â§.* taking requests for characters from media i am the most familiar with (the o.c., attack on titan, the vampire diaries, the originals, teen wolf, supernatural, true blood, game of thrones, a knight of the 7 kingdoms, house of the dragon, outer banks, the walking dead, shameless)
â§.* taking requests for any and all genders, races, ethnicities, etc. please be mindful of what themes and plots you incorporate! i'll gladly include nsfw themes, as long as the person requesting is 18 and over. with that being said, don't request some freak shit ik damn well i'm not gonna write abt jon snow pissing in ur ass!!
hot take: whenever i read an x reader fic of dex and his north star (especially fluffy domestic ones which is ironic because itâs dex weâre talking about) itâs always so out of character for him.
iâm so tired of the âdex will never do that to uâ narrative. YES HE WOULD. unintentionally, maybe, but still. i get that he wants a north star and would do anything to keep that person in arms reach but did we also forget that whenever he looses control he would def put hands on u??? like what he literally did to dr mercer.
he would probably take a moment to cry and apologize for hurting you when u finally tell him to stop because at the end of the day, that man is pathetic and i luv him for it <3
no hate to all the authors whoâve written about dex being this way, i indulge myself in those fics and i enjoy most of them. this is not me bitching about soft kitten dex because i still do like the fics but itâs also just me moaning about how i could possibly get a very masochistic fic of him because ik the dexnation is freaky in a dead dove being eaten kinda way.
summary: Your boyfriend comes to the apartment with Dex in towâexcept Matt says that some test tubes broke during their fight, and now they're infected with a mysterious airborne substance. And now you're starting to feel it too...
word count: 19.7k+ (pls don't shoot idk how that happened)
pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader x dex poindexter
notes: yeah so... this got... out of hand. i spent weeks on this, whenever i had the *horny urge* i wrote a short scene and i kept doing it for weeks. that's what i get for getting my period every 2 weeks, my hormones like to fuck me just like all the fucking in this
warnings/tags: no use of y/n, established relationship (matt and you), sex pollen, EVERYONE IS CONSENTING!!!, threesome (mmf), fingering (f!receiving), handjob(s), oral (f&m!receiving), unprotected piv, cum play (idk kinda? there's a lot of orgasms in this lol), creampie(s), headlock by dex yes plsss, one use of the word 'slut', a little bit of biting, i meant it when i said a lot of orgasms there's so many omg, grinding, honestly dex is a third wheel, teasing, dex kinda has a humiliation kink honestly, you and matt use dex as a table (?), choking - as in matt chokes dex bc i said so, fingers in mouth (or rather dex sucks ur fingers), a lot of kissing (sadly no dexmatt kiss i'm so sorry y'all i'll make up for it next time), slight edging, dex has a praise kink (he just wants to fuck you good!), 69ing with some pizzazz, kinda cum eating?, bratty!dex, dom!matt, sub/switch!dex, it's kinda a competition to see who can fuck u better, lightly proofread
The lock clicks, then the door shoves open like somebody hit it with a shoulder instead of a key, and the first thing you hear is a breath that doesnât belong in your quiet apartment. Itâs too rough, too fast, the kind of breathing that comes after a sprint or a fight, and then thereâs the scrape of boots on the wood floor as someone drags weight over the threshold.
You sit up against your pillows, nightgown twisted around your thighs, skin warm from sleep, and you blink hard at the clock because your brain tries to insist this is a nightmare before it accepts that Matt is actually home, and he didnât come home alone. âMatt?â Your voice comes out husky, still fogged with sleep, and you swing your legs over the side of the bed as your pulse starts climbing. âWhat the hell is going on?â
âStay in the bedroom,â Matt says immediately, and the way he says it makes your stomach tighten because itâs not a suggestion. Itâs his command-voiceâhis Daredevil-voiceâthe one he uses when something is wrong, and he doesnât want you anywhere near it.
You ignore him anyway, because you always do when itâs your apartment and your life, and you can hear him struggling to keep somebody upright. You move down the hall barefoot, the hardwood cool under your feet, and you catch the shape of him in the living room by the dim kitchen light. Heâs still in his suit, mask off, shoulders rising and falling too hard. One of his hands is clamped around an arm that doesnât belong to him, hauling a second man forward like heâs refusing to let him hit the floor.
The second man stumbles, catches himself at the wall with a palm, then tilts his head toward you with a lazy kind of confidence that doesnât match how unsteady he is. Heâs dressed in blue gear that looks expensive and ruined at the same time, and the second his eyes land on you, his mouth curls like he just found something amusing. âWell,â he says, drawing it out like heâs tasting the word. âHi.â
You stare at him, then back at Matt, and you donât bother lowering your voice. âWhy is there a stranger in my apartment, and why does he look like he crawled out of a fire?â
Mattâs head turns in your direction with that pinpoint focus he always has when heâs tracking your voice. âHeâs not a stranger to me,â he says, and you can hear how carefully controlled heâs being. âHeâs hurt and I didnât have another choice.â
Dex laughs under his breath like thatâs the funniest thing heâs heard all week. âYou make it sound like you rescued a kitten. Iâm touched.â
Mattâs grip tightens on Dexâs arm, and Dex hisses like it actually hurts. âWatch your mouth,â Matt snaps, then forces his voice back down when he speaks to you again. âWe ran into each other on a call. There was a lab. Something broke. There were⌠containers.â
âContainers,â you repeat, flat, because itâs absurd and vague and you can see the way Mattâs suit is flecked with something that might be dust or dried chemical residue. âYouâre bleeding?â
âIâm fine,â Matt says too fast, which is how you know he isnât, and his shoulders hunch like heâs bracing against heat or pain. âItâs not bad.â
Dex slides down the wall like heâs trying to sit without admitting he needs to, then he looks at you again with that same sharp interest that makes your skin crawl. His gaze drags, slow and deliberate, from your face to the thin fabric of your nightgown and back up, and he doesnât even pretend heâs being subtle.
You fold your arms over your chest and let your expression go cold. âCan I help you?â
His smile widens a fraction. âYouâre prettier than I pictured.â
Mattâs head snaps toward Dex so sharply itâs almost violent, and for a second you see the exact moment his restraint threatens to split. âDonât,â Matt says, low and dangerous.
Dexâs eyes flick up, mocking. âDonât what? Look? Talk? Breathe in her general direction?â
You step closer without thinking, because you hate the way Dex is taking up space in your living room like he belongs here, and you hate even more that Matt is shaking with something that looks like exhaustion mixed with anger. Up close you can see the sweat at Mattâs temples, the damp hair stuck to his forehead, and the way his chest rises like heâs struggling to pull air deep enough.
âMatt,â you say, softer now, because whatever this is, itâs making him feel wrong in his own body. âTalk to me. What happened?â
Matt swallows, and his jaw flexes. âWe fought,â he admits, like it costs him to say it with you standing there. âHe showed up where he shouldnât have been. We went through a glass enclosure, and there were test tubes inside it. They shattered.â
Dex shifts, his voice turning conversational like heâs discussing the weather instead of the aftermath of a fight. âYou shouldâve seen his face when the thing popped. Real dramatic. Whole room went sparkly.â
âYouâre enjoying this,â you say, and you donât bother hiding how much you dislike him.
Dex tips his head. âI enjoy most things.â
Matt exhales through his nose like heâs trying not to say something that would turn this into an even bigger disaster. âThere was a chemical. I donât know what it was. I just know the heat hit fast, and then we both went down for a minute.â
He shifts his grip, reaches into his suit with his free hand, and you instinctively lean forward because the motion looks clumsy, like his hands donât want to cooperate. When he pulls his fist back out, heâs holding a broken length of glass, the snapped end jagged and cloudy like something coated the inside.
âI kept a piece,â Matt says, and his voice is tight with the kind of practicality that always kicks in when heâs scared. âI didnât want to leave without something. If we can figure out what it wasââ
âMatt,â you cut in, because the glass makes your stomach drop. âWhy are you holding that with your bare hand?â
âIâm not cut,â he says, and you can tell heâs telling the truth, because his voice doesnât hitch the way it does when he lies to you. âItâs not sharp on this end.â
Dex snorts. âSure. Heâs very careful, your boyfriend. Extremely careful. Thatâs why he dragged his enemy into your apartment at midnight, wearing his murder pajamas.â
Your eyes cut to Dex. âStop talking.â
Dexâs grin turns delighted. âAw. You tell him what to do too? Thatâs cute.â
Mattâs patience finally cracks in a way that has nothing to do with you. He yanks Dexâs arm up, not enough to dislocate anything, but enough to remind Dex whoâs stronger, then he shoves him toward the couch with a controlled kind of force. Dex stumbles, catches himself on the back cushion, and laughs again like itâs foreplay.
âSit,â Matt says, clipped. âAnd if you say one more thing about her, Iâm putting you through the wall.â
Dex settles onto the couch with exaggerated ease, stretching his legs out like heâs in a waiting room. âSure. Whatever you say.â
Matt turns back to you, and the aggression falls away from his face like it was never there, replaced by something strained and urgent. He holds the broken tube out in your direction, and you take it because you donât want it in his hand anymore, even though you donât know what youâre supposed to do with it.
The glass is warm, warmer than it should be, and the cloudy residue inside catches the light faintly. You angle it away from your body on instinct, then look up at Matt. âOkay. You brought me⌠a dirty shard of a test tube.â
âI know,â Matt says, and he sounds frustrated with himself, like he can hear how ridiculous it is. âI didnât think. I justâI wanted it here. Safe.â
âYou couldnât have put it in a bag?â you say, and you canât help it, because your nerves are trying to get relief through sarcasm. âOr a sock? Or literally anything that isnât my bare hands?â
Mattâs mouth twitches, but itâs not a smile, not really. âIâll clean up after. I just need you toââ He cuts himself off, breath stuttering like the heat is spiking again. âI need you to help me keep a clear head.â
You donât say what youâre thinking, which is that he doesnât look like he has one right now. Instead, you lift your chin toward the bathroom. âBoth of you need to change, shower if you can. At least get those suits off, because whatever this was, itâs on you.â
Dexâs voice floats over, bright with amusement. âOh, yeah. Tell him to take it off.â
Your eyes flick to him again, and you donât bother masking the disgust. âYou can shut up and do as youâre told too.â
Dex raises an eyebrow. âBossy. I like it.â
Matt takes a step toward him like heâs about to make good on the wall threat, but you touch Mattâs forearm before he can. âMatt,â you say, grounding him, and his head turns back to you immediately. âBathroom. Now.â
His throat works, and he nods once, sharp and obedient, because he trusts you. âDex first. Iâm not letting him wander.â
Dex pushes himself up with a lazy stretch, then pauses just long enough to look you up and down again, slow as he pleases. âYour nightgownâs a nice touch,â he murmurs.
Mattâs hand shoots out and clamps on Dexâs shoulder, and Dex makes a sound thatâs half laugh, half choke. âMove,â Matt growls.
Dex lifts both hands like heâs surrendering, but the grin never leaves. âOkay, okay. Lead the way.â
You step back to give them space, holding the broken glass out away from your body like itâs something that might bite you. Matt herds Dex down the hall, and you watch them disappear into the bathroom, the door shutting with a firm click that sounds like Matt trying to lock his temper away in the same place.
For a second, the apartment is quieter, except for the muffled sound of water turning on and the rough edge of Mattâs breathing bleeding through the door. You look down at the test tube shard in your hand, then at your nightgown, then toward the kitchen where you keep plastic bags and gloves under the sink, and you mutter to yourself because you canât believe this is your life. âOkay,â you say under your breath, moving toward the kitchen. âCold water. Towels. Gloves. Something to cool them down. Then we figure out what the hell you two brought home.â
From the bathroom, Dexâs voice carries, too clear, too smug. âSo, this is the girlfriend.â
Mattâs reply is low and sharp enough that even through the door you hear the warning. âDonât.â
Dex laughs again, softer this time, like heâs savoring it. âGod, youâre fun.â
You grab a roll of paper towels with one hand, dig for a plastic bag with the other, and you tell yourself youâre not going to let Dex get under your skin, because youâve dealt with Mattâs stubbornness, his bruises, his secrets, and the way he tries to carry the whole city alone, and you can handle one sarcastic asshole on your couch.
Then the warmth hits you, subtle at first, like your apartment suddenly got too hot even though the thermostat hasnât changed, and you pause with your fingers still in the cabinet because your skin prickles in a way that makes no sense.
You take a breath, then another, and the air feels thick in your lungs, not choking, just⌠heavy, like itâs carrying something you didnât notice before. âMatt,â you call, raising your voice toward the bathroom. âHow sure are you that stuff wasnât airborne?â
Thereâs a pause, water still running, and then his voice comes back through the door, tight with a kind of grim certainty. âIâm not sure,â he admits. âBut I think it was.â
Your stomach drops, and you stare down at the glass shard in your hand like it just turned into a live wire. You shove it carefully into the plastic bag, seal it with shaking fingers, and tell yourself youâre being dramatic, because youâre fine, youâre just warm, itâs probably stress, itâs probably adrenalineâ
Except your nightgown suddenly feels too soft and too clingy, and your thighs press together on instinct like youâre trying to get friction from nothing. You swallow hard, forcing your hands to keep moving, forcing your brain to stay on the list of practical tasks you can control.
Cold packs. Water. Clothes. Get them out of the contaminated suits.
You grab two bottles of water from the fridge, then a third, because Dex can suffer but dehydration is still dehydration, and you yank the freezer open for ice packs. The cold air hits your face, and it should feel good, but it only makes the heat under your skin feel sharper by contrast.
You stand there longer than you mean to, letting the freezerâs cold wash over you while your pulse kicks harder for no reason you want to name. Your nipples tighten under the nightgown, your stomach flips, and you force your mouth into a hard line because this cannot be happening, not tonight, not with Dex in your living room and Matt barely holding himself together.
The water shuts off and then there are two sets of footsteps. One steady, one dragging with theatrical exaggeration.
You straighten up, slam the freezer closed, and turn with the water bottles in hand like youâre about to run a triage station, because if you keep moving, you can pretend your body isnât suddenly acting like youâre the one who came home from a fight covered in whatever the hell was in that lab.
You hand them the water bottles like youâre running a field hospital out of your kitchen, and the second Mattâs fingers brush yours you feel how hot he is, like his skin is holding heat instead of just warming you the way it normally does. Dex takes his bottle without a thank you, of course, twisting the cap with a lazy flick and drinking like heâs trying to look unbothered, even though sweat is still beading at his hairline.
âSit,â you tell them, nodding toward the couch and the armchair like youâre assigning stations. âBoth of you. If either of you falls over, Iâm not catching you.â
âIâm not going to fall,â Matt says, and he sounds like heâs trying to convince himself as much as you. Heâs in a dark t-shirt and sweatpants now, hair damp from the quick rinse, suit shoved somewhere in the bathroom, and heâs still breathing like his lungs are running behind his body. He stands there for a second, head slightly tilted, listening to the room like heâs trying to find the chemical in the air by sound alone.
Dex drops onto the couch and sprawls like he lives there, one arm slung over the back cushion. Matt doesnât sit, not yet, and you can tell heâs vibrating with it, the need to keep moving, to keep control, to not let his body win.
âYou said you donât know what it was,â you say, and you keep your voice even because if you let yourself sound scared, youâll make Matt spiral. âDid you see labels? Any markings? Anything at all?â
Dex snorts into his water bottle. âHe didnât see shit.â
Mattâs jaw tightens hard enough that you can see it. âThere were racks. Glass. It was like a display enclosure more than storage. Maybe a demonstration.â He pauses, then adds like he hates the words, âthere was a sweet smell. Like⌠hot metal and sugar.â
âThatâs helpful,â you say automatically, even though it isnât, and you can feel your own skin prickling again, that wrong warmth spreading across your chest and down your stomach. You shift your weight, trying to ignore it, trying to treat it like the apartment just got stuffy because two overheated men dragged themselves in and your adrenaline is still high.
Dexâs gaze drifts to you again, and this time it lingers longer, sharper. âYouâre sweating,â he says, like itâs an observation and a victory at the same time.
âIâm fine,â you snap without thinking, and it comes out too fast, too defensive, which is annoying because it makes it sound like you arenât fine.
Mattâs head turns toward you immediately, and his voice drops into that careful calm he uses when heâs trying not to panic. âYouâre sweating?â
âMatt,â you say, trying to laugh it off, but it sounds thin. âItâs late, my boyfriend came home half-dead with a lunatic, Iâm running on caffeine and anxiety. Iâm allowed to sweat.â
Dexâs mouth curls. âHeâs not your boyfriend right now. Heâs a furnace.â
âOkay,â you say, too bright, already done with him. You point toward the hallway. âNo more commentary from the peanut gallery. Youâre sitting there, youâre drinking water, and youâre shutting up.â
Dex lifts his hands in fake surrender again, then settles back with an obnoxiously pleased look on his face. âYes, maâam.â
Matt finally lowers himself into the armchair, but he doesnât relax into it. His hands stay on his thighs like heâs bracing, and when he exhales itâs rough, like the air drags. You set the ice packs on the coffee table and slide one toward him, and another toward Dex, trying to keep this practical because practical means youâre not thinking about the heat crawling under your nightgown.
âPut those on your neck,â you tell them. âOr your wrists. Something.â
Dex picks his up, presses it to his throat, and groans like heâs being dramatic on purpose. âOh, thatâs nice.â
Matt takes his, but he doesnât immediately put it on. He lifts it, then pauses like heâs listening again, and his head tilts toward you in a way that makes your stomach drop because heâs noticed something, and Matt noticing something is never casual. âYouâre breathing differently,â he says.
You stare at him. âWhat?â
âYouâre breathing differently,â he repeats, steady, like heâs trying to keep it neutral. âItâs⌠faster.â
Dexâs eyes flick between you and Matt, and his smile turns sharp, like heâs watching a show start. âUh-oh.â
âIâm fine,â you insist again, and you hate how your voice shakes at the end, because it makes Mattâs posture go even tighter.
Mattâs hands curl around the ice pack, and he forces himself to stay seated. âTell me if you feel anything,â he says, and thereâs a hard edge beneath the calm. âIf itâs airborne, youâre exposed too.â
âI know,â you say, and you hate that the admission makes the warmth in your body flare like itâs responding to being acknowledged. You swallow and shift again, rubbing your thighs together without meaning to, then stopping when you realize you did it. âIâm going to look it up. Something has to match those symptoms.â
Dexâs gaze drops to your legs like heâs cataloging the movement, and your cheeks go hot in a way that isnât just temperature. You pick up your phone before you can think too hard about that, because thinking too hard about Dex watching you is a problem you donât want tonight.
You walk into the kitchen with your phone in hand, because if you stay in the living room with both of them staring at you in different ways, youâre going to lose your mind. You type fast, thumbs slipping a little because your hands feel clammy.
You stare at the results like theyâre in another language, and you scroll anyway, because youâre stubborn and you need something concrete. Your mind keeps snagging on the words sweet smell, heat, exposure, and every time you try to force it back onto âpoisonâ or âirritantâ your body does something else entirely, like itâs dragging you toward a different conclusion. Your nipples ache against the thin fabric of your nightgown, your stomach tightens low, and the slick heat between your thighs becomes impossible to pretend is stress.
You type again, more frantic.
Your phone gives you a bunch of useless articles, clickbait and vague warnings and the word aphrodisiac showing up in places that make your pulse jump. You read half a sentence, then realize youâre not reading at all because the heat in your body is swallowing your attention. You grip the counter and try to breathe slowly like that will fix it, but the second you inhale, the air feels thick again, and the warmth in your lungs makes your thighs clench.
From the living room, you hear Dexâs voice carrying, casual and taunting. âSo, how long you think before she starts climbing you like a tree?â
Mattâs voice is low, dangerous. âDonât talk about her.â
Dex laughs, and you hate that the sound makes something flutter in your stomach, like your body is reacting to the idea before your brain can slam the door on it. You squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to think about anything else. Cold water. Ice packs. Gloves. Cleaning supplies. Bag the glass shard. Call someone. Callâ
You realize youâre holding your breath, and when you exhale it trembles.
Your nightgown clings to your stomach and thighs, damp where youâre sweating, and the sensation is suddenly unbearable, too soft, too much. You tug at the fabric like itâs suffocating you, then stop because your hands shake, and youâre not sure if itâs fear or need. Your phone is still in your hand, screen glowing with the word arousal, and you want to throw it across the room.
Instead, you set it down on the counter, hard, like you can punish it into giving you a better answer. âOkay,â you mutter to yourself, voice tight. âOkay. Iâm not doing this. Iâm notââ
You walk out of the kitchen, meaning to go back to the living room, meaning to keep control of the situation, meaning to tell Matt what you found and keep Dex from running his mouth. Halfway down the hall, the heat spikes again, sharper, and you stop like you ran into a wall.
Your skin feels too sensitive, like every brush of air is a touch. Your panties suddenly feel like a cruel joke, a thin strip of fabric thatâs rubbing exactly where you canât stand it, and you press your thighs together hard enough that it almost hurts. You try to keep walking, you really do, but your knees go a little weak and your breath catches, and you end up turning into the bedroom without making the decision out loud.
The room is dim and familiar and smells like you and Matt, clean sheets and laundry detergent and something warm underneath, and that makes it worse, because it makes the need feel safe enough to bloom.
You shut the door halfway behind you, not all the way because you donât want to look suspicious, and you stand against the wall with your back against it like youâre steadying yourself. Your nightgown rides up when you shift, and the cool air hits your thighs, and your body reacts so hard you actually gasp.
âFuck,â you whisper.
You try to be rational again, you try to talk yourself down like youâve never been turned on before in your life, like this is just horny and not chemical and not dangerous. You tell yourself you can take a cold shower, you can drink water, you can breathe it out, and then your fingers slide under the hem of your nightgown anyway, because your body is done waiting for your permission.
Your hand slips into your panties, and the second your fingertips find your slick pussy you go still, eyes squeezed shut, because the relief is immediate and dizzying. You bite your lip hard enough to sting, because the sound that wants to come out of you is not something you can let Dex hear from your bedroom, not when heâs sitting on your couch like a smug parasite.
You circle your clit carefully at first, trying to keep it quiet, trying to keep it controlled, and it doesnât work. Your hips rock into your hand without you telling them to, and the wet sound of your fingers moving makes your cheeks burn. You press your head against the wall, breathing through your nose, trying to keep your mouth shut, but the heat keeps climbing, building like pressure under your skin.
âCome on,â you whisper to yourself, harsh and frustrated, like you can bully your body into settling down. âJustâjust calm down.â
You donât calm down. Your fingers slide lower, two of them pushing into your cunt with a slow, shaking thrust, and you have to clamp your other hand over your mouth momentarily because the moan nearly spills out anyway. The stretch makes your stomach flip, makes your thighs tremble, and you canât decide which is worse: the relief or the fact that itâs making you want more instead of fixing anything.
You pull your fingers out, then push them back in again, deeper this time, and your knees flex like youâre about to sink to the floor. You grip the fabric of your nightgown at your waist with your free hand, bunching it up so you can spread your legs wider, because youâre chasing friction now, chasing anything that makes the burning need feel like it has a direction.
The thought of Matt flashes through your head, automatic, grounding and devastating. Mattâs hands. Mattâs mouth. Mattâs voice telling you what to do when you canât think straight.
Then Dexâs voice flashes too, the way he looked at you, the way he said youâre sweating, the way he keeps pressing at Matt like he wants a reaction. The idea of Dex hearing you through the wall makes your stomach clench again, and itâs not all disgust, and that realization pisses you off so much that you shove your fingers in deeper like you can punish yourself back into sense.
Youâre panting now, sweat slick on your back, nightgown twisted up around your ribs, and you canât get enough air. Your clit throbs under your thumb, oversensitive, and you move faster even though youâre trying not to. The sound of your own wetness fills your ears, and you tilt your head back like youâre trying to keep your mouth away from the urge to moan.
From the living room, you hear a muffled sound, probably Dex shifting, maybe Matt saying something sharp, and you freeze for half a second, panic jolting through you. You listen hard, holding your breath, fingers still buried in your cunt.
No footsteps yet.
You swallow, shaky, and start moving again because stopping feels like dying. You bite your lip again, harder, and the sting makes your eyes water, but it keeps you quiet. Your body builds toward the edge anyway, tightening and tightening until it feels like your skin is going to split open with it.
âFuck,â you breathe, almost silent, and you chase the pressure harder because you need it to break. Right as you feel your orgasm start to crest, the sound of footsteps hits the hallway, steady and purposeful, and your whole body jolts like youâve been caught doing something criminal.
Mattâs footsteps.
Theyâre careful, controlled, and they stop outside your bedroom door for half a beat like heâs listening, like he already knows exactly what youâre doing, because he always knows. Mattâs footsteps stay outside the door for a beat too long, and you can feel him there the way you always can when heâs focused, like the air in the room shifts around his attention. You freeze with your hand still in your panties, fingers slick, thighs trembling, breath coming in shallow, broken pulls that youâre trying to force quieter.
The door nudges open, not hard, just enough that it moves on its hinges with a soft click, and Mattâs voice follows immediately, low and careful like heâs holding himself back by the teeth. âSweetheart⌠are you okay?â
You swallow, throat tight, and you try to make your face normal even though you canât stop shaking. Your fingers twitch against your cunt, and the tiny movement shoots a hot jolt straight up your spine. âYeah,â you say too fast, and it comes out wrecked anyway, breathy and cracked like youâre already begging. âIâm fine. I justâIâm hot. Iâm justââ
Matt steps in and closes the door behind him with the gentlest touch, like he doesnât want the sound to carry, and then he stops again, head tilted, listening to you the way he listens to everything. You know he can hear your pulse slamming in your throat, can hear how wet you are, can hear the way youâre trying to keep your breathing from turning into moans.
âYouâre not fine,â he says, and it isnât accusing, itâs steady, like heâs naming a fact. âTalk to me.â
You laugh once, short and sharp, because itâs either that or cry. âI tried to look it up. I tried to be normal about it. Iââ You cut yourself off when your hips rock into your own hand again, helpless, and your eyes squeeze shut. âMatt, I canâtâI canât think.â
He crosses the room fast, but not frantic, and the difference matters because itâs Matt; even when heâs losing control, he tries to make you feel safe first. His hand finds your wrist unerringly, gentle but firm, stopping your movement for a second, not taking it away, just holding you still long enough that you have to breathe.
âHey,â he murmurs, closer now, and his other hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like heâs checking if youâre real. âLook at me.â
You do, because you always do, and the sight of him in the dim light makes something inside you twist. He looks wrecked too, sweat still at his temples, hair damp, t-shirt clinging to his chest, and his mouth is set in this tight line like heâs trying to be your anchor while his own body is on fire.
âYou donât have to lie,â he says softly, and his thumb drags across your lower lip, slow and grounding. âDo you want help?â
Your throat bobs, and you try to answer like a normal person instead of somebody with their panties soaked through, but it comes out raw. âYes.â
Matt doesnât move right away. He holds your face, keeps his thumb at your lip like heâs keeping you from spinning out, and his voice drops even lower. âSay it again.â
Your breath shudders, and you nod even though you know he doesnât need the nod, he needs the words. âYes, Matt. I want help.â
His jaw flexes. His shoulders rise and fall once like heâs pulling himself together on purpose, and then he asks you the question that always matters more than anything else, even now, even like this. âTell me what you want,â he says, and his voice is steady enough that it makes your eyes sting. âUse words.â
You wet your lips, and your cheeks burn because it feels too explicit to say out loud when he can already hear it, when he already knows, but he makes you do it anyway because thatâs how he keeps you safe in the middle of chaos. âI want your fingers,â you manage, breath shaking. âI want you to make it stopâor make it better, I donât know, just⌠please.â
Matt makes a sound in the back of his throat like the words hit him in the gut, and then his grip on your wrist loosens. He slides your hand out of your panties and brings it up, pressing your slick fingers to his mouth in a way that makes your stomach flip so hard you almost lose your balance.
He kisses your fingertips, slow and wet, and then he licks them, once, deliberate, like heâs tasting exactly what you need. His breath is hot against your skin, and he exhales through his nose like it hurts. âOkay,â he says against your fingers, voice rougher now. âIâve got you.â
You barely have time to nod before his hand replaces yours, sliding down into your panties like he belongs there, like he owns the space because you gave it to him. He moves slow at first, two fingers brushing through your wetness, spreading it, teasing your entrance like heâs forcing himself to be careful even though your hips buck toward him immediately.
âFuck,â you whisper, and itâs tiny, but Matt hears it anyway. His mouth finds yours, messy and hungry, like heâs starving and trying not to scare you with it. The kiss turns into something hot and open-mouthed almost instantly, your lips parting because you canât do anything else, your hands grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself upright.
Mattâs fingers sink into you, steady and deep, curling just right, and you make a strangled sound into his mouth because itâs too much relief and not enough at the same time. He keeps kissing you like heâs trying to swallow your noises, and the way he breathes tells you his control is fraying too, his exhale stuttering against your cheek.
âGood,â he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak, then kissing you again before you can answer. âThatâs it. Let me.â
You whine, hips chasing his hand, and your back hits the wall harder as you try to grind into him. Matt adjusts instantly, stepping closer, pinning you with his body without crushing you, and itâs the best kind of pressure because it keeps you from sliding apart.
Your hands are everywhere, grabbing at him like you need proof heâs here, and then your palms find the front of his sweatpants and you can feel him through them, hard and thick, and it makes you gasp into his mouth.
âMatt,â you breathe, half warning, half plea, and you rub him without thinking, dragging your hand over his cock through the fabric because the friction makes your whole body light up. He shudders, and his fingers thrust deeper like his restraint slipped a notch.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to yours, breathing hard enough that you feel it. âJesus,â he mutters, and itâs the closest youâve ever heard him come to sounding undone. âYouâre soaked.â
âI canâtââ you start, and your voice breaks when his thumb finds your clit and presses in firm, circling just right. âI canât, Iâm gonnaââ
âGo on,â Matt says, and his tone turns quietly possessive, not harsh, just certain. âCome for me.â
Your body snaps tight, knees shaking, and you clamp a hand over your mouth too late because the sound still leaks, broken and desperate. You grind into his hand, rubbing his cock harder because you canât help it, and Mattâs breath turns ragged as he holds you steady and keeps working you through it.
You come fast, like your body was right at the edge already and he just pushed you over, shaking so hard your shoulders hit the wall again. Your cunt pulses around his fingers, wet and tight, and you moan his name into your palm like itâs a prayer and a plea all at once.
Matt doesnât stop when you finish. He slows down, but he keeps moving, stroking you through the aftershocks with a tenderness thatâs almost cruel because it drags the sensation out until youâre trembling and oversensitive, hips twitching away and then back again because you donât want it to end.
âThatâs it,â he murmurs, mouth at your cheek, kissing the corner of your jaw, then the side of your throat. âThatâs my girl. Breathe.â
You try to, but every breath comes out shaky, and you can feel him shaking too. His chest rises hard against yours, his heart hammering so loud you can feel it through the thin fabric of his shirt, and his hand at your clit presses a little firmer like heâs fighting his own need by pouring it into you instead.
âMatt,â you whisper, voice ruined, and you tug him closer by the shirt like you need him to anchor you. âYouâre⌠youâre not okay either.â
âIâm fine,â he lies automatically, and then exhales like he hates himself for it. His thumb keeps circling your clit, his fingers still inside you, and his hips jerk once when you brush his cock again through his sweats. âIâm managing.â
âYouâre breathing like you ran a marathon,â you say, a shaky attempt at normal that falls apart when his hand hits a spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back. âAnd youâre hard.â
Matt lets out a rough laugh that doesnât sound amused. âYeah,â he admits, and his voice goes lower, tighter. âI noticed.â
You slide your hand over him again, slower this time, feeling the heat of him through the fabric, and Mattâs fingers stutter inside you like he lost the rhythm for a second. He pulls his mouth away from yours just enough to speak, and the words come out controlled only by force.
âTell me you want me to keep going,â he says, because even now he needs it said. âTell me.â
Your stomach flips, your cunt clenches around his fingers, and you nod too hard before you remember he wants words.
âI want you to keep going,â you say, breathless and shameless. âDonât stop. Please, Matt, donât stop.â
His hand flexes inside you again, and you feel him shudder against you like the fever is chewing through his restraint. He kisses you hard, messy, and keeps fingering you like heâs trying to chase the chemical out of both your bodies one orgasm at a time, even though you can hear it in his breath that heâs right on the edge of losing control too.
âYou guys gonna do that all night, or are we sharing?â
Dexâs voice carries through the door like heâs leaning right up against it, like he wants you to know heâs listening on purpose, and it makes your whole body clench around Mattâs fingers.
Matt doesnât flinch the way a normal person would. He goes still in that specific way he does when heâs deciding whether to be a man or a weapon, and his hand doesnât stop moving even while his head turns toward the sound like he can see Dex perfectly through the wood. âGet out,â Matt says, and his voice is calm enough to be terrifying.
The doorknob turns anyway, and then the door opens just enough for light from the hallway to cut across the room, and Dex fills the gap with a grin and a body language that screams entitlement. Heâs in Mattâs clothes like itâs a joke heâs telling with his whole presence, sweat darkening the collar of the t-shirt, hair damp, cheeks flushed. His eyes flick right to Mattâs hand between your thighs, then slide up your body, lingering on your bunched nightgown and your bare legs like heâs taking inventory.
âWow,â Dex drawls. âAnd here I was thinking we were gonna be civilized about it.â
Mattâs hand tightens at your jaw, thumb still at your lip like heâs anchoring you there, and his other hand stays inside your panties like it belongs. âI said get out,â he repeats, and itâs not louder, itâs just sharper.
Dex leans on the doorframe like he lives there, like this is his apartment too and heâs just wandered into the room for a snack. âWhat, you gonna hit me? You gonna throw me out with your big righteousness routine?â
âDex,â Matt says, and the warning in his tone is the same one youâve heard on rooftops when heâs cornered someone and hasnât decided yet how merciful heâs feeling. âLeave.â
You should say itâyou should tell Dex to fuck off. You should tell Matt to shut the door, lock it, and keep taking care of you like he was. You can feel your body screaming for that simple outcome, begging for just Mattâs hand and his mouth and no complications.
Instead you hear yourself say, breathless and wrecked, âdonât leave.â
The words hang in the air for a beat, and itâs so quiet you can hear your own pulse thundering. Matt freezes like somebody stabbed him with the sentence, and Dexâs expression changes instantly, the grin turning sharp and delighted like you just handed him a key.
Mattâs head turns back to you, and his thumb presses at your lower lip, a soft demand. âSweetheart,â he says carefully, âtell me what you mean.â
Your throat works, and your cheeks burn because you know how it sounds, you know how this looks, you know youâre standing here with Mattâs fingers inside you and your panties soaked and your nightgown twisted up like you got caught doing something you shouldnât. You still say it anyway because the heat in your body doesnât care about dignity, and because Matt asked you for words.
âI mean,â you manage, voice shaking, âI donât want you to go. I donât want you to stop. I donât want himââ You swallow hard, and your hips twitch against Mattâs hand like your body is trying to talk for you. âI donât want him to leave either.â
Mattâs jaw flexes, and his fingers donât move for a second, like heâs forcing himself to prioritize the conversation over the way youâre clenching around him, and then he speaks like heâs laying down law in his own bedroom.
âYou donât touch her,â Matt says to Dex, voice flat. âYou donât come near her unless she says so again while youâre standing right here and I can hear her say it. You understand me?â
Dexâs smile turns almost polite, which is somehow worse. âYeah, yeah, I get it. Consent. Boundaries. Gold star, counselor.â
Matt doesnât look at him, but his hand at your jaw tightens a fraction. âTell me,â Matt says to you, slow and steady, âif you want him involved right now. Say it clearly.â
Your lungs pull in a shaky breath. You can feel Dexâs eyes on you like a physical pressure, and you can feel Mattâs body heat pressed close, the steady weight of him holding you upright. You donât want Dex to have power over this, you want it to be yours. You nod, then force the words out because Matt needs the words. âI want him,â you say, and it comes out filthy in a way that makes you shiver. âI want⌠both of you. I want it to feel good. I want it to stop feeling like Iâm gonna crawl out of my skin.â
Matt inhales through his nose, the sound tight. âOkay,â he says, like heâs agreeing to something dangerous because you asked. âThen it happens my way.â
Dex pushes off the doorframe and steps into the room like heâs been invited to a party he already planned to crash. âYour way,â Dex repeats, amused, and his gaze drops again to your thighs, to the wet line at the edge of your panties. âSure. Iâm flexible.â
Mattâs hand slips out of your panties, and you make a small, involuntary sound because the sudden emptiness is almost painful. He immediately replaces it with his palm over your cunt through the fabric, pressing firm enough to keep you from chasing him, and he leans in close to your ear. âWeâre moving,â he murmurs. âBed. Hold onto me.â
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and Matt lifts you like itâs nothing, like your body is just another thing he knows by weight and balance and memory. He carries you the few steps to the bed, guiding you down onto the mattress with a gentleness that doesnât match the heat burning through the room. The sheets are cool for half a second before your skin turns them warm.
Dex circles closer, eyes bright. âThis is adorable,â he says, and the sarcasm doesnât hide the hunger in his voice.
âShut up,â you tell him, and it comes out breathless, half a laugh and half a warning, because your body is already arching for touch again.
Dexâs grin widens. âYes, maâam.â
Matt kneels on the bed beside you, then over you, and the way he positions himself is so Matt it almost makes you dizzy. His palm slides up your thigh, fingers splaying like heâs mapping you, grounding you. He hooks a finger under the strap of your nightgown and drags it down your shoulder just to kiss the skin there, slow and possessive, like heâs reminding you whose mouth youâre about to be moaning into.
Dex reaches for you, and Matt catches his wrist without even looking, grip iron. âAsk,â Matt says.
Dex holds your gaze, and his voice drops just enough to feel more real. âCan I?â
You swallow. Youâre still trembling, still slick, still aching in a way that feels endless, and you nod once before forcing it into words, because Matt made you do that, and it matters. âYes,â you say.
Dex exhales like that was the only permission he needed, and then heâs climbing onto the mattress like he belongs there, pushing your knees apart with hands that are firm and unashamed. His grip isnât rough enough to hurt, but itâs controlling, pinning you open like youâre something heâs been hungry for since the moment he saw you.
âYouâre gonna hate how much you like this,â Dex murmurs, and then he tugs once, hard, and your panties tear with a quick rip that makes you gasp.
âDex!â you start, half shocked, half turned on by the audacity, and Mattâs hand slides up your throat at the same time, not choking, just holding you steady, thumb under your jaw like heâs keeping you anchored in your own body.
âBreathe,â Matt says against your mouth, then kisses you before you can say anything else.
Dex doesnât waste a second, he grabs your thighs and drags you closer, burying his face between your legs like heâs trying to inhale you. His mouth is hot and wet and mean about it, tongue flattening and pressing hard against your clit like he wants you to break fast. The sound is obscene immediately, loud enough that you jerk and try to clamp your legs shut on instinct.
Dexâs hands tighten on your thighs and hold you open. âNah,â he mutters into you, voice vibrating against your pussy. âNot running.â
Your back arches off the bed with a strangled noise, and Matt is there instantly, crowding your space above, one hand still at your throat and the other sliding up under your nightgown to cup your breast. His thumb circles your nipple slow at first, then harder when you whimper, and he kisses you like heâs stealing your breath on purpose.
âPut your hand on me,â Matt says, guiding your wrist down to the front of his sweatpants. His cock is hard and heavy under the fabric, and the second your fingers curl around him you moan into Mattâs mouth like you canât help it. âSlow,â Matt warns, voice rough. âTouch me slow. Keep breathing.â
Dex hears Matt directing you, and he gets worse on purpose. His tongue pushes deeper, his mouth noisier, suction turning brutal on your clit until your hips buck hard enough you nearly slide up the bed. Dex holds you in place like heâs built for restraint, palms on your hips now, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel it.
Matt makes a sound in his throat that you feel against your lips more than you hear, and his hand at your breast squeezes like heâs fighting the urge to grab Dex by the hair and drag him off you. Instead he uses it, and the fact that he uses it makes your stomach flip.
âWhat do you think it is?â Matt asks, voice low against your mouth.
You try to answer, you really do, but Dex sucks harder on your clit like heâs punishing you for even attempting to talk, and Matt kisses you again like he doesnât want the words out of you either. You break the kiss with a gasp, trying to speak, and Dex shifts his mouth just enough to drag his tongue along you in a slow, vicious stroke that makes your eyes roll back.
âMatt,â you choke out, voice fractured, âIâI donâtââ
Mattâs thumb presses under your jaw, steadying your head. âUse your words,â he says, and his tone turns gentle in the middle of all this like heâs still your anchor. âTell me.â
Dexâs mouth goes back to your clit, relentless, and you clutch at Mattâs shoulder and stroke his cock through his sweats harder just to keep yourself from losing it. Mattâs hips jerk once into your hand, and his breath turns ragged, but he doesnât stop you. He wants you to feel how much youâre getting to him.
You force your eyes open, force your brain to drag itself back from the edge. âItâsâitâs gotta be an aphrodisiac,â you gasp, and Dex growls into your thigh like he approves. âAirborne. Itâsâitâs making us⌠like this.â
Matt hums like he already knew, mouth brushing your cheek. âAnd?â
You swallow, shaking, because your orgasm is building again, fast and merciless, and Dex is not giving you a single second to calm down. âAnd I thinkââ you try, then choke when Dexâs tongue hits exactly right and your whole body jolts. âI think it needs⌠multiple⌠releases. To burn off. To⌠feel normal.â
Dex mutters something into your thigh, words you feel more than hear, and his grip tightens like heâs proud and furious at the same time. Mattâs hand slides from your breast down your stomach, then between your legs, and for a second you think heâs going to push Dex away.
He doesnâtâMattâs fingers slide into you from above while Dex keeps working your clit, and the double sensation is so sharp you make a broken sound that you canât hide. Mattâs palm presses to your lower belly like heâs holding you in place, and his other hand returns to your throat, steady, not choking, just making you feel owned and safe in the same breath.
âThatâs it,â Matt says, mouth at your ear now, voice so low it feels like a secret. âLet it happen. Iâve got you.â
Dexâs mouth doesnât let up, and you canât stop your hips from bucking against him. Your hand clenches around Matt through his sweats, stroking him in short, desperate movements, and Mattâs breath stutters like heâs right there with you, trying to hold control and failing.
You come hard, the orgasm ripping through you so fast your vision goes white at the edges. Your cunt tightens around Mattâs fingers, your thighs shake against Dexâs hands, and the sound that finally comes out of you is loud and wrecked and absolutely not quiet enough for anyone to pretend this isnât happening.
Matt keeps you steady through it, hand firm at your throat, mouth on yours, kissing you messy while you shake. Dex stays between your legs like heâs starving, licking you through the aftershocks with a stubborn, hungry intensity that makes you twitch and try to squirm away.
âDonât,â Matt warns softly, and the word isnât a reprimand, itâs an instruction. âBreathe. Stay with me.â
Dex lifts his head just enough to look up at you, lips wet, chin shining, eyes bright with something sharp and satisfied. He smirks like heâs won a round, then glances toward Matt like he wants a fight. âSee?â Dex says, voice rough. âSharing. We can all be adults about it.â
Mattâs hand tightens on your throat just a fraction, enough that you feel the threat and the control. âDonât push it,â he says, and the calm in his voice is the kind that makes people smarter.
Dexâs smirk only widens, because of course it does, but Matt doesnât let Dexâs little victory sit in the air for long. His hand stays firm at your throat as you ride out the aftershocks, thumb resting under your jaw like a reminder that youâre still right here with him, still safe, still his responsibility even when youâre begging for things that make him grit his teeth. âUp,â Matt says, voice low, and his palm slides over your hip, guiding you before your legs can decide to give out. âCome here.â
Dex makes a sound like he wants to argue, like he wants to make a joke about being ordered around in another manâs bedroom, but Matt doesnât give him the space. Matt doesnât look at him, he doesnât have to, and the stillness in his posture makes Dex go quieter in the way predators do when they realize theyâre not the only one in the room.
Matt shifts back against the pillows, bracing himself with one hand behind him while the other finds your waist again. He pulls you up by feel, thumbs digging in just enough that it grounds you, and you end up straddling him before you can overthink it. Your nightgown is still bunched up around your hips, your thighs are slick from Dex, your pussy is swollen and oversensitive, and Mattâs sweatpants are a problem you canât ignore.
Dex stays close, kneeling behind you on the mattress, crowding your back without touching yet, like heâs waiting to see what Matt allows. Heâs breathing hard too, the heat in the room making everything feel too close, too intimate, too dangerous.
Mattâs hands map you like heâs memorizing all over again. He starts at your hips, then your waist, then slides up your spine with a slow drag of his fingertips that makes you shiver. He cups the back of your head, and he angles your face down so he can take your mouth the way he wants, slow at first, then deeper when you whimper into him. âTell me youâre with me,â he murmurs against your lips, and it isnât poetic, itâs practical. Itâs Matt making sure youâre still choosing.
âIâm with you,â you breathe, and your voice shakes because the need keeps pulsing through you like a fever.
âGood,â Matt says, and his thumbs press into your hips, guiding you forward. âNow take it.â
He tugs his sweatpants down just enough, and you do the same motion with clumsy fingers, because your hands donât feel coordinated anymore. His cock is hot in your palm, heavy and hard, and the second you brush the head you feel him flinch under you like heâs been holding back since the moment he walked into the apartment.
You line yourself up and sink down, slow because your body is already wrecked, but you still gasp when he fills you. Mattâs hands lock in on your hips, steadying you, and he exhales like it hurts and feels good at the same time.
âFuck,â you whisper, and your forehead drops to his shoulder, because the stretch is perfect and too much, your cunt fluttering around him like itâs trying to pull him deeper.
Matt kisses the side of your head, mouth rough and greedy now that heâs inside you. âThatâs it. Slow. Let me feel you.â
You rock your hips on instinct, searching for the angle that makes your nerves light up, and Matt gives it to you without you even having to ask. He shifts his grip, thumbs digging in, guiding you into a steady rhythm, easing you up and down on him like heâs taking control so you donât have to.
Dex leans closer behind you, breath hot at your ear. âJesus,â he mutters, voice thick, and you can hear the way heâs trying not to sound needy. âHe gets to sit there and you just⌠slide right onto him.â
Mattâs head turns slightly, attention flicking toward Dex without his face changing. âKeep your mouth under control,â Matt says, quiet and deadly. âOr Iâll remind you whose bed youâre kneeling on.â
Dex lets out a low laugh, but it comes out strained, like the chemical has him by the throat too. âYeah, yeah. Big scaryââ
You gasp because Mattâs hips buck up, suddenly deeper, catching a spot inside you that makes your thighs tremble and your pussy clamp around him. Mattâs hand slides to the back of your neck, guiding you down so he can kiss you again, messy and hungry, like heâs using your mouth to keep himself from snapping at Dex with his fists.
Dexâs fingers sneak around your front like he canât help himself. His hand slides between your thighs, finding your clit with a practiced ease that makes you jerk. His touch is rougher than Mattâs, more impatient, rubbing hard enough that it makes your nerves spark and your stomach tighten.
âDexââ you start, voice breaking, and your hips stutter.
Mattâs grip tightens on your hips, keeping you steady on his cock. âBreathe,â he tells you, and he says it like an order because your body needs one. âStay on me.â
Dexâs fingers keep going, rubbing your clit faster, and he presses his mouth to your shoulder like he wants to bite but settles for breathing you in. âYouâre gonna come again,â Dex whispers, too pleased with himself. âYouâre gonna come on his cock and heâs gonna feel it, and Iâm gonnaââ
âDex,â Matt says, and the warning in his voice makes the air feel sharper.
Dex doesnât stop, he canât. Heâs too much of a problem, too much of a little shit, and the heat is making him reckless. âWhat?â he taunts, rubbing your clit harder like heâs trying to make you cry. âYou want her to beg? Sheâs alreadyââ
Mattâs hand slides up from your hip to your jaw, and he tilts your face toward his, kissing you hard enough that it steals your breath. When he pulls back, his voice is low, controlled, and it lands like a line drawn in ink. âShut him up.â
You blink, dazed, and your lips part on a shaky inhale. âMattâŚâ
Mattâs thumb presses at your chin, guiding, not forcing, and the look on his faceâtight, heated, possessiveâmakes your whole body clench around him. âIf you want him here,â Matt says, âthen you listen. Shut him up.â
Dex makes a pleased, ugly sound behind you, like heâs thrilled to be included and furious that itâs on Mattâs terms. âGo on,â Dex murmurs, leaning in closer. âDo what he says.â
You reach back with shaking hands and grab Dex by the collar, yanking him forward. His breath hits your mouth, and then you kiss him, rough and immediate, because youâre too hot for hesitation and because Matt told you to.
Dex melts into it in a way thatâs almost shocking, mouth opening for you like heâs starving, kissing you like he wants to prove something with his tongue. Thereâs anger in it, too, a bitter edge that feels like heâs biting down on his own resentment just to keep kissing you anyway.
Matt fucks up into you while youâre kissing Dex, slow at first, then harder when you whimper into Dexâs mouth. The movement jolts your whole body, makes you cling to Dexâs collar tighter to keep from falling forward, and Mattâs hands keep you anchored on his cock like he refuses to let you slip away into the haze.
Dexâs fingers never stop rubbing your clit. Heâs using you and being used at the same time, and you can feel him shaking behind you like he hates how much he wants it.
Mattâs mouth finds your throat, kissing the skin there, and his voice drops against you. âSay it,â he murmurs. âWho do you belong to?â
Dex goes still for half a second behind you, like the words hit him in a place he didnât want exposed. His kiss turns sharper, almost punishing, like he wants to keep you from answering.
Mattâs hand cups your skull, steady, guiding you through it. âSay it,â he repeats, and itâs quiet, certain.
You pull back just enough to breathe, lips swollen, eyes unfocused. Dexâs hand keeps rubbing your clit like heâs trying to make you forget language entirely, but you force it out anyway because the control in Mattâs voice is grounding in the middle of all this.
âI belong to you,â you gasp, voice wrecked. âMatt. I belong to you.â
Dex shudders behind you like it physically hurts, and the sound he makes is torn between a growl and a laugh. He kisses you again anyway, swallowing the words like heâs furious you said them and even more furious he liked hearing you say them.
Mattâs hips snap up, deeper, harder, and you cry out into Dexâs mouth because the pressure hits perfectly. Your cunt clenches around Matt, slick and tight, and Dexâs fingers press your clit in relentless circles until your nerves feel like theyâre sparking.
You break the kiss with a gasp, head falling back onto Dexâs shoulder, and Dex grabs your jaw, possessive and mean, forcing you to look at him while Matt keeps thrusting up into you.
âYou hear her?â Dex mutters, voice low and rough. âShe said it. Sheâs yours. Doesnât mean I canât make her come, though.â
Mattâs hands clamp on your hips, and he takes control of the pace fully now, rocking up into you in a steady, relentless rhythm that makes your breath stutter. His mouth is at your ear, and you can hear the strain in his control finally cracking.
âThatâs it,â Matt murmurs. âHold on. Donât you dare stop.â
Dexâs fingers go faster, brutal on your clit, and your body tightens like itâs being drawn into a knot. You grab at Mattâs shoulders, nails digging through his t-shirt, and you feel your orgasm build fast, almost too fast, the chemical making it sharp and unavoidable.
âIâm gonnaââ you gasp, and you donât even finish the sentence because your body does it for you.
You come hard on Mattâs cock, shaking, pussy clenching tight around him, and the way Matt groans is low and wrecked, like your orgasm pulled him right to the edge. Dexâs hand stays on your clit through it, not letting you escape the sensation, and you cry out again, broken and breathy, head tipped back against Dexâs shoulder.
Matt keeps thrusting through your orgasm, chasing his own, breath turning ragged. His hands hold you in place like he refuses to let you slide off him, and his mouth finds your throat, biting lightly, then kissing the spot like an apology he doesnât have time for.
âFuck,â Matt groans, and then his whole body tenses under you. His hips snap up once more, deep, and he comes hard, spilling inside you with a rough sound that turns into your name against your skin.
He doesnât collapse afterward. He stays braced, arms around you, holding you chest-to-chest like he needs to keep you there, keep you claimed, keep you safe while the heat still burns. His breathing is too fast, his hands still tight on you, and you can feel the way his body is already refusing to settle, like one release didnât fix anything.
Dexâs fingers finally slow on your clit, but he doesnât pull away. He stays behind you, crowding your back, mouth at your shoulder, and when he speaks his voice is low with something sharp and pleased. âDamn,â Dex murmurs. âHe came in you. Thatâs⌠cute.â
Mattâs head turns toward him, and the calm in his expression is the kind that makes your skin prickle for a different reason. âDonât,â Matt says, voice even. âNot right now.â
Dex smiles against your shoulder like he canât help himself, like heâs already planning the next push, and your body is still too hot, still too needy, still trembling on the edge of another want you havenât even named yet. Dexâs fingers hook under the hem of your nightgown, and he doesnât ask permission with words this time because he already did, because you already told him yes, but he still looks at you first anyway, eyes bright and sharp. âStill want it?â he murmurs, voice rough. âTell me.â
âYes,â you manage, and it comes out small and wrecked, because youâre still trembling on Mattâs cock and everything feels too sensitive. âI want it.â
Dex yanks the nightgown up and off in one impatient motion, tugging it over your head like itâs in his way, then tosses it somewhere behind him. The air hits your bare skin and you shiver hard, goosebumps rising and then flattening instantly under the heat. Mattâs hands spread over your ribs and stomach like heâs making sure youâre steady, like heâs keeping track of you the way he always does, and then he shifts you carefully off his lap because he isnât going to let you fall in the middle of this.
âEasy,â Matt murmurs against your jaw, kissing you once, slow and grounding. âIâve got you.â
Dex doesnât wait for you to fully settle before heâs pulling you back into him, knees on the mattress behind yours, his chest pressed to your back. He loops an arm around your neck in a headlock hold thatâs controlled, not crushing, forearm across your collarbone, hand braced at your shoulder so he can keep you upright and close. The position is meant to make you feel pinned, meant to make you feel owned, and your body answers with a violent clench that makes you gasp.
Mattâs head turns toward the sound immediately, like the gasp is a flare he canât ignore. His hand slides to your hip and stays there, thumb rubbing slow circles into the skin like a quiet claim. âBreathe,â he says, calm and firm. âTell me if itâs too much.â
âItâs not,â you breathe, and your voice shakes anyway. âItâs not too much.â
Dex laughs softly against your ear, the sound more bite than humor. âOf course it isnât,â he murmurs. âYouâre fucking soaked.â
He frees himself from his sweatpants with a quick, impatient shove, and you feel the blunt heat of him press against your ass, then slide down between your thighs. The second his cock drags through your slickness, you whimper and your knees flex like youâre going to collapse forward, but Dex tightens his arm and holds you in place. He doesnât thrust in right away; he grinds against you first, spreading you open, pushing the mess around, making it obscene on purpose, like he needs you to feel exactly whatâs still inside you.
âYou feel that?â Dex whispers, mouth brushing your ear, and his tone turns mean in a way that makes your stomach flip. âThatâs him. Still in you. Still there, even when itâs me.â
Mattâs thumb stops for a second against your hip, then starts again, slow and steady like he refuses to react the way Dex wants. âDex,â Matt says quietly, warning without raising his voice. âDonât.â
Dex ignores him, because of course he does, because he canât help digging for the bruise. He lines himself up and pushes in with one hard, deliberate thrust that knocks the breath out of you. You cry out, sharp and broken, and Dexâs arm around your neck keeps you upright while his hips press tight to your ass, burying himself deep like heâs trying to overwrite what Matt just did.
âOh, fuck,â you gasp, hands scrabbling for something to hold, and Mattâs hand catches yours immediately, fingers lacing with yours so you donât have to search. The touch is steady and warm, anchoring you even while your body is being pulled in two directions.
âThatâs it,â Matt murmurs, lips near your cheek, voice close enough that you feel the air of it. âTake what you need. Keep breathing.â
Dex starts to move, slow at first, grinding deeper on every thrust, making sure you feel the drag of him against your swollen cunt. The mess inside you turns it slicker, filthier, and you can feel it in the obscene sound of it, the wet slap of his hips against your ass, the way your body takes him like itâs desperate for anything that pushes back against the heat.
Dexâs mouth finds your shoulder and he bites down, not hard enough to break skin, just enough to make you gasp again. âListen to you,â he mutters, voice low and sharp. âYou sound like a fucking slut when youâre full.â
Mattâs hand tightens around yours, and his other hand slides up your side to your jaw, tilting your chin slightly like heâs guiding you back from the edge. âHey,â Matt says, calm and deadly at the same time. âWatch your mouth.â
Dexâs thrusts get harder, like the warning turned him on or pissed him off or both. He keeps talking anyway, because he wants Matt to hear it, wants Matt to hate it, wants to provoke something ugly. âSheâs taking me so fucking easy,â Dex whispers, breath ragged at your ear. âLike sheâs made for it. Like she wants it dirty.â
You try to pull air in through your nose, but every time Dex drives into you your breath breaks, the sound spilling out of you in helpless little moans. Your cunt clamps around him, slick and tight, and Dex makes a rough noise like heâs losing control faster than he wants to admit.
Matt doesnât insult him, he doesnât even rise to it with words. He corrects Dex with touch, the way he always does when heâs angry and refusing to show it. His fingers slide to your chin and guide your face toward him, and his mouth finds yours in a kiss thatâs slow and possessive, claiming without needing to look at Dex at all. His lips are warm, firm, steady, and it makes you melt even while Dex is fucking you hard from behind. âSay my name,â Matt murmurs into your mouth, barely audible. âLet me hear you.â
Dexâs arm around your neck tightens just enough to remind you heâs there, and he thrusts harder like heâs punishing you for obeying. The sensation spikes sharp, makes your eyes flutter shut, makes your pussy clench around him so hard he stutters.
âMatt,â you moan, the name spilling out as a broken sound against Mattâs lips.
Matt kisses you deeper, like heâs swallowing it, like heâs keeping it. âGood,â he murmurs, and his thumb strokes your jawline, calming and possessive all at once. âThatâs it.â
Dex makes a furious, ragged sound behind you and snaps his hips faster, chasing his own relief in hard, brutal thrusts. âSay it again,â Dex growls into your shoulder, and you can hear the ugly need in it, like he wants you to say his name and hates that Mattâs making you say something else.
Matt doesnât change his tone. He doesnât have to. âBreathe,â he tells you, then kisses your mouth again, slower, and it makes your whole body soften into him even while Dex is trying to wreck you from behind. âStay with me.â
Dexâs thrusts turn frantic, the heat and the jealousy and the chemical all smashing together into something that makes him reckless. His arm holds you pinned upright, cock driving deep, and the mess inside you makes every shove obscene, slick and loud. Your legs start to tremble, not from fear, but from overload, your cunt tightening and fluttering like itâs trying to drag both men into the same spiral.
Dex bites your shoulder again, harder this time, and you hiss at the sting. âFuck,â Dex mutters, voice shaking. âYou feel so good it makes me fucking mad.â
Mattâs hand slides down to your hip again, thumb rubbing slow circles, calm and steady, and you hate how much you love the contrast. Dex is all sharp edges and spite, Matt is quiet control, and your body is greedy enough to want both.
Dexâs breathing goes ragged, and his thrusts turn brutal for a few seconds like heâs trying to force his orgasm out of himself. He jerks once, then again, hips stuttering, and you feel him go rigid behind you. He clamps his teeth into your shoulder, not as a threat this time but as a way to stop himself from making a sound heâd hate, and his whole body shakes as he comes hard inside you, hot and thick, filling you in messy pulses that make you gasp.
He stays buried for a second, trembling, arm still around your neck, forehead pressed to the side of your head like he canât pull away yet. Mattâs hand remains on your hip, thumb still moving, and his lips brush your cheek in a kiss that feels like reassurance and possession at the same time.
âThatâs it,â Matt murmurs in your ear, steady. âGood. Breathe.â
Dex finally loosens his hold, just enough that you can take a fuller breath, but he doesnât move away. Heâs still behind you, still crowding your back, still panting like he ran a mile. When he lifts his head, his eyes flick to Matt with something sharp and furious, like he hates that Matt is still calm, still in control, still close.
Dex swallows, voice rough and bitter when he finally speaks. âHappy now?â he mutters, not really to you, not really to Matt, just to the room.
Mattâs hand stays on your hip, thumb still moving in slow circles like heâs keeping you anchored while your body tries to float right out of itself. Dex is still inside you, still trembling from his release, still crowding your back like he doesnât know what to do with the fact that he got what he wanted and it didnât fix the burn.
Matt shifts first, practical even when heâs wrecked. He eases Dex out of you with a controlled pull of your hips, not yanking, not careless, and you whine at the empty feeling because your cunt is greedy and overstimulated and already angry about losing the pressure. Dex makes a sharp sound behind you, half frustration, half hunger, and he starts to reach like heâs going to drag you back.
âOn your back,â Matt tells him, and itâs not a suggestion.
Dex laughs breathlessly, but he listens, because even he can hear the edge in Mattâs voice. He drops onto the pillows with a rough exhale, legs spreading a little like heâs trying to pretend itâs his idea, cock already hard again and shiny with slick. His eyes track you the whole time, bright and feral, like heâs daring either of you to deny him.
Matt guides you forward with both hands on your waist, turning you and pushing you down until your knees sink into the mattress. He nudges you back so youâre over Dex, straddling him, your pussy hovering over his cock. Youâre slick enough that the slide of your cunt over him feels obscene even before you take him, wetness smearing over his shaft with every tiny shift.
Dexâs hands clamp onto your hips immediately, grip firm, thumbs digging into the soft skin like heâs marking where you belong right now. âYeah,â Dex mutters, voice rough. âRight there. Donât be shy.â
You try to roll your hips, trying to find friction, and Dex helps, guiding you in short, grinding strokes so his cock drags against your clit and the swollen lips of your cunt. Youâre not fully taking him yet, just teasing, just rubbing, and it still makes you gasp because everything is too sensitive. Your thighs tremble as the wet, hot slide keeps building pressure that you canât relieve.
Matt kneels behind you, close enough that you feel his heat at your back before he touches you. His hands land on your hips over Dexâs, and the difference between them makes you shiver. Dex is possessive and impatient, Matt is steady and precise, and youâre trapped between them like a bad decision you canât stop making.
âStay right there,â Matt murmurs, mouth brushing your ear. âIâm going to fuck you from behind.â
Your breath stutters, and you nod too fast. âPlease,â you whisper, because youâve lost any ability to pretend youâre in control.
Matt lines himself up behind you, guiding you back onto him. The first press of his cock at your entrance makes your whole body clench, and Dexâs grip tightens like heâs furious that Matt is taking what Dex wants. Matt doesnât rush. He slides in slow, inch by inch, making you take him fully, making you feel him again after Dex, and the stretch turns sharp and perfect.
âFuck,â you choke, hands flying to Dexâs chest because you need something to hold. Dexâs skin is hot under your palms, his heartbeat too fast. He glares up at you like he wants to bite, like he wants to pull you down and ruin you, but he stays still because Mattâs hands are on your hips and Matt is in charge.
Matt sinks all the way in and stills for a beat, pressed tight to your ass. He leans forward until his chest meets your back, his mouth at your ear again, voice low and commanding. âMoan my name,â Matt says. âRight there. Into his shoulder.â
You make a helpless sound, and your body obeys before your brain catches up. You lean forward, mouth landing against Dexâs shoulder, and the next breath that leaves you is Mattâs name, broken and desperate like youâre confessing something you canât take back.
Dex snarls, half-laughing, half-livid. âOh, youâve gotta be kidding me.â
Matt starts to move, slow at first, deep thrusts that use the angle of your body to hit exactly where youâre already trembling. Every push drives you forward onto Dex, and every pull drags Mattâs cock through your soaked cunt in a way that makes your vision blur.
Dexâs hands squeeze your hips hard enough to bruise later. âYouâre using me as furniture,â he growls, then his voice goes strained because the grind of your pussy over his cock is driving him insane. âAnd itâsâfuckâitâs working.â
Matt leans over you more, pressing his weight into your back, pushing your chest closer to Dex until your back arches. His hands slide from your hips up your sides, then one of them reaches forward and clamps around Dexâs throat. Not choking him out, not cutting off air, just holding him there, forcing him to stay still and feel it.
Dexâs eyes widen, then narrow, the rage and the thrill mixing into something ugly. âTouchy,â he spits, but his cock jumps under you anyway.
âShut up,â Matt murmurs, calm as sin. âTake it.â
Your hips stop grinding on their own because Mattâs hold and the arch of your back locks you into the position he wants. Now all you can do is take Mattâs thrusts from behind, feel the deep roll of him in your cunt, and feel Dex under you getting more desperate with every movement.
âMattââ you gasp, cheek pressed to Dexâs shoulder now, lips dragging over the skin because you need something to do with your mouth besides scream.
Mattâs pace picks up, still deep, still controlled, and his breath turns rough against your ear. âGood,â he says, like heâs praising you for falling apart exactly the way he wants. âThatâs it. Stay open.â
Dexâs hands shift, one sliding down your thigh like heâs about to pull you down onto him properly, and Mattâs grip at his throat tightens just enough to stop him.
âYou get what I give you,â Matt says softly, and itâs the kind of possessive that makes your cunt clench hard around him.
Dex laughs through his teeth, breathless and furious. âYouâre insane.â
Matt doesnât argue, he just fucks you harder, using you like youâre his, and every thrust makes your pussy flutter and drip, wetness smearing over Dexâs cock underneath you. The sound is filthy, slick and loud, and it makes Dex jerk under you like heâs about to lose it again.
Your hand moves between your bodies and you push two fingers into Dexâs mouth, because you need leverage and because the idea hits you like a spark. Dexâs lips part instantly, tongue sliding over your fingers with a hungry, spiteful eagerness. He sucks like heâs trying to prove a point, cheeks hollowing, eyes locked on yours as if daring you to flinch.
You pull your fingers out shining with spit and use it to stroke Dex, slow and cruel, palm sliding down his shaft, thumb smearing over the head. Dexâs head falls back into the pillow with a broken sound, eyes rolling, hands tightening on your hips like heâs trying not to buck.
âFuck,â Dex breathes. âYouâreâyouâre doing that on purpose.â
âYeah,â you manage, voice shaking, because Mattâs cock keeps hitting that spot inside you and you canât think straight. âShut up.â
Dexâs gaze snaps back to you, bright and pissed and turned on. He drags you down by the hips just enough to steal your mouth, grabbing your jaw with one hand and forcing a messy tongue kiss that tastes like heat and spit and something too sharp to be sweet. You whimper into it, and the sound gets swallowed between you.
Behind you, Mattâs breath catches like the sight and the sound hits him somewhere deep. He doesnât pull away, doesnât stop. He keeps fucking you from behind, hand still around Dexâs throat, using the hold to keep Dex right where he wants him while you fall apart on top of him.
âEyes on me,â Dex mutters against your mouth, possessive and mean.
Mattâs mouth brushes your ear again, and his voice is quieter, steadier, like a blade. âSay my name.â
Your body clenches hard, and the next moan that spills out is Mattâs name again, muffled into Dexâs mouth. Dex shudders like it hurts, like it makes him want to bite, and he kisses you harder anyway. Mattâs thrusts turn relentless, hips snapping in tighter rhythm, and you feel his control thinning. His hand at Dexâs throat tightens, then loosens, then tightens again like heâs gripping the last thread of restraint.
You stroke Dex faster now, spit making it slick, your fist sliding up and down his cock while your cunt takes Matt from behind. Dexâs breath turns ragged, hips twitching under you, and his hands clamp down like heâs trying not to shove you down and take what he wants.
âJesusââ Dex gasps. âYouâre gonna make meââ
âNot yet,â Matt says, and it isnât loud, but it lands like a command anyway. âHold it.â
Dexâs eyes flash, furious, and he trembles through it. âGo to hell.â
Mattâs answer is a hard thrust that makes you cry out and clench around him so tight his breath breaks. You feel his cock pulse, feel his whole body go rigid behind you, and then Matt groans low against your back as he comes again, deep and hot, holding you still with both hands while he rides it out. One hand stays on your hip, the other keeps Dex pinned by the throat, and the control in it makes your whole body melt even while you shake.
Matt doesnât collapse afterward. He stays pressed to you, chest to your back, breathing hard, lips at your shoulder like he needs to keep contact. His grip loosens slowly, like heâs easing himself back from the edge by inches.
âThatâs it,â Matt murmurs, voice rough, thumb stroking your hip again. âBreathe. Stay with me.â
Dex is staring up at you like he wants to kill someone and kiss you at the same time, cock twitching in your hand, frustration and need making his jaw clench. He swallows, then drags his thumb across your lower belly like heâs claiming a piece of you he doesnât have the right to claim.
âYou two are disgusting,â Dex mutters.
Dex doesnât wait for Matt to answer, because Dex isnât actually asking. Heâs already moving, already reaching, already turning that restless, hungry energy into action like he canât stand sitting in the aftermath for even one more second.
He hooks an arm under your thigh and drags you off him with a sharp pull, flipping you onto your back in one quick motion that knocks the air out of you. The mattress dips hard, sheets bunching under your shoulders, and your head ends up near the edge of the bed, slightly hanging off. Dex climbs over you immediately, sweat shining on his throat, eyes wild and focused like you just became his target.
âYou think youâre done?â Dex mutters, and his hands clamp down on your thighs, spreading you open like he owns the right to. âYouâre not done. Iâm not done.â
Matt is close enough that you can feel him shift, and you can hear his breathing change, sharper, more controlled. He doesnât grab Dex off you, but his hand lands on your ankle for a second, thumb pressing into your skin like a quiet check-in. Itâs Mattâs way of asking without interrupting, and you answer the same way, flexing your foot gently against his touch because youâre too wrecked to form a full sentence without it turning into a moan.
Dex lines himself up and pushes back into you with a rough thrust that makes your whole body jolt. Your cunt takes him easily because youâre soaked and overstimulated, and the obscene slick sound that comes with it makes Dexâs mouth twist like heâs pleased and pissed at the same time.
âFuck,â you gasp, hands grabbing at his shoulders because you need something to hold while he starts moving. Dex doesnât build slowly, he drives into you like heâs determined to make you forget how Matt felt, like heâs trying to pound the comparison out of your body with brute force.
Matt moves to your head, not away, not sulking, just repositioning like heâs doing damage control the way he always does. He sits beside you on the bed and cups the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, then your lower lip. His voice is low and steady, close enough to be private even with Dex right there.
âBreathe,â Matt murmurs. âYouâre okay. You tell me if you need anything.â
Dex hears it and gets worse on purpose. He leans down and kisses you mid-thrust, mouth hot and messy, swallowing the sounds you canât keep back. His tongue pushes in like heâs trying to claim your mouth the same way heâs claiming your cunt, and you whine into it because the pace is brutal and the heat in your blood makes it feel too good.
When Dex pulls back for air, he keeps one hand on your jaw, fingers digging in just enough to make you look at him. âLook at me,â Dex demands, voice rough. âSay it. Say my name.â
Your eyes flutter, unfocused, and you try to glare at him because heâs being an asshole, but your body betrays you immediately. Dex thrusts deep again, hitting a spot that makes your thighs shake, and the sound that breaks out of you is helpless. âDex,â you gasp, and his grin turns sharp and satisfied like he just scored a hit.
âAgain,â he says, and he thrusts harder, making the bed creak, making your breath break. âCome on. Louder. I want him to hear it.â
Mattâs hand slides down to your shoulder, thumb pressing into the muscle like heâs keeping you grounded. He doesnât argue with Dex, he just stays there, close, letting you hold onto him, letting you decide what comes out of your mouth.
Dex keeps driving into you, rhythm turning relentless, and you grab Mattâs wrist with shaking fingers because you need something solid. Mattâs palm flips and catches your hand, squeezing once, and you feel your stomach flip because even with Dex fucking you like heâs trying to win, Mattâs touch still feels like home.
Dexâs eyes flick to Mattâs hand holding yours, and something mean flashes across his face. He leans down again, kissing you hard, swallowing your moans, then breaks the kiss just to speak right at your mouth. âYou like me?â Dex spits, like itâs an insult. âYou like how I fuck you? Tell me.â
âFuck, yes,â you choke out, because youâre too hot to lie and too far gone to be polite. Dexâs thrusts stutter for half a beat like the answer hit him hard, then he snaps back into a faster pace that makes you see stars.
Matt shifts slightly, moving closer to your head, and you turn into him automatically. His mouth brushes your forehead, then the corner of your lips, and you can tell heâs holding his restraint by force, breathing too hard for someone whoâs âfine.â
âYou can hold onto me,â Matt murmurs, voice rougher now. âDo what you need.â
Dex hears that too, and it makes him furious. He grabs your thigh and hikes it higher over his hip, angling you so he can go deeper, harder. The change punches a sharp moan out of you, and Dex makes a satisfied sound like heâs collecting it. âThere,â Dex says, grinning. âThere you go. Thatâs what I want. Thatâs mine.â
Mattâs thumb slides along your cheek again, and his voice stays calm even if the tension in it is obvious. âDonât,â he warns quietly, like heâs reminding Dex heâs allowed to be here but not allowed to claim.
Dex doesnât care, he leans down and kisses you again, filthy and hungry, and the way he thrusts turns almost frantic. Heâs chasing something now, not just relief, but proof, and he wants it so badly itâs making him reckless.
Your hand slips down between your bodies, reaching for Dexâs wrist like youâre trying to steady him, and he catches it, pins it above your head with one hand while the other stays on your jaw. Youâre spread wide, legs shaking around his hips, pussy clenching and fluttering around him like youâre teetering on the edge of another orgasm you canât control.
âSay it,â Dex demands again, breath ragged. âSay my name. Please me. Come on.â
âDex,â you moan, and then it turns into a breathless string of it because he wonât stop hitting that spot. âDexâfuckâDexâpleaseââ
Dexâs eyes blow wide, and his mouth twists like he hates how good it feels to hear you beg. He thrusts harder, faster, the slick sound turning obscene, and you feel his control shredding.
Mattâs hand tightens around yours at your side, a steady squeeze that keeps you from floating away completely. He doesnât interrupt, but his mouth brushes your temple, and his voice is low enough that only you can catch it. âIâm here,â Matt murmurs. âStay with me.â
Dexâs breath turns jagged, and he makes a harsh sound like a laugh that got twisted into a groan. âYeah, yeah,â he grits out, then thrusts deep and holds it there, shaking. âFuckââ
Dex comes hard, angry and shaking, cock pulsing inside you in thick, hot spurts that make your body clench around him. He squeezes your jaw, then releases it like he just realized he was holding too tight, and he drops his forehead to your shoulder with a rough exhale that sounds like he wants to scream and refuses to give anyone the satisfaction.
He stays there for a second, still buried, breathing like heâs furious at his own body. Then he lets out a low, bitter laugh under his breath, the kind that doesnât sound happy at all. âGod,â Dex mutters, voice shaking. âThat felt⌠so fucking good.â
Matt doesnât let the silence after Dexâs last laugh turn into another round of posturing. Heâs breathing hard, his palm still warm against your skin, and you can feel the difference now that the worst of the chemical spike isnât clawing at your throat anymore. The heat is still there, still sticky under your ribs, but it isnât as sharp as it was ten minutes ago, and that almost makes it worse because you can think again just enough to realize how fucking wrung out you are.
Dex shifts off you with a rough exhale, rolling onto his side like heâs trying to hide how shaky he feels. He looks at you like he wants to say something clever, something mean, something that puts him back on top of the moment, but the words donât come as easily now. He settles for a tight smile and a hand on your thigh, thumb pressing into your skin like heâs reminding you heâs still here.
Mattâs voice cuts in, low and steady. âWeâre close.â
Dex scoffs, but itâs weak. âClose to what, the end of your little domestic nightmare?â
âClose to it wearing off,â Matt says, and he shifts closer by sound and feel, his hand finding your hip like it always does. His fingers spread, grounding, and his thumb starts that slow circle thatâs become the rhythm of the whole night. âYouâre not shaking as much. Your breathingâs different.â
You swallow and nod even though he canât see it, then force the words out because thatâs how youâve stayed sane through all of this. âItâs not gone,â you say, voice raw. âItâs still there. Itâs just⌠not screaming.â
Matt hums once, like he agrees. Dex drags the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes flicking between you and Matt like heâs trying to decide if he hates the idea of it ending more than he hates the fact that Mattâs right about it.
âWe finish it,â Matt says, simple as that.
Dexâs smile sharpens. âWe?â
Matt turns his head slightly toward him, and even without eye contact itâs obvious whoâs in control. âYouâve been in my apartment for hours,â Matt says, tone flat. âYou can handle ten more minutes without trying to start a fight.â
Dex opens his mouth and then closes it again, jaw working like heâs biting down on the urge to run it. His gaze drops to you, then to Mattâs hand on you, then back up to your face like heâs looking for the crack he can wedge himself into.
You breathe in, slow, then say it before Dex can poison the moment. âIf itâs fading, I want the last part to⌠end. Like, actually end.â
Mattâs hand slides from your hip up your side, his palm flattening over your stomach for a second like heâs checking youâre steady, then he kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and grounding. âAlright,â Matt says, and his voice drops into that calm command that makes your body settle even while itâs on fire. âDex. On your back. Head on the pillow. Hands where I can find them.â
Dex stares at him for a beat, then smirks like heâs about to refuse on principle, but he doesnât. He flops back onto the pillows with exaggerated ease, arms spreading out like heâs presenting himself for inspection, cock already half-hard again and twitching like the chemical is refusing to fully let go. âBossy,â Dex mutters. âThought you were the Catholic one.â
Mattâs answer is quiet. âKeep talking and you donât get anything.â
Dex shuts up immediately, which would be hilarious if it wasnât also obscene. Matt guides you by your waist, turning you carefully, helping you get your knees under you again because your legs are still shaky from everything. He doesnât look at Dex to place you, he doesnât need to; he uses touch the way he always does, hands firm on your hips, moving you inch by inch until youâre positioned over Dexâs face.
Dexâs eyes go bright, and his hands lift like he canât help himself, then he freezes when Mattâs fingers press into his wrist as a reminder. Dexâs mouth opens slightly, tongue visible, and he looks up at you like heâs about to ruin you just to prove he can. âSit,â Dex murmurs, voice rough. âCâmon.â
Mattâs hands tighten on your hips. âSlow,â he tells you, close to your ear. âYou tell me if you get dizzy. You tell me if you canât breathe.â
âI can breathe,â you manage, and you sound like youâre trying to convince yourself, because the position alone makes your cunt throb. âIâm good.â
Matt helps you lower, guiding you down until youâre hovering right above Dexâs mouth, then another inch, until Dexâs lips brush your slick skin and you jerk with a gasp. Dexâs hands clamp onto your thighs immediately, holding you open, and he moans into you like heâs been denied air for hours.
âFuck,â Dex breathes against your pussy, and the vibration makes your thighs tremble. âThatâsâyeah. Thatâs it.â
He starts eating you out like heâs making a point. His tongue is flat and heavy, pressure too much and perfect, and you have to grab Mattâs forearm to keep from collapsing forward. Matt steadies you instantly, one hand on your waist, the other sliding up your back, holding you upright while Dexâs mouth works you open and greedy.
Your head ends up near Dexâs cock, and the sight of itâhard and flushed, twitchingâmakes your stomach flip. Dex notices, of course he notices, and his fingers squeeze your thighs like heâs trying to keep you exactly where he wants you.
âGo on,â Dex says, voice muffled against your cunt. âUse your mouth.â
You lean forward and wrap your lips around him, and Dex makes a harsh sound that turns into another groan into your pussy. The combination is instantly overwhelming: Dexâs mouth on your clit, your mouth on his cock, and Matt behind you, hands steady on your hips like heâs preparing to do the last thing your body needs to finally stop buzzing.
Matt shifts behind you, and you feel him press in close, his breath hot at your shoulder. His fingers slide down your spine, then to your hips again, and he nudges you forward just enough to get the angle he wants.
âBreathe,â Matt murmurs, and he kisses your shoulder once, slow.
You moan around Dexâs cock, the sound vibrating, and Dexâs hands tighten on your thighs like heâs losing patience. Matt pushes in slowly, stretching you in a way that makes your eyes water, and the moment heâs inside you, the world narrows down to sensation again. Itâs not the frantic, desperate edge from earlier; itâs heavy and deep, like youâre so sensitive that every inch feels doubled.
Dexâs tongue goes meaner the second he feels Matt moving inside you. He sucks hard at your clit like heâs trying to pull your orgasm out of you first, like heâs trying to prove he can still win something even in a setup Matt arranged.
You pull off Dexâs cock just long enough to gasp, âfuckâDex,â then you take him again, because the heat is still there and the only way through it is more. Dexâs cock jerks in your mouth, and his groan turns into another muffled sound against your pussy as he eats you out harder.
Matt sets a pace behind you, steady and controlled. His hands stay on your hips, guiding the motion when your body tries to squirm away from the overstimulation, and every time you wobble, he corrects you with touch instead of words, keeping you upright, keeping you open, keeping you from falling apart too early.
Dex tries to talk again, of course he does, and it comes out broken between breaths. âYou tasteâfuckâyou taste so good,â he mutters against your cunt, loud enough that Matt can hear it. âYouâre gonnaâyeah, youâre gonna come all over my mouth.â
Matt leans closer and his mouth brushes your ear. âStay with me,â he says, and his voice is calm even though his thrusts get a little deeper, a little firmer. âDonât rush it. Let it build.â
Dexâs hands slide up your thighs like he wants to drag you down harder onto his face. Mattâs grip on your hips tightens, and he pushes you down just enough that Dexâs mouth is fully buried, your pussy pressed into his face. Dex groans into you like heâs in heaven and hell at the same time, and the vibration nearly makes you lose your grip on his cock.
You gag slightly when Dex twitches hard in your mouth, and you pull back for air, spit shining on your lips. Mattâs hand slides to the back of your head immediately, not forcing, just guiding, and his voice turns low and firm. âBack on him,â Matt murmurs. âJust like that. Take what you need.â
You do it because you canât not, because the structure is the only thing keeping you from going dizzy. You take Dex again, sucking him slow and deep, and Dex makes a strangled noise that turns into a growl into your pussy. His tongue keeps working your clit with brutal, perfect pressure, and his fingers dig into your thighs like heâs trying to hold you still while his whole body wants to buck.
Mattâs thrusts deepen, steady and relentless, and the way his cock hits inside you makes your entire body tighten. You moan around Dexâs cock, the sound wet and obscene, and Dex shudders under you like that noise just tipped him closer to the edge.
âFuck,â Dex gasps into you. âMattâstopâsheâsââ
Matt doesnât stop, he doesnât even acknowledge the plea with words. He simply changes the angle, lifting your hips slightly with his hands and driving into you a little harder, and the shift makes Dex choke on a groan because your pussy grinds down on his tongue in a way that feels like punishment and reward at the same time.
You canât keep quiet anymore. The orgasm builds fast and heavy, not the sharp frantic spike from earlier, but a thick wave that keeps rising, and youâre trapped between themâMatt filling you, Dex swallowing youâuntil your whole body starts trembling.
âMatt,â you gasp, pulling off Dexâs cock just long enough to say it, voice broken. âIâm gonnaââ
âI know,â Matt says immediately, and his voice turns softer even while he keeps thrusting. âLet it happen. Breathe.â
Dex doesnât give you time to breathe. He sucks hard at your clit like heâs trying to make you black out, and your thighs shake around his head as your orgasm hits. You come hard, cunt clenching around Matt, hips jerking downward onto Dexâs face, and the sound you make is messy and loud and completely uncontrolled.
Matt holds you through it, hands locked on your hips to keep you from collapsing. His thrusts turn shorter and tighter, chasing his own edge as your pussy clamps around him, and you feel him go rigid behind you. His breath breaks against your shoulder, and he groans low as he comes, deep and hot, holding you still while he rides it out.
Dexâs cock twitches in your hand as he hears Matt lose control, and Dex makes a furious, needy sound like he hates that it turns him on. You take him back into your mouth without thinking, sucking him through it, and Dexâs hands squeeze your thighs hard enough to leave marks.
You donât. You keep sucking him, spit slick, rhythm steady even while your body is still shaking from your orgasm. Dexâs mouth is still on your pussy, tongue slower now but stubborn, like he refuses to give up the contact. The chemical is fading, but Dex is greedy and spiteful and desperate to get his last release before it fully lets him go.
Dex bucks once under you, hard, and Mattâs hands tighten on your hips again to keep you balanced. Dexâs cock throbs in your mouth, and he comes with a rough, broken groan that he tries to swallow, but fails. His orgasm makes him tremble under you, hands clamping down like heâs trying to hold onto something while it slips away.
For a few seconds none of you move. Youâre panting, slick, shaking, and the heat in your body finally starts to ebb in a way that feels real, like the pressure is draining out instead of building again.
Matt stays behind you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your shoulder, breathing hard but slower now. His hands soften on your hips, turning from control into support.
Dex lies under you with his eyes half-lidded, still flushed, lips wet, chin shining, and he looks up at you like he wants to say something cruel just to prove he can. What comes out is a rough exhale and a bitter, shaky laugh. âHoly shit,â Dex mutters, and he sounds like he hates that he means it. âI think itâs actually⌠wearing off.â
Mattâs hands stay on you for a while after, not gripping anymore, just steadying, like heâs making sure youâre actually present and not drifting. He shifts carefully to get you off Dex, guiding you by the waist and shoulders so you donât topple on shaky legs. The second your feet touch the floor your knees threaten to give, and Matt catches you like heâs done it a thousand times, one hand at the back of your neck, the other braced at your hip.
âSlow,â Matt murmurs, mouth near your temple. âBreathe for me. In and out, donât rush it.â
âIâm breathing,â you rasp, then immediately prove youâre not by sucking in a short, shaky inhale that turns into a laugh because itâs either that or cry. Your skin feels too warm, tacky with sweat, and the air in the room feels thick even though the worst of the fever is finally fading.
Matt steers you to the edge of the bed and sits you down, then disappears for a second. You hear the faucet run, cabinets opening, the muted clink of a glass, and then heâs back with water and a cold washcloth. He presses the cloth to the back of your neck first, then your forehead, then your cheeks, gentle and methodical.
âDrink,â he says, and he guides the glass into your hands like heâs worried youâll spill it.
You take a few sips and immediately realize how dry your throat is. âJesus,â you mutter, swallowing again. âI feel like I ran a marathon.â
âYou kind of did,â Matt says, dry but not teasing. His thumb drags over your pulse point at your wrist in a small check, then his palm settles there like he wants to feel you steady. âAny dizziness? Any nausea?â
âNo,â you say, then pause because your stomach flips once as the room tilts slightly. âOkay, maybe a little dizzy.â
Mattâs hand tightens lightly on the back of your neck. âThen you sit,â he says, calm and firm. âYou donât try to be brave right now.â
Across the bed, Dex is quieter than he has been all night, which is almost unsettling. Heâs sitting on the floor with his back against the side of the mattress, head tipped back, forearm over his eyes like heâs trying to hide the fact that he needs a minute. His breathing is still too fast, but itâs not frantic anymore, and the sharp edge of him looks blunted, like somebody finally turned the volume down.
He lifts his arm just enough to peer at you and Matt, and even now he canât help himself. âYou always this domesticated?â he asks, voice rough. The line is clearly meant to be snarky, but it lands thin, like he didnât have the energy to sharpen it.
Matt doesnât take the bait. He wipes your cheek with the cloth again, then sets it on your shoulder and keeps his hand there. âYouâre leaving as soon as you can stand without falling,â he says, like heâs reading a grocery list.
Dexâs mouth quirks. âSo romantic.â
âYouâre still in my apartment,â Matt replies, and the calm in his voice is the kind that makes the room feel smaller. âDonât make me regret letting you walk out instead of dragging you.â
Dexâs eyes flick up toward Mattâs face, then down to Mattâs hand on your shoulder like heâs cataloging the claim again, even if heâs too wrung out to argue with it. âRelax,â he mutters. âIâm not staying for brunch.â
You take another sip of water, then set the glass down on the nightstand with a careful clink. Your muscles feel heavy, and your skin feels too sensitive in that post-overload way that makes the idea of putting on clothes feel like work. You grab the sheet and pull it over your lap because you need one normal human action to latch onto. âOkay,â you say, voice steadier now. âWeâre not doing the âstand around and glare at each otherâ thing. We need to clean. We need air. And we need to get rid of anything that might still have that chemical on it.â
Dex makes a noncommittal sound, but he pushes himself upright with a small wince, like his body is protesting. Mattâs head turns toward you immediately, attentive. âYou want windows?â Matt asks.
âYes,â you say. âAll of them. Bedroom, living room. And we need trash bags. Gloves. Anything that touched your suits needs to get bagged.â
Matt nods once and stands, moving with that careful efficiency he slips into when heâs trying not to think about what just happened. You hear the bedroom window slide up, then the living room windows. Air drifts in, cool and city-dirty, and it helps. It doesnât erase the heat in your blood, but it takes the edge off the room.
Dex gets to his feet and stretches like heâs trying to shake out the last of the chemical from his bones. He looks steadier now, but his gaze keeps drifting to you like heâs trying to memorize the situation and file it away for later. You point at him. âBathroom. Wash your hands. Like, actually wash them.â
Dexâs brows lift. âBossy.â
âNot negotiable,â you shoot back, and youâre proud your voice doesnât wobble.
Dexâs smile twitches, then he actually goes, disappearing down the hall. You hear the faucet turn on and, shockingly, soap.
Matt comes back in with trash bags and a roll of paper towels. âIâll bag the suits,â he says, and you can hear him trying to keep it neutral, trying to turn it into a task so he doesnât have to sit in the reality of having Dex here at all.
âIâll wipe down surfaces,â you say, already standing carefully, sheet clutched at your waist. âCoffee table, counters, doorknobs. Anything you two touched.â
Mattâs hand finds your elbow immediately, steadying you without smothering. âIf you start to sway, you sit,â he says quietly.
âI will,â you promise, then add, because you know he needs to hear it, âIâm okay.â
He pauses like heâs listening to your heartbeat, then leans in and presses his forehead lightly to yours. âOkay,â he says back, softer than heâs been all night.
You move into the kitchen and find the plastic bag with the broken test tube shard where you left it. Seeing it again makes your stomach tighten, because itâs a stupid little piece of glass that caused all of this, and it feels unreal that itâs still sitting there like any other mess.
Dex comes back from the bathroom wiping his hands on a towel he definitely didnât ask permission to use. He stops when he sees the bag on the counter, eyes narrowing slightly like his brain is finally catching up to the mission part of the night.
âThat the souvenir?â he asks.
âYeah,â you say, and you keep your tone flat. âAnd youâre not touching it.â
Dex gives you a look that says heâs annoyed you clocked him so easily. âWasnât going to.â
Mattâs voice comes from the hallway, calm and cold. âYou were.â
Dex turns his head toward the sound with a sharp little grin. âYou canât prove that.â
Matt doesnât move closer, doesnât raise his voice. âTry it,â he says simply.
For a second the room feels like itâs on the edge of snapping again, not chemical this time, just old hatred and pride and the fact that Dex is Dex. You step between it before it can happen, because youâre done with men trying to make your apartment a battleground.
âHereâs whatâs going to happen,â you say, and you make your voice firm enough that it cuts through both of them. âDex, youâre leaving. Not later when you feel like itâwhen you can walk straight, which looks like itâs basically now. You donât take anything from this apartment. You donât touch that bag. And you do not come back.â
Dexâs eyes flick to you, then soften into something sharper. âAw,â he says, quiet and ugly-sweet. âYouâre making rules.â
âYes,â you say. âBecause you clearly donât know how to exist without someone making them for you.â
Dexâs jaw flexes, and you can see the irritation, the spite, the obsession all mixing behind his eyes. He opens his mouth like heâs going to say something cutting, then his gaze flicks past you to Matt. âYou hear that?â Dex says, voice low. âYour girlâs got a spine. I like that.â
Mattâs answer is immediate and controlled. âLeave.â
Dex takes a step backward toward the door, then pauses like he canât help himself. âThis isnât over,â he says, and itâs not even a threat thatâs trying to sound cool. Itâs just a fact in his tone, like heâs already decided he gets to stay in your orbit.
You stare at him, letting your expression go flat. âIt is for me.â
Dexâs smile twitches like you slapped him. He looks at you too long, then turns and walks out. He doesnât slam the door; he lets it click shut behind him like heâs leaving on purpose instead of being thrown out.
Matt locks it immediately. The sound of the deadbolt sliding home is the first thing all night that makes your shoulders drop. Matt stands there for a second with his hand still on the lock, head bowed slightly like heâs listening for Dexâs footsteps in the hall, for the elevator, for proof heâs actually gone.
Then Matt turns and comes back to you, and the moment he reaches you he cups the back of your neck and leans his forehead to yours again, breathing like heâs finally allowing his lungs to work.
âIâm sorry,â he says quietly.
âYou can apologize later,â you murmur, and you squeeze his wrist. âRight now, I want a shower and clean sheets and, ideally, a world where nobody ever breaks a glass cage full of mystery chemicals again.â
Matt lets out a strained laugh that sounds like relief more than humor. âYeah,â he says. âMe too.â
---
Two weeks later, the apartment feels normal again in the way it always does after something violent tries to stain it. The sheets are clean, the couch has been scrubbed, the trash bags are long gone, and youâve managed to file the whole night into that mental drawer labeled ânever talk about this unless you absolutely have to.â
Matt comes home with groceries and bruises and a tired kiss that makes you feel like your body belongs to you again. You make dinner, you argue about whether he needs more sleep, and you pretend you donât flinch when you hear sirens outside.
On a Tuesday afternoon, you bring the mail upstairs in a messy stack, flipping through the usual junk with your thumb. Mattâs at the kitchen counter, rinsing fruit, head tilted toward you like heâs listening for the tone of your voice more than the words.
âBills,â you mutter. âAds. Something for you from the bar association.â You pause, because one envelope doesnât match the rest. Itâs a plain envelope with no return address, and your name printed neatly on the front like somebody took their time. âMatt,â you call, trying to keep your voice casual and failing.
âWhat is it?â He asks, turning off the faucet.
âThereâs⌠a letter,â you say, and you pick it up carefully, like it might bite. âNo return address.â
Mattâs footsteps are quiet, controlled, and he stops close enough that you can feel him beside you. âDonât open it yet,â he says, and his voice goes tight in that way it does when his instincts are screaming.
You donât, not until heâs right there, one hand hovering near your wrist like heâs ready to pull you back if something goes wrong. You slide a finger under the flap and open it slowly, trying not to tear the paper. Inside is a single card, thick and clean, like it came from a nice stationery shop.
Thereâs no long message; no rant, no explanation. Just a small circle drawn in black ink, and inside it, a clean bullseye.
Your stomach drops.
Mattâs hand closes around your wrist gently but firmly. âWhat is it?â he asks, already knowing itâs bad from your breathing.
You swallow and slide the card toward him even though he canât see it. âItâs⌠a symbol,â you say, voice tight. âA bullseye.â
Matt goes very still. His jaw clenches. His thumb presses once at your pulse point, not to calm you, but like heâs grounding himself too. âIs there anything written?â he asks, voice low.
You flip the card over with shaking fingers. Thereâs one line in the same neat print as the envelope:
Thanks for the hospitality.
You look at Matt, and his face is calm in the way it gets right before violence, right before he turns into Daredevil instead of your boyfriend.
âWas he here?â you whisper.
Mattâs hand slides from your wrist to your cheek, warm and steady. âNo,â he says quietly. âHe wants us to think he was.â
You stare at the stupid little card, anger and fear twisting together in your chest. âHeâs not done.â
Mattâs mouth tightens, and he leans in until his forehead touches yours again, voice low enough that it feels like a promise. âNeither am I.â
extra notes: look, all i'm gonna say is, i prob will come back to this as my horny release, lol. mostly because i feel betrayed by myself and really want to write a dexmatt kiss. like could you imagine them fucking you from each end while kissing over you?????? yeah can't believe i didn't write that
the concept of vampire!f!reader poisoning the slice of life energy radiating from ashford meadow. unfortunately, much like widowâs blood, the decline of ashford townâs whimsy is an incredibly slow process.
sheâd be the sole daughter of daemon blackfyre and rohanne of tyrosh, yet one of many children. likely seventeen or eighteen years old, as she was turned around those unfortunate years. rohanne of tyrosh comes from the free cities, where darker arts are practiced. perhaps her daughter wasnât born undead, but saved via blood magic after spending the entirety of her life suffering from greyscale. her entire life, she had been robbed of everything; ranging from being nursed by her own mother, to relishing in the significance of the public eye. all because of an illness. only death pays for life. only life pays for death. life had paid for more than her parents had initially bargained for.
enhanced strength. speed that ought to have put the dragons that once lived to immediate shame. mind compulsion, so as long as she mastered it. the pain that set her flesh ablaze upon basking in direct sunlight. immortality. eternal youth. an insatiable hunger for bloodâblackened sclera, pulsating black veins beneath her eyes, and canines sharpened into weaponry to prove that hunger.
sheâd have been brought up in secrecy, her existence kept utterly quiet because her nature would be an abomination to the faith of the seven. if the westerosi lords knew daemonâs daughter was a dead girl walking, he would have lost his pious/rightful king branding immediately, no rebellion needed. with that, sheâd have spent the majority of her life limited to stone walls, grand halls, and the occasional glimpse through a window.
when the battle of redgrass field was lost and the twinsâaegon and aemonâdead, the camp would have been pure chaos. bittersteel would have been busy arming himself with blackfyre and protecting daemonâs remaining sons. she, howeverâthe ultimate opportunistâlikely would have realized the black dragon cause was a sinking ship.
not only would she have taken the opportunity to flee; she likely would have stolen the blackfyre war chest (or a portion of it). ought to have compelled her own guards to ensure no one could tell bittersteel where she went.
sheâd arrive to ashford town in a gilded wheelhouse that definitely did not belong to her, surrounded by men and servants sworn to protect and cater to her needsâso as long as her compulsion allowed it. a suspiciously beautiful woman, sheâd be. claiming to have been attacked by outlaws on the roseroad. who is she? utterly unknown, yet dressed in the finest of silks and chiffon, kohl lining her eyes, crimson rose petals woven into her tidy curls. a dayne cousin from high hermitage, sheâd claim. no one would dare question such a beautiful girl. not even the ring of lapis lazuli and valyrian steel that served to shield her from the sunâs wrath. not when she smiled so sweetly. not when she spoke to even the smallfolk as if they were worth her time.
and yet sheâd bear only one goal. pick apart house targaryen, rip the roots of the house from beneath its soil, poison the stem until every petal withered. perhaps sheâd charm them first, speaking ill of daemonâs rebellion; of blackfyre treason. king daeron the good would soon succumb to his years, and so she wouldnât worry about him. charming baelor with honeyed, diplomatic words would be easy. appealing to maekar would take a bit more time. praising the local hedge knight in front of egg and sharing from daeronâs many goblets would come naturally.
the real cause would be to pit cousins against one another. it would require the most effort, though their bond was never all that to begin with.
valarr was the dutiful, golden-hearted heir to the iron throne. kind, honorable, and perhaps a bit boring in his goodness. she would play the virtuous maiden for himâsoft-spoken, in need of protection, and utterly touched by his chivalry. how she would praise his every move, swearing on the seven above that he was a carbon copy of his fatherâdestined for the iron throne, destined for the goodness the realm deserved. perhaps sheâd honor his sense of duty in song.
aerion was the volatile, arrogant, and cruel challenge who believed himself to be a dragon in human form. for him, she would play the dark reflection. she would be bold, flirtatious, and match his cruelty with a sharp, dangerous wit. aerion did not smirk or laugh in hopes of expressing his madness. she made sure to fill his head with delusions of his own making, filling it with false prophecies, claiming to swear herself to the one and only dragon prince until the point of no return came; he wouldnât so much as seek out a wench to satisfy his urges, convinced that no woman could come close to her divinity.
during the tourney, she would give out her favor. to valarr, a public gift with a shy blush, making him the champion of her honor. this would bind him to her legally and socially. to aerion, an âaccidentalâ drop of a second, blood-red favor in the shadows of the pavilions. upon finding it, she would whisper that she wished she could have given it to the true dragon.
she would invite the cousins to private midnight suppers in her lavish tent (funded by the stolen blackfyre gold). she would feed them her own blood hidden in expensive arbor gold wine. this would make them more obsessed, more aggressive, and physically enhanced for their jousts, making them believe she her to be a lucky charmâor a goddess. whichever came first.
they call her a dayne, from the high hills of the torrentine, but I have never seen a star shine with such a cold, hungry light. she is... she is a fever, i think. the most exquisite thing to ever draw breath in the reach. her skin is like fine valyrian porcelain, unblemished by the sun or the years, and when she smiles, it is as if the seven themselves have leaned down to whisper a secret. and her laughâgods, that laugh. it is a silver bell in a graveyard. it makes you forget your oaths, your father, and the very ground beneath your feet. you find yourself laughing with her, even as she pulls the rug from under you.
but look closer, past the silks and the tyroshi lace, and you will see the rest. she is as impatient as a summer storm and twice as destructive. she treats the realm as her counting-house and every man in it as a coin to be spent. there is a selfishness in herâa hunger that goes deeper than gold or titles. she does not want to be loved; she wants to be contained, and she knows no cage can hold her. she is impulsive, a creature of whim and whim alone, and i fear that before the final joust is run, she will have set this meadowâand my kinâablaze, just to see how the fire reflects in her eyes.
no you donât understand i CANâT choose between modern!aerion white trash southern gothic trailer park ethel cain subtext and modern!aerion uni nepobaby classist yves saint laurent gossip girl undertones
tags. white trash aerion yaay, modern au, brother/sister incest, pregnancy scare, drabble, he hits u once
notes. PUT IT ON MY ASS NO TAN LINES SUMMER!!! ignore typos this is so short.. gave into the propaganda but will write posh boarding school aerion bc it suits him way more.. on a writing kick that i know will die in a couple days time đ
You have plans for life.
Major plans.
Youâre going to leave this backwater town and get a rich boyfriend. You donât have a license so you walk everywhere and itâs got your ass super toned. The type of ass you see oiled up and stuffed into a metallic bikini bottom at pageant shows. Future Rich Boyfriend will see it, want it, smack it, take it. Heâs going to buy you a slinky dress from Aritzia - one that shows off your pageant-perfect toned ass. Then a Birkin the size of your torso. A real one. An ugly one. A real ugly one. Like the sort that is made from real albino crocodile skin, and comes with bright fuzzy keychains and a floral panel sewn into one side and a plaid bow stuck on the handle. Just. Really. Fucking. Ugly. Clashing with your new sexy LBD. But nobody will be able to say a thing about it because itâs expensive.
Youâre going to go jetsetting. Youâre going to get your teeth done. The top row is fine, but the bottom row has been fucked ever since Aerion pushed you off the swings in third grade. Youâll get your entire body lasered so you donât have to worry about ingrowns and so you donât have to waste precious time plucking out nipple hair. Youâre gonna get a yappy little toy dog you carry around in your eyesore of a bag. Scrap that. Youâre going to get a new bag. A vintage, velour, hot pink bag just to carry around your yappy little dog that doesnât even shit where itâs supposed to.
Future Rich Boyfriend will hate it, but he loves you so the dog stays. Future Rich Boyfriend fucks you in a bed covered in a fuck ton of cash. Future Rich Boyfriend doesnât complain about condoms because he doesnât want to ruin your hot bod. He wants you to stay sexy and young forever and you want to stay sexy and young forever so you both decide on an IUD.
Youâre going to get away. So far away that nobody here will ever be able to find you. Theyâll only get to see your face in tabloids with powder sprinkled on your new ski slope nose like dusting sugar. Theyâll see your perfect, centrefold tits on sites like RICHGIRLSUX and STARFUCKERS. Distasteful shots of cleavage and the odd nip-slip taken while youâre at the beach in a leopard print string bikini sipping Mai Tais and kissing a boy from the South of France that isn't Future Rich Boyfriend but looks a hell of a lot like him.
You want him to be tall. You want him to have dark hair and dark eyes. You want him to smell good and he wonât smoke. His dick will be big enough to please you, but not enough to hurt you. He wonâtâ
âJesus, are you done yet?â Aerion - short, blond, light eyes, smokes, average dick, Poor Current Boyfriend - bangs on the bathroom stall door so hard it rattles like it might burst open.
Future Rich Boyfriend wonât rush you.
âYou literally just heard me pee.â You huff, shaking off the pregnancy test.
Youâre going to get away from this all. You will. Honest.
Aerion shuffles around outside, kicking wads of toilet paper and murmuring to himself about how stupid you are. âDad is gonna fuckinâ kill me.â
âGood,â you mumble to yourself, wiping the stick and your ass dry with the last couple sheets of paper left on the roll, before shimmying back into your daisy dukes and exiting the stall.
âSo?â Aerion halts his pacing, watching as you place the stick on the counter and wash your hands.
âSo what?â
He scowls at you. âDonât act stupid.â
âIt takes a couple minutes, Aerion.â You wipe your hands on your shirt that is actually his shirt. It has the psychedelic logo of a band with an obscene name pasted onto the front, faded around the edges because heâs had it since middle school. Stayed the same size though so he kept all of the same clothes.
âFuck.â He smacks a hand against the tiled wall. âFuck!â
You cross your arms. âYouâre not gonna be the pregnant one.â
âShut up.â Aerion stands there all jittery and pale, nicotine-stained fingers rubbing at the back of his neck.
âOne Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four MissiâOuch!â Your neck cracks with the force of his slap. âI told you to stop hitting me!â
âDad hits you.â Aerion shrugs like it is no big deal, he goes back to watching the test.
You watch him watch it. âWell. Yeah. Heâs dad. He hits all of us.â
âNot Rhae.â
âSheâs a toddler, dickhead.â
âYeah. Well. If I fuck you I should get to hit you.â
You scoff at him. âFuck off.â
Aerion glowers at the test as if itâll change something.
Another minute ticks by.
You are going to be rich. You are going to get so gorgeous. You are going to get your nose job and purse dog and Aritzia dress and endangered animal skin Birkin. Youâre going to leave this town. Youâre going to party on a yacht. Youâre not going to pop out five kids in a shack like mom and die pushing out the sixth. You will not. You will not because Future Rich Boyfriend doesnât do kids or girls that come with baggage and baby daddies that vape inside and drive shitty fucking rusted trucks and canât hold down a single shitty fucking job because of his shitty fucking attitude.
Baby daddies that also double as your childâs uncle.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
How you hate your shitty fucking brother.
If it werenât for him you would be fine. You would be happy. Youâd get a boyfriend that isnât your brother. Aerion makes them all back off. Heâs a pipsqueak, but heâs also totally fucking nuts. Carries a knife. Bought dadâs pistol to school once. Nobody wants to touch you because of him. Nobody wants you because of him.
âHey.â Aerion elbows you in the gut, snapping you out of your daze. âHey, hey, hey. Fucking hey.â
âWhat?â
âWhatâs a line mean?â Heâs bent over the cracked counter peering at the pregnancy test, making sure not to touch it.
You snatch it up and your knees almost buckle with relief. âOh thank god.â
One line. One perfect, blessed line. Negative. Freedom. Future Rich Boyfriend is still out there.
Aerion sags against the sink. âJesus. Jesus Christ. Dad wouldâveâFuck. Thank fuck.â
You leave the bathroom while two girls enter and look at both of you weirdly. Aerion puts his hand in your back pocket and you hear the start of their conversation as the door slams shut. Aren't they brother and sister..?
He insists on pushing you in the back of his truck. Dadâs old truck. You hate this thing. It stinks. The smiley face air freshener has been hanging there so long itâs lost its scent. You donât want another fucking UTI. But you let him fuck you anyway. One last time you know? Before all he has to remember his sister by is this shirt and celebrity nude sites. Heâll have to cut your face out of tabloids and stick them into sticky Playboy magazines. Heâll have to use his fist instead of bullying his way into your bedroom and your pussy.
°â˘,. tw: unprotected sex, infidelity, anal sex, fingers-in-mouth, just because i know how to use an em dash doesn't mean i use AI, car sex, mildly canon toxicity, abrupt ending because this is my first fanfic after a year of being mia, both characters are 18+
the thin walls did little to muffle the sound of the harsh rain outside, each droplet assaulting pavement and grass alike. it wasnât the kind of light, easy rain cali was used to. even during the spring, the forecast hardly called for storms. even so, the harsh sound persisted until it nearly resembled static. liam dunbar closed his eyes for a moment. for a moment, the rain bled into white noise, temporarily settling in the back of his mind.
he knew the feeling wouldnât last long. he knew it the moment he opened his eyes again. when he did, his gaze was met with the flat of his ceiling once more. weeks had passed since high school had come to an endâsince senior year had spit everyone out and told them to go on with the rest of their lives, as if any of them knew what they were doing. some of them did, and liam knew that. heâd give credit when it was due. scott had gone to a local university, lydia to massachusetts, and stiles to washington.
a part of liam resented them. he resented how they had managed to maintain balance between their futures and their supernatural quirks; their careers and the trauma the last four years had mercilessly bestowed upon them. they had found themselves, ways to make something of themselves that went beyond werewolves, banshees, dead girlfriends, and evil spirits.
truthfully? liam was lost.
things had been a blur in the weeks that had followed anuk-ite and the hunters. sure, he still had his friends. there was no point in denying it. he still kept in touch with scott and the rest of the pack, even if the physical distance had made itself known. mason was still around, still willing and able to provide him comfort and give advice that wasnât totally half-assed. hayden, too, was still there. she hadnât turned her back on liam, but the elephant in the room had trampled liam with its pillar feet and trumpeted its trunk in his face.
he didnât want haydenâs company.
that was the cold, hard truth. liam hadnât been direct about it. hadnât been up front about it. he simply stopped responding to her texts and began missing her calls. haydenâsweet, pure hayden. the same girl who'd stuck gum on his seat in mister yukimuraâs class. the same girl who had temporarily died in his arms. it was selfishâboredline evil, actually. she was good to him. good for him. she was exactly what he needed during existential crisises like these.
but she wasnât what he wanted. she never would be.
what he wanted was far worse. it came in the shape and form of a redemption arc nine out of ten people would never take seriously. it was born out of the most perverted, twisted desires that plagued the crevices of his mind and mingled with his hormones to trigger a sickening kind of lust. lust was normal, lust was encouraged, but it never made him feel quite this erotic. it came in the form of dark-wash, fitted jeans and cynically-colored layers that always clung to biceps more than they shouldâve been allowed to. it came in the form of a toyota tundra that matched his eyes and calvin klein that adhered to pale skin.
it shouldnât have happened to begin with.
the pack had dissipated after that final fightâthe same should have applied to liam and theoâs reluctant, temporary alliance.
but theo had offered to drive him home that night, and liam had been too worn out to throw around threats and insults. the beat-up offroad smelled like leather, rain, and something so infuriatingly theo. theyâd spoken more in the hours theyâd spent fighting alongside one another than they had in those ten minutes, and yet liam couldn't remember what song was on the radio. he hadnât been paying attention to that.
heâd been paying attention to the fact that theo had spent lonely nights using the backseat of that same rundown truck as a roof over his head. sleeping likely wasnât all heâd been doing. all of a sudden, it felt intimate to be there, the moment the realization had dawned upon liam. heâd been paying attention to one hand gripping the steering wheel, prominent veins bulging across knuckles and beneath street lights.
theo wasnât an idiot. far from it. he had picked up on everythingâfrom the elevation of younger manâs heart rate, to the beads of sweat that had started to caress his temples, to the way the denim of his jeans creased when he found the absolute nerve to squeeze his thighs together an inch closer. he had clocked the tension that had begun simmering beneath the surface from the moment they first punched each other in the face. why else would they have wanted to see one another in pain?
he had made the first move that night.
when theo had first kissed him, liamâs initial reaction had been to shove him as hard as he could with a snarl glued to his lips. he thought, just for a moment, that it had been another one of theoâs tricks. why? no reason was ever necessary. despite his road to redemption, liam had still been cautious. however, when he had saw the flicker of something foreign in theoâs eyes, another decision was made. instead of pushing him away again, heâd kissed him first that time.
it felt right. that was how he knew it was wrong. his hands had lost themselves in theo's hair as quickly as the latterâs tongue had lost itself in his mouth. he tasted of mint and the kind of sweetness that could only come with eveâs apple. the truck had sat idle, parked in front of liamâs house at an unreasonable hour. the windows had fogged within ten minutes, and the only proof of it came in the form of the handprints liam had left when claws slipped on the heat of the moment and failed to penetrate glass.
it had been his first time. with another man, at least.
but far from his last.
they met every other day, almost. oddly enough, it had become the only sense of normalcy left in liamâs life. he was aware of how comical the irony was, given that heâd spent the last year swearing up and down that he resented the chimera. however, even in those moments, his trust in him had always prevailed. in its own twisted sense, trust was no different from lust.
the clock had barely hit midnight when theo had texted him again.
T: letâs go for a drive
T: iâll be there in ten minutes
simple. effective. straight to the point.
liam sat up, losing interest in his ceiling. rightfully so. he didnât bother responding to the messages, and theo didnât bother waiting for a confirmation. seconds bled into minutes as liam rose to his feet, neglecting whatever cluttered his bedâtangled blankets, folded clothes he'd forgotten to put away, wired headphones, and an absurd amount of pillows no one in their right mind needed. he figured no one in their right mind would be this eager to see theo raeken, either.
he was half-decent when ten minutes had passed, not that it mattered what heâd wear. it was easy to guarantee that itâd end up on the floor of theoâs truck, all the same. his hair hadnât grown much in the last month, but heâd made no effort to trim it. the wind that had come with the violent storm effortlessly carded through it, even as he pulled his hoodie over his head. he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, though it did little to keep them dry.
it didnât matter, because theo was already there.
he saw the headlights first, the faint glow illuminating every droplet of rain that seemed keen on flooding the road. baby blue metal glistened under the pale moonlight as theo pulled in, engine still running as the passengerâs door opened. it was all the initiative liam needed to climb inside.
theo didnât look at him at first. he adjusted the rearview mirror instead, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel, the other resting against the gear shift. dark-wash denim, black henley, a jacket that looked like it belonged in some indie coming-of-age movie about boys who ruin each other in parking lots. his hair was damp at the edges, rainwater sliding down his temple and disappearing beneath his collar.
âyouâre late,â he said finally, voice smooth and low, almost bored.
liam scoffed, slamming the door harder than necessary. âyou said ten minutes.â
âyeah.â theoâs mouth curved slightly. âand iâve been here for twelve.â
they both knew that wasnât true, but liam liked how the lie sounded on his lips.
still, he rolled his eyes, but his pulse betrayed himâquick, sharp, traitorous. theoâs gaze flicked down, just for a second, like he could see it beating beneath his hoodie.
âyour heartâs doing that thing again,â theo added casually.
âshut up.â
âhey, i didnât say i didnât like it.â
the engine hummed louder as theo shifted into drive. the truck eased away from the curb, headlights slicing through the rain-soaked dark. beacon hills looked different at night. less suburban, more cinematic. streetlights blurred into golden halos through the storm. the world outside felt like it was dissolving.
liam stared straight ahead, jaw tight. âwhere are we going?â
theo shrugged one shoulder. âthought weâd see how far the road goes.â
âthatâs not an answer.â
âitâs enough of one.â
that was theo. always half-truths, always a smirk like he knew something you didnât. but there was less venom in him now. less sharpness. the cruelty had dulled into something quieter. not goneânever goneâbut controlled.
liam shifted in his seat. âyou canât just keep texting me like that. like iâmââ
âlike youâll come?â theo finished.
liamâs eyes snapped to him. âi donât always.â
theo finally looked over, slow and deliberate. blue eyes, steady and unreadable. âyou always do.â
the rain filled the silence that followed.
they drove aimlessly at firstâpast shuttered storefronts, past the high school that looked too small now, too innocent. the neon sign of the liquor store buzzed faintly as they passed. everything felt like a ghost of something theyâd survived.
âscott called me,â liam muttered suddenly.
theoâs fingers tightened on the wheel, barely noticeable. âyeah?â
âyeah, he thinks i should visit. said the campus is nice. said iâd âfigure things out.ââ he mimicked scottâs gentle optimism with a bitter edge. âlike itâs that easy.â
theo was quiet for a moment.
âyou donât have to have it figured out,â he said eventually.
liam huffed. âeasy for you to say. you donât exactly have a five-year plan.â
theo smirked faintly. âsure i do.â
âoh, yeah? what is it? terrorize another small town? join a cult again?â
âwow.â theo glanced at him, amused. âyou really know how to make a guy feel seen.â
liamâs lips twitched despite himself.
theoâs expression softenedâbarely, but it was there. âiâm serious, though. you think scott had it figured out at seventeen? he just⌠decided to be good. over and over again. thatâs not a plan. thatâs stubbornness. the kind i'm made of.â
liam swallowed.
âyouâve got that too,â theo added. âthe stubborn part.â
âdonât compare me to you.â
âwasnât.â
that hung heavier than it should have.
the truck eventually turned onto a narrower road, trees arching overhead like skeletal fingers. rain cascaded down the windshield in sheets now. theo slowed, then pulled off near the overlookâthe same one theyâd stood at a dozen times before battles, before bloodshed, before everything.
theo killed the engine. the silence was immediate and loud. only the rain remained, drumming against the metal roof. the world beyond the glass was a blur of dark hills and distant city lights. liamâs breathing felt too noticeable in the quiet.
âyouâre thinking too loud,â theo murmured.
âstop psychoanalyzing me, asshole.â
âitâs not analyzing.â theo turned slightly in his seat. âitâs listening.â
liam finally looked at him.
the tension shiftedâless electric, more magnetic. slower. heavier.
âhayden called me again,â liam said, the words leaving a foul taste in his mouth. âi didnât answer.â
theoâs jaw ticked. âdoes she know?â
âabout us?â liam let out a hollow laugh. âthere is no âus.ââ
theoâs eyes darkened, just a fraction. âright.â
liam hated that look. hated the flicker of something almost vulnerable. it made this real in a way he wasnât prepared for. âi donât wanna hurt her,â he continued, voice quieter now. âbut i canât keep pretending.â
theo studied him like he was something fragile and volatile all at once. âso donât.â
âitâs not that simple.â
âit is.â theo leaned closer, not touching, just close enough that liam could feel the warmth radiating off him. âyou donât owe anyone a version of yourself that makes them comfortable.â
liamâs jaw tightened. âsince when do you give self-help speeches?â
âsince you started looking like youâre drowning every time someone mentions your future.â
liamâs claws threatened to surfaceâemotion always did that to himâbut he forced them back. âwhat about you?â he challenged. âwhat do you want, theo?â
theo didnât answer right away. for once, he didnât have something sarcastic loaded and ready. his gaze dropped to liamâs mouth, then back to his eyes.
he chose not to say anything.
instead, his hand came up, hesitating just short of liamâs jaw like he was waiting for permission. liam could have moved away. he didnât. theoâs thumb brushed along his cheekbone, gentle in a way that felt completely at odds with who he used to be. liamâs eyes fluttered shut for a second, heart hammering loud enough to drown out the rain. no words were needed. the answer was obviousâtheo had what he wanted, even if it was temporary.
his free hand un-did his seatbelt. in the split second that passed, he allowed himself to face the younger man properly. his hand remained on his jaw, fingertips tracing bone while his thumb caressed his cheekbone. if it was sincere, the moment was worth living in. if it was manipulation, liam wouldâve kissed the lies off his tongue, but theo's lips found his first.
there had been nights where it was teeth and breath and something bordering on violenceâwhere they kissed like they were still trying to win. this wasnât that. this was slower. measured. theoâs mouth moved against his like he was memorizing him, not conquering him.
liamâs hand slid from theoâs jacket to the nape of his neck, fingers threading into damp, dark hair. he tuggedâinstinct, instinct, always instinctâand a quiet sound left theoâs throat, low and restrained. not surprised. never surprised. he hated how easily their bodies aligned, like muscle memory had rewritten itself around each other. theo shifted, one knee angling between his legs, not pushing, just there. grounding. his thumb never left his cheek, as if he was afraid heâd disappear if he did. rain streaked down the windows in silver lines. the truck felt smaller by the second.
liam shoved him lightly, enough to force him back against the driverâs seat. theo let himself be movedâanother difference. the old him wouldâve fought for dominance, turned it into a power play. this him just watched him with something dangerously close to admiration. liam straddled his lap without fully registering the decision, hoodie bunching at his waist. the windows fogged faster now, heat building in the small space.
theo reached back, just enough for one hand to tug liam's hood off his scalp, freeing his hair. his hands dropped back down, teetering between his waist and hips. his grip tightened slightly, just enough to press him down against his crotch. the gesture successfully elicited a small gasp from the younger man. it was enough to make theo's lips twitch into that aggravating little smirk.
âforgot how sensitive you were,â the chimera found himself commenting, unable to resist the way amusement dripped from each syllable.
liam scowled, visibly less amused, yet too turned on to argue with him. he pressed his lips to theoâs instead, opting to silence him. it was rougher this time, because old habits died hard. their lips melted against each other as liam carded his fingers through theoâs hair, tugging on the dark strands until it was the chimeraâs turn to gasp. the moment he did, liamâs tongue slipped into his mouth, the tip flicking across perfect teeth before tangling with the other wet muscle.
he made sure to grind his hips down as he did so, though it was hard to hell if that was solely to provoke theo, or to amplify the much needed friction. either way, it was enough for a growl to rumble in theoâs throat. he let his hands drop further, until veins bulged from how hard he was kneading liamâs ass through his jeans, gripping until he could guide his hips back and forth along the tent in his jeans.
liam felt it, the familiar outline of arousal gliding between his dick and ass in the shape of rough denim. he pulled away with a whimper, lips swollen from the kiss. only then did he see the way theoâs pupils were blown-out with lust, eyes half-lidded. the chimera didnât give himself time to catch his breath, fingers sliding up the fabric of liam's hoodie and pulling it over his head.
just as liam had predicted, it ended up on the floor.
he returned the gesture with an eagerness to his fingers that contradicted every insult heâd ever thrown theoâs way. he peeled the chimeraâs jacket off. his shirt followed just as quickly.
theoâs fingertips blossomed across liamâs back, dragging down his spine, pausing just around the small of his back. he dipped forward, his lips light as a feather as they caressed the center of the younger manâs chest. he let his lips travel down to his nipples, and only then did his tongue dip out, the flat of it sweeping a stripe up each sensitive bud.
liam gasped again, his back arching ever so slightly against theoâs hands. one of his own hands found comfort pressed up against theoâs abs, his free hand sliding back into the dark hair he couldnât get enough of, giving it a tug. the sound that left liamâs throat wasnât polished or practiced. it was wrecked. raw around the edges. the kind of sound he wouldâve bitten back in any other circumstanceâin locker rooms, in hallways, in the suffocating normalcy of daylight. but there was no daylight here. just the storm and the fogged windows and theoâs mouth dragging slow, deliberate heat across his skin.
theoâs tongue flattened again, slower this time, less teasing. he watched the way liamâs stomach tightened beneath the touch. watched the way his breathing stuttered. always watching. âstill pretending you donât like me?â he murmured against his chest.
liamâs fingers tightened in his hair in response, tugging just enough to pull him back up. âdonât ruin it,â he breathed, eyes dark and flashing gold at the edges.
that smirk againâsofter now, but still there. âwouldnât dream of it.â his hands slid lower, thumbs hooking into the waistband of liamâs jeans, testing. not pushing yet. waiting.
liam swallowed hard. the heat pooling low in his stomach was almost dizzying, almost overwhelming in the tight cab of the truck. he could feel theo everywhereâbeneath him, around him, grounding him in a way that felt dangerous because it wasnât just physical. theo shifted his grip, guiding liamâs hips again, slower now. controlled. friction deliberate instead of frantic. liamâs head tipped back, exposing his throat without thinking.
that was all the invitation theo needed. his mouth traced upwardâsternum, collarbone, the subtle dip between muscle and bone, until his lips hovered just beneath liamâs jaw. he didnât bite. didnât mark. he just pressed a lingering kiss there, thumb stroking along the curve of liamâs hip like he was memorizing the shape. âtell me to stop,â he said quietly, breath warm against his skin.
liamâs eyes snapped back down to him. there it was again. that restraint. that effort.
tonight, his restraint failed him.
yet again, his lips found theoâs. it wasnât gentle this time around, no toes dipping into shallow water. it felt like a clash of teeth and tongue this time around, and it drew a deep, muffled groan out of theoâs throat. he felt liamâs lips close around his tongue, sun-kissed hands pushing back against his pale chest, pressing him back against the seat. his hands were glued to liamâs hips, guiding them back and forth. even through rough denim, liam could feel him throbbing.
lost in what could have only been his own desperation, liam dropped a hand between their bodies. he broke the kiss, both men panting audibly, foreheads pressed against one another.
theo parted his thighs a little more, head tipping back. his dark hair was damp, clinging to his forehead, lips parted, chest heaving. his lips curled half-heartedly as he watched liam fumble with his own jeans. âso eager,â he drawled, a touch of rasp to his voice that hadn't been there before. he pressed his palm against liam's crotch, palming the solid outline through denim. âthatâs right, take that cock out. surprised you havenât creamed your fucking pants by now.â
it was mean in a way only theo could pull off; there was familiarity to it. that same familiarity made liam glare at him through dark lashes, just as heâd brought his zipper down. however, whatever insult he had ready died down at the feeling of theoâs palm. grinding. palming. thumb rubbing the damp spot his tip was tucked into, palm pressing into his shaft. there was no comeback. liamâs eyes all but rolled back, body betraying him as he returned the motion, grinding down against theoâs hand with a moan passing his lips.
theoâs free hand slid up liamâs spine, fingers splaying wide between his shoulder blades before dragging down again, slow and deliberate. grounding him. guiding him.
liam finally freed himself from the confines of his jeans with a shaky exhale, the cool air of the truck biting briefly against overheated skin. the contrast made him hiss under his breath.
theoâs eyes dropped instinctively, darkening further, hunger obvious but not quite predatory. his palm moved from over the denim to the fabric of liam's boxers, slower now. testing. liam was painfully hard, tip peering out from the waistband, tinted an angry red and leaking pre-cum. his thumb brushed lightly along the sensitive underside, and liamâs entire body reactedâback arching, fingers digging into theoâs shoulders.
âtheoââ it wasnât a warning. it wasnât a command. it was barely even a word.
theoâs jaw flexed at the sound of his name like that. he adjusted his grip, firmer now but still controlled, guiding the rhythm instead of rushing it. his other hand remained steady at liamâs hip, keeping him balanced. âbreathe,â he muttered quietly, far removed from the earlier drawl. âyouâre gonna pass out if you donât.â
liam shot him a glare that lacked real bite, chest rising and falling too fast. âiâm fine.â
âliam.â
the tone shifted him more than the touch did. steady. grounded. present. he forced himself to inhale deeply, exhale slower, even as theoâs hand continued its measured movement. the friction built gradually instead of exploding all at onceâdeliberate, patient. maddening.
theoâs grip tightened just enough to pull another moan from liamâs throat, fingers flexing against his skin like he was counting the seconds until liam shattered. every drag of his palm was calculatedâjust shy of too much, just shy of enough. liamâs hips stuttered forward, chasing the friction, but theo slowed his hand, thumb pressing into the slit just to watch his breath hitch.
âtheoââ liamâs voice cracked, fingers clawing at his shoulders. âstop teasing.â
theoâs smirk was infuriatingly soft. âwhoâs teasing?â his thumb circled the head lazily, smearing pre-cum down the length. âyouâre the one grinding into my hand like youâve never been touched before.â
theoâs fingers curled around him fully thenâfinallyâand liam nearly saw stars. the grip was firm, deliberate, the calloused drag of his palm against sensitive skin sending sparks up liamâs spine. he bit his lip hard enough to taste copper, hips jerking forward involuntarily, chasing the heat of his touch like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.
âthere you go,â theo murmured, voice rough at the edges, like he was the one struggling to keep his breathing even. his thumb swiped over the head again, smearing precum in slow circles, and liamâs stomach tightened impossibly further. âknew you could take it.â his hands left liamâs hips long enough to undo his own belt buckle with practiced ease, the metal clicking open like a gun cocking. he shoved his jeans and boxers down just past his thighs in one rough motionâno ceremony, no hesitation. the cold air bit at exposed skin, but neither of them noticed. liam barely had time to register the sight before theoâs fingers were back on him, wrapping around his cock with a grip that made his vision blur.
his breath hitched as theoâs thumb pressed into the slit of his cock, smearing more precum down his shaft in a slow, torturous drag. âshitââ the curse spilled from his lips like a prayer, his hips jerking forward into the touch. theoâs other hand slid beneath the waistband of liamâs boxers, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs before hooking into the fabric and yanking them down. the elastic snapped against his happy trail, the sudden exposure sending a shudder through him.
theoâs breath ghosted hot against his shoulder as he maneuvered him with practiced ease, hands guiding his hips until liam was facing the fogged windshield, knees braced against the driverâs seat. the steering wheel pressed cold into his stomach as he bent forward, the leather creaking under his grip. behind him, theoâs body was a solid line of heat, his chest flush against liamâs back, one hand moving up to his jaw.
liam exhaled shakily as theoâs thumb traced his plush lower lip before the rough pad tapped against it twice. he didn't make room for hesitation, parting his lips just enough for theo to slide his thumb into his mouth, twisting it around until it was soaked in saliva. but really, it was liamâs momentary obedience that made the chinera's cock twitch against his back.
theo didnât pull his thumb out immediately. his index finger follow, as did his middle finger. when his thumb slipped out, two digits helped themselves to liamâs mouth, fingertips tracing the surface of his tongue until they lingered around the back of his throat. liam made a noiseânot quite a gag, not quite a protest. though it made his cock twitch again, theo pulled his fingers out. his left hand splayed across the younger manâs abdomen.
ârelax,â theo murmured, teeth grazing the nape of his neck as his right hand dipped lower, fingertips skimming the curve of his ass. the touch was teasingâannoyingly slowâbefore his thumb pressed in, rubbing slow circles against his rim. liam shuddered, a sharp inhale catching in his throat as the chimeraâs fingers traced him like he was mapping terrain. then, without warning, theoâs spit-wet thumb breached him, just enough to make his spine arch.
âfuckâtheoââ liamâs voice cracked on his name, fingers scrambling for purchase on the wheel.
theo chuckled low in his ear, the sound vibrating against his skin as he worked his thumb deeper, twisting slightly just to feel him clench. âalways so fucking tense.â his other hand slid up his chest, fingers curling around his jaw, tilting his head back until their lips brushed. âbreathe.â
his thumb twisted deeper, the drag of it rough enough to make liamâs toes curl against the floor. his breath came in ragged bursts against theoâs lips, every exhale hitching into a moan theo swallowed greedily. the kiss was filthyâall teeth and tongue, theoâs mouth hot and demanding as he worked liam open with cruel precision. his fingers were slick, spit gliding between them as he added a second digit, scissoring just enough to pull a choked gasp from liamâs throat.
âthere,â theo murmured against his lips, voice thick with satisfaction. he crooked his fingers, pressing insistently against that spot inside liam that made his vision whiten at the edges. âknew youâd like that.â
liamâs hips jerked back instinctively, chasing the friction, his cock dripping against the steering wheel. he could feel theoâs smirk against his mouth, the bastardâcould feel the way his fingers slowed just to feel liam squirm. âfucking move,â he snarled, biting theoâs lower lip hard enough to taste iron.
theo laughed, low and breathless, but obeyed. his fingers pistoned faster now, the wet sound of them obscene in the cramped cab. liamâs moans spilled into his mouth, broken and desperate, his hands clawing at the wheel as theoâs free hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him in time with every thrust of his fingers.
abruptly, theoâs fingers dragged out of liam with a wet, filthy sound, leaving him shuddering and empty, his hips jerking back instinctivelyâchasing the loss, the sudden absence of pressure that had been driving him toward the edge. his cock throbbed, untouched now, pre-come beading at the tip and smearing against the steering wheel where heâd braced himself. his breath came in ragged bursts, his lips parted around a silent plea.
theo sat back in the driverâs seat, one arm draped lazily over the wheel, the other settling on liam's hip, guiding him backâslow, deliberate, infuriatingly controlled. his cock stood thick and flushed between his thighs, glistening at the tip, the heat of him radiating even through the damp air of the truck. his smirk was lazy, knowing, his eyes dark with something sharper than amusement. âyou didnât think i was gonna let you cum from my fingers, did you?â he drawled, fingers tightening just enough to bruise. âthought you liked it better when i dicked you down, dunbar.â
liamâs breath hitched, fingers digging into theoâs thighs as he hovered above him, knees bracketing his hips. the truckâs seat groaned beneath them, leather sticking to sweat-slick skin. theoâs grip on his waist was iron, forcing him still before he could sink down. âare you done being a jackass?â liam growled, hips twitching forward, desperate for friction. âlet me move.â
theo smirked, thumb tracing the jut of his hipbone. âbegging already?â his voice was rough, raw at the edges. he shifted beneath him, the thick press of his cock dragging against liamâs ass, teasing but not giving him what he wanted. âyou gotta earn it.â
liam snarled, nails on the verge of extending into claws biting into theoâs shoulders as he ground down, the head catching at his rim but not breaching. âi earned it when i didnât rip your head off for shoving your fingers down my throat.â
theo laughedâlow, breathlessâand finally relented. his hands slid down to grip liamâs ass, fingers pressing into the reddened skin. âyeah,â he agreed, voice dripping with mock reverence. âsaint liam.â then he yanked him down hard.
liamâs gasp fractured into a moan as theo sheathed himself inside him in one brutal thrust, the stretch burning in the best way. his back arched, head tipping back as theoâs cock dragged against that spot inside him, relentless. he didnât give him time to adjust, just hauled him up and slammed him back down, the slap of skin echoing in the cab. âfuckâi canâtââ liamâs voice wavered, hands scrambling for theoâs biceps, blunt nails leaving crescent moons in their wake.
theoâs breath was hot against his throat, lips grazing the pulse point beneath his jaw. âthatâs it,â he murmured, hips rolling up to meet liamâs movements, driving deeper. âtake it.â his hands slid around to liamâs front, fingers wrapping around his cock in a tight, twisting stroke. precum smeared between them, slick and obscene. liamâs hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering as pleasure coiled tight in his gut.
theo didnât let up. he fucked up into him with sharp, shallow thrusts, the drag of his cock precise and desperate. his thumb swiped over liamâs slit, spreading the wetness down his balls. âgonna cum?â he taunted, voice rough with exertion. âgonna fucking lose it on my hand like an untouched virgin?â
liamâs teeth sank into his own lower lip hard enough to draw blood, his entire body trembling. he could feel it buildingâthe heat, the pressure, the inevitable snap. his fingers tangled in theoâs hair, dragging his head back to kiss him filthy, all teeth and tongue. theo groaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by liamâs hunger.
thenâliving up to just how big of an ass he really wasâtheo pulled his hand away, leaving liamâs cock twitching and untouched, the sudden absence of friction a knife twist. âno,â he growled, gripping liamâs hips hard enough to bruise. ânot yet.â he flipped them without warning, pinning liam against the seat, his cock still buried deep inside him. the steering wheel dug into theo's back, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the way his body covered liam's, hot and heavy.
his lips trailed down his throat, teeth scraping over his collarbone before sucking a bruise into the hollow of his throat. his hips rolled in slow, deep thrusts, each one punching a broken noise from liamâs lips. âyouâre gonna wait,â he murmured against his skin, breath scorching. âgonna take every inch of me until i say you can cum.â
liamâs claws had finally come out, more so out of sheer instinct under the overstimulating pressure. they raked down theoâs back, his legs hooking around his waist to pull him closer. âasshole,â he gasped, but his hips arched up to meet theoâs thrusts, his cock leaking against his stomach.
theoâs chuckle was dark, his hands sliding beneath liam to grip his ass, kneading the flesh before landing a sharp smack that echoed through the cab. liamâs moan was punched out of him, his cock twitching against his stomach. theo did it again, then again, the sting mingling with the pleasure until the younger werewolf was writhing beneath him, his thighs trembling.
âclose?â theo taunted, his thrusts turning punishing, the wet slap of skin filling the air. his hand wrapped around their cocks, stroking them together in a tight, twisting grip. liamâs vision whited out at the edges, his entire body tightening like a coil.
theoâs fist tightened around both of them, his grip unforgiving as he jerked their cocks in rough, uneven strokes. precum smeared between them, slick and filthy, the sound obscenely wet in the cramped cab. liamâs breath came in ragged bursts, his hips jerking upward instinctively, chasing the friction.
âjesus, theo, please,â liam was practically whimpering now, nails digging into theoâs shoulders hard enough to leave scars. âharder.â
theo smirked, thumb swiping over the head of liamâs cock just to watch him shudder. âlike this?â he twisted his wrist sharply, his other hand gripping liamâs ass to keep him from squirming away. his thrusts slowedâeach drag of his cock inside liam hitting that spot that made his vision blur.
liamâs teeth sank into theoâs shoulder, biting down hard enough to draw a grunt from him. theo retaliated with a sharp snap of his hips, the force of it knocking the air from liamâs lungs. his hand moved faster, thumb pressing into the slit of liamâs cock with every upstroke. liamâs brain had practically stopped working. he couldn't think. not when theoâs cock was buried deep inside him, not when his hand was working them both toward the edge with ruthless precision. his hips stuttered, thighs trembling as pleasure coiled tight in his gut.
theoâs rhythm faltered for just a secondâlong enough for liam to notice the way his breath hitched, the way his grip tightened reflexively. âclose?â liam panted, lips grazing his jaw.
theoâs response was a sharp thrust, his hips snapping forward with enough force to make the seat creak. âyeah,â he admitted, chest heaving. his fingers dug into liamâs skin, holding him in place as his thrusts grew erratic. âgonna fill you up.â
liamâs stomach tightened at the words, his cock throbbing in theoâs grip. âdo it,â he demanded, arching into him.
theo groanedâlow, brokenâhis forehead dropping to liamâs shoulder as he came. his hips jerked forward once, twice, his cock pulsing inside him as he spilled into him with a shudder. liam could feel itâthe heat, the wetnessâand the thought alone was enough to tip him over the edge.
his orgasm hit him like a punch to the gut, his cock twitching violently in theoâs fist as he came. cum streaked between them, painting theoâs fingers and his own stomach in hot, sticky stripes. his vision whited out for a second, his body going taut before collapsing bonelessly against the seat.
the rain still hammered against the truckâs roof, but the sound was distant now, muffled beneath the ragged sound of their breathing. liamâs chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, his fingers still tangled in theoâs hair, his thighs still trembling around his waist. theo hadnât pulled out yet. his weight pressed liam into the seat, heavy and warm, his breath hot against his throat.
for a moment, neither of them moved.
then theo shifted, just enough to catch liamâs gaze. his eyes were darker now, pupils blown wide, lips parted around shallow breaths. there was something unsettlingly raw in his expressionâsomething liam couldnât name.
âyou good?â theo murmured, voice rough.
liam swallowed, throat dry despite the humid air clinging to their skin. the question hung between them, loaded in a way that made his pulse skip. the weight of himâthe heat, the scent of sweat and sexâwas almost suffocating. he wanted to say no. wanted to shove him off and pretend this was just another fuck, another bad decision in a string of them. but theoâs thumb brushed his hipbone, slow and absent, and the lie died on his tongue.
âyeah,â he muttered instead, voice hoarse. his fingers uncurled from theoâs hair, trailing down to his shoulders where half-moon indents were already healing. âyou?â
theo smirked, but it lacked its usual edge. âpeachy.â he shifted again, pulling out with a slow drag that made liamâs breath hitch. the mess between them was obsceneâcum streaked across his stomach, tacky where theoâs fingers had smeared it. liam grimaced, reaching for the discarded hoodie bunched near the gearshift to wipe himself off.
theo watched him, elbows braced on either side of liamâs head, expression unreadable. the rain had eased to a drizzle, pattering softly against the windshield. somewhere beyond the fogged glass, beacon hills slept.
the silence stretched like a live wire between themâtoo thin, too sharp. liam tossed the ruined hoodie aside, the fabric landing with a wet slap against the floor mat. his skin still prickled with the ghost of theoâs touch, oversensitive and raw. he wanted to say somethingâanythingâto cut through the quiet, but the words stuck in his throat, tangled up in the aftertaste of sweat and cum and something dangerously close to vulnerability.
theo exhaled through his nose, rolling onto his side to dig through the glove compartment. his movements were deliberate, shoulders flexing under the dim cabin light as he pulled out a crumpled fast-food napkin. he handed it to liam without looking at him.
liam took it, fingers brushing theoâs for half a second too long. âthanks,â he muttered, wiping the mess off his stomach with more force than necessary.
theo hummed, noncommittal, gaze fixed on the rain-streaked windshield. his jaw worked like he was chewing on words he wouldnât say.
the napkin crumpled in liamâs fist, sticky and useless. he tossed it onto the floor with the rest of the wreckageâhoodie, discarded jeans, the unspoken thing thickening the air between them. the truck smelled like sex and rain and something bitter beneath it all, like copper on the back of his tongue.
theo reached for the radio dial, twisting it just enough to fill the silence with static-laced musicâsome old song liam didnât recognize, all raspy vocals and aching guitar.
âyou gonna tell her?â theo asked suddenly, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against the steering wheel. his voice was too casual, like he was asking about the weather.
liamâs spine stiffened. âwho?â
theoâs fingers stilled on the wheel. the look he gave liam was slow, deliberateâthe kind that made his skin prickle. âdonât play dumb, dunbar. it doesnât suit you.â
liamâs jaw tightened. outside, the rain had faded to a whisper against the glass, the world beyond the truck reduced to smudges of neon and shadow. he wiped his palm on his thigh, the napkin long forgotten. âhayden doesnât need to know,â he said finally, voice low. âthereâs nothing to tell.â
theoâs laugh was quiet, humorless. he leaned back against the driverâs seat, one arm slung over the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. his thumb tapped an absent rhythm against the leather. âright. because getting fucked in the back of my truck every other night is nothing.â
âitâs notââ liam cut himself off, fingers curling into fists. his nails bit into his palms. âitâs not like that.â
theo turned his head, eyes glinting in the dim light like a challenge. âthen what's it like, liam?â
the question hung there, sharp as a knife between ribs. liamâs throat worked. he could lieâshould lieâbut theoâs gaze pinned him like a specimen, dissecting every twitch of his face.
âitâs just sex,â he finally ground out.
theoâs smirk was razor-thin. âbullshit.â he reached forward, slow, and dragged a thumb over the fresh bruises on liamâs hips. they weren't healing as quickly as they should have. if there was symbolism in that, it was for someone smarter than either of them to talk about. âyou donât leave marks like this on someone you donât give a shit about.â
liam slapped his hand away, pulse hammering against his ribs like it wanted out. âyou donât know what i give a shit about.â
theo leaned back, unfazed, fingers curling around the steering wheel again. the radio crackled between them, some melancholic ballad about lovers who ruined each other better than anyone else could. liam wanted to smash it.
âi know youâre still answering my texts,â theo said, voice dripping with that infuriating certainty. âi know you taste like guilt every time i kiss you.â his thumb brushed his own lower lip, slow, like he was savoring the memory. âand i know youâre gonna keep coming back, even if you hate yourself for it.â
for once, liam faltered. not out of anger, not out of rage that threatened to take shape in claws and a mean right hook to the chimeraâs face. it wasnât out of guilt either, not the guilt that theo was talking about.
it was out of defeat.
â. đ Ë
a/n: this was cut short because im sooo lazy guys i feel like every trope has been beaten black and blue and overused. like the children yearn for originality !
the amount of aerion targaryen mischaracterization in these fanfics is absolutely insane... i be sooo ready to read these aerion x reader fics until y'all start treating him like joffrey 2.0 and obliterating everything that makes him an interesting villain.
in other news, this show has left a VOIDDD in my chest that won't be filled until 2027!
SUMMARY: aerion is sick of lys, and aerion is sick of you. so, he does what any true dragon should do, and he puts you in your place. except when you actually do leave him alone, he finds that he doesn't feel quite as victorious as he should.
WARNINGS: Aerion POV (LOL), fem!reader, jealous/possessive!aerion, mentions of Targaryen madness but no actual display of it (in this part :P), reader comes from Valyrian lineage but no physical traits are mentioned/described, tw aerion, semi-public sex (donât worry theyâll stop being open whores soon LOL), rough sex, blood play, gagging/minor choking, switch!reader (sub!leaning this time), switch!aerion (dom!leaning this time); WC: 10.5k-ish
AUTHOR'S NOTES: EHEHEHEHHEHEHE guys I'm having so much fun writing this fic. Eventually I'm going to make a masterlist for all of the parts to throw them together and I'm going to name it "How To Train Your Dragon" KADHFISHFUSADF LOLLLLLLLL or I might save that for a different fic, but it's too funny I have to use it. I actually rewrote this part a few times because I couldn't figure out where I wanted to go with it. Originally, I wanted Aerion to have like an actual display of Targaryen madness, but I think it would be better to save that for a later installment. I think the next installment whenever that may be (gonna take longer this time bc I have a lot of work to get done) is going to center around him figuring out why she was exiled and I'm excited to get into that because it's quite the story. Anyway â I hope you enjoy! comments and relogs are always appreciated, mwah mwah!
READ: INCANDESCENCE
Aerion hates Lys.Â
Between magisters angling to secure a dragon for a son-in-law and perfumed courtesans drifting through torchlit halls like painted ghosts, the city feels poisonous. Decadent. Drowned in silk and scented oils thick enough to choke on. He cannot breathe without tasting rosewater and myrrh. He cannot think without fury curdling his blood and indignation fogging all coherent thought.
He curls his hand around the goblet at his side until the thin Myrish glass cracks beneath his grip. They do not understand him hereâno one understands him anywhere, but at the very least, Westeros is home. Westeros hates himâfears him, whispers about him, judges himâbut it knows him. They look at him and see what he isâa dragon, fire and bloodâthey speak his name in the Seven Kingdoms with caution, and lower their eyes when he walks by.
These Lyseni look at him and see only opportunity. A displaced prince to take advantage of. A scandal dressed in silver hair and violet eyes to exploit. A dragon clipped of its wings and sent across the Narrow Sea to be made more palatable. Aerion sees all of their calculations when they think theyâre being slick. He sees the way fathers present daughters in hopes of tying their line with a prince of the blood; in the way servants watch for signs of temper, eager to report whether the exile is manageable or monstrous.Â
He lifts the goblet and drains it in a single swallow. The wine is sweetâtoo sweet. Everything in Lys is sweet, and syrupy, and soft, and heâs sick of it. It coats the tongue and dulls the senses, trying to keep him weak and malleable. He wants something sharp enough to cut. He wants hard-packed earth and steel, not mosaic marble and silk.Â
He throws the goblet at the wall furiously, watching it shatter against the pale stone, ignoring how a servant girl flinches and scurries away as he rises to his feet and paces the solar, agitated.Â
He hadnât even done anything wrong. Heâd meant to teach a lesson, that was all. The puppet girl incited rebellion, the hedge knight overstepped, and the crowd dared to laugh.Â
What was he meant to do? Smile? Yield? Laugh along with them?
A dragon who endures mockery without response ceases to be a dragon at all. A dragon answers with fire and blood. He had done what he was meant to do, and they treated him as though heâs the villain of the tale. As though it was his hand that struck his uncle down, his arm that swung the mace. As though Baelor wasnât the one who chose to stand against his own blood, with some fucking oaf who dared to lay hands on a prince of the blood.Â
The gods answered the Trial of Seven as they were meant to, and still, they blame him. As if divine judgment must bend itself to their comfort. Aerion might have withdrawn his accusation, but if the gods struck his uncle down on that field, perhaps it was not Aerion they judged. Except no one wishes to speak that truth aloud, because itâs easier to name him the monster and send him across the Narrow Sea to pretend the problem has been solved.Â
He swallows the bitter lump in his throat, chest tight with something that he refuses to name.
Lys will suit you, his father had said while Aerion was still tasting his own blood with every swallow. While his ribs still ached with every breath, and his face was still swollen and split from that brute of a hedge knightâs blows. He couldnât rise from the bed to argue properly, wasnât even given the chance to defend himself. Maekar had spoken the words and turned his back on him, treating him as though he were an inconvenience to be managed rather than a son to be defended.Â
His next exhale is shudderedâfurious, betrayed, pained, heâs not sure. His hands wrap around the railing of the balcony, looking over Vyranoâs manse, over the glittering city and pale marble domes, knuckles white and fingers trembling. Music drifts upward to where he stands, lutes and soft laughter ringing incessantly in his ears.
He hates it.
âââââââ
Aerion hates Lys, and Aerion hates you.
As if this wretched city of silk could get even worse, you had to come along with it. You laugh when he threatens, and lean closer when he snarls. You speak to him in the old tongue as if itâs your birthright, poured into your mouth with your motherâs milk; as if High Valyrian were not a privilege of fire and blood, but a toy to be rolled across your tongue for amusement. Aerion wants you dead, but he canât even get people to answer questions about you, much less the opportunity to put his blade through your throat.
You are impudent, and disrespectful, and whorish, and you have left bruises up and down his throat, scratches along his abdomen, like a wild beast.Â
He stands before the polished silver, fingers tracing the marks you left on him, studying them with a deep frownâbruises bloom dark where your mouth lingered, lines sting across his body when he moves the wrong way. The haze of pleasure is long gone, and Aerion is enraged. The marks do not suit a prince of the bloodâa dragon. He looks almostâ
His jaw tightens, gaze flicking away.
He had not meant for it to happen that way. He meant to remind you of your placeâto show you the edge of the blade you thought to play with and make you flinch, to teach you that dragons are not toys to be handled at whim. Instead, you had laughed and mocked him, drawing him into a guessing game of identity, and he had let you. You had straddled him like he was some perfumed boy from a pillow house, like he was yours to take, and he had let you.Â
Aerion hisses as he turns his back to his own reflection, pacing. He cannot sit. He cannot breathe. The memory of your mouth at his throat feels like flames beneath his flesh, and every time he thinks he has doused it, it flares again. The audacity you had to just leave, he thinks furiously. To rise from his lap, fix your dress, and leave him thereâbreathing heavy, cock softening inside silk, blood and spit smeared around his mouth like a maiden whoâd just been kissed silly. You had strolled back into the festival with the ease of someone returning to their seat at supper, and heâd been left reeling, trying to pretend he wasnât.
He drags a hand through his hair, nails catching on tanglesâhe needs to cut it again. Heâs been trapped on this flowery prison for over a fortnight, and already heâs starting to look like one of the silk boys. His thoughts flash, sharp and ugly, when he catches sight of the bruises on his reflection as he whirls around again. He should have taken you with him that night. Shouldâve hauled you down from that balcony by your hair and dared the magisters to stop him. Should have made you scream his name in the middle of their jeweled garden until the whole city remembered what it means to touch a dragon.
The doors to his solar creak open, and a servant hesitates in the threshold, bowing deeply.
âMy prince,â the boy begins cautiously, âMagister Vyrano asks if you will attend supperââ
âGet out,â he says, not even turning to look at him, pacing back over to the balcony, knuckles white around the railing as he stares out to the west, where the Summer Sea gleams beneath the setting sun. Somewhere beyond it lies Westerosâpacked dirt and steel, storm and smoke, not silk and perfume, not you.
The servant flees, as they always tend to when they realize heâs in a foul mood, and the doors fall shut with a muted thud that leaves the room too quiet.Â
He remains at the railing, breath coming hard through his noseâeverything feels wrong. He canât sit, canât breathe, his skin feels too itchy, too tight, too hot, burning the same way it always does before waking dreams.Â
Itâs just anger this time, he tells himself.Â
Heâs not Daeronânot weak, not a mad man, no matter what everyone else says. Heâs Aerion Brightflame, a dragonâin control, always. You just pissed him off enough that he cannot think straight, so he needs to handle this, handle you.Â
Still, he exhales deliberatelyâlong, counting, forcing his breath to even out the way Daeron once taught him when they were kids, the first time he found Aerion screaming on the floor, nails bloody and ripping through the skin at his neck, before he turned to the bottle and forgot he was a brother. His pulse pounds at his temples, fingers flexing against the stone rail.Â
He forces his mind elsewhere, and to his frustration, he finds it drifting right back to you, but this time, a more pleasant feeling sweeps over him. Your laugh. Your mouth. Your hands on his skin, fingers brushing through his hair, tracing his jaw, lips caressing his.Â
His jaw tightens, equally incensed by the idea of feeling calmed by you as he is by the idea of feeling disrespected by you.Â
He still doesnât know anything about you, he realizes furiously. Wellâhe knows some. He knows the sound you make when he presses his nail into your wrist and drags his tongue up your throat. He knows the shape of your hips beneath silk, and the taste of your blood.Â
But he doesnât know your house. He doesnât know where youâre from, or who your father is, or what banners would rise if he dragged you into the street and put a knife to your throat, or why nobody in this god-forsaken city will answer any of his questions about you. Why doors close when he asks, and smiles turn bland, and answers turn slippery, as though youâre the only thing in Lys that cannot be purchased, and heâAerion Brightflame of the House Targaryen, dragon blood, prince of the Seven Kingdomsâmust simply accept that.
He will not.Â
He cannot.
He slams his palms against the railing and paces away, agitated again, itching at his too-hot skin. He needs to do something about this.Â
Westeros would never have allowed this.
In Westeros, he would have dragged you into a chamber and barred the door. In Westeros, no magister would dare interfere. In Westeros, his name still carried weight enough to bend the room around it. In Westeros, he couldâve fucked you and then killed you, and nobody wouldâve bat an eye.Â
Here, he must calculate. He must tread carefully and pretend to be agreeable while they measure him like livestock at auction, because for every slip of restraint that gets back to his father, heâll be stuck here longer. The humiliation of it burns deeper than your scratches, and you are complicit in itâthe primary enabler of it, evenâwith your treacherous games.
Aerion hates Lys, and Aerion hates you.
He just wants to go home.
âââââââ
He finds you at dusk in the same place he first met you.Â
Youâre sprawled on that same sun-warmed rock, red chiffon instead of purple clinging damply to your thighs, the edges of it drifting lazily in the Summer Sea. The sky bleeds gold and violet overhead, the horizon swallowing the sun in a slow descent. You look exactly as you had that first dayâuntouched by consequences, unbothered by the world and exile and him.
As though he has not spent the better part of three days unraveling over you.Â
He already finds himself irritated, and you havenât even spoken a word yet. He stops several paces away at the edge of the water, boots sinking slightly into wet sand. He doesnât announce himself, but you know heâs thereâhe can tell by the faint curl of your lips.
âYou took your time,â you say lightly, not even opening your eyes.
His jaw tightens. He steps closer, close enough that the tide laps against the edge of his boots. The hem of his coat flutters in the salt wind. You finally open your eyes and tilt your head back to look at him, and Aerion finds his mouth drying, gaze slipping to the way you unintentionallyâintentionally?âbare your throat to look at him, the way silk clings to your skin, the way you lie so lackadaisical as though you have no care in the world.
âYou marked me like some beast claiming territory,â he accuses, voice low and sharp, watching as you roll onto your stomach, smiling lightly as your gaze wanders openly over him, lingering on the bruises marring his neck, on the scratches you know are hidden beneath his tunic. He thinks you have some nerve, someâ
âYes, you do look thoroughly mine, donât you?â you say, and Aerionâs vision nearly goes red, teeth grinding so badly that it almost hurts. âDoes that bother you?â
âBother me?â he hisses, stepping into the shallows until the water darkens the leather of his boots. âYou presume ownership of a dragon.â
He knows he isnât going to like what you have to say before you even say it. You smile sharply. âWell, most who ride a dragon would be considered to have claimed it, donât you think?â
He balks at your words, furious, and then he forces his expression to smooth. âYou bit me.â
âYou bit me back. In fact, you bit first, if I recall correctly.â
âYou made me bleed.â
You smile wider at that. âAgain, I was only returning the favor.â
âYou marked me,â he repeats, enraged because he still canât get past the audacity of you leaving marks along his skin where everyone can see, as though heâs some courtesan fresh from a patronâs bed.Â
The lingering looks have been unbearableâservantsâ gazes dipping down to his neck with wide eyes, a magisterâs daughter staring openly at the dark bloom along the curve of his neck and the length of his throat before lowering her lashes and making an excuse to leave. The only thing worse than the parasites of this city trying to pawn their daughters off to him is the way theyâve stopped trying because they think he belongs to you.
Your smile softens, just a little. You hum. âAnd you wear it well.â
The simplicity of it steals the next retort from his mouth, blinking once as he stares at you, thrown off by the lack of mockery in your tone. He doesnât like the uncertain feeling that spreads through him, so he pushes it away, expression hardening, shutters slamming down behind violet eyes. He says coldly, âDo not speak as though I am yours. You mistake indulgence for possession.â
You donât have a quick remark this time, studying him carefully, amusement fading and being replaced with something more attentive, as though realizing that heâs not as keen to indulge your whims today. He thinks he likes this lessâthe idea that you can, in fact, be serious, that youâre not all languid smiles and careless laughs. He feels far too seen right nowâheâs too hot, heâs too fucking hot, too itchy, everything is wound too tight.
âI told you I tire of your games,â he continues, jaw set, âand you have exhausted my patience. I am done playing. You pushed too far with thisâthis mess. The way people look at this, at meâI am not claimed. Not by you or anyone in this wretched city. I belong to no one. You donât get to behave as though you have some tether around my neck because you left bruises where others could see them. I am not yours, and I will not have Lys thinking otherwise.â
He is ranting. The words donât come out as the sharp orders he wants them to be; the longer he speaks, the more his skin burns, and they end up coming out too fast and too hissed. For a long moment, you simply look at him. The soft sound of waves crashing against rock and sand, the warmth of water sinking into his leather boots. The last light of dusk is swallowed by the horizon, turning the water from gold to indigo. Something calculating flashes in your eyes briefly before your gaze finally flits away, dismissiveâsomething about it makes him shift.
âI know,â you say at last, and the casualness of it catches him off guard. âI never said you were. You are not mine, and I am not yours. It was only some fun.â
The words donât bring him the ease he expects, and he wants to snap that heâs not bothered, but he just stands there still as stone, staring at you, gaze trained on the side of your face as you look away from him. The sea breeze brushes your hair away from your neck, and his eyes land on the faint bruising he left beneath your ear, and he remembers the way your pulse fluttered when he pressed his mouth there, the feeling of your body against his, the soft moans and hitches of your breaths, your hands on his skin, gevie.
âGood,â he says, though the word feels strangely hollow in his mouth. âThen we understand each other.â
You hum lightly, looking out toward the sea again. âWe do.â
He is unsettled. His fingers clench at his side, digging into his palms, and he has to force himself to unclench them before his nails break skin. He is unsettled, and he shouldnât be unsettledâhe got what he wanted. He drew the line, and you agreed; for once, not plaguing him with your disagreeable, disrespectful, impudent nature. He has won.
So, heâs not sure why heâs still standing, watching you from the shallows, the curve of your profile against the darkening horizon. You still look unbothered, as though nothing in this exchange cost you anything at all. He hadnât realized he was waiting for resistance until it didnât come.
He doesnât like that realization, so he turns on his heel, stiff as he leaves the beach. He canât help the part of himself that still waits for the teasing: âtil next time, prince!
It does not come.
âââââââ
Days pass.Â
He attends suppers he does not wish to attend. He listens to magisters drone about trade routes and alliances. Their daughters sit near him again, because theyâve resumed trying to woo him on their fatherâs behalf once theyâve realized he is not yours. The bruises on his throat have faded, and the scratches on his abdomen have healed.
And Aerion is bored.Â
He is so painfully, agonizingly bored that he writes up a vicious letter to send to his father, and then a more desperate one, wanting to come home. He sends neither, burns them in the fire in his room, and stares at the flames too long. He has been stuck on this perfumed prison for a moon, and no one has bothered to reach out to him, not to see if heâs been settled or to see how heâs doing. He wonât be the first to reach out if they canât even bother to see if heâs alive.
He thinks about you incessantly.Â
He finds himself scanning rooms without meaning to and finding them severely lacking when he does not spot your familiar lazy smile; his eyes glaze over mid-conversation with whichever magister or daughter is trying to make small talk with him, nervous, walking on eggshells in a way you never did.Â
He goes to pillow houses to busy himself with at least keeping his cock warm, but he only leaves more incensed than he came. He lies back against velvet cushions while a girl with your hair color kisses along his throat, soft and reverent, and he feels nothing. She doesnât even dare let her teeth graze his skin, afraid to leave a mark, afraid of him. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling instead, dismissing her with a flick of his fingers.Â
He attends feasts and various other gatherings, hoping that youâll be there, but you never show, and heâs forced to listen to a magisterâs daughter recite poetry in High Valyrian that makes his teeth ache with how butchered it sounds. He corrects her pronunciation once, disdainfully, and she flushes scarlet and falls silent. He does not bother speaking again, and he leaves early.
He ends each day with a ride at dusk, alone, circling the island without admitting to himself where his path driftsâthe northern edge, the sun-warmed rock you like to bask yourself on like a lizard, but itâs empty every single time. He tries not to acknowledge how disappointed he isâevery single time.Â
After a few days pass, Aerion realizes that he had expected you to push, to test the boundary he set, as you had been the past moon, no matter what venom he spat at you, but you have withdrawn completely. You donât come to events, donât wander the gardens, and when he idly asks the magisters about you, trying to feign indifference, nobody gives him a clear answer. He stops by the Perfumed Garden to see if youâre talking to your whores, but they deny even seeing you, and he canât tell if itâs a practiced lie or the truth. Itâs as though youâve evaporated from Lys altogether.Â
He has won, he has to insist to himself. The dragon always winsâespecially against some upstart island girl who thinks herself untouchable. You have simply learned what the world knows as truth: House Targaryen always comes out on top, Aerion always comes out on top.Â
So why in the seven hells does total victory feel like losing?
âââââââ
Youâre here.
Aerion knew it the moment he stepped into the roomâbefore his eyes found you, before he had any proof beyond the way his hair was suddenly standing on end.Â
He wasnât sure if you would beâyou only seem to attend events hosted by the First Magister, and Aerion supposes itâs because youâre his guest, just as Aerion is Vyranoâs, but this debauchery Vyrano calls a feast seems to be in celebration of a holy day for Lysâs cat god. It would be disrespectful for you not to show up at a magisterâs manse on a holy day, and you seem well enough liked by the nobility for him to assume you wouldnât be openly disrespectful to them, even if you are to him.
The hall is drenched in gold and smoke, braziers burn along marble walls, and Aerion canât help the way his gaze clings to the flames, forcibly looking away to the silk banners hanging from the vaulted ceiling, embroidered with the sleek, watchful shape of their cat god. The scent of incense coils thick in his lungs, heavier than usual, not the usual rose; thereâs something sweeter threaded through it that clings. It curls low in his stomach and lingers there, seeping into him in a way that makes his muscles lax.
The laughter in the hall is different too, he notes absentlyâlooser and slower, as though something warm and indulgent has slipped between their skin and softened the edges of restraint. Sharp laughter becomes languid murmurs, and casual touches become lingering caresses. Fingers trail more boldly over silk. Heads tip back a little too far. Mouths linger too close to ears. Even the magisters seem at ease, their eyes glassy as they gesture through negotiations they will not remember in the morning.
Aerion feels distinctly uncomfortable, his tongue pressing to the back of his teeth as he ignores the incense burning in his lungs, forcibly loosening his inhibitions. He accepts a goblet from a passing servant without looking at her, using the cool weight of it to anchor his focus before anyone can see even a flicker of weakness. His gaze moves across the room, as though disinterested, and thenâ
And then he sees you.
You look the same as you always have, draped in silk chiffon, lounging on cushions, surrounded by beautiful women and pretty boys who smile and charm and trace your skin like they have some right to your body. The sight of it makes his blood hot, and heâs furious because he won, so he should be the one at ease, not you. He doesnât even know why heâs so angry.
Youâre reclined in the center of it all, one arm thrown lazily over the cushions, fingers idly tangled in the golden curls of a girl kneeling at your side while a boy with kohl-lined eyes pours wine into your goblet, his other hand resting lightly at your waist as though it belongs there. The magisterâs son youâre talking to, a pretty thing with golden hair and violet eyes, sits close to you with his own courtesans pawing at him. He snorts at something you say, and youâ
You look bored.
Your gaze drifts over the hall with faint disinterest, lips curved in something that is not quite a smile. You let them touch you, let them drape themselves across your lap and shoulders and thighs, but you donât look as though youâre enjoying it. Donât look the way you did that night on the balcony, eyes bright and glittering, smile sharp and taunting. Â
Your attention lifts from the magisterâs son and finds him across the room, as though drawn to him. Your expression doesnât change, but you do tilt your head to the side, assessing him, and Aerion thinks he should look away, find something or someone else to distract himself with, but he canât seem to draw his gaze from you, so he only lifts his chin, challenging. You raise your eyebrows at him, lips curved up in a small smile.Â
Inexplicably, he almost moves to make his way over to you, but pauses when he watches the magisterâs son reach up, fingers brushing beneath your chin, guiding your face toward him as though he has earned the right, stealing your attention back to him.
Aerion stills.Â
The boy smiles lazily, wine-hazed and emboldened by incense and entitlement. He says something too low to carry, thumb stroking once along the lines of your jaw, where Aerionâs mouth traced greedily a few nights before, where your pulse had fluttered beneath his tongue, and something hot spreads through himâhot and green and very, very ugly.Â
You donât pull away, and you donât lean in, but you let him lean in, you let him press his mouth to yours, and you let him move closer.Â
And your eyes never leave Aerionâs.
The magisterâs son deepens the kiss, encouraged by the fact that you donât push him away, not noticing that you are barely meeting him either. Your mouth parts because his does, and your body shifts because his hand urges it. Your hands remain idle at your sides, lips moving just enough to feign interest.
And your eyes never leave Aerionâs.Â
Aerion wants you fucking dead.Â
What sort of fucking levels of disrespect is letting someone shove their tongue down your throat while holding eye contact with him?
He feels heat crawl up his spine, through his shoulders, into his throatâsheer disbelief, rage, he doesnât even know what the ugly emotions spreading through him are. He can hear his own heartbeat, his own words, echoing through his headâI am not yours, I belong to no one, we understand each other. And he is not. He is not yours. Aerion belongs to no one. Aerion is a dragon, a princeâhe is not shackled by a girl on an island of silk and perfume.Â
So why is he so fucking angry?
Itâs the disrespect, he tells himself.Â
Your fucking impudence, the way youâre blatantly trying to goad a reaction out of him because he told you enough is enough. Aerion has never been so openly provoked before. Even that fucking hedge knight, he was trying to protect that puppet girl, notâhe doesnât even know what your goal is? Antagonizing him just for the love of the game? His face feels flushed, and his nails dig into his palms.Â
This is what it looks like when I donât play with you, dragon prince, you taunt him without saying anything at all. This is what it looks like when Iâm free to do as I please. I told you I would stop, didnât I?
He hates you. He hates you, and he hates this city. He hates that he got what he wanted, and he still feels like heâs losing. He hates that his knuckles are white around his goblet while youâre lying languid on velvet cushions, kissing another man. He hates thisâhates his father, hates his brothers, hates that oaf of a hedge knight that caused all of this. He hates that heâs been suffering indignity after indignity since he arrived at Lys, and he hates that he still is now, even after supposedly fixing the issue. He hates you.Â
The magisterâs son pulls back slightly, murmuring something against your lips in that syrupy Lysene dialect that makes Aerionâs teeth grind. He brushes his nose along your cheek and says something that makes a few of the courtesans nearby laugh, but you only smile easily, gaze finally dragging away from Aerion to look at him.
He feels a courtesan at his side, fingers hovering above his arm, not daring to actually touch him. He hears a faint: âMight I please you, my prince?â in that soft and lilting Lysene dialect that grates Aerionâs ears now more than ever, because he can imagine whatever that boy is saying to you in the same form. All rounded vowels and syrupy consonants, High Valyrian dragged through silk and sugar until it lost its edge. Under any circumstances, Aerion would have despised the sound of it, but now it feels like blade scraping bone.Â
He hates it. He hates Lys. He hates the Lysene dialect. Hates the way it sounds now against the roar building in his ears. Hates the way it sanded the edges off a language meant for dragons. Hates the way theyâre trying to do the same to him with silk and incense and pillows and sweetness. Hates feeling like this. Hatesâ
He is moving before he even knows what heâs doing.Â
The courtesanâs fingers never quite make contact; he steps forward, and they fall away, retreating instantly at the look on his face. The crowd parts for him, clearly sensing danger even in their incense-induced haze. His blood is roaring, something dangerous rearing in him that he cannot seem to control. He knows heâs making a mistakeâhe set the boundary, he was the one who shut you down, and if word gets back to his father that heâs acting like some unhinged beast on a Lysene holy day, heâll only be stuck on this wretched prison island longer.Â
And yet, his world narrows to the line of your throat, the angle of your mouth, the boyâs fingers resting where they should not, and Aerion just cannot think straight.Â
The magisterâs son looks up, mildly annoyed, as Aerion approaches the cushions, and Aerion thinks he has some nerve looking at a prince of the blood as though heâs a nuisance. This whole island is filled with impudent wretches, and you are the worst of them all.Â
âMy prince,â he says, attempting an easy smile.
You are pointedly not looking at him now, attention resting on the boy at your side. You say something softly in the Lyseneâs liquid dialect, and Aerion thinks it's disgusting hearing you speak this bastardized version of High Valyrian. His jaw tightens, and the boy laughs at whatever youâve said and reaches for your hand as though to pull you closer.
Aerionâs hand comes down on his wrist before his fingers can brush your skin, grip so tight that the boy immediately winces, teeth grinding together, pain flashing across his face. Aerion squeezes tighter, enjoying the way his expression twists more.
âMy prince?â he repeats, tone strained now as he looks up at Aerion through long, gold lashesâmore indignant than fearful. Aerion hates Lys. Back in Westeros, any lordâs son would have fumbled out apologies and fled.Â
âYou may leave,â Aerion says coldly.Â
The boy stiffens, pride flickering to the surface, and Aerionâs eye nearly twitches. âWe were merelyââ
âI am aware of what you were doing,â Aerion cuts in, speaking through his teeth now. âYou may leave.â
His gaze flicks over to you, and youâre watching him again, but he canât read the expression on your face. The boy attempts to tug his wrist free, but Aerion does not release him, twisting the angle to make it more painful.
âYou must misunderstand,â the boy says lightly, though the laughter has left his voice. âShe did not object.â
âNo,â Aerion agrees, well aware that many eyes are trained on the tense conversation taking place. A few nearby courtesans and nobles fall silent entirely now, and the music continues, but it falters, watching eyes multiplying in the corners of the room. Heâs making a spectacle of himself, he knows it, and he cannot fucking stop himself. He hates youâhe hates you. âShe did not.â
I do. I fucking object.Â
The boyâs jaw tightens. âThen I fail to seeââ
âMy patience wanes,â Aerion warns tightly, nails digging deep enough into his wrist to draw blood. âYou do not want to see it exhausted.â
The magisterâs son rips his hand back, and Aerion allows it this time, relishing in the way he cradles his wrist to his chest, desperately trying to smooth the pained expression into something dignified.
Your gaze is still trained on Aerion as you speak. âGo,â you say, leaving no room for argument. âIt appears I have an ill-tempered dragon to tend to.â
The magisterâs son inhales sharply, nostrils flaring, pride warring with prudence, but the blood welling at his wrist, and the way Aerion still looks as though heâs one wrong word away from worse violence, causes him to rise to his feet and leave without another word, desperately tending to his wounded pride. The courtesans flee with him, clearly with no desire to be near Aerion while heâs in such a foul mood.
âWell,â you say blithely after a moment when your area is mostly cleared. You look over him blandly. âYou are in quite the state.â
Aerionâs tongue presses against the back of his teeth. He did not think so far ahead, and now that the magisterâs son has left and the flames licking at his blood have started to subside, Aerion is hyperaware of the number of eyes not-so-subtly pinned on the two of you. He feels agitated, tongue darting out to wet his lips.Â
Mad Aerion, people would whisper back in Westeros, he knows it, even if they were all careful to never say it while he was in earshot. Mad Aerion, quick to temper, quick to violence, quick to cruelty.Â
Everyone here sees it now, tooâyou see it now, tooâand itâs going to get back to his father, and heâs only going to be stuck here longer. The disgraced son, the unwanted prince.Â
Mad Aerion, the Brightflame, the prince who got his own uncle killed over an imagined slight, the unhinged exile who cannot govern himself in a room of silk and wine.
You seem to recognize the stiffness in his shoulders, because you sigh, looking away briefly before holding your hand up to him, beckoning him to help you to your feet. He does after a moment, fingers wrapping around your wrist, feeling the warmth of your skin, the flutter of your pulseâit reignites the flames beneath his skin, except not with rage this time. He hates it. Hates even more that a part of him relaxes when your skin is against his. He doesnât let go right away, not until you raise your eyebrows at him.Â
âWalk me to the gardens,â you say, hand coming up to hold his bicep. Your gaze slides to the side to land on Vyrano, who watches Aerion warily. You tell him blandly, âThe incense is quite strong tonight, magister. Itâs making me feel agitated.â
Aerionâs eyes slide shut as soon as you say itâfrustration and helplessness eating him alive, fury at himself, at Lys, at you. The incense isnât bothering you at all, he thinks furiously. Youâre handing him back a sliver of the dignity he destroyed. Giving him an excuse for his behavior, so his erraticness doesnât get back to the wrong people. You understand the necessity of restraint better than most, he betsâbirds of a feather, a fellow exileâany mistake can extend a sentence, a single lapse of temper and one year becomes ten.
You squeeze his bicep, beckoning him to play along. He inhales once, steadying himself and forcing his shoulders to lower by sheer will.Â
âThe room is stifling,â he says coolly, letting just enough irritation lace his voice to make it believable, but not volatile. âWe will take some air.â
Vyrano nods quickly, apologizing, relief plain on his face that this spectacle will not escalate further. The music resumes its earlier cadence, conversation slowly returning in your wake, but the watching eyes remain, tracking the two of you as you make your way out to the hall in the direction of the gardens.
âMm, you know, you are quite fickle, prince,â you say lazily as soon as there are no unwanted ears listening in. âYou indulge me. You fuck me. You entertain my little games. Three days later, you decide you are above it all and declare yourself done. And nowââ your fingers trace idly over the sleeve of his shirt, âânow youâre throwing a tantrum when I behave exactly as you demanded.â
He doesnât answer because answering requires admitting you are right, and he would sooner bite his own tongue off.
âYou wanted distance,â you continue, âso I gave it to you. You wanted to be unclaimed, so I behaved as though you were. And suddenly, that is as intolerable as my games supposedly were. What am I to think, prince?âÂ
He says, voice clipped, âI did not throw a tantrum.â
You hum, unconvinced. âYou nearly snapped his wrist in half.â
âHe was presumptuous.â
âI was allowing him to be presumptuous.â
âYou were provoking me,â he hisses, grabbing your wrist and backing you into a marble pillar, angry again as he remembers how you held eye contact with him while you allowed that silk boy to touch you. His forearm presses against your chest to hold you in place, and you look as unbothered as everâpleased, even. He hates Lys. He hates you. âDo not pretend as though it was anything else. It was just another game of yours.â
He almost expects you to deny it, but your lips curl up into an easy smile. âEverything is a game, zaldrÄŤtsos,â you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. Little dragon. His throat bobs. âI was only curious as to how much you meant those words on the beach.â
His teeth grind together. âSo you meant to what? Humiliate me to figure it out?â
âI did not humiliate you. You did that all on your own, prince,â you say, and Aerion has half a mind to force you to your knees and put that insolent mouth of yours to better use, stitch up the pride he just shredded before half of the Lysene court. âFor all of your concern about being seen as⌠claimed, you were the only one in that room who behaved as though you were.â
Aerionâs jaw tightens. His forearm presses more firmly against your chest, not enough to hurtâenough to remind you he could.
âYou think this is amusing,â he says. âYou think you can prod and poke and taunt me like some beast in a pit.â
âI never thought you a beast,â you murmur. âBeasts are simple. You are woefully complicated.â
âYou said you would stop,â he reminds you.
âI did no such thing, I only agreed that you were not mineâyet.â
Aerion inhales sharply through his nose,
âSo what? You vanish, and then came back with more games even more impudent than you were originally? Is that how this works?â
âI did not vanish. I was giving you time to cool off. It was a strategic retreat,â you say with a lazy smile. âYou didnât really think I would give up so easily, did you? I was just deciding on a new plan of attack, since I seemed to have thoroughly upset you with my first. I was, ah, reevaluating, so to speakâyouâre quite the ill-tempered dragon, prince, itâll be a challenge to make you heel, but rest assured, I enjoy a challenge.â
Aerion thinks he should put his blade through your neck. Wrap his fingers around your throat and squeeze until your eyes bulge and your pulse dies beneath his fingers. Heâs never met a woman so fucking disrespectful before.
He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth to clam himself and seethes, âAnd you thought this would be a better âplan of attackâ?â
âActually, this was not part of my plan at all,â you say with a laugh so easy that it makes him startle. âI only meant to goad you into a conversation. I did not anticipate that you would get so jealous just from a kiss, prince.â
Aerionâs vision swims red. His arm leaves your chest to close his hand around your neck, pulling you close to him, and he hates how hard his pulse thrums against his skin, how his breath hitches when he touches you.
âI am not jealous,â he hisses. âJealousy is for weak men. I am a dragon. Dragons take. They do not beg or pine or stand idle while others lay hands where they should not.â He leans in, breath ghosting over your mouth. âThey claimâwith fire and blood.â
Your pulse flutters wildly beneath his thumb. He feels it. He likes that he feels it. Likes that your breath catches, but you donât look afraid of him, that your pupils are blown wide, but not in terror. This is not silk or perfume or the syrupy indulgence that Lys tries to drown him in.Â
Thisâthis is sharp enough to cut, this is steel.Â
For a long moment, the world narrows to the heat between your bodies and the blood rushing through his ears.
He has been drowning since he set foot on this cursed island. Drowning in sweetness, and watchful eyes, and magisters measuring him like livestock, offering daughters to him like whores in expensive silk. Drowning in the humiliation of exile, and the knowledge that every laugh in a hall might be about him, and the fact that his own father would see him cast across the Narrow Sea as an inconvenience to be managed.Â
But this is not drowning. You are infuriating. You are impudent, and disrespectful, and whorish, and you bruise and scratch and treat him like an equal instead of a prince. He hates it, he hates you, and yetâit is fire, and steel, and blood. If he must suffer hereâif he must endure silk and incense and fathers parading daughters before him and whores too afraid to properly touch himâthen he needs something that will keep him sharp while Lys tries to sand down his edges and call it refinement.Â
He will have you, he decides, and Aerion always gets what he wants.Â
âAnd what,â you murmur, âexactly are you claiming?â
His grip shifts from your throat to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair to crane your neck back, baring your throat to him. He likes this too, itches to bend his head down and put his teeth into your neck, the same way you did to him.Â
âYou,â he says simply. He adds immediately, âDo not misunderstand. Claiming you does not mean I belong to you. You are mine, and thatâs the end of it. Itâs not a bargain or mutual surrender. It simply is.â
Neither of you speaks. Heâs close enough to feel the warmth of your breath on his lips, close enough to almost taste the wine on your tongue, close enough to see that your lips are still swollen slightly from that magisterâs sonâs kisses. His grip tightens in your hair instinctively, twisting, and you let out a breathless noise.
âGods, you are something else,â you laugh. Aerion almost finds offense to the fact that youâre laughing at him, fingers bruising your hip, but he hesitates when he sees the way youâre looking at him: pleased, almost adoringly. He realizes that you, too, must be drowningâhave been for much longer than him, even. He knew from the moment he met you that you werenât cut from the same silk cloth and pillowed touches as the rest of this island. âAerion Brightflame, I will never tire of you.â
You donât give him the chance to say anything else, leaning in despite the fingers twisting your hair to press your lips against his, and Aerion lets out a low groan into your mouth, lashes fluttering shut. His hand tightens reflexively in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss.Â
Itâs nothing like the way you let the magisterâs son paw at you, lips barely moving against his, attention drawn elsewhereâyou kiss him like you want to fight him, like you are fighting him, lips sliding messily and teeth threatening to break through skin when it seems like he might win. You slide your hands up his abdomen, slipping beneath his shirt, and Aerion fights a shudder, muscles tensing when you drag your nails against him, lips parting against yours as you roll his bottom lip between your teeth.Â
âYou mistake one thing, though, zaldrÄŤzes dÄrilaros,â you murmur against his lips, smiling. Aerion inhales sharply at the sound of your smooth High Valyrian, cock already aching in the silk he wears. Bitch, he thinks bitterly, furious at himself, because he couldnât even get his cock working when he had two whores draped across his lap in a pillow house, but the moment your lips are against his, and youâre whispering in the old tongue, heâs almost spilling himself untouched. Youâve used black magic on himâheâs sure of itâand yet, all he does is roughly hike one of your legs up around his waist and press you back against the pillar again, muffling a grunt against your skin as his lips slide down to your jaw. âYou will be mine.â
He bites down hard, and your breath hitches, a low moan of his name spilling from your lips. His mouth drags down your neck, open and wet, trying to distract himself from the heat that rapidly spreads through his abdomen. He slips his hand between your bodies to slide his fingers against your cunt, letting out a smug huff when he feels how slick you are.
âLÄŤve,â he breathes out, hand slipping into his own pants to pull out his cock, hissing, so painfully hard that his hips instinctively jerk into his fist when he wraps his fingers around himself. âNyke yenka ezÄŤmagon ao drÄmmagon va Ăąuha orvorta isse bona tistÄlion syt mirre hen lÄŤ turgon naejot ĹŤndegon.â
Whore. I should split you open on my cock in that hall for all of those parasites to see.
You let out another breathless laugh, one hand sliding up his body to thread through silver hair, pulling his face from your neck. His breath hitches when your nails scrape against his scalp, and his jaw falls half ajar when he feels you drag your tongue up his neck before pressing your lips to his again, sucking lightly at his bottom lip.
Fuck, he thinks, throat bobbing as he squeezes hard at the base of his cock to stop himself from finishing before he even sinks himself inside of you. Youâre going to be the fucking death of him.
âSkoros keligon ao, Ăąuha dÄrilaros?â you say, dragging your lips to his ear and sucking hard at the spot beneath it.Â
Whatâs stopping you, my prince?
My.Â
My.Â
Aerionâs grip on his cock tightens to the point itâs almost painful in a desperate effort to keep some semblance of pride, but thereâs no hiding the choked noise that spills out of him.Â
âAh, gaomagon ao hae bona?â you say, tongue flicking out to trace his ear. His forehead drops against the marble next to your head, desperately trying to use the coolness of the stone to anchor himself before he makes a fool out of himself. âSkori nyke brĹzagon ao Ăąuhon?â
Ah, do you like that? When I call you mine?
Aerion might actually kill youâhe wants to sink his cock into your cunt and his blade into your throat with equal fervor. Maybe both at the same time, if youâre lucky.
Later. For now, he just needs to focus on not spilling himself untouched.
âHoskagon zaldrÄŤtdos,â you continue, mouthing at his neck, bruising him again, despite the painful grip he has on your thigh. He pants against your neck, barely biting back a noise closer to a whine than a moan. âSkoro syt gaomagon ao daor ivestragÄŤ aĹla sagon Ăąuhon? Mazeman syze gaomagon hen skoros iksis Ăąuhon. AĹha orvorta lĹz, aĹha Ädrugan bÄneâ
Prideful little dragon. Why wonât you let yourself be mine? I take good care of whatâs mine. Your cock wet, your bed warmâ
Aerion hisses, letting go of your thigh and relishing in the way you yelp when your leg hits the ground. You blink, confused, and he grinds his teeth together before he grabs your hips and flips you around so that your chest is flush to the pillar. He kicks out one of his feet to hit your ankle, forcibly spreading your legs, and hardly gives you the time to orient yourself before heâs pulling your hips to him, thrusting into you to bury his cock deep into your cunt.
âHah,â you gasp. âFuckââ
Aerion relishes the expression on your face now, lips parted and swollen, eyes wide. His nails dig deep into your hips to keep you still, teeth grinding together as his abdomen tenses and cock twitches inside of you. He brings one hand up to slide your silks down your body, revealing the bare skin of your back, before settling it back on your hip. He dips his head down to lick up your spine, feeling the way your body shudders beneath him.Â
He likes thisâyou helpless on his cock, cunt spasming around him, wide-eyed and cockdrunk just fromâ
You let out another breathless laugh, halting his thoughts. âMijessis ilinÄŤtsos zaldrÄŤtsos. OzmijiĹ nyke. Nykeââ
Impatient little dragon. Youâve missed me. Iâ
One hand leaves your hip to slide up your body, grabbing your mouth roughly. You let out a surprised noise when he shoves two fingers in, pressing down hard on your tongue to silence you.Â
âAo ydragon tolÄŤ olvie,â he hisses before sinking his teeth into your shoulder to muffle a moan as he rocks his hips hard against your ass.Â
You talk too much.
His hand slides around your body to press flush against your abdomen, holding you still as he fucks you hard. His eyes fall shut, tongue lapping at the blood heâs drawn at your shoulder, fighting moans as your walls spasm around his cock, sucking him in deeper with each thrust of his hips. You try to say something around his fingers, but he only presses down harder on your tongue, shoving his fingers deeper down, making you gag once before he lets up.
He drags his lips up to the crook of your neck, sucking and biting and marking you up the same way you had the nerve to do to him, drowning in the lewd sounds of his hips slapping against yours and the sloppiness of his cock plunging in and out of your cunt. He pulls you back so that your back is flush to his chest, your hands braced against the pillar, and he presses his lips to your ear.
Tell me your price. Iâll pay itâwhatever it is.
He means it. He thinks he has never meant anything so earnestly except for when he was a child and swore he would be the one to bring dragons back. He would drain the royal coffers, take Casterly Rock by force, and drain its minesâif thatâs what it took to match your price. He would have you. You would be his. No matter what it takes.Â
âIvestragon nyke!â
Tell me!
The words tear out of him violently, desperatelyâhe is not begging, he does not beg, but something drips from the words that makes him feel smaller, so he resorts to fucking you harder, fuck out any memory of him being weak, bury himself into your cunt, mold it around his cock so that you never even think of another man.Â
Dragons do not beg or plead; they take what is theirs, so he will take you. Fuck your price, your price wonât matter when the only cock that can please you is his. He slides his fingers out of your mouth, but covers it with the palm of his hand to yank your head back more, tilting it to him.
Your eyes are glassy, half rolled back, and he can feel the spit dribbling from the corner of your mouth against his palm, the wetness against his thighs that spatters every time his cock plunges inside of you. His hand over your mouth tightens, squeezing your cheeks, holding the back of your head against his shoulder, and each muffled, broken you let out against his hand makes his cock ache.
He kisses up your neck messily, leaving a trail of blood and bruises, and he presses his lips into your temple as he rasps, âGevie. Ăuhon.â
Beautiful. Mine.
He chokes over a moan as you writhe against him, hips rocking and eyes rolling back when you cum on his cock. His hand slides down your abdomen to your cunt, finger dipping between your folds to rub your clit. You strain against him, head tossed back against his shoulders, kicking your heels back into his shins to try to push him away, but he only presses you back against the marble pillar, keeping you pinned between him and it as he snaps his hips up faster, determined to make you break.
He laughs breathlessly, licking up the tears that spill over your cheeks and mocks, âĹdres, iksis ziry daor? GaomÄ daor hae ziry gaomagon ao?â
Sensitive, isnât it? You donât like it, do you?
You sob out something muffled that sounds like his name, and Aerion hisses, hips stuttering and breath leaving his lungs in a gasp of yours as he buries his cock deep and cums inside of you, forehead pressing against the back of your head as his heart races, desperately trying to catch his breath. His hand drops from your mouth to slink around your waist, eyes sliding shut.
You, naturally, break the brief moment of peace to speak as soon as your mouth is free, because you canât help yourself. His eyes slide shut in exasperationâimpudent.
âGods, itâs been ages since someoneâs fucked me like that,â you sigh, and Aerion is pleased that a good fucking seems to be all it takes for you to drop your disrespectful behavior and show some proper gratitude. Then you add, âDoes the prospect of being mine really bother you so much? We are both exiles, both alone, both bored, and we please each other well enough, donât we? Why must you throw a tantrum over it?â
Aerion clicks his tongue, fighting a hiss as he pulls his softening cock from your cunt and fixes his trousers. You turn around to face him, leaning back against the pillar as you fix your dress. Aerion finds his lips curling up into a smug smile when he sees how thoroughly wrecked you lookâlips swollen, blood and spit smeared across your lower face, chest still heaving as you try to catch your breath.Â
âI do not belong to anyone,â he repeats, ignoring how you roll your eyes. âIâm a dragon, not a common whoreâand I did not throw a tantrum.âÂ
âMost dragons were claimed,â you remind him, and he sneers at that. You tip your head back against the marble, looking up at the night sky. âUnfortunately for you, I am not a common whore either. I suppose that means I canât be yours.â
Aerion presses his lips together and says, âYou might be, for all I know. A well-connected, well-versed common whore who taught herself High Valyrian to charm her way into a dragonâs bed and poison him once heâs let his guard down.â
You hum as though amused, and then you say, âI brought you something.â Aerion flicks a curious look at you, watching as you loll your head to the side to look at him. He raises his eyebrows. âFrom home. This was my actual plan of attack before your tantrum, if you were wondering. A giftâand a hint, if youâll indulge my games.â
Aerion clicks his tongue disdainfully, because of course you never intended on abandoning your loathsome game, although he canât help the curiosity that pricks at him. He spits, âI donât want anything from Westerosâand I did not throw a tantrum.â
You raise your eyebrows. âMy home, not yours,â you correct with a mysterious smile, and he furrows his brows at you, watching as you pull something from your sleeve, dangling it in front of him.Â
At first glance, it only looks like jewelry, and Aerion is a split second from a snide comment about how you have some nerve gifting him a necklace as though heâs a common whore for you to woo with trinkets, but he pauses when he looks closer and sees the rubies embedded in the black metal and the ripple patterns that swirl around them. He takes half a step closer, lips parting, is thatâŚ
You dangle it out of reach when he tries to grab it, and he scowls at you, but his heart is beating rapidly, breath lodged in his throat.Â
Is that Valyrian steel?Â
His heart feels like itâs about to race out of his chest, blinking once at where youâre holding itâalmost all of the Targaryenâs Valyrian steel heirlooms are gone. The bastard, Bittersteel, fled with the sword Blackfyre across the Narrow Sea, and Aegonâs crown rots in Dorne after King Daeronâs death, while the Dornish lie and claim ignorance. Aerion only recognizes the necklace for what it is because heâs seen Dark Sister in the Bloodravenâs hands in passing.
Bitterly, he thinks itâs typical. Everything of value in his house, everything that connects them to their ancestryâit all either ends up dead or in the hands of enemies or bastards. The dragons were killed off because of their idiotic ancestors, and the only thing left to connect them to the old blood was stolen or is in unworthy hands.Â
Except⌠he could have something. Him. Not his father, not his brothers, not his cousins. Him. And he deserves it anyway, doesnât he? Heâs the only one who actually bothers to learn about their ancestry; heâs the one who has spent hours poring over crumbling accounts of the Freehold, over sorcery and dragonlords and a people who did not kneel to gods or kings, while his brothers and cousins focused on the Conqueror and their recent history. He stares at the necklace you hold greedily, tongue darting out to wet his lips.Â
âHow do you have that?â he rasps, throat bobbing, gaze snapping toward you, and then slipping back to the necklace. âWhy would you give me this? If you are jestingââ
âIâm not jesting,â you say, and Aerionâs heart pounds, breath quickening. âTurn around.â
Aerion watches you for a moment, pride warring with hunger, and after a few long seconds, he turns his back to you, stiff, shoulders tense. He half expects you to leave while his back is turned, make him look like a fool by getting his hopes up and disappearing. But he hears you make your way over to him, feels the warmth of your body against his back, and thenâhis breath hitches when he feels the cool metal snug against his neck, when he feels your fingers brush his skin as you clip it on, and your lips press against the nape of his neck as you step away.
He clenches his fist once to stop his fingers from trembling as he lifts his hand to brush it against the metal, lashes fluttering shut. He swears he can feel the magic thrumming within it, hear the beat of wings in the air, and the warmth of flames against his skin. He turns to face you, throat tight and eyes sharp and accusatory.
âWhy would you give me this?â he asks, voice low.
âWhy not?â you counter, as lackadaisical as ever, as if you didnât just place a piece of his ancestryâone that he never thought heâd haveâagainst his throat. âIt suits you.â
He hates that answer.
Hates how easily you say it. As though Valyrian steel were silk ribbon. As though dragonforged metalâolder than kingdoms, folded in fire and blood and spells men no longer understandâwere something to be chosen for aesthetic pleasure.
This is from your home, you said. Where in the world would have Valyrian steel in abundance that you would just casually give it away? Qohor? Maybe? But it doesnât explain why the Lyseni treat you as thoughâ
âVolantis,â he says, knowing itâs right as soon as the words leave his mouth. âYouâre from Volantis.â
How had he not seen it sooner?
Volantisâthe last city that still pretends the Doom was an interruption rather than the end of an empire, where the blood of Old Valyria runs thicker than anywhere else in the world. They say that within the Black Walls is the closest the world will ever come again to the Freeholdâstreets walked only by old blood, families who trace lineage back to dragonlords. There are even whispers that the Volantene old blood retain the secrets to Old Valyrian blood magick and pyromancy.
Thatâs where you come fromâhe knew it, not Lysene silk and softness. Fire and blood of your own right. No wonder heâs been so drawn to you; no wonder you are the way you are.
âUdrimmi dÄrilaros,â you murmur with an easy smile. Clever prince.
Who are you? He wants to demand again. Why were you exiled? Why would you give me this? Who are you?
Instead, he settles for: âVolantis does not give Valyrian steel away for free.â
What do you want in return?
âNo,â you agree. âIt hoards it. Sits on the relics of a dead empire and calls it heritage. You should see my familyâs vaultâyouâd think it was common as copper.â
Something ugly and envious curls in his stomach, but he forces it away. At least everything is finally coming togetherâwhy you speak High Valyrian as though itâs your mother tongue, and why the Lysene tread so carefully around you, refusing to answer his questions. The Old Blood of Volantis are powerful, and the Targaryens no longer have dragons to keep themselves above the rest of the world. The only question left is why you were exiled from the Black Walls, but he has a feeling you wonât answer that.
âWhy did you give me this?â he asks again, more subdued this time.
âWell, consider this a proper declaration,â you say easily. When he furrows his brows at you, you wink at him, lips curling up into a smug smile as you explain, âFor courting, of course.â
Aerionâs face flushes red, balking at your words, but before he can say anything, you lean in close, lips brushing against his ear as you breathe out, âAlso, it makes you look thoroughly mine.â
You nip at his ear playfully, before you skip back a few steps, and give him an easy smile.Â
Flustered, he snaps, âYouââ
You turn on your heel to leave, making your way back to the hall. You wave over your shoulder and sing, ââTil next time, prince!âÂ
Aerion exhales, staring after you, lips parted, body wound tight, fingers still brushing the metal you laid against his neck. He canât still the rapid pace his heart beats at, no matter how hard he tries.Â
He hates Lys, he really, truly does, but maybeâ
No, he definitely hates you, too.Â
âââââââ
reader: sure, we understand each other
Also reader: plotting to disappear off the face of earth for a week to make him miss her and then return with a gift that she knew he wouldnât be able to refuse so he would have to parade around Lys wearing a collar everyone knows damn well is hersÂ
Aerion: I do not belong to anyone
Also aerion: wears someoneâs collar just because itâs Valyrian steel Â
If you guys couldnât tell, I am so fascinated by Volantis and the Black Walls, so Iâm excited to get the chance to use this little series of one-shots to expand on my image of it. I imagine that within the Black Walls is probably the closest the known world will ever come to knowing what Old Valyria was like. And I think it will be interesting to explore with Aerion as a love interest since he would be interested in knowing more about his heritage, also think he might be wildly jealous, which serves for interesting dynamics LOLÂ
I also like the idea of certain cities hoarding old relics of Valyria. We know canonically in Westeros, there are only 227 Valyrian steel weapons, many of which are missing, but TWoIaF says there could be thousands in the rest of the known world/Essos. And it just makes me snort that these noble houses in Westeros prize their single heirloom, while people like the Volantene old bloods have entire vaults full of it LOLLLL
â. đ Ë smut, slowburn, pining, swearing, minors dni, readerâs surname is archibald bc it sounds expensive, super rich kids, slut-shaming, kook princess!reader, pre-buzzcut rafe, drug use, alcohol abuse, promiscuity, unprotected sex, reader has major daddy issues, rafe is lowkey obsessed, glazing the reader lol heavy serena van der woodsen vibes, rafe wants to fix her (he needs a therapist!)
you were a paradox, a contradiction wrapped in silk and sinâsomething meant to be divine but marred by every thorn that hellâs garden could offer. you reveled in it, thoughâthe chaos, the pull of power, the way the world seemed to orbit around your smile. the thrill was intoxicating, the rush of watching people bend to your will like marionettes on fragile strings. if you wanted, theyâd scrape gum from the soles of your designer heels, and you wouldnât even need to say âplease.â it wasnât about malice; it was about the game. how far could you go before everything unraveled?
thatâs why you came home late every night, long past the hour when even the shadows began to whisper secrets to each other. midnight had always been your thresholdâswaying on the edge of your limits, drenched in vice. you carried the night with you like a perfumeâmartinis clinging to your breath, the ghost of cuban cigars still roughening your voice. your skin glistened under the harsh yellow glow of the porch light, the sweat and sin of your evening etched into your being.
sarah had been your constant, your touchstone in a life teetering between indulgence and destruction. she was supposed to anchor you, but even her goodness wasnât immune to your sway. she let you in without question, her hand firm but gentle on your arm as she led you across the threshold. her boyfriend trailed behind, his words a muffled hum lost to the haze in your head as she whispered something you didnât bother to catch.
you knew better than to stay, yet there you were, wrapped in tom ford and tequila, your gaze flickering in the dim light as you crossed the line you swore you wouldnât touch again. this was mistake number one hundred, but this one felt different. this one was bigger. and you could already feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest, even as you smiled in the dark. god, how you wished you could take back time.
âshit, shit, shit,â you let out a long, high-pitched moan as your nails dug into the flesh of his chest, leaving everything from crescents to the presence of fresh blood from how hard you were clawing at him.
you threw your head back as you steadied yourself, his strong forearms wrapped around your knees as he spread them about, allowing him to meet your thrusts, his hips snapping forward as you moved at your own pace, bouncing, yours hands moving to push your hair back as your tits moved with every motion. âfeel so good, rafe,â you slurred, leaning in and arching forward as you pressed your lips to his neck.
now, pause. was this bad? yes, this was very bad. not only were you drunk off your ass, but he was just as bad, if not worse, running on no sleep and booger sugar the way he usually didâmaybe he was just wired that way. whatever the case was, he didn't care. he was enchanted, in a trance that he wasn't completely aware ofâmaybe it was the blow, he wanted it to be the coke more than anything, but he had a feeling it was more than that.
it had to do with the way you were moving, almost as if you were still at the club, dancing and swaying without a care in the world. had you always been like that? when did the kook princess conquer the underworld? he was panting, his mouth hanging open at the feeling of you squeezing, clenching around him like you were trying to milk everything he had to giveâand you were. he let you kiss down his jaw, licking a stripe up his earlobe before moving down to his neck, nipping at the flesh and praying it wouldn't bruise.
âkeep this up,â he hissed through his teeth, jaw clenching as his big, rough hands manhandled your hips, giving him all the leverage in the world as he kept thrusting, kept pounding into you like you were the only two people on the earth. âand iâm gonna fucking cum.â
you exhaled, something between a laugh and a moan passing your lips, ringing in his ears like a melody. âyeah, gonna cum?â you taunted, âgonna fill me up, cameron?â god, you were asking for itâbegging for it, he was gonna nail you.
he pushed you back with a growl, leaning forward until his lips were perched around your nipple, teeth grazing the flesh of your tit as he muffled a guttural groan, fingers gripping the flesh of youe thighs as his dick throbbed. you could feel it pulsing inside you, twitching against your walls, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you sank down on his cock a final time. then, it was game over.
he moaned, loud and hard as he filled you up, milking the delicious grip your walls had around his cock as he continued to thrust, his cum spilling into you continuously, like he had an infinite amount of it in his balls, but he didnât and, eventually, it did end.
it ended with you collapsing beside him, panting as you fought for oxygen. you wiped the sweat from your forehead as you panted, coming down from your high and absolutely refusing to look him in the eyeâat all, really. he turned to glance at you, sweat sticking to the loose, thin bangs that grazed his forehead. he gulped, unsure of what to say as he took in the sight of you, unsure if he should say anything at all, and he didn't. he was too afraid to, but heâd never admit that out loud. he wasn't the type that got scared, intimidated, nothing of the sort. so, why was he suddenly quiet?
he was supposed to be the one to tell you to get up, to grab your clothes, and to get the fuck out of his room, but the words didn't come out. he was supposed to hear you talk about enjoying long walks on the beach, wanting something serious, something more than a quickie at three in the morning, but you didnât. you didnât beg for him to look at you as something more than just his friend, sarahâs best friend. instead, you turned around, pulling a blanket over your naked body, and went to sleep.
the pounding in your head was merciless, splitting your skull into jagged thirds as you groaned softly, pressing a hand to your temple. everything was blurryâthe sunlight cutting through the blinds too sharp, the stale remnants of last nightâs debauchery clinging to your skin like a brand. you blinked, once, twice, trying to piece together the fragments of memory that refused to align. but when the realization hit, it slammed into you like a freight train. your breath hitched. rafe. naked. asleep.
the roomâthe white walls, the overflowing closet, the faint trace of white powder on the deskâleft no room for doubt. this was his room. and you had slept with him.
âdumbass,â you muttered under your breath, smacking your palm against your forehead like it could somehow erase the memory. âdumbass. dumbass. dumbass.â
you scrambled to your feet, fumbling for the crumpled dress discarded near the bed. your hands shook as you tugged it on, the silk clinging to your skin like guilt. your heels werenât hard to find, their straps a sharp contrast against the chaos of his room. quietly, you tiptoed to the door, heart thundering with the weight of your actions. what the hell had you done? you tried to steady yourself, convincing your mind that it wasnât the end of the world. rafe wasnât the sentimental type. he moved from girl to girl like a chess master with no endgame, and you werenât exactly unfamiliar with that strategy yourself. if anything, this was just another misstep, a shared mistake that wouldnâtâcouldnâtâruin your friendship.
but god, the thought of sarah finding out, of topperâs smug comments and kelceâs relentless teasing, made your stomach churn.
you reached the kitchen, relief washing over you like a cold showerâuntil you saw her. standing by the counter, sipping orange juice, her messy blonde hair and pinched expression screaming hangover.
âhey,â you croaked, your voice raspier than you intended.
she barely glanced at you, waving her hand dismissively. âjesus, stop screaming,â she muttered, rubbing her temples.
you rolled your eyes, slipping into a stool and squeezing her shoulder. âsorry, mom, iâll use my inside voice,â you whispered with a smirk. âwhat? john b keep you up with his john d?â
her eyes narrowed, a faint smile twitching at her lips. âoh, you so cannot be talking,â she shot back, draining her glass in one go. âyou did my brother, so that totally makes us sisters-in-law.â
your heart stopped. âkeep it down, you psycho,â you hissed, swatting her arm. âyou totally hazed me last night. this never wouldâve happened if you hadnât dragged john b along.â
sarah shrugged, not even bothering to hide her grin. âand what now? gonna ditch the club-night stands and get with my brother?â she teased, her tone as light as the smirk she shot you.
âas if,â you scoffed, pouring her another glass of juice. âiâm getting tested for chlamydia after this.â
her brow lifted in mock surprise. âdamn, this is a first. usually, the girls beg me to hook them up with rafe.â
you shook your head, wagging a finger at her. âabsolutely not. you know me,â you said firmly, and she did. ârafeâs my friend. known him since he was hoarding cereal box comics. so, this? It never happened.â
sarah laughed, leaning back against the counter. âman, heâs totally gonna brag to top and kels,â she said with a mischievous glint. ânot everyone gets to nail the kook princess.â
rolling your eyes, you snatched your keys off the counter, leaning in to hug her. âyouâre real peachy, arenât you?â you teased, hand darting down to slap her ass. âiâm out, babe. pick you up tonight for the bonfire?â
âwear something cute,â she called after you, shaking her head with a grin as she watched you leave.
the engine of your corvette roared to life, a deep, satisfying hum that vibrated through your chest and momentarily distracted you from the chaos in your head. you leaned back against the leather seat, gripping the wheel as last nightâs events replayed in fragmented flashes. the tequila, the dim haze of rafeâs room, the feel of his hands on your skinâit all came rushing back like a tidal wave, making your cheeks burn with equal parts shame and disbelief.
âwhat the hell were you thinking?â you muttered, shaking your head as you pulled out of sarahâs driveway.
the quiet streets were still sleepy, the morning sun casting long shadows that danced across the pavement. you drove a few blocks, the rhythmic rumble of the engine filling the silence as you tried to piece everything together. but no matter how hard you tried, it all felt surreal, like something out of a dream you couldnât quite shake. when you finally pulled into your own driveway, the sight of your familiar front porch brought a strange sense of relief. this was home, your sanctuaryâempty for now, thanks to your motherâs work trip. thank god for small miracles; she wouldâve flipped her perfectly groomed, suburban lid if sheâd seen you walk in smelling like bad decisions and luxury cologne.
sliding out of the car, you groaned softly, your palm meeting your forehead for what felt like the hundredth time. âdumbass,â you whispered again, scolding yourself as you made your way inside.
the house was quiet, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft golden streaks. you kicked off your heels near the door, leaving a trail of discarded items on your way to the bathroom. the cool tile against your bare feet was grounding as you stepped into the shower, twisting the knob until a hot, steamy cascade poured over you. you closed your eyes, letting the water wash away the remnants of last nightâthe sweat, the guilt, the lingering scent of rafeâs cologne clinging to your skin like a bad memory. your hands worked through your hair, fingers scrubbing at your scalp as you tried to scrub him out of your mind.
but he lingered, even as the water ran clear and you stepped out, wrapping a plush towel around yourself. you moved mechanically, toweling your hair dry before running a brush through the damp strands, blow-drying them until they fell in soft waves around your shoulders. a light layer of makeup followedâjust enough to cover the shadows under your eyes and add a touch of color to your lips.
you opened your closet, scanning the rows of neatly hung clothes until your fingers landed on the white sundress. it was simple, elegant, hugging your curves in all the right places while leaving your tan lines exposedâreminding you of sun-soaked days that felt like a lifetime ago. you slipped it on, adjusting the hem before layering yourself with delicate gold jewelry: a thin chain around your neck, dainty hoops, and a few stacked bracelets.
the white heels completed the look, their sleek design elongating your legs as you gave yourself a final once-over in the mirror. you looked put together, polished, even if you felt like a hurricane on the inside.
as you walked back out of the house, locking the door behind you, the corvette gleamed in the driveway. climbing back into the driverâs seat, you started the engine, the rumble a familiar comfort. last night was still a tangle of confusion in your mind, but as you pulled onto the road, you pushed it to the back of your thoughts. you had errands to run, a day to salvage, and a version of yourself to piece back together before anyone else caught on to how close you were to falling apart.
sarah wiped down the countertop with a slow, deliberate motion, her lips curving into a small smile as she thought about you. not with jealousyâshe could never bring herself to feel that way about youâbut with a kind of admiration that only years of friendship could cultivate. you had always been a force of nature, unpredictable and unrelenting.
you were the girl who punched cindy lopez in the nose for calling sarah stupid in third grade, who bought her her first vogue magazine when her parents refused to indulge her interest in fashion, who never hesitated to stand by her, no matter what. sarah knew, deep down, that nothing could ever truly take you away from her.
âhey.â the familiar voice snapped her out of her thoughts. she turned, her eyes landing on her brother as he sauntered into the kitchen. his hair was tousled, his eyes slightly bloodshot, and his expression unreadable.
âmorning,â sarah greeted, fighting the urge to laugh. âsome night you had.â
rafe ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze as he moved toward the fridge. âshe left,â he stated, his voice flat, though sarah could hear the faint edge to it. âthey usually donât.â
rafe shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water and twisting the cap off. he took a long sip before sitting at the kitchen island, his gaze distant. âyeah, well, sheâs a free spirit,â sarah said, leaning against the counter. she studied his face carefully, noticing the subtle tension in his jaw. âyouâre cool with that, right?â
âyeah, yeah, yeah,â rafe said quickly, almost too quickly. he shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers against the counter as if to distract himself. âsheâs aâsheâs a good friend. shouldnât be too bad.â
sarah tilted her head, suppressing a smirk as she moved some dishes around the sink. âcongrats, by the way. you nailed the kildare princess. topperâs totally gonna be jealous.â
rafe raised an eyebrow, finally looking up at her. âtop?â he asked, his tone casual but his eyes narrowing slightly.
sarah nodded, folding her arms across her chest. âyeah, god, heâs had a crush on her forever,â she said with a roll of her eyes. âdonât rub it in too much, though. i was totally rooting for them.â
rafe tapped his foot against the tile, his brows furrowing as he processed this. âyeah? And, uh, how does she feel about him?â he asked, keeping his tone even.
sarah shrugged, pondering the question for a moment. âi have no idea. no one knows what sheâs thinkingânot even me,â she admitted with a small laugh. âsheâs a free spirit, like i said. she doesnât take guys seriously. guess it has something to do with her dad. whatever it is, a guy couldnât fix her with two hands and a toolbox, so be grateful she isnât begging for your attention.â
rafe nodded slowly, her words sinking in. he leaned back in his chair, wiping his face with his hands as he considered what sheâd said. it didnât sit right with himâthe way you had left without a second glance, the way you hadnât even seemed to care about what had happened between you. he was used to a certain kind of response from the girls he spent the night withâflirty texts, coy smiles, maybe even the occasional attempt to cling to him. but you? youâd left like it was nothing, like he was nothing. it bothered him. more than it should have. but rafe cameron had always liked a challenge.
the roar of your corvetteâs engine echoed as you pulled into the car wash, your fingers drumming against the steering wheel in a rhythm that betrayed your nerves. the ache in your head hadnât dulled, and you silently cursed yourself for not grabbing an aspirin before you left the house. a drink sounded tempting tooâsomething strong enough to quiet your thoughts about last night.
as you drove into the bay, a figure approached your car, a man in a black cap pulled low over his brow. his gait was confident, but as he got closer, you noticed the slight hesitation in his step. early twenties, give or take, with sun-kissed skin and broad shoulders, he leaned down to meet your gaze through the window.
âhey, do you need your tires polishedââ he stopped mid-sentence, his voice faltering as his eyes widened. recognition lit up his face as his jaw slackened slightly.
âtop?â you asked, rolling your window down with a grin.
a smile broke across his face, wide and sheepish, as he tugged the cap off his head, running a hand through his hair. âhey,â he stammered, his voice boyish and endearing. âwhat are you doing here?â
âi could ask you the same thing,â you replied with a chuckle. âwhatâs this? early career change?â
he laughed nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ânah, itâs my uncleâs shop. just helping him out for the summer,â he explained, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. âitâs, uh, itâs really good to see you.â
you smiled warmly. âitâs good to see you too, top.â
the moment lingered for a beat longer than necessary, his gaze holding yours before he quickly looked away, clearing his throat.
âso, whatâs the occasion?â he asked, gesturing to the car.
âjust getting her ready for the bonfire tonight,â you replied, leaning back in your seat. âwonât take up too much of your time.â
topper shook his head quickly, his grin returning. âyouâre not wasting my time,â he said, almost too earnestly. âiâll get startedâon the house.â
you frowned, leaning forward. âcome on, top. you know i can pay.â
he waved you off, his grin widening. âyeah, but you wonât.â
you sighed, rolling your eyes playfully. âfine, but i owe you a drink or two tonight.â
âiâll hold you to that,â he said, his voice lighter, more confident now.
as he turned to get to work, you watched him for a moment, appreciating the way his shoulders moved as he grabbed the hose. he was efficient, his movements precise, but his composure faltered when his eyes drifted back to you through the window. he tried to stay focused, but you caught the way his gaze lingered on your collarbone, the golden jewelry adorning your neck, and the soft curve of the sundress that hugged your body. his jaw tightened as his eyes trailed lower, taking in the tan lines just visible above the hem of your dress. topper had it bad. real bad.
the errands had eaten away your day, the sun already dipping low in the sky by the time you were done. time had flown by faster than you realized, but the anticipation bubbling in your chest made you brush it off. you drove down the familiar block, the hum of the corvetteâs engine smoothing your thoughts as you spotted the estate. pulling to the curb, you honked the horn twice, leaning out the window with a grin.
âget in, loser, weâre getting wasted,â you called out, watching as sarah appeared in the doorway, slipping into a pair of sandals.
behind her, rafe hovered like a shadow, his tall frame taking up the doorway. he muttered something to his sisterâsomething about seeing her at the bonfireâbut his eyes werenât on her. they were on you. your stomach twisted, caught between the weight of his gaze and the awkwardness of the situation. shit, what was he supposed to do? wave? say hi? stay quiet? he settled on a wave, though the moment his hand lifted, his confidence faltered. the wave was awkward, hesitant, and he regretted it instantly.
you winced for him, forcing a half-hearted wave back, just as awkward, until the sound of the passenger door slamming shut snapped you out of it.
âromeo, romeo, where art thou, fair romeo?â sarah teased as she tossed herself into the seat, kicking her legs up and reaching for your playlist without hesitation.
âgood to see you too, princess,â you mused, rolling your eyes.
she shrugged, her teasing smirk softening as her eyes swept over you, taking in the white sundress that clung to your frame. âyou look good,â she said, her tone genuine for once. âyou look good in white.â
a smile tugged at your lips as you shifted the car into drive. âyou look good in everything,â you shot back smoothly, earning a laugh from her.
the drive to the bonfire was pure summer magic, the kind of ride where the windows were down, and the air smelled like salt and heat. music blared from the speakers as you and sarah sang along, her feet resting on the dashboard as the wind whipped her hair around her face. the sky burned in hues of orange and pink, melting into a deepening blue as the sun dipped lower.
the road opened up to the party grounds, and it was clear the bonfire was just the centerpiece of something much larger. the expansive courtyard buzzed with life, groups of people laughing and chatting, while the glow of string lights gave the scene a warm, golden hue. to the side, a makeshift bar was already busy with activity, and further back, you could see the well-manicured green of a golf field illuminated by soft lighting.
you pulled into valet parking, handing over the keys with practiced ease as sarah slid out of the car beside you. without thinking, your hand dropped to hers, fingers brushing for just a moment before she let out an exaggerated groan.
âoh, god,â she muttered under her breath.
âwhat?â you asked, already bracing yourself for the mess. seriously, itâs been, what? 10 seconds?
you turned your head and saw himâjohn b routledge, weaving his way toward you with that signature grin of his. he didnât even hesitate, wrapping sarah in a hug the moment he reached her.
âhey,â he greeted you casually, though his attention was clearly focused on sarah.
you didnât reply. instead, you met sarahâs gaze over his shoulder, your expression speaking louder than words. âroutledge. mind if i steal her? thanks.â you didnât even wait for a response.
as he pulled back, you leaned in close to sarah, your voice low enough that only she could hear. âhe does or says anything, you get bored, anything goes flatâyou call me, text me, iâll be there, okay?â
she nodded, her lips curving into a smile. âgod, youâre the best,â she said, throwing her arms around you for a quick hug.
you shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. âi know.â and then, with a bounce in her step, she was off, disappearing into the crowd with her boyfriend.
the bar wasnât far, but the walk to it felt like something out of a movie. you didnât notice it at firstâthe way heads turned, eyes lingering on you like youâd stepped out of some dream. the last rays of sunlight filtered through the trees and string lights, casting a warm, golden glow that seemed to follow you. It was as if the sun itself had decided to pause, just for a moment, to watch you move through the courtyard.
when you reached the bar, you slid onto one of the stools, crossing your legs and leaning forward just enough to signal that you meant business. the bartender looked up from his station, a knowing smile spreading across his face as he approached.
âmiss archibald,â he greeted smoothly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to feel personal but still professional.
of course he knew your nameâeveryone did. kildare was a small county, and its residents loved their local legends. youâd been a sensation for years, the name whispered with awe and envy, your life dissected by those who had nothing better to do. table dancing in barcelona? theyâd seen the photos. a whirlwind fling with a celebrity? theyâd read the headlines. you couldnât decide if the attention was a blessing or a curse.
âhey, trent,â you replied casually, your gaze flicking to his name tag, even though you already knew it.
âwhatâll it be tonight?â
âdon julio, chilled,â you said, pulling your wallet out with ease. you layered a crisp hundred-dollar bill with a few twenties and then added a little extra for him, sliding it across the counter without a second thought.
he raised an eyebrow but accepted the tip without comment, reaching for the top shelf. âhavenât seen you around in a bit,â he mused as he grabbed the tequila. âget yourself a boyfriend?â
the question made your skin crawl, though you masked it with a polite smile. ânot in the slightest,â you replied, your tone light but firm enough to shut the topic down.
he nodded, as if that were the answer heâd expected, and set to work. within moments, he placed a chilled bucket on the counter, along with a neat arrangement of shot glasses, lemon wedges, and salt.
âhere you go,â trent said with a grin, stepping back to give you space.
finally, you could relax. you exhaled slowly, letting the buzz of the courtyard fade into the background as you eyed the setup before you. the tequila gleamed like liquid gold in the bucket, and you reached for a glass, savoring the moment. tonight, at least for now, was yours. or so you believed, until you felt a tap on your shoulder. the joy was short-lived.
you turned at the light tap on your shoulder, eyebrows raising in curiosity before your lips curved into a familiar grin. there he was, his blond hair slightly messy, his signature smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. âyou look like you could use a drinking buddy,â jj maybank said, his voice laced with that casual charm that never failed to make people smile.
you leaned back against the stool, crossing one leg over the other as you looked him over. âwhat are you doing here, j? still crashing our parties?â you teased, your tone light but warm.
he chuckled, sliding onto the stool beside you, his movements as relaxed as ever. âwhat can i say? i keep coming back. think itâs for the women,â he shot back, his eyes trailing down to where your legs crossed before flickering back to your face.
âsome luck they have,â you replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow as you poured yourself another shot.
jj whistled low as he noticed the bottle. âdon julio? act a foolio?â he quipped, grabbing a glass for himself.
you smirked, pouring him a shot. âsavor it, maybank. youâre drinking two hundred bucks.â
he laughed, leaning back on the stool and looking skyward. âhuh, i thought houses cost that much. or is it just mine? just mine? okay.â
you swatted him lightly on the chest, shaking your head as you laughed. his grin widened, and he leaned closer, resting his elbow on the bar. âhow about a drinking game?â
your curiosity piqued, and you raised an eyebrow. âoh, yeah? whatâs your angle?â
jj grinned like a cat with a canary. âsimple. i take a shot, tell you a secret. you take a shot, tell me a secret. loser has to outdrink the other.â
you stared at him, your lips twitching with amusement. âsmooth operator, arenât you?â
he tilted his head, his grin unfaltering. âwhen it works, it works.â
you tipped your glass back, the tequila smooth and icy as it slid down your throat. setting it down with a soft clink, you thought for a moment before a sly smile spread across your lips. âalright, remember last summer when i went to spain? that article about my celebrity hookup?â
jj nodded, his eyes lighting up with curiosity. âoh, hell yeah. donât tell me it was a kardashian or some shit.â
you smirked, leaning in slightly. âpablo gavira. nightclub. barcelona.â
his jaw dropped, and then he burst into laughter, slapping the bartop. âholy shit, congrats, it girl. you lived the dream of every fourteen-year-old girl out there!â
you rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping your lips. âshut up, you ass. your turn,â you urged, gesturing for him to take his shot.
jj grinned, taking the glass and throwing back the tequila in one swift motion. as he set the glass down, he leaned in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. âokay, remember last month when john bâs board mysteriously went missing?â
you groaned, already sensing trouble. âjj, what did you do?â
he shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. âsold it to a tourist for three hundred. used the cash to buy everyone drinks at the wreck. including your best friend, by the way.â
your eyes widened in mock horror. âdiabolical.â
he laughed, that carefree sound that was so uniquely him. âhey, the guy wanted something âauthentic.â i gave him authentic.â
you shook your head, pouring another round. âyouâre the worst, maybank.â
âand yet, here you are,â he teased, his grin infectious as he raised his glass for another round.
you stared down the shot glass, your mind racing for a secret that would blow jjâs offbeat humor right out of the water. you had your reputationâhell, you had a treasure chest full of scandals to pull from. but this? this had to be a knockout. something so jaw-dropping, so absolutely wrong that it would leave even jj maybank momentarily speechless. and then it hit you.
you set the glass down with a soft clink, leaning toward him, your lips curling into a devious grin. âguess who i slept with last night.â
his head snapped toward you, his interest piqued as he leaned in, matching your grin with his own. âsarah,â he shot back instantly, smirking like he already knew the answer.
you rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. âi wish,â you groaned dramatically. then, you paused for effect, letting the tension build before delivering the bombshell. ârafe.â
jj froze. for a moment, it was as if his entire system short-circuited, his jaw dropping in an expression that was equal parts horror and hilarity. then he hissed, bursting into uncontrollable laughter. âyouâre joking,â he choked out between gasps, his face twisting in disbelief.
you shook your head solemnly, a hand over your heart. âi wish i was. i was drunk, he was high. it just happened.â
he leaned back, clutching his stomach as he cackled. âand they say romance is dead,â he wheezed before shaking his head in mock disapproval. âdude, you had sex with your friend. big no-no. and your friend is a total whore. what if he caught feelings? you be up for a change of pace?â
you nearly choked on the air you inhaled too sharply. âbig no,â you said firmly, your voice rising slightly. âand with that psycho? heâd snap my neck in a heartbeat if he was coked up enough.â
jj shrugged nonchalantly, taking another sip of tequila. âthatâs your type, though. letâs face it. you like âem hot and stupid, and thatâs all rafe is.â he broke into another fit of laughter, the image clearly amusing him to no end.
you narrowed your eyes, leaning toward him. âhey, i donât go for psychopaths that shoot cops, dude.â
jj winced, his head swiveling as he glanced around. âallegedly,â he corrected, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ânot so loud, psycho. besides, you like your men deranged.â
you scoffed, throwing back another shot. âyeah, thatâs what I need. a strung-out psycho blasting big syke while he beats my ass.â
jjâs laughter came to an abrupt halt as he stared at you, his brow furrowed in mock thought. âreally? pegged him more as a tupac kind of guy.â
you chuckled, leaning in close with a mischievous glint in your eyes. âyou know, i should fix him up. do some psychoanalysis-type shit. make him a good boy,â you joked.
jj nearly fell off his stool, laughing so hard that tears pricked the corners of his eyes. âis that it, bob the builder? you wanna fix me up next?â he teased, raising an eyebrow.
you cooed, shaking your head as you rested a hand on his shoulder. âno way, babe. i like you just the way you are. damaged goods.â
he faked a gasp, clutching his chest as if youâd physically wounded him. âwho said these goods were damaged?â
âyour track record,â came a voice behind you.
you froze, your entire body stiffening at the familiar sound. slowly, almost as if you could delay the inevitable, you turned in your seat, dreading the sight you knew youâd find. and there he was. his expression was unreadable, a mix of calm and something far darker lurking just beneath the surface. those piercing blue eyes bore into you, not leaving yours for a second.
jj let out a low whistle under his breath, muttering, âwell, shit.â
you forced a polite smile as you turned to face him, though the tension in the air was as palpable as the heat rising in the room. âhey,â you greeted, trying to diffuse the moment with your usual charm.
you leaned forward to give him a quick hug, a friendly one, but as your arms wrapped around him, you could feel the shift in his breath, the way it caught in his throat as he inhaled deeply. his chest rose and fell just a little too sharply, his lips brushing the side of your neck as you pulled back. that warm, expensive scent of yours seemed to linger in the air, and for a brief moment, you thought you might have made things a bit too personal between the two of you.
but then, you pulled away, turning to greet the others, pushing the awkwardness aside. topper and kelce were already there, practically vibrating with excitement. you smiled and reached out to hug them both. âtop, kels,â you said warmly. âyou guys want a drink?â
kelceâs grin stretched wide, his enthusiasm unmistakable. âshit, don julio? thereâs our money maker,â he cheered, sliding into one of the stools like it was his own personal throne.
topper, on the other hand, didnât look as enthused anymore. his eyes flickered, darting between you and jj, the conflict visible in the furrow of his brow. you caught the shift, but decided to address it in a way that wouldnât rock the boat too much.
rafeâs voice sliced through the silence, sharp and demanding. âwhatâs the pogue doing here?â
jj raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin pulling at his lips. âdonât shoot, just came for a drink,â he teased, the smirk never wavering from his face.
topper shot him a look, one that practically oozed disdain, his tone a little too biting as he quipped, âyeah, we can see that.â he slid a glance at you, his eyes flickering between the two of you. âbarâs full of stools. sit somewhere else.â
the words stung, but jj shrugged them off with practiced ease as you threw an arm around his shoulders as if to claim him as your own for the moment. âyou guys are way too sober,â you joked, giving them a mock warning. âbe nice.â
jjâs eyes briefly met rafeâs, just a flicker of something passing between them, something loaded with a challenge. and for that brief second, it was like the world stood still, the air thick with competition. but then jjâs smirk widened, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you just a little closer to him. âsome friends you have,â he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcastic amusement. âhavenât even complimented your dress.â
rafeâs jaw clenched, but he held his ground. he didnât even know why he was angry, but the sight of jj with his arm around you was a slap in the face. he wanted to believe that it was because jj was a pogue, on kook territory, but he couldnât shake the feeling that there was more to it than that.
âthe dress is beautiful, looks great on her, probably real expensive,â rafe said, his voice suddenly tight, eyes flicking pointedly to where jjâs arm was draped around you. âso get your dirty-ass pogue hands off it.â
the words hit hard, but you werenât about to let the tension build any further. raising both your hands in a surrendering gesture, you rolled your eyes. âokay, rafe, enough. we get it, heâs a pogue,â you said, your tone light but firm. âjust chill out.â
rafe scoffed, a bitter edge to his laugh. as he passed by you, he paused and slammed his shoulder against jjâs, the force enough to make the stool wobble. he shot a look over his shoulder, his gaze hard. âpaparazziâs out in front,â he said, his words dripping with something darker. âtry not to get sloppy.â ouch.
the air grew heavier as the boys found their places at the bar, settling down on the stools opposite you. you could feel their eyes on you, heavy and lingering, like they were trying to decipher something beneath the surface. kelce groaned, and the sound was unmistakableâhunger, wrapped in something almost reverential. his eyes raked over you, from your heels all the way up to the way your hair cascaded down your back, messy but perfectly styled.
âshe looks fly as hell,â he muttered, swishing his beer bottle absentmindedly. his gaze dropped lower. âlegs like that could give victoria's secret a run for their money.â
topper scoffed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, turning to kelce with a sharp look. âdude, back off,â he snapped, though there was a flicker of agreement in his eyes. he glanced at rafe, who was quietly sipping his own beer, a glint of something darker in his gaze.
rafe rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. he slouched back in his stool, taking another swig from his bottle. âyou guys are cracked out,â he muttered dismissively, but then he added something they werenât expecting. âthatâs a low-value woman.â
âwhat the fuck did you say?â topper shot up, his voice harsh, his fist slamming the bottle down onto the counter with a force that startled a few patrons nearby. the shock in his voice was palpable, and even kelce's usual laid-back demeanor had faltered.
rafe shrugged nonchalantly, his demeanor almost too calm for what he had just said. âyouâve read the articles. she likes the attention. jumping from one guy to another, type shit,â he said, his words clipped, colder than the beer in his hand.
kelce and topper exchanged a glance, their confusion turning to something more, but kelce was the first to speak. âsheâs our friend, dude,â he said, his voice lower now, softer. he paused before adding, âand besides, what does that make you? hazardous waste disposal in your pants.â kelce dapped topper up, short and quick.
rafe scoffed, the sound harsh as he ran a hand through his hair, the aggression simmering just under the surface. he looked over at the two of them, a hint of mockery curling his lips. âshoot your shot then, top,â he taunted, raising his bottle in a mocking toast. âletâs see how youâll feel when you see her flashing the paparazzi.â
topperâs jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring slightly, but the tension wasnât just between him and rafe anymore. he could feel it, the way the balance was starting to shift. and for a split second, you caught rafeâs gaze flicking over toward you. it wasnât subtle, the way his eyes followed you, the way they locked onto the easy intimacy you shared with jj. the hand on your thigh, your smileâas if you didnât have sex with him the night before. and for a moment, just a fleeting moment, rafe seemed to tighten, like a rope pulled too taut.
before it could build into something more, rafe exhaled, the tension in his shoulders giving way slightly. his eyes softened for a brief second before his face hardened again, and he slapped a hand onto topper and kelceâs backs, breaking the thick silence.
âcome on,â he finally muttered, the words almost too quiet to catch, his voice rough, but there was a finality to it. âletâs get laid.â
the night blurred together in a haze of tequila, smoke, and too many shallow breaths. the bottle of tequila was goneâan impressive feat, even for youâbut the dull ache in your skull and the growing warmth in your chest only made you crave more. youâd been warned, right? rafe had said it, the same way they always did, but his words bounced off you like the cheap music playing overhead. you thought of him dancing with the girl, the way he smiled, fake and carefree. the kind of smile that had always made you ache before you started pretending it didnât. the thing was, he was just like you, right? just another person trying to fill a hole, trying to make sense of it all. but there was no humor in it when you smiled at him from across the room, only condescension.
you turned your back on him and back to jj. he was leaning back in his chair, lazily flipping the joint between his fingers. the dim light from the courtyard highlighted the sharp lines of his face, the messiness of his hair, and the careless way he seemed to fit into his world. you didnât think youâd ever met someone who wore chaos like that, but there was something almost magnetic about it. he caught your eye and smirked as he took the joint from his lips.
âoh, you shouldnât have,â you cooed, leaning in and snatching it from him, pressing it to your own lips. you didnât need his permission, not anymore. you hadnât needed it for a long time.
âmajor pretty privilege,â jj teased, his voice low but amused. âtotally would've kicked your ass if you weren'tââ he let the sentence trail off as you took a long drag, eyes narrowing as the smoke curled between your lips and into the air.
you exhaled slowly, the smoke filling your lungs with a warmth that dulled everything else. âiâm a scandal away from a nose job,â you mused, half laughing as you watched him.
he grinned, raising an eyebrow as his hand casually rested on your thigh. âi wouldnât be so quick to joke about that,â he said with a smirk. but there was something softer in his voice, almost like he was trying to keep the conversation light. it didnât matter. it never did.
you leaned back, staring at the stars above you, but it was hard to focus on them. the weight in your chest grew heavier, suffocating, like the world was closing in. you hated how it felt. how much you wanted to simply not exist, to disappear, even if only for a moment. you wanted to leave your body behind, to step outside of this mess you called life and pretend you were someone else. someone who didnât need any of this, someone who didnât feel like they were drowning in the way their own heart beat.
jj watched you, the flickering glow of the joint between his fingers casting shadows on his face. âlost in thought, princess?â his voice pulled you back into the moment. âalready tapping out?â
you forced a smile, shaking your head as you took another hit from the joint. âthe night is young,â you said, your words a little more slurred now, but that didnât matter. nothing mattered except the rhythm of the music and the way your heart felt like it was pounding in sync with the bass.
somehow, that was how you ended up pressed up against him in the courtyard, your body swaying with his, your hips grinding against his front. his hands were on your waist, holding you tightly as if he didnât care about anything else. you could feel the heat between you, thick and intoxicating, and you didnât even have to think about it. the rest of the world? it didnât matter. you could feel the eyes of others on youâthe way their gazes flicked over you and jj, maybe in appreciation, maybe in jealousy. it didnât matter. all you cared about was this moment, this feeling of losing yourself.
jj groaned, his breath warm against your ear as his lips brushed the skin just beneath it. âyouâre asking for trouble,â he whispered, his voice rough with something you couldnât quite place.
âi know what iâm asking for,â you replied, your voice low as you pressed harder against him. his hands tightened on your hips, squeezing in a way that made your head spin, your breath catching in your throat.
and yet, far away from you, there was rafe. his hands were wrapped around another girl, his eyes dark and distant. he didnât know herâhell, he didnât care toâbut he had her close, like a shield, something to keep the world at bay. and still, his gaze drifted toward you, the same way it always did. you were just a magnet for him, werenât you? the pull between you both was a constant, but tonight, it felt different. as his eyes locked onto yours, watching you dance with jj, something shifted. his stomach churned uncomfortably, the world spinning in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. how could you be so shameless?
rafeâs thoughts turned bitter as his eyes flicked over your body, watching you grind against jj in a way that made his jaw tighten, but he couldnât look away. you were impossible. you didnât give a shit about the rules. you were different. how had you not crumbled under the weight of it all? you were spinning out of control, and somehow, that made you even more dangerous. he wanted to stop watching, wanted to tear his gaze away from you. but something inside him wouldn't let him. he couldnât understand you. not now, not ever. and so he just watched. because that was all he could do.
the air in the bathroom felt thick with heat, suffocating, and charged with an electricity that had been building between you and jj all night. you barely had time to process it before you were pinned against the wall, his hands keeping your arms pressed against the cold tile as his lips moved urgently against yours. the sound of his soft grunt vibrated between you both as he kissed you deeper, a teasing hunger in his touch that matched the fire burning inside you.
you could feel the hard, insistent press of his dick against your knee, the way your body seemed to react of its own accord. without thinking, you pushed your knee upward, letting it graze against him, offering him just enough friction to make him groan lowly, his grip on you tightening in response.
the moment was stolen, heat building between you both in a whirl of urgency, until he suddenly released your hands, his arms lifting you up effortlessly. you gasped slightly as he placed you on the edge of the sink, his strong hands spreading your thighs, pulling your hips closer to his as his lips trailed down your neck. the sensation of his breath against your skin made you shiver, and you let out a soft whimper, your fingers finding refuge in his hair, pulling him closer.
his teeth grazed your neck in the most tantalizing way, making your head spin. âshouldâve done this a long time ago,â he murmured between soft kisses, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, but there was a subtle hunger in his voice that made your heart race.
you tilted your head back, trying to steady yourself, letting out a breathless laugh as you tugged his hair, forcing him to look up at you. âyeah? shouldâve asked nicely. iâm a nice girl.â
his lips curled into a wicked grin, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping lower as he spoke. âreal nice girl. nice girls like you get rewards.â the sound of his voice, the heat in his words, almost made you forget everything else. you felt his hands press into your ass, squeezing, fingers teasing the soft flesh of your inner thighs.
but then, just as quickly as the moment had built, it all came crashing down with an unpleasant, distinctly loud soundâa harsh gag, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up. you both froze, the spell broken, and for a moment, you felt disoriented as reality quickly snapped back into place. you heard the retching, the splashing of liquid against porcelain.
ârafe?â you called out, your voice tentative, already bracing yourself for the inevitable. you stepped away from jj, quickly pulling the straps of your dress back up. âyou okay?â
you found him hunched over the toilet, his face pale, sweat slicking his skin as he heaved. the sight of him was almost comical, in a way, but you couldnât bring yourself to laugh. you rushed over to him, placing a hand on his back to steady him. he was breathing heavily, but still had enough energy to shoot you a look.
âpeachy,â he grimaced, sarcasm dripping from his words as he threw up again.
you sighed, looking over at jj, who was still lingering by the doorway. he caught your eye, and you didnât need to say anything. he gave a small, understanding nod. âiâll call you,â he said, his tone soft, but there was a lingering playfulness to his words. you wanted to say something in response, something like âplease donât,â but the words stuck in your throat. the moment felt too fragile, too much of a mess for you to handle right now. rafe noticed the unspoken exchange, and his mood soured even more. he wiped his mouth, scoffing.
âreal classy, man,â rafe spat, his voice hoarse.
you rolled your eyes, unfazed by his usual grumbling. âglad to know you're well enough to fight,â you shot back, grabbing a paper towel to wet it and gently wiping his mouth. he shook his head and pushed your hand away. âyou gotta go home, man.â
âno way,â he muttered, groaning as he leaned back against the wall. âtop and kels are still here. iâm not leaving.â
you tossed the paper towel into the trash, exhaling in frustration. âiâll take them home too,â you countered.
he groaned again, looking like he might pass out right there. âoh, great, you're driving. so that's two feloniesâdrunk driving and kidnapping.â
you smiled coyly, stepping back. âyou know a lot about felonies, do you?â
he waved you off dismissively, rolling his eyes. âwhatever. do what you want.â
you stared at him for a moment, but his behavior still felt off. he wasnât usually this combative, not with you. it was like he couldnât decide whether to fight you or something else. whatever it was, you didnât care. âprick,â you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to him. he didnât respond, and you didnât press him further. you werenât in the mood for his antics anymore.
you sat behind the wheel of your corvette, the engine humming beneath you, but all you could hear was the muffled noise of the others in the backseat. the car felt too small, the air too thick, the silence between you all almost unbearable. you could feel the alcohol coursing through your veins, making your thoughts a little foggy, your senses dull. the weight of the situation was starting to settle, but it didnât matterâyou still had to get them home, and you could barely keep your eyes focused on the road.
âthis is such a bad idea,â sarah muttered from the passenger seat, her words slurring just slightly as she leaned back, clutching the seatbelt. âyouâre literally wasted.â
you shot her a look, shrugging carelessly as you kept your eyes on the road. you knew she was right, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. this was the least of your problems.
âyouâre fine,â kelce said from the back, his voice louder than necessary, âi donât doubt you, never doubted you.â he cut himself off with a gag, and you could hear the way his stomach lurched behind you.
god, they were a mess. none of them could handle their liquor, and here you were, playing the designated driver in the middle of a blackout night. you glanced at them in the rearview mirror, seeing them in the back, all sprawled out and disoriented. they looked like three little kids leaving a birthday party, unsure of where to go next, lost in their own drunken stupor.
âthanks for driving us home,â topper said, smiling at you, his head tilted back against the headrest despite the way his stomach was clearly protesting the ride.
rafe rolled his eyes and sneered from his seat behind you. âgrease her feet while youâre at it,â he snapped.
topper turned toward him with a quick retort. âhow about i break yours?â he slurred, half-smiling through the haze of his drunkenness.
rafe, wincing in pain from the aftermath of whatever he had consumed, sat up straighter. âbring it on, man,â he spat, still looking for a fight.
kelce groaned from next to them, exasperated. âshut up, macklemore,â he sneered at rafe, before turning back to topper. âyou too, vanilla iceââ but he barely finished before letting out a shrill scream, his body jolting forward as you hit the gas, your car lurching forward onto the main road. the backseat erupted.
âman, let go off me,â topper grumbled, trying to push kelceâs hand away as he clung to his shirt for dear life.
sarah rolled her eyes. âi can't believe you have to babysit them,â she muttered, her voice dripping with frustration.
you didnât reply, instead giving the steering wheel another firm grip as you swerved slightly, the backseat falling into even more disarray. the chaos from behind you was nothing but white noise as you tried to focus on the road. you couldnât let your mind wander.
ânothing better to do,â you said, your tone flat, not caring about the joke.
rafe scoffed loudly from the back, clearly trying to provoke you. âwhat? lose your two minutes in heaven with the pogue?â
you didnât respond, your eyes flicking briefly to the rearview mirror. rafeâs gaze met yours, and something dark flickered in his eyesâsomething you couldnât place. you didnât have time for it, though, the weight of his words sinking in despite your attempt to block them out. your knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. it wasnât long before you reached the final drop-off point, and you dropped topper and kelce off at their places first. you could still feel the tension in the air, thick and uncomfortable, but it didnât seem to matter to anyone.
when it was just you and rafe left, the silence between you both was more apparent. you turned to sarah, giving her a brief, tight hug before she slipped out of the car, but your eyes didnât leave rafe.
"feel better, rafe," you said, your voice soft, a fake warmth in your tone as you held his gaze in the mirror.
he froze. he didnât say anything, and he didnât need to. his eyes remained locked on you for just a moment longer before he gave a brief, wordless nod. the moment lingered. without another word, you pulled out of the driveway and made your way back home.
when you arrived, it was the same familiar emptiness. the house felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in around you. the silence settled in like an old friend, but one you werenât sure you wanted to have a conversation with. sometimes, youâd pretend your mom was upstairs, tucked away in her room instead of on another work tripâif thatâs what you could call it. sometimes, youâd talk to your dad, even though you knew he wasnât going to respond. youâd still say âhey,â because maybe, just maybe, one day, he would answer.
but tonight was different. tonight, you didnât feel like pretending. you didnât feel like escaping. you made your way to the bathroom, needing the comfort of your routine. you wiped the makeup off your face, the familiar motions grounding you for a moment, but even the sound of the wipes against your skin couldnât drown out the noise inside your head. you checked the mark that jj had left on your neck. it felt like a different lifetime, like a fleeting moment that you could barely remember now. but the silence. it was deafening.
you wiped the makeup off, but the tears came anyway, falling silently as you let the weight of the night hit you. it felt impossible to stop them, as if the floodgates had opened and you couldnât close them. the tears fell in quiet streams as you stared at yourself in the mirror, a stranger looking back at you. you wondered what her name was, what her favorite color was. she looked younger, more natural, like time hadnât worn her out yet, like she was still someoneâs little girl.
you woke up to the harsh sunlight filtering through your curtains, a dull headache pounding in your temples like a steady drumbeat. the scent of stale alcohol lingered in the air, a reminder of the night before, as your eyes fluttered open with a groggy resistance. you groaned, the pain in your head intensifying as you sat up slowly, trying to collect yourself.
it was always like thisâlate, a raging hangover, the world around you still spinning as if mocking your every move. you pulled the blanket around you tighter, wishing for another few hours of sleep, but the persistent ringing of your phone yanked you out of the haze. your hand fumbled for the device, the familiar vibrations like an intrusion into the fragile stillness you had been trying to create.
you squinted at the screen, the name blinking in front of you. you inhaled sharply, before reluctantly swiping to answer. âmom?â you called out, your voice raspy from the sleep, the headache still making it hard to focus.
âbaby? hey, baby! happy birthday!â your motherâs voice was loud and cheerful, cutting through the background noise of what sounded like a party. you could hear the sound of waves crashing, glasses clinking, and the unmistakable hum of conversation. âhey, whatâs going on?â she continued, trying to speak over the noise.
you felt a pit in your stomach. ânothing, just woke up,â you muttered, rubbing your eyes as you leaned back against the pillows, a dull ache forming in your chest. âhowâve you been?â
she laughed in response, the sound of her happiness so sharp and out of place compared to the hollow feeling gnawing at you. âjust great, baby. you get the birthday money i sent you? only the best for my girl.â her words were bright, carefree.
you blinked, the mention of the money momentarily pulling you from your thoughts. âno, iâll check, thanks, mom,â you said softly, not really hearing her anymore. you bit your lip, then hesitated. âhave youâhave you called him yet? to ask if heâll come? for my birthday.â
there was a long silence, and for a moment, you wondered if sheâd heard you. but then she spoke again, the change in her tone so subtle you almost missed it. âhoney,â she started, her voice lowering just slightly. âhoney, itâs just not gonna happen. said he had things going on, iâm sorry.â
the words stung in a way you hadnât been prepared for. your chest tightened, but your eyes were dryâno tears would come, not today. not after all the times youâd convinced yourself it would be different. it was just another year of empty promises. another year of waiting.
âitâs okay, mom,â you said, your voice small. âno, i get it. heâs busy.â the words left your mouth, but they felt hollow, like you were trying to convince yourself of something you knew wasnât true.
she continued, not noticing the shift in your tone. âhey, but i saw the news! you looked great in the dress, baby, iâll send you another oneââ she rambled on, her words falling on deaf ears. you didnât hear her anymore, lost in the quiet thrum of disappointment that had settled deep within your chest.
you blinked rapidly, trying to push down the tightness in your throat, the dull ache in your chest threatening to spill over. âthatâs great, mom,â you said quickly, forcing a smile that felt foreign on your face. âi gotta go. love you.â
before she could respond, you hung up. for a few moments, you just sat there, staring at the screen of your phone as if hoping it would change. maybe sheâd call back. maybe your dad would come through. but you knew, deep down, that wasnât going to happen. he wasnât coming. maybe you shouldnât have expected anything. maybe you shouldâve extinguished that spark of hope before it could set you ablaze. but you didnât. you never did. and it hurt more than you were willing to admit.
the car hummed beneath you as you drove through the familiar streets, the sound of tires on asphalt a low, constant rhythm. you had spent hours getting ready, the weight of the day pressing against you as you meticulously chose the outfitâa gold bodycon dress that clung to your curves, hugging every inch of your form, a golden strap resting around your neck shimmered in the fading light. you had layered the gold more subtly than yesterday, but it still caught the eye with its gleam, like a whisper of elegance in the dim evening light. your heels clicked sharply against the floor of your car as you shifted, checking your reflection one last time, the gold dress and matching shoes completing the look, but still, you felt incomplete. your hair cascaded down your back, and youâd carefully applied just enough makeup to cover the evidence of the tears youâd shed.
the drive to the estate was quiet, almost like the calm before the storm. by the time you pulled up to the house, the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon, the deep hues of nightfall creeping in. you sat there for a moment, the engine idling as you stared ahead, thinking about the emptiness that seemed to grow inside of you the longer you sat there.
you finally exhaled, pushing open the door and stepping out. the cool air hit you, making the tightness in your chest feel a little more unbearable. as you walked up the driveway, your heels clicking on the pavement, you saw himârafeâleaning against the porch railing, his eyes trained on you as soon as you approached. his usual smirk spread across his face, but it was tinged with something else, something more curious as he took in your appearance.
âa little overdressed for mass, aren't you?â he quipped, his voice light, though his gaze was anything but. his eyes moved over the gold dress, the way it hugged you in all the right places, and you could feel the weight of his attention on you like a physical thing.
you didnât respond at first, not sure how to react to his gaze, which lingered on you longer than usual. a breath caught in your throat, but you pushed it away, continuing toward the door. you had more important things to do tonight than engage with him. you just needed to get through thisâthis night, this birthday, everything. rafe, however, wasnât about to let you go so easily. as you reached for the door, he stood up, pushing himself off the railing to block your path.
âhappy birthday,â he said, the words soft now, an unfamiliar sincerity in his tone.
you paused, looking at him, feeling the weight of the moment as his eyes searched yours. âthanks,â you muttered, your voice flat. âyou, top, and kels gonna join us tonight?â you asked, raising an eyebrow as if the question was casual, but there was an edge to it.
he raised an eyebrow. âwhere to?â
you shrugged, playing it off, though the emptiness inside you made it harder to keep the facade up. âviva, around nine. no big deal.â
his expression shifted, impressed but masking it behind a sardonically raised brow. ânot even i can get into that joint. guess the people love you,â he said, his tone more biting now.
you nodded, unsure of what else to say, unsure of what to do. you just stood there, your eyes caught in his. something about the way he looked at you, a mixture of curiosity and something darker, made you feel exposed, like he could see right through you.
âweâll be there,â he added after a moment, something less than a smile curling at the edges of his lips. it wasnât warm, but it wasnât mocking either. just something different. you smiled back, but it was small, uncertain. you nodded, stepping past him and into the house. the air felt colder inside, the silence pressing against you like a weight you couldnât shake.
you made your way upstairs, your heels clicking on the hardwood as you walked toward sarahâs room. the door was slightly ajar, and when you pushed it open, you found her sitting on her bed, scrolling through her phone. the moment she saw you, her face lit up with a smile that could have rivaled the sun, and before you knew it, she was up and wrapping her arms around you, pulling you in tightly.
âhappy birthday, baby,â she whispered, burying her head in the crook of your neck, her warmth a stark contrast to the coldness you felt inside. âweâll make it your best, i promise.â
for a moment, you let yourself melt into the embrace, letting the love and care from her soak through you. but as she pulled back, her hands taking yours with a smile, her eyes caught sight of something. her expression shifted, the smile fading as she noticed the wetness in your eyes.
âbaby, whatâs wrong?â she asked softly, her voice suddenly laced with concern.
you shook your head, trying to push the tears away, but they came anyway. you squeezed her hands tightly, the words barely able to escape your lips. âheâs not coming, sarah,â you whispered, your voice breaking as you felt the weight of the truth hit you. âmy dadâs not coming.â
her face fell instantly, her arms wrapping around you again as she pulled you in closer. âitâs okay, itâs okay,â she whispered over and over, rubbing soothing circles on your back. âi got you, youâll be okay. youâre alright.â
but the words didnât stop the tears. they spilled freely now, hot and relentless, as sarah held you tight, her presence the only thing anchoring you in the moment. you let yourself cry, the weight of everything you had been holding in finally coming to the surface.
unbeknownst to either of you, rafe stood frozen just outside the door, his back pressed against the wall as he listened. he bit his nail, his gaze fixed on the ground, but his mind was far away. the sound of your sobs tugged at something inside himâsomething raw, something human. and in that moment, he understood. no one acted out for no reason. no one. and now he knew why you did.
the night air was thick, heavy, as you stepped into the car. rafe was already in the passenger seat, his posture rigid, jaw tight. you settled into the driverâs seat, your fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around the steering wheel. the silence between the two of you was suffocating, the kind that crawled under your skin and festered, making every breath feel labored. you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, his profile sharp in the dim light, his eyes staring ahead, unseeing, yet somehow deeply observant.
the quiet stretched on, and neither of you moved to break it. the air felt like it might crack under the weight of unspoken words, until finally, he did. âwe donât have to go to the club tonight,â he said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the stillness like a knife.
you turned your head slightly, your brow furrowing as his words hung in the air between you. he didnât elaborate, but he didnât need to. you knew exactly what he meant. why go? why waste your birthday in a haze of liquor and music, knowing youâd wake up tomorrow with nothing but a pounding headache and a hollow ache in your chest? why numb yourself, knowing it wouldnât work?
âi canât,â you murmured, your voice soft, almost fragile.
he nodded, understanding in a way that made your stomach churn. it wasnât that you wanted to go. it wasnât even that you needed to go. but you couldnât not go. you couldnât sit in the house and let the quiet consume you, couldnât face the crushing reality of what the day symbolized. rafe opened his mouth, as if to say something else, but the back door opened before he could. sarah slid into the seat, her presence immediately filling the space with a warmth that felt like a lifeline. she reached over, placing a comforting hand on your thigh and offering a smileâgentle, knowing, as if she could read every thought swirling in your head.
âitâs gonna be okay,â she said simply, her voice soft yet steady, like she believed it enough for the both of you.
and somehow, it was enough. you felt your lips twitch into a small smile, a flicker of gratitude in your chest as you nodded and turned the key in the ignition. the engine roared to life, and the car hummed beneath you as you pulled out of the driveway, the night stretching out before you like a promise and a threat all at once. the drive to the club was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the engine and the muted chatter from sarahâs phone. by the time you reached the club, the neon lights were already casting their glow across the pavement, painting the night in shades of electric blue and pink. kelce and topper were waiting near the entrance, their figures silhouetted against the vibrant backdrop.
kelce was the first to approach, a wide grin on his face as he spread his arms dramatically. âitâs yoâ birthday, so i know you want to ri-i-ide out,â he sang, his voice teasing as he reached out to pull you into a bear hug.
you rolled your eyes, swatting at his chest as you laughed despite yourself. âyouâre an idiot,â you muttered, but there was a warmth in your tone that hadnât been there before.
topper was next, stepping forward with a nervous smile that didnât quite reach his eyes. he hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around you, his hug softer, more tentative. âyou look really, really good,â he whispered, his voice low enough that only you could hear. âhappy birthday, doll.â
you pulled back just enough to smile up at him, your expression genuine, if a little tired. but as you met his gaze, you felt the weight of another stare burning into your back. rafe stood a few steps behind you, his posture tense, his fists clenched at his sides. his jaw worked as he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes narrowing as they flicked between you and topper. the look on his face was unreadable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
he could feel his blood boiling, the vein in his neck throbbing as he watched you smile at topper. he doesnât get it, rafe thought bitterly. he doesnât understand.
topper couldnât see you the way rafe did. he couldnât pick apart the pieces of you that you tried so desperately to hide, couldnât reach into the deepest, darkest corners of your mind and pull out the things you were too afraid to face. topper didnât know you like rafe did. he didnât understand you. and the worst part? there was nothing rafe could do about it. not here, not now. so he shoved his hands into his pockets, his jaw tightening as he followed behind the group, his eyes never leaving your back as you made your way into the club. the music hit you like a wave the moment you stepped inside, the bass vibrating through your chest as the lights flashed in time with the rhythm.
the bouncer led your group through the heart of the club, weaving past packed tables and the glowing bar, where patrons leaned in to shout orders over the pounding music. the vip section was tucked into a quieter corner, though still pulsating with energy. elevated above the main floor, it offered an unobstructed view of the dancefloor below, with plush, leather seating that curved around a sleek glass table illuminated by soft, golden lighting. bottles of premium spirits and mixers lined the backlit shelves behind the bar like trophies, and the hum of wealth and exclusivity hung in the air.
kelce let out a low whistle as he plopped onto one of the couches, sprawling out like he owned the place. âman, i feel my trust fund going through withdrawals just standing here,â he quipped, nudging topper, who laughed as he leaned back, his eyes scanning the room.
you couldnât help but smile at their antics as you took it all in. the place was opulent, a temple to indulgence and excess, and for a brief moment, it was easy to forget the ache in your chest. the bartender approached your section, a polished man in a crisp shirt and tie, his movements smooth and practiced.
you straightened your posture and glanced around at the group, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. âso,â you said, clapping your hands together lightly. âwhat are we drinking? my treat.â
the others stared at you, surprised. sarah raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest. âshouldnât we be treating you?â she asked, her tone laced with concern.
you waved her off with a dismissive gesture. âas if, guys. this place is expensive, itâs fine,â you replied, brushing off her words as though they were nothing.
but rafeâs gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as he watched the interaction. it wasnât fine. he could see it so clearlyâthe way you were trying to bury your pain beneath lavish distractions, throwing money around as if the hole in your wallet could somehow fill the one in your heart.
you didnât wait for their protests, turning to the bartender with a confident smile. âchilled bucket,â you began, your tone even and composed, âweâll do grey goose, noletâs reserve, and some vodka sodas.â
as you reached into your purse and handed him your credit card, his eyes flicked over you appreciatively, lingering on the way your gold dress shimmered under the dim lights. âreal big fan,â he murmured, his voice low and smooth. âdress is amazing, miss archibald.â
you forced a polite smile, nodding briefly as he walked away with your card. kelce and topper exchanged a knowing glance, their expressions a mix of amusement and curiosity, but rafe wasnât laughing.
âthatâs almost a grand you just spent,â he muttered, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the music.
you turned to him, your expression neutral. âitâs okay,â you said softly, as though repeating it might make it true. âjust for tonight.â but he saw through you. he always did.
to everyone else, it might have seemed like you were simply indulging in the luxury the night demanded. but rafe knew better. heâd seen this pattern beforeâwomen in his orbit spending money as a salve for something deeper, using extravagance to mask emptiness. heâd always dismissed it as shallow, as meaningless. there was nothing to search for beneath their bold lipstick and sun-kissed skin, no hidden depths to uncover. but not with you. there was something beneath the surface of your carefully curated façade, something raw and real that you couldnât quite hide. and it gnawed at him, this feeling of wanting to understand you, to know the truth of who you were behind the gold dress and the polite smiles. he didnât want to admit it, not even to himself, but it was there, simmering beneath the surface like an itch he couldnât scratch.
as the bartender returned with the drinks, setting them on the table with practiced ease, you picked up a vodka soda and raised it in a silent toast, your eyes flicking between the group with a small smile. âto tonight,â you said, your voice steady, though your eyes betrayed the storm brewing inside. everyone raised their glasses in response, cheers erupting as they leaned into the moment. but rafe stayed quiet, his gaze lingering on you, wondering if heâd ever get close enough to see the truth beneath the gold.
the energy was contagious, almost. the ambient bass thumped through the plush leather seats, rattling glasses on the illuminated table. laughter spilled freely, a mix of light-hearted giggles and drunken cackles, as the liquor flowed and the group reveled in the luxury surrounding them. the air smelled of expensive perfume, vodka, and the faint, metallic tang of ice.
kelce leaned back, swirling a tumbler of gin, his cheeks flushed as he tried to make topper laugh. topper, already several drinks in, leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin, his hair sticking to his forehead. sarah sat close to you, her hand lightly brushing yours as she twirled the remnants of vodka in her glass. you cracked open a vodka soda, the sharp hiss of carbonation cutting through the din of music and conversation. the moment the can opened, it sprayed everywhere, misting you and sarah. you squealed, recoiling as droplets of chilled liquid dotted your arms and face.
âoh my god!â sarah gasped, laughing as she frantically patted at her dress.
âsorry, sorry!â you cried, giggling uncontrollably as you grabbed a napkin to dab her arm.
âyou are so buying me a new outfit,â she teased, but the twinkle in her eye told you she didnât mean it.
the group erupted into laughter, kelce pounding the table with his fist. âwhat is this, amateur hour?â he mocked, earning a playful shove from topper.
âdonât act like youâre not next,â you shot back, shaking your head as you grabbed the vodka bottle from the bucket. the liquor was cold against your palm, the condensation dampening your hand.
in the background, act a fool blared through the speakers, the lyrics blending seamlessly with the buzz of conversation. rafe sat apart from the group, his posture relaxed, but his eyes were trained on you. his gin sat untouched in a crystal glass, the ice melting slowly. while everyone else laughed and joked, he watched you with an intensity that set him apart, his jaw tight as you brought the vodka bottle to your lips.
you leaned toward sarah, your movements slightly sluggish, your words slurring as you said, âi have to tell you something.â
she raised an eyebrow, giggling at your serious tone. âwhatâs that?â
you sighed dramatically, gesturing around the room. âiâve gotten everything iâve ever wanted, but i have one wish.â
sarahâs laughter softened into curiosity as she tilted her head. âiâll grant you three,â she teased, her voice warm and affectionate.
you leaned closer, resting your chin on her shoulder as you whispered, âyou and me. weâre thirty, living in california. we have a beach house in italy. these boys,â you waved dismissively, your free hand gesturing toward the guys. ââŚare just placeholders. we live together.â
sarah blinked, her expression shifting as her smile faltered. something in your voice, in the quiet yearning beneath your playful tone, struck a chord. she frowned, her eyes glistening as if tears were just a breath away. âiâll drink to that,â she murmured, leaning over rafe to wrap her arms around you. the embrace was warm and comforting, sarahâs laugh mingling with yours as you passed her the vodka bottle. she took a swig, grimacing slightly as the sharp burn hit her throat.
across the table, kelce and topper exchanged a glance. âtheyâre not about to make out, are they?â kelce whispered, grinning mischievously.
topper slapped his arm, rolling his eyes. âshut up, man.â
rafe finally moved, setting his glass down with a soft clink. his voice cut through the noise, steady and authoritative. âhey, hey, hey, okay,â he said, leaning forward and grabbing the vodka bottle from sarahâs hand. he set it down firmly on the table. âyouâve both had enough to drink. settle down.â
you turned to him, your eyes glassy and your lips curling into a small, defiant smile. âyou havenât had enough,â you whispered, leaning against his shoulder.
the contact sent a jolt through him, his spine stiffening as your warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt. your proximity was intoxicating, your breath brushing against his skin as your words hung in the air like a challenge. for a moment, he was frozen, caught off guard by the way you disarmed him so effortlessly. his pulse quickened, but he didnât move, didnât dare breathe as your weight rested against him.
topper, who had been quietly observing, narrowed his eyes, his expression hardening. âalright, thatâs enough,â he muttered, reaching out to pull you upright. but rafe didnât move, his gaze locked on you, his hand steady on the vodka bottle as if anchoring himself. something unspoken passed between you, a charged silence that neither of you dared to break.
the night was teetering on the edge of chaos, the atmosphere thick with liquor-fueled exhilaration and the sharp tang of tension. the flashing lights from the dance floor illuminated your golden dress, reflecting in the swirling haze of smoke and sweat. the crowd moved as one, their energy magnetized toward you and sarah as you spun her under the pulsing beat. the music thumped louder, and the bartender, noticing the rising excitement, wiped down the counter with a quick slap of his rag. he gestured toward the two of you, his grin wide as he motioned for you to step up.
âcome on,â you said, your voice cutting through the music as you pulled sarah toward the bar. her protests were faint, drowned out by your infectious confidence.
with a laugh, you guided her up onto the counter, steadying her with a firm grip on her hands. the cheers around you erupted into a frenzy as you began to move, your body swaying and rolling in perfect rhythm with the music. the lights caught every facet of your dress, sending shards of gold cascading across the room. sarah followed your lead, her movements growing more fluid as you guided her hips with your hands. she blushed under your touch, her laughter blending with the roar of the crowd. you leaned into her, arching your back just enough to draw more cheers.
the vodka bottle in your hand sloshed slightly as you crouched low, balancing effortlessly on your heels. tipping the bottle over the edge of the counter, you poured a stream of vodka toward the eager mouths below, eliciting more hollers and applause. the crowd drank it up, their cheers climbing to a fever pitch as you returned to your feet, twirling sarah into another spin.
the boys were transfixed. kelce leaned against the table, his grin wide as he shook his head. âi got a hundred riding on this night ending with an ambulance,â he slurred, though his eyes lingered on you.
topper, already three sheets to the wind, chuckled. âman, sheâs something else,â he murmured, his gaze locked on your form as you danced. he leaned back, smirking as he added, âi think iâm gonna ask her out tonight.â
kelce let out a loud cheer, raising his glass in mock celebration. âsee you at the gym, top.â
but rafe sat rigid, his jaw tight and his glass clutched too firmly in his hand. he drained the rest of his gin in one sharp motion, his knuckles whitening as he reached for the bottle to refill.
when topper caught the expression on his face, his grin turned into a taunt. he tilted his head, feigning innocence as he asked, âsomething to say, cameron?â
rafe shrugged, pouring another drink without looking at him. âdo what you want,â he said, his tone low and biting. âitâs your funeral.â
topperâs smirk faltered, his drunken bravado shifting into something darker. âwhat the fuckâs your problem?â he demanded, leaning in. âmad you donât get the girl for once?â
the taunt hung in the air, baiting rafe in a way that was impossible to ignore. his grip tightened on the neck of the bottle as he leaned forward, his voice dripping with venom. ânot as mad as youâll be when i tell you that we fucked,â he spat.
the silence that followed was deafening. kelce froze, his eyes wide as he glanced between the two, anticipation crackling in the air. the music continued to pound, but it felt muted, the tension between rafe and topper swallowing everything else. topperâs expression darkened, his fist curling at his side. then, without warning, he lunged forward, his punch connecting with rafeâs jaw with a sickening crack. he stumbled back, toppling over the couch as the room erupted into chaos. the cheers turned into gasps, all eyes snapping to the commotion in the section. but rafe wasnât down for long. he was back on his feet in an instant, his jaw set and his eyes blazing.
âis that all you got, bitch?â he barked, his voice carrying over the music as he launched himself at topper, tackling him to the ground.
kelce, still lounging on the couch, doubled over in laughter. âstop the violence,â he slurred, pulling out his phone to record the fight. âwhite trash.â he added with a cackle, his voice barely audible over the shouts and scuffle.
the fight had turned vicious. topper lunged again, his fist swinging hard enough to make the crowd around them flinch. he caught rafe across the cheekbone, the sharp smack of skin on skin cutting through the music. âtake it back!â he shouted, his voice raw with anger.
rafe stumbled but didnât go down. his lip split, blood trickling to his chin as he wiped it away with the back of his hand. he smirked, that infuriating smirk that always made topper see red. âwhy, top? gonna shed a tear or two?â rafe taunted, his words slurred but sharp.
topper grabbed the front of rafeâs shirt, pulling him close. âsay you lied!â
rafe laughed, low and mocking. âwhy would I? you really think youâve got a shot with her? come on, man. sheâd chew you up and spit you out.â
kelce, leaning back on the couch, was practically howling with laughter as he filmed. âoh, this is gold. gonna do numbers on snap.â he slurred, zooming in as topper shoved rafe back, only for rafe to retaliate with a fist to his jaw.
the bouncers at the edge of the chaos exchanged amused glances. one of them, a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, nudged his partner. âfifty says the tall one in the blazer goes down first,â he said.
ânah,â the other replied, shaking his head. âthat oneârafe, right? heâs got crazy in his eyes. iâll take the other guy.â
the blows became sloppier as the alcohol took its toll, but the rage between the two burned hot and bright. rafe tackled topper to the ground, the two of them grappling as the crowd shouted and jeered. thatâs when you noticed. your attention, previously fixed on sarah and the music, shifted to the commotion. your heart sank as you recognized the figures on the floor. âjesus,â you muttered, pushing through the crowd. âwhat the fuck are they doing?â
kelce turned to you, grinning as he kept filming. âoh, you know boys, always roughhousing,â he cackled, his words thick with gin.
you shot him a glare before grabbing a nearby vodka soda, cracking it open with a sharp hiss. without hesitation, you stepped into the fray, tipping the can over their heads. the cold liquid drenched both of them, startling them into stillness. âwhat the fuck?â rafe spat, blinking up at you as the vodka dripped down his face.
you glared down at him, your chest heaving. âare you done?â you snapped, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him to his feet. âweâre leaving.â
rafe tried to resist, but your grip was firm, and his drunken state left him little room to argue. the crowd parted as you pulled him through, cameras flashing as you emerged into the cool night air. outside, the chaos faded into quiet, the muffled thump of the music barely audible. you stopped by a bench, releasing rafeâs arm as you took a shaky breath. the night air bit at your damp skin, and you sat down, your pulse still racing.
he stood there for a moment, staring at you. then, slowly, he sank down beside you, his body heavy with exhaustion.
âiâm sorry,â he said, the words soft and unexpected.
you turned to him, your brows furrowing as you took in his bruised face. his eyes were glassy, his lip swollen, but his expression was sincere.
âiâm sorry for everything,â he continued, his voice rough. âfor being an ass, for decking topper. i did it because iâm wired that way, okay? you justâyou left that morning. you were gone, just like that. i woke up, i could still smell you, you and your stupid perfume. and i turned around, and you were gone, like i was waking up from a dream that was never meant to be.â
his words hit you like a blow, your chest tightening as you struggled to respond. âiâm sorry,â you whispered finally, your voice barely audible. âi canât stay. you know i canât.â
he shook his head, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. âiâm not him,â he said softly, his voice trembling. âiâm not your dad. iâm not gonna leave.â
and just like that, the dam broke. tears spilled down your cheeks, and you hated how vulnerable you felt, but rafe didnât. he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as your body shook with sobs.
âyou spend this time with a scab, and you expect it to heal,â he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. âbut how can you do that if you keep picking at it?â
he pulled back, his fingers tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his gaze. âanybody whoâs had the pleasure of knowing your name just to lose youâtheyâll regret that for the rest of their lives. and he will, too. but iâm not him. god, i could never be him. i could never let go of someone like you. iâd spend the rest of my life searching for you if i did.â
his words cracked something deep inside you, and when his hand stroked your cheek, trailing to the underside of your jaw, you didnât pull away. his lips met yours with a fervor that made your breath hitch, his desperation coursing as though he feared you might disappear at any moment.
when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, relief flooding his expression when he saw you were still there. âi love you,â he murmured, the words so quiet you almost missed them.
you shook your head, your voice trembling. âiâm damaged goods, rafe.â
but he kissed you again, silencing your protests. When he pulled back, he whispered, âyou could never be damaged, not you. and even if you were, even if you kept falling apart, iâd keep putting you back together. over and over again.â
his arms tightened around you as you cried, his grip unwavering, as if you were gonna disappearâand as far as he was concerned, it was possible. he needed it to last, just in case. just in case this was fate being cruel, god laughing at him from afar, ready to snatch you away again. heâd let you slip away once, and he wasnât about to let it happen again.
the silence of your home was deafening. the weight of everything lingered, pressing heavily on your chest as you sank onto the couch. your dress clung to your damp skin, and you leaned forward, burying your face in your hands. for once, you didnât talk to yourself, didnât pace the room pretending you felt safe, didnât toss and turn, praying for someone to come home and tuck you in. you just sat there, letting the stillness wrap around you like a heavy, unwelcome blanket.
âyouâre biting off more than you can chew,â you muttered finally, your voice cutting through the quiet.
but this time, you werenât talking to yourself. you werenât talking to the father whoâd never respond.
from below you, rafeâs voice came soft and steady. âyouâre not gonna push me away,â he said, kneeling in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. his fingers traced light, soothing patterns on your skin, grounding you. ânot again.â
a small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as your hands fell from your face. your fingers reached out instinctively, cupping his jaw, your touch feather-light. âsorry, was i doing that?â you teased, though your voice wavered.
rafe stood slowly, towering over you, his presence commanding as it was comforting. his hand brushed your hair back from your face, his eyes searching yours. âyou can keep doing that,â he murmured, his voice low and unwavering. âbecause iâm not going anywhere either way.â
you couldnât hold back the small smile that broke through, your face still streaked with the remnants of tears. âyouâre not gonna like what you see, rafe,â you whispered, your voice trembling with a vulnerability you hadnât let anyone see before.
his thumb stroked your cheek, his hand warm and steady as it cupped your jaw. âdo your worst,â he said softly, his gaze unwavering.
you stood, brushing past him, your steps slow and deliberate as you faced away. âi liked it,â you began, your voice fragile yet resolute. âthe attention, the drinking, all of it. i could make it through my days of pity parties and waiting for something that was never going to come because i could pretendâpretend to be someone else, even if it was just for a few hours.â
rafeâs eyes never left you, his breath steady, waiting. âand who did you pretend to be?â he asked gently, his thumb brushing away the stray tear that rolled down your cheek as you turned back to him.
you exhaled shakily, the words breaking as they left your lips. âiâd pretend like i was still someoneâs little girl. just for a little while.â
his hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, and his lips pressed against yours with a tenderness that felt foreign, new. the kiss was sweet, patient, the kind of kiss that made your heart stutter. it was soft, unhurried, but beneath it was something so much more different that what you were used to. you clung to him, your fingers tangling in his hair as if letting go meant losing him. he didnât falter, didnât break away. Instead, his hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. he turned, sinking back onto the couch with you in his lap, his lips never leaving yours.
his breath was warm against your skin as he whispered, âyou can hide as much as you want. iâll run away and hide with you.â
a genuine smile broke through your defenses, the first in what felt like years. it wasnât forced or fleetingâit was real. and it was because of him.
you kissed him again, this time with more urgency, more heat. his hands roamed your back, steady but hungry, as though he wanted to memorize every inch of you. his fingers found the zipper of your dress, pausing for a moment as if asking permission. you nodded, your breath hitching as he pulled the zipper down, his hands brushing your skin as the fabric slipped away. you tugged at his shirt in return, your fingers fumbling slightly, but he helped you, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.
his hands, warm and firm, cupped your waist, his touch reverent as his lips found yours again. âgod,â he murmured against your lips, his voice heavy with emotion. âi just wanna feel youâreally feel you. not what you show the world, not the mask. just you.â
your breath caught in your throat as you nodded, letting the dress fall away from your shoulders, the fabric pooling around you. he kissed you deeper, his hands exploring, but gentle, as if he knew the fragility of your trust. your body responded, leaning into him, the heat between you growing as the fabric of his pants rubbed against your bare thighs.
his mouth trailed down your neck, kissing a soft line to your collarbone, and you shivered, your hands tightening on his shoulders. he pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes, searching for reassurance. you nodded, your breath coming in gasps as you whispered, âyes, rafeâyes, i want this, i want you.â
his eyes lit up, a warmth that spread through you like a warm embrace, and he kissed you again, this time with an intensity that made your knees go weak. his hands moved to unhook your bra, the fabric slipping away to reveal your bare tits to the cool air. he took his time, kissing down your neck, nipping at your shoulders, as he trailed towards your breasts, his touch light and reverent, as if he was worshipping every inch of you.
you felt exposed, but not in the way you had with others. with rafe, it was different. you felt seen, understoodâlike he knew the secrets etched into your soul and loved you for them. as his kisses grew bolder, so did your desire, your hands sliding down to unbuckle his belt, to push his pants aside. your heart hammered in your chest as your skin met his, the sensation electric, as if the air around you crackled with energy.
his hand slid up your thigh, and you felt him, hard and eager against you, and for once, you werenât afraid. you werenât just giving inâyou were choosing this. choosing him.
his thumb brushed against your center, and a soft moan escaped your lips. his eyes searched yours, and when he found what he was looking forâconsent, trustâhis hand slid further, pushing aside the last of your barriers, watching the way your panties slid off the flesh of your thighs with desire in his eyes
you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, the urgency growing as his fingers moved with a gentle skill that had you arching into his touch. your breath came in ragged gasps, your eyes fluttering shut as you focused on the feeling of him, of this moment, of the way he was making you feel.
his other hand found your cheek, turning your face to his, and he kissed you again, his eyes never leaving yours as he entered you, slow and sure, filling the emptiness youâd felt for so long. the sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure, but with rafe, it was differentâit was healing. you let out a moan as you held onto him, his dick pushing into you, splitting you in a way that had his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
you clung to him, your nails digging into his skin, as he began to thrust into you, the rhythm steady and soothing, his eyes never leaving yours. your breathing synced with his, your bodies moving together as if theyâd always been meant to, and in that moment, you forgot about your father, your issues, the weight of the world. there was only rafe. he let out a groan as he lifted your legs, pushing them back, leaning forward to take advantage of the angle that had his dick throbbing.
his voice was a whisper in your ear, âi love you, baby,â and the words sunk into you like warm rain, washing away the doubt, filling you up until you felt like you might burst with the emotion.
your eyes snapped open, and you stared at him, your breath catching. âyou love me?â you breathed, your voice trembling with hope.
his smile was gentle, his eyes full of love and tenderness. âmore than anything,â he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth as he thrusted into you. âmore than i thought possible.â
his words sent a shiver down your spine, your walls crumbling away. the love youâd been so afraid to admit washed over you, mixing with the pleasure of his touch. your hips moved with his, your bodies finding a rhythm that was as natural as breathing. his hand moved between your legs, his thumb brushing against your clit with a precision that had you gasping, your nails digging into his back.
you felt your orgasm building, the tension coiling in your stomach, your muscles tightening around him. rafe noticed, his eyes darkening with passion, his breath coming in harsh pants. âcome for me, baby,â he urged, his voice thick with desire. âlet goâiâve got you.â
you did, letting yourself fall over the edge, the pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave. rafe followed, his movements becoming erratic as he buried his face in your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. your bodies shuddered together, the intensity of your release leaving you boneless and weak. when he came inside you, there was no panic, no yelling, no running. he was still there, and so were you.
afterwards, he held you close, your heartbeats syncing as your breaths grew steadier. the room was filled with the scent of sweat and sex, but it was comforting rather than suffocating. rafeâs hand stroked your hair, his kisses tender and gentle as they trailed down your neck and along your collarbone. you leaned into him, feeling safe and loved in a way you never had before. the silence was no longer a prison but a sanctuary, a space where you could breathe and just be.
he could have this, he could enjoy it, knowing that you wouldnât disappear when the morning came. not this time.
â. đ Ë
a/n: take a shot whenever topper and kelce exchange a glance pls i giggled writing this
my roman empire is this scene where rafe tries wardâs jacket on after he âdies,â except the jacket doesnât fit. it never has, and itâs never going to, no matter how big rafe gets. he looks childlike almost, like a little boy slipping into his fatherâs work shoes despite the size gap. the jacket doesnât fit no matter how much rafe wants it to, no matter how perfect he is, he will never amount to what ward wanted him to be and in this essay i will
