monass megistus

For as long as you’ve know Nia — nearly your entire lives — you’ve been extremely observant, a trait that’s served you well in almost every aspect of your life. The ease with which you can accurately pinpoint what needs fixed or built has given you an edge in your career as a builder, and the way you remember the tiniest details about a person has made making connections, whether professional or personal, that much easier for you.

The only area you seem to be completely oblivious in, though, is romance. Nia would need extra hands to be able to count on her fingers how many times someone’s flirtations have gone over your head. She’s grown comfortable with the consistent unwitting rejections you’ve hit interested potential love interests with over the years. Comfortable, and somewhat possessive — She’s been known to send people away with a glare outside your line of vision before you get the chance to do so yourself.

She knows it’s not right. You’re not hers. Deep down she knows that, but with each passing year of touchy affection, of pet names, of late nights spent cuddling under the stars, of being prioritized above others, of being the sole recipient of quite possibly the brightest smile she’s ever witnessed, it gets harder and harder not to feel like you are.

And it gets harder and harder to watch other people try to take you from her.

It all reaches a tipping point after she moves to Sandrock for good, after she’d been made to think you’d died, after the invasion, after you’d almost been taken from her so many different times in so many different ways that she couldn’t take being so far away from you anymore. You two have a standing arrangement to meet at the Blue Moon every Friday night after she’s done at the Moisture Farm and you’re done with your work for the day — Not that that’s the only day of the week you end together. More often than not, Nia ends up spending the night at your house, in your bed, in your arms.

She enters the Blue Moon tonight just in time to see you sat at the bar where you usually wait for her. This time, though, you’re not waiting alone. Grace stands at the other side of the counter, chatting with you about something Nia’s too far away to hear at the moment.

That initial sight isn’t what bothers Nia. She knows you and Grace are fairly close friends. Not as close as you and Nia, of course, but close. She’s never seen anything that may suggest either you and Grace have romantic feelings for each other.

No, what bothers Nia is the fact that, after Grace spots her over your shoulder, she leans over the counter before directing her attention back toward you. As she approaches, she tries not to gawk at Grace’s cleavage on full display. What’s she playing at here?

“And that’s also why Justice won’t answer the door when I knock after ten p.m. anymore,” comes what is obviously the tail end of the story you’re telling. You look back over your shoulder to see who’s approaching, that bright smile that has always seemed to be reserved solely for Nia spreading across your face at the sight of her. “There you are! I was just telling Grace the goat story.”

Nia can’t help returning your smile as she sits on the stool beside you, though her gaze snaps to focus on Grace’s hand coming to rest on your forearm. You don't pull away. That shouldn't bother her as much as it does. Swallowing, she makes eye contact with you again. “You’re as much a menace to this town as you are a savior,” she giggles.

Your face reddens at her words, the color spreading down your neck, and warmth spreads throughout Nia’s body. She loves making you blush. She likes to pretend it means what she wants it to mean. She wonders how far down past the collar of your shirt it spreads, how hot to the touch your skin must be, what it might feel like against her mouth—

“Everything that’s been accomplished in this town has been a team effort,” you respond, effectively snapping her out of her spiraling train of thought.

Nia opens her mouth to speak again but is beaten to the punch by Grace, who’s now blatantly looking you up and down. Is she, too, wondering how far down that blush goes? “Yeah, but we couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Her roaming gaze settles on your lips. “You’ve got something right… here.” As she speaks, her hand leaves your forearm, thumb brushing against your bottom lip as if she’s brushing something off.

There’s literally nothing there. Grace is clearly just using this as an excuse to touch your lips. Nia can only see red as she glares at Grace who pretends not to feel the way Nia's trying to murder her with her eyes.

She can’t take this anymore, can’t take standing by watching people blatantly throw themselves at you like this. She feels entirely too hot already as she grasps your warm hand — always so warm. She likes to call you her personal heater when she’s not busy being irrationally furious.

Her touch brings your attention to her, furrowed brows only deepening at the sight of her. She’s tired of hiding how this makes her feel, and the look on her face must convey it quite clearly if your confused expression is anything to go by.

“What’s goin—nnmph—!” Your question is swiftly interrupted by Nia’s lips against yours, her hand curled into a fist around the collar of the shirt she’d used to tug you into her. She pulls away before you can do it yourself, smoothing out your collar and clearing her throat.

“Can we go h— to your house? Can we go to your house?” She asks, relief flooding her as she watches Grace wordlessly straighten up and head back to the kitchen.

“I— Yes, absolutely,” you stammer, immediately standing up. Instead of pulling your hand out of her grasp, you hold onto it as you lead her out of the saloon.

Her heart hammers in her chest as she walks with you to your house, hand-in-hand. Is it a good sign that you’re still holding hands? It’s too late now to take it back; all she can think about is the way your lips felt against hers — soft, pliant, delicious. She needs to feel it again.

The second your front door shuts behind Nia, the second you turn to face her, she slides her hands up your arms, up your shoulders, up your neck, finally coming to rest on either side of your face. You look down at her with what looks like awe. Awe, and a hunger she’s never seen from you before. It lights her on fire, her fingers threading through your hair. Maybe she’s misreading this, but… it’s too late to go back. Being bold got her this far; maybe being bold is what you want from her.

“Sit on the couch,” comes out more like a request than the order she means it to be. However bold she be, she’s not sure what any of this means. Does the fact that you haven’t rejected her advances so far mean you feel the same way for her that she does for you? Or is the other shoe about to drop?

You pull away from her, and for a moment Nia’s so sure you’re going to ask her what the hell she’s doing. You don’t. Instead, you do exactly as she asked; you sit on the couch and lean back, legs slightly spread. You’re watching her expectantly now and the sight of you clearly waiting for her to straddle your lap is enough to make her cunt begin to throb.

You want this. You want her. Your eyes, dark and slightly widened with obvious need, make it so clear to her that she's not misreading anything.

Slowly, she makes her way toward you. Your gaze is more intense than she’s used to as it takes its time tracing her body. The couch cushion dips underneath the weight of her knees as she climbs onto your lap; up this close, she can see the heavy rise and fall of your chest.

Warm hands come to rest on Nia’s thighs, causing her to inhale a sharp, shaky breath. Her hands come to rest on your shoulders as yours travel up her thighs, her skirt riding up with them.

“What brought this on?” Your words are breathless, a soft moan escaping your throat afterward at the feeling of your best friend beginning to roll her hips into your lap.

“Are you complaining? I could stop, if that’s the case,” Nia teases. She was unsure before, but now she can see, hear, feel how much you want this. She’s so confident in it that she stops grinding and starts to move off of your lap, but before she can, your hands grab her by the ass to pull her back down.

“No — Please don’t stop,” you plead.

And how is she supposed to say no to that? Your hands on her ass cheeks keep their firm grip even as she begins to rock into you again. “I love making you beg,” she breathes. This is the first time she's made it happen in this context, but if there's on recurring theme in your friendship, it's Nia's fondness for the way the word 'please' passes your lips. Your only response to her words is a low groan, and then a second, louder one as Nia’s hand tugs your head back by your hair. “Nobody’s allowed to make you feel like this but me. Nobody’s allowed to touch you like this but me.” She lowers her head to rest her forehead against yours, panting, her rocking hips picking up speed as her eyes flutter shut. You roll yours up into hers, matching her pace perfectly. “Nobody’s allowed to touch this mouth but me.”

To punctuate her sentence, she presses her lips to yours with a filthy moan. You return the kiss, parting your lips to welcome her prodding tongue into your mouth. You moan around her tongue and she’s pretty sure she could cum right now from kissing and dry humping alone as long as you keep making such pretty sounds for her.

It’s you who pulls away first, struggling to catch your breath enough to speak. “I’m yours to touch,” you agree, nails digging delightfully painfully into Nia’s ass. She sucks in a shaky breath and your head dips to begin trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the blonde’s jawline, down her neck, continuing to speak between kisses. “Yours to kiss.” Your breath is hot against Nia’s neck. The rolling of her hips grows more urgent, more aggressive, and yours are quick to match it. Your next words come out sounding breathless and utterly wrecked with need. “Yours. All yours.”

The combination of your words and your mouth on her neck are doing absolutely nothing to quell Nia’s possessive urges, but she's beginning to think that that's exactly what you want. With another tug on your hair, she pulls your head back, baring your throat to her as she leans down to begin sucking what she’s going to make sure is a very visible mark on your neck. The action pulls another moan from your throat and the sound vibrates against Nia’s mouth.

“Nia…”

She’s never heard you sound quite like this before, so full of longing. It’s addicting. She needs more. “Again. Say my name again,” she breathes against your neck, and this time her words come out as the demand they’re meant to.

“Nia,” you repeat, louder this time, a little higher pitched than before.

Nia’s hands rush to the buttons on your shirt, urgently unfastening each one as she nips at your jawline and relishes in the way it makes your breath hitch. You’re so responsive to her touch, pushing your chest into her hands as they slip underneath your newly-unbuttoned shirt. So eager for her, so obedient. What else will you do for her? She plans on finding out tonight.

__________________________________________

You wake to the faint sound of birds chirping outside, and at first you’re confused. Bleary eyes blink open, slowly adjusting to the light of your living room, and it’s then that your memory of the night before returns to you.

Nia. You can feel the weight of her on top of you, the steady rise and fall of her chest — her bare chest — against your own. Slowly and carefully, you manage to extract yourself from her embrace without waking her. She’s always been such a heavy sleeper, but still, you try to remain quiet as you gather the items of clothing scattered on the floor to wash.

“Hey, you,” comes Nia’s voice from behind you, heavy with sleep.

You look over your shoulder at her before softly depositing the bundle of clothes onto the floor for now. Fully settling onto your knees, you turn and lean against the couch with a smile — bright, loving, maybe a little mischievous. Slowly, you reach up to gently brush some hair out of Nia’s face. “Good morning.”

Nia’s eyes trace every inch of your face as if seeing it for the first time, and eventually her gaze lowers, darkening upon spotting the various hickeys she’d left on your lower neck and shoulders. You’re lucky you still have that scarf she knitted for you.

“So last night…” she trails off, eyes meeting yours again, a hint of hopeful uncertainty within them.

You wince. “Yeah, I know. I’m so sorry,” you start. You notice the way Nia tenses and reach out to grasp her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I’ll have a talk with Grace. I don’t know what got into her last night; she knows we’re together, and I was so sure she was into Logan anyway. There must’ve been some kind of miscommunication or something. I’ll set it straight, I promise.”

You wait for Nia to relax or at least say something, but instead she just stares at you in confusion. “Wait, what?” She asks.

“What?” You furrow your brows.

Nia props herself up on one elbow. “Since when have we been together?”

Your eyes switch focus between hers as you straighten up a little. You’re so confused. “Since, like, forever?” Your tone makes it clear that you feel this should be obvious. The look on Nia’s face makes it clear she disagrees. “Nia, we hold hands everywhere we go. We do everything together. You practically live in my house with how often you’re here. We sleep in the same bed, we cuddle, we reject other people’s advances for each other, we talk about our future plans of growing old together in this house with your garden out back by my workshop. Hell, I’ve kissed you before!”

“It was just for a second; I thought it was a friend kiss!” She protests, face more than a little red with embarrassment. “I thought… But wait, last night was the first time we’ve really kissed, let alone had sex. What did you think was happening there?”

“I just thought you wanted to take things super slow,” you reason with a shrug.

Nia just looks at you for a moment, taking in, for the first time, the reality of everything. She’s been pining for years over someone who’d thought all this time that they were together already, and you’d been content to take it all at her pace the entire time. Squeezing your hand, she pulls until you get the hint that she wants you up on the couch with her.

“Sweet girl.” Her voice is soft and fond, her hands coming to rest on either side of your face as you settle into the couch beside her. “My sweet girl.” She pulls you down into a slow, tender kiss, vastly different to the hurried, desperate kisses you’d shared the night before — but just as perfect. Breaking the kiss, she remains close enough for you to feel her breath on your lips as she speaks. “We have to work on your communication, though, because if I’d known I could just jump your bones like that any time I wanted, I would’ve.”

You laugh at that, slipping your knee between her thighs, your smile widening at the soft gasp it pulls from Nia’s throat. “Duly noted,” is the last thing you say before you press your lips to hers.