#this probably isn't making it into the tags but....

[ctghost]

okokok i can't stop thinking about @yan-randomfandom 's godling fic so here's some drabbles on ford's thoughts.. this can be some sort of continuation of this! (P.s i hope i'm not bothering by tagging you jdkdkrjk 😭😭)

part 1 part 2

visualization that inspired me

"Well i'll see you later, pines, until then!"

Ford wakes up.

You really aren't just a piece of his dream. But he can't just believe fact that you aren't bill. Second dimensional, wearing a bowtie, and all that. Who would know if he could just be wearing some sort of bizarre skin?

But then he starts thinking what you just called him. Pines. Bill never called him that. All his years studying and time with bill, he had never heard anything about a deity like you. Could you possibly be from the same dimension as bill? If so, wouldn't that mean you're bill's ally? That's got to be the only logical reason here. You're likely trying to trick him to be able to make a deal with you. Well that sure isn't gonna work now.

But he had to be sure.. maybe this night he'll try to get some answers out of you.

-

"You're not here to make a deal, are you?"

"Deals aren't my forte,"

"I do wishes."

-

"Is that so? Well then, how many wishes?"

"One." His eyebrows furrowed at that. "Bill-"

"I am not Bill Cipher."

-

"You could use your wish to help me gain my memories back, or you could use it for yourself, it's your choice, really."

After a little more talk, he knows now that you are likely not lying, and that really don't have any recollections of your own past, and even your name. Still, he couldn't just trust you. Everyone knows what happened the last time that happens. He still needs to fish out as many answers as he could get.

But you probably even don't have much to give anyway, since all your replies are just "i don't know" or "i don't remember". He became slightly frustrated at your lack of vary answers, but guess he should appreciate you not trying to twist any truth there is.

Back in the mindscape, Ford's deep in his thoughts as he observes you moving around almost boredly. There's just so many questions.

If he really used his wish to get your memories back, would you be indebt to him? Or would you try to burn the world down just like bill?

He let out a small sigh, but soon a realization hit him, You can read his mind. If bill has that power, you could do the same-

He suddenly jumped, alarmed. You paused what you were doing and looked at him. "You alright there, pines?"

He was about to retaliate- but seeing your almost sincere and confused look on just a singular eye, he calms down abit from his overthinking. Just because you have similiar physical traits, you're not bill. Atleast not as far as he knows now with your memory loss.

You can't hurt him. Not in the mindscape anyway.

"I'm fine." He finally replied, after seeing that you were still staring at him.

He should probably start investigating to see if there's anything out there that could tell him more about you.

-

Aka, ford keeps comparing you to his ex muse after first few meetings

[sanguineterrain]

a bloody vow | jason todd

Summary: After the racy encounter with your knight, you seem to lose all progress made in your relationship. You hardly talk, and you're lonelier than ever. But after a house break-in has you running to Jason for help, you're forced to face each other, blood and all.

Pairing: knight!Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings/tags: violence! Jason kills a man. reader and jason's house is broken into and the thief attacks the reader (but they're okay.) mentions of self-flagellation, religious guilt. reader feels very lonely without their big strong knight :( the eroticism of killing for another person. codependence. partial nudity. probably not the healthiest relationship but whatevs. Jason would do anything for them what more could you want?

the divider

Everything's changed since the morning that you found Jason with the whip.

He won't even eat with you anymore.

He accepts whatever you make and thanks you quietly, then eats his supper in the shed. He didn’t say much before—now you're lucky if you get more than a word from him.

He's also taken to punishing himself regularly. Jason does it far away, so he won't wake you. But you've seen his back and the welts peeking beneath his tunic and the spots of blood. You also see fresh injuries from his training, injuries that could be avoided if he was more careful. You've tried to offer him a salve to heal his back. He always refuses, flinching like a kicked dog if you get too close.

You fear that you'd pushed Jason too far that morning. You replay it in your mind, wondering what exactly had possessed you to act in such a vulgar manner. Exposing yourself to him like that after spying on him earlier—what were you thinking?

You weren't, is the truth. It seems all rational thought leaves your brain when you're around him.

It's truly like living with a ghost. Your feelings are jumbled, caught in a maelstrom of guilt and fear and desire. More than anything, you're unbearably lonely. You'd feared a harsh hand when you first were deposited into Jason's bed. You never imagined that there could be a worse fate than being wanted: being ignored.

So, it's been three weeks of this new routine. Jason has been disappearing at night to the pub. Not that he told you that—you know this because of the incessant gossip that flies around the market. It's not hard to decipher who the 'hulking knight' is when people stare at you.

You try not to think about what Jason gets up to. You really have no right to be angry if he finds someone to warm his bed. You're lucky he hasn't thrown you into the sea after your insolence.

Routine is all that keeps you sane. You do the washing and cooking without complaint. Jason still leaves you money to go to the market, and sometimes you save a couple of coins to buy books. You keep the books under a floorboard in your room. He never asks you for change.

You don't know if this routine will be enough, though. You wish Jason would just throw you out and be done with it. You're certainly not performing the duties that the king expected of you when he brought you here. Jason can hardly look at you, much less touch you.

You eat alone tonight. By the time you wash up and are ready for bed, it's late. Jason still isn't home.

Not unusual these days. You get into bed and blow out the candle. Maybe you won't wake in the morning. Then you'll both be free.

A crash jerks you out of slumber.

You're awake immediately, fumbling under your bed for the small dagger you'd secretly purchased when you first came.

Your first thought is that Jason came home drunk. But if he’s come home drunk in the past, you've never heard him, and it's always as quiet in the morning as it was the night before.

A chilling second thought hits you as the floor creaks outside your door.

Someone's broken in.

You quietly get to your feet, dagger in hand. If Jason were home, he would be here already, dealing with the problem. As it is, you're alone and completely vulnerable without your knight.

Your door splinters open. You stumble backwards.

"Wha' have we here?" A lantern shines in your face. "Look a' this. Pretty thing like you shouldn't be left alone."

You bolt for the front door.

“Oh, no no, you don’t.”

The intruder darts after you and stops you before you can open the door. He hauls you backwards and throws you against the dying fireplace. You land on your ribs and the wind is knocked out of you.

"Too big of a house for a little mouse like you,” the man says with a greasy sneer. 

You turn and lunge at him. You catch him off guard enough to stab his shoulder with the dagger. He howls in pain and shoves you off. Your head hits the wall, and for a moment, you fear you’ll vomit. But you don’t, so you stand.

"You bitch!" he shouts. "I'll fuckin' kill ya for that!"

That's all the motivation you need to run.

You’re aching all over, head pounding. Your legs are cold, being that you're only in a nightgown. You might be bleeding. But you keep running.

You run all the way into town, which feels like miles at this time of night, bruised as you are. It’s easy to find the pub, and it doesn’t even occur to you that you’re not allowed inside. All that’s on your mind is Jason. Find Jason.

You pound your fists on the door of the pub, crying.

"Jason, Jason!" you shout. “Help me, please! Please!”

The door opens. You stumble in, almost tripping on the uneven wood. Men stare at you as you enter.

"Jason!" you yell.

A knight you don't recognize stares down at you, blocking your path. You stumble back, grabbing the wall for support.

"Out," he snarls. 

"Please," you beg. "Please, I need my husb—"

He's shoved aside suddenly, ale sloshing over his mug. He growls in protest, but someone drags him away by the back of his tunic. 

Relief floods you at the familiar face who takes his place. Jason.

He's obviously shocked to see you here, eyes roving over you. His shirt is unbuttoned, a thin fresh cut on his cheek. He says your name. Every inhibition you’ve felt over the last month disappears.

"What—"

You throw yourself into his arms, weeping. Jason catches you, cradling the back of your head. You're surrounded by him, the rest of the world blocked out. He smells like the strong yellow soap you make in large chunks because it’s cheaper than purchasing it at the market. He smells like the home you share.

"What is it? Where do you hurt?" he asks quietly, shielding you from all the pairs of eyes. He rubs your back, bent over you. You cling to his neck, shaking with the memory of tonight.

"A man b-broke in," you say, and Jason's grip tightens. "He said–he said he w-would...k-kill…"

You trail off. Jason pets you, breathing even on your neck.

You know that you hardly have any rights, that the men here would sooner see you die than step into danger for you. Perhaps that includes Jason too. Perhaps it's too late. 

"I understand," Jason says into your ear. He doesn’t waver despite how you tremble. "It's alright. I won't let him hurt you again. I'm... I'm so sorry for leaving you alone."

He exhales, long and slow. You feel him begin to pull away. You panic, digging your nails into his arms. Jason quickly soothes you. He doesn’t chastise you for clawing him. 

"It’s alright. I'm going to handle this, and then we'll go home," he says. "Roy."

A redheaded knight approaches. You slowly turn your head. He smiles gently at you.

"Your Highness," he says, bowing deeply, and you feel a little lighter.

"Roy's going to take you home while I handle the thief," Jason says. "I promise that I'll be fast, alright?"

"You promise you won't leave?" you ask. “You’ll come home right away?”

Jason takes your hand, stroking your knuckles. "I swear. May God strike me down if I don't return."

“Oi, man, get your little harlot out of—”

Jason stands, rising and towering over the angry drunk. He’s immediately cowed under Jason’s gaze.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason says, even and deadly. The man leaves in a huff.

"I'm sorry for causing trouble," you whisper, cheeks still wet.

"You haven't," is all he says, before leading you outside.

You have an audience, which is absolutely humiliating, but neither Jason nor Roy pays them any mind, so you don’t either. 

Roy helps you onto his horse, and in the time that that takes, Jason is already headed back to the house by the time you and Roy start off. You realize then that you trust Jason. You've never met this Sir Roy in your life—Jason's never even mentioned having friends. But you trust that you will get home safely. 

“Jason won’t let him get away,” Roy says. You believe him.

The ride is short. You don’t know if you’ll manage to go back to sleep without Jason there, but the least you can do is host Roy, perhaps. You’re bone-tired, but you ought to be hospitable, shouldn’t you?

But as you get closer to the cottage, you hear voices in the woods. Jason’s horse is out front. You dismount without Roy's help and take off running. He calls after you. You ignore him.

You don't go through the house, not ready to face the destruction your intruder left in his wake. Instead, you go around and follow the stream into the woods. The voices get louder. When you get to the clearing by the shed, you stop.

The lantern has been knocked onto its side, flames flickering. But you can very clearly make out Jason in the dark. His shadow cuts a frightening figure that dances across the trees. Moonlight flickers through the canopy, illuminating him and the other figure. Your attacker.

Your attacker, who’s discovering that he picked the wrong house to rob.

Jason's got him pressed against a tree. Blood drips from the man's head and face. You stay a few yards away, behind a tree. The bark dully bites into your hand. You’re torn on whether you should make yourself known or not. Stop this or not.

"You touched them," Jason says, and does something with his sword that draws out a strangled groan from the attacker. The metal shines with fresh blood.

"I am worse than you," he continues. "I lost sight of my duty. My reason for living. Everything I do is for the star-crossed beauty my king captured for me. It's all I can do to pay penance for my sins. And you come into my house and dare to lay a hand on what is mine?"

The breath leaves you in a punch. You're cold with sweat, but something tugs at your gut. Something frightening. Something that tells you to stay hidden.

"I am worse," Jason says. "Because a good man would show you mercy and let you be hanged for your crimes."

"That fuckin' bitch deserved it," the intruder spits.

Here, Jason loses his composure. Here, he twists his sword.

"I will tear you apart," he says, voice a snarl.

And Jason does exactly that. It's bloody and gory. You feel sick a few times. You can't see everything in the fractured light, but you can hear it all. Bones crack, the man screams, but Jason doesn't relent. He drives his sword deeper and deeper. Blood gurgles from the attacker's mouth.

You watch on, feeling quite like you had the day you saw Jason fucking his fist.

The body drops with a thud as Jason lets him go. You imagine a sword slick with blood. You imagine Jason covered in it.

The realization is dizzying. You are an executioner, and Jason is your axe.

You don't know what you're more horrified by: the fact that it took you this long to look away or that you don't mind the stench of fresh blood.

Jason takes two steps and picks up the lantern. He sees you. He stops.

"He's dead," you say dumbly.

Jason swallows, face otherwise blank. "You... you were not meant to see that."

"I didn't." But you did.

He knows you did.

"Roy should've taken you inside," Jason says.

You can't understand why shame draws the lines of his shoulders. 

"I didn't want to go inside," you say. "Not without you."

Jason inhales sharply. Then he looks away. "I shouldn't have... I pray that you'll forgive me, but I understand if you don't."

Jason is covered in more than a little blood. Red spatters his cheek, though it looks black in the shadows.

He's slick with blood. You wonder if he'll bathe in the river. If you might help him.

You step forward. Jason is still. He watches you steadily as you approach.

You pull down the sleeve of your nightgown and reach for Jason's face. He flinches. You hush him.

"It's alright," you whisper.

He lets you touch his cheek. His eyelids flutter as you wipe the blood from his face. Then you hold his cheeks with both hands. Jason shudders.

"You can touch me," you say.

Immediately, Jason shakes his head, hands curling into fists at his side.

"No. I'm unclean. You shouldn’t touch me either, you’ll—you’re—”

"I don't mind." Your thumbs trace the contours of his face for a moment, feeling the hard line of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his full bottom lip. He lets you, eyes locked on yours.

Then, you pull up your nightgown, revealing your bare thighs, your underwear, your belly. Jason’s chest heaves. He immediately looks away. But you’re quick. You guide Jason's hand with your other hand. He stains your flesh with blood. You picture the sticky, bloody handprint he'll leave on your waist. That frightening feeling returns. 

Jason's hand is hot on your skin. He exhales shakily. 

"I'm sorry," he says again, cupping your waist. His fingers gently knead your skin as if he's testing if you're real. It tickles, but you don't move, fearing Jason will pull away at the slightest jerk.

"Don't sleep in the shed anymore," you say.

"Alright."

"Eat supper with me."

"Okay."

You draw Jason closer. Blood smears your clothed chest. His thighs warm your exposed legs. You will not let him punish himself in the morning. You will sleep on his chest if that’s what it takes. Only you are allowed to draw blood from him. 

"Are you mine?" you ask.

Jason's answer is instant.

"Yes."

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.75)

(Sneak Peek)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Getting you home and into the nest proves to be a bit more of a challenge.

Tags: forced caretaking, feral omega's, m/c acts a little violent at the beginning, biting, blood, brief injury, kinda inspection kink if you squint, pre-heat, nudity, cramps, scenting, nesting, mindless fluff, hurt/comfort, omega/omega, possessive behavior, omegaspace, yoongi has slight self-esteem issues, manhandling,

W/c: 8.6k+

A/n: i feel guilty because i had to snip this chapter in half because there was simply too much stuff going on in my life at the moment. on the bright side i will try to get the second part out in one week, and i will also be very drunk at a engagement party when this is posted <3 gotta love that for me. in all honesty although it says 5pm...it will probably be posted a little earlier in the day so...be aware!

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

"I don't think her fingers are broken, fuck- do you think Jin would let me take her to the hospital?"

"You just got home Joonie-" Tae whines while Jimin shakes his head, handing over the gauze for Namjoon to wrap it.

"I know but-"

Instead of wiggling your fingers, you flick water in Namjoon's direction. It hits his face with an audible plop. The pack alpha flinches.

The rest of them just stare at you.

Namjoon wipes the water off of his face, slow and intentionally with every movement of his body. No one breathes and no one moves. You sense Namjoon's composure is about to slip. Good- you really want it too.

"See! Pups fine!” You flick water at Namjoon again. Grinning, dopy and so high on heat hormones that you think it is funny how his jaw rolls. Your hand isn't broken even if your knuckles are a little scraped up. Really- you'll be fine. They don't need to act like you're dying.

You try to do it again but Jimin grabs both of your wrists, holding you still. "That is the opposite of helpful." Tae snaps.

"Don't yell at me. I'm too tiny." You say, your voice that. Small.

Namjoon whips his hands on a kitchen cloth slowly. Staring you down without saying anything.

Yoongi runs his teeth over the back of your throat, hard enough that you feel it. He's not sure why you need the release of violence before your heat begins, but you do. Whatever instinct is currently making you act like a brat needs to come out one way or another.

Yoongi would rather it be now than when you're actually in heat.

Jimin and Yoongi keep you in one place as you try to lunge for Namjoon. You barely even jerk in their firm hold. Strong as they are. every one of them has more than half a foot on you, you'd never stand a chance really. Jimin holds you effortlessly- without even breaking a sweat. muscles and veins in his arms hardly flexing.

You want to bite him, teeth and gums aching for it. To feel the give of your alpha's under your teeth, under your claws. To bite and nip and see what he's made of.

It's like Namjoon can see the ache rocking through you, the violence of it in the honey tremble of your body. He cups your face so tenderly, and you almost want to hiss at him. Lip lifting in a soundless snarl. His voice is a gentle hush, a tone you are intimately familiar with.

it's the same tone of voice that has preceded every punishment and scolding you've ever received from the pack alpha. Every time he's ever coaxed you to take his knot (icky) or an orgasm (less icky). As he drags you close and speaks to you. Soft but firm. Gentle but unyielding.

"You are allowed to be needy, you are allowed to be small. You are allowed to need everything and anything and I will personally make sure that each one of those needs are fulfilled."

You snap your teeth at him, trying to bite his hand. He only just gets away. Your teeth brushing his knuckles playfully. You giggle, behind you, Yoongi snorts.

Instantly the pack hold your face, your jaw, not jimin but your mate and tae. Holding your mouth open. Fingers digging into your lower lip. Making your lips push out. You push at them but they hold you still. saliva pooling around a whine as you try to gnash your teeth again but are unsuccessful.

"Cute drooly puppy, so messy. what are we to do with you?" Tae's voice is a lethal purr.

You like it. You like feeling your alpha's strength, your mate's strength. Where they begin and you end. You want to test it want to make sure they can protect you.

For what? You can't say. You think it might have something to do with the terrible sensitivity between your thighs, the bleeding hot need slowly gripping you, a distant storm rumbling. But you're not sure.

"You need to make sure we're capable of protecting you through your heat? is that it pup?"

You whine, needy around Namjoon's fingers.

Tae keeps your mouth open and Namjoon taps his finger against your tongue, your lips, your teeth. Does he like how sharp they are? They feel awfully sharp in your mouth. Good omega, see? You want to tell him. Strong like you. Not a pup.

You don't whine and recoil the way an alpha would at being poked and prodded at. You fight one moment then go pliant the next. Letting him look, letting him touch and pinch your tongue between his fingers, loling it out and making it cute. Tears building at the corner of your eyes by how frustrated you feel, how much you want.

Tae grips your jaw, turning you this way and that, jimin's claws tangle with yours. yoongi digs his teeth into your scent gland, going sweeter and sweeter and sweeter with every moment.

Tae coo's and you hiss at her- or try too. Namjoon's finger pressing against your tongue stops you from doing anything but whine. Saliva pooling to the point where it almost drips, a little gross, but Namjoon's smile is darker, wickeder.

Namjoon strokes your tongue once, twice, and then a third time. Near your gag reflex but just barely. If you want to act like a disobedient pup, he's going to make you work for it.

You are the lowest ranking packmate, you can't expect your anger to be anything remarkable. they all coo at you- at your innocent imitation of your alpha's behavior.

Jimin smiles. agreeing, flashing his teeth at you that actually are sharp- actually could bite. you like them, like him. jimin holds you so well- so firmly you feel it in the small bones of your wrists. any other time you'd say it was uncomfortable, but it makes you leak slick, just a little. you know they can smell it.

"Cute little omega, acting like an alpha." Namjoon's thigh is between your legs, and you try and grind down on it. He stops you, holding your hips firm. You can't move more than a millimeter without one of them stopping you.

"No, none of that pup. If you want it you'll ask nicely, and you'll ask Jinnie first. I know you can be good."

But you don't want to be good, you want to fight.

~-~

Coming Saturday September 28th at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments below)

[gemini-atz]

Seonghwa as your Boyfriend₊˚⊹♡

('Realistic Imagines' + Astrology Based)

Background/Disclaimer: !!This is all my own interpretation based on my personal astrology knowledge and research. I consider myself an amateur!!

✩Gemini Notes✩ IDK what happened but I ended up getting really into writing the NSFW part of this and it got long so I'm making a part 2 for it which I'll post tomorrow night! I'll create a link at the end of this post and in my Astrology Series Pinned post. If you'd like a tag please comment!

SEONGHWA SUN Aries MOON Cancer MERCURY Aries VENUS Aquarius MARS Aries

Dating Seonghwa is pretty much like being with your best friend. He's such a caretaker and protector in your life almost from the moment he enters it. You guys probably had a base of friendship for a bit before you started dating, and it would have probably (definitely) been you crushing on Seonghwa hard first before he even notices his own feelings for you.

Aquarius Venus and really anyone with their Venus in an Air sign tend to seek intellectual or stimulating connections with people before falling romantically. For Seonghwa his partner should be someone he also considers a close friend. He'd be like the guy you'd meet in your second year of college in class because you were put in a group for an assignment and of COURSE you two turned out to be the only two that even gave a shit and tried. Showing a sincere interest in his hobbies or likes would really endear him to you, and he would try to return the favor by getting into yours. For Seonghwa, a comfortable kind of friends to lovers thing is ideal. He loves spending quality time with you but his idea of quality time is very much giving parallel play, where you both do your own thing in the same room, maybe listening to a playlist you made together. With his three Aries placements, he has the potential to have a really explosive temper. It's a little diminished by his Moon in Cancer but he's probably the type of guy who holds in all his annoyances until he can just get them out at the end of the day either through his hobbies or physical activity. Basically, he likes to keep his mind focused and his hands busy. Air Venus signs can come off as aloof occasionally to other passionate signs who literally want to be with you all the time. He's the kind of boyfriend that will give you some space if you need it, because he'll need it too. You'll be soooo tempted to go an interrupt him when he's focused on his Legos because he's just so beautiful and cute when he's focusing but the thing he loves about you is how much understanding you always give him; its all you can do to just kiss his forehead and go to read a book while laying on the couch. Eventually he'd come over to you, bouncy and energized and flop onto the couch, wiggling up to rest his face into your chest and wrapping warm, solid arms around you. "Can I show you the set I just built?" He'd ask, and of course you say yes! His eyes get so sparkly while he shows it off to you, smiling so proudly at your reactions. If you're a person who loves being spontaneous or adventurous with your plans, having Seonghwa as your boyfriend means you two will genuinely have a lot of fun together. He's the boyfriend that wants genuinely does want to go to art museums and fashion archive exhibits with you, and you guys can chat excitably about your opinions of different works, be it games, anime, fashion or music. As a couple, you are always ready to try something new and probably always have weekend plans.

As a Cancer Moon Seonghwa might gravitate toward the caretaker role in your relationship and tends to anticipate your own needs before you do, just doing little actions to look after you, like preparing your coffee or tea in the morning while you rush around getting ready for work. He isn't super big on PDA, maybe holding hands in public is as much as he's comfortable with but once you're alone....he's your personal giant teddy bear. So many hugs, so many cuddle sessions where you both play on your Switches and pause occasionally to show each other something cool or cute in your game.

You'll end up thinking its funny that some people have the impression your boyfriend is quiet or shy; If he's not saying anything, he just might not be interested in the conversation. Once you get him talking about his interests he's a certified YAPPER. And, surprisingly one of the most stubborn people you have ever met. Like, good luck feeling like you can ever "win" an argument. With both a Sun and Mars in Aries, Seonghwa feels like he can give you energy just from being near him. Aries men tend to have a lot of physical stamina and can push themselves pretty far in that aspect.

Which brings me to my next point......

NSFW

I see Seonghwa as someone who eventually gets into orgasm denial on his partner because of just how long he can go for. That Aries stamina feels like he's the type who can cum and be ready to go again faster than you were expecting.

Read More

[doeidawn]

☁︎ — see you next saturday

a night at the bar turns interesting when a masked stranger crosses your path. he's far from approachable, but something about him draws you in until you're coming to the bar every weekend just to see him. he's enigmatic and exciting—exactly what you needed to interrupt the monotony of life. 11.2k

⟢ pairing: ghost x f!reader

⟢ tags: MDNI/18+; author is american and apologizes in advance—this probably isn't how bars in the UK are, sorry; ghost is unnamed for 95% of the fic but it pays off; alcohol consumption (no one gets drunk, it's just some sipping); awkward first meeting; slow-burn??? idk sex doesn't happen til the very end; implied size difference; biker!ghost; semi-public sex; fingering; table sex; praise; unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it); oral sex [m receiving]; facial

Another excited cheer from the table behind you tells you that one of the football teams on screen has scored. Though you couldn’t care less about the game, you catch a glance at the television hung on the wall near the bar to watch the score rise. Aside from sipping on the same drink and watching people filter in and out all night, you didn’t have anything better to do, anyway.

A night out at the bar probably wasn’t the most efficient use of your time, or your money, but after a week of grueling work and the ever-increasing stress of life, it felt nice to ignore everything for a while. As long as you didn’t drink enough to hate yourself the next morning, who were you to deny yourself some fun? Well, as fun as watching drunk people mingle could be. A cheap local bar wouldn’t give way for much excitement.

You were almost thankful for that. The wrong kind of excitement only would’ve added to the weight on your shoulders. Yet, a part of you still yearned for something more than the monotony of asking the bartender for another round while your eyes scanned the crowds. Only two drinks in and already you were practically praying for an interesting face to look your way and add something that resembled anticipation to your life.

You set your glass down on the bartop with a sigh. Another cheer comes from your left, drawing your attention towards the table of patrons with their eyes glued to the television wearing their excited smiles. It’s only a momentary glance, but with your head turned in their direction, you notice the first interesting face you’ve seen all night.

Rather, it was the lack of his face that drew you in. Just a few seats down the bar stood a tall man, dressed head to toe in dark clothing, sliding an empty glass toward the bartender. Perhaps the most notable thing about him is how his hood sits on his head and a mask covers the bottom half of his face. Is that skull print on the fabric?

Whoever he was, he didn’t seem too keen on letting other people know. Part of you was surprised he was even allowed to be served. To say he looked suspicious would be putting it mildly. 

But there was something about him that caught your attention and wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the air of mystery that clung to him, or maybe it was your desperate need for excitement. At this point, you couldn’t quite tell what the reason was, but his presence was magnetic. 

His head turns slightly to look up at the television mounted near the bar. For a split second, you thought he had noticed you somehow. You don’t know why it affected you enough to make your heart leap into your throat, but it was enough to make you stop staring out of fear you’d come off rude.

Your leg bounces nervously on the barstool, itching to walk you over to him. But, Christ, you’ve been out of the game for a while, and you have to assume his…unique sense of attire was to wade off any unwanted conversation. What would you even say to a guy like that? Compliments aren’t easy when you can’t see any part of the man’s face. 

Your fingertips run over the edge of your glass and you can’t help but bring your eyes back over to him. Still focused on the game. 

“What’s with the mask?” The words leave your mouth before you can give them a second thought. You regret it almost immediately, hoping that maybe between the music and the surrounding conversations that he couldn’t hear you. 

There’s a slow turn of his head in your direction. His eyes meet yours, but instead of curiosity you find nothing but a piercing gaze that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s hard to tell in the dim light of the bar, but you swear his gaze moves over you before he turns his attention to the bartender.

Bummer. Well, it was worth a shot…even if you think you’ll have to order another drink to prevent yourself from cringing on the memory later. 

You huff another sigh and swirl your drink, watching the liquid move in the glass. If nothing else, at least you got a good night of people-watching and paid enough attention to the game to know what your coworkers will talk about on Monday. The next sip burns your throat as you swallow. 

“Tactical advantage.” A baritone voice—suddenly very close to you—comes from your left and startles you, making you jump in your seat. 

Your eyes dart to the side, wide in panic, meeting a masked face looking down at you. You curse under your breath, unsure whether it’s appropriate to feel relieved.

“Pardon..?”

“You asked about the mask,” the man gestures vaguely towards his fabric-covered face as he moves to sit on the barstool next to you. The old material groans under his weight. “Tactical advantage.” 

You couldn’t help but continue to stare at him. You could tell he was a bigger guy from far away, but, Jesus, he was even bigger up close. Not just tall, but his shoulders were broad and his hands practically dwarfed the glass he was holding. He was, objectively, terrifying.

Yet, you couldn’t help but smile at his simple, concise words. “Yeah? And what advantage is that?”

“To hide my face.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt at comedy. “Well, I coulda guessed that.”

“You asked.” He looks over at you and instead of the piercing gaze from before, there’s something much warmer in his eyes. You wish you could see if he had a smug smile to accompany his words. 

“That I did.” You take another sip of your drink, hoping it’ll continue to keep your nerves settled. “So why d’you wanna hide your face?”

He’s silent for a moment, looking down at the bar as he folds his arms and leans against it. You faintly hear him sigh before he shrugs his shoulders. “No need to show it.”

“Gotta be hard to drink with a mask, no?”

“Not if you lift it up.”

“Or you could just…take it off.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“‘Cause then I’d get to see what you look like.”

His eyes—you make a mental note of the deep brown color they are—narrow at that. “Oh, I dunno if you want that.”

“I think I do.”

The stool beneath him creaks with his weight as he sits up, straightening his back and reminding you just how tall he is. His chest expands against his hoodie in another deep breath. “Determined, aren’t you?”

Another smile creeps its way onto your face. “C’mon, I’m curious.” You want to lean in, to tease him with your proximity, but you withhold yourself.

Those blond eyebrows that peek out from the rim of his balaclava raise slightly. His eyes move over you in a movement he doesn’t seem to bother being subtle about. Though the gesture makes your heart skip a beat, his silence is deafening.

“Alright, alright,” you concede, hands up in defeat. “I get it. No face.” He makes an affirmative sound at that.

“Smart girl.” He says it so fast, a one-off comment that told you to not bother pressing him for any more information, but something about it makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You have to look down at your drink when you feel your cheeks grow warm. Even though it was nearly gone, you certainly didn’t have enough liquid courage to flirt openly. You wanted to ask his name, to ask where he’s from—what if he lived close by?—but if he wasn’t even willing to show you his face at the bar, you knew the chances were slim. 

From the corner of your eye, you see him shift in his seat again. He digs in his pocket, pulls out his phone, and barely looks at it before he starts to stand. Was he leaving already? Why?

“Where you goin’?” You ask before you can really think about why you cared so much.

“M’needed elsewhere.” 

Blunt, simple, and vague. That seemed to be how he operated. 

“Oh, a popular guy, are you?”

“You could say that.” Your eyes follow him as he moves, but he doesn’t look your way when he stands. Christ, he was a big lad. 

“You didn’t even touch your drink.”

“It’s not mine.” He moves the full glass down the bar until it clinks against your own. It’s then you notice it’s the same color as your drink. Same glass, same serving. Did he really buy you a drink?

“Have a nice night.” You look back at him to see his eyes meeting yours. Maybe it was the last drink still swimming in your system, but you weren’t able to form the words to respond. “Get home safe, yeah?”

And with a nod of your head, he weaved his way through the room until he was out of your line of sight. Despite his size, he was easy to lose in the crowd. You turn back to the bartop and stare at the two glasses. The one on the left—the one he’d bought for you—was invitingly full.

You reach out, fingertips skimming the rim before you bring the glass to your lips. It was the same drink you always ordered when you went out—your favorite. Only somehow it tastes sweeter on your tongue this time.

You’ve never made it a habit to go out and drink. As stressful as life could get, it just wasn’t an outlet you ever turned towards. It was expensive as hell, and you weren’t stupid enough to ignore how much it sucked to be hungover. 

But despite that, you found yourself back in that same barstool when the weekend came around. And for the first time, it wasn’t because of the overpriced liquor.

Only a few sips into your first drink of the night and you were already looking around in hopes that you’d find a skull-patterned mask looking back at you. Desperately you tried to tune out the chatter of people around you, hoping you’d be able to pick out his voice. Maybe it was stupid. It was definitely wishful thinking. 

For all you knew, he wasn’t even in town anymore; you figured he probably wasn’t the type of guy to stick around one place for very long. And, hell, he left so abruptly last time, who’s to say he’d even want to see you again? You hated the tightness that built in your chest at the thought of that. 

Well, you might as well enjoy your drink since you’re here. You tried to pay attention to whatever sport was on the television this time, tried scrolling on your phone, but nothing held your attention. Every sip of your drink tempted you to house the entire bar. But you didn’t figure yourself that pathetic. Still, you were pathetic enough to keep looking over at the entrance, hoping you’d see that tall figure slinking through groups of people.

But you never do.

Fuck. It was stupid to hope anyway. You curse yourself under your breath, rubbing at your temples like it’ll help clear your head. With a huff and a sigh, you finish the last of your drink. It doesn’t taste as sweet as it did last time. You’re more disappointed than you wanted to allow yourself to be.

You decided rather quickly that you’d rather mope and feel sorry for yourself in the comfort of your own home. It wasn’t worth wasting money on another lonely drink.

There’s a chill breeze outside that cuts through you, making you shiver as soon as you walk out the door. You cross your arms, trying to preserve some body heat, as you make your way down the pavement. A still-lingering part of you doesn’t want to leave but your legs don’t stop carrying you further away.

You eventually come to a stop, leaning against a light post as you dig out your phone. Even though you’re supposed to be looking up the rideshare to get you back home, you can’t help but look around last time. You think yourself too desperate for your own good until you see a tall figure just a few steps away.

Standing next to a motorcycle that you can only assume is his, the hooded figure drops a cigarette to the ground, his boot grinding against the pavement to stomp it out. You thought it might be too good to be true, but then he turns just enough for you to see him pull that skull-patterned balaclava back over his mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice you—a fact you quickly want to remedy.

“Hey, big guy,” you call out to him, the nickname a subconscious one you immediately cringe at yourself for. Fucking ‘big guy’? Yeah, that’s not gonna go over well.

But it certainly gets his attention. His head turns in your direction, if only barely. He does a double-take before stopping in his tracks and staring back at you. You have to hope and pray that he doesn’t think you’re crazy as you walk over to him. Luckily, he didn’t move away from your advances. Instead, he turns towards you as if to welcome your approach, dark eyes raking over you in that same conspicuous motion.

It’s when you’re face-to-face with him—well, more like mask-to-face—that you realize you didn’t quite know what to say. You were too sober to be making a fool of yourself like this. After an awkward beat of silence of you taking in once more just how tall he was compared to you, you finally manage to conjure up something.

“I just wanted to say…thank you for buying me a drink the other night. I…I appreciated that.”

“Course.” You’d almost forgotten the gruff sound of his baritone voice. “You leavin’ already?”

You hesitate for a moment, a lie stewing on the tip of your tongue. No, no, I was just hanging out in the cold, what a coincidence, right? How much you wanted to spend time with a man you barely knew was almost pathetic. You resign the thought with a sigh. “Sorry, you’re too late. I already had all my fun.”

“What, waitin’ f’me?” 

You didn’t know if he was just confident or if he somehow truly knew that was what you were doing. Either way, it made you feel like he could see right through you, like he knew you found him interesting. “Maybe I was hopin’ you’d come by.” You bite your lip, gaze hitting the ground before looking back up at him. “You were the most entertaining thing at that bar.”

He takes in a deep breath at that. “M’sorry I missed it.” Yeah, me too. “Can you get yourself home?”

“Yeah. Well, a rideshare can.”

“How ‘bout I take you home?”

The suggestion makes your heart skip a beat, staring up at him, frozen and probably looking half-crazed. The rational part of your brain was sounding every possible alarm. Why would you ever trust a man you met in a bar who never takes off his mask to take you home unless you had a death wish? And yet the winning part of your brain was the one that was extremely curious about his implication.

“Ah, take a bloke I barely know back home? How drunk d’you think I am?”

He looks over you again in a beat of silence. “You aren’t. That’s why I’m askin’.” Knowing he didn’t want to take advantage of you eased some of the lingering anxiety in the back of your mind. But, as if he could sense that anxiety, he continued, “You don’t gotta let me in, I jus’ wanna make sure you’re safe. I’m cheaper than a rideshare, anyway.”

“Well, can’t beat that, I suppose.” You move around him to approach his parked motorcycle. You didn’t have to know much about bikes to realize it was a nice one. Sleek, but not flashy. Your fingers glide over the leather of the seat as you eye the streetlights reflecting off of the shiny black body. “I’ve never been on a bike. People say they’re dangerous.”

“They can be, if you don’t know what you’re doin’.” You hadn’t noticed how close he was—moving as silent as ever—hovering just behind you as he grabs the helmet strapped securely to the bike. Holding it out towards you, he gives you a nudge. “Here.”

You take the helmet, holding it carefully like you’re afraid to leave your fingerprints all over it. You could already tell it’d be too big, but the consideration was nice. “I trust you know what you’re doin’, then?”

“Most of the time.”

Well, wasn’t he quite the comedian.

You slot the helmet over your head with a roll of your eyes. As you guessed, it was certainly too big, tilting forward over your brow and obscuring your view. A bitterly sweet smell floods your senses as you clasp it in place; you can only assume it’s his sweat, mixed with a faint air of tobacco, embedded into the foam lining.

A heavy hand rests on the side of the helmet, holding it steady while he slides the visor up. His head tilts as those dark eyes of his greet you. “Bit big on you, innit?”

“Yeah, just a li’l.”

“How far we goin’?” You should have been a little hesitant before telling him your address, but you don’t even stutter. He spoke like he had to know, like ordering people around was what he did for a living. An affirmative hum comes from behind his mask as he slides the visor back down. “You’ll be alright.”

You struggle to balance both yourself and the helmet long enough to swing your leg over the seat. You were thankful that the helmet obscured your face to shield some of the embarrassment, at least. Then you feel that same heavy palm on the small of your back, trying to keep you steady, only to make your body tense up. The helmet swings lazily on your head as you finally straddle the seat.

Once you’re situated, after asking if you’re comfortable, he slides his hand off of you. He has no problem getting himself sat, taking up the front half of the seat as he slots in the space before you. He turns his head and, though you have to lift your head awkwardly to see him through the visor, you hear his voice say, “Hold on tight. Can’t have you fallin’ off.”

What, did he plan on speeding out of here? Hesitantly, your hands find purchase on his waist. It was gentle, barely enough pressure to feel his hoodie under your fingertips, let alone his body underneath.

You think you hear him scoff. “I’m sure you’re stronger than that.” His fingers wrap around your wrists, guiding your hands forward until they rest on his chest. The movement shortens the gap of space between your bodies as your arms hover awkwardly around him. “I promise you won’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re afraid of. C’mon, tighter than that.” You strengthen your hold, closing the distance between your chest and his back, practically hugging him. “Atta girl.”

Your face heats up at that, and you were thankful the helmet obscured the sheepish smile that had painted itself on your face. 

The engine suddenly roars to life, loud enough to surprise you. The power behind it vibrates through the leather seat and seeps easily through the padding of the helmet. Though his takeoff was as smooth as it could’ve been, it didn’t stop you from tightening your hold around his body. 

The cityscape passes by in a blur of vibrant lights and towering buildings. The hum of the motorcycle’s engine overpowers the surrounding cars, echoing off of the asphalt and thrumming a rhythmic hum during the ride. The already-cool night air bites at your skin as it whips past. 

Though you have no reason to, you find yourself gripping him tighter on every take-off after a stop. And despite the chill on your skin, you felt the heat rise to your face as you realized you could feel how rigid and tough he was under that hoodie. 

There was a thrill, you realized, that ran through you and made your heart race. Not only because you were on a bike for the first time, but because of how close you were to the man in front of you. Holding on tight to a stranger whose name you didn’t know so he could bring you home safely sounded like something out of a novel. The smell of him embedded in his helmet and filling your senses, your body close to absorb some of his heat, the pure generosity of even offering to drive you home: everything made you want to abandon all self-respect and invite him in when you arrived.

The internal battle you fought over that distracted you for the rest of the ride.

You could barely see out of the helmet without cocking your head awkwardly, but you could tell when the trip was nearing its end. A pit formed in your stomach—a part of you unwilling to let the ride end just yet. It wasn’t until he slowed down enough to pick out your building that you realized how difficult it was to see over his broad shoulders. With a point and a nudge in the right direction, you guided him to your stop.

He pulls the bike up to the pavement before parking it. The sounds of the neighborhood replace the monotonous hum of the engine as he turns it off. Your movements are hesitant as your hands slide off his body, something you quickly regret and hope he hadn’t noticed. He helps you off the bike just as he had helped you on, reminding you of his gentle touch, thankful yet again for the helmet obscuring your shy smile.

You don’t ignore the sense of disappointment you feel knowing that he has to leave. Just taking off the helmet was enough to make you miss him and ache for something more, even when he stood right by you on the pavement. You knew it was strange to feel close to a man you barely knew, but he gave you more comfort than most. He made you feel intrigued in a way no one else did. 

“So,” you start, dreading the awkward silence, “do I get to know the name of my chauffeur?”

He pauses for a moment of consideration. Your heart beats faster, something akin to excitement making you hope for an answer. Finally, he looks up from the pavement. “Maybe next time.”

Initially, you felt more disappointed than you wanted to allow yourself to be. Surely his name was the one thing he could give up? But then you find yourself clinging on to that phrase. Maybe next time…Did he expect a ‘next time’? Should you expect a ‘next time’?

As you walked up to your door, he didn’t follow, staying true to his words from earlier. He kept a respectable distance to not crowd you, as if he didn’t want to make you nervous. If only he knew everything about him made you overthink your every move.

There’s a beat of silence when you grab your keys. An invite inside sits on the tip of your tongue, fighting with the rational part of your brain, consequences be damned. But his voice beats you to the punch as he breaks another long and empty silence.

“So d’you go and drink every Saturday?”

Your fingers toy with the keys in your hand as you debate your answer. “No, I don’t,” you admit after a beat of silence.

He hums a deep sound that you can’t quite identify the emotion behind. “So just a coincidence, then?”

You don’t respond to that. Instead, while fighting your sheepish smile, you look back at him. 

“Thanks for takin’ me home.”

“‘Course.”

“Maybe next time you should drink with me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest when the words leave your mouth. Eagerness didn’t seem like such a shameful thing anymore. Not when you were sharing body heat with him just a few minutes ago. Not when he knew where you lived because he cared enough to make sure you were safe. Maybe it was too hopeful to expect him to want to see you again, but when your eyes meet his under the streetlight, you’re confident the hope isn’t unfounded.

His eyes rake over you in a slow one-over as he nods. His voice is low in that same charming gruff timbre when he responds, “I’ll see you next Saturday, then?”

Fighting off an over-excited smile proves to be the most difficult thing you’ve done in a while. You sigh, calming your racing heart. “If you’re on time.”

“It’s a date.”

It wasn’t actually a date.

Surely he couldn’t have meant it literally. Still, it was enough to have you barely managing a flustered goodbye before fumbling with your keys at the door. Even after you were in the comfort of your home your face felt hot, your body practically vibrating from adrenaline. All from a stranger. The faint sound of the revving engine of his motorcycle moments later only served to remind you of his voice, the warmth of his body, and—hopefully—the promise in his words. 

You had to remind yourself constantly, every time your mind wandered throughout the week, that you were hoping for too much. You were daydreaming about a face you hadn’t seen yet from a man whose name you didn’t even know. And, God, that made you feel more pathetic than ever.

It was just a night out, spending time together over a drink, nothing more. Maybe you could learn his name if he was feeling generous enough. But to hope for anything more—a follow-up or anything deeper than friendliness—was foolish. Still, your mind kept wandering back to his words. It’s a date. 

No, this wasn’t a date, you scold yourself in the mirror, shaking your head as if it’ll dismiss the thought faster. That was just a throwaway line, something to draw you in to make sure he’d see you tonight. Nothing more, nothing implied, nothing to hope for. You knew that by now, practically drilled it into your own head. 

So why did you spend way too long looking at yourself in the mirror, obsessing over every little detail you could nitpick? Why did you drudge through your entire closet to make sure you picked the “right outfit”? Why did you stress about what perfume to wear and what drink to order? It wasn’t a date after all. 

Right?

It was too late to fight yourself on it once your rideshare pulled up. The implication of his words was irrelevant at this point; your heart seems to beat quicker with every turn of the wheels that brings you closer to the bar. Despite the cool air making you regret choosing to wear a skirt, you felt hot and stuffy—just downright nervous. Christ, you nearly felt like you could throw up when you saw a familiar tall silhouette outside the bar. 

He was on time. And he was waiting for you.

Every insecurity you nitpicked before comes to the front of your mind the moment you step onto the pavement. You force the thoughts away with a sigh and, for the first time in your life, your steps towards the bar are hesitant. His eyes meet yours as you approach and you almost wish you could see his reaction under that mask. But the more you thought about it, maybe you were better off not knowing.

He straightens up, pushing himself off of the wall, looking down at you with a face obscured by shadows and fabric. “I was startin’ to think I came too early.”

It was a huge relief to see him here, waiting and willing to see you again. You couldn’t hide your smile if you tried. “Well, lucky for you, I like an eager man.”

His steps are confident as he makes his way towards the entrance. “That’s definitely one way to describe me.” You barely hear the sentence when he utters it, which only makes your heart beat faster. He pulls the door open, holding it for you to make your way in. 

The bar is as crowded as it is every Saturday. Plenty of people scattered around, watching whatever team was on the television this weekend, drunkenly shouting overtop of the music. It never fails to overwhelm you when you walk through the entrance. A hand rests on your back, grounding you and making you all too aware of your posture, slipping to your waist before guiding you through the bustle of people.

Your date—it still felt weird to call him that—guides you towards the bar, towards the backend where fewer people crowded the space. His presence was comforting despite his silence. Not to mention how perfectly his hand slotted against your waist, a thought that had you too nervous to bring attention to his sudden touchiness.

The stools squeak and groan as the two of you settle into your seats. The bar is anything but quiet, yet an awkward silence hangs in the air between you. Something told you he wasn’t the type to care about the awkwardness, but you were far too sober to not overthink every thought that popped into your head.

You clear your throat, hoping it’ll boost your confidence to speak. “I wasn’t actually sure you’d show,” you admit. “But I’m glad you did.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You weren’t sure how to respond. He raised a good point, one that spit in the face of your insecurities and anxiety. “I dunno…guess I worried I wasn’t exciting enough for you.”

“Well, you’re no mask-wearin’ bike rider.” He leans in your direction and nudges you with his elbow. “But I think you’re plenty excitin’.” You look up at his eyes just fast enough to catch his wink.

Flustered, you avert your eyes to the bartop as you laugh. “You don’t know me well enough, clearly.”

“I’d like to. That’s why I’m here.”

That brings your eyes back to his. You may not have been able to see his face, but those eyes told you everything about his sincerity. There shouldn’t have been any doubt left in your mind after that. The man admitted to having an interest in you—in getting to know you—and it surely set your heart on fire. 

“Well, that and to drink, I’m sure.” Your smile is an attempt to distract from the way you stare at him. It was like you had yourself convinced you could make out his features if you just studied him long enough. 

“Ah, that’s just a bonus.” He gestures for the bartender with a simple wave of his hand before fishing in his pocket for his wallet. 

“So what’s the drink of choice for a bloke like you?”

“Bourbon.”

You aren’t sure why that admission surprises you; of course a big guy like him would drink whiskey. Something about that fact makes you feel warm inside. You request one for yourself, an excuse to have something in common with him. 

Your eyes follow the bartender as they move, but your mind is far from the alcohol. Everything was going well—probably the best it could’ve gone meeting someone who could still classify as a stranger for the third time. But there was still something gnawing at the back of your mind, festering insecurity and uncertainty.

“Can I ask you something?” You almost surprise yourself with the lack of hesitance with which the question leaves your mouth.

“Shoot.”

“That night we met, when we spoke for the first time, you left awfully quick.” Your fingers tap against the bartop in an anxious rhythm. “What was that about?”

From the corner of your eye, you see him shrug. “Wasn’t my choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was work. It asks a lot of me sometimes.” Work calling at such a late hour was hard to believe, but the way he said it—a layer of exhaustion sullying his words—had you convinced. “Trust me, I would’ve preferred staying to talk to you.”

You believed that, too. 

“What do you do for work?”

He pauses, taking in a deep breath, like he’s thinking about how to phrase his response. You’ve started to learn how deliberate he was with his words. “A lot of dangerous shit.”

That definitely piques your attention. You hear the two glasses clink against the bartop, but you were more concerned with him than the alcohol. “Yeah? What kind of shit is that?” You didn’t have a lot of hope that he’d open up any more than that, but the curiosity ate at you. 

He reaches for one of the glasses, sighing as he moves. “The kind of shit that makes you want to drink to forget it.” He lifts the glass in your direction. “So let’s drink, yeah?”

Even if he didn’t completely open up, it was a sentiment you could sympathize with. You may not know exactly what he spent his time doing but you knew enough to hope he saw your company as comforting. You reach for the other glass and lift it until it clinks against his own. “Just don’t drink enough to forget me.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be forgettin’ you anytime soon.”

You smile at his sentiment, taking a sip of whiskey to wash away the anxiety-borne tension in your throat.

It’s done in a split second before you notice it, but he lifts the bottom of his balaclava over his mouth, resting the hem on his nose. It gives you a view of the blond scruff that dusts the sharp angle of his jaw, of those peach lips that look surprisingly soft as he raises his glass to take a drink. The way his mask sits makes you aware of the crook in the bridge of his nose—a sign of cartilage broken multiple times over. He’s rugged and rough underneath the soft cloth, far more attractive than anything you could’ve conjured up in your own mind. And that was without seeing his entire face. They were features that any other man could have, but he hid those features from the world for reasons you couldn’t fathom. Maybe that was what made him so alluring.

“You’re starin’.”

It takes a moment for his words to register in your head. You only realized he was speaking because you could actually see his mouth move. You scoff, brows furrowing as you finally blink for the first time in a while. “I wasn’t starin’.”

He grunts in response. You didn’t have to hear him speak to know he doesn’t believe you. Hell, you didn’t believe yourself. You roll your eyes at the sound, taking a sip of your drink and averting his intense gaze by catching a glimpse of the television behind the bar. You didn’t care one bit about the scores on the screen.

Especially when you suddenly felt the warmth of his hand on your thigh. There was no way he didn’t notice the way your muscles tense, flinching at the sudden contact. It’s indescribable the way it makes you feel. His rough and calloused touch barely underneath the hem of your skirt to feel the smooth and tender flesh of your thigh sends a jolt down your spine, a heat coursing through you that you haven’t felt in a while.

“You’re a terrible liar.” It isn’t lost on you the way his voice deepens when he whispers to you, leaning in close and quiet so he can make sure you hear him.

Your mouth suddenly goes dry, your face hot and your heart racing. “Piss off. The…bourbon’s just strong.” You force the words out in a half-hearted tumble as you bring the glass to your lips. 

His grip tightens ever-so-slightly, gently squeezing your thigh. Something about it tells you he doesn’t buy that lie either. “Ah, s’that what it is?” 

The sarcasm in his voice makes the whiskey burn as it slides down your throat. You take in a breath to try and combat the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. Squirming in the stool, you press your thighs together to quell some of the heat pulsing through your veins. Nerves and excitement battle for control over your body. 

“I didn’t take you for a touchy lad.” Your own voice quietens to a whisper, almost too nervous to acknowledge his bold move.

“Usually m’not.”

Setting your glass down, you’re almost disappointed to find the mask is settled back over his face when you finally make eye contact again. “Mm. You must like me, then?”

The question wasn’t really meant to have an answer, but he didn’t hesitate to give you one. “Was that not obvious before?”

“The confirmation is nice.” You force the words out before you can think too hard about his reply. 

He liked you. One of the most enigmatic, confusing, intriguing people you’ve ever met—who should’ve made you feel scared—actually liked you. It was relieving and exciting and terrifying all at once.

You look down to see his hand on your thigh. The sight is enough to turn excitement into something much stronger that pools in your core. You run your fingertips over his knuckles, the discolored skin telling you they’ve been wounded multiple times over. You didn’t have the guts to ask. The contact makes his grip tighten slightly, his thumb slowly brushing gentle strokes against your skin.

The whole thing had your mind running wild. You certainly didn’t have enough to drink to excuse the images that flashed in your mind. But seeing his hand on you—feeling his touch—in a way you could only describe as intimate had desire pumping through you. You don’t know how good a job you’re doing at hiding it, either, but you’re certain he can feel when you squeeze your thighs tightly together.

“So,” you start, clearing your throat as if to excuse the rampant thoughts in your head, “do I get to know your name yet?”

You look over to see his eyes lingering absentmindedly on the television. “Depends on how this night goes.”

Well, it wasn’t a ‘no’.

You scoff, feigning annoyance. “What, y’gonna wait until I’m too drunk to remember it?” Your hand moves to your glass, raising it in his direction before taking a sip.

“Oh, I’m not gonna let you get drunk.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you couldn’t argue if you wanted to. Then, his hand moves carefully, readjusting his grip until the plush fat on the inside of your thigh is squished between his fingers. “Can’t have any fun if you get yourself plastered.”

At least now you knew you had no chance of embarrassing yourself in a drunken stupor. But your mind was far more preoccupied with that word—fun. Sure, he could have meant it literally; maybe he planned on taking you somewhere more exciting than a cheap bar after this. You silently scolded yourself for being disappointed with that reality. 

“I suppose you’re right…” The words came out breathlessly into your glass. You didn’t know if he heard you, but it didn’t really matter. He seemed like the type of man to be dead set on whatever he was determined to do. You just hoped the ‘fun’ he had in mind was the same type that had your heart pounding whenever you thought about it.

His hand slides off you and—God help you—you almost whimper at the loss of contact. Your eyes follow his movement, watching him slide his mask up enough to take another drink. You didn’t think you could ever forget what he looked like. It was a sight you swore you could spend the whole night staring at, but you looked away before he had the chance to tease you about it.

“Y’know,” he says with a voice quiet enough that only you could hear, “if you need somethin’, you can just ask.”

Your eyes dart over to him with an unconscious, wide-eyed look of guilt and confusion. There was no doubt in your mind that you needed something from him, but you hadn’t intended that to be obvious. A bewildered “what?” is all you manage to force out while you try to convince your rapid heart to slow.

“If you need somethin’ from me, you can just ask me for it.” He speaks slowly this time, looking in your direction with brown eyes so dark it was like his pupils had blown wide. Fuck, did you look like that too? He sets his glass down with a sigh when you don’t respond with anything more than a confused scoff. He leans in close, so close you could feel his breath on your ear and a whiff of tobacco and musk in your nostrils. “You were practically humpin’ my hand.” You swear he growls the words. “That makes me think you need somethin’.”

That immediately shot down any hope you had that you were doing great at hiding your wandering thoughts. Excuse after excuse ran through your mind, trying to justify why his touch made you squirm. But…was there really any point in denying something he so clearly had picked up on? He read you like a goddamn book—not that you were difficult to read—and something about that only made the desire heavier. And, most importantly in your mind, there was no sign that he disliked it.

Your lips quiver as they part, hesitation making your mouth run dry. “Maybe…maybe I do need somethin’...” It feels like your heart has jumped in your throat. But it wasn’t nerves that made your skin run hot. “Are you…offerin’ me somethin’?”

He straightens in his seat and pulls the balaclava back over the lower half of his face. From the corner of your eye, you watch him tap his fingers against his glass. Just before you think he’s going to end the conversation there, you hear the rumble of his voice from behind the skull-patterned fabric. “There’s a storage room in the back hall, last door on the right. Hardly anyone goes back there.” His tone is almost conspiratorial. “If we go one at a time, less chance of being noticed. We could have some privacy there.” There’s a pause before he looks in your direction, not bothering to be subtle when his eyes move over you. “That’s what I’m offerin’.”

Holy shit.

There was no reason to think he was joking, but you still couldn’t believe it. You also couldn’t believe that you were so desperate that turning him down didn’t even cross your mind. “You’re serious? Here? In the bar?”

He shrugs like the thought is obvious. “Well, you said it yourself: can’t take a bloke you barely know back home.” He leans in again, eyes boring through you. “I promise I’m worth all the hassle.”

Somehow, you didn’t doubt him one bit. You play off the disbelief and hesitation with a scoff, shaking your head. “Yeah, you better be.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you for a moment. You wish you could hear his thoughts or see his face, get some inkling of an idea of what was running through his mind. 

Then he sits up straight, cocking his head in the direction of the back hallway. “Go on, then.”

Truthfully, his impatience had you relieved; at least now you wouldn’t have to be the one to initiate. But that didn’t mean you wanted to be the first to get caught sneaking around the back of the building. “Why am I goin’ first?”

“So I can make sure no one follows.”

“Is that your specialty?”

“Somethin’ like that.” You weren’t sure how to feel about that confession. Just how much sneaking around was a guy like him doing? “Go on.”

You’d marinate the thought later. With a sigh, you slide off of the barstool. Looking at him you find his eyes on the television screen once more. With no reassuring glance or even a flirtatious wink, you set your sights on the hallway in the back of the bar.

You’re relieved to find that no one was waiting in a line outside the bathrooms. At least that would make the sneaking around part a lot easier. You felt ridiculous, like a teenager trying to avoid their parents when they snuck out. But the promise of what could’ve been awaiting you was enough to will you to walk down the dim hallway.

There was a door towards the end of the hall, on the right side, just past the bathrooms. Just like he had said. You didn’t have time to wonder how he knew it was here, or how he knew it was a storage room. But sure enough, after slinking past the bathrooms and quickly pushing the door open, you were greeted with a room full of boxes, cleaning supplies, and old furniture. The smell of mildew made your nose crinkle as you stepped further inside.

It was then you realized he didn’t tell you how long to wait. Your thoughts spiraled from there; What if he flakes? What if an employee comes back here? Each second felt like an hour, your anxiety mounting with every moment you were alone in the stuffy room. You move to an old table shoved in the back corner. A thin layer of dust coats your finger when you run it along the trim.

Your heart jumps when you hear the door click. You were prepared to play the part of a drunken fool looking for the bathroom in case it was an employee, but you’re relieved to see the large figure you’d come to recognize slink through.

“Hey,” you call out to him, casually greeting him like you hadn’t snuck in here under the implications of sex.

His steps are slow as he moves towards you. “Hey.” That gruffness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. The room feels smaller with every step he takes in your direction.

“So,” you sigh, “do you take all your dates to storage rooms?”

“Only the lucky ones.”

He stops just in front of you, closer than he’s ever stood before, making your breath catch in your throat as you look up at him. “Suppose I should feel lucky, then.” You don’t mean to sound breathless, but you weren’t too concerned with appearing composed.

“I’d hope so.”

“I will if you take off that mask.”

You think you hear something resembling a laugh from beneath that skull-patterned fabric. He tugs at the mask and, for a moment, you think he’s actually going to remove it. But the hem only moves to the bridge of his nose, taunting you by not revealing any part of himself he hadn’t already. You must look expectant, or disappointed, because he gives you an incredulous look in return. 

“What? You seemed plenty happy with this earlier,” he gestures towards the lower half of his face, earning an eye roll from you. He scoffs, leaning in and tilting his head to follow your gaze. “If I remember, you couldn’t stop starin’ at me.”

“Fuck off. I liked what I saw.” His teasing made your cheeks feel hot. That same heat thumps in your veins when your eyes meet his again. “...Still do.”

You barely feel the warmth of his fingertips as they graze your skin, tracing your jaw. He was gentle, exploratory, like he was waiting for your approval. When all he got from you was a sharp intake of breath, his thumb ran gently over your bottom lip. 

“So do I.”

You’d chastise yourself for leaning in if you were any more self-conscious. You’d blame the eagerness on the alcohol, or the way he seemed to pull you closer with his hand, but there was no denying the want stirring in the pit of your stomach. Nothing else mattered except making your lips meet. And when they do, all you find is gentle hesitance and the taste of whiskey. 

It was soft and careful, yet completely consuming. His lips were as soft as they looked and moved perfectly against your own. You couldn’t stop yourself from sighing into his mouth and inching your body closer, bringing your hand to his chest and feeling the soft fabric of his hoodie go taut as you curl your fingers into a fist. Afraid he’d move away if you didn’t, you kept your grasp firm and pulled him closer. 

He was the one to close the gap between your bodies. It was like he was waiting for that confirmation that you wanted this. His hands move to your waist as his groan vibrates against your lips. Gentle kisses slowly turn more desperate as both of you breathe heavily. The taste of cigarettes and alcohol is sickeningly sweet on your tongue.

Strong hands move down your body and over your hips. You half expected him to grope you and leave it at that. And while you would’ve been fine with it, you’re surprised when you feel his hands move down to your thighs to lift you off the ground. The sudden movement makes you yelp and gasp into his mouth, fingers clawing at his hoodie to keep you balanced while he haphazardly sets you on the edge of the dusty, wobbling table. 

It’s brash and hurried but it’s exciting. The type of exciting that makes you forget about the dust on the tabletop and the possibility someone could walk in. Nothing else mattered when his mouth was on you, trailing over your jaw with hot and wet kisses that took your breath away. 

“You’ll tell me if I’m too much, yeah?” The rough sound of his voice surprises you, grounding you amidst the overwhelming sensations. 

You nod, running your hands over his shoulders to try and feel the rigidity under his clothes. “Y-yeah, course.”

“Good girl.”

A small kiss is planted on your neck before he pulls back enough to look you over. As your hands fall from his shoulders, he hastily rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie. Not only does the sight of sinewy muscle hidden underneath make your blood pound in your veins, but the intricate sleeve of tattoos on his left arm catches your attention. In any other scenario you’d ask him question after question about each line and symbol. But right now his hands are running up your thighs and under your skirt, the muscles in his arms flexing as he kneads the fat between his fingers. 

The way he groans at your softness makes you throb. He nudges your legs further apart—a movement you would have done on your own volition—and pushes your skirt up as he moves to hold your hips. You lean back on your hands and watch mesmerized as his eyes lock onto the sight between your legs. 

“Pretty pair,” he mutters as his thumbs rub circles against your hips. It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about your panties. “Makes me think you were hopin’ I’d see ‘em.”

Seems like it paid off to overthink every part of your outfit. “Maybe I was.”

“Yeah? Hopin’ I’d see how soppin’ wet they are?” His thumb moves inwards, running over your slit through the wet fabric. The fabric clings to your sensitive skin, proving his point, as does the way you whimper and buck your hips.

“Yeah, that too.”

His fingers hook into the strip of fabric covering your cunt, pulling the garment to the side with a forceful tug. And you swear, even in the dim light, his pupils dilate at the sight. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Two fingers drag through your slit, through that slick that told him just how much you wanted him. His fingertips are rough but his touch is gentle. You gasp when he finds your clit and toys with the swollen bud by circling it teasingly. His lips find yours again with bruising kisses that swallow your sounds as you pant into his mouth. His fingers spread you open, gliding over your cunt and teasing every inch, gathering your slick as he circles your entrance.

Even though he moves slowly, the stretch of his thick fingers is certainly more than you were expecting. You whine as they curl and pump in and out in a rhythm that makes your cunt flutter and squelch with each push. Your head falls back with a moan when he hits something deep inside that sends shockwaves through you. 

His mouth moves down to your now-exposed neck, marking your skin with wet and sloppy kisses. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” his voice vibrates against you. “This is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You hum a broken “mm-hmm”, unable to focus long enough to form a proper response. But it’s that confirmation that has him moving faster and harder until your hips are jerking forward to meet his movements. 

“Yeah, y’couldn’t sit still ‘cause you were achin’ for it.” His free hand cups your face, gently squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. His eyes are dark with desire and something desperate that bores into you. “Just needed your pretty pussy fucked, huh?”

Your cunt flutters around his fingers at the praise, heat building in the pit of the stomach. Your pants turn into a moan as your breath catches in your throat. “Yes, I need it. I need it so fucking bad.”

His hand picks up speed as he coos a soft “I know, baby,” against your lips. His fingers curl and push just right, hitting every soft spot that makes your toes curl and your cunt tighten. One of your hands flies to his chest to claw at his hoodie as your body begins to tremble.

“Fuck,” you groan, barely able to get the words out, “d-don’t stop…”

“I won’t, love. Not ‘til you cum for me.”

For him. He wanted to see you fall apart under his touch and cling to him like he was the only thing in the world. You’ll care more about the sweetness of the thought when you aren’t stuffed full and moaning in the back of a bar. 

Whether it’s that thought or his touch or the heady mix of both, it’s not long before the muscles in your thighs go taut. Your breathing turns heavier as your moans and whines grow louder on each exhale. If it wasn’t for your subconscious fear of being caught and his need to feel your lips against his own you’re sure you would’ve screamed until the sound echoed off the walls. 

But even if your sounds were restrained, the sensations surely weren’t. That heat stirring in your core spilled over and your cunt clenched around his fingers until all you could hear was soft squelching as he pushed your slick cum back inside. Your thighs trembled and your chest heaved with the effort to catch your breath. It wasn’t until you could see straight against that you noticed the sweat along your brow and the ache in your back.

His fingers slid out, their girth just enough to leave you feeling loose. Before he could even take his hand off of you, his mouth was latching onto your neck for another set of rough and wet kisses.

“Turn around,” you barely hear his gruff instruction over the sound of your own breaths, “bend over.”

Still, you aren’t one to disappoint. You land on shaky legs after sliding off the table, using his sturdy form to balance yourself as you turn around. Your forearms rest against the table as you bend over the wobbling piece of furniture. 

You feel your skirt flip up, the fabric resting along your waist, before his large palms run over the swell of your ass. They’re warm and heavy and you can feel each callous as he kneads the fat in his grasp. He’s not rough, but it’s like he wants to savor the softness he finds.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cum.” That was enough to make you twitch, but then he runs a finger over the cum-slick fabric of your panties. “Think you can do it again for me?”

You barely muster a nod and an “mm-hmm” before his fingers hook into your panties and pull them down to your knees. His impatience was only riling you up, especially when you felt him spread you apart and groan at the sight. 

“Christ, look at you…” you hear him mutter, the sound accompanied by the jangle of a belt buckle coming undone. 

You could practically feel his stare boring into you, branding your skin with his gaze. You think you hear him spit before a hand rests on your ass to knead your skin again. That hand moves to your hip, holding you firmly in place while the head of his cock glides along your slit and stops at your entrance. He isn’t even attempting to push in and it already has you whimpering. You can feel it—thick and warm and heavy—waiting to split you open. 

“Breathe for me, baby. Just relax.” His voice is soothing, deep and soaked in desire, and it makes your body obey without thought. 

A few deep breaths later and your mouth is falling open in a loud gasp as he pushes in. He moves slow, pausing every time you whine to mutter soft encouragement through clenched teeth. And while his voice was soothing, it didn’t exactly ease the stretch that had your cunt pulsing around him. Nothing had made you feel so full before.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget the way he groans when he’s fully seated inside you. Both of his hands hold your hips tight as he mutters a curse under his breath. Slowly, he starts to move, pulling back only to push in deep. You swear he hits deeper every time, every push forcing the air out of your lungs in a desperate moan. 

“That’s it, you can take it.” His voice was somewhere between gruff and breathless, tense beneath clenched teeth and restrained moans. Your back arches and your hips push back to meet his movements halfway to encourage him to speed up his steady rhythm. “Oh, good fucking girl.”

All you can manage is broken strings of curses and moans. Between his constant praise and the fullness of his cock, you couldn’t think straight long enough to focus on anything except the pleasure shooting through your veins. If your nails were any sharper, you might’ve left claw marks on the table beneath you as you held on.

“Fuck me. H-Harder.” You knew you were being greedy, aching for more every time you accustomed to his pace. But you were still so sensitive from your recent climax; you knew it wouldn’t take much more to hit that high again, especially when his cock kissed that spot deep inside that made your eyes roll back.

“Yeah, you need it harder, baby?” He put up no argument as he moved his hands to your waist for a better grip. He pounded into you with a force that made your legs shake, his hips meeting your ass with an obnoxiously loud sound that you couldn’t care less if anyone heard. “Goddamn, this cunt’s perfect.”

Underneath your squeals and whines are his own moans and growls, each one making you clench around him just to draw another one out of him. Knowing he was as lost in pleasure as you were filled you with pride. 

His hands move up your body, snaking under your shirt, feeling you tense and tremble underneath him. Strong palms find and grope your chest, kneading you eagerly while he bends over you. His thrusts don’t cease even as his lips find your neck.

Soft bites and hot kisses only add to the sensations wracking pleasure on your body. You almost don’t hear him when he mutters against your skin, “Simon.”

“...Huh?”

“Simon.” He repeats, moving his mouth to your ear so there’s no doubt you’ll hear him. “Say it.”

“Si—fuck…Simon…” The name comes out in a moan, something he seems to enjoy judging by the receiving growl in your ear. 

“Atta girl. Now you know what to scream when you cum for me again.”

Your panting lips curl into something resembling a smile. Simon. You were too far gone to recognize the implication of trust behind his sudden openness, but you did know how sweet his name felt in your mouth. And, evidently, it wouldn’t take long for you to mutter it incoherently as your body begins to tense.

Heat and pleasure and everything warm builds in your core with each hit of his cock. He—Simon—mirrors your heavy breaths with his own. He must feel the way you tighten; his fingers dig into your skin so tight it’d probably hurt if your mind was less hazy.

“M’gonna cum—shit, you’re gonna make me cum, Simon.” Your eyes flutter shut, all your focus narrowed to the pleasure between your legs. 

“I know, love. Cum for me, let me feel you.”

His rough and steady pace makes the build-up all the more sweet. When your climax hits, it hits hard. White-hot pleasure shoots through you, making your hips twitch and your legs shake, a breathless cry that you try (and fail) to hold back ripping through the room. Your cunt pulses around his cock, sucking him deeper while he fucks you through the high with much gentler strokes. The obscenely wet sound is accompanied by his groans on every push. 

“Fuck, y’gonna make me cum squeezin’ me like that…”

That was enough to snap you out of your haze. Perhaps a much less restrained version of yourself would’ve let him finish inside you right then and there, but you’ll entertain the thought another time. Still trembling and panting, you force yourself to sit up. “Wait, wait. Pull out, hold on,” you urge, pushing him back with your hand.

He follows your movements, his hands sliding off of your body as he leans back. The emptiness that follows as his cock slips out of you leaves you feeling gaped in the best way possible. Your body aches, sore from the rough treatment and the wobbling table underneath you, as you stumble to your knees in front of Simon. Your eyes immediately land on his cock, a dumbfounded grin you’re sure looks ridiculous painting itself on your lips.

Fuckin’ hell…that was inside you?

It was every bit as impressive as it felt. Thick and heavy and so damn hard you could practically feel it throbbing with the need to cum. No wonder he needed to prep you, and no wonder you felt so stretched regardless. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?” Simon’s voice startles you, bringing your mind back to reality.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding it to your mouth as you lean in. Licking a slow, wet stripe along the underside makes him hiss and twitch against your tongue. You could taste yourself on him, your cum mixed with his musk, and the heady combination made your head spin.

Your eyes flicker up at him, at that mask still obscuring half of his face. “Dunno if I can take all of you,” you admit as your hand glides up and down his cock. “You’re a big lad.”

Simon curses and you watch his jaw tighten as his cock twitches in your hand. “Don’t worry about it. After the way you felt around me, I’m not gonna last long anyway.”

You flash him a smile—a cheeky one that, no doubt, showed how proud that made you feel—before closing your lips around the head of his cock. His musk hits your tongue and fills your nostrils and you can’t help but groan at the taste. The rest of his cock fits in your hand, throbbing under your palm while you stroke. 

“Christ, that’s good, sweetheart.” One of his hands lands on the back of your head. He doesn’t push you down or force more into your mouth, he just rests it there, watching you through heavy eyes. “Real fuckin’ nice…”

You swallow around him, taking more of him into your mouth. His hips buck involuntarily in a movement that makes you gag when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat. He mutters an apology that you ignore, groaning around him as your head bobs and your tongue swirls.

“Fuck, I can’t…” Simon’s other hand flies down to his cock, replacing your grip as he wraps it around the base. “M’gonna cum, baby.”

The way he growls the words makes you hum, the sound vibrating through him. You give one last firm suck as your mouth slides off of him. “Cum on my face,” you utter before you can even catch your breath.

“Y-you sure? Your makeup—”

“M’not askin’, Simon.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He can barely get the words out as he strokes himself, fisting his cock with a lewdly wet sound thanks to your spit and cum coating his sensitive flesh.

You can hear his breath grow heavy, slowly turning to moans as his body tenses. All you can focus on is his face—what parts you can see—watching his mouth as he pants and seeing his brows furrow in pleasure. You think you’d give just about anything to see him like this without that mask on.

His hand stills on his cock just before he mutters a curse and spills onto your face. His cum lands in thick, warm globs across your skin, and you’re thankful he seems to have enough awareness to avoid your eyes. He taps his cock against your lips, spreading his cum just to revel in the sight. 

Simon’s growling breaths steady out as he comes down from the high. “You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he sighs, peach lips curling into a smile.

Your tongue darts out to clean your lips, tasting the unique saltiness that painted them. “You’re not too bad yourself. Simon.”

He offers you a hand and pulls you up to your feet. His thumb brushes against your cheek, collecting some of his spend before bringing it to your mouth. You gladly accept his digit into your mouth, moaning around it as you suck it clean. With a growl and a curse, he pulls you into a rough kiss.

“Next time,” he starts, still panting as his breathing steadies, “how about we go to your place? Then we can have a proper go at it.”

Your heart skips a beat. ‘Next time’…he wanted a ‘next time’... 

“As long as you’re a gentleman and drive me there.” You pat his chest before pulling back enough to readjust your clothing. There wasn’t much you could do about the smeared makeup and tousled hair, but you weren’t the only person in the bar who looked a little worse for wear. 

“Deal.” You can hear the shuffle as he refits his own clothes. Thankfully, the mask doesn’t come back down. “You fancy another drink?”

“Uh…m’not sure, why?”

“‘Cause if you don’t, I can take you home right now if you’d like.” You meet his eyes and he matches your smile with one of his own.

“Deal.”

[diazsdimples]

Fuck It Friday!

Congrats to us for surviving premiere day! Celebrating it by sharing some of what I've dubbed the Secret Wip. Blame my co-conspirators @hippolotamus and @slightlyobsessedwitheverything, and read this snippet by Hippo for some context. Tagged for FIF by @wildlife4life and @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove (I'm sorry if this isn't your thing guys!)

Eddie rubs his thumb over the stretched skin soothingly and he leans forwards to press a small kiss just above her belly button. “Better?” he asks, eyes flickering over her face has he scrutinizes her expression. “Yeah, it’s fine now,” Shannon replies, rubbing her belly thoughtfully. “That was fucking sore though.” “What was sore?” Shannon groans as Tommy’s voice floats down the corridor, and a second later he walks into the lounge, peering at them suspiciously. “Jesus Christ, not you too! I’m fine, people!” Shannon glares at Eddie, as though it’s his fault her uterus suddenly decided to become active. “Is she fine?” Tommy asks, directing his question to Eddie because he knows as well as Eddie does that Shannon likely won’t admit she’s in labour until the baby is crowning. Eddie – a trained medic who has delivered many a baby – is apparently a reliable source when it comes to his wife’s status. “I guess?” Eddie shrugs, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Shannon nod resolutely. “It didn’t feel as hard as contractions usually do. Probably just Mr Sir rearranging himself and causing a Braxton Hick’s.” Tommy tuts and drops to his knees beside Shannon. He taps her belly three times with his knuckle and clears his throat. “Theodore, this is your father Part Three speaking. I’m going to need you to stop partying up in there. It’s uncomfortable for your mom and makes her very cranky.” It’s a testament to just how pregnant Shannon is that Tommy doesn’t get a clip around the ears for the last comment. Instead, she smiles at him fondly and gives his head a little shove. “You’re such a dork.”

Ngl I have no clue who's jam this might be so tagging some mutuals who might be interested/ want to share something.

@theotherbuckley @daffi-990 @spotsandsocks @bidisasterevankinard @buckera

@watchyourbuck @bigfootsmom @tommybuckleykinard @diazheartsbuckley @bucksbignaturals

@bibuckbuckgoose @dorkydiaz @queerdiaz @tommykinrd @steadfastsaturnsrings

@rainbow-nerdss @jesuisici33 @bucks-daddy-issues @monsterrae1 @bi-buckrights (pls lmk if this is not your thing, or if you'd like to be added to this taglist)

[mendeshoney]

this close isn't close enough

a/n: happy thirsty thurday fellow harlots ^_^

this is a small little part 3 ish/sequel to take me back to eden (you can find part one here and part two here) that just popped into my head and i figured i'd jot it down for you all to enjoy. it does discuss wanting and trying for a child, so if that's not something you're comfortable with, this may not be for you, so read with caution. this is for @pyotrkochetkov and @smileysvech because without them this fictional andrei wouldn't exist! title is from "melt" by kehlani

warnings/tags: nine year age gap, older man x younger woman, slice of married life, baby fever, fluff, lots of smut, shower sex, hotel sex (semi-public, against the window), oral sex, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy/impregnation

word count: 12,163

“Almaznyy?” Andrei calls out, removing his reading glasses with one hand as he shuts his laptop with the other, then rubs the bridge of his nose.

He counts to ten in his head, waiting for your response, but it doesn’t come. The soft and familiar whrrrrr of a machine echoes back at him instead, and he sighs, a small smile stretching across his face as he gets up from his desk to wander down the hall.

When he makes it down the hall and to the threshold that leads to you, he's not surprised in the slightest to find you at your pottery wheel. Your back is to him as you sit on your stool, headphones on as your body lightly moves along to the music playing, hands firm and shaping the clay in front of you into what he knows is the makings of a teapot.

Beside you, on the work table, Andrei sees two mugs newly finished with their handles attached, two finished matching saucer plates that need to be painted with glaze and fired, and two little spoons, already fired and glazed, probably newly taken out of the kiln. Beyond that, he also spots two jars - one for honey and one for sugar cubes, you had told him - and three brand new jars of glaze.

He takes a second to himself to just silently admire you, his beautiful wife of nearly two years, and lets his heart beat wild and content in his chest.

Andrei had converted one of his guest rooms into your own little art studio not long after you moved in with him, and by converted, he means he took out all the furniture, stripped the carpet, and let you decorate and furnish it how you saw fit.

He tried his best to learn as much as he could about what kinds of art you liked creating, the tools you used, but in truth, a lot of it was lost on him, and you had more mediums of art you were interested in than you cared to admit. Andrei had ended up giving you his card instead, telling you to buy whatever it was you needed or wanted, so that the space became exactly what you had always dreamed of.

You had been meticulous about it, too, and Andrei adored every second of watching you design the space back then. The flooring was first - you insisted on water and stain proof vinyl floors - followed by shelves, storage drawers, a small desk, your massive work table, and other organizing things. Then, once you had a place and space for everything, you bought canvases, a pottery wheel, clay, easels, paints, a sketchbook, pencils, pens, markers, and more.

You’d bought a kiln, too, which had its own place in a little shed he bought and had built for you outside. Since you'd gotten back into pottery and started making pieces, you'd been able to sell some to a few of the wives, girlfriends, and partners of players on the team, as well as some of Andrei's co-workers in the Canes' front office. You had even put a few up of your paintings and drawings you'd done on your larger canvases in their charity auctions over the last couple of years, which had given you a significant amount of your own money.

Andrei encouraged you to go legit and open up a shop, which was an idea you'd been slowly getting used to. You'd set up a website so far, and had sold your first collection a couple of months ago - planters and vases and hanging planters and such - which had done extremely well, but you insisted you wanted to still be able to find fun in doing it again instead of allowing it to feel like an obligation.

To help with that as of late, had been your project of a tea set for his mom's birthday, which was still months away. You'd been using the kiln a lot more because of it, for test pieces as well as the actual pieces themselves, so more often than not lately, your art studio is where he found you.

"If you call for me and I don't respond to you in ten seconds," you'd told him when you first started on the set, "I'm either in here, or at the kiln out back."

Quietly, he observes as you shape the lump of clay in the center of your wheel into a sphere, then, unhappy with the roundness, you carefully squeeze at it until it's back into another lump, before shaping it out once more. The rise of your shoulders before they tense as you start to create a hole in the middle of the clay, and the fall of them again when you start to pinch at the walls until it forms into the exact shape you want.

Only when you stop the wheel and dip your hands into the bowl of water beside you to get rid of the excess clay does Andrei approach, carefully placing his hands on your shoulders to give you a gentle squeeze.

You tilt your head back, bumping it into his abdomen gently as you gaze up at him with his favorite dazzling smile. He carefully removes your headphones, putting it on the work table and smoothing your hair down.

"Hi baby," he murmurs, bending down to press a kiss to your forehead, the tip of your nose, and then to your lips.

You hum softly before sitting up, turning yourself around on the stool to face him. "Hi handsome," you return, grabbing a towel from the work table and wiping your hands before settling them on his waist, fingers playing with the belt loops of his jeans. "Did you call for me a lot?"

"Just once," he says, unable to resist bending down to kiss you again.

He loves looking at you like this, soft in the mid morning light, a blissful smile on your face with dots of clay and glaze over your cheeks and on the little apron you have covering your clothes. He loves how he can smell the vanilla of your body wash among the earthen scents in the art studio, and how it makes him feel like he's completely at peace.

Andrei loves you. His almaznyy. His beautiful diamond. His wife.

"What's going on?" You ask him, those beautiful eyes crinkling at the edges in another one of his favorite smiles when his hands descend into your hair, carding the strands between his fingers.

"I bought the tickets for us to go and visit Evgeny and Sara." He says.

"Oh good," you say with a nod before leaning into his touch. "When do we leave?"

"Next week," he says, tugging playfully on a strand of your hair and chuckling softly when you pout at him for it. "Is that okay?"

You wrap your arms around his waist, rubbing your face into his clothed abdomen, your verbal response muffled in the fabric. Andrei laughs, scratching gently at your scalp. "What was that, almaznyy?"

"Da," you say, leaning back to look at him again but keeping your arms secured around his waist. "That's fine with me."

He smirks when he spots a familiar glint in your eyes, watching the way your pupils dilate then blow out a little wide when he cups your face in his hands, thumbs caressing at your jaw. "My busy little almaznyy, you've been working hard lately, haven't you?"

You nod, humming in agreement. He nods too, letting one of his hands trail down and to the back of your neck, deftly undoing the knots at the top of your apron. "So diligent," he praises, "What did I do to deserve you?"

Your eyes track him as he removes his hands from your body, lowering himself to his knees so he can wrap his arms around your waist to get at the ties behind you. He buries his face into your neck as he does so, adoring the way your head immediately tilts to allow him the room. He ghosts his lips across the skin as he undoes the ties around your waist, ignoring your little whines of protest when he pulls the apron off of you and tosses it to the side.

He sits back on his haunches, looking up at you with a Cheshire grin of his own. "You got clay on your clothes too, almaznyy." He playfully chastises, gesturing towards the little flecks of clay on the black shirt you're wearing - which is most definitely his - and to the miniscule spots on your sweatpants. "Think we should probably get you cleaned up in that case, shouldn't we?"

A small smirk crosses your lips as you nod, and Andrei smiles, surging up to wrap you in his arms. You go easily, both your bodies on muscle memory as you wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, and he lifts you into his hold easily, standing with you and carrying you off down the hall to your bedroom.

~

The warm spray of the shower cascades down his bare back as Andrei fucks you slow and deep against the tiles, his arms settled into the space behind your knees as he holds you up and open for him.

Your cries echo around the bathroom, your arms wrapped around his neck and fingers tangled in his hair, grasping at the strands desperately, his name a repeated plea on your lips.

"More," you beg sweetly, and he smiles, eyes locked on your face. He lowers you a little bit, and on the next push in, your eyes flutter shut as your mouth falls open in a beautiful cry, pussy squeezing around his cock in a way that makes him so fucking dizzy.

"Come on baby," he coaxes, pressing you impossibly closer against the tiles and against himself, burying his face in your neck to suck a bruise into the skin. With every press of his hips forward, your clit grinds against his abs, and he can feel the way your body begins to tense up and shake in his hold, your nails disappearing from his scalp to dig into his shoulders instead.

His name leaves your lips in another desperate plea, and he chuckles, nipping playfully at the skin of your neck, your jaw, before capturing your lips in a filthy kiss. He licks into your mouth, massaging his tongue with yours before he pulls away just slightly, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth as he goes.

"Is my pretty wife going to come on her husband's cock?" He taunts, and he sees the way the words go straight through you, your eyes glazing over, body going almost lax in his grip.

(He'd gotten much filthier and practically insane with his dirty talk over time. It started not long after you'd left Eden and began officially dating nearly seven months after meeting, and had only gotten more intense during the three month time span that you'd been engaged. It didn't help the fact that he noticed you particularly loved when he called you his wife, regardless of the situation.)

"Andrei," you plead. "Please."

"Please what, pretty baby?" He murmurs, dragging his lips against yours lazily, "What is it my pretty wife wants, hm?"

Your pussy squeezes down again and he groans, stealing another filthy kiss from you. "'M so close," you say between kisses, dragging your nails across his shoulders again.

He keeps your legs hooked over his bent arms, reaching his hands down to squeeze at your waist, thumb rubbing gently over where he knows a little diamond tattoo sits at your side, fucking you onto his cock in deep, sharp thrusts that steal your breath from you, and your eyes squeeze shut as your body shakes even more in his hold.

Andrei latches his lips to that sensitive spot on your neck, pressing his body tight against yours. That, and the added friction as your clit rubs against his abs, your sensitive nipples brushing against his chiseled chest, has you coming around him with a loud cry. Your pussy clamps down, pulsing around him and Andrei groans, holding you tight as he fucks past the grip, chasing after his own orgasm.

He groans low and deep, electricity shooting up his spine as he comes, filling you from where he's buried deep. It sends your body into a second orgasm almost immediately, and Andrei curses, muttering a string of Russian in your ear at the unexpected sensation.

You both take a blissful, fucked out moment to calm down, heartbeats slowing and breathing returning to normal.

"Okay?" He murmurs after a few minutes, and you nod, sighing happily in his hold. He taps your hips, and you nod again. An unhappy sounding noise leaves you when he gently pulls out, and his heart aches a little bit, thinking you’re probably sore. He’s immediately pressing apologetic kisses to your forehead while lowering you to the ground. His hands stay on your body, keeping you steady until you manage to stand on your own.

When his eyes finally get back to your face, there's an expression there he hasn't seen before, one he can't quite place. There's a tinge of disappointment there, and longing, and it brings a frown to his face too.

He cups your face in his hands, tilting your head up to look at him. When your eyes lock, the expression fades, and the smile that takes over your face is so brightly it almost knocks him off of his feet.

"What's wrong, almaznyy?" He says, thumb brushing against your cheeks.

You lean into his touch, hands circling around his wrists. "Nothing, Drei." You promise, "I'm perfectly happy."

There's nothing in your voice or in your face now that tells him that you're lying, or that you're hiding anything from him, so he has no reason to not believe you.

Still, he stores the expression he saw away for later, keeping it in mind just in case.

He takes his time washing you both off after that, enjoying the content noises you make as he shampoos your hair and wraps you up in a fluffy towel when you're all done, pressing gentle kisses all over your face before seizing your mouth in a kiss he hopes tells you "I'm so in love with you I think my heart might burst without you."

~

Andrei quickly darts out of the way as a little boy zooms past him, his father chasing after him and tossing a “sorry!” over his shoulder as he goes.

He laughs a little, calling out a “it’s okay!” in their way as he double checks that he still has a hold on your drinks and food before he keeps walking. 

He heads back into the airport lounge and straight for you, handing you a cup of hot chocolate and a warmed up croissant from one of the bistros in the terminal. You accept it with a happy smile and a murmured ‘thank you’ before he snuggles up next to you on the little couch you’ve both managed to commandeer for yourselves.

He glances over at your airport outfit once more, mostly because he can’t help but appreciate how cozy you look.

Admittedly, he’s still got a small habit of dressing up when he flies, so he’s his standard in black pants and a white shirt, and you insisted on matching with him when you got dressed this morning. You’re in black lounge pants, a white shirt, and you have a gray sweater tied and resting around your shoulders.

Andrei figured out that when you fly you prefer to have your own blanket with you, which you have curled around your shoulders right now as you take a sip of your hot chocolate.

You look more ready for a cozy winter than you do for a week-long vacation during the summer in San Jose.

“Is it good baby?” He asks, taking a sip of his own coffee. You nod, holding the cup to your cheek. Another thing he learned - you get cold easily, but especially in airports.

“Very,” you nod, leaning your head to rest on his shoulder. “Spasibo, malysh.”

“You’re welcome, almaznyy.” 

He’s content to relax like that with you, and when he takes his phone out once you’ve finished your drinks, you help him with the crossword puzzle game he became addicted to once he saw you playing it yourself.

The two of you are engrossed in trying to figure out a six letter word for the clue “tough” when there’s a blur of pale yellow accompanied by a flurry of giggles that crashes into your legs, and it makes both of you jump up a little in surprise.

It’s a baby boy, Andrei realizes, one who’s most likely just learned what running is given the delighted and mischievous expression on his face, and when he turns to check if you’re okay, he’s surprised to find you out of your seat, blanket abandoned, and kneeling on the floor in front of the child to see if they’re okay.

The baby looks like he’s seconds from crying, but then you’re smiling, speaking at him quietly and gently, and to Andrei’s amazement, the baby stops, looks at you, and then bursts into a fit of giggles.

You laugh, happy that you could make him feel better, and continue to speak to him while he babbles away at you. He’s seen you do it with Luka, coaxing him away from a tantrum he’d been seconds away from, and calming Mila down when she scraped her knee while learning to ride her bike that first time, and it still amazes him how good you are with kids. Something warm and fuzzy starts to grow in his heart, and it stops short when a woman who Andrei can only assume is the baby’s mother approaches.

“I’m so sorry!” She says, jogging toward where you and the baby are on the ground. “Leo’s just discovered how fast he can move but we’re still working on finding his brakes.”

“It’s alright,” you reassure her through a laugh. “My nephew Luka was the same.”

My nephew - Andrei still loved that you thought that way.

“He probably had places to be and we were just in the way, weren’t we Leo?” You tease, pulling a funny face at Leo. His mom laughs when Leo bursts into giggles, picking Leo up into her arms.

“He’s fast,” Andrei notes when you stand with her, “How old is he?”

“He just turned one,” his mom gushes. 

You make a little cooing sound. “Is he your first?”

Leo’s mother shakes her head with a laugh. “You’d think so, but I have a three year old too. His name’s Sky, he’s with my husband over there, we finally just got him to settle down but then this little guy decided it was time to sprint.”

You and Andrei look over to where Leo’s mom gestured, finding the three year old who almost ran him over earlier eating snacks while his dad watches over him, all the while looking over at his wife and smiling when he sees her.

Andrei knows that smile, he probably sends that same smile your way about a hundred times a day. 

Ulybka vlyublennogo muzhchiny. His mom had said. The smile of a man in love.

“You should think about getting them into sports soon.” Andrei says when he turns back toward the mom, “Sky almost tackled me in the terminal earlier-”

“-And Leo barely flinched when he ran into me!” You tease, making another funny face at the baby. He giggles, suddenly growing shy as he hides in his mom’s shoulders.

She laughs, “Everyone’s been saying that to me. I might just have to consider it.”

Andrei reaches into his pocket, grabbing his business card from his wallet and hands it to the mother with a small smile. “If you ever think they’re interested in hockey, give me a call or send me an email. I’d be happy to get them set up.”

The mother takes Andrei’s card with a curious look, and when she reads his name, her eyes light up in recognition, and she smiles, laughing a little to herself.

“I knew you looked familiar! My husband and I are big fans. We were there for your last cup winning game. It’s so nice to meet you!”

Andrei catches the glance you shoot at him from the corner of his eye, can see the tense line of your shoulders in his peripheral, but he gives the mother an easy smile, and your body relaxes.

Now that he has you, that time in his life isn’t so painful anymore.

“Thank you,” he says genuinely. “I’m glad that you were there, it felt good to have home crowd support.”

“I appreciate your offer, I’ll definitely reach out.” She says, then looks at both of you. “It was nice meeting you both, you’re such a lovely couple!”

You both say your goodbyes, you waving at baby Leo, who waves back shyly, then looks at Andrei. Andrei waves too, and to his surprise, baby Leo waves back to him too, before burying his face in his mother’s shoulder.

You finally return to your seat on the couch next to Andrei, wrapping both of your arms around his, resting your chin on his shoulder as you smile brightly up at him.

“That was hot of you.” You say, which has Andrei laughing in surprise.

“What was, almaznyy?”

“You and your business cards.” You say, scrunching your nose a little. “I liked it, it was very authoritative.”

Andrei shakes his head, booping your nose with his finger. “Calm yourself down, almaznyy. I’m still not interested in being part of the mile high club.”

You roll your eyes with a shrug, but relax fully against his side. “Offer still stands.”

~

You're laying on the floor of Sara and Evgeny's living room, laughing as you bounce eight month old baby Alexei up and down against your belly, watching as his little legs kick back and forth and he babbles his joy. From beside you, three year old Luka lays on his belly as he plays with the train set Andrei had bought him last Christmas, and five year old Mila rests on your other side, coloring diligently in the sketchbook you'd bought her for her birthday.

She'd seen you drawing in one of your journals and had become both enraptured and amazed as she observed you, and then had been overjoyed when you handed her the book and pencil so she could create her own drawings as she pleased.

Her parents had been worried that she might accidentally press the pencil too tight and ruin one of your other drawings, or accidentally draw over something you had done, but either way, you would have cared less. "It's good for her to do it this way," you had told them, "so she knows what she makes is important, too."

On the couch above you, Sara's feeding a bottle to Alexei's twin brother Aleksander, watching you and her children. She smiles, nudging you gently in the side with her socked feet.

"You're a natural at this," she praises. "The kids always seem to behave better when you're here."

You scoff a little, making nonsensical noises at Alexei as he babbles back at you. "Hardly," you say. "I think it's because Andrei wears them out first."

When you and Andrei come around, he tends to round up his niece and nephews, tiring the older ones out by running around while you and Sara or Evgeny or Andrei's parents help with the twins.

Sara shakes her head. "No, he might wear them out, but they still have plenty of room to be crazy. You settle them down. This is the quietest they've been all day."

You look at your nieces and nephews at where they each are, peaceful and happy and content, and you shrug, smiling a little to yourself. "I guess so."

Sara laughs, nudging you again. "So, when are you gonna have some little ones of your own? We're outnumbered by boys here and it's your turn to pop a baby out for once."

You falter slightly, almost dropping baby Alexei straight on your face before you catch him effortlessly, trying to ignore the wave of dizziness when you launch yourself upright into a sitting position. Luka and Mila barely spare either of you a glance, too focused on what they're doing. You gaze at Sara, holding Alexei tight with one hand while shushing her with the other.

"Not so loud!" You half whisper, half yell.

Andrei and Evgeny were just in the kitchen not too far away, and while they were probably distracted by shop talk, you couldn't risk him hearing like this.

Sara narrows her eyes at you, frowning, whisper-yelling right back. "You told me on the phone last week that you were going to talk to him about it! And the week before that, and two weeks before that!"

You groan, shaking your head and beginning to bounce Alexei again when he starts to fuss. Sara shakes her head right back at you, gesturing for you to follow her as she heads toward the twins' nursery, instructing Mila and Luka to "wait right here while mommy talks to your aunt."

As you head to the nursery, you pass Andrei and Evgeny who are, as expected, engrossed in their conversation, but it doesn't stop Andrei from tossing a wink at you as you pass by.

You pointedly ignore the way it makes butterflies swarm and swoop in your stomach, smiling softly in return before ducking out of sight and into the nursery. Sara shuts the door behind you, giving you a pointed look as she does so.

You'd had best friends before, obviously, but never an older sister figure, and none quite like Sara. When Andrei had introduced you two, she'd been nothing but welcoming, friendly, and someone you'd come to rely on quite a lot since then.

When she announced she was pregnant with twins last year, you'd been overjoyed for her, and often traveled back and forth between San Jose and Raleigh to help her with the babies, especially since it had been Evgeny's first year working with the coaching staff of the Sharks, having previously been in the front office.

Maybe it was the excitement you got in helping her decorate the nursery, even though most of it was taken care of since they had things from Luka and Mila, or maybe it was just all the preparation you helped her with, but it had given you severe baby fever.

Like...severe.

Severe enough that you were practically ready to be pregnant that very same day until reality kicked in and knocked some serious sense into you.

You'd asked her how she and Evgeny had approached the topic of having kids, if she had advice on how you should broach the subject with Andrei, and she had only one thing to say.

"They're pretty direct people," she had said. "It's best to rip the bandaid off with something like that."

A couple of months ago, she texted you a picture of the twins in the matching pajama set you'd bought, and something in it made you want to finally talk to Andrei about it. So you told Sara that you would.

But...

The second you'd gone to Andrei in his office about it, you suddenly got cold feet. Realistically, you two hadn't actually talked about having kids before. Things with the two of you had been unconventional and fast from the start, so granted, you both had done things a little messily and quite backwards.

Still, the worst he could say to you was "no" or "not right now baby," but despite your past mess you two had always been on the same page, so the idea of hearing a "not right now" was okay, but hearing "no"?

Yeah, not something you had exactly prepared yourself for.

So instead of allowing there to be room for a "no" or "not right now," you just...didn't say a word.

Which Sara was definitely going to yell at you for.

Or at least, whisper yell, what with the twins going down for their nap and all.

Sara lays a droopy Aleksander into his crib, and he falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow. She takes Alexei from you next, sitting in the rocking chair set up in the corner of the room to start to feed him his bottle while you sit on the floor, gazing at baby Aleksander through the bars of his crib.

"What in the world are you waiting for?" Sara asks you, voice soft but firm in the nursery. 

You groan a little to yourself. "I just haven't gotten around to it, okay?"

"Yes, but why?" She presses. "You know he won't say no to you."

"I actually don't know that. He might not be able to say no when I ask for help, or ask for something, but children are not things to ask for. It's an entire human being you're bringing into the world, you know!"

Sara gives you a deadpan expression. "Of course I know, I've brought four of them into existence."

"Then you know that it's a lot to ask. Even if I want a child, even if I want to be a mom and raise my kids and bring them up, that doesn't guarantee that Andrei wants the same."

"He'll want them with you." Sara insists. "He'll want them because you'll be their mother and he's in love with you and those kids will be half of you and he'll be so proud to say that they're your children."

The idea fills you with hope, but you tamp it down. You have to be realistic about this. You know your husband, and you know that while Sara's right and he will do anything for you, he also probably won't handle this being sprung on him as a surprise, or appreciate being confronted with it out of the blue.

"Just get rid of your birth control and tell him you want a kid." Sara insists, and your eyes bug out of your head.

"Are you insane?" You whisper yell. "That would definitely give him a heart attack."

"Don't be so dramatic," she says, rolling her eyes. "He's too young to have those."

"I'll talk to him," you promise, more to yourself than to Sara. "But I'm not using any of your suggestions."

Sara shrugs. "Fine by me, but there'd better be a new baby next Christmas, and it won't be mine."

~

In the kitchen, Andrei watches with fond eyes as you disappear into the nursery with Sara and the twins. He's listening to what Evgeny's talking about, he really is, but his eyes are locked on the silent screen of the baby monitor, showing you handing Alexei off to Sara after Sara's put Aleksander down.

Watching you with his niece and nephews all day had filled his heart with something warm and fuzzy, something he couldn't quite place.

The way that you cared for his family since he introduced you to them was something that made Andrei incredibly happy, and he could tell that the way that they cared for you in turn made you just as happy.

He often caught you speaking with his mother on the phone, trying your best to only stick to Russian as best as possible to make her comfortable. His father didn't reach out often, but when he did, you did your best to converse with him too. Sometimes, when you thought Andrei wasn't looking, he'd see you reading through a Russian textbook in your art studio, brushing up on the language.

You talked to Sara almost every week, the two of you growing to be as close as sisters, and that made Andrei happy considering the only real sibling relationship you had was still pretty strained. Even after Andrei married you, your brother Joshua still wasn't his favorite person, which was unfortunate, considering his husband Sam was an angel and one of your favorite people.

Evgeny had also grown closer to you a little, considering how much you helped him and Sara prepare for the arrival of the twins. There were times he'd reach out to you if he couldn't reach Andrei for any reason, and Evgeny often teased Andrei about how more often than not, it seemed like a freak accident that he'd managed to find someone like you to be his wife.

"Believe me," Andrei had told his brother. "I know."

He listens intently to his brother as he discusses what's going on with the Sharks, clearly seeking Andrei's advice, but all the while, Andrei keeps his eyes on you, watches you through the baby monitor as you sit with Sara and the twins.

Everything about your body language screams comfort, like there's nowhere in the world you'd rather be, and it brings a smile to his face unconsciously.

Evgeny pauses in his ranting, glancing to the baby monitor and rolling his eyes, shoving at Andrei. "Obrashchat' vnimaniye," he scolds. Pay attention.

"I am!" Andrei insists, turning his full attention back to his brother. "You were saying?"

Evgeny opens his mouth, then closes it, a curious expression crossing his features. "Have you thought about it?"

"About what?" Andrei asks, moving his brother so he can go into the fridge and steal one of those obnoxious glass bottles of water Evgeny insists on buying.

"About what comes after marriage," Evgeny says. "About having kids."

Andrei almost drops the water bottle on the kitchen floor, can hear it shatter in his ears, but he's pretty sure that's his brain doing that. "About what?" He asks, voice practically an echo in his head.

Evgeny shakes his head. "Ty takoy idiot."

Andrei turns to face him, frowning. "I am not an idiot."

"You are, actually. Have you two not talked about having kids?"

Andrei opens his mouth, then shuts it.

You two actually hadn't. Not really. Not at all, now that he thought about it.

Evgeny shakes his head. "Listen, I know you're enjoying your never ending honeymoon phase, but it wouldn't hurt to ask."

Andrei takes a swig from his water, glancing at you on the monitor.

You've got Alexei in your arms now, feeding him the rest of his bottle while Sara rests on the rocking chair, eyes on Aleksander.

His heart does a little flip, imagining you holding a little baby that's got your nose and his eyes, and it brings back the warm and fuzzy feeling he'd felt earlier.

Maybe...maybe it was worth a discussion.

~

Since Evgeny's house had gotten crowded with all the kids, Andrei had booked a suite for the two of you at the Marriott.

It had a lovely view of the city, especially at night, and Andrei enjoyed it even more with your naked body pressed against one of the many floor to ceiling windows, watching the way your face twisted with pleasure in the reflection of the glass.

The lights were off in the hotel room, so there wasn't a single chance of anyone seeing what the two of you were up to, but the thrill was there all the same. He wanted to show you off, show off his beautiful little wife, the only diamond he ever needed.

Your palm prints littered the window as you pushed back against him, and Andrei groaned, tightening the grip on your hips, fingers pressing against where he knew that little diamond tattoo rested beneath the waistband of your thong.

He could barely wait, barely think by the time you both got back to the hotel. The second your jeans were off, he pulled your thong to the side and slid in to the hilt, burying himself inside of you and making you come all over him in seconds.

It wasn't often that Andrei took you from behind. More often than not, he preferred looking at you, preferred watching the beautiful faces you made and watching the way your body reacted to his own. But in times like these, where there was something that could help him watch you, he couldn't exactly complain.

He releases his hold on one of your hips, letting his hands wander up your torso, bringing you upright against him as he bends his knees a little, adjusting for your height difference so he can cage you against him as he fucks into you.

Pleasant and happy noises leave you as he plays with one of your nipples, then the other, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses on your neck. His nails gently scratch at the valley between your breasts, making you shiver, before trailing his hand down your stomach.

He had every intention of putting his fingers to your clit, rubbing gently there the way you liked when he took you like this, but instead, his hands lingered on your stomach, on where he could feel the slight bulge of where his cock fucked in and out of you, and he found his hands resting there instead.

A shiver ran through your body, your pussy pushing back on his cock again as if on impulse, and a deep, pleased noise rumbled through Andrei's chest.

"Almaznyy?" He murmured against your neck, finding the sensitive spot below your ear and sucking against it gently.

You gasped in his hold, shaking a little, and he chuckled, pressing his hand against the little bulge of your stomach, the hand he still had on your waist tightening its grip, pressing his fingers a little more into the diamond tattoo.

"Can you feel me here, moya krasivaya zhena?" He asks you, cock throbbing when you squeeze against him in excitement. You loved it when he called you ‘my pretty wife.’ "Can you feel me fucking you?"

You nod, frantic, hands gripping onto his arms. "Please, malysh, wanna come."

"You wanna come already?" He taunts. "Gonna come for me in front of the whole city?"

A soft whine leaves your lips as he thrusts in particularly hard, emphasizing his question.

"Yes," you answer, nearly breathless.

“And what about me?” He teases, pressing his hand against your stomach a little more. "You want me to come inside, almaznyy? Want me to come right here?"

In the reflection of the window, he catches the way your eyes slam shut before you throw your head back against his shoulder, mouth open in a silent cry and body seizing as your orgasm claims you. Your pussy clenches impossibly tight, and it sends Andrei over the edge in seconds, pushing down on your waist to bury himself inside of you, cock throbbing almost painfully as he comes.

The two of you shake silently for a second, and Andrei holds you both upright as best as he can until he can feel your body as it calms down. He pulls out gently, not wasting a second before he scoops you up, walking you over to the bed to lay you on it gently before he climbs on beside you.

You go to him almost immediately, and his arms open on instinct, welcoming you in his embrace as you bury your nose in his chest.

He wants to say something, anything. He wants to ask you if what just happened was okay, if you're okay, if he didn't cross a line, if you maybe wanted to try that again sometime soon or maybe if you want to try it in a different position.

But then he hears your breathing start to even out, feels the way your body goes lax in his hold, and he resigns himself to discussing it another time.

~

The following day, you and Andrei head back over to Sara and Evgeny’s for lunch. You help Sara put the kids down for their naps after you all eat, and Andrei and Evgeny handle the dishes.

When you and Sara come out of the kids’ rooms, you’re met with a chorus of laughter from Andrei, Evgeny, and then their mother’s voice echoes through the living room.

Peeking around the corner, you can see Andrei and Evegny crowded around Evgeny’s laptop, definitely on FaceTime with their mother.

She signals to you to hang back, and you nod. You’re more than happy to give Andrei and his brother the alone time they need to speak with their mom, so you lean back against the wall, Sara against the one opposite you, and you smile at each other when you hear the brother excitedly converse with their mother in Russian.

Your fluency has gotten better, but it’s not one hundred percent - same with Sara’s - so the two of you can only really pick up on bits and pieces here and there, catching tidbits of their mother’s praises for her boys along with her normal chastising.

You two are looking fit!

Still, you both need to eat more. 

You’re working too hard.

Are you ready for the upcoming season?

Oh my brilliant boys!

How are my daughters?

How are the grandkids?

Evgeny, you’d better bring them by soon so I can babysit.

Andrei, how are you doing?

Are you and my favorite girl happy?

When are you two going to give me more grandchildren?!

That last part sends a shock through your body, and Sara nudges you with her foot at the same time Andrei begins to stutter and stammer in the living room.

Their mom starts to say something else when her voice gets quieter, and you realize Andrei’s turned the volume down. His voice gets a little quieter, and Evgeny’s loud laughter drowns out whatever Andrei says in return to their mother.

Sara gives you another pointed look, as if to say “So you still didn’t talk to him about it.”

You roll your eyes, and she nudges your foot again before dragging you down the hall and into her and Evgeny’s bedroom. 

“For the love of God,” she says. “I know you said you’re not taking my suggestions, but you are going to have to take this one, specifically with the promise that you’ll at least save it until you get back to Raleigh.”

You answer her with a deadpan stare, and she sighs, exasperated, before gesturing to you. 

“You have to seduce him.” She says plainly. “It’s how I did it with Evgeny, and it’s how you’re going to have to do it with Andrei instead of tiptoeing around.”

You’re slightly dumbfounded, so all you can manage is a weak “What?”

“Remember when I told you to rip the bandaid off?” She asks, and you nod. She waves a hand around, “Well, that’s what I meant by that. Seduce him. Rip the bandaid off.”

“Seduce him…” You say, and it sounds more like a question than a statement.

Sara grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you a bit. “You know he loves you, you know he thinks you’re hot. Use it.”

Sara doesn’t know how you and Andrei met, no one does except Lottie, Oli, Mason, Eli, and you and Andrei. She has no idea about your past.

Which means she has no idea that if there is anything you know how to do, it’s seduce Andrei.

~

You try your best to clear your mind, focusing on exfoliating your skin as you shower and the things you’re planning on doing once this shower is done.

It had been a week since you’d returned from visiting with Sara and Evgeny, and this morning, you’d gone to see your OBGYN doctor to discuss…well, a possible game plan.

You agreed that after you finished this round of birth control pills and had your period, you and Andrei would probably start trying.

And well, after you spoke to Andrei about all of this, of course. 

But Sara was right, seduction might have to come first. You were too out of sorts to wait any longer.

He had been gone this morning when you went to your appointment, having to be at the practice rink to watch the team’s morning skate, and when you had returned home after running some errands, he’d been in his office for a string of phone calls, which he said he’d be in and out of till about two this afternoon.

It was about noon, then. So you’d gone on a run, had a little pep talk with yourself to prepare for the impending conversation, and strategized.

The pep talk you had was simple - if during said conversation, Andrei voiced that he didn’t want kids, that was that. You would not be forcing him into anything he didn’t want or trying to convince him, and the two of you would likely talk things out from there.

If he did want kids, perfect, you could talk about that, but, you could also give him a bit of extra motivation.

Which brought you to the seduction strategy you’d developed so carefully on the way back from your run.

It was about one in the afternoon when you got back, so you threw together a quick lunch for you and Andrei to have - once he was done with his phone calls and you - and it was about one thirty when you hopped into the shower.

You’d gone for a wax right after your doctor’s appointment, as part of the errands you ran, along with a mani pedi, but a little extra gentle exfoliation on the legs never hurt anyone.

Once you finished in the shower, you toweled off and applied the vanilla lotion Andrei loved the most on you, before slipping on one of your favorite sundresses. It was also one Andrei liked on you, particularly because it was just the right side of see through. 

Hence, why it was a key part to your strategy.

It might be devious, and it’s definitely playing dirty, but you need a little ammunition on your side, if not for the sake of a small confidence boost to get you through the conversation.

You did this for a living, for a time. You did this specifically for Andrei before, it shouldn’t be too hard to do it for him again. Sure, the way that you seduced him now looked different, the way that you were together now had changed drastically, but Sara was right. At the very least, Andrei loved you, and he never failed to remind you how attractive you were to him.

So hopefully, this worked.

You checked the time on the clock on your nightstand - one fifty five. A quick glance in the mirror assured you this was the best option outfit wise, and your nerves reminded you that you’d both probably need a little bit of liquid courage for this next bit. Heading back out to the kitchen, you make yourself a quick margarita and pour Andrei a shot of his favorite whisky. 

If there was anything you knew about your husband, sometimes he just needed a little something to take the edge off before he could plow forward with whatever it was he needed to do. He was bound to be nervous once you brought up the idea of having a baby, especially if you were going to be playing just a little bit dirty about it. 

You grabbed both glasses and headed back down the hall to Andrei’s office. Just as you crossed the threshold, he was bidding whoever was on the other line goodbye, and you took a deep breath to steel yourself.

Andrei is your husband. You love each other. You reminded yourself. He is your husband. You can get through anything together.

Andrei smiles when you hand him his glass, his reading glasses perched on his nose making him look both hot, authoritative, and innocent all at once. “Now how did you know I needed this, moya zhena?”

You shrug, playing innocent. “A lucky guess.”

You both toast, clinking your glasses before each taking a sip of your respective drinks. You try to hide your smile behind your glass as you do, but you should’ve known better.

Andrei’s almost always looking at you, so nothing ever could get past your loving and doting husband.

“What’s that smile doing there?” He teases, and it’s then that he seems to finally take in what you’re wearing.

And that you’re wearing nothing underneath it.

You try another innocent smile, but Andrei raises a brow in suspicion, quirking his finger and summoning you to his side of the desk.

Placing your glass down on the mahogany, you round the desk to his side, obeying when he taps the desk and jumping up, taking a seat but keeping your legs crossed.

You don’t want him distracted.

“Are you about to ask me for something expensive, almaznyy? Because if you are, you’re off to a good start.”

You never actually needed to do anything if it was expensive, including asking him for anything, since you did have your own income, and you both knew that. But still, every now and again you liked to pretend like you did, liked the way it made Andrei nervous and pliant, like he didn’t meet you the way he actually did, like he wasn’t familiar with the concept. 

But that wasn’t what you were going for here.

“Well,” you start, “it’s sort of expensive. An…investment, if you will.”

He frowns slightly. “Don’t tell me Jarvy’s wife actually talked you into wanting to buy that monstrosity of a beach house.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of you, having almost completely forgotten Tessa’s attempt to expand her real estate portfolio by tempting you with an even bigger sunroom than the one you and Andrei had now.

You shake your head. “No no, I don’t want that house.”

“But you do want a house?” Andrei inquires.

You shake your head, nerves suddenly racing through your veins. It makes your hands shake, so you reach out for him, cupping his jaw with your hand, leaving the other resting in your lap. You thumb over the stubble along his jaw, humming to yourself, trying to gather the right words.

It makes Andrei nervous. “Listen, almaznyy, whatever it is, we-”

“I want this house, Bubby,” you interrupt, wanting to be out with it but also not sure if you were remotely prepared for the rest of his sentence. At the pet name, Andrei’s eyes get brighter, his entire demeanor softening. “I want this house, with you and I in it, and maybe…maybe a little one running around in it, too.”

There. You said it…kind of.

But it was out there now. 

And Andrei…

There’s surprise in his face, definitely, and you’d been expecting that. But there’s also no…opposition. Nothing that says he doesn’t want to have this conversation, nothing that screams disagreement, nothing that says he doesn’t like the idea.

There are nerves there, like yours, but amongst the nerves and surprise is…hope? Something wistful. 

You lean into it, trailing your hand from his face to his arm, then down to the desk where his hand rests beside your legs. You take it, intertwining your fingers, playing with his hand a little.

“Bubby,” you continue. And that time you’re definitely playing dirty, saying one of his favorite pet names like that, like you want something - which you do, no question - and it makes Andrei’s whole body relax. “I want a baby,” you say, this time, plainly, so there’s no question and no doubt. “I want to have a baby with you.” You glance up at him, finding his intense gaze already on you. “What do you think?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and if you didn’t already know your husband, his lack of a response might concern you. But the look on his face tells you that he’s thinking, and so you wait, giving him enough space and time to collect his thoughts.

Finally, he squeezes your hand, a little sigh of relief mixed with a laugh leaving his chest, eyes crinkling at the corners as a brilliant smile takes over his features. He says nothing, just maneuvers you to part your legs so he can haul you off the desk and into his lap. You go to him easily, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face into his neck, breathing him in. One of his arms bands itself across your waist, the other across your back so he can cradle the back of your head in his hands.

“I didn’t know how to ask you.” He says softly into your ear. “I’ve been thinking about it, too. How to ask…how to tell you…”

“Ya tozhe,” you tell him. Me too. “I didn’t know if it was something you wanted.”

“We never talked about it,” he agrees. “And we should have, and I’m sorry we didn’t.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, malysh. We’re talking about it now, aren’t we?” You say, pressing a small kiss to his jaw.

He tightens his grip on you. “Because you were brave enough to do it. You’ve always been the brave one of the two of us, almaznyy.”

“You were the one who brought us together, Andrei.” You remind him, “I couldn’t have done that. Only you could have, and you did.”

“I would do it again.” He swears, leaning back a little to press a kiss to your forehead. 

You pull back a little, puckering your lips, and he laughs, leaning down to kiss you softly, gently, and like he has all the time in the world. You love when he kisses you like this, like he’s afraid you’ll break or disappear into thin air. It makes you feel precious, like the very diamond he continues to call you.

“Bubby,” you murmur between kisses, “how many babies do you want?”

There’s a choked noise that bubbles in his throat, so you pull back, looking at him in concern. He reaches for his scotch, but you bat his hand away, handing him the bottle of water he always keeps on his desk instead.

He takes a couple of grateful swigs, and much to his disappointment, you climb off of him and climb back to your perch on his desk, giving him some room to breathe. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Didn’t mean to take you by surprise there.”

Andrei shakes his head, putting the closed water bottle down and reaches for his glass, downing the rest of its contents. When it's empty, you take it back from him, putting it on a far enough corner of his desk before reaching for your glass, taking down the rest of your margarita, then set the empty glass next to Andrei’s. Once those are out of the way, you lean back on your hands, your attention solely on Andrei once more.

He’s got a little glint in his eye as he considers you, letting one of his hands come up to rest on your legs, caressing your skin. “You know me, almaznyy. I’m not picky.” He starts. “I’ll be satisfied with as many babies as you’re willing to give me.”

You smile, pleased with his answer. In reward, you nudge the hand he has on your leg a little, and Andrei beams, gently grabbing your calf so he can part your legs, this time, to take in the sight of your bare pussy.

Carefully, you pull up the hem of your dress and push yourself to the edge of his desk, and Andrei takes your ankles, gently placing one on the armrest of his chair, putting the other over his shoulder. He scoots his chair in closer, your leg sliding down his back a little and allowing his hands to rest on your hips.

“We should…” he starts, swallowing. “We should probably talk about this a little more.”

You smirk. “We are talking, though.”

“In depth,” he clarifies. “Get into specifics, and things.”

But even as he says it, you can see in his face you probably wouldn’t get further than the next five minutes. “We can still talk about it after, too, okay? We’ll sit and have a real conversation about it.”

He blinks, nodding, then glances down at where you know he wants to bury his face.

“If you wanted a baby, almaznyy,” he says, warm breath fanning over your lower abdomen, “you didn’t have to play dirty.”

“Dirty?” You ask, innocent as ever. “What do you mean?”

Andrei narrows his eyes at you. “The first time you walked into this office on a mission, you were dressed just like this.”

“You mean when I used to be your assistant?” You tease, and he pinches your thigh playfully.

“Moya zhena,” he warns. He may be playful, but it seems you’ve pushed a few too many buttons in that area today.

Shame, you think. Maybe I can try again after dinner. 

You roll your eyes playfully, pouting a little. “I was nervous and needed some confidence, alright?”

“You look plenty confident to me,” he reassures you with a slight nod, then he’s bunching up the fabric of your dress and pressing against your stomach, his nice way of saying ‘lay back moya zhena, let me take care of you.’

The first swipe of his tongue in your folds takes you by surprise, a pleasant squeal leaving your lips and echoing around his office. His second taste of you is slower, his tongue laying flat against you and dragging from your entrance to your clit, his lips circling around the bud and sucking in a way that elicits a pleasant moan from you.

Andrei’s hands crawl up your body to the neckline of your dress, and you help him a little, slipping the straps off so he can pull the neckline down, cupping your tits in his hands and squeezing.

He’d been particularly fond of the first time you’d had sex in this house together. Had cherished the memory of you in that light pink sundress and on this desk in a similar fashion. It was probably why you’d chosen to approach him this way, he thinks absentmindedly, lips and mouth settling into the familiar pace you love when he’s got his face between your thighs.

Andrei can feel his pants get a little tighter the wetter you get, his chin coated in your slick and nose nudging against your clit as his lips and tongue work you open. He’s so perfectly at peace here, totally content to just lick at you and taste you for hours at a time that he nearly forgets why you’re sprawled out on his desk like this.

You tugging at his hair serves as a gentle reminder that kicks him into gear, and he smiles against your skin, pressing kisses to the junction of your thighs and nipping at you a little.

“Andrei,” you say, breathless. “Potoropites', pozhaluysta.” Hurry up, please.

He shakes his head, gently letting your legs fall to the side as he sits up in his chair, draping his body over yours. “Not this time, almaznyy,” he says, wrapping your arms around his neck before he wraps his own arms around your back, cupping your ass in his hands.

Your brain kicks into gear just in time for you to wrap your legs around his waist, and then he’s lifting you up, pressing filthy open mouth kisses to your neck as he navigates the hallway carefully, taking the measured and familiar steps to your bedroom.

He lays you gently on the mattress, placing you delicately among the pillows before he’s shedding his shirt and pants, kicking his boxer briefs off to the side and then settling back between your legs.

This time, your thighs squeeze at his head when he sucks your pussy into his mouth particularly hard, tongue dipping inside of you, and your fingers fly into his hair, scratching at his scalp in warning.

“Behave, moy muzh.” you hiss through gritted teeth, even if the way you writhe against his face tells him you like it. 

“You started it,” he reminds you, tugging on the dress resting around your middle. You huff, grabbing the bottom and peeling it off, tossing it in the direction of Andrei’s pile of clothes. 

Your eyes sparkle with mischief when you watch the way he takes in the sight of your naked body. No matter how many times the two of you do this, Andrei always looks at you the same way.

Like he’s in love, like it’s the first time, like for all he wants to take you apart, the way he’ll put you back together will be well worth it, and if it isn’t, he’ll work for it until it is.

“Pridi ko mne, lyubov' moya,” you beckon him. Come to me, my love.

His bottom lip drags against your clit as he rises from his position, tongue darting out to lick at your arousal still coating his lips, and the sight alone licks at the flame of arousal sparking low in your belly.

When he crawls up your body to kiss you, he props himself up on his arms, not wanting to rest his full weight on you, his delicate little almaznyy. Normally, you love it, but right now, you need something a little different. 

Your arms wrap around his neck as you seize his mouth in a bruising, desperate kiss, pulling him down to you and taking him by surprise as you manage to flip him onto his back on the way down. You take full advantage of his surprise by making your way down his body to settle between his legs, wrapping your fist around his cock and taking him into your mouth.

Andrei groans, sitting up on his elbows to watch you.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to make a baby if you keep doing that,” he warns, cock throbbing against your tongue as if to emphasize his point. 

You bat your eyelashes at him, sucking at the head of his cock and using your hands to stroke at him at the same time. He hisses, one of his hands flying to rest in your hair, the other resting behind his head and emphasizing the chiseled muscles of his arms, chest, and abdomen.

Sometimes, you couldn’t believe this man was your husband.

“Almaznyy,” he warns when you take him down your throat, swallowing around him. You’re slow to come off his cock, letting him leave your lips with a dramatic ‘pop.’

“I’m still on birth control,” you tell him. “So we can’t make a baby tonight anyway, probably not for another month, at least.”

His brows furrow, both from your statement and the way you twist your wrist, stroking his cock the way you know he likes. “Then what - ah yebat’ - what are we doing?” He asks, trying to focus on the conversation as you take him back in your throat. You hum a little, and he tugs on the strands of your hair again in warning.

You pull off of him, gently stroking your hand up and down, squeezing as you go. “Practicing, of course.”

He lets his arms fall out beside him, collapsing against the pillows and dragging his hands over his eyes. “Almaznyy,” he huffs, hips stuttering when you squeeze him at the base.

“Hmm?” You hum, ready to take him in your mouth again, but Andrei moves quickly, hauling you up his body and cradling you close as he flips you over again. He positions you among the pillows, placing one under your waist so you’re practically propped up for him. He positions himself so his arms rest in the crook of your knees, your ankles near his head as he folds his body over yours.

He takes his cock in his hand, running the head through your folds. “Practice?” 

You nod, “Practice, for now.” You reach out, pushing his hand out of the way so you can line his cock up with your entrance. “Which is why the desk was perfectly good, and-”

The rest of your words are stolen from you when Andrei bats your hand away gently and slides inside of you, slow but precise, bottoming out and nestling his body close to yours. Your eyes flutter shut when you squeeze around him, and his hands come up, cradling the sides of your face as he murmurs encouraging words to you, staying still until you’ve adjusted to his size.

“Almaznyy,” he calls, and your eyes blink open, glazed over and hazy and you’ve barely even started. “Good?”

You nod, tilting your hips a little, trying to fuck yourself on his cock. He laughs a little, shaking his head. “So damn impatient.” 

He raises his body off of yours a little, angling his hips and setting a steady pace, one that has you whining in protest almost immediately, grabbing at the muscles of his ass and trying to drag him closer.

“I won’t break Andrei-” you start, but he cuts you off with a particularly hard thrust that has your eyes rolling back into your head.

“I don’t care if it’s just practice, almaznyy.” He tells you, “and I don’t care how many times we have to practice. I’m going to make it last, and I’m going to make sure that you remember all the ways I fuck you and make love to you until I put a baby in you.”

You gasp a little, and Andrei smiles to himself, thoroughly pleased. He sits up, placing his hands on the backs of your thighs and settling in to fuck you just the way you like. He fucks you in deep, strong strokes, the head of his cock brushing up against that sensitive spot in your pussy every single time.

It steals your breath from you, and all the telltale signs of an orgasm approaching signal to Andrei like a beacon. The way your breathing catches in your throat, the way you can’t keep your eyes open, how your legs start to shake.

He takes his thumb and rests it on your clit, rubbing in lazy circles until your back arches off the bed, a satisfied cry echoing out of your throat and into the pillows beside your head when you come. Your pussy squeezes down in a way that makes Andrei’s head go dizzy, and then he’s coming with a groan, pushing your hips down onto him as he buries himself to the hilt, his orgasm sudden and a shock to his system.

It takes him a second to catch his breath, and moves your legs off of his shoulders to make it easier to pull out of you and give you reprieve, but a noise of protest leaves your throat, and your ankles lock at the base of his spine. 

He pauses, glancing at you curiously when he notices the look on your face.

Andrei thinks back to before you left for San Jose, the day he took you in the shower, and how upset you’d been when he set you down on your feet.

It clicks in his head, then. What you’d been upset about.

He’s still hard - he’s practically always hard when he’s around you - so he moves his hips, slowly pulling back an inch before pushing back inside. You throw your head back, his name leaving your lips in relief, and he smirks. 

Fucking you in shallow thrusts, thumb circling your clit, Andrei watches in fascination as he pushes his come back inside of you with his cock, watches the way your pretty face twists in pleasure, and hums satisfactorily to himself. 

“Is this what you’ve been needing, moya zhena?” He asks, eyes on yours the whole time. “How long have you wanted this?”

You can barely answer him, your head thrown back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowed, back still arched and pushing those beautiful tits of yours up. Andrei takes them in his hands, massaging them, and you keen, pushing into his hands and pussy trying to retreat from his cock with nowhere to go.

The sensation feels different for him. He’s hypersensitive now, all too away of the slick slide of his cock, of your mixed come leaking out of you before he pushes back in, feels heat begin to prick at his skin when your pussy continues to flutter and squeeze, like it’s trying to keep him inside of you. With every brush of his finger over your nipples, your pussy squeezes and you try to pull off of him, but in the next breath you’re winding your hips, pushing back down until he’s buried to the hilt.

Andrei pushes your legs up again before he rests his weight on you gently, his shoulders under your knees, burying his face in your neck and placing his hands under your ass, cradling you closer to him as he starts to fuck you in deeper strokes, drowning in the pleased little noises leaving your lips.

“Ty chuvstvuyesh' sebya tak khorosho, dorogaya,” he murmurs against your neck. You feel so good, darling. 

“Andrei,” you finally manage to breathe out, and relief floods through his veins. There were times when you two made love that you got so lost in the pleasure that you couldn’t speak to him, and it worried Andrei to no end. But you always came back to him, always called for him, and the same calm washes over his body, a shiver running up his spine.

Your arms come up, wrapping around his neck and arching your back, giving him more access to you. Andrei hums, pleased, sucking a bruise into your skin while his cock starts to throb from where he’s fucking you, can feel a second orgasm creeping up when he bites down gently, raking his teeth over the sensitive skin and you start to squeeze and clench around him.

“Gonna come again, almaznyy?” He asks, nosing along your jaw. “Want me to come again, too?”

You nod, turning your head and Andrei meets you, slotting your lips together and swallowing your moans down when you shake gently beneath him, back arching and pushing your body closer to his. His eyes squeeze shut, electricity zipping up his spine when your orgasm tips him over the edge and he’s spilling into you again, groaning against your jaw.

His arms come out from under you and he gently eases your legs back down against the bed, massaging the muscles as he does. Instead of resting them against the bed though, you wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at his lower back, and Andrei laughs. 

Gently, he rolls you both until he’s laying underneath you instead, careful to keep himself nestled inside of you, and he smiles to himself when you do a half cat-like stretch before sprawling across his chest. 

A pleased little exhale greets his ears after a moment, and his hand comes up, rubbing gentle circles in your back. “Made you lunch,” you tell him, voice hoarse. “‘S in the kitchen.”

“Spasibo, almaznyy.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We should go eat it then, it’s probably cold by now.”

“It’s the chicken caesar salad wraps you like.” You say, lips dragging across his chest as you speak. “And I made strawberry lemonade this morning, should be ready by now.”

He nods, tapping your flank gently. “We should get up, malyshka. Get cleaned up.”

You nod, but you’ve got that look in your eye like before, like you’re disappointed as you carefully lift yourself off of him and roll onto the mattress beside him. Andrei rolls onto his side, cradling your face in his hands. “What’s wrong, moya zhena?” 

You shake your head, a small smile gracing your lips. “Nothing’s wrong, just…excited, is all.”

“Excited?”

“To start a family with you,” you clarify. 

“Then why do you look so sad?” He wonders, thumbing at the pout in your bottom lip.

You laugh, nose scrunching a little before cuddling into him. “It’s silly - I just wanted to start now.”

“It’s only a month, right?” He asks. You nod, nose rubbing at his pec, and he smiles to himself. “That’s good - plenty of time for us to practice, then? Wanna make sure we get it right on the first try.”

You snort. “Perfektsionist.” Perfectionist.

“Only the best for you, moya zhena.” Andrei says, teasing. Underneath it though, you both know that he’s serious. Because if anything, even as he rises from the bed and lifts you in his arms, carrying you into the bathroom, you know he never does anything half assed. 

Now that you’re both on the same page, he’s going to do everything he can to ensure you’re well looked after from beginning to end, and when your little baby eventually comes, he’s going to work twice as hard to make sure the both of you are taken care of, and that you’ll want for nothing.

You, his almaznyy, and your future child, his malen'kaya rubin. His little ruby.

[ghouldtime]

i usually don’t message anyone or anything but i just wanted to say i love your characterizations of konig, ghost, and soap very much. the love and appreciation you have for these characters really come through in your writing.

the cod fandom is full of talented writers but the majority of them write smut. it gets tiring scrolling through the tag and just seeing porn when i actually just wanna see… ppl who enjoy the characters outside of sex appeal, yk? so your blog, truly and genuinely, is a breath of fresh air.

that’s not even mentioning the ppl who write them as abusive or use them to fulfill certain fantasies. i mean i don’t kink shame ofc, but idk sometimes ppl write them in extremely degrading ways that do a disservice to their character and it bugs me a little. plus all the “innocent bimbo reader” rhetoric, idk it gets tiring.

anyway, sorry for the yap session, but i did mean everything i said genuinely !!

💚💚💚💚 Salutations anon! You really don't know how much I appreciate hearing this. Seriously, messages like this give me motivation to keep writing and to stay active on here. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU from the very depths of my heart. You've all been so so incredibly kind, sweet, and encouraging 😭 I don't know what I've done to deserve this but it's appreciated and you all are absolutely awesome. This has made my YEAR, thank you for taking time out of your day to send my silly self a message 💚💚💚💚💚

I'm so so happy my characterizations have hit the mark for some people and that I'm (hopefully) doing them some justice! I'm always worried about that because characterization matters heavily to me and I want to respect their characters and how much they mean to me and other people through it EVEN IF THE WRITERS OF THE LAST MODERN WARFARE DON'T KNOW WHAT A PROPER STORY LINE IS AND KILLED SOAP WHICH I'M NOT FORGETTING, IM NOT FORGIVING, AND IM CERTAIN NOT LIVE LAUGH LOVING WITH IT. I'm refusing to accept he's dead, no matter what they say

I love the boys all so much. They all have such interesting things about them and have a lot more dynamic to them than people think and I just want to represent them right, especially lesser appreciated characters (haven't actually really written for them yet but Keegan, Logan, Hesh, Sandman, Roach, Nikto, Krueger - legit I love them, anyone feel free to send asks or scenarios you'd like I WILL write them. Legit, y'all, you can send me asks about certain characters even if there isn't much on them. I WILL do my research and I WILL write to the best of my ability)

Oh there's many talented writers in the COD Fandom, there really are. I can't say I really know any personally seeing as I never really interact with other blogs but I've seen some reallly really nice fics with so much thought put in them. But equally, there's a lot of just... smut. Not even well written smut, I'm sorry, but a lot of it is just really, really poorly written. I'm all for do what you want, write whatever makes you happy. Freedom of speech! If it makes you happy, cool! But I'm also going to cringe cause a lot of it is... yeah, yikes

Not trying to be the smut police and say every detail must be accounted for and everyone should follow it in a certain way but plz basic anatomy 101, basic prep 101, no guy gal or enby pal will appreciate it if you just shove it in to anywhere dry and I've seen a loooot of that and other things that just hurt?????

I get it, people learn by reading/writing, but this is literally just a single search away. And common sense. There's also a lot of practices being unsafely represented (like fifty shades of gray level) and uh it's not on purpose, it's not meant to be dubious, but it just is written as that. PLEEEEASE please please do some research, the internet is right there

But I felt the same way. Like bless whatever y'all want to write, no shame and NO shade to writing smut. I'll probably eventually do it myself again in the future (undecided on that but it'd likely be a side blog if I do and would never be a main focus, I prefer story over smut action. Once again, no shade and no shame to those who don't, to each their own!). Never ever going to full on NSFW mode or only writing that, I'm always always always going to prioritize writing the characters first and trying to get more stories out there about them :D

But I got tired of opening it and all I see is just... smut, smut, more smut, extremely dubious content x 50. And maybe a sprinkle of normal things or fluff here and there. I just don't look in the tags honestly anymore, because so many people just don't properly tag it or give 0 warning at all, not even under a read more, just BAM, unavoidable unless you flat out don't look at the tags at all

There's more to the characters than just being attractive 😭and I love exploring those aspects of them and trying to figure out why they are the way they are

Also I'm ALWAYS going to have an issue with people who fetishize horrible things. When you're actively fantasizing and writing about someone abusing someone else, like flat out abuse, and being incredibly toxic and terrible to someone - just, please talk to a therapist. That's not social commentary, that's not a proper portrayal of real, HORRIBLE things that affect many people and have very real repercussions - that's perpetuating the negative narrative around a lot of struggles and setting it back by instead turning it into something that's treated as attractive. I really fully can elaborate on this and have a whole rant - but it's not cute and it's NEVER cool to fetishize actual, awful awful things that happen to people. Dead dove doesn't excuse you from judgement - especially when it's not even acknowledged. You're just saying you know what you write is probably morally reprehensible. Hey, I'm going to reprehend and won't respect you at all when you write awful things just cause and get off on it. Think people forget that. Dead dove is a descriptor and doesn't excuse you or make you instantly free from judgement or mean you're not doing something problematic/disgusting. It's just saying you know it is, that's about it.

I don't get why people do that when it's clear they have no idea what they're talking about. I've seen that a lot with the bully! Things. Like... wow, clearly some of you WEREN'T bullied and you're writing about it and it shows because if you were, hey, you know how fucking awful that shit is and how it leaves life long effects. Not saying this applies to all but there's a lot I see like that where it's just ".... wow, okay, so you don't have any idea what you're talking about, cool."

AND YEAH the mischaracterization really does do a great disservice where it's clear they're just after the characters for their physique. They just warp them so bad it's like "Are we talking about the same character?" . In AUs you get to explore that and can shape them to your wants, that's your choice! Highly recommend AU's, it allows so much freedom.

But when it's like.... regular? And it's just no where close and they're doing a 180 in how they actually are (like having Ghost flirt with strangers and be big scary daddy dom im sorry he's not at allllll) I don't get it and it's clear you really aren't writing about or for the character - at that point, plz, make your own characters. Just make your own OCs, it's great! And you can make them HOWEVER you want instead of just ignoring a character's characterization to make them fit what you want. And guess what? It's your character so you can TRULY do what you want and have them the way that you want instead of bending characters to fit a box that they weren't made for

I'm not saying you HAVE to write a character the same as me or in a specific way, but when it's a character with an established personality/backstory, the least you can do is follow that outside of AU's if you're writing for them. That's... the whole point of writing that character - I don't get why you'd write for them specifically if you're literally going to ignore everything about them

SPEAKING OF THE INNOCENT BIMBO THING, I'm also really not a fan. Once again, if that makes you happy to write or read, cool! I just am NOOOOT a fan. Why does the reader always have to be so small and so delicate and so pure/innocent? Why does the reader have to be just so UWU coded? Why are they always like "oh you're so little and small :( and just don't know any better" . It's either that or they're John fucking Wick with little in between. Pleeeease it hurts my soul

Its why I try to genuinely write a neutral geared reader with reactions that will likely fit a lot of people! I'm always taken out of a story's immersiveness when it mentions something like like your hair length or how uwu small you are in comparison. Give me just... average sensible reader. Give me reader who has realistic human reactions. Give me reader who isn't perfect, give me a reader who isn't magically special or different. Give me a reader who is just doing their best, who is THEMSELVES, with no intent otherwise. I love those fanfics so so much instead of trying to feel like I have to be something I'm not to get myself in the mindset to read some pieces NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR YAPPING. IM ALWAYS WANTING TO TALK IM ALWAYS AROUND 💚💚💚💚THANK YOU FOR THE MESSAGE IT MAKES MY HEART WARM AND MAKES ME SO SO HAPPY

[juustozzi]

Hello, it's me, same anon who asked about what birds you thought would fit the rest of the Raimon, I'm back to say...Hikaru as a little blue penguin sounds adorable, I love it! <333

But this made me wonder something. Since a lot of these bird types have fluffy/visible feathers, how would anyone with penguin wings look? (but please don't feel obligated to draw Hikaru for that, I'll probably understand it even if it's written) Can they fly or anyone who has wings of flightless birds' species isn't able to?

Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but this is one of the AUs I've become invested in and would love to see what you (or others, if you're okay with that) do with the idea. I guess I'm just too curious for my own good sometimes n.n;

— 🌠 Anon

hi again!

I've actually drawn and talked about Kidou with penguin wings before (the post can be found in the "inago wing au" tag!) I'd say that as the wings are heavily based on real-life birds, they'll do what they're built for - in this case, Kidou and Hikaru can't fly, but they work well in water. I mentioned in that previous post that maybe their wings could do something with aerodynamics on land too, and that got me thinking now: what if Kidou studied it a little more when growing up and shared his knowledge with Hikaru? I can imagine their wings could help with stuff like sharp turns and sudden stops - not necessarily giving them more speed or lift, but manipulating their movements.

and Hikaru must've seen young Kidou on the field when he was little, and so he had the role model Kidou lacked in his youth; Hikaru is more confident in his rare type of wings, which means he's more expressive with them!

I'm glad you like this au!! please feel free to drop more ideas if you get any, or draw/write them out yourself! this au is no way just for me to create for, my designs are free to build on or you can go all "screw you juusto, I'm going to make better ones myself"!!

[heoneyology]

TAEYOUNG ≫ C H E E S E

[vulpixelates]

i know it will never happen but i so desperately desire an origins-type playable backstory thing in all games but especially veilguard. i feel like it added so much depth to origins and made you feel instantly connected to your character in a way that gets lost in games like inquisition where you fill in the blanks as you go except for the bare basics. like, i do enjoy the freedom to willy nilly decide where a character was before the events of the story from a creative perspective, but the playable origins were just so good! especially when you go back to where your warden is from and can engage differently with the arcs there

[egophiliac]

Hi it's just to let you know that the official romanization of Revaan's name is Raverne ! Also they have romanized Baul's name to Baur !

Twst coming back at us again with the least expected romanization! thank you everybody (oh god my inbox) (no it's great, I literally asked for this and the reactions have been INCREDIBLE, thank you all!)

I do like Raverne though, I think it's got a nice fancy sound to it! (I had kinda suspected it was going to be an R instead of an L, so the fact that it's SO close to Laverne except for that is hilarious to me personally.) and Dragoneye Duke is honestly probably the best translation for his title, I wasn't envying the localizers that one. :') Baur instead of Baul I was NOT expecting, but in retrospect I think his name's supposed to be a reference to the Bauru crocodile, so that actually makes way more sense!

someone else also said Meleanor has become Maleanor, which is the REALLY weird one to me, because I was so surprised it was written as Mel instead of Mal in the first place?! oh god no I can't decide which one I like better. 😭 (I wonder if they might change it to Mal...they have made romanization changes before) (like I remember House of Distraction being corrected to House of Destruction in Playful Land) (I did check and she's still Mel for now, but I dunno, they might Mal her up and some point and save me from having to make a decision about which one to use) (HECK I CAN'T DECIDE)

uhhhh thank you for letting me ramble about anime names, let's just say MONOGRAMMED SWEATERS FOR EVERYONE

[krazieka2]

Here's a big old Fire Emblem Search & Find I did for the FE3H Masquerade Zine! Find the Golden Deer, but see if you can't find the rest of the students as well! For the ultimate challenge, see if you can't name every character! (Disclaimer two characters are NPCs with no names)

[wasyago]

we're at it again🕺

[tswwwit]

Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact. 

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing. 

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’. 

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally -  and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect. 

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back. 

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process - 

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him. 

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person - 

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with -  and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard. 

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag. 

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring. 

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy. 

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin. 

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses. 

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong. 

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch. 

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape. 

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

 Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught. 

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating. 

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape. 

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place. 

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room. 

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections - 

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap. 

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for  dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades. 

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up. 

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him. 

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass. 

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site. 

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it - 

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic. 

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile. 

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk. 

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’. 

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths. 

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach. 

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?” 

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.” 

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface. 

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him. 

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick.  There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters. 

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

 Is this a phone? 

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’. 

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this? 

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response. 

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. 

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit. 

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that. 

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work. 

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself. 

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down. 

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end. 

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line. 

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep. 

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal. 

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the - 

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just  

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly. 

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension. 

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon. 

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those. 

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did. 

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again. 

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen. 

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides.  The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing.  No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds. 

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious. 

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement. 

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe. 

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts. 

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed. 

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself. 

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen. 

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless. 

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst - 

The next line of text comes in. 

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take. 

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands. 

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types, 

Try me.

[asphodeldreams]

it's actually insane to me how many rvb fans have only gotten into the show in the past like 2 years. looking at the survey results so far is breaking my brain i think because 2022-2024 is in the top three for that question currently. like in the time between zero/family shatters and restoration there was practically NOTHING happening with the series what do you mean this many people STARTED watching it then?? also i see so many people on my dash who are like "watching for the first time i'm on season 6 teehee" HELLO?? should-should i tag for spoilers on my rvb posts??