts and bewitching moans sending her higher and further until she crashed against your bruised mouth, her juices flooded onto your surprised face as you lapped and sucked. 

“Strip,” She panted, glittered gaze dominating you as she held out a hand to receive your clothes. 

You did without question, lumpy fabric landed in her grip as you tried to offer yourself as openly as possible. Embarrassment crept through the heady fog. You were slight, not by choice but malnutrition and years of overworking yourself. Ambessa crushed that doubt, throwing your clothes in your flames as she stalked around you. You were perfect, she decided, oh how she loved to break things. 

“No need for those, they hide you away,” She purred, toying with your upper thighs, hovering just below where you begged for her, “Have you ever been touched here little one?” 

“No, My Lady,” You moaned out, “I-Uh just you,”

She let out a laugh, making butterflies dance in your chest, “I haven’t even done it myself yet, Dear,” 

“Please?” You find yourself whimpering, “I’ll do whatever you like,” 

“Oh will you now,” Her tone mocked you, sympathetic pout on her mouth as she gripped your hips and you flung across the air into her bed. The furs soothed your sore legs, her scent permeated them. Your knees fell open, pleading for her to use your molten core. 

Use she did, regardless of your comforts and desires. Two fingers pushed into you, you stuttered and slurred as your body adjusted. Ambessa was not patient, overactive from too many idiots at once and your artful, whorish tongue, she ploughed into you against your pained whines. Soon pain gave way to a sticky, addictive ecstasy. She saw the change, empty eyes suddenly clouding over, loud keening moans ripping from our throat. 

“My, very loud without a cunt against your mouth, Pet,” Ambessa’s hypnotic snarl had you nodding nonsensically, chasing a high you didn’t understand. Just as you thought you would tumble helplessly off a cliff it all stopped. The engine died. Her fingers stilled. 

“Why did you stop?” You croak, outraged, grabbing at her wrist. 

Ambessa growled, fear spiking your heart as harshly as pleasure had. A free hand leisurely planted a slap against your burning cheek, lips falling open in shock. Not at the violence, but the joy it flared in you. The same hand slapped your suddenly empty hole, narrowed eyes following the trail of drool leaking from your useless mouth. 

“You don’t do anything without my permission, Foolish girl,” Ambessa flipped you as easily as a book page, rubbing against your ass absentmindedly, “Do you think ten will suffice?”

“What?” Your lips could barely move.

Her eyes rolled, “Fifteen then, do be sure to count them,” 

Her hand came swiftly slamming down. 

One

“Aloud,” Her teeth bit your ear.

Fuck

It was almost as if you had never been taught numbers, each one fighting its way out as your ass joined the list of things sore and overused on your body. Ambessa seemed detached, calm as though she was merely discussing the weather. At fifteen your face was crushed against her thighs, taking in her skin and huffing in the sex stained air as much as you could.

From this new position those blissful, brutal fingers thrust back in at an inhumane rhythm, your battered mind finally following the flow of commands. If you wished for more, you begged and even then if she did not wish it, it would not be so. You were dangling over that cliff again, love drunk on Ambessa as her siren song sang you over the edge. It felt like ascension, your soul left your body, your scream desperate. Gushing liquid and tinges of red mingled on her powerful fingers. Noxian in your own way then, you giggled to yourself, head rolling against her legs. Lady Medarda revelled in it, her fingers licked clean by her own indulgent tongue. 

You seemed to float there for a while, murderous sweet nothings indecipherably fell from your Lady’s lips as she cleaned you. 

“A fabulous start,” She grinned, caressing your cheek, “I think you’re ready now,” 

Rolling you onto her furs, she stood and opened a small wooden cupboard to the right of her bed. What she removed you could barely process, a long dark rod attached to leather straps that fit snugly on her hips. She had never seemed stronger, force and control things she owned and tamed rather than possessed as your legs were spread. Now lying on your back, tickled by the bedding, you could fully appreciate her breasts. Weighty and glistening, they called to you like a swinging pocket watch, enticing you with every movement. This distraction allowed Ambessa to toy with your stretched hole, her strap-on lightly stimulating your twitching folds. Leaning down, her own hand met your sorely neglected breast as she squeezed the supple flesh. Pinching a nipple between her nails, she twisted till you’d soaked your thighs, coating the strap-on as she wished. 

“Good girl,” She tugged you down, strap moving in an inch or two.

A wanton mewl slipped from your lips, grinding against it for more friction. She only punished you slightly, sharp nails scratching at your clit. The warlord attempted to be patient, coaxing the length in as kindly as possible. Your rolling eyes and sharp inhales were making it troublesome, her restraint slipping as she thrust into you fully. You squealed, glassy eyes wide as she bottomed out, pussy gushing slightly. Her fingers had prepared you for any major stretching, so the pain was fainter than you’d anticipated. Once Ambessa realised this her restraint slipped entirely, merciless hips destroying you as she stared into your very soul. 

“I thought you’d squirm less, Pet,” Venom dripped into your ear, your body twitching and rutting to meet her pace, “I do hope it's not too much,” 

“More,” You grunted, desperate, “Use me like a whore,” You had no idea where that came from, but it felt right somehow, your thoughts dripping in the lustful debauchery she had introduced.

“Don’t worry, your Mistress knows just how to treat you,” She said firmly, pace speeding up as a dark chuckle left her lips, this was a pleasant exercise, her muscles flexing as her strap soiled your sloppy cunt. 

“Mistress,” You slurred back happily, the word soothing you. You were getting close again, blood thrumming in your ears, black spots dancing across your vacant eyes, shameless begging filling the room. 

It was music to Ambessa’s ears, wet slaps of skin against skin as you whimpered and shrieked for her, your body moulded to serve. You had come so far from the little Wallflower she had teased hours ago, and you would stay like this, a sex-crazed slut worshipping at her feet. Feeling her own climax edging closer, she slurred filth into your malleable mind, both of you breathless and dripping with slick. She stole your orgasm from you as she conquered everything else, with ruthlessness and obsession. You were babbling, preening as you leaked over the furs, relishing in her juices dripping down onto you. 

In a fluid motion she pulled out and sank down, lapping up your mess as you giggled helplessly. Her tongue was far superior to your own, coaxing another sticky flood as your mind snapped like a weak twig. No thoughts, no noise, no understanding. Only pleasure. Always pleasure. 

Ambessa surveyed your blissed out, nonresponsive form as she cleaned herself and the strap-on off, placing it back in its box. A warm hand towel was fetched, as she stroked up and down your shining skin, slowly grounding you with sweet nothings and alluring kisses. You couldn’t quite understand her, but love and safety blossomed in your chest. Lady Medarda had chosen you and you had pleased her. Succumbing was good. Was right. 

“Thank you,” Your weak voice said, kissing against her palm. 

“You’re welcome, my darling,” A kiss to your forehead, “Rest now, sink into me,”

You were pulled onto her chest, pillowy breasts and warm covers plunging you into a dreamless, glorious sleep.

You loved Noxus. 

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 8

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

Happy birthday to our darling Rhys!! I got him everything he wanted 😏

CW: Smut, Mild dubcon/CNC elements, mind control, and other dubious, wicked things

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

-

Feyre was eleven years old the first time she was desperate enough to steal.

Like any ordinary child, she'd been taught that stealing under any circumstance was wrong. Her father was a merchant, which meant that thieves posed a direct threat to his livelihood, particularly when piracy was so common along the trade routes to the continent.

He'd built his legacy, the Prince of Merchants, on his willingness to sail those trade routes, navigating pirate-ridden seas because the higher risk equated to higher reward.

But a name wasn't won through gambling alone. Any merchant with a rookie crew could luck their way to the continent and back. What made him the best—the Prince—was his expertise in the art of bargaining. He was renowned for having deals so detailed, so craftily constructed, they needed to be written and signed in advance of each journey.

Feyre had been present for a few of those meetings, watching as ink bled from paper to skin. Sometimes, she'd even been present for the aftermath, listening to crewmen grumble about underhanded terms.

I am a man of my word, Father once said, rolling a contract over his desk and stabbing a finger to its contents. And my word was stated plainly. Do not impute your failure to read the terms on my good name. I am no liar, and I am certainly no thief.

He always used that word like it was filthy.

Feyre once mirrored that belief.

As a child, she would delight in sitting atop storage crates on the docks, monitoring the gangways as her father's crew unloaded cargo from his ship. If there were any wayward thieves, she was determined to catch them.

After all, Father didn't trust the folk along the docks. He barely trusted his own crew.

They don't have any passion for the exploration or the trade, he once grumbled. All they want is a bed and a meal.

Feyre remembered being shocked to hear that some people didn't have those things. Until that point, she'd always relied on having her basic needs met, and then some.

What's so bad about that?

When all a person cares about is surviving, it means they're willing to blur lines. They'll cheat, lie, and steal if it helps them get ahead.

Father shook his head like those three things were truly abominable. Little did he know that one day, Feyre would become a master of all three.

But she started with mastering one.

Two years after her father's vessel sank on the route to Bharat, Feyre's mother had fallen ill. Humans had weak constitutions, and grief could take a heavy toll. So could debt—of which, they'd learned the famed Prince of Merchants had many.

So Mother sold the house, then the jewels, then, eventually, her own body.

It was barely enough.

By the time she was too ill to work, there was nothing left to get by. No silver candlesticks or golden rings they could pawn at the market for medicine.

When Feyre wandered into the apothecary's shop, her intentions had been pure. If she knew the price of the medicine, then perhaps she and her sisters could find a way to scratch together the amount needed. They could scrub floors, or pull weeds in someone's garden, or maybe Elain could use her big brown eyes to draw sympathy begging in the streets.

The shop was lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves on every wall, filled to the brim with glass vials of varying colors and consistencies. Each sported a white label Feyre couldn't discern, though she was happy to pick out the colors that she found most interesting: a flask of swirling violet flecked with silver granules, another of bright, bubbling pink, and one which she swore housed a slithering creature.

"Can I help you?" The apothecary asked.

She sounded concerned, which any adult rightly would be at the sight of Feyre's tattered clothes.

It sparked hope that Feyre could appeal to the elderly female's empathy. That was all she'd been trying to do when she stared into the apothecary's eyes. Please help me, she thought. I know you want to help me.

The female's concern was so potent that Feyre could feel it, a rope tethering two strangers, built on kindness, on compassion. Her mind was as wide open as her heart.

Feyre didn't know she was digging into it until she felt something give. Like fingers clawing into wet sand.

I need a cure for a human fever, Feyre said.

She thought she said it out loud. She must have, because the apothecary started moving toward the shelf on the back wall.

Acting troupes occasionally put on puppet shows in the market squares near The Rainbow. Feyre felt like she was watching one of those shows as the female jerked open a drawer, her movements erratic. Unnatural. Like she was being controlled by an inexperienced puppeteer.

But the oddity was forgotten the second the woman produced a vial of shimmering liquid and handed it to Feyre without a word of the price. Her eyes were unnervingly vacant as Feyre took the vial, thanked the apothecary, and fled back to her mother.

She didn't realize until years later what happened; she didn't realize that was the moment she'd become a thief.

-

Daemati magic came in many different forms.

Suspended in the space between the High Lord of the Night Court's foyer and study, it took the shape of madness and indulgence.

Over the years, Feyre had progressed from accidentally breaking into people's minds into doing so with intention. It was a gradual process, one she likened to painting. A child used their fingers, but an artist used a brush.

And she was learning her mental bowstring was as rudimentary as finger painting to Rhysand.

Last time, he'd shown her brutal talons that allowed him to play ventriloquist, and she'd thought that was the extent of it. Pure, unyielding power.

But of course, it could be soft, too. Gentle, like a feather's touch ghosting over her mind. Almost… ticklish. Playful.

Like the fingers landing on her bare stomach. He splayed them out carefully, the way one might handle ruptured glass. They might have both been holding their breath as the challenge became real.

Their eyes met, waiting for the other to fracture. This was a ridiculous, dangerous game; they both knew it.

He was lowering himself to his knees before her, for Cauldron's sake. The most powerful male in Prythian bowing like a supplicant. It all seemed so backward to her.

But those strong, capable hands spread wider, undeterred by the constraints of social hierarchy. What did a High Lord care, when he could simply rewrite the rules with his fingertips? He stretched them until his palms landed flat, scalding her on either side of her abdomen. She tried not to focus on how long his fingers were, spanning over the curve of her waist while the tips of his forefingers skimmed her ribs.

"This," Rhys breathed, tracing one of his thumbs along the golden chain adorning her midriff, "was an excellent wardrobe choice."

"You can thank one of the mountain nymphs in the Palace of Thread and Jewels," Feyre said. As if this were a perfectly normal conversation. "She sold it to me."

"I'll make note of that," Rhys murmured, still toying with that gods-damned chain. Feyre fought the urge to squirm. "I owe her my heartfelt gratitude."

"I bought it with your money," she added.

Rhys shut his eyes. She watched him take a deep breath, and she couldn't tell if that knowledge irritated or excited him. When those violet eyes flashed open, bright and burning with hunger, Feyre thought she had her answer.

"Then it was arguably the best money I've ever spent."

"Arguably?"

It was meant to come off as teasing, but with his fingers drifting up her stomach, everything was coming out a little bit strained. And maybe… a little hurt. Not that it mattered if the High Lord regretted spending his money on her.

When Rhysand laughed, his breath danced over her skin, as light a caress as his presence at her mental shields.

"I would claim it with more conviction, but you weren't here for the ass-chewing I received from my second."

"Your—" she broke off with a little gasp as Rhysand's hands slid upwards, dipping beneath the golden band that cinched her top over her breasts. She adjusted her grip on the rope, holding tighter. "Your second in command?"

"Amren," he supplied. "She's a vicious firedrake trapped in a tiny female's body."

"Amren," Feyre echoed, squeezing her eyes tight as those curious fingers began running along the beads hanging beneath her breasts. They made a soft, metallic tink as they swung and collided with each other. "Amren like… like from the children's stories?

Nesta used to tease her with cautionary tales of the bloodthirsty Amren, who lurked in the shadows and sucked on the bones of naughty children. It wasn't the first she'd heard of Rhysand being in cohorts with Amren, but she'd always assumed it was figurative. The way a Priestess was associated with the Mother.

"She doesn't devour misbehaving children, if that's what you're wondering." Rhysand paused, drawing back for a moment with a horrifyingly considerate expression. "Anymore," he clarified.

"Anymore?" Feyre squeaked.

"There's no need to be afraid, Feyre." He grinned, leaning in closer. "Unless, of course, you've been misbehaving. Is there something you'd like to confess?"

Cauldron boil her. Feyre couldn't tell if he was being serious.

"Last I checked, stealing and gambling aren't exactly the traits of a priestess."

"It's a good thing Amren isn't the Mother, then. I think she would find those things amusing," Rhys said, a curious warmth to his voice. One she might even dare to label as affection. "In fact, I think she'd be quite impressed with you."

Feyre repeated, incredulous, "With me?"

"I certainly am."

And before she could digest that statement, Rhys circled a hand to the small of her back, untying the golden band that kept the fabric over her breast secured. It dropped to the floor in a clatter of beading, marking the descent of Feyre's resolve.

Her arms were starting to tremble, and she was grateful she could blame it on the exertion of holding them up. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus on the stinging in her palms from how tightly she gripped the rope. It was far better to focus on her chafing skin than the kiss of cool air against the underside of her breasts.

There was nothing preventing Rhys from slipping his hands beneath the newly loosened fabric and discovering her hardened nipples—not that they weren't already visible, peeking through the thin layer of fabric.

Rhys drew back to observe her, holding his advance for the moment.

"Are you getting nervous, Feyre?" The lapping presence at her mind became a little pushier, more of a prod than a stroke. "Your shield's still holding up nicely."

"Because I'm not nervous," she insisted.

"No?" Rhys leaned in, pressing the tip of his regal nose just beneath her navel. "Is that something else I smell, then?"

"Is it the stench of your own ego?"

"So sharp with me," he chided, momentarily abandoning his conquest near the top of her ribs to guide his nose lower, down to her hip bone, then across the low dip of her skirt. "What will it take to make you soft? Is it just a matter of finding the right spot to stroke?"

Feyre snorted. "I don't think soft is what appeals to you, High Lord."

"Oh?" His eyes flickered up to hers, only briefly, before he resumed his slow exploration. "What is it you think appeals to me?"

Feyre didn't answer. She didn't know how—not once he found the knot that kept her skirt in place. He bit into it, tugging with his teeth despite having two perfectly good hands placed just below her breasts.

Feyre nearly let go. She considered it, at least, as she watched Rhys unravel the knot with his mouth. She had time to stop it from plummeting to the ground in a waterfall of blue cloth. But she didn't.

As it pooled at her feet, Rhys drew away again, taking her in with riveted interest. With her hands occupied, there was nothing she could use to hide from his stare, though she twitched with the urge. She felt like a creature trapped in a frame, laid bare under his assessment.

It wasn't the clothes, or lack thereof. Though, he looked delighted to discover the pair of lacy underthings she'd selected that morning. It wasn't the lust, either. Not when she felt it in equal measure, and had walked into this house fully intending to slate their shared desire.

No, what caught her off guard. What stripped her raw, worse than the rope squeezed between her fingers, was the way that smug smile faded into something… something Feyre didn't know how to name.

His eyes captivated her. Blazing and intent, no different from the moment they met. She couldn't look away from them—and she wanted to, if only to glance over her shoulder and ensure the Mother hadn't materialized behind her back. That was the only way Feyre could have explained the awe creeping over his expression.

His fingers flexed at their place over her ribs, as though restraining the urge to drag them lower.

"You," he said, answering the question she couldn't. On his knees, in that voice… It sounded oddly like a prayer. "I want you however you come, Feyre. Soft or sharp, you're equally exquisite."

Her heart was beating in her throat. "What if I only know sharp?"

"Then be as sharp as you want with me." He was leaning towards her again, less as if driven by hunger and more as if he simply couldn't resist. Like she was the puppeteer, pulling him forward. "Cut me, make me bleed. Just—don't make me stop."

Feyre didn't plan on it. That rope was her lifeline, and she held tight as Rhys dived back against her stomach, his mouth open this time, tasting and nipping at her skin. There would be marks there tomorrow. A trail of love bites across her hips, just beneath the golden chain he seemed so obsessed with.

When she tried to wriggle away, growing impatient, Rhys slid his hands to her hips, locking her in place.

"Stay still for me." She found his orders lost some of their impact when muffled into her stomach. "I told you I intend to taste every inch."

It was a shame she couldn't dive her hands into his hair. If she could, she would have taken hold and pushed his mouth where she actually wanted him—needed him.

"Rhys."

His name was half gasp, half complaint.

"You know." He slid his tongue around the curve of her navel, before mouthing his way to the valley of her breasts. His hands followed in a slow, scraping caress. "I don't think I've ever heard you call me that before."

"Would you—" Feyre's breath hitched as he brushed the back of his knuckles against one of her nipples. "Prefer to be called High Lord?"

That seemed to amuse him. "My bedmates aren't usually so formal."

"What do you prefer then? Master? Milord? Your Great Exaltedness?"

Rhys hummed dismissively. "If you can say that many words, then I'm not doing my job right."

"Well, I've been speaking this whole time. So what does that tell you about how you're doing?"

Feyre knew she was in trouble when Rhys stilled. She didn't know why she always felt the need to provoke him. Maybe it was because she still couldn't figure out why he tolerated it.

This was the same male who threatened to cut off someone's tongue for speaking too casually in his presence. The same male who slaughtered one of his captains without blinking. He had a reputation for ruthlessness, and she'd witnessed firsthand how he'd earned it.

And yet, he always seemed to hold back the breadth of his cruelty around her.

Even now, as he thumbed at her nipple through the loose fabric over her chest, he exuded patience. Musing, "Have you ever tried Illyian tea?"

Tea? Not following where he was going with the question, Feyre answered with a hesitant, "No?"

"It's cold in the Illyrian Mountains," Rhys said, emphasizing his point by ducking to blow a gust of cold breath over her collarbone. Feyre shivered. "The tea keeps us warm, and doubles as treatment for the wounded. It's strong stuff. The kind that burns down your throat and will land you on your ass after too many cups."

"What's your point?"

"You don't savor Illyrian tea. You down it as quickly as possible and wait for the warming to start."

"Okay?"

"I spent most of my youth in the Illyrian Mountains," Rhys went on. "And the first time I attended a High Lord's summit with my father, he smacked me upside the head when I tried to down a thimble of Day Court Mead. He told me I looked barbaric. Day Court Mead is one of the finest wines in Prythian, you see. You're meant to sip it, holding the flavors on your tongue."

"So I'm the mead, then," Feyre said, guessing where he was going with the analogy. "Am I supposed to be flattered that you're comparing me to a drink?"

Rhys didn't answer immediately. He only grinned to himself, before pulling away and rising from his knees. An unsettling response—almost as unsettling as his cryptic, "Stay here."

Then he headed back into the dining room. Feyre leaned through the doorway as best she could to follow what he was up to, but from her vantage point, all she could see was the end of the dining table and the abandoned chairs. She didn't dare let go of the rope to inspect any further.

It could be a trick, after all.

"I swear to the Cauldron, Rhysand, if you intend to leave me hanging from the doorway for the rest of the bargain—"

"You'll what, exactly?" He asked, sauntering back into view with a bottle in his hands, his face the picture of smug amusement.

"You'll owe me anything by the end of this," Feyre reminded him. "If you decide to be cruel, I'll endure it. And then I'll ensure it's repaid in full."

"Such a feisty creature you are." The words sounded gratingly affectionate, the way one would speak to a kitten batting at their leg. "And, pray tell, how will I be repaid if I decide to be kind? Might I expect more warmth from you?"

Feyre narrowed her eyes at the bottle in his hand. "What's that?"

He displayed it proudly before her. "Day Court mead, of course."

That was where he lost her. And it made Feyre nervous, seeing his large hands braced around the bottle, watching as he drew his thumb suggestively around the rim of the cork…

Her voice wobbled a bit as she asked, "W-what are you planning to do with it?"

All it needed was a small push of his thumb and then—pop.

"I want you to try it," Rhysand said, closing the distance between them.

His fingers lodged under her chin, burning where they touched. She was burning in so many places, now. Her hands, raw from the rope. Her chin, warm from his touch. Her cunt, aching with need. And her cheeks, embarrassed from it all.

"Be good for me." Rhys tilted her chin up, until her eyes were level with the sight of her trembling arms, growing white and numb, but still holding fast.

When he raised the bottle, he dragged his thumb across her lower lip, prompting with a single, firm, "Open."

Feyre parted her lips, allowing him to pour the mead into her mouth.

The first drop was like sunlight. Honeycomb drenched sunlight. Sweet, but not like sugar. Sugar was sharp, quick, and over too soon. This was slow, like a sun-warmed nap in a swaying field, rich and indulgent. The longer she tasted, the more depth she discovered, luring her in, somersaulting her towards a golden abyss.

"Don't swallow," Rhys whispered, his voice wending around her, coupled by strokes of dark tendrils that forced her awareness to return to her other senses. On her tongue, a drop had become a flood, filling her mouth until it pooled, then overflowed, streaming down her chin, her neck, her breasts.

She could already feel the sugar sticking to her, but her focus was on remembering to breathe through her nose, trying desperately not to choke while Rhys continued pouring, his other hand cradling her skull as he murmured, "That's it, Feyre. Good girl."

Eventually, the bottle ran dry.

"Not yet," Rhysand said. "You're meant to hold it on your tongue, remember?"

Feyre's throat bobbed uncomfortably. That was another place she was beginning to burn.

"Stay still," he coaxed, leaning in. Their eyes met as his lips fell over hers. Those damn, discerning eyes that saw everything, including the desire she was trying so hard to fight.

He saw it, and smiled, all wicked and taunting. His tongue flicked across her lower lip, tasting the wine. But he didn't stop there.

His fingers curled in her hair, urging her head upright so the mead could flow from her open mouth to his. It wasn't clean by any means. Honeyed wine spilled from the seam of their lips, dripping onto her skin and his clothes, making a mess of them both. She swallowed what was left—it was the only way she could kiss him back, and Rhys didn't seem to have any complaints.

With a groan, he dashed the empty bottle to the floor, bearing no mind to the resulting crash and scattering fragments. He seemed to have much more pressing concerns, which involved scooping Feyre against him to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced her lower lip again, and she opened her mouth, inviting him to taste at the source.

His tongue swept in, tasting of honey, and she wanted so badly to let go of the rope so she could hold him there, to suck at his tongue and bite at his lips. Rhys was in full control, positioning her just as he wanted so he could taste.

Feyre hissed when he pulled away to lick a trail of mead from her chin.

A rasping chuckle was her response. "I've made a mess, Feyre. It's my duty to clean it up."

A hand fisted in her hair and tugged, angling her neck back so he had full license to lick the column of her throat.

Feyre was panting, squirming against his hold and furious that he would stop kissing her. "Rhys—"

"What happened to Your Great Exaltedness?"

He kept her arrested in that position, taking his time to suck and nip at her skin, then pull away with an audible pop. Over and over, he ignored her groans of frustration, creating a path of red welts that were soon interrupted by her sullied top.

"Oh dear, this has been ruined, hasn't it?" He didn't sound the least bit concerned as he ripped at it, casting the garment away as if it were mere cobwebs. "Don't worry, I'll get you a replacement."

And then the heat of his mouth surrounded one of her breasts, his tongue circling her nipple. Feyre gasped, bucking into the air. This was going to be impossible if she didn't have something to ground her, something to—

Rhys, as if sensing what she needed, wedged his thigh between her legs. The pressure against her clit relieved some of the ache, but introduced the new, humiliating urge to drive her hips forward.

She bit her lip, determined to resist.

"Is this what you needed, Feyre?" Rhys coaxed, palming her hip to create the movement for her. She fought a whimper as her clit ground against his hard muscle. "Does that feel better?"

She refused to answer him. But she also didn't stop moving her hips when he let go.

"That's it," he murmured, returning his attention to her breasts. One was cradled in his palm, while the other endured the countless lashes from his tongue, teasing her so mercilessly that she thought she might die if she didn't touch him.

When his teeth clamped down, Feyre screamed, driving her hips against his thigh harder. Her head was beginning to spin, a mixture of exhaustion and pleasure and pain.

As she writhed against him, Feyre started plotting all the ways she would get her revenge once her hands were free. Maybe she'd fish another bottle of mead from his cellar and sip it from his abs. Maybe she'd tie him up and ride his face until he couldn't breathe.

Maybe she'd—

My, don't you have the most delicious thoughts about me.

Feyre froze. Rhysand's mouth was still latched to her breast. Those words hadn't come from his mouth. Which meant that voice…

It was in her mind.

You should pay more attention to your mental shields, Feyre. A lesser male could walk right in and decide to take you up on those filthy thoughts of yours.

Feyre's fingers flexed with the urge to lash out in front of her, as if she could physically push him out. What are you doing?

Did you forget? This was a daemati exercise. And it looks like your shield dropped as soon as you started enjoying yourself.

A familiar sensation crept over her—awareness, like a cold breath cascading down her spine, that her body was yielding to a foreign presence. Her veins became a latticework of strings, and she felt his talons pluck at them, transforming her into a marionette of his will.

Now, now, he tutted. Don't stop on my account, Feyre.

Captive in her own mind, Feyre could do nothing to prevent her hips from rolling forward. Her head tipped back, and without restraint over her body, there was nothing to smother the moan rising in her throat.

There you are, Feyre. Give in to it.

He was everywhere, physical and otherwise. His magic swarmed through the crack in her mental shields, blanketing her mind in a fog of endless starlight. She treaded through it the same way she'd learned how to swim, thrashing and kicking blindly in an attempt to reach the surface. But that assumed there was a surface, an ending to the vastness of power that twined and twisted around her.

Rhys clicked his tongue. Must you always fight me?

Outside their minds, she felt cool air sting her puckered nipple, exacerbated by the saliva glinting there, and the trail of it that led to Rhysand's cat-like grin. She watched him lick his lips as he admired his work: From her flushed skin, covered in love bites and rivulets of golden wine, to her trembling arms, waning in strength. Finally, his attention dipped to his thigh, where the fabric of his trousers had become damp from each consecutive pass of Feyre's hips.

He took a deep, pointed inhale. You can admit you want this. There's no sense hiding what we both already know.

I want—even her mental voice sounded shaky—the money and the favor. Not you.

Immune to her lies, her body continued helplessly rubbing against him. Her breathing quickened as that pressure began to build, winding hot and tight.

Why not me, Feyre? Rhys pushed, almost taunting. He could feel she was close to the edge. Is it because it frightens you?

Because it's not real!

That's not the game we're playing right now.

His tongue snaked along her throat, licking away more of the mead.

Inside, she was grappling against his hold. They thrashed and rolled through the darkness, her claws scraping his, pushing and pulling, ebbing and flowing until they were a tangled mass of magic, so deeply intertwined that Feyre lost all sense of where she ended and he began.

Meanwhile, Rhysand held her, enveloped her, worshiped her with his mouth and hands and talons, and she thought it wouldn't be the worst thing to surrender to this.

Why was she holding herself back?

This is all just a distraction, she reasoned. It doesn't mean anything

Do you want it to mean something, Feyre?

Feyre wanted to scream. Though, from frustration or pleasure she wasn't certain. Everything was becoming muddled, colors bleeding together like water over paint. There wasn't room in her mind to think, and outside her body was being driven to a pinnacle that she couldn't hold back.

Get out of my head!

Rhysand's voice was full of faux sympathy. If it's too much for you, darling, then let go of the rope.

Fuck you.

Oh, I intend to. His voice was starting to sound a little breathless, too. A large hand palmed her backside, moving her faster against him. She watched through half-lidded eyes as his head tipped back with a low, guttural sound. Fuck. Feyre—

The world fractured. Erupted, like dropping into the ocean and feeling the water rush past. She delved deep into that darkness, feeling her own magic rupture and scatter into stars, washing her soul against the shore of his, their very essence seeping through the cracks of the other, becoming a tapestry of magic threaded so tightly she could feel it pulling in her chest.

Feyre let go of the rope.

She didn't know she still had enough control over her body to do so, not until she was already moving, threading her arms behind his neck to crash her mouth to his. It wasn't gentle. He didn't deserve gentle.

Bed, she demanded.

Rhys obeyed without question, not breaking their kiss as darkness folded and unspooled around them, depositing Rhys on his back atop his bed. Feyre straddled him, clawing at his clothes with shaking, rope-burned hands.

Until Rhys caught both wrists, bringing them to his lips one at a time to kiss away the raw flesh.

There's no rush, he soothed, running his thumb across her newly healed palms. We'll have an extra six hours together, after all.

For that comment alone, Feyre tore straight through his jacket and undershirt, coming away with strips of cloth. The High Lord didn't seem to mourn his clothes in the least. She would have taken more time to admire him, to admire the tattoos that she discovered on his chest and shoulders, so strikingly similar to her own.

Except, he was staring up at her, raw delight on his face. So feral—

Shut up.

I'll need to subtract that from your—

I said. Feyre crawled up his body, tearing off her soaked underthings. Shut. Up.

Unfortunately, sitting on a male's face was only an effective silencing technique when that male wasn't a daemati.

What a pretty view, Rhys purred, craning his neck before she'd even finished lowering herself down. The second she was steady, her hands balanced on the headboard, he hooked his arms around her thighs to bring her closer. Here I thought you planned to punish me.

Congratulations, you've proved you can run your mouth. Do you actually know how to use it?

Rhys arched a brow. Even Feyre couldn't believe her own boldness. One of these days, she was going to overstep and find herself on the receiving end of that boundless power, and it wouldn't be teasing and caressing her the way it was doing now.

Don't be so certain. I like that you're not afraid of me.

The purr in his voice heated her blood, nearly as much as that first, filthy kiss he pressed against her cunt. He went slow, using the broad flat of his tongue to part her folds in a long path ending at her clit. That was where he focused his attention, sucking and lashing while he kept her hostage in his grip.

But if you're going to mouth off, he continued without faltering in his expert torture. Be prepared for the consequences.

This, Feyre gasped, doesn't feel like a consequence.

Yet, he said smugly. I have all night with you. And I intend to 'put my mouth to use' until I've had my fill.

She knew he was bluffing. Feyre could count on her hand the number of males who had put their heads between her thighs, and all of them disengaged after a few minutes into the act.

With a growl, Rhys redoubled his efforts. A word to the wise when fucking a daemati: try not to think of other males unless you want them dead.

Jealous?

Insufferably. He nuzzled his face lower, dragging his tongue to her entrance. Do you still remember their names?

No. Even if she did, she wouldn't have told him. On the chance that he wasn't joking when he said they'd end up dead.

Good.

His tongue slid inside her, and the headboard creaked from how tightly Feyre clutched to it, convinced she would topple over when his fingers slid between her legs to supplement his tongue, rubbing tight, delicious circles. Her hips bucked, her climax shattering through her at incredible speed, causing light to dot her vision.

Rhys didn't slow his movements, continuing to lick and stroke her as he crooned, There's only one name you need to remember.

They were still mind-to-mind, completely entangled. Paired with her mind-numbing pleasure, it made the task of searching through her memory rather tedious. It was like trying to navigate a familiar place in the dark, she knew the information was somewhere around here…

Cassian? She said, recalling the name she'd heard from the rumor mill with a great deal of effort.

Rhys growled. Very funny.

Her thighs, clamped tightly around his head, were beginning to twitch as he worked her towards another rapidly approaching edge. Feyre didn't think she could survive this all night.

Wh-what was it you said? If I can say this many words, then you must not be doing a very good—

Those hands at her thighs grabbed her roughly, pushing her off his face and flipping her onto her back in a single, fluid movement. Feyre yelped as one of those hands grabbed her throat, pinning her to the mattress.

You can't help yourself, can you, Feyre?

Not any more than you!

An exasperated laugh rasped out of him, making her think she had just proved his point.

What happened to having your mouth on me all night? She challenged.

I'm thinking I need to tire you out first. Get you a little more… subdued.

He withdrew his hand, then his body entirely. Feyre's mouth went dry as she watched him unbutton his trousers, finally freeing his erection. He had no right to be as big as he was. To be as beautiful and powerful and arrogant as he was and to still have a cock like that…

Feyre hated him a little bit for it. Hated how difficult it would be to walk away from him by the end of this.

Rhys sauntered forward, expression as satisfied as it ought to be with a cock like that swinging between his legs and unfiltered access to each of the filthy thoughts she was having about it.

There'll be time for more play later, he said, pressing a knee into the bed.

He crawled over to her, and she watched his eyes fall over her naked body, parted in invitation for his. The hunger on his face curbed into something softer, something she didn't know what to do with.

You're beautiful, he murmured, seconds before his mouth found hers in a deep, open kiss. He tasted of honey wine and her own arousal, an unexpectedly pleasant combination. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It struck me the moment I first saw you.

His bare skin was so warm against her own, each contact point jolting her with a feeling of rightness. They slotted so perfectly together, his cock nudging at her entrance as she wrapped her legs around his waist, their tongues moving together and their fingers locking so that there wasn't a single part of their bodies and souls that wasn't entwined as Rhys pushed himself in.

Then paused.

Feyre fought a snarl.

Tell me you want this, he said. Forget about the bargain. Tell me this is about more than the money.

I want this. Feyre pulled at him, clashing their noses together from how fiercely she clutched at his face. She pushed her heels into his muscular backside, trying to urge his hips deeper. I want you, Rhys.

He groaned, pushing his hips forward.

The stretch of him was exquisite. Feyre had never felt anything quite like it—the decadent pleasure made sharper by the slight burn as he pushed in further, slowly, ensuring she felt every inch, every delicious place they were joined.

But that was just one layer of the overlapping sensations. There was also the cradle of his body, surrounding her in warmth. The soft lips against her neck, panting sweet, reverent breaths of, Feyre—oh, Feyre.

And then their minds. One seamless, blended entity of magic, of starlight. She could feel him everywhere, no piece of her soul untouched, but she could see all of him, too. Like gazing upon the very fabric of his life, woven from the moment he was born—maybe even before then.

If she plucked at one of the threads, she wondered what she'd find. A memory? A vital fragment of his being?

She wouldn't dare, not when she could feel him staring back so… openly. Like he wouldn't stop her if she tried. It was vulnerable in a way she didn't know how to honor. In a way that made her wary.

You are… Feyre trailed off, failing to find a word that articulated what she saw, what she felt.

Perfect.

That snapped Feyre out of her awe. She blinked, refocusing on her physical body, where he was shaking as he held himself still, letting her adjust and…

And just staring at her. His lips parted open, mouthing a word she couldn't make out as his wild eyes darted over her, studying every detail.

Adequate, Feyre said, narrowing her eyes at him. I was going to go with 'adequate'.

For a moment, Rhys said nothing, his brows pinching together in confusion. And then he seemed to snap out of it, barking a laugh that echoed through the starry cavern of their minds.

I was talking about you, smartass. He leaned down, licking a stripe up her throat that sent ripples of pleasure down her spine. But allow me to demonstrate just how 'adequate' I can be.

He withdrew his hips, just slightly, then plunged them forward, grinding deep as Feyre clawed at his back, panting.

Rhys let out a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest. In their minds, it became a clap of thunder, his magic roiling, surrounding her in zapping, crackling power. Her hair stood on end, her pulse quickening from the thrill, like standing at sea during a storm.

She dug her nails harder, certain she was peeling back skin, and he snarled in encouragement, withdrawing and snapping his hips. Again.

I've thought about this, he rasped, punctuating his words with another hard thrust. Every damn day since our last bargain, Feyre.

He drove into her harder, relentless. Grunting, I haven't been able to get your scent out of my nose.

I haven't been able to get you out of my gods damned mind.

Those words rippled through the space between their minds, echoing his confession. Feyre rolled her hips up, begging him to go harder, faster. Trying to say, in her own way, that she couldn't stop thinking about him, either.

I thought—

His teeth grazed over her pulse, making it jump. Her breath hitched.

Go on, he said, voice molten velvet.

I thought I was supposed to be the one practicing my shields. But it's your mind that can't keep me out.

His laugh was rich, warming her bones. If you think I'm the one with all the power here, Feyre, you are mistaken.

Then, as if to disprove that very statement, he let go. Every restraint, every glamour, every attempt he made to act the average fae—it all disappeared in that moment.

Great, membranous wings unfurled behind his back, blanketing them in the scent of citrus and sea salt. With a splintering crack, his magic untethered, spilling darkness into the room.

Without her sight, it became impossible to differentiate between the mental and physical worlds. As if they existed in a liminal space between, where slapping skin became the thunderous collision of souls, crashing and merging together.

Feyre was certain she was screaming. She thought, distantly, he might have been too. Somewhere, her mortal body clenched around him, hot and fever-bright.

She heard her name, over and over, Feyre, Feyre, Feyre—

And then he shattered, too, shooting every star out of orbit, his magic flooding over her in wave upon wave. She should have been frightened, surrounded by so much unyielding power, but it felt oddly peaceful. Like diving into the sea from her dreams.

She floated through that presence, Rhys buried inside her, both of them panting.

When he withdrew, so did the magic.

It was too bright. Feyre cringed, burying her face into his heaving chest, not caring the least that he was covered in sweat and shaking. They both were.

When she finally pulled away, blinking into the light, she found a pair of stunned violet eyes blinking back. For the first time since meeting him, he looked dumbstruck, mouth opening and closing like he was floundering for words. Like maybe all daemati sex didn't feel that… world ending.

For a long moment, they only stared, catching their breath.

Feyre took the time to reconstruct her mental walls, finding it oddly empty inside her mind without his presence.

Meanwhile, Rhys rubbed a hand down his face, then his chest, feeling absently at his ribs. She wondered if she'd accidentally hit him there when everything went dark.

She felt a bit battered herself. Sticky and sweaty and sore in far too many places. Tomorrow he'd probably take pleasure in laying her out to count each of his bite marks.

"Was that adequate enough for you?" Rhys asked, finally breaking the silence.

Smug bastard.

Feyre shrugged. "You're the High Lord who's supposedly so difficult to please. You tell me."

He smirked. "Lay back, Feyre."

Her mouth popped open. Surely he wasn't serious.

"Already?"

Rhys crawled toward her, wedging his massive body between her thighs. "I told you I wouldn't stop until I've had my fill." He flashed her a wicked smile as he lowered his mouth to her cunt, licking at their shared spend like it was a delicacy.

And I'm not nearly close to finished with you.

-

At some point, they did stop fucking long enough to eat and bathe—just barely.

Rhysand was ravenous. And Feyre didn't know what had gotten into her, but she was, too. They couldn't stop. Even long after they were exhausted, they kept touching and kissing until they collapsed completely tangled in each other.

Feyre had gotten maybe an hour of sleep, if that, when she woke up to pee.

She took her time on the way back to bed, marveling first at the sleeping form of the most powerful High Lord. He didn't look nearly so intimidating when he was naked and snoring, the blankets strewn haphazardly over his muscular legs.

If she had the time, she would have liked to draw him like this. No one else in the world got to see this version of him.

Except the other females he bedded.

That… was a sobering thought. The reminder that this wasn't some sacred, meaningful tryst. He was paying to fuck her, no different from any other whore in the upscale pleasure house she heard he frequented often.

With burning cheeks, Feyre turned away from his sleeping form, refocusing on why she was here to begin with.

His personal bedroom was larger than the one she'd stayed in last time, though only slightly. He had a worktable, scattered with paperwork and curious trinkets. Star charts and models of planets and books upon books of topics she couldn't discern.

That was another scalding reminder of how far apart their worlds were.

She was really only good at one thing.

Feyre tiptoed to his bedside table, silently pulling the drawer open to inspect its contents. More books, a pair of reading glasses, a velvet box, and a dark crown that she assumed had wound up in here after a late night at some formal gathering.

She imagined Rhys winnowing directly to his bedroom, flinging the crown into the bedside drawer, and collapsing atop the mattress.

It couldn't be easy, this life.

Feyre lifted the crown, measuring its weight in her hands, before she indulged the childlike impulse to place it on her head.

It couldn't be hard, either. Better than starving. Better than whoring yourself to survive.

She rose from his bedside table, searching for a mirror to admire how she looked in a crown, but a hand at her wrist stopped her.

Rhys was reclined across his bed, wings splayed beneath him, a lazy smile stretched across his lips.

"Find something you like?"

Panic seized her chest, squeezing like a fist as she scrambled to think of an excuse. "I—"

His eyes darkened. "Come back to bed."

"Rhys, I'm—"

"Keep the crown on," he said, tugging at her wrist with urgency.

She followed his pull, uncharacteristically pliant as he positioned her thighs over his face, groaning, "Gods, look at you," as he dived his mouth between her legs.

-

The final six hours of their bargain passed much the same.

There wasn't any noticeable shift to the way Rhys touched her, still slow and indolent, like he had all the time in the world.

It was nearly dusk and they were still in bed, still kissing though too exhausted to do much else. Even so, his kiss was gentle and thorough and maddening.

Feyre missed it when he pulled away.

"Your bargain's fulfilled," he said, breathing heavy. "I can take you home now."

It was a bad sign that it was dread coursing through her instead of relief.

Rather than untangle her alarming mix of feelings, Feyre fisted her hands in his hair, urging his mouth back to hers. Just one more kiss. To remember him by.

Rhys made a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat. He returned the kiss open-mouthed, cradling the back of her head to bring her closer. When she felt him harden against her thigh, they both groaned.

Rhys withdrew again, something achingly hopeful in his expression. "There's nothing preventing you from staying," he added. "If you want to."

That was what scared her—that fact that she wanted to.

Feyre kissed him again. Kissing him was easier than answering. Only, Rhys seemed to take kissing as an answer. He shifted closer, wrapping his wing around them so that she was cocooned in his heat, his scent, his touch.

And as the kissing grew more fervid, she didn't stop him from flipping her onto her stomach. He used his knees to wedge her thighs apart, spreading her open as those strong hands found her hips, urging them up, up, up.

She buried her face in the mattress, already clutching tightly to the sheets in anticipation of that first, perfect thrust.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Rhysand." The voice was female—crisp and edged, entirely undaunted by the High Lord's responding snarl. "You're late."

"Leave us."

It was a direct, uncompromising order, and yet the knocking came again. Louder.

"We are not rescheduling this meeting again. I'm sure your playmate can survive without your cock for an hour."

Feyre was still pressed into the mattress, gaping at him over her shoulder at the way the female was speaking to him. At the way Rhysand was letting her speak to him.

And more so that he listened, turning to Feyre with an apologetic wince. "I need to go. But you can stay here." He paused, hesitating for a moment before adding, "I'd like for you to stay. I'll be back within the hour."

A cough on the other side caused him to blow out a long breath.

"Maybe two hours."

Feyre nodded, slumping into the mattress. Rhys pressed an apologetic kiss into a notch at the top of her spine, then the next. The next. He nearly made it to her ass before the door rattled with an irritated thump.

With a long-suffering sigh, Rhys lifted himself from Feyre's body. It was no easier than trying to lift a boat from the sea; they both felt heavier once they were separated.

"Rest," Rhysand said. "You'll need it when I'm back."

After less than an hour of sleep, the stack of pillows at the headboard was practically calling her name. Feyre made a show of nuzzling into them, wrapping the blankets around her as a surrogate for Rhysand's warmth.

She felt him staring at her. Heard the soft little hmph he made in the back of his throat. A pleased sound, like he enjoyed the sight of her nestled in his bed.

Then, with a wave of his hands, he was dressed, closing the door behind him. She heard him speak to the female on the other side, their voices too muffled to discern, but she could tell he was grumbling about something.

Feyre listened intently as those voices faded down the hall. She waited until she was certain they were gone.

Quietly, she crawled to the edge of the mattress and opened the bedside drawer. The crown had been tossed to the floor some time in the night, but the rest of the objects were still there.

Including that velvet box.

Feyre reached for it, parting it open with her fingers to confirm its contents.

From there, it took all of five minutes to slip on her clothes and bolt out of the town house without looking back.

[fishii-writes]

haihaihaii i would like to request a nakahara chuuya friends to lovers for the event hehe :3 also sending u many happy birthday wishes in advance and lots of love mwah/p love you pookie <3

paring: chuuya x gn!reader

contains: headcanons

cw: highschool au implied, dazai + ranpo + yosano are chuuya's friends, just fluff, chuuya's a little clumsy but it ends well ;)

a/n: thank you for entering my event! holy YAP i yapped so hard for this 🥀 HOPE U ENJOY ILYTTT

word count: 810

how you both met

you two were definitely neighbours

“hey, go greet the new negibours’ kid”

and you two awkwardly greet each other

your parents and his parents get close eventually

and have regular meet ups, so you and chuuya get close too

you two walk to school together, walk home

he waits for you if you have extracurricular activities

if you have something till late at night, he goes home then comes to pick you up

who fell first and when?

we all know how friends are

they see you hang out with a pretty dude and suddenly rumours are like newspaper

“are you two dating??” and rumours like “i heard [name] and chuuya are dating!”

the rumours spread like crazy

they reach everyone except said pretty boy

one day, dazai asks him half jokingly “do you like them?”

suddenly, his view on you changes

sure, you’re perfect in literally every way, shape and form but

you were just a friend…! and suddenly he’s blushing at every smile you flash him

he’s covering his face when you look at him

and he’s acting all shy when you offer to clean up his face and bruises after he got into a fight

ugh, stupid dazai. now he’s caught feelings!

and he doesn’t want to tell you. or make it obvious (he is NOT discreet)

because he doesn’t wanna make you uncomfortable or make you hate him :(

when you fell:

i mean it was probably obvious 🤨

who wouldn’t fall for bro…

but the specific moment when you knew it was him.

the right one for you

was when he knocked on your door at about 11pm at night

your parents weren’t at home so you ask who’s knocking

he replies his name, you open the door after confirmation

he stands there. bruised and bleeding

and just collapses in your arms

he wakes up at about 2am, in your arms on your bed

you’re asleep. he usually wouldn’t let anyone (except you sometimes) hug him

especially in a moment as vulnerable as sleeping

so he stays in your arms. he even snuggles closer

and once you wake up, he’s still there

in your arms, eyes closed and a painfully obvious blush on his face

let’s just say, its safe to assume he didn’t wanna leave your arms that day

confession:

“5 bucks he won’t do it” - ranpo to dazai, about chuuya

“10 bucks he’ll back out” - dazai to ranpo, about chuuya

“50 bucks he’ll get the girl” yosano to dazai and ranpo (biggest supporter. ig.), about chuuya

chuuya takes a simple (not in his head though 😹) approach

he asks you at break to meet him at a nearby park after school

but there’s the mistake. his friends heard, and told your friends

so there you two are. the scene’s perfect.

cherry blossoms comically flowing down from the trees

and the wind lightly blowing around your hair

he leans in to tuck a strand behind your ear

he smiles tenderly, moving back to give you a bit of space

and right when he musters that last bit of courage to start speaking

he sneezes. the flowers and weather are against him!

you can’t help but laugh a bit

he finds it endearing (and dazai tries not to laugh behind a tree nearby)

he starts again. he opens the conversation casually

“actually, there’s something i wanted to tell you…”

and that’s when dazai completely loses it

he falls from in the branches of the tree?? onto the floor, laughing like crazy

yosano scolds him and ranpo laughs too

your friends groan, one throwing their shoes at dazai who’s still rolling on the floor

chuuya embarrassedly groans, turning to you

“before i was rudely interrupted. i like you. sorry to ruin our friendship…” he mutters, turning to leave (and shooting a dirty look at dazai)

you stand frozen. i mean, its not every day that your closest friend confesses to you AND your friends watch

without realising it, you follow after him

you reach out for his wrist, stopping him

he hesitantly turns to face you, a somewhat sad smile on his face

“where are you going? who said it ruined our friendship?”

you watch as his smile goes from a sad one to a hopeful one

“so… does that mean…?” he quietly asks

“yep” you smile

but he doesn’t want you to have to make your title? official

afterall, who wouldn’t wanna be confessed to AND asked out by chuuya?

“so that does that mean we can change our ship from “friend” to “relationship”?” he asks, getting a laugh from you

“yeah. did you steal that line from dazai?” and he nods

taglist: @tofumiarchives + open (send an ask if you'd like to be added! :D)

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated!! <3

© fishii-writes 2024

[someiicecube]

06.21.24

"It's been a while since I've celebrated today... much less have the party shared alongside someone else."

Happy Birthday Esther! ...and Leander too, I guess.

Bonus:

The birthday boys in question: a man in his 30s and Leander

[skitskatdacat63]

Happy Birthday to Seb, and Seb only.

+ some explanations

I realized as I was making this, some of the little stuff probably only makes sense to me, and maybe people who have been following me for a while atp. So I wanted to explain some of the little details I included cause I really love them!!

First of all, I wanted to incude my original sketch for this(from like 5 hours ago lmfao), bcs I find it sooooo cute. Look at him!! Little guy!

I. Fernando's Gift

This is of course a reference to the Fernando teddy bear, but more specifically to the vettonso comic with the bear I drew a while ago. As you can see from my sketch, this is the first gift I came up, which I'm pretty happy about!! It's always so cute to me no matter its form. Though...I don't think teddy bears existed yet in the early 1700s, but Fernando found a way, okay? I like to think Fernando is all gruff in the beginning, but gives Seb this or something similar and remarks "to keep you company when I'm back in Spain," and then he has to pretend he has food poisoning rather than living with having said something so sappy.

II. Mark's Gift

I don't think this is really a reference to any specific post of mine. Dog!Mark is just an important Mark characterization in general, but especially in boy king au where he is really reduced to the status of dog by virtue of his upbringing and vocation. He definitely plays this off as wanting Seb to get another hunting dog(something he advocates for often. Seb knows it's entirely self motivated but loves to humor him bcs its cute to see how much he loves dogs. Well Seb loves dogs too, one dog in particular-)

III. Jenson's Gift

AAAAHHHH I'm so proud of this one bcs of how many leves there are to it!! I couldn't for the life of me think of what Jense would gift him but then I remembered I characterize him as horse obsessed(read: ye olde carfucker.) So this is basically the ye olde version of him getting Seb ultra detailed minatures of his cars. HOWEVER this is also a callback to one of my favorite posts I've ever made, back when I translated Seb's car names into Latin. So it was fun to actually get to canonize that in a way. ALSO! BTW! Those horses are specifically Lipizzans, which are a very iconic horse breed in the Habsburg Empire and Vienna specifically. A horse breed sought after by the Habsburgs for both war but also riding schools, and they still remain as the breed of horse trained in Vienna's Spanish Riding School today. The emperor Seb is based on comissioned the school's main riding hall, and his portrait still hangs above where the riders enter. So I thought that was a fun little easter egg to include!

Also the characterization in this is so funny. I guess I'd consider them a polycule, like they're a unit and all have interesting relationships between each other. But one of the main focuses is the kinda love triangle between sebmarknando. Like Mark and Fernando constantly fighting for Seb'cs undivided affection and attention. But as per usual, Jenson, who is on the sidelines, swoops in effortlessly with the most perfect gift ever. I feel like he understands and gets along with Seb the best out of the three, but just doesn't want to deal with such a complicated thing so he's satisfied being a bit distant(he secretly takes a lot of joy one-upping the other two. It's impossible to not crave your ruler's attention, no?)

[yonch]

it's been 15 years and you can see better than ever

(design notes under the cut) (there are spoilers)

ok this got really long. here you go

sif:

ditched the cloak. it was collecting dust in their closet until recently, but they realized they don't need to cling to their grief so much anymore. someone else will need it more soon.

ditched the eyepatch. the prosthetic eye is a labor of love designed by isa, as is literally everything else they're wearing.

they cut their bangs finally and started braiding their hair back so it wouldn't obscure their vision as much anymore.

they like darker/tighter clothing and prefer function over form but unfortunately their gay ass boyfriend keeps treating them like a dress up doll so they're stuck wearing waistcoats and a fancy cloak. (they don't mind. it's designed to look like loop.) they keep flowers in their many pockets to give to people.

they're a woodworker in their free time. they don't usually talk about being any sort of savior so he just becomes sif the guy who's really good at carving birthday presents for people and also tags along with isa to charity parties and fundraisers

41 year old 5'1" they/he absolutely zero intention of Changing. bonded to isabeau. they adopted a kid who leo or i might post about some other time i think. her name is estelle.

isa: i'm not taking credit for the design that's by my friend @fembard /@leoweooo. i'll include his design notes

isa dresses mostly for comfort, he doesn't like wearing stuff that might get stained or ruined when he's dyeing clothes or chasing stelle around in the mud or something, all his fashion sense goes into his handiwork

he Changed a few more times over the 15yrs, eventually settled. picked up she/her pronouns again on the side but was never really able to ditch the name isabeau and he kinda ran out of names anyways...

kept the long hair, kept a few inches in height, very happy to fulfill the role of male (space) wife

can't ditch the kimono jacket it's the piece de resistance. odile influence and Wisening Of Age means its made with a little more knowledge of ka buan technique but still very clearly an Isa Design. the fabric is imported silk sif!!!!!!

39 year old Tall with a capital T he/she "i swear i'm not a weeaboo i'm just really into ka buan fashion" vaugardian indie clothing designer in your area help support this man in his attempts to use his family members as living advertisements for his brand

mira: with design input from @jastertown thank you my friend

i took a lot of inspiration for the sparkly, sheer fabric on her dress from euphrasie. she's not head housemaiden yet because she doesn't feel like she's ready but everybody knows it'll be her

speaking of inspiration. she's been taking a lot of fashion cues from a certain lady in dormont that she thought was kind of scary, but it turns out she's very nice? they're besties now.

she got rid of the earrings for a little bit but then she realized she just liked how they look on her. so now they go ding ding! it's for her and nobody else, and that's how she likes it.

moved her ornaments to her skirt because they ding ding more often there. her necklace also jingles with merriment.

38 year old she/her advanced cisgender+ legend who's realizing that people are trying to get her to be the pope but all she really wants to do is write yaoibait fiction that looks like it came straight off of ao3

odile:

my glorious hag. she started shrinking about 3 years ago. all those years of bending over books has finally caught up to her. her hips are fuuuuuucked. but she has a sick cane that sif carved for her so everything's okay

she was already pretty comfortable and settled in her sense of style when she was nearing 50 so i don't think she would change much. darker clothing maybe. ditched the high-waisted pants for some looser slacks.

she's started writing a familytale of her own. the only person she's told about it is bonbon, who caught her up way past their bedtime, and scribbled all over one of the pages. she'll pass it on to sif when the time's right, after she's written down everything she can remember about their family.

64 year old she/her wasian researcher recovering from hernia surgery who's getting really into things like "political activism" and "body craft law reformation in ka bue" and "making sure people aren't sourcing their hrt from back alleys"

bonnie:

prefers to go by boniface these days. it's cooler. more mature. please stop calling me bonbon that's a nickname from when i was 10 guys c'mon guys ugh fine frin you can still call me bonbon but not around my girlfriends ok (nobody calls them boniface except for odile)

speaking of which they have 3 butch lesbian girlfriends. this got established as a joke but i think they have it in them. they're still young!!!!!!! they should be at the club!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

they traveled for a while with everybody but eventually settled down back in bambouche to start a little family owned restaurant with nille featuring dishes from all over the globe. people travel from all over to get a taste of boniface's good eats... bambouche is bustling. (they have a few recipes that are sourced from the country. they meet people every once in a while who find something achingly familiar about it, and they usually direct those people to jouvente to get in contact with frin.)

26 year old they/them "i dont know how tall i am but i'm taller than za" chef cooker whose restaurant keeps lighting on fire because this time i swear nille i can figure out how to do cooking craft i swear i wont explode the kitchen this time please i promise

loop:

ok. this is where lozy gets to just talk about what he thinks happens post game. i think they stick around for way longer than they really should and follow the crew around on their travels (mostly invisibly) because they're sooo fucking scared of change they're sooo scared and they're so scared of their wish fucking up beyond belief. they're kind of incapable of aging or dying in this body and theyre like permanently 26 which is what spurs them to finally move on.

i think they go back to their timeline eventually after making a Brand New Wish to "go back to their real family." alas the universe leads and we can only follow. and it turns out loop has actually made a real family in stardust's world also. this is my justification for why they can pop in between sasasap and isat worlds without much repercussion. i think they're always permanently loop shaped in isat but i imagine they can probably go back to their original body in their home timeline... might design that later. who knows. i'm fucked like that

i just think they deserve a chance for their own happy ending you know. isat's a game about how it's never too late to communicate and how you shouldn't punish yourself forever and ever. and i think theyve punished themself enough you know.

ok tank you for reading if you read this far. it's really big and long so i would understand if you didn't. but i hope you liked it. thoughts appreciated. here's a little something for the people who read all the way through.

[grandisknight]

in bloom | xavier

summary: You take Xavier to see the flowers of memories past, though something changes this time around.

tags: suggestive, established relationship, afab!reader (v genitalia mentioned), kissing, flowers, sneezing, sex pollen, aphrodisiac (in a sense), straddling, dry humping, grinding, dry orgasm, (1) jeremiah mention, inspired by 'celestial message'

wc: 2.4k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

a/n: mildly inspired by a portion of celestial message (his birthday card)! my small present to the galaxy’s brightest star, happy xavier day (in advance) <3

The sight you’ve found yourselves in is truly beautiful—natural flora stretches the grounds beyond what the eye could see, in a sea of greens to soft blues and purples that stand proud. Even with the passage of time, the secret garden claimed to be yours and his has blossomed so well.

Part of a birthday surprise for your beloved star, you lovingly roped him into revisiting the grounds once more.

With the warmth of the sun lightly tracing onto your backs, it glitters so effortlessly in the shine of Xavier’s doey gaze. Held gently under you, the bedding of nature supports his reclined posture. It softened his earlier tumble, after a twirl in his embrace and a slight misstep placed you in the very scenery. One hand now laces yours for comfort, the other steadying your waist and gentle to the touch.

The breeze was ever so gentle, tickling your senses and the petals alike. A deep inhale serviced the dewy origins, fresh and yet with a hint of saccharine delicacy to their lingering notes. Refreshingly pleasant, leagues different from the bite of pavement in Linkon City or a battlefield with its loamy terrains and dust.

“The view is as stunning as I remembered,” you say, smiling at an equally pleased Xavier. “I’m glad we were able to make a visit.” 

You brush his bangs aside, letting a spare petal fall beside him and revealing the forehead hidden beneath. Leaning down, you press a soft kiss to the skin, feeling his brow twitch at the touch.

“Mm,” he confirms. By the time you pull away, he’s already risen to meet the distance in a newly upright position. Xavier meets you head on, the tip of his nose nudging yours in thought. “Very pretty.”

You realize his eyes never left yours, and you frown. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The edge of his lips curls for a brief moment, though his voice remains calm. “Like what, exactly?”

“You know, with those eyes.” 

The kind of eyes that were soft around the edges, ones that only spoke of a gentle affection that yearned for love and to be loved. A look so prominently full of adoration and unspoken emotions breaching their surface—a quiet confession of care that intended to memorize this very moment. 

And in those very pools of blue, you find yourself sheepishly blinking at him, unsure of how to face such a fondness without wanting to shy away.

“It’s not like I have any other ones,” Xavier teases, his hand reaching to cup your jaw. He redirects your shifted gaze back to his, as bright as the star twinkling near his chest. “At least let me look at you.”

“You’re looking at me too much,” you try to reason. You could feel the embarrassment warm your cheeks as you mumble, “It’s unlike you to stare for so long.”

Xavier blinks. Then, blinks again. And by another round of fluttering eyes, he only shakes his head and with a gentle chuckle of, “I want to. I like looking at you, anyhow.” 

His thumb swipes across your heated cheek in thought. “I feel as if there aren’t enough moments in time that let me admire you like this.”

“That’s—“ Even more embarrassing, you want to admit. Not that you could deny the flutter of your heartbeat at the sound.

So you just inhale, like the ones before it—but you pause, feeling a knowing itch creep upwards. With a swift turn of your head, you expel the sudden sneeze into your tucked elbow. 

“Bless you.”

“Tha—ah, ah-kshoo—!” How romantic. You inwardly cringe with a sardonic purse of your lips.

Amusement softens his words. “Bless you, again.”

“Sorry,” you manage, huffing away the sudden fit. A sniffle accompanies your apologetic gaze. Odd, your nose still tingles; partially stuffy, yet you have no urge to sneeze once more. Still, precaution leads you to face away from him in case it comes.

All too quickly, you’re keenly aware of just how warm everything is. Sunshine prickling your skin was one thing, but it never bothered you much until now. A dry swallow drags along the inside of your throat—even more strange, you feel an unnerving wave of need and longing for a drink, coupling something… else.

It shows on your face, though you try to conceal it. Xavier barely reappears in your peripheral, concern drawing his brows together. “Are you feeling okay?”

His question barely registers at first. “Peachy,” you lie, nearly dragging the sound from your tongue. With a turn, you open your mouth to continue a quip, but it falls short and hangs open when you take in his appearance.

Unlike his usually serene and relaxed expression, Xavier’s skin burned a flush so bright, you would’ve mistaken it for a terrible, terrible sunburn. His chest rises and falls—normal, yes—but at a heightened pace, a breathless pace. Shallow, almost. You want to laugh at his blushed state, but stop in your tracks when your eyes search his. 

Dark, and not from the lush of his lashes, staring at you with a half-lidded stare. Does he even realize how alluring he looks in this moment?

The laughter in your throat quickly dies down, and a surging need to do something about it fills you instead. It claws at your stomach with hot hands, traveling down to your core. 

Oh, this is dangerous.

Your questions receive their answers when his nose nuzzles yours once more, this time more insistent than the last. “Really?” The singular word held an edge, roughing the normally soft cadence he spoke with. 

There were only a handful of times where Xavier would sound so different—one, in the mornings where he wants nothing but ‘five more minutes’ trapped in your warmth. (And really, an excuse to avoid going to work so soon.) 

Another, on the rare blue moon of sickness that itches his throat and dulls his senses. Where a remedy of soothing teas and attentive touches would comfort him some.

And then, there was the third—when he was about to devour you whole, skin to skin and reshape your body to remember nothing else but him. The times where his hands and mouth would explore you endlessly, only to eventually find his way into your welcoming warmth and drag out long, needy moans of your name. 

In that tone dripping with nothing but indecency and an affection to you—the very same that you just heard.

If it were any other situation, you think you could’ve managed. But when neatly planted on his lap, hipbone practically digging into one another and a gaze so searing that it could contend to the one bubbling within you, you find yourself shaking your head.

“No,” you whisper, intensely aware of the current predicament. “I feel… hot, Xav. I don’t know why, but I—“ 

Want nothing more than to strip you bare and ruin these flowers, along with you in them. To scratch at the unrelenting heat numbing your senses, to succumb to the spike of desire—all these things run through your mind, yet fall short on your tongue.

“I know,” he reassures, though it comes out heavier than expected. 

His hand releases yours, and for a moment, a pang of disappointment washes over you. It’s put at ease when both of his arms curl themselves around your waist in an almost possessive hold, keeping you to him instead. 

Xavier drags his nose across your cheek, then down to the meeting place of your jaw and earlobe.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

Too, he says. So the flushing skin carried more than what it seems, and a part of you—the primal urge to unsheathe him whole—is elated.

“What,” you breathe out, squirming when his lips press together and grace your skin. “Is this?” You instinctively tilt your head back, granting him more space to cover you in peppered kisses. 

“There shouldn’t be any major Wanderers nearby to ruin the Meta—ah…” 

Your ramblings bleed into a faint moan when those same lips found your pulse point, wet and ardent as he worked a blossoming rose against it. His teeth graze slightly, sealing their mark before sliding to the other side of your neck, more than ready to mirror the mark. And he does, in ardent succession, repeat his sign of affections.

A hand sneaks to toy with the fabric of your dress, slowly lifting the skirt to bunch at your lower back. Encouraging you to lower your body, to rest perfectly against him. It draws you closer, more so than before—you could barely stifle a relieved sigh when his groin finds your cunt, rubbing at you through hardened slacks. You find your hips rocking against it, chasing the feeling for what it was worth; and it was definitely worth the fine groan that draws from his puckered lips, continuing to suck at your skin with a firm press.

Xavier drank you in like a bee to honey, nosing and kissing wherever his mouth would take him. Feverish even, when he returns your salacious grinding with his own and arms tightening around you. You run your fingers through his fine strands of starlight, and he groans into your clavicle at the feeling of nails gently scraping his nape.

What was once a soft, gentle breeze now carries the palpable tension of your bodies cradled amidst the flowers. The scent of arousal pricked your nose—whether it was yours or his, you couldn’t make heads or tails of it—and only grew worse with every deep cycling breath. Labored, all equally and undeniably filled with primal want. 

There was something gratifying about the way his cock strained to meet you through fabric, and how you had a feverish inclination to take him whole. Every grind that slips between your folds and just barely meeting your clit has you desperate for something more. Tingles in all the right places, sending your mind into your pleasurable overdrive.

A particularly pointed rut of his hips has you choking out his name, thighs trembling to meet them back in tenfold. “I—I might just—if you keep doing that,” you waver between wanton moans, coils in your abdomen quickly coming undone.

Xavier withdraws his lips, sheen with ardor and the efforts of marking your skin. His forehead finds your shoulder, pressing further into your warm body and mouthing there instead. “Close, are you? Just from this?”

“I can’t help it,” you whine, and with a wiggle of your hips you confirm that, “You’re no better than me.” 

The very length that hardened and prodded against you was proud, see-sawing you to the heated brink you found yourself falling towards. A frictional transaction at best, and your undoing at worst.

His hands paw at your bottom, gripping the plump flesh and only moving you further along. “You’re right,” he mutters, angling his jaw to barely skim your ear and says, “Does it make me worse if I want you to come like this?”

“You monster,” you breathe out in jest, though no malice was found in the desire that overwhelms your response.

“Just for today,” he insists, canting his hips into you furthermore. A chaste kiss touches your lower lip, quietly asking for permission to seal them with his own. “I’m close, and I know you are too.”

“Yeah,” you concede with a breath against his lip. His eyes flutter to a close in anticipation when the warmth fans over him. “You got me there.”

Your own thundering heart rings loudly in your ears when you press your mouth to his, swallowing your moans and his in the heat of it all. Dizzying, a pandora’s box of temptation that drives you to trace his canines and fight against his own tongue.

You nearly bite down on said tongue when climax finally crashes into you, toes curling and pleasure ebbing in gentle waves as you come undone. Xavier’s hold was steady, and no sooner did a throbbing between your legs mark his own high—at the very least, he was honest. Sounds of muffled groans flowed from his throat to yours, pleased before parting for much needed air.

The moment stayed this way for a couple of heartbeats, with only the sounds of your breaths coming to a collective slow and occasional bristle of flora in the wind. Your sense of heart came to a calm, detangled from the thorns of indecent intent.

The air is crisp to your inhale, and an exhale makes you realize what exactly just happened. “Xavier,” you mumble, patting his shoulders. “Did we just…”

“We did,” he dryly confirms, and can’t help but chuckle at the awareness. His voice softens as he asks, “Do you still feel hot?”

“I’m good now,” you reassure with a nod. Sliding your hands to cup his cheek, you inspect the fairness of his skin and note the feverish blush was long gone. A bummer, when he looked so cute with it in the first place.

“Guess you’re fine now too.” With a light pinch, you find your jest from before and say, “You were blushing so much I nearly mistook you for one of the tomatoes from Twinkle Toys.”

Xavier’s nose scrunches at that, brushing away your teasing with a shake of his head. As swift as light, his arms tuck underneath your bottom and hoist you into the air—much to your surprise, a gasp escaping your throat.

You steady your hands atop his shoulders, squeezing them in turn. “What are you—“

“We shouldn’t stay here too long,” he says calmly. His head inclines to the bed of flowers briefly—though, his azure rings bore into you with unwavering interest, bright and tender. “Who knows what’ll happen if we never leave.”

You hum in agreement, leaning down to press your forehead to his. “Should we ask Jeremiah about these?” He is a florist after all, only one of the few you were familiar with. “I’m sure he knows a thing or two.“

“Nah.” Xavier touches his nose to yours in greeting. His eyes twinkle as he says, “Unless you want him to find out how you were on top of me and—mmph? Mmph, mmm.”

You silence his tell-tale with a kiss, to which he happily accepts all the same. Looks like you’ll have to table the thought for another time. He chases your lips even when you part, and only a finger could barrier his jutted lip.

“Later,” you promise. “We have a schedule ahead of us, you know. And uh,” your eyes trail downwards, noting a particular patch on his slacks. It registers the feeling between your own legs, to which you sigh and say, “We should make a quick stop home, too.”

“Alright.” Xavier nods, getting the message. With another bounce, he keeps you in his raised embrace and begins to walk along a flowery path.

“By the way.” He says off-handedly amidst the trek.

You hum. “Yes?”

“I promise not to tell Jeremiah how hot you looked on top of me.” “Xavier! Don’t you dare!”

[harmonysanreads]

“A little bird told me that today is a certain someone's birthday.”

You feel the distinct prickle of two fangs halt halfway through the curve of your throat, a breath stuttering against the now marred skin. The tassels of Aventurine's earring tickles your nape, before his lips replace its unsought touches, soothing over the bite.

“I don't quite recall this,” he drawls upon your neck, gloved fingers slide up from the plush of your thighs and slant against your waist ; a clear message. “Being the resting place of wanton birds.”

You heart kicks against your ribcage as the implications of his words soak into your brain. Your eyes connect with enigmatic swirls when you swivel with a gasp, “It's just one little bird, Aventurine.”

He hums, a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, reaching out and failing to grasp his eyes. You feel his other arm wrap around your abdomen and tugging you closer closer closer— until not even whimsical air can intervene in your moment. For a time insignificant compared to the expanding cosmos, he leers and he waits — for you to stumble and forfeit your fortune to him. You've observed this game unfold many times, which is why, you don't so much as blink in the face of his scrutiny.

Aventurine tilts his head, the golden strands that frame his face shift in stride, “It's ‘one little bird’ for now, my jewel. Soon, it'll fly to-and-fro and invite its companions. One bird will become two birds, then three, four, five — until this flower of mine will be torn to shreds.”

Your skin erupts in pins and needles where the blonde's hand rests, the teases of pain make you lean your head against his chest in reflex, but they don't coax pained breaths to escape your lips. Your eyes gloss over upon capturing the dimming orbs heralding the colors of a bygone lineage. You feel as though you were lost in a dark landscape, with a shadowed fox breathing down your neck, claws already sunk midway — but you don't feel like the struggling rabbit, like a prey.

Your palm cradles Aventurine's face, “That's why we keep guns below our pillows, isn't that correct?”

The phantom finally reaches his eyes, his grin spreads across his face and the sun casts aside the darkness from the forest. Aventurine answers your query by tackling you with a flurry of kisses, you feel him at every corner of your body, grasping at every crevice of your soul — but it's not enough, neither for him nor for you.

When the intensity of his advance wanes momentarily, you sneak your hand past his grip to rest atop his chest, “Tell me your wish,” this time his heart revolts against the confines of bone, yearning to be freed and caged into your palm. “What gift do you want for your birthday?”

Aventurine chuckles, though it sounds quite strained this time. His fingers encircle your wrist and press your hand further on his chest for a moment (his shirt does little to mute the rapid marching of his soul) before he drags it to his face, his lips ghost over your pulse point.

“You don't think me to be that greedy, do you?” the humorous lilt of his voice prompts a smile to bloom on your face, too. He sighs as though he breathes in the gardens of heaven, lips firmly pressed to the beat of your existence.

“How can I ever wish for anything more when I have the whole world in my hands?” his eyes twinkle, hugged by a smile. They remind you of autumn sunsets blending into an awestruck ocean, before disappearing behind nightfall.

And just like them, you embrace and merge into one another, as well.

Happy birthday to the luckiest, prettiest, Aventurine <3

[hannieehaee]

Hi!! I was wondering if I could request a scenario(or reaction) where maybe you had a day planned with a member but they canceled to hangout with the guys, not realizing it was your birthday. I love your writing and angst so this would be perfect 4 me 🤭 thank you!! (Also for the member, maybe hhu 👉👈)

them accidentally ditching you on your bday - hhu

hhu, vu, pu

content: angsty, gender neutral, established relationship, mingyu's is a teeny tiny bit suggestive (they're mentioned to shower together, but nothing sexual occurs), etc.

part 2

wc: 2903

a/n: sorry it took me so long to get to this T-T i liked the prompt so i wanted to write something a lil longer hehe anyways tysm for reading and for requesting <3 pls lmk if anyone wants a vocal/perf unit version!

masterlist

seungcheol -

seungcheol always had a tendency of being a tiny bit extra when it came to his birthday. he expected all friends and family to be punctual on that day with a gift and some heartfelt congratulations. if you didn't wish him happy birthday at 12am on the dot, you were just not that good of a friend to him and he'd remember that moment with disdain.

in the same way that he was extra on his own birthday, he liked to do the same for his closest loved ones. he was always ready at 12 o'clock with some words of love and appreciation ready. he'd have had the gift ready months in advance. even on other people's special day, he wanted to stand out a little; show how good of a friend he was. there were no questions to he made about your birthday. you, his favorite person in the world. if he was ever going to make a day special, it was that one. he would count down the days until its arrival. it was always such a sweet gesture from him, you thought. which was why it was very weird of him to not be present right now. or all day, for that matter.

it was your birthday. you had planned this day with seungcheol a few weeks in advance. all you wanted was a calm day with your boyfriend, even cancelling plans on friends and family who had also wanted to keep you company on your special day. you were originally just going to eat a nice dinner with your boyfriend on whichever day of the week you had off that week, not minding whether it actually fell on your birthday or not. but your boyfriend had insisted on celebrating on the exact date, even telling you to call off work, claiming he would do the same once the day came. except those plans seemed to fall through.

you'd gone to sleep a bit early, deciding not to wait on your boyfriend to arrive from dance practice and just sleep in preparation for whatever cheol had planned for tomorrow. you assumed he would wake you up upon his arrival, which wouldve been a bit before midnight. you'd woken up confused when you had looked at the clock the next morning and noticed it was 6am, not having been awoken by him, nor spotting him in your room. he always left before you woke up, but today was supposed to be a day off for him, so it was all very odd. it continued like this for a few hours, until you gave up on waiting for his arrival and just called him. it was only 10am by now, so maybe he had left for some preparations not expecting you to wake up so early, but your phone calls went unanswered. for hours. it eventually became the afternoon. you had given up on calling him at around 2 oclock, realizing he just wasn't going to show.

by 5pm, you were beyond sad. the same man who whined and pouted at you if you dared wish him a happy birthday at 12:02am had also forgotten your birthday, clearly not even having called off of work that day (you'd checked his location some hours back, he was at the hybe building). he hadn't even bothered to check his phone all day either. you weren't usually one to get emotional, but this felt like a punch in the gut. you had gone out of your way to spend the day with your boyfriend, having been promised an amazing day, but were now just some forgotten rag, less important than his usual work day.

he arrived a little earlier than yesterday. whenever he left early in the morning, he arrived in the afternoon. it was now 6pm, and you had spent the whole day moping. you grabbed the cake you'd both left in the fridge a few days back, not caring anymore and just eating it out of sadness. that might've been cheol's first guess upon walking in, as you saw his smile fall the moment he landed his eyes on you, 'happy birthday' cake sitting across from you on the coffee table.

his eyes widened at the realization, and much more at your dejected appearance, "oh my god, babe, i'm so-"

you sighed, "you don't have to say it."

he quickly approached you, dropping his bag and coat before having hung them upon his entrance, "no! fuck, i'm so fucking sorry. i have no idea how it slipped my mind, i- i forgot to call off in advance, and it threw off my entire schedule. i swear i just forgot, i'm so fucking sorry, baby," he was rambling now, probably realizing how let down you were by his slip up.

"it doesn't matter, cheol. it's just a birthday. i'll just ... i'll just celebrate with my family next week or something. don't worry about it," you knew you didn't mean your words, but you also felt it useless to try and blame cheol.

"wait! it's only six. we can still do something! do you wanna go out? i'll take you to dinner. how does that sound?"

"i ... i don't really feel like it, cheol. i think i'll just go meet up with a friend. she called me last week asking to meet up, but i cancelled on her. i just wanted to wait for you to get back before i left. i'll see you in the morning," you knew you were being a little immature, but if he had wanted to be with you, he would've put in the effort.

"oh. you're sleeping over? but i thought ..."

"yeah. i'll just see you tomorrow when you get back from practice. yeah? bye, cheol."

you left without saying much else, feeling guilty at his look of rejection. you felt badly about leaving him on his own like this, but you knew there was no way for you to spend time with your boyfriend right now without feeling like an idiot.

wonwoo -

wonwoo had never felt like more of an asshole.

wonwoo had never been too big on birthdays, specially his own. to him it was just another day. it was only his family, friends (and carats, of course) who ever made that day special to him. if it had been up to him? he would probably even forget about the day, but he had the fortune to have a lot of people in his life who loved and cared about him enough to cherish that day as if it were a national holiday. and you were one of those people. you would always shower wonwoo with love, but you'd go a little extra hard on his birthday, catering to every need you think he may have and even going as far as creating an entire itinerary of things he enjoys to do throughout the day. you were a little ray of sunshine that would somehow make him look forward to his birthday, something very uncharacteristic of him. which was why he had never felt like a bigger asshole than right now.

today was your birthday. a day which wonwoo had looked forward to for two years now. he had wanted to celebrate your following birthday with you, maybe plan something elaborate for you for once, but he had unfortunately been on tour at the time, causing you to be separated during that day. this only made him want to put even more effort into your birthday next year, which was now. today. the day in which he had ultimately forgotten your birthday.

there was not much to it. he had a nice day planned for you. he wasn't too good with surprises, so he had let you know in advance, allowing you to prepare yourself accordingly. you both had work that day, so he had planned a candlelit dinner for you, having even learned how to cook your favorite foods just to add that extra layer of care. the original plan was to come home from work early - earlier than you - and follow the recipes he had gone over with mingyu a few times over the past few weeks. it was simple, concise and direct. there was very little room for failure. but it had still somehow managed to slip his mind. he wanted to blame mingyu for his insistence in going back to their shared apartment after practice, something about some game he wanted to show him. but he couldnt blame his clueless friend, it wasnt his responsibility to know your birthday. he'd sworn he would only stay for an hour and then promptly leave to go home to you, but one hour turned into two and then three. it was a genuine slip of his mind, but that didn't make a difference.

wonwoo was quite surprised upon picking up his phone from where he'd left it charging upon arriving to his apartment, not realizing it had stayed on do not disturb the entire time. he was welcomed by a myriad of messages from you, all of them ranging in emotion.

from jagiya 💘:

(4:25) nonu?

(4:25) are you coming home soon?

(5:07) okay, its been almost an hour now. is everything okay?

(6:35) baby?

(6:48) i tried calling you already. where are you?

(6:48) just checked ur location and ur at ur apt. did you forget?

(9:02) it's been over two hours now ...

(9:15) okay, nevermind. don't come. we can just do this another day.

(9:16) i'll be out with some friends. goodnight.

his heart dropped more and more the more he read. he immediately went to call you and spam with responses, but found no reply from you. it only served him right. he would now spend the rest of the night dreading how to make it up to you, feeling the worst guilt he'd ever felt.

mingyu -

you'd always thought of mingyu as one of the sweetest men alive. he had helped you restore your faith in humanity, seeing him as the prime example of what a man should be. he was the most selfless person you'd ever met. ever since you'd begun dating (and even before that, if we're being honest), he had always been at your beck and call, providing you with anything you could possibly need. he'd love and take care of you in ways that you hadn't imagined possible. you'd never been disappointed by mingyu. but now you realize maybe you had flown too close to the sun. mingyu was just human after all. you shouldn't have felt as disappointed as you did. but you couldn't help your emotions, nor did you want to blame yourself over this.

the issue at hand was, today was your birthday. today, at least basing it on prior years, was always filled with the utmost love and affection a person could ever experience. all courtesy of one kim mingyu. he would wake you up with breakfast, rush you into the shower and hold you close to him as he washed your hair and whispered words of affirmation in your ear. he would proceed to take you somewhere pretty and have a full on photoshoot as he hyped you up from behind the camera. he would plan some special outing for the evening and end the day with a moonlit dinner from the beautiful view from his apartment's balcony. it was always such a dream. but this birthday in particular had been the outlier.

he unfortunately had a comeback on the same week of your birthday, causing his schedule to be more hectic than usual. he had a few things scheduled for your birthday itself, but knowing mingyu you knew he would at least come home to you that night and shower you with as much love as his exhausted self could. but that never came. you waited and waited, knowing mingyu's day had ended hours ago. at some point you simply gave up and called him, wondering where he was, if maybe something was wrong. however, his response was one that left you feeling dejected, something mingyu had never made you feel.

"gyu? where are you?", you'd said as soon as he picked up.

"hm? hi, baby. i'm at the shared apartment. wonwoo hyung wanted to leave early today. what's up, baby?"

not even a quick 'happy birthday'? did he really not remember? you felt kind of embarrassed at having gotten your hopes up for yet another year of special treatment from your boyfriend.

"uhh, nothing gyu. just checking in. are you staying there tonight?"

"yeah. thought it'd be easier since it's a bit closer to the company than your place. is that okay? sorry, baby. i shouldve let you know beforehand," even when he was unknowingly hurting your feelings he managed to be a sweetheart.

"it's fine, gyu. have a goodnight. you must be tired."

"okay, pretty," he giggled boyishly at the phone, fully clueless of your feelings, "sleep tight. love you!"

"yeah, bye."

you'd never hung up on him before a quick 'i love you' before. it mightve a dumb thing to even care about, but you knew that to mingyu's romantic nature it meant everything. which is why you weren't surprised when twenty minutes later your phone began to be flooded by calls and messages from the man, at first wondering why you had hung up like that, only to then evolve into him begging for forgiveness as he explained that he had forgotten your special day, and that it had taken wonwoo's reminder that your birthday fell this week for him to realize his mistake. but this was now his problem to deal with. if he wanted forgiveness, he'd have to come and get it.

vernon -

vernon had a bit of a tendency of being forgetful. it only came hand in hand with his tendency of being a little distracted while out and about. he wasn't careless by any means, but he could sometimes be too in his own world to notice what happened around him. which would sometimes get him into hot waters with you.

he hadn't noticed your hints, he swears! he didn't hear the suggestive tones nor the subtle nudges you'd been giving him for the past month. he hadn't thought much of it when you began texting him about places you two should visit soon, nor when you'd began to talk more about certain interests you'd been having as of late. he had just assumed you were trying to make conversation, so he treated it as such.

when your birthday had actually come, vernon hadn't known it was anything other than an ordinary day. he woke up, making sure to not wake you in the process. he'd gotten up, headed to the company, and followed his regular schedule. it was a particularly busy day, so going on his phone had been mostly out of the question. the two of you weren't really in the habit of texting much throughout the day, usually choosing to just catch up with each other at night when you could lay in bed together and dissect each other's days. he spent a majority of the day fully disconnected from outside contact, focusing solely on the harsh new choreo they needed to memorize for next week's awards show. he knew you were aware it was a busy time of the year for the industry he worked in, so he felt it fine to stay a little extra time today without messaging you first. this was something that happened from time to time anyway, so it shouldn'tve been a problem, right? or at least that's what he thought until he finally plucked his phone out of his bag, where it had been hiding the entire day.

from: baby 😖:

(9:23) u left so early :((

(9:23) shouldve woken me up so i could say goodbye!

(12:58) nonnie, it's been a few hours now ... did u forget something?

(1:20) no reply still?

(1:21) did you actually forget? :(

(1:21) i've been hinting at it for a month. i thought u were being obtuse on purpose :(

(1:48) can u at least come home a little early today? im sure soonyoung wont mind

(2:35) okay, ill take that as a no :(

(4:48) hansol ...

(6:12) okay, i guess you're gonna be home later than usual today.

(7:10) it's my birthday btw, in case it didnt click by now.

(7:16) maybe you should stay at the dorms tonight. not really in the mood for you to spend the night. im sorry. love you

fucking hell. vernon had never felt like more of a careless asshole. he had spent the entire day away from you, completely clueless to the fact that it was the love of his life's birthday. you weren't one to ask for much, so he knew a simple happy birthday accompanied by even just his presence for a shared meal wouldve been more than enough to make you happy. but his stupid distracted self couldn't even muster enough care for that. he wasnt sure what to do now. should he go to your apartment and beg for forgiveness? or stay here, like a dog with his tail between his legs as he pondered some way to make it up to you? all he knew was that he messed up. hugely.

a/n: i hate writing unresolved angst but uhh yeah if u want a pt 2 lmk <3

[jaylaxies]

HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: jay x fem!reader x heeseung

wc: 987 words

cw: smut, threesome, birthday sex, double penetration, usage of nicknames.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

a/n: its super rushed but happy birthday @heesuncore 💗

You wondered what your roommates would be up to this year, granted they did go out of their way to get you a cake, surprising you the exact second as the clock hit twelve, indicating that you were finally a year older. The surprise was sweet considering you hadn’t known each other for more than a month, being new roommates.

However, a lot had changed over the span of a year, which also included your current relationship with the boys. You were close, and the boys were overprotective when it came to you, which was endearing enough as it was, yet you never expected them to genuinely spoil you, getting you your favourite flowers, snacks, and also cooking for you whenever they got the time to do so. They kept you entertained, always, and you would be lying if you say that you didn’t have even the tiniest bit of attraction towards the two boys, Jay and Heeseung.

They looked godly, they carried themselves with the utmost respect too, which only made you fall deeper for both of them. Which brings you back here: Your eyes were covered with a silky black cloth, which blocked your vision perfectly as Hee and Jay stood on either side of you, holding your arm to guide you into your room, a sweet scent of cake lingering in the air, mixed with something vanilla flavoured, which you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Jay opened your blindfold to reveal your decorated room, full of balloons and polaroids everywhere, scented candles lit up and a pretty cake kept on the centre of your bed. The biggest smile graced your face, the boys mirroring your expression soon after. Jay and Heeseung held the cake up together, the candles illuminating your face as you closed your eyes, wishing for the things you wanted so deeply before blowing the candles.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” both the boys whispered, feeding you little bites of the cake before keeping it aside, their attention solely on you, especially when you pulled them into a hug, “ready for your gift?” They asked, making you look up at them in confusion.

“Wasn’t this a gift though?” You asked and they stepped closer, Heeseung’s finger caressing your cheek, “do you trust us?” He asked, and you shivered with how Jay’s warm hand rested on your waist, “tell us, baby,” he mutters, his voice raspier than ever, your knees felt weak just by this.

“I do,” you manage to let out, eyes fluttering close, feeling Heeseung’s lips on your neck, “yeah? Then are you okay with this, baby?” He asks, his hand slipping inside your top, brushing his fingers against your under boob.

“Say it, princess,” Jay urges you, his lips leaving featherlight kisses on your jaw, trailing down to your neck.

“Yes,” you say, letting the boys take over, your heart beating out of your chest as they helped you get on your bed, Heeseung being the first to make you gasp, his lips capturing yours in a fervent kiss, Jay using that time to get rid of your top, your back arching the second he took your tits in his mouth, the other hand fondling and paying attention to your other tit.

It felt like heaven. You would have never thought that any of them would even make such advancements, but having the two of them together was beyond your imagination, your whole body felt as if it was on fire.

“That’s it, baby. Be a good girl for us, let us please you, yeah? Our pretty birthday girl,” Jay says the second Heeseung leans back, his nose buried in your neck.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispers, coming down to slide your pants down, a whimper leaving your mouth at the sight of Jay removing his shirt, his pants coming off next. Your eyes widened for two reasons; one because Heeseung had fully immersed himself in eating you out, his pointy nose brushing against your clit. Second, Jay tapped your cheek, pushing his cock inside the warmth of your mouth, both boys groaning as they drowned in the pleasure of you.

You moaned around Jay’s length, especially when Heeseung’s tongue flicked your clit in the best way possible, “oh god,” you breathed out, lip bitten to conceal your moans. They continued their ministrations for a while, Jay joining Heeseung as he rubbed his thick fingers, pushing them inside your cunt, your walls clenching around them.

“That’s it our prettiest birthday girl, let go,” Heeseung coos, watching you shake as you fall apart on Jay’s fingers.

But they didn’t stop there, pumping their cocks, spreading your juices all over their length before Heeseung looked in your eyes, Jay positioning you on his lap, letting Heeseung enter your pussy first, your eyes watering at the stretch but it felt too good to even speak. Jay caressed your face, kissing the expanse of your skin to soothe out your nervousness.

Jay couldn’t hold back anymore, pushing his cock in your already stuffed cunt, this time Heeseung taking the initiative to kiss your lips as a distraction, letting Jay fill you in along with him. Soon, they both were groaning, praising you alongside for taking their cocks so well, the stimulation of their own cocks brushing against each other making them go crazier than usual, they had you right where they wanted you.

“Happy birthday, princess,” they both said the second you reached your state of euphoria, making sure you felt good through and through, emptying their cum inside you and you felt fuller than ever.

They both knew how overstimulated you felt, and they made sure to clean you up, showering you with kisses all over, you giggles only making them smile at you, the aftercare was everything you had wished for and more. But what made you feel even happier was how they both held you to sleep.

It was the best birthday gift ever indeed.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[dyns33]

Firefly

I can't explain why but I like The Collector movies a lot, Asa Emory was a weird character, and so I needed to write something about him at least once

Y/N had met Asa Emory in college.

He already had this strange look and this fascination for insects, which explained his choice of studies. She had never met anyone who wanted to become an entomologist.

The other students were a little afraid of him, when they noticed him, because Asa was very discreet.

Y/N had noticed him, and she hadn’t been afraid of him. She had sat next to him in the library while he read a book about spiders. Her questions had initially seemed to irritate him, he was obviously not used to being spoken to, then he had been intrigued.

For a time, Asa had looked at her as if she were one of the insects he collected, but also as if she were trying to make fun of him. Yet he answered all her questions, adding more and more details and information.

He had no one in his life. No one to share your passion with. He didn't tell her all the details, but he had lost his parents and siblings when he was young.

This loneliness didn't seem to be a problem for him, but over time he got used to Y/N's presence, he looked forward to her questions, and he eventually grew attached.

“My firefly.” He greeted her as soon as he saw her, with a shy smile.

“Why a firefly ?” she asked, laughing softly.

“Because you are a light in my life.”

Y/N might have taken offense saying that a firefly was a tiny, fragile light that would die quickly, but knowing Asa's love of insects, she knew he wasn't going to compare her to a sun or stars. It was even a nice compliment on his part that he deigned to compare her to a Lampyris noctiluca.

Even when insulting people, he never used insect names. That would be an insult to the insects and he couldn't do that.

As with everything else in their relationship, it was Y/N who invited him on their first date. He accepted without seeming to understand what that meant.

The poor man seemed lost when she kissed him. But not necessarily disgusted.

“My firefly, you are the only human being who matters.” he admitted when she asked him if he ever thought about marriage, after more than two years together. "There are only a few insects that practice monogamy, but most die quickly, sometimes during the act of reproduction. But you know how much I hate anthropomorphism. I will be happy to spend my life with you."

Life with Asa was calm. Perfectly organized, structured, like its classification of all arthropod species.

After obtaining his diploma, he had no difficulty in being hired in the largest natural science museum in the city. His name quickly became known in his field.

His frequent nighttime outings and other prolonged outings could have been frightening for Y/N, but he always warned her in advance, preparing his schedule according to the pace of life of the insects he was looking for.

"Rumors are circulating about an unknown species of grasshoppers in a forest. I will probably be gone all weekend."

"Oh. You won't be here for my cousin's birthday ?"

"I forgot. Forgive me, my firefly."

“It doesn’t matter… It’s for your work, it’s important.”

He promised to better note the dates that were important to her, because even though he was very diligent in his work, Asa was a good husband. He didn't care at all about other humans, and therefore her family, but he always tried to please her when he could.

Even though he had a true admiration for spiders, Y/N saw him more as an ant. He worked hard, he never seemed tired, and he often brought home gifts to make up for when he missed an appointment, or simply because he wanted to see her smile.

"Ants don't bring back gifts for the queen, they do this to feed the colony. Plus they work in groups, I work alone."

“I didn’t compare myself to a queen.”

"You could, it was you who worked to create our home. There is no colony without a queen, and there would not be our home without you."

Their house was perfect, but empty. They didn't talk about having children. The subject didn't seem to appeal to Asa. After all this time, he did not talk about his family, visibly traumatized by their disappearance, and his aversion to others, in addition to his complicated schedule, were not compatible with the role of father.

There were his dogs. Perfectly trained hunting dogs, who were only adorable with their master and his wife. But especially with Y/N, who loved to cuddle them.

“My firefly, they have already eaten and they are not allowed to be inside.”

"Oh, Asa, please ! It's cold outside, and they were very good !"

“You mustn’t get them used to it or they will become fat and lazy.”

“Only for tonight, please !”

His colleagues said he was tough. A cold, distant, almost mean man. It was quickly decided that he would no longer participate in school visits, because he did not know how to talk to children or teachers.

But with Y/N, he was gentle. He refused her nothing. The dogs stayed inside, and not just that evening.

The times Asa told her no, it wasn't his fault. The excuses he found always contained the words 'I would like to, but the museum, my colleagues, the insects…'.

No, she couldn't accompany him on his hunts. She wouldn't like it anyway. It was cold, there was almost no time to sleep, and she might be bored.

“I’ll be with you, that’s the most important thing.”

".. .It's always a joy to be with you. That's also why it's better if you don't come. Then I have a reason to come home."

And he always came home, tired, but satisfied with his work, placing a kiss on Y/N's forehead like a ritual, before caressing her cheek while looking at her as if seeing her for the first time, his eyes wide blacks seeming to devour her entirely.

Then came the night when he came home late, very late, with strange injuries and terribly angry. Growling like an animal, he slammed the door so hard that it woke his wife. She found him trying to stitch himself up, mumbling and shaking.

She had never seen him like this. Asa was always calm.

Hesitantly, Y/N asked him if he was okay, and when he looked at her, she was scared for the first time since they met. For a moment, he looked like he didn't recognize her, and was ready to jump on her. Then he took on the features of her husband.

"… My firefly." he sighed, getting up with difficulty to kiss her. "I woke you up. I scared you. Forgive me. There was an incident. I lost several very precious, unique species. But it's my fault, you don't have to suffer my bad mood."

“Shouldn’t you go to the hospital ?”

"It's okay, I promise. Scratches, nothing I can't fix myself. Go back to bed, I'll be with you right away."

Nothing forced her to obey. Y/N could have insisted, asked questions, called an ambulance, but she returned to the room, staring at the wall unable to sleep. She didn't move when Asa came to her, holding her close, his face against her neck, whispering that he loved her.

They talked about the incident in the neighboring town the next day on television. An abandoned factory was ravaged by flames. But that wasn't the worst. It was the lair of a serial killer, whom they called the Collector.

The survivors spoke of horrible things. Of torture, of strange experiences. According to police, the man had died in the fire along with his guard dogs and most of the evidence there was nothing left to fear.

Y/N didn’t ask Asa where the dogs were. She tried not to think about it.

If he was waiting for her to ask him about it, he didn't show it. He didn't talk about what happened during the night, behaving as if everything was perfectly fine, and going to work like every day. He would come home, he would kiss her, and he would do it again. The difference was only that he went out less often.

According to him, the season was not good for hunting. And with the problem at his office, he needed a little time, to rest, to repair the place.

This excuse could have worked forever. Of course, Y/N could have called the museum and they would have confirmed that there had never been any serious incidents, but she didn't want to. She continued to lie next to her husband, letting him embrace her tenderly.

Then there was the man's visit. He seemed surprised to see Y/N, as he placed a large red trunk in the kitchen. Almost sad too. He was holding a gun.

"I imagine you don't know anything about it. I can let you go, if you promise not to warn him, and to let me do what I have to do."

"… I don't understand what to talk to you about."

"Your dear husband. The man who kidnapped and tortured me for weeks. You're lucky you didn't see his little collection. He's a monster. He needs to die."

No doubt the man was right. There had always been something strange about Asa, everyone had always known it and Y/N had been the only one to refuse to see it. She had built her life with him, her home. They had to share everything.

So even if he was right, she without thinking grabbed a knife when he turned, convinced that she had understood and she stuck it in his back, at the level of his heart.

When she realized what she had just done, it was too late. The man was lying in his blood in the middle of the room, his gun fallen next to him. Y/N touched nothing, unable to do anything but cry while trying to remember how to breathe.

Asa found her like this, sitting against a wall, when he returned from the office. He looked at his wife, then at the scene in the kitchen, before putting his things down to crouch down next to her.

Like every times, he held her face so that she could look at him and he could kiss her on the forehead. Then with one hand he wiped the blood from her cheek, massaging her neck with the other to calm her down.

"Tell me what happened. Are you hurt, my firefly ?"

"No… He… He wanted to kill you. He said… Oh, my god. He had a gun, I… I was scared… He said you… Asa …"

"Shh. I'll take care of everything. Come on."

Holding her close, he took her to the bathroom where he helped her undress and get into the shower, which he adjusted so that the water was perfect. Taking a bath would have done her good, but he had to leave her alone to clean up, and he didn't want her to fall asleep.

"I'll be back, my firefly. Just sit here, it's okay."

Y/N didn't know how long she stayed under the water, shaking and crying. Not as long as she thought. Her husband quickly returned to help her get up, dry off and put on pajamas.

Although she was not hungry, he insisted that she have tea and biscuits, as it was not good to keep an empty stomach after such a shock, before putting her to bed. He certainly put something in the tea for her to sleep.

The kitchen was immaculate the next morning, as if nothing had happened. The man, the weapon, the red trunk, everything had disappeared.

Unusually, Asa had prepared breakfast. He was always up before her, but he only had coffee, and he often left for work while she was still asleep, coming to place a kiss on her forehead to warn her.

His dark eyes didn't leave her for a second as Y/N chewed her pancakes with difficulty, one hand on the glass of orange juice that she couldn't drink. She looked everywhere except her husband.

Before the intruder spoke, she had already started to have doubts. Questions. Now everything was quite clear, and all that remained was to decide what she was going to do. Asa was also obviously waiting, sitting near her.

The options were vast. Run away, call the police, risk getting killed… Y/N finally managed to lift the glass of orange juice, while thinking of their meeting.

"… Aren't you going to be late for work ?"

"No. I took some time off to stay with you."

“But your collection… I understood that it would take a long time to rebuild everything.”

"It's not as important as you, my firefly. My mantis religiosa. My black widow." he purred, running a hand through her hair, his lips on her neck.

Asa loved spiders. It was a nice compliment, even if she received it because she had killed a man and agreed not to report him to the authorities. He didn't seem to notice her fear, one of the reasons she remained silent.

Only the other reason mattered. And by giving her all these names, like a transformation, he was telling her that he would not harm her, that he did not see her as prey, and that even if she decided to do so, she could devour him.

[totaly-obsessed]

Suprise Party

Katie McCabe x reader fic

-> It is Katie's Birthday but reader isn't one to party

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The 21st of September 2023, otherwise known as your girlfriend's 28th Birthday. In your relationship Katie was the outgoing one, which was not really a surprise to anyone – she liked to refer to you as her ‘better half’ because she liked the differences between you.

While she was always up to party, you would much rather stay at home and read a book or catch up on your TV shows. Meeting new people? No problem for Katie, always making quick acquaintances and friends, introducing you straight after: “Hi, I’m Katie, this is my amazing girlfriend Y/N – Nice to meet you!” By now it was well well-rehearsed sentence, always coming out when you were her date to a function she had to attend.

The Irishwoman had no problem with not throwing a big party for her birthday, after all, it would only be a year till the next one, but you knew that her friends liked to celebrate with her. So in secret, you had contacted Leah and Steph, the two footballers helping you set up a little something in one of Katie's favorite restaurants for the evening.

The morning, however, was all yours. It was a weird situation for Katie, coming back from the World Cup and into the new season, not having much of a preseason, and already having played two Champions League games, which resulted in Arsenal not going further. So today, you had planned a cozy morning, before Katie could party all she wanted, safe with her arsenal teammates – knowing you were waiting for her at home.

So here you were, at seven in the morning, making breakfast – in the form of a cake. It was covered in vanilla buttercream, and decorated with red hearts – the inside being red velvet. You were in a hurry, Katie’s normal schedule did not allow her to sleep past eight o clock, and even though she did not have training today, you knew she would be up – and it would be even earlier, when she could not feel you, next to her.

But with a cake in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other, you made your way to your shared bedroom. The soft morning sun was trying to get in through the window – after setting the cake down on your desk, you allowed it in, pulling the curtain aside, slowly.

Unhappy groans can be heard from somewhere on the bed. With a quiet giggle, you made quick work of jumping onto the bed, straddling the older woman. “Happy birthday to you!” A broad smile made its way onto your girlfriend's scrunched-up face.

After laying a gentle kiss between her eyebrows, Katie's face relaxed. “Happy Birthday to you!” Kiss on the left cheek.

“Happy Birthday dear best girlfriend I could have in the world.” Kiss on the right cheek, which was a little shaky, as she was laughing at how you had sped through your new name for her. “Happy birthday to you!”

She made kissie-noises at you, expectingly holding her face up – but upon not receiving a proper kiss, she started to pout. “Babyyy!” The pout intensified, when you hovered above her, a teasing smile on your face. “Not faiiir!” Her voice was deep and gravelly, having just woken up, sleep still deep in her eyes, so it was safe to say, that you were surprised when she promptly rolled you over, easily overpowering you (I mean, have you seen those arms).

“My turn.” Kissing your face all over.

“Hey! It’s your birthday!” By now the Irishwoman was wide awake

“Yeah it is – I want breakfast in bed”, and with that she pulled you closer, diving in for a kiss.

“I made cake!” an excited hand stopped her advances, leaving her shoulders to slump. Laughing she got off of you – with hurried steps you set the cake down between you, handing her a spoon.

Stuffing yourself full of cake at eight-thirty in the morning was a nice start to the day, but it didn’t stop there. After a lot of cuddling and staying in bed, you finally convinced your girlfriend to get out of bed and get ready. You had to compromise though; you would join her in the shower so that she would “allow” you to take her out. Would you have kept the pout on your face for just a second longer Katie would have broken, and both of you knew it.

Pottery painting.

That was your chosen activity – and even though the brunette looked and acted incredibly tough, you knew that she would like this. Katie had been dropping hints, always showing you TikToks of people doing it and cooing “Look how pretty their mugs are! They would be perfect for my breakfast, don’t you think?”

They turned out pretty nice, Katie having gone for flower designs, had been much faster and had done two mugs, while you had decorated one with mushrooms, flowers, and many more things. Now they just needed to be fired and you could pick them up.

Your afternoon was spent relaxing together until you told her to get ready. “But for what?” And back was the whining.

“You will see it then, baby.” And after a lot of moaning and you hurrying her, she was done. As an alibi for eating out together, you had gotten dressed as well.

“Why is it so empty?” Her confusion was evident when she only saw two parked cars at the location. “It’s the middle of the week baby, people are probably working.” She seemed to be happy enough with it, not questioning it, when you littered soft kisses on the back of her hands.

With quick steps, you held the door open for her, which got you a swat to the bum “Oy! That’s my job!” But it was quickly forgotten when she saw the decorations and her friends jumping out “Happy Birthday Katie!”

The brunette stood there for a second, not knowing how to react, before turning to you, her comfort person, and pulling you into a hug. Teary eyes pressed into the nape of your neck. “Thank you, baby.” With a soft smile, you pushed her into Leah’s awaiting arms.

“You’re ours now McCabe! You’ll see ya missus later. Say byeee!”

And with that, your girlfriend was pulled away by her friends. You waved her goodbye, earning you just another pout, Katie being sad that you were leaving her.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that Katie called you, slurring slightly, asking if you could pick her up.

She was already outside of the establishment, together with Steph, who you dropped off at home.

An hour later you were cuddled up in bed, Katie pulling you as close to her as she possibly could. “Thank you – I know you don’t like things like that. I appreciate what you did for me.”

She could practically feel your face heating up on her chest “Well I didn’t do it alone Steph and-“ A kiss interrupted you, Katie shushing you. “Just take the compliment, baby.” 

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

liked by stephcatley and 44.331 others

katie_mccabe11: All my love to my incredible girlfriend. And thanks to all of you for the Birthday Wishes!

[hachyxd-blog]

Ray´s B-day fanfic <3

"Today, years ago, my favorite yandere was born from all the visual novels I've had the fortune to see or play. I can separate fiction from reality, but I don't think I'm the only one who would like to be there to hug Ray and give him a little peace. As a small gift, I wanted to make a short fanfic of my coffee addict alongside a little drawing to complement it. I apologize in advance if it's not understood well, English is not my language and I'm using a translator."

@concreteparasite Gracias por crear tal maravilla.

Happy birthday.

Who would have thought it would be possible to keep a secret from the great Binary star. Mc laughed happily in the kitchen as she finished washing the dishes. It had been just over a year since she moved into Ray's home. At first, it wasn't easy; it seemed like the option to leave was given, or rather, it was never up for discussion. After much talking, they managed to make it work together: Mc wouldn't be confined to her new home, but she would always stay in touch with Ray when she went out.

Truth be told, it's not like she could keep a secret from him; after all, he possessed the incredible ability to read minds, but she trusted him not to read hers all the time. Mc really believed it was impossible to turn on her mind... until she discovered it. On her maternal side, she spoke Spanish, and unconsciously she had been thinking in that language, discovering a weakness to Ray's ability. He seemed annoyed that he couldn't fully understand, but there was nothing he could do.

Today, in particular, he seemed very upset. I concentrated as best I could so that the only language I thought in was Spanish and not to ruin the surprise.

"Tell me what you're thinking..." Ray's voice appeared behind me, his hands wrapped around my hips as he rested his chin on my shoulder. The height difference between us was cute.

"I'm not thinking anything important," I said playfully.

"Stop," he said seriously.

"What?"

"You've been thinking in Spanish all day," His voice sounded annoyed, while I tried to contain my laughter.

"Really? I didn't realize."

"It's annoying."

"Well, darling. It's not the end of the world if you don't know everything that's going on in my mind."

Without responding, Ray left me alone in the kitchen and headed to our room, then came out in his superhero suit. Before me was Binary Star in all his glory, the only difference being that he didn't show that fake smile but still looked upset.

Unknowingly, due to my practice, I had been thinking in Spanish again.

Normally, he would give me a kiss goodbye and go to his vigil shift. But today, he flew off the balcony without looking at me. I won't deny that it hurt me. But it meant I was on the right track to keep the surprise.

Ray came back around 5 in the morning. Half-asleep, I felt him walking around the room before lying down on the other side of our bed. It seems he's still upset because he didn't hug me as he always does.

The next morning, I let him sleep, it helped that we slept separately, so I got out of bed easily. After putting on my robe, I went downstairs and asked the neighbor for my package. I had gotten a chocolate cake with coffee to celebrate Ray's birthday. But if I kept it in our house, he would realize I was planning in Spanish. The neighbor agreed to keep the cake at his house along with my gift.

I went back home, made coffee, and took the cake out of its box, and my gift was already on the tray.

In our room, Ray was still asleep. I cleared my throat and started singing "Happy Birthday."

Ray looked for a moment and then covered his face with his pillow. I could see that lovely smile; he was embarrassed.

I left things on the bedside table and threw myself to hug and kiss Ray; I knew I should have let him sleep more, but I couldn't contain myself after all these days preparing the surprise.

In no time, I was caught in his arms.

"Everything... was for this," His voice sounded deeper from just waking up, but he seemed happy.

"Yes, did you forget your own birthday?" I joked, stroking his soft hair, and running my hand over his cheek. "Ignoring them doesn't mean you stop aging, old man."

"No, I just don't usually celebrate it." He ignored my joke and just passed his hand over his face, somewhat frustrated.

"Well, get used to it. This might be the only birthday I manage to keep a surprise. Next year, you'll know what to expect." I exclaimed proudly.

Ray smiled, keeping his eyes closed; maybe it was the fact that he now had someone to be with him for the following birthdays that made him take this even more joyfully.

"If you don't want cake now, we can save it for later." I gave a glance to the table with his cake and gift, along with his essential morning coffee.

"How about the gift?" He pointed to the purple box. "Can I have it now?"

It was at this moment that nerves increased from zero to a hundred. Everything would be decided at this moment.

"Of course," I handed over the gift, watching as he slowly unwrapped it.

Ray's eyes widened as he looked at the contents of the box and then at me, pulling out two handmade dolls of them and a pregnancy test. After a moment of silence, Mc cleared her throat.

"D-don't think I'll give you a gift like this every year." I laughed nervously.

"Since when—" maybe it was shock, but his voice sounded distant, as if he didn't completely believe what was happening.

"I-it's still early, I haven't been to the doctor yet." Ray looked at me as if I had committed a crime. "I-it would have ruined the surprise."

Ray went from surprise to anger to simply accepting the inevitable: the love of his life was forgetful.

"I swear I feel fine. But you're happy, I mean, we talked about this in the past, but maybe you were thinking of another time in the future... I..."

Ray's hands took me by my cheeks, cradling my face, to give me a tender kiss.

"I am, I mean, I'm so happy that I'd like to hold you so tight in my arms and show you how excited I am about this." He gave me a subdued smile.

"Ray, what's wrong?"

"What if I don't do it right, being a good father?"

"Well, no father is prepared for this. We'll learn together..."

I could see Ray's face relax at my touch and my words. His hands surrounded my back, pulling me into a tight hug.

"Happy birthday..."

"Thank you..." His whisper was weak, but I felt genuine gratitude.

"Next year, we won't be alone on your next birthday, Mr. Dad."

We stayed hugged for a while. I didn't know what was going through Ray's mind, but whatever it was, I would be with him.

When I set out to eat the cake, I was interrupted by Ray, who carried me to the shower to get ready to go to the hospital. It was funny how from one moment to the next, our small bathroom became a dangerous area in Ray's eyes: slippery floor, sharp-cornered furniture, and a bathtub where I could drown, among many other dangerous things. He took out his phone and started calling to have our entire home redesigned to make it safe for me and our upcoming baby. And may God have mercy on the people in charge if I ever got hurt, no matter how insignificant it was.

If this was going to be my life from now on, it would be a long nine months.

"Your father has gone crazy," I said as I stroked my still flat belly. "But that's how I love him."

[forthelostones]

let's celebrate you ─── ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ 🪩 ˚ afab!reader x sub!ellie ⋆ 🪩 ୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡

" its time i turn these lights low "

synopsis: your birthday was a special one with a different kind of treat.

warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!ellie, loser!ellie, fingering & cunnilingus (e! receiving), dina ft, drinking, & grinding.

an: hi everyone, thanks for all the love on my other works! if u have any requests let me know! edited this on the fly >.< ; enjoy!

(no y/n)

wc: 2.2k

♪ playlist: misty ( lesly gore ), but not kiss ( faye webster ), what kinda of love ( childish gambino ), smile more ( syd ) ♪

your birthday was coming up and Dina had promised to make it a special one. you really didn’t mind having just a small dinner, and maybe a cake, but she insisted on something more. she didn’t tell you any of the details, just that you should look your best and not worry. you tended to be on the more anxious side so this was difficult. you appreciated the efforts but felt reluctant to not think of every single detail. 

after getting dressed you went to Dina’s where music was already vibrating the floorboards of the front porch. upon entering you saw everyone circling the entryway and smiling as they cheered “happy birthday!” you awkwardly cuddled your arm as you silently thanked them. immediately, Dina comes to hug you tightly, you inhale the familiarity and watch everyone disperse except for one person. 

“ellie. hey.” you mutter as Dina releases you from her arms. 

“happy birthday, um…” she rubs the back of her neck softly. 

she was wearing all black, head to toe, with the exception of a silly rainbow party hat that Dina probably put on her. when she noticed she still had it on she ripped it off quickly and fiddled with it in her hands. 

“right, um, you look nice.” she smiles warmly. 

“thanks els, why don’t we go and get you something to drink?” 

ellie and you were in the same advanced planetary astronomy course. you spent a lot of time together studying for exams and even lab partners, but outside of that you really didn’t hang out with her. you wished you did though. during some late nights she’d reveal small parts of her life and you just wanted to put your assignments away and indulge in her. 

“i don’t see how you can listen to music while doing this.” you mention.

this was a 300-level course and it wasn’t particularly easy, the readings were intense, with a lot of scientific jargon you still had to learn. 

she pulls away headphones away and rolls her eyes. “i mean, it’s just a little something, my working playlist. mostly instrumental.” 

that night she shared the playlist after your study session and you scrolled through her Spotify to see what other artists she listened to. just a small glimpse of her was all you really wanted.  

you both mosey through a crowd of people to get to the kitchen area. everyone saying happy birthday, asking how are you, and pointing you in the direction of your gifts. meanwhile, Ellie just followed shortly behind and was very silent, giving everyone a courtesy smirk. once you reach the kitchen counter covered in various bottles, you make both you and Ellie a suspicious concoction. 

“i don't know if I trust you as a mixologist.” she smiles shyly. 

“what you never had tequila, rum, and a little ginger ale?” 

you both laugh as your faces turn sour at the overly sharp mix. 

the night continues on with Ellie by your side and you both loosen up from the continuous influx of random drinks. you talk about more than class and your horrible professors, she tells you a bit about her music taste, hobbies, and her very visible tattoos. 

“i don’t think I have the pain tolerance to even sit and get something this big.” you say absentmindedly dragging the tip of your index finger along her forearm. you were slumped in the corner of the couch and she sat slouched on the arm of the sofa, just above you. 

“uh, uh I mean, I— I took some medicine before and uh,” she looks down to you and once your eyes connect she looks away. “they have this cream, like numbing cream, but I didn’t need that, I just I have a high pain tolerance, I dont know, yea.” 

“hmm, strong els.” your finger continues up her arm. 

Ellie trembles quietly at the static shock traveling through her body. you look up to her as her eyes follow your finger tracing along her skin, she inhales deeply and lets out a shaky breath. you feel a pounding start behind your temples and you lay your head on her thigh. 

“my head, ugh.” 

ellie freezes at the simplest touch of you, unsure of where to put her hand she just gently lies it on your back. 

“maybe we had too much of your little potion.” she jokes. 

it hurts to laugh but you manage to get one out. 

“ah, I think I’m gonna stay here,” you say.

“oh, yea, probably me too, I don’t think I could drive home.” 

you look up to her and her face is painted pink at just the smallest connection with you. “come with me.” 

you and Ellie are now in the spare bedroom just across the hall from Dina’s. you flop on the bed and pat beside you to signal Ellie to sit down. 

“should I get Dina? are you okay?” She asks. 

“im fine. um, I really liked my gift by the way.”

of course, she bought you a copy of her favorite comic, savage starlight, and left a sweet note inside the gift bag.

“oh, you saw it? when? we’ve been together all night.” she panicked. 

“when I said I was going to the bathroom.” 

you both share a soft laugh.

“i hope you like it.” 

“im sure I will. thanks, els.” 

her eyes are pooling brightly into yours, stealing a quick glance of your lips. you reach your hand and place it behind her neck, pulling her towards you, and sharing a kiss. 

“yo-you are so welcome.” 

she leans in this time nervously, awaiting another kiss. you guide her hands from the mattress to around your waist, draping your wrists around her neck, tucking her closer into you. you pull away and kiss her cheek, she giggles your lips tickle, and her smile fades and turns into a soft groan as she realizes your lips are trailing towards her neck. her grip becomes firmer around your hips and she unconsciously moves your hips towards her, back and forth. the kisses are cloud-like until you hear your name leave her lips. that’s when you slither your tongue up her neck, sucking and leaving small bite marks on the length of her throat. 

once you come back to her lips, she doesn’t hold back and goes in with her tongue. in between each kiss she tugs at you harder, gets more excited each pass while grunting passionately. your hand grips her leg firmly and drapes it over your lap, where she doesn’t hesitate to start bucking her hips against you. she bites your bottom lip to catch her breath and rubs her nose against yours before going into leaving hickeys on your neck. she’s so desperate that you feel how wet your neck has become from her urgency. you bring your hands down from her lower back to cup her ass as she’s taking in your sweet scent. 

“i need you.” she whispers. 

she doesn’t hesitate to pull her top off and before she can remove her bra you stop her. she smiles at you as you remind her to pace herself. you press your lips against her warm skin trailing to her chest, being careful to not satisfy her so fast. once she’s calmed down you remove her bra and just allow yourself to stare at her perky nipples. she’s now grinding against you slowly in a rhythm. you take your lips and brush them lightly against both of her nipples. you saw her chest rise and fall deeply, overcome with desire. 

you take her lingering hands and press them behind her back, restraining her movements. with your free hand, you place the center of your cold palm against her erect nipple. a gasp catches in her throat at the smallest contact as she tosses her head back. you press up against her body as she fights against your restraint. she leans down to kiss you, but you don’t allow her to. out of frustration, she bites her lips watching your hand move up and down. 

her nipples became puffy from your torture and you finally gave her the satisfaction of wrapping your lips around them. she tried to stifle her moans, shying away, turning her face away from yours, simply embarrassed. once you wet her nipples you sucked them allowing your tongue to brush up against her sensitive buds. 

you turned her over from your lap to where both your pelvis’ were level. she tried to feel you as she spread her legs wider but couldn’t because of her jeans. her face scrunched up as she watched you grind up against her just before you trailed kisses down her belly to her waistline. you stopped before her hipbones that were beckoning you to kiss them, which she shuttered at. as you pulled her pants off, she covered her face with her inked forearm. 

“els.” 

“uhmm yea?” 

“i need you to watch me.” 

“o-ohkay.” 

she removes her arm reluctantly and watches as you press your lips into her inner thigh, still holding eye contact. her hand comes to caress your cheek in an attempt to rush you, but you pay her no mind. you bring your mouth to just rest against her clothed clit and she shutters. 

“ah.” escapes her lips. 

her hips start to rise against your lips pressed into her core. her left hand comes to the top of your head as she grinds harder, she whimpers at the lack of satisfaction. 

“please. fuck.” 

 that's when she ignores you and arches her back farther, slipping her hands into her boxes and begins to massage her clit. her free hand grips the sheets and the sounds of her wetness fill your ears like sweet music. 

“ellie?” you ask, taken aback. 

“yes, y-ees?” 

she doesn’t stop until you physically remove her fingers, you grip her wrist and bring her fingers to her lips. she sucks the taste of herself clean off and you finally slip your hand past her waistband. her hands come up to your biceps, digging into your skin while you toil her wet clit. 

“harder.” she demands, but you pull your hand away, causing her body to jerk violently.

she takes your wrist and guides your fingers up and down her clit. she huffs, with her eyes closed, soaking in the pleasure. At one point she just starts grinding on all four of your fingers. legs spread open, lifting her hips up rhythmically, panting and sweating as she humped your hand. 

just before she came you pulled down her boxers and drank in her red, soaked pussy. the cold air made her twitch under you as you brought your lips to her folds. you were swimming in her warmth as you pecked her opening gently. she moaned at the view of you making out with her pussy, eyes closed, tongue slipping in occasionally, and sipping her up. you did everything in your power to avoid her throbbing clit as you tongued her soaked hole. 

once you finally wrapped your lips around her clit closed her eyes, basking in the relief she felt. as you inhale her legs come closing in on your face, shaking. 

“ellie,” you look up. “relax, im going to let you cum.” 

as she releases the tension from her body your two fingers enter her. she tosses her head to the side at the pressure inside of her, her breathing becoming unstable again. you find her clit in your mouth again and now she’s panting obscenities under her breath. 

“fuck, fuck, ahh, so good. please.” 

mindlessly she just kept moaning like this, throwing your name in the mix too. 

“another,” she said breathlessly. “three, I need another finger, ple-please.” 

she watched you, face wet, eyes drunk from her body, as you slipped in your ring finger, stretching her further. you couldn’t help but stare at her pussy wrapped so tightly but perfectly around your fingers. instead of sliding in and out, you just curled your fingers towards her g-spot, causing tears to pool in the corners of her eyes. 

your tongue flicks her clit harder as you pick up stamina inside of her, she was paralyzed with pleasure, stiffened by her orgasm. once she came over the edge, you kept going, harder, faster, quicker, and her body attempted to fold but you did not falter. with all her strength she uses her hands to lift your head, but her body is weakened. 

you pull your fingers out, causing a pop and she lays, eyes wide looking at the mess you made. she just lies breathless and as you crawl up to kiss her, you pat her dampened cunt causing her to yelp before her lips met yours. 

[stellocchia]

I've been bullying my boy Killer too much lately, so you guys are getting some fluffy headcanons for a change:

At some point, he picks up body painting. Color's bones are too sensitive for that kind of stuff (paint getting into the small cracks would NOT be fun) so Delta is his favorite canvas

Dust, Cross, and Epic also get themselves painted sometimes (Dust does face only, while with Cross and Epic it depends on their mood), while Horror has the same issues as Color. That said, Horror and Color appreciate the view, and Color has gotten plenty of cool pictures out of it

Killer can see Beta, XChara, Phantom, and all of Color's souls, mainly because they're all somewhat connected to the players/creators. As in they're a direct result of their actions. He uses this ability for evil exclusively (aka pulling pranks on his friends and getting them to snoop for him so he can know what the perfect present would be for them)

He doesn't remember his original birthday at all. He remembers very little of his life. Still, his friends insisted that he couldn't be without one so he chose the 20th of April (4/20, because he's a dumbass). Epic approved. Everyone else groaned

He hates surprises, so his first birthday was meticulously planned and approved days in advance. He loved every second of it. They took him to a natural reserve in an AU he never explored before and they hiked there the whole day. Killer got to pet a bear. Even the guide was surprised he didn't get mauled for it, but Killer gets Disney Princess privileges

He says his comfort food is specifically the grilled cheese sandwiches Horror makes. Truthfully, he can't taste anything, but Horror is so happy any time he hears it and any time he's cooking them (he used to make them for his bro all the time before the food crisis) and that's enough to make them Killer's favorite

He loves using makeup. He met an Underlust Sans one time at a shop who is also a small content creator and he started appearing in his videos as literally just a canvas for all the experimental makeup. He's quite the heart-throb with the viewers. He's got pretty boy privileges. (His friends were just happy to see him becoming more social, because he clearly is a very extroverted guy and he was suffering mostly staying inside all the time)

He and Color sometimes disappear for days at a time, getting lost in their explorations, so their friends have gotten them any piece of equipment they could think of that could aid their survival. And Horror has been learning how to make dehydrated food so it will be easier for them to pack more provisions

Stage 3 has built an excessive amount of dens, all filled to the brim woth pieces of clothing belonging to its friends. This is partially because all of those fuckers keep enabling it. They see those big empty eyes staring at them and immediately give it a pile of clothes they're not using at the time. Stage 3 has several dens in each of their homes

At some point, Stage 2 gets particularly clingy with Delta (may have something to do with Delta punching Nightmare in the face for daring to get close to Killer again). Both of them deny that that's what's happening, but it's common to find them latched onto each other in the weirdest of places. Their favorite place to totally-not-cuddle is the top of the fridge

Stage 4 finally gets some friends. Not owners, friends. They're kinda like its pack. It would have hated that at the start, but, after a while, the responsibility of keeping its pack safe became enough to keep it happy and in line. Color's still wearing the heart locket just in case though. But they usually don't need it

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 6

chapter 5 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 7

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: after months in the wilderness, you finally arrive at chicago. adapting to this new life has its cons, but also its perks. joel's birthday is around the corner, and you have planned for a couple of things you hope he likes...

a/n: hiya! here's chapter six!! it's packed with a bit of everything, especially drama because why not? 🤷 i want to thank you all ― i just realised that the first 3 chapters have hit over 100 notes each! i'm so damn grateful to all of you, honestly. as much as i'm writing for myself, i'm loving how hooked some of you are with this story 😳 also, i'd like to apologise in advance if i have butchered chicago's layout or its history, i did try my best doing some research. as always, thank you all for engaging. i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! even asks/requests if you want to! take care lovelies <3 x

warnings: 18+, mdni. mention of Sarah's death. angst. fluff. filthy smut (don't you know me by now?). porn with plot or plot with porn (however you wanna look at it). irresponsible use of contraception (don't do that). consensual somnophilia. dry humping. unprotected piv. masturbation (m and f). creampie. pussy slapping. fisting. squirting. cum play. a bit of assplay. makeup sex. sir kink. “bar” fight. alcohol consumption. blood. stabbing. swear words. mention of past racist events and the precursor to the chicago race riot of 1919. soft!dom!joel. a bit of aftercare. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart). i'm sure i'm forgetting something lol. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is now 37 (🎉!). no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~6.9k.

tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981 @fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz

Chicago was definitely not what you had expected at all. Shit had gone down really badly in this place. It took you a week to cross the southwest area, keeping close to Interstate 55 as a reference. The worst you had seen was Chicago Midway International Airport. Airplanes had crashed on the runway, the esplanade was a makeshift cemetery even almost a year after Outbreak Day. Bodies piled on top of each other, fires would break out in the adjacent buildings. The control tower was completely dilapidated. And the grounds were full of clickers.

Tommy, Joel and you made it through the worst neighbourhoods. As you covered more miles, Tommy and Joel realised that this had not been the best idea. But you were already there, so the best option was to move forward. You all had to defend yourselves, and each other. Although the Miller brothers took out many attackers ―humans and infected alike―, you also had your good share of action. You didn’t like it, but you were good at shooting. Your clothes were stained with blood and sweat. You endured, and you survived. That was what mattered.

The whole city was in shambles, divided by two different groups: the government and the rebels. The government held the north side of the Chicago River, from River North Gallery District all the way to Old Town ― basically everything to the east of Interstate 90. The rebels, on the other hand, controlled the south ― all the movable bridges along the whole Wacker Drive, from New Eastside to Chinatown. Anything further south or north, and between Interstates 55 and 90, from Little Village to Naperville, was no man’s land.

You ended up on the rebels’ side randomly. Tommy was not very happy about it, blaming the communists for overpowering the government, but it wasn’t like you had a choice. If you tried to cross any bridge to go northwards, you would be shot at with no warning. From both sides.

It took a while to convince the Rioters ― that was how the rebels called themselves. Two weeks later, on the 20th of August, you were given a place to stay near the Art Institute of Chicago, which was also the operations base. You did try to integrate yourself in this society as you knew it was better to have more friends than foes. The Millers, however, kept to themselves ― Joel more than Tommy, as you had expected. No surprises there.

The flat you were in was in urgent need of repairs but was better than sleeping rough. You and Joel fixed as many things as you both could, while Tommy took cleaning very seriously. It wasn’t much, but it was the place you called home for the last month. The only downside was that it only had two bedrooms, so Joel and you sadly had to share the only double bed available, while Tommy had his own room.

You wouldn’t lie to yourself ― the last four weeks had been pure bliss in a sense. Waking up every day besides Joel had become a delightful habit. He had awakened you many a times either in the middle of the night or in the early morning to give him a hand. Literally. And you had done exactly the same thing when you had needed it. You were sure Tommy was sick and tired of you two, but you didn’t care.

You stretched out, still lying in bed. The morning light had not come through the curtains yet, but it soon would. You rubbed your eyes and then let your arms drop to your sides dramatically. You were not a morning person, but your sleeping schedule was all fucked up. You rolled to your other side in an attempt to get comfortable.

Joel was sleeping on his right side. You had noticed he usually did in the same position. When you had asked him why, he had explained his hearing in his right ear was messed up since his suicide attempt. You wished you could have been faster that day to prevent the gun from going off. Ah, the regrets you both had…

His back was towards you, him facing the door. Despite the repairs you all had done to the flat, it was still not the safest. Every night one of you would make sure all locks were engaged and would bar the front door. A few days ago, someone attempted to break in. Since then, all of you would sleep with a firearm nearby.

Today was Sunday ― 26th of September. Which meant it was Joel’s birthday, as well as the first anniversary of Outbreak Day. The anniversary of Sarah's death would be tomorrow too. You had tried to talk to Joel about today, but he didn’t seem to be interested in celebrating at all, which you completely understood. As much as you wanted to do something, you respected his decision. You had only planned for a couple of low-key things, which you hoped he wouldn’t mind.

He had fallen asleep only with his briefs on, the bedsheet draping around his legs. You couldn’t see, but you were damn sure he had his arms crossed at his chest, always on guard. Your eyes dwelled on his upper body, two perfect dimples on his lower back. His shoulders were broad and toned, his waist smaller. He was not the most muscular guy you had ever seen, but he was perfect the way he was. His calloused hands had shown you multiple times how good he was for you, despite what he thought of himself.

You couldn’t resist, your mouth dry. Your fingertips traced the curve of his neck, then his left shoulder down to his elbow. Your hand caressed his left hip and slipped down to his front, following his V line. Your fingers touched the elastic of his briefs ― and something else.

You gulped down the knot in your throat, your heart beating harder in your chest, when your fingertips brushed over the damp tip of his cock. Joel’s morning wood was so prominent, his glans had slipped out of his underwear and was showing. You wetted your lips as you stroked him carefully. A deep, almost guttural growl flowed from Joel’s chest.

You got closer to him in bed, your nipples grazing the skin on his back even through your pyjamas. It probably wasn’t the best time ― you knew he was tired, but you wanted him so badly. Liquid fire was pooling in your furrow, knowing his erection was right there for you to play with.

Your internal battle didn’t last long.

You pulled down his briefs to free his warm dick. You didn’t need to look to know his shaft was resting against his happy trail, the head touching his belly button. With no hesitation, you wrapped your fingers around his cock, squeezing him delicately. Then you slid your hand down his meaty column, holding him firmly, in a very slow but strong pump.

He groaned, still asleep as far as you could tell, as you started pumping him ― more heat and excitement gathering in your pussy. You dunked your fingers in your panties, touching yourself. You were already wet, the mere thought of making him yours was enough. You kissed his left shoulder at the same time he uncrossed his arms ― his left hand over yours, feeling the rhythm you were imparting on him.

He was awake.

Joel didn’t remember what he was dreaming about, but he was sure it wasn’t this. When he looked down and saw your tiny hand trying to muffle his cock, he closed his eyes with a sigh. That felt damn good. He was knackered after last night’s patrolling shift, but this was exactly what he needed to decompress.

He turned around, his back flat against the uncomfortable mattress. His eyes were pinned on yours, your sweet hand upping the speed. You leaned towards him and invaded his mouth with your devilish tongue. Joel moaned in the middle of the kiss ― his brain completely switched off. He could not think straight when you were handling him like that.

Quickly letting go of his erection and mouth, you got rid of your pyjama shorts and your underwear. Then you doubled down your efforts with the handjob ― his throbbing cock was calling for you. You could see a few drops of precum sliding off his veiny shaft, which you swiftly gathered with your thumb to rub them against his leaking slit. You felt his dick pulsating hard for you ― your cunt palpitating at exactly the same time, anticipating. Your bodies were fully synchronised.

You then climbed on top of him, his balls welcoming the touch from your puffy lips. You rolled your hips against his, looking for that friction you so much loved, and took a deep breath before taking off the top of your pyjamas, throwing it to one side. You bended down, your mouth looking for his, so thirsty.

“Good morning, handsome”, you whispered as a greeting.

“Mhmmm”, was the only thing he managed to hum, sleepy.

You smiled and broke off the contact, straightening your back. His rough hands slid from your knees, across your thighs, to your butt. He clasped your ass cheeks with assertiveness. With no more words than those, you took his steely cock in your hand and lifted your hips. You glided his glans over your damp fold a few times, your cunt beseeching to be stuffed.

You guided his tip to kiss your entrance and descended on his dick slowly, very slowly, the palms of your hands flat against his lower abdomen to steady yourself. You closed your eyes, head tilted backwards, and whined loudly. Each inch was a blessing. Once his cock was entirely inside of you, you peeked back down at him and did a circular motion with your hips. His eyes were so intense you couldn’t look away while you started riding him.

Joel closed his eyes unwillingly when the muscles in his lower belly cramped. He didn’t want to miss a single second of this, so forced himself to open them again ― he loved seeing how the pleasure transformed your beautiful features. Your half-lidded eyes, your lips parted, a river of pearly sweat coming down in between your bosom. Your perfectly round breasts bouncing in front of him. He was a lucky bastard.

He liberated your ass, his hands drifting to your bust, holding your tits. While he kneaded that tender flesh and coddled your nipples, you covered his hands with yours. You were still jumping on top of him, albeit more erratically, as you felt an orgasm hit you with full force. You mewled as your needy pussy discharged the seed of your pleasure all over him, hugging his hard erection, strangling his cock, encouraging him to come with you.

Joel was so damn close to coming, his nuts contracted with equal parts of pain and lust. He could feel your gush soaking his dick. He was about to lose his goddamn mind ― he needed to stop. His hands abandoned your breasts to place them on your butt to help you lift it up, so you would release his cock before it was too late.

“No, it’s okay. Fill me up, please, sir”, you wailed, your palms against his chest, your hips grinding against his.

Joel glimpsed at you with doubt. It was like you could read his mind, because you knew what he was thinking. You smiled softly, your wet pussy palpitating around his cock. You forced your inner walls to contract against him as you leaned forward to kiss him.

“I’ve got the morning after pill. Please, please, Joel, come inside, I beg you. Trust me”, you wept, laying down on top of him.

He thought himself mad for believing you, but he did. Because he was mad for you, regardless of what he tried to convince himself of. He lifted your butt up off his lap with his hands ― with the help of his legs, the heels of his feet against the bedsheets, he thrusted into you like a madman while you remained still on top of him. Drilling your weeping cunt, as hard and fast as he could. He just wanted to know how it felt just once; he wanted you to milk him dry.

Joel fucked you like there was no tomorrow, the room echoing with the squishy sounds and the impact of flesh on flesh. He was fucking you so hard that you came again at the same time he spilled his spent in you ― Joel groaned like you never heard him before. The slick warmth you felt inside made you smile, your face buried in the curve of his neck, your nipples brushing his. With his pulsing dick still inside of you, you bit the skin on his neck, leaving a mark behind.

“Happy birthday, sir”, you whispered in his ear.

That was your gift to him. And to yourself, because you had wanted this from the very first time he impaled you in the forest. You had had to trade a few bits for the morning after pill, but it was worth every single one of them. You felt your cave so clogged with him and his cum, you thought you had descended to hell.

You both stilled, catching your breaths. His dick was still twitching, housed by your greedy, soaked cunt.

A minute later, he sat up on the bed, bit your mouth and lifted your butt up, his cock becoming free. He quickly laid you down in fetal position ― resting on your righthand side, back slightly curved, head bowed, your knees bent touching your breasts. He placed a hand on your left hip and tilted your pelvis a bit forward, so he could inspect your heart-shaped ass and your puffy, reddened pussy framed by your inner thighs.

Just in time to see his cum gushing out of your hole, dripping across your perineum and then going downwards, skidding through your butt cheek. One of his digits caught the semen before it hit the bedsheets, retraced its steps back and shoved the cum back inside of you with the push of his finger.

“You can’t waste my gift to you, baby, it’d be so fucking rude of you”, he purred in your ear, his voice coarse and warm at the same time.

He laid on his side behind you, moving his index in a circular motion, looking for your g-spot and finding it. He stroked it dextrously, sliding it in and out slowly. You closed your eyes, and fisted the bedsheet in your hand, trying to hold onto something. Your mouth shaped a perfect ‘O’ when he bottomed out, quickly adding a second finger. And a third. Then a fourth.

It didn’t take long for your pussy to adjust to such delightful intrusion ― your inner walls felt like clay, reshaping around him. Joel could feel you relax around his fingers and took the chance, introducing his thumb in your pussy too. Now his entire hand was buried in your fluttering cunt, down to his wrist. He remained still for a hot minute while your muscles loosened up to house him.

Then he slowly started to pump his fist inside of you, back and forth, building up a steady pace. Joel bit your shoulder and then kissed it ― his tongue tasting the saltiness of your sweat.

By that point you couldn’t stop moaning very loudly ― the whole building was probably listening to your whoring screams as Joel fisted you relentlessly with his whole hand. Each push propelling his cum further inside of you as if he wanted it to take. He was thrusting you so harsh, your entire body was rocking back and forth on the bed. He was fucking you senseless just with his hand ― and you were loving every single second of it.

Your sticky cunt couldn’t take it for much longer ― it was wet, pulsating, contracting, overstimulated, yearning… Your pussy literally was his, and only his. The orgasm had been building up for so long now that when you let it go, weeping at the top of your lungs, it hit you like a motherfucking truck. Your whole body went into shock while you squirted ― you were shaking due to the force of your own release. For fuck’s sake, you could barely breathe.

You whimpered again when he removed his hand and rubbed your wetness all over your delicate folds. Before you could form a coherent thought, he spanked you on your crotch so firmly it tingled ― you almost died and went to heaven right there and then, biting into the pillow underneath your head. He kept on slapping your quivering cunt until your sensitive clit twitched one last time with devastating pleasure, contracting your uterus so the last trickle of cum oozed out of you. He caught it with his thumb and brushed it gently against your asshole, caressing the tight ring, until you fully relaxed.

You sighed, unable to move. You even felt dizzy. Your limbs felt so limp you didn’t think you could sit up, so you just stayed there, melting against the bedsheets. You hadn’t realised your eyes had welled up until a few tears ran down your cheeks. Tears of complete, utter joy ― there was no other way of describing it.

You were so damn grateful for this man, you swore to yourself you would never let him go. You had been with others, but none of your sexual partners had been so fucking attentive. Joel would always make sure you were completely satisfied, without fail. And that said a lot about him.

You rolled onto your back to look at him, wiping away the tears with a satisfied smile and dreamy eyes. He was still lying down on his side, his elbow against the bed, his head resting on the palm of his hand. He returned your smile ― such gesture transforming his rugged face. So gorgeous it tugged at your heart.

“Y’know, it was supposed to be all the way around today ― me fucking you until you begged”, you confessed, although it was not a complaint.

He grinned, his hand possessively cupping your mound. You parted your legs slightly so he could massage your sensitive furrow. It felt so calming after all that pussy-slapping he gifted you with.

“As redundant as it sounds, plans rarely go according to plan, sweetheart”.

Understatement of the fucking year, you thought.

You just laughed while his hand was still kneading your sticky flaps. Joel kissed your forehead before he took out his hand from in between your legs, your damp, intimate skin being swept by the cold air.

“The morning after pill?”, he asked a minute later.

“I got it from Kelsey, it’s in date. Don’t panic, it’s okay. I have three days to take it. Which made me think… I don’t need to do it straight away, right?”, you glanced up at him, a wide smile on your lips.

“Mhmm, I mean, it would be a waste otherwise, I guess”, he replied, tucking a stray hairlock behind your ear. “But I need a minute here, darlin’. You work miracles, but even I have limits. Wait up”, he mumbled grumpily as he palmed his left wrist, and then got out of bed while he tucked away his member back in his briefs.

Joel headed towards the en-suite bathroom. He came back out only a few seconds later ― you could see panic in his eyes. You sat back up on the mattress quickly.

“What is it, Joel?”, you asked with worry, kneeling on the bed.

“My wristwatch, I can’t find it. I am sure I left it by the sink before I came to bed last night. I can’t lose it. I can’t”, he was now frantically searching his bedside table, panic growing in his tone.

You bit down your lip, because you knew where it was. In the drawer of your nightstand. You had taken it in the middle of the night because your second present was getting it repaired for him today.

“I have it”, you whispered, shrugging with an apologetic smile.

“What? Why?”, he approached you, extending his hand towards you, his tone so serious. “Give it back now”, he almost growled at you.

His reaction took you completely off guard. Why was he so possessive over a broken watch? Trying to understand the sudden change in Joel, you opened the drawer and took it out.

“I just wanted to get it fixed for you, as a gift”, you didn’t understand what was happening.

“You have not fixed it, have you?! Because if you have―”, he snatched it off your hand, inspecting it.

You frowned ― his attitude towards you was completely off. What the hell was going on?

“Don’t you dare touch my fucking things, is that clear?”, he snapped.

You looked at him blankly, speechless. Then your own temperament started to shimmer under the surface.

“Wow, wow, wow ― Calm the fuck down, Joel. It’s just a broken, useless watch―”, you stopped yourself because of his perplexed look.

“Shut up. It’s not just any watch. You don’t fucking understand”, he yapped.

“I would try and understand if you just fucking explained it to me?!”, you shouted at him while you got dressed. “What is your fucking problem, Joel? What’s up with that watch? I don’t read minds!”.

“Forget it”, he grumbled, strapping the watch to his wrist before putting his trousers on and grabbing a T-shirt, heading towards the door.

“That’s it? You just up and leave?”, you repressed the urge of throwing a pillow to his head.

“I’ve got stuff to do”, he muttered.

A few seconds later, you heard him opening the front door. Then he slammed it shut.

It was around lunchtime now and you had not seen Joel since this catastrophic morning. While you had the impression that Joel’s reaction was due to something he would not speak about, he had no fucking right to treat you that way. You were just trying to do something nice for him, that was all.

You walked through the main hallway of the Art Institute of Chicago. It was rammed with people running around ― some armed, some not. You didn’t think that humanity would prevail in big groups in such circumstances, but it did.

The Rioters had established some sort of order. People had tasks to do, everyone working together to build up a community. Chores were allocated according to people’s skills. Joel had been put on patrolling shifts, Tommy was helping with carpentry and other building jobs, and you were in the hunting group. As much as you hated pulling the trigger, you were a very good shot. All thanks to your good old Texan father.

You were on your way to check with the group if there were any plans of going out today when you got interrupted.

“Hey”, someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“What’s up, Joyce?”, you looked at the older woman when you turned around.

Joyce was around fifty five years of age, maybe more, and was the kindest soul you had ever met. She had welcomed you to Chicago like a mother a daughter. Joyce showed you around, explained how the Rioters worked and guided you in the right direction. Because as good as everything looked, there was still darkness lurking around.

She was also the best cook ever. Like, no jokes, she could transform a tasteless rabbit in the most flavourful stew your tastebuds had ever been in contact with.

“I just finished cooking, do you want some stew?”, she asked with a warm smile.

Your stomach growled at the mere idea.

“Fuck yeah”, you replied ― your duties could wait, surely.

“Watch your language, kiddo”, Joyce reprimanded you.

“Sorry, sorry”, all that time you spent with Joel was showing.

You followed her to the canteen and patiently waited for Joyce to pour some stew in a bowl. You then went with her to a table where more people were sat down. You didn’t know any of them, so Joyce introduced you. You were damn sure you weren’t going to remember one single name by the time you walked out the door.

“So, you’ve never heard the story of Eugene Williams?”, one of the men asked rhetorically to a younger fellow across the table, who shook his head in reply. “He was a black kid in 1919, when racial segregation was still in place here in Chicago. The summer of 1919 was so hot the kid wandered off to the white side of Chicago beach without realising. A man threw stones at him until the kid drowned and died. That was what ignited the Chicago Race Riot of 1919 ― and why we, the resistance, go by the Rioters”.

You listened to every word while you ate your meal. After hearing that explanation, many things made sense. Although they named themselves the Rioters, there were no riots in the streets ― actually, people seemed happy here, given the circumstances.

“That’s right, Walter, younger people need to learn about the past, so those mistakes are never repeated again”, said Joyce.

The conversation then moved on to present times, the people talking about the continuous fight against the so-called government.

Joel got the afternoon patrolling shift that day, which he thought was a killer, considering he did the night shift last night. But it was good in a sense ― it would keep his mind occupied. You had angered him so much this morning, it had set his mood for the rest of the day. The thought of you erasing that memory had maddened him so bad, he had to walk out before he said something he would later regret.

That watch was the only anchor chaining him to what little remained of his humanity. A gentle reminder of what could have been but wasn’t. Every day he wondered how Sarah would be doing in this new world. And most days, he was just somewhat grateful she wasn’t here to see what had become of civilisation. The unspeakable horrors she would have witnessed and suffered but didn’t ― it was very little consolation to a father, but it was better than nothing.

He absentmindedly touched the watch on his wrist, ensuring it was properly fastened.

Joel was stationed with other people in front of Bataan-Corregidor Memorial Bridge. In those long, never-ending hours, there was no activity on the other side of the bridge, but they had to remain vigilant nonetheless. By the time the next group showed up, it was already half eight in the evening.

Joel headed towards the headquarters to sign off and go home. He was already on edge, thinking about what he would say to you to appease you. Because he was damn sure you would be waiting for him, ready to pick up the fight where you both left it. As Joel walked past the canteen, he heard a familiar voice.

Tommy was on his feet, yelling at a man, his accusatory index pointing to the guy. Joel rolled the eyes to the back of his head ― he was sure his brother was so drunk he would probably not remember any of this the next day. Joel shook his head with disappointment ― some things would never change, not even when the world had gone to shit.

He planned to ignore the situation and get back home to you, when a fight started. Joel groaned in despair, debating what to do. But a man chose for him ― he saw how a bloke approached Tommy from behind, knife on hand, and he knew he had to do something. Joel quickly closed the distance in stride and grabbed the man from the neck of his shirt, pulling him backwards until the dude stumbled with his own feet.

Madness broke out, the whole canteen becoming a battling ground. People were fighting each other over absolutely nothing, throwing punches in the air.

“Tommy!”, he shouted angrily, while the younger Miller turned around and simply smiled.

That fucking pissed him off big time.

“Are you fucking out of your mind? How much have you been drinking?!”, Joel wanted to punch his brother so bad, he really had to control himself.

“Not enough”, he babbled.

As Joel approached his brother, ready to fight him if necessary, the man he had pushed away from Tommy tapped his shoulder. When Joel turned around, the dude punched him in the face and then stabbed him in the lower stomach.

Joel froze for a second, his back slightly curved, his brain coming to terms with what just had happened. He looked down while his hand gripped the handle of the knife. He knew not to remove it because it was the blade what prevented him from bleeding out. Then Joel glanced back up at the same guy and, without thinking, he removed the knife from his flesh and sticked it on the man’s shoulder with a growl.

Joel’s wound started to bleed like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Not that he noticed anyway, because hell literally broke loose.

It wasn’t late late, only ten in the evening, but none of the brothers was around when you returned home, which was weird. You could understand if Joel was avoiding you, but Tommy? You frowned as you called for them, shutting the main door behind you. Nothing, no reply at all.

Before you could walk to the living room to see if there was a note or something, someone knocked on the door.

You looked through the peephole. Joyce was standing outside, worry wrinkling her aged face. You opened the door.

“What’s the matter, Joyce?”

“It’s Joel, he’s in the infirmary”, she whispered while placing a soft hand on your forearm.

You just stared at her, bewildered.

“Huh? The where?”, you repeated, while her words started to sink in, your stomach contracting with fear.

“Come with me, kiddo”, Joyce took your hand, guiding you through the apartment building.

The next time you blinked, you were in an outbuilding outside the headquarters. Joyce palmed your hand with hers, in a calming gesture, while she took you to the far end of the shelter. The old lady planted you in front of Joel’s bed, and let go of you with a “take care”.

You stood there for a long minute, still trying to grasp what the hell had happened. He was asleep, his head slightly tilted away from you ― or so you hoped he was. Joel had no shirt on, a bloody bandage covering the right side of his abdomen. You got closer, your heart pounding in your throat.

“He’s fine, it’s just a scratch”, you looked up, befuddled.

Tommy was sitting in a plastic chair on the other side of the bed. He was crouching forwards, his elbow against his knee, head pressing against the palm of his hand. Tommy then smiled, which completely perplexed you.

You were about to reply, but suddenly Joel did instead.

“Fuck off, Tommy. Get your ass somewhere else”, he gritted his teeth.

You hadn’t noticed it yet, but you had been holding your breath, because suddenly you felt a stone being lifted off your chest. You glanced at the younger Miller, who had gotten up with a smile. When he walked past you to go outside, you smelled it. The stench of alcohol made you wrinkle your nose unconsciously.

Joel wrapped his fingers around your wrist to get your attention, so you turned around to look at him, so confused you couldn’t even form a sentence. Joel had already adjusted the pillow on his back so he could be somewhat sat up.

“It’s alright, no need to cry”, he said raising one of his hands to sweep away your tears.

You had not realised you were crying. Giving it a second thought, you probably had been since you left home. You pursed your lips and nodded, quietening your sobs.

“What…?”, you muttered, resting your cheek against his palm before placing a kiss on it.

“Tommy got into a fight in the canteen. He’s so drunk he probably won’t remember a thing tomorrow. A man tried to stab him, and I got in the way ― that’s all, sweetheart. No serious damage, just some stitches”, he tried to calm you.

You wished Tommy was still in the room, because you would have loved to slap the shit out of him for being so irresponsible. What the hell was he thinking? Joel was hurt because of him, and he had just left smiling as if it wasn’t so serious.

“Just leave him be, it’s worthless trying to speak to him in such a state”, something in Joel’s voice told you this wasn’t the first time he had been in this situation.

“Are you sure you’re fine? Joel, please, don’t lie to me―”, you mustered, trying to keep your tears in check, as you caressed his cheek.

He heavily sighed as he scooted over to one end of the tiny bed, leaving enough space for you to join him. You got on the gurney quickly, nestling against him, your arm across his chest in a half embrace. His body heat calmed your nerves a bit, although your hands were still shaking.

“I’m fine, I’m not lying. They won’t let me leave yet though, the nurse said I need to stay here for a couple of hours, until she’s certain the bleeding has stopped”, he explained, his fingertips tracing the shape of your right shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere”, you said with a small voice, your left cheek against his chest.

Joel didn’t fight you on that, so you stayed by his side. His left hand was resting just below your face, his broken watch strapped around his wrist. You bowed your head a bit and kissed his knuckles.

“I’m sorry about this morning, I thought fixing your watch was a nice thing to do, considering it’s been broken since I met you”, you tried to explain yourself, but Joel hushed you by cupping your chin so your eyes would meet his.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I know you meant well. It’s just…”, you heard him gulp down, as if the next words were extremely painful to say out loud. “Sarah fixed this watch for me on my last birthday. It’s been stuck at 2.40 AM since… since we both got shot. One of the bullets broke it”, he recounted in a husked voice, his brown eyes focused on the timeless sphere.

Then it hit you. That was Sarah’s time of death. And, unknowingly, you almost ruined the last memento Joel possessed of his daughter. His most precious treasure. You felt sick to your stomach at the mere idea of being responsible for such a thing. Had you known, you would have never even considered doing what you had planned.

“Gosh, Joel, I’m sorry. I swear to you I didn’t know”, you breathed out desperately.

“I know, baby. I should have told you that instead of getting angry and for that I apologise, but I just couldn’t…”, he clenched his jaw, and you tried to soften his expression with the touch of your fingers.

“Don’t apologise, please”, you kissed his bearded jaw and remained in comfortable silence for the next two hours, until Joel was finally discharged.

The next day you both stayed home. Tommy had tried to apologise when he came back to his senses, but Joel was having none of it. The younger Miller eventually understood that his brother just needed space until he decided to forgive him and gave up in his efforts. You were alone with Joel all day, making sure he was okay and helping him clean the wound. Those stitches were going to leave a nasty scar on him, but it was better than the alternative. It was healing well, no signs of infection, for which you were so pleased ― probably more than him. You almost had to tie him to the bed so he would stop fidgeting around ― Joel was going to get the wound open again if he didn’t remain still for a bit.

You knew Joel was just trying to keep his brain busy because this day marked a year since Sarah was wrongly snatched from his life. That was why he was so taciturn and quiet today, and you let him be for the most part.

When he sat down on the couch in the afternoon, you just nestled against his body, in silence, his arm affectionately enveloping you.

Nighttime came around soon enough, and you both got into bed. Joel spooned you as soon as he laid down behind you, his right arm hugging you, his chest against your back. You soon fell asleep in his warm embrace, feeling protected and content.

Joel woke up a few hours later, one of his recurrent nightmares haunting him. He grumbled in displeasure and got out of bed to change the dressing over the wound. He did so efficiently and returned to bed, slipping under the bedsheets quietly.

Another hour went by, and he was still awake, his eyes on the ceiling.

He rolled onto his left side and saw you sleeping peacefully, in the exact same position you fell asleep. You had not moved one inch. Joel smiled softly as he got closer to you, sliding his arm around your waist and dragging you over to him, looking for your soothing warmth.

Unconsciously, you wiggled your hips to bury your butt in his bulge, and Joel contained a pitiful moan. Your perfectly round ass was innocently embedded in his groin. Now he was sure as hell he was not going to be able to fall back asleep. Irremediably, he pressed his manhood against your buttocks again, looking for that friction.

Joel felt his cock tense up, an erection taking hold. He freed his manhood, slowly pumping himself ― his leaky tip brushing your asscheek until a wet patch adorned your panties. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t resist. You were all curled up, drooling on the pillow, faintly snoring, your knees slightly bent. He cut the distance between you and shoved his dick in your thigh gap, his shaft rubbing against your pussy covered by your underwear.

Sweat gathered on his brow as he rocked his pelvis back and forth, your thighs sweetly compressing his cock ― the tip feeling cold when it overhung on the other side. Joel kissed your shoulder, his hand gently placed on your hip to steady himself.

“C’mon, baby, wake up”, he husked near your ear, gently nibbling your earlobe.

You hummed, half awake. You felt your body being rocked, your eyes fluttering open and looking downwards. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Joel’s glans sticking out through your thigh nook, then disappearing from sight to reappear again. You smiled pleasantly, shutting your eyes, as you felt your needy cunt melt for him. You pursed your lips with delight.

“Can I have my birthday present again, sweetheart?”, he whispered in a constrained tone.

You nodded, scatterbrained.

You were drenching your underwear so bad, there was a visible damp, darken spot right in the middle. Joel pulled back from in between your legs and pushed the bridge of your panties to one side. He lodged his cock in between your puffy lips, sliding it through your entire slit a couple of times to douse himself with your fluids.

“You’re soaking wet, baby”, he muttered as you let out a soft moan when Joel pressed his tip against your dripping hole, your flesh parting as the Red Sea.

Then Joel slowly pushed his hard cock in inch by inch down to his balls. His right arm hugged you, poising you in place and sneaking his hand under your pyjama top to hold one of your full breasts. He stilled for a second, feeling your cunt sheathing him like a warm glove. He thrusted once, twice, thrice. You lost count after that, Joel plunging into you from behind, gaining erratic speed. You grasped the bedsheet in your fist, your spit pooling on the pillowcase.

You placed a hand on your mound and a few seconds later, you slipped it under your panties. With the palm against your clit to cause some grinding, you could feel Joel coming in and out of you in between your index and middle fingers. Your gushing cunt started palpitating around his slick cock, your inner walls squeezing him hard as you came, mewling like a kitten in heat.

Joel quickly followed you, his cum filling you up, breathing roughly behind you. You tilted your head towards your right to look at him over your shoulder. He kissed you, first gently, then more demanding, while his dick was still throbbing with the last wave of his release. Joel pinched your nipple before freeing your mouth.

“There you go, sweetheart, so you don’t forget who you and your tight pussy belong to”, he groaned as he pulled out of you.

“Thank you, sir”, you said gratefully.

Joel put your underwear back in place and pressed the palm of his hand against your wet panties, his cum trickling out with yours and swamping the piece of clothing even more, saturating it, almost as if you had pissed yourself.

“Go back to sleep, darlin’”, he kissed the nape of your neck, his hand still lodged in your thigh gap, hard pressed against your satisfied, clothed pussy. You loved how possessive he was of you, literally claiming your cunt for himself at every chance he got.

With a pleased sigh, you tucked your hands under your head and fell back asleep within seconds.

The earth was round again.