You certainly weren't inexperienced. On earth you had bedded more than one human man or another whose package was something to gawk at, and your fair share of women, too. You could handle this, you'd thought, until you actually saw them.

On your trip here, which took place on a 'private' shuttle that was way too cramped to offer any actual privacy, you were sat a few rows short of the beasts.

"Those're young-bloods" explained the man in uniform beside you in hushed tones, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the stunned look on your face. "Means they ain't killed anything worth killin' yet. Like one of 'em slimy xeno-whatevers they found a sample of in-"

But you'd completely drowned out his talk of how humans count as worthy kill under certain circumstances, and how he'd almost had a run in with an elder but managed to appease him by speaking their language, and the following beat-boxing that you were almost certain wasn't their language.

No. The only actual thought on your mind as you stared at those two walls of yellow-green glistening muscle that look bigger than you even when they're sitting down was- oh shit.

I'm actually gonna have to fuck these things.

You froze up as the doors to your little section of the ship swooshed open, the three bottles of wine you'd all but inhaled to try and lower your inhibitions apparently doing jack shit to stop the hammering of your heart.

You barely heard them enter, but you did see them. Oh did you see them. And to your horror, they saw you too.

Piercing yellow eyes were fixed on yours, and everything in your body, every instinct your species relied on to survive, was telling you to run. To scream. To fight.

But predator knows predator, so you stay perfectly still in this little standoff, praying that they were more reptile than mammalian and that the myth about T-rexes applied to them too. That if you didn't move, they wouldn't see you.

That if you waited long enough, you wouldn't have to find out if the myth about a man's hands was also true, since their fingers alone stretched the span of yours.

Then they moved. And you flinched. And they stopped moving.

Silence again.

It was kinda awkward. You hadn't been taught anything on their species. In your mind, they should've at least given you some basic yautja 101, maybe some alien-inclusive sex Ed. But you got sent out with nothing more than a gallon of lube and a good luck! Don't die!

They move again. You flinch again.

They move again, slowly.

Crouching down from ceiling height to 'you could almost attempt to kiss them if you had a stepstool' height.

Could you kiss a yautja? They don't have normal mouths. Would yautja even enjoy the act of kissing? Many questions, all of which you couldn't get past your anxiety-sealed lips.

Instead, you let out a dignified "ah..." to which they slowly tilt their head, to which you slowly die inside.

"Hello..." you decide would be your greeting, your voice barely even carrying in the humid air that filled the entire ship "...sir?"

That was polite. Polite people don't get killed. Surely.

Somehow, you'd hoped they would magically know your language. Would speak in the silky smooth tones of Ryan Reynolds or some other stand-in hot guy about how; hey, I know I'm a giant killing machine whose hands have seen more blood than you can carry in your tiny little pathetic ooman body alone, but I'm a good guy, I promise. I will make love to you gently in missionary position, finish in the dignified 60 seconds it would take any normal man, and then drape a soft blanket over you before I kiss your head and tell you you did well.

But all you got was a 'hmpf.'

A grunt, a small nod of their head as they lower themselves further to the ground, sitting in front of you with their legs in pretzel position. Okay, so big bad yautja also sat criss-cross-applesauce. Good to know.

Still slightly terrified, but moreso curious now, you let your eyes finally drop from theirs down to their body. This one was a black yautja.

Dark skin that looked almost moist and was freckled with little specks of yellow, not covered by the usual fishnets you'd come accustomed to seeing in what little research you did. Instead, they were bare. Your eyes move down further. Yep. Completely bare.

Embarrassed, your eyes snap back up again only to see that theirs had never left your face. They make a series of clicking noises. You imagine them asking why you were shitting yourself being in the same room as them but somehow didn't have the sense to not stare at their junk.

In reality as well as in imagination you had no real answer to that.

"How are you?" you decide to once again follow standard human protocol. They once again reply in a series of clicks. This wasn't productive.

You take the risk and extend a hand. They spread their legs. You take your hand back.

"Oh, uh..." you swallow "You want me to uh...?"

They return to a normal position, then let out another huff. This time it sounded kinda annoyed. Okay, you get that.

"Listen," your voice breaks, you cough, "listen." you repeat again.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?"

For a few moments too long, silence settles over you, along with a deep feeling of disappointment and regret in your gut. As a result, the ecstasy you feel as they nod their head once, was even greater. FINALLY. You were getting somewhere.

Letting out a slow, calming breath, you nod as well, then take a second to contemplate what to say next. Better be honest, right?

"Listen," you repeat, getting tired of the word yourself and wondering if in their language they also sometimes begin their sentences with commands. How do they feel when you speak to them like this? Disrespected, perhaps?

"I'll be so real with you-" you sigh, "I don't know anything about you. And I'm a little scared? Okay, a lot scared. It's my first day here and I don't want to like, mess up and offend you and get my skull cracked or something."

Their unwavering stare, along with their unwavering silence, pushes you to go on.

"I mean- look at you. You're huge. And I'm...well. Not. You look like you could crush me with one hand and I don't really want to test that theory, is what I'm saying. And I know I signed up for this, but please be gent-"

You were cut off as a clawed hand that felt as rough as it looked yanked your naked leg toward them, making your back hit the, thankfully still fur covered, ground. "Gentle!" you finish, now panicked "Be gentle! Please! And front hole only!"

But your legs were spread before you could even try and familiarize them with the concept of foreplay, and you close your eyes tightly, mentally counting to ten to prepare yourself for counting their inches.

Though about as you hit the 8 second mark you realize the intrusion doesn't seem to be coming, not yet anyways, and you slowly open your eyes again. And for the first time, you aren't met with theirs.

Instead, you're greeted with one very large...forehead.

"Um..." you breathe out slowly, hoping your pulse wasn't visible from where they were nestling their face into your crotch "that's my um...yeah"

"Y-yeah, so..." you prop yourself up on shaky elbows, attempting to guide them through...whatever they were doing.

From what you know their mouths at least don't look like they're made for oral. If anything the idea of having those tusks on you or, God forbid, sticking something between them, had goosebumps rise on your bare legs.

"It's...very sensitive" you explain, reaching out to tug on a lock of their hair (for lack of a better word), trying to get them to back off a little and earning yourself a growl that had you instantly freeze up. "O-okay then..."

Raising their head enough to glare at you, you contemplate if now was the right time to be begging for your life, or if you should keep that for when they rip you apart. Keep it special, you know?

They sigh. You let out a breath. They let go of your legs. You close them with a speed that was anything but erotic and sit up.

Back to the start.

Honestly, you were beginning to feel a bit bad for them.

Yautja males, outside of but especially during mating season, had an insanely high libido. That was the one thing you had been breached on, since that is the whole reason the IBP was even formed- to keep sexually frustrated yautja from losing themselves in heat by losing themselves in a human, instead.

The specifics were as alien to you as their anatomy, but you imagine it to be similar to female cats. Painful, distracting, making you forget everything except the itching need to get rid of that goddamn feeling.

They were dynamite, lit and ready to explode. And you were their salvation, hesitant and afraid like you weren't paid to be here.

You hold up a lone hand like a fence between sheep and wolf, shifting onto your knees as you look them over. They were a beast, but as your gaze reveals, certainly not monstrous.

Broad shoulders, a well defined chest, thick muscular thighs that met at a sort of...knob. Like a rounded bulge that made you wonder at why they were covering that part with armor at all. They make another clicking sound, but for once you don't tear your eyes away. After all, if they were unashamed about getting an eyeful, why wouldn't you be?

And they're definitely not shy. At least you thought so, until their large palm moves to cover it up, and you look at them in confusion for a moment, prompting "How...how does it...work?"

Their response was not verbal, but came instead in an act that seemed all too familiar to how you would touch yourself, and for a moment you considered if maybe you had been wrong entirely. That perhaps the way they were rubbing their fingers against the bulging flap between their legs suggested that they had an innie, not an outie. Which would at least be something you'd have no issue working with.

But then it, in a hilariously literal sense, sprung free, and you found yourself almost amused-

If not for the sheer size of it.

At first you assumed that the drugs, and the free medicare, and the actual barrels of lube were mere incentives. Simply things to get more humans warmed up to the idea of taking on a Yautja. Like, hey, none of these are actually necessary but we provide them for you just in case, so don't even worry!

But now that you see those 15, somehow fully erect inches staring back at you, you realize that they aren't incentives- they are necessities.

"Oh fuck me." you whisper harshly, staring at their anaconda like it was about to bite you.

And as their big hands reach for you again you realize human expressions do not translate well at all.

They cup both your cheeks in one, use the other to pry your legs further apart and ignore your sputters and squeaks like a parent would a stubborn child. To them, you may as well be. What was it? One yautja year equals ten to every human?

"Wait- wait! HOLD ON!" you squack with no regards to your dignity as you feel the beginning of them press against you, but it was only when you move to yank their head back by their hair that they seem to listen.

They roar like a tiger, the appendages on their faces spreading like they were about to crush your skull with them, but you stay determined to get your point across.

"It won't fit!" you cry "It won't fit! I'm sorry! Let me down! Please let me down!"

For a moment you feel the hand spanning the circumference of your leg dig it's claws into the flesh, ask yourself what sweet god took pity on you today and made this creature at least somewhat fluent in consent as it reluctantly sets you back down, and vow that the next time you find yourself bored of your life you'll simply dye your hair a bright blue or book a random trip to Mexico.

"T-thank you," you breathe out deeply, settling back onto your knees "I'm sorry."

But despite their respect for the word no, their frustration was still evident.

They have no eyebrows but still you could see them furrow, hear a faint grumble reverberate in their chest as they must question for the umpteenth time tonight why they had been coupled with the ship's worst prostitute.

"I'm sorry." you add again, this time less out of fear and more out of embarrassment.

They growl again in response, their eyes fixing you in something that somehow manages to not feel like anger.

"Listen," that word again. You smile and wonder if they know what a smile is. "maybe we can work something else out?"

Your eyes drop again, to the part which—just like them—demands attention. And you'd give it, once you figure out a way not to die in the process.

"Do…I mean maybe if I just take half- oh!" you look back up into their eyes that seemed to never break contact with yours "Can I give you head?"

It certainly wasn't your smoothest line, but from what you could tell they don't really care for subtlety.

They nod, and you can finally breathe again.

You look down again, and realize you won't be breathing freely for long.

As if expecting further instructions, they remain seated and staring at you, legs spreading just a little further again. Okay, you think. You can do this.

On all fours, you do your first attempt at seduction tonight, crawling closer towards them—and then briefly kissing the floor before quickly and awkwardly picking yourself up again. It's hard to be sexy when you're drunk.

Though it does make it a little easier to act before your thoughts can stop you, hand reaching out to gently wrap around- fuck. Try and wrap around their cock.

They let out another deep huff, twitching against your palm.

"Damn…a-are all Yautja this big?"

You startle, almost recoiling from them as they erupt in a loud series of clicks and chirps. For a split second you think, and get weirded out by the prospect of those being, moans. Until you realize they're actually laughing. You smile.

"Is that—is that a yes? It's not a stupid question." you chuckle with them, still not sure if they're doing the same or laughing at you.

"Most" they rumble, deep and heavy, "I'm not big-est"

Not the biggest. Great. Wonderful. So a dick the length of your forearm and the width of a Pringles can was only the beginning of your journey. If that's the average for Yautja males giving birth for the females must be heavenly eas—

You startle again.

"What the fuck?!"

You let go of their cock in favor of giving them the most petulant, angry, surprised yet grateful, and just as confusing as trying to describe it, look one could have.

"You can talk? Why didn't you talk before?" you demand and they grunt again, though at this point you're pissed enough to say something about it "Stop huffing at me! You can talk!"

"Not good."

"Don't care!"

"Touch me." they say suddenly like they're trying to indulge you, voice as soft as their throat would allow "Please."

And you sigh, keeping your eyes on them for another moment like your glare would do anything to a beast of their size as you try and quell your anger at having to work with near silence to preserve their ego in the face of not-quite-perfect english.

But touching them was what you were here for, so that wasn't something you'd argue about.

Leaning down, you open your mouth as wide as you could go so your teeth wouldn't accidentally scrape them, and get almost thrown across the room like a ragdoll.

"WoaH-shit—what the fuck?!" you repeat, and they squeak, revealing that their voice could get an octave higher than venom-deep "NO BITING"

"What? I wasn't gonna-"

"NO BITING" their hand cups between their thighs, attempting to frantically stuff themselves back into their weird sheeth-thingy, standing back up to back away from you. Like a lion recoiling from a tiny snake because it knows there's venom in there.

"I wasn't-" you try again to explain, but they're already bolting from the room, 300 pounds almost putting a dent in the door when it fails to slide open fast enough.

You're left still naked, unfucked, untouched, and so very very confused on the floor of your make-shift brothel room.

Another thing learned, you supposed.

The guards stationed throughout the halls stood straighter than usual, their armour ceremonial rather than practical. At the same time, servants and lower-ranked warriors moved with noticeably greater urgency through the towering stone corridors. They were preparing feasting halls, organising trophies for display, and ensuring that every inch of the stronghold reflected the power of the King who ruled it.

And because you carried his child, because his heir now grew safely underneath your heart, the tension surrounding the visit seemed even sharper than before.

You sat near the great fire within the upper chamber, one hand resting against the curve of your stomach while the flames cast warm light across the stone walls, and despite the comfort of the room, you could still sense the unease spreading throughout the fortress like an approaching storm.

The child had been moving since morning, restless and strong, moving under your skin often enough that you wondered if perhaps he could somehow feel your mate’s tension as clearly as you could.

The doors to your chamber opened heavily.

Your mate entered, and even after everything the two of you had shared together, the sight of him still carried the same overwhelming presence that had once frightened entire villages, because there was simply no way to ignore a creature built so powerfully, wrapped in armour and trophies, carrying himself with the kind of confidence only a true ruler could possess.

Yet despite his terrifying appearance, his attention found only you.

Always you.

His eyes swept across the room first, assessing in the instinctive way of a hunter, ensuring no danger had entered his territory before finally settling where you sat beside the fire.

“There you are,” you murmured, smiling as he approached.

He crossed the chamber in slow steps until he stood directly in front of you, one large hand moved carefully against the swell of your stomach with a surprising gentleness that never failed to make you smile.

The child shifted almost immediately under his touch. A pleased rumble sounded from deep within his chest at the reaction.

“They approach,” he said after a moment, his voice low and steady.

“The western clan?” you asked quietly.

“Yes.”

You knew of them already, at least through stories and reputation, because the western clan was among the oldest surviving bloodlines still aligned with your mate’s territory, made up of hunters known for their efficiency and deep devotion to honour, though they were also infamous for their pride and unwillingness to tolerate weakness in any form.

Your fingers brushed lightly against his wrist.

“You’ve been tense all day.”

“They are guests,” he answered carefully.

You smiled faintly because that was not truly the issue.

“And?”

His mandibles moved slightly before his eyes dropped briefly toward your stomach once more.

“You carry my heir.”

There it was.

The real concern.

Since your pregnancy became visible, your mate’s protective instincts had intensified to almost absurd levels, to the point where nothing entered your chambers without inspection, no warrior approached you without permission, and even the healers who examined you regularly found themselves watched with heavy scrutiny.

At first, you had found it excessive.

Now, strangely enough, you found it comforting.

“You know they are not going to challenge me,” you said softly, tilting your head up toward him.

“They would not survive it.”

The confidence in his answer made you laughh.

“You are very intense.”

“I am correct.”

“You usually are.”

That answer seemed to satisfy him enough that some of the tension left his posture, and then he leaned down and pressed his forehead briefly against yours in one of the rare moments of intimacy he allowed himself when no one was watching.

“You will remain beside me during the gathering,” he told you.

“I assumed as much.”

“You will not leave my sight.”

“You say that as though I wander endlessly when you are not looking.”

“You would if allowed.”

That made you laugh properly, and for a short moment, you watched the severity in his expression soften at the sound.

---

The visiting clan arrived before nightfall, their ships descending while warriors lined the entrance hall in ceremonial formation, creating a display impressive enough that even you found yourself pausing to admire the sheer scale of it all. Even though you have seen it before. They never fail to amaze you.

When the western clan finally entered the great hall, they did so with the confidence of warriors who feared nothing, their leader walking first, his huge frame decorated with sea-creature bones, polished skull fragments, and old scars that spoke of countless victories earned across many worlds.

Your mate remained seated beside you on the elevated stone platform overlooking the hall below, his posture relaxed enough to appear respectful while still carrying the unmistakable dominance of a King within his own territory, and as expected, his hand rarely strayed far from where it rested protectively near you.

The Western leader noticed you immediately.

Of course, he did.

A human seated beside a King was impossible to ignore.

Still, unlike lesser warriors, he possessed enough wisdom not to allow surprise to turn into disrespect, and after studying you for a moment, he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement before addressing your mate directly.

“Your Queen is honoured greatly within your halls,” he observed.

“She is, as she should be,” your mate answered immediately before you even had the chance to speak.

“Yes,” he replied. “Of course.”

For a while, the gathering remained peaceful as stories of hunts echoed throughout the halls, trophies were examined and admired, and warriors traded tales of victories earned through blood and skill, while servants carried endless platters of food between the enormous stone tables.

You almost began to relax.

Almost.

Then two younger warriors ruined everything.

You noticed them long before your mate did, mostly because they lacked the discipline to hide their interest properly, their eyes staying on you too long while whispering between themselves with faces carrying familiar arrogance young hunters often mistook for confidence.

One finally spoke while passing near the elevated platform.

“A human carrying royal blood,” he remarked mockingly. “The King lowers himself.”

The entire hall fell silent instantly.

You felt the change in the atmosphere. It was like a blade pressing against exposed skin.

Your mate did not move immediately, which somehow felt more dangerous than if he had exploded into violence, because slow anger from him was always far worse than impulsive rage.

Very slowly, he turned his head toward the two warriors. The sheer weight of his attention caused several nearby hunters to lower their eyes.

“You speak boldly,” your mate said quietly.

The second warrior, foolish beyond reason, actually laughed.

“She is prey pretending to be queen.”

Your mate rose to his feet.

Every sound inside the great hall disappeared entirely.

You remained seated despite the quickening pulse in your chest while your mate descended the platform with calm steps, not rushing, not roaring, not losing control even for a moment, because this was not mindless fury.

This was judgement.

The western clan leader exhaled slowly through his mandibles, disappointment evident in the sound.

“The young die foolishly,” he muttered.

Only then did the two warriors seem to understand the magnitude of their mistake.

Far too late.

Your mate stopped directly in front of them, towering over both.

“You insult my mate,” he said.

Neither warrior answered.

“You insult my unborn child.”

Still silence, then his voice lowered further.

“You insult me.”

The first warrior attacked in panic. It was the worst decision he could have made.

Your mate caught the strike effortlessly before twisting hard enough to shatter the warrior’s arm completely, and the sound of bone breaking echoed throughout the silent hall only moments before his wrist blades drove cleanly through the warrior’s throat.

Blood sprayed across the floor.

The body collapsed instantly.

The second warrior barely had enough time to draw his weapon before your mate turned towards him, and though the younger hunter fought harder than the first, it changed absolutely nothing about the outcome.

You watched every moment

And strangely, rather than fear, all you felt was pride.

Because your mate did not fight wildly.

He fought with purpose.

With absolute certainty.

The final blow split the second warrior open across the chest, sending his lifeless body crashing heavily onto the blood-covered stone beside his companion.

Silence followed.

Your mate stood over the bodies, breathing slowly while neon blood dripped from his blades onto the floor. Then the western clan leader rose calmly from his seat.

“Their deaths are justified,” he declared for the entire hall to hear. “They disrespected the Queen.”

Agreement rumbled immediately throughout the gathered warriors.

None challenged it

None dared.

Only then did your mate finally turn back to you, and the moment his eyes found you again, the fury visibly lessened, as he returned immediately to your side, one large hand settling protectively against your stomach as though reassuring himself that both you and the child remained unharmed.

You looked up at him with a faint smile.

“That was excessive,” you murmured teasingly.

“They were warned.”

“You enjoyed that.”

“They insulted you.”

“Yes,” you said softly. “They did.”

---

By the following evening, the skulls of the two fallen warriors decorated your home.

Cleaned and mounted high along the stone walls overlooking the entrance, they served both as trophies and as warnings to anyone foolish enough to forget what happened to those who disrespected the Queen of the stronghold.

Deep within your chambers, the fire crackled warmly as you rested comfortably beside your mate, wrapped in heavy furs.

For the first time since the western clan’s arrival, he finally seemed fully at ease.

You leaned against his side while one of his large hands rested over your stomach, feeling the strong movements of the child moving underneath your skin every so often, and when the baby kicked particularly hard, your mate immediately looked down with interest.

Another movement followed beneath his palm.

A deep, pleased rumble echoed from his chest.

“He grows stronger already,” he murmured.

“He is going to be enormous,” you sighed dramatically.

“As he should be.”

Eventually, your eyes moved toward the mounted skulls decorating the walls.

“You know,” you said thoughtfully, “most husbands bring flowers.”

Your mate looked toward the trophies before looking back at you.

“They brought disrespect.”

“And you brought home their heads.”

“They are decorative.”

The seriousness in his voice made you laugh hard enough that your stomach tightened slightly, immediately causing his attention to snap back toward you.

“You are in pain?”

“No,” you managed between soft laughter. “I am fine.”

He continued watching you carefully for another moment before finally relaxing once more, after which he leaned down and rested his forehead gently against yours.

“My Queen,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes, smiling, while his hand remained protectively over both you and your unborn child,

You were surrounded by warmth, safety, and the guarantee that no force in the universe would ever be allowed to harm either of you while your King was alive.

~Masterlist~

The bell had just rung, the students had filed out trying to get to their next class as fast as possible. You had been walking down the hall, when a student bumped into you, knocking your books out of your hands "Watch where you're going next time Smith!" You call back as he rushes past, a small groan escaping you as you bend down to retrieve the scattered papers. 

"Sorry miss! I can't stop, apparently professor Logan is my sub teacher and I do not wanna be late" he shouts back making your lips curl up in amusement, shaking your head as you go back to the task at hand. 

Reaching for a book that had slid slightly too far, only for it to be picked up by a three fingered hand. "Well if it isn't my favourite person in distress" Kurt smiles, bending down to help you. 

Your cheeks, heating up as you take it from him "Hi Kurt" You smile, putting the book onto the pile. 

“Trip again?” He asks

“Not this time, Mr Smith has Logan for a cover teacher.” You muse, making him smile.

“Well I would not want to be late either.” He nods thoughtfully, picking up the books. You're about to say something but he sticks his arm out for you to take, obviously not about to take no for an answer. “Where to meine leibe?” He asks. 

You think for a moment, before linking your arm with his, a soft smile on your face “To my classroom please” You say as you begin walking again “I could have carried them y’know” You muse glancing at his side profile. 

God you loved the way he looked. 

“I know, but it would have been ungentlemanly of me to let you carry them yourself. Besides I have nothing but time on my hands” He explains, to which you let out a hum. 

There’s a comfortable silence as the two of you make your way down the corridor. “So, Rogue told me you went on a date last night.” Kurt says suddenly, looking at you intently. He wasn't trying to be noisy, promise. 

But he was just curious. “How did that go?” He wanted to know if the man treated you nicely.

You let out an amused breath “I mean it was alright. Nothing special” you shrug, making Kurt's ears perk up. 

“Really? No sparks?” He asks curiously, trying not to sound so eager that the date was a bust. 

You shake your head “No not really. I don’t know, maybe it's just me?” You think aloud. To be fair all throughout your date your mind had been wandering back to your thoughtful and sweet colleague, who was currently holding your books for you. 

Kurt looks surprised  “I highly doubt it was you. Perhaps it wasn't meant to be?... The right one will come along” He smiles, and you notice the way his tail wags. 

Your brow raises “Are you happy my date failed?” and he lets out an offended gasp, putting his free hand over his heart. 

“I would never. I do think you could set your standards higher though” He muses.

“Oh really?” you say nudging his arm.

He nods “Mhm indeed. You should go for a man, who’s a gentleman” he says thoughtfully.

You let out a non committed hum, gesturing for him to continue describing the perfect man for you. 

“A man who’s kind, handsome, listens to your every word” he continues before looking over at you as if he wants to test the waters “Who thinks you're the most beautiful woman in the world” He says softly, which makes your eyebrows raise. 

“That would be the dream man” You snort.

“Opinions, on your dream man as you called him” He repeats gesturing around with his free hand “Being blue?” He asks, in a not so subtle way.

You click your tongue, taking the opportunity to tease him. “Doesn’t bother me, although I’m not sure Hank is who I’d describe as my dream man” You giggle, “Plus I think he prefers talking over listening.” You let out a wistful sigh making Kurt frown. 

He clears his throat, “No I wasn’t really thinking of Hank” he grits out “Someone else. Whos blue” He says pointedly glancing down at himself hoping you’d pick up on his hints. You have, but there's no harm in having a little fun with it. 

“Maybe someone who has yellow eyes?” He says with emphasis, and you nod along, taking this moment to tease him further. 

You let your mouth drop a little, as if you had realised what he meant “Oooh” You smile, turning to look at him for a second. He straightens up slightly, only for you to look away again, so you can hide the corners of your mouth ticking up slightly.

“Do you mean Mystique?” you raise a brow, a small smirk on your lips. “I mean sure she’s pretty but I don't think we’d work out Kurt. I don't date people who are technically enemies" You say thoughtfully and he lets out a huff of frustration, his shoulders drooping as he looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. 

“I wasn't thinking of her either…” He pouts, before deciding to try again. Having yet to realise that you're teasing him. 

“Prehaps someone with a tail? Calls you leibling?” He suggests “Anyone springing to mind?” He asks hopefully. 

You shake your head, shrugging “Nope, a shame really. He really sounds like my dream guy” You hum. 

Kurt blinks, beginning to wonder if you're that oblivious “Seriously liebe?" He asks, looking down at you. “No one? Not anyone?” He asks incredulously. 

And that's when he notices the smile on your lips that you're currently trying to hide. And suddenly he feels like an idiot. “You're messing with me, aren’t you?” He groans.

You let out a bark of laughter. “Of course I am, Kurt” you snort “that was cute though….your adorable” you tease, making him let out another noise of disbelief, 

“You are terribly mean. could have spared me, you know.” He huffs, adjusting the books in his arm but the wagging of his tail gives away his emotions.

“Now where would the fun be in that?” You muse and he lets out a breath. 

You tilt your head, letting out a hum as you stop in front of him, hands clasped together behind your back “Is this your way of telling me, you're my perfect man?” You ask with a grin. 

“I…suppose it is.” He grumbles before clearing his throat, straightening up again before nodding. “I mean, yes. Yes it is.” He says more confidently. 

“I may not be the most perfect…but I will always try to be the best man for you” He says softly, he takes a half step forward before stopping “If you’ll have me that is?” He says quickly. 

His tail whips nervously, and in that moment you decide that you had your fun, but now you really want to kiss him. “I don’t want you to think of me as some-” He tries to get out before you cut him off, surprising him as your lips softly press against his. 

You smile as you pull away, “You're terrible at asking me out on a date you know that?” You snort, your hand on his cheek.

It takes him a second, before he lets out a little ‘huh?’ a dazed look of happiness on his face. 

You let out a little laugh, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him closer so you didn’t have to put strain on your tippy toes. “Dinner tonight… Your place” You smile, your nose almost touching his as peck another kiss against his lips. 

It seems that Kurt’s mind has gone fuzzy and static, and he doesn't even notice you taking the stack of books from his arms “I'll see you later Kurt” You smile as you back up to your classroom, before turning and opening the door. 

And for a moment Kurt Wagner stands there, his mind mush, because apparently he is your perfect man. 

you were a bit of an accident baby

Queen Sindel and King Jerrod had conceived you after a particularly passionate anniversary night, and by the time you were born, Kitana and Mileena had just graduated from their academic careers and started taking over minor royal duties

and so, that left you with the whole (and a little extra) of Sindel and Jerrod's attention, resulting in you being a bit of a brat

every whim you had ever wanted, you had gotten, and although your temper had been soothed with age, it had a tendency of flaring up when you were emotional

especially now, when Kung Lao pins you down so tightly on the bed, thick arms refusing to let your hips grind down onto his face

your hands pull at the strands of his hair, body squirming against the lush silk sheets of your bed, and you whine out of his name, petulant and needy, "Lao, pleeaaaase!"

he glances up at you, eyes hooded over with lust and pleasure, his own hips lazily grinding against the side of your mattress, and he doesn't answer

instead, the flat of his tongue presses firmly against your sensitive clit, swollen with blood after being teased for the better part of the last 30 minutes

you groan, throwing your head back against the sheets as tears start to fall down from the edge of your eyes, "fuck! please, please, Lao! i need it-"

your lover only laughs against your pussy, the vibrations buzzing through your body, and you gasp and writhe at the sensation

"just a little more, wanna know how needy you can get." Kung Lao mumbles it more to himself than to you, his nose grinding against your clit as he fucks his tongue into your pussy again

a pool of your arousal stains your bed and the bottom half of his face, and he grunts as you try and thrust your hips against his face again, chasing your own pleasure

Kung Lao simply presses down on your hips with one arm to still them, using his other hand to slap at the side of your thigh as a warning

you whimper and pout, tugging at his hair to try and get him to fuck you on his tongue properly, but he pulls away, eyebrows furrowed in irritation

the world spins as he flips you over onto your stomach so that you're bent over the mattress, and your hands scrabble at the sheets, brain whirling with the sensation

Kung Lao offers you no reprieve, hand slicing through the air as he slaps at the sensitive flesh of your butt, the sound cracking through the air

a choked groan escapes from your lips, and you bury your face into the sheets as he brings down his hand again and again, pain stinging through your flesh

"you wanna be a brat? fine, i'll show you how i deal with brats." his other hand presses into your lower back to make sure you can't twist away from the punishment, and you sob into the sheets, tears staining the silk

humiliation burns at your face, but your pussy betrays your thoughts as your arousal drops down onto the sheets

Kung Lao pants into the air, and he kicks your legs apart, swiping his calloused fingers through your slickness before wiping it on the back of your thigh

he says nothing, and before you can peek backwards to take a look, his hand slaps against your pussy, the sound wet and messy

you scream into the sheets, face burning with shame as pleasure soars through you along with the pain, and you wheeze into the sheets as his fingers pat against your clit

"i knew it." even without looking back, you can hear the infuriating smirk on his face, and once again, before you can quip back a response, he brings his hand back down onto your dripping pussy, the tips of his fingers catching along your clit

"fuck!" you tremble and shake, unable to do much more as you squirt, and Kung Lao groans at the sight, his ego swelling with the sight of your sheets soaked with your pleasure

he mumbles something underneath his breath as your vision swims in front of you, and your breath hitches as you feel the blunt head of his cock press against your pussy

Kung Lao rubs his hands along your sore butt, sure to leave you with an aching pain for the next couple of days, before he grips onto your hips as he pushes forward

his cock stretches you, still a bit of struggle no matter how much preparation he gives you, and you whine and grip onto the sheets, panting through the pain

"are you okay? do you need a break?" one of his hands pets at your back, voice laced with worry, and you shake your head no

"just-just give me a second. that was-i-fuck-" thoughts melt on your tongue as his cock presses against your sweet spot, and your hips jerk backwards, "just fuck me, Lao."

he laughs, giving your hips a squeeze, "always so demanding."

and then, as ordered, Kung Lao ruts into you ruthlessly, his pelvis slapping against you loud enough that it echoes in the room

his hand releases your hip to dip underneath and rub at your clit in fast and rough circles, and you groan, pussy clenching around him at the sensation

it only spurs him on further as he grunts, and you whimper as you cum on his cock, stars flashing behind your eyelids as you squeeze your eyes shut

Kung Lao mutters something, lost in translation, and he fixes his grip on your hips as he chases his own high, desperate for his own orgasm after denying you and himself for so long

his cock twitches in your pussy, and he groans as he fucks his seed into you, uncaring of the few drops that seep out along the edges and onto the bed

he drops down onto you so that his chest presses along your back, kissing at the base of your neck as he lazily thrusts his hips in and out before stopping completely

"well, are you gonna clean me up now, or what?"

Tomás Vrbada

✧ Tomás casually walks into the room expecting literally nothing unusual

✧ Only to freeze in place when he sees you wearing his clothes

✧ Or well… your version of his clothes

✧ His top had been cropped and fitted to your body, belts and straps adjusted to hug your waist and thighs properly

✧ You even recreated the little details in his outfit almost perfectly

✧ The smoke gray and silver tones on you?

✧ He is respectfully staring disrespectfully

✧ “Holy shit…”

✧ You immediately start giggling because his brain genuinely stopped functioning for a second

✧ He slowly walks around you like he’s inspecting artwork

✧ “No, because why do you look better in my clothes than I do?”

✧ Dramatic offense

✧ Keeps touching the modified pieces because he’s genuinely impressed you made them yourself

✧ “You even kept the stitching pattern? Babe…”

✧ The second you put on his mask?

✧ He’s DONE

✧ Literally grabs his chest like he’s been shot

✧ “Okay no, that’s actually unfair.”

✧ Wants matching outfits immediately

✧ Absolutely becomes unbearable afterward

✧ “That’s my girl wearing my clothes by the way.”

✧ “Tomas we KNOW.”

✧ “Just making sure.”

✧ Lowkey takes fifty pictures of you

✧ Highkey makes one his lockscreen

✧ If you ask to permanently keep the outfit he immediately says yes

✧ “Keep it? Baby, I’m giving you the whole closet.”

Kuai Liang

✧ Kuai walks in and just stops

✧ Doesn’t say a word

✧Doesn’t even give a hint of what he’s feeling or thinking

✧ You start getting nervous because he hasn’t said anything for like two whole minutes

✧ Meanwhile his brain is trying to process why seeing you in a modified version of his attire is affecting him this badly

✧ You took his robes and armor pieces and tailored them softer to fit your body while still keeping the integrity of the design

✧ Somehow it still looks elegant and intimidating at the same time

✧ Yet there’s a taste of sinful seduction that you manage to bring out as well

✧ He notices every detail

✧ The adjusted wraps around your arms

✧ The way you altered the waist piece

✧ The small flame motifs you added into the stitching

✧ Bro is in LOVE

✧ “You made this?”

✧ You get all shy and nod

✧ His expression softens instantly

✧ He walks toward you slowly before gently fixing part of the outfit on your shoulder

✧ “You look beautiful.”

✧ Says it in the softest tone

✧ Just fully staring at you like you hung the stars yourself

✧ Until you spin around jokingly asking if you look “Shirai Ryu enough”

✧ “…You look like you belong beside me.”

✧ And now YOU’RE the one malfunctioning

✧ He secretly loves seeing you in his colors

✧ It scratches something deeply domestic and possessive in his brain

✧ Would absolutely make you custom pieces afterward

✧ Starts mentally designing outfits for you without even realizing it

✧ Tomás later catches him sketching outfit concepts

✧ “AWWWW YOU’RE MAKING HER ARMOR—”

✧ “Leave.”

Bi-Han

✧ Bi-Han walks in already irritated about something, fully prepared to bitch and whine to you

✧ Then he sees you wearing modified versions of his attire

✧ Silence

✧ Complete utter silence

✧ The reason why?

✧ You took his aesthetic and made it look sinful

✧ Dark navy fitted fabrics hugging your body

✧ Fur lining around your shoulders to show a bit of your own taste

✧ His belts and armor pieces reworked around your waist and thighs

✧ He immediately narrows his eyes

✧ “What exactly are you wearing.”

✧ Meanwhile he eyes cannot stop running up and down your figure in a hungry manner

✧ You proudly explaining how you altered the outfit to suit yourself better, wanting to match him

✧ He’s barely paying attention to a word you’re saying

✧ If anything, he’s slowly creeping up closer and closer to you

✧ You look absolutely divine in his clothing

✧ And it’s irritating him how much composure he seems to be losing at that fact

✧ “You stole my clothing.”

✧ “Borrowed.”

✧ “Ruined.”

✧ “Improved.”

✧ That earns you a disapproving glare

✧ Yet you catch how the corner of his mouth twitches faintly

✧ “You like it.”

✧ “...I tolerate it.”

✧ He circles around you slowly, inspecting every modification, that predatory expression still on his face

✧ Then his hand reaches out to grip your waist firmly

✧ “This stays in our chambers.”

✧ “Why?”

✧ “Because the Lin Kuei do not need to see such childishness.”

✧ In other words

✧ He does not want anyone else seeing you in his clothing looking like THAT

✧ It’s safe to say you do not leave your shared room that day

“Don’t start.” You huffed, burying your face in the pillow briefly as you grumbled. “It’s been a week and nine days. You know how much I hate sleeping without you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Oracle slipped away and it was just Babs, warm and velvety like home. “I keep reaching over for you at night,” she whispered. “Keep thinking about you. The way you kiss me… how your eyes get so teary when you need me.”

You bit your lip as it trembled. “Barbie… I’m aching for you.”

“Tell me where it hurts, sweetheart.”

You shivered. “Between my legs. I’ve been wet since I heard your voice.”

“Mmm. My poor girl. All worked up and no one there to take care of you.” Her tone shifted into that perfect commanding lilt she used when she was running point. “Tell me what you’d do if I were there right now.”

You shifted on the bed, already feeling warm under her imagined gaze. The ache in your abdomen grew hotter by the second, and you squeezed your eyes shut, recalling every curve and contour of her body as if she was right next to you.

“You’re so beautiful,” You breathed, a hand sliding down your stomach and under the waistband of your sleepwear. “I’d pull you on my lap… push those pretty panties down your thighs, and feel how wet you already are for me.” A palm hovered over your clothed cunt. “Are you wet, baby?

“I’m fucking soaked.” She exhaled slowly. “Been like this since you said you missed me the first time.”

“What are you wearing?”

Barbara stifled a giggle at the cliche, but it broke through and you scoffed in her ear. “Oh, fuck you, I’m working with what I have,” you complained. “Tell me, I wanna know.”

The smile remained in her voice, light and teasing. “That Gotham U hoodie you left here a while back.”

“Is your hair down?”

“Perv,” she huffed. “Yes. And no, I’m not wearing panties, I took them off. The glasses too.”

You let out a shaky breath, fingers finally pressing down over your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. The relief was immediate but nowhere near enough. “Fuck, Babs… you’re killing me.”

Barbara hummed approvingly. “Good girl. Spread your legs wider for me. I want you to talk to me, okay?”

You obeyed, thighs falling apart. The cool air hit your soaked cunt and you whimpered, you folds weeping as you rucked your panties down to your ankles.

“Touch your clit, baby. Slow circles. Just like I do with my tongue when I’m teasing you.”

Your fingers slid down, slick and eager. The first gentle rub made you moan her name. “Shit— Barbie…”

“I know, baby. I can hear how wet you are.” Her voice dropped lower. “I’m touching myself too. Grinding my clit into my hand thinking about that pretty pussy. You always get so desperate when you’re away from me.”

One finger on your clit turned into your index and middle, rolling the sensitive bud in figure-eights then pinching it softly between the knuckles. “So good, baby, missing your cute little tits right now… so fucking soft…”

You trembled from the memories of your time together. Barbara beneath you, her pretty tits bouncing as you suckled a sensitive nipple into your mouth.

“I miss you so much,” she rasped, the faint wet sounds of her touching herself came from the other end of the line. “I’m so fucking wet thinking about you. My good girl, touching herself for me miles away. Such a needy slut for Oracle’s voice, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, rubbing tighter circles as your other hand slid up to squeeze one of your breasts as if it was hers. Your hips bucked forward to chase the stimulation.

Barbara’s breathing was getting heavier. “Let me fuck you, puppy. Come on, two fingers inside — stretch that little pussy like I trained you.”

You obeyed instantly, sliding two fingers into your dripping cunt with a wet sound that made Barbara groan softly in approval.

“That’s it… juuust like that,” she praised, her voice husky. “Curl them up, baby. Feel that spot? Right where you need me?”

A broken moan tore from your throat, tears leaking from your eyes as you followed her instructions, pumping slowly at first, then faster, the heel of your palm grinding against your swollen clit. “Babs—fuck, it feels so good… but it’s not enough. I need you.”

“I know, puppy.” Her breathing was ragged now, the faint rhythmic sounds of her fingers moving between her own legs filtering through the comm. “I wish I could be there to see you... Fuck yourself harder for me. I want to hear it. Let me hear how sloppy that pretty pussy gets from my voice.”

You cried, pumping your fingers faster, the obscene wet sounds filling the quiet safehouse as your other hand left your breast to grip the sheets, knuckles turning white. “Barbie… fuck, baby… wanna fuck you so bad— tell me you want it, tell me you want me inside you. Please, please…”

A low, pleased growl came through the comm. “I miss the way you fill me up— hah—! fuck, when you make me ride you til my thighs shake… wish I could bounce my pussy all over yours baby… need you to fuck me like that again.”

That needy, desperate switch in her tone that was almost begging, sent a fresh rush of heat through you. “There’s my girl,” you sighed in ecstasy. “Just needed to turn your fucking brain off for me…”

“Yes—fuck, yes,” she gasped. Her voice cracked beautifully, the wet sounds from her end growing louder and faster. “I need you, I need you so fucking bad, baby.”

You curled your fingers harder, thrusting deep as you took control. “Yeah? You want my cock stretching you open? Fucking up into that cute little cunt?”

“I’d be so good for you… riding you just how you like. Fuck, I miss you using me. Please, baby—fuck me...”

“Atta girl, Barbie….” You added a third finger with a moan, the stretch burning so perfectly. “Fuckin brat, you had your fun.”

Barbara whimpered at your tone.

“I know what you need.” You moaned. “Do it harder. Play with your clit for me.... Rub it fast while you finger that pretty cunt. I want you to imagine my cock buried inside you, pounding you deep while I hold your hips down.”

A high, broken sound escaped her lips, echoing in the tower’s halls that made your own pussy clench around your fingers.

“I’m—hah—I’m doing it. Feels so good… I’m so close already. You always make me lose it when you get like this.”

You fucked yourself harder, hips bucking off the bed as you withdrew your fingers and focused on your clit, chasing that edge right alongside her.

A sharp cry cut through the comm, followed by a string of breathy curses. “Baby—! I’m gonna cum—fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard—”

“Not yet,” you whined, even as your own breathing grew ragged. Then, softer, almost pleading, the plea in your tone clear. “Wait for me, baby. I wanna cum with you— I’m almost there, just hold on—”

The sloppy wet sounds of your arousal splashing and making mess from how rough you were made Barbara’s his shake with need. “You’re so good— so fucking good. Fuck yourself like that. Harder, baby— cum for me, cum all over my pussy.”

You shrieked, grinding faster, your poor clit throbbing from the overstimulation. “Babs—Barbie— fuck, I need you—”

“I’m yours,” she gasped, fingers pumping faster, each squelching sound making your eyes roll. “I’m yours— only yours—”

That raw, possessive edge in her voice mixed with total surrender sent you spiraling as you ground your palm against your swollen clit, thighs shaking violently as your climax began to crash through you. “Fuck—! Oh god, I’m gonna cum— cum for me, Barbie—”

Her orgasm hit her hard as you cried out her name, thighs shaking while she clenched around her fingers, hips jerking and voice hoarse with a low, throaty moan. Her head tipped back as she rode her own hand through it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You moaned her name like a prayer, your pussy pulsing hard around your fingers as slick heat spilled down your thighs and onto the sheets, making a mess. “Jesus Christ— I’m shaking—”

“Ride it out, baby,” Barbara cooed, lightheaded and glowing.

For a long minute afterwards, the only sounds were your shared, ragged breathing and the faint city traffic outside.

Finally, she let out a soft, wrecked little laugh in your ear, the soft thump of her forehead hitting the keyboard making you smile. “Holy shit… I think I saw stars.”

You smiled, slowly pulling your hand away with a shiver, your body still tingling. “Mmm. Same. You sound so fucking pretty when you cum for me.”

“And you sound even prettier when you’re bossing me around,” she teased, voice warm and sated, full of affection. “Since when are you so mean to me?”

You chuckled, chest heaving. “Gotta keep you on your toes, Oracle. Can’t let you stay in control all the time.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She hummed happily, a faint wet pop sound on the other end. “I like it when you take care of me.”

The silence between you two settled with the warmth of the afterglow.

“You okay over there?” You eventually murmured, and she murmured an ‘mhm’ back to you.

“You should go clean up and get some actual sleep.” Barbara said, soft but firm. “You’ve got watch later.”

“Back to business even after you just came your brains out,” you murmured fondly. “How romantic”

“You love it.”

“I do. I really do.” You paused, heart full. You paused for a moment, then sighed. “I love you, Barbie. Miss you like crazy.”

“I love you more,” she whispered, soft and sincere. “Just hurry home to me, okay? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“...Right,” you laughed. “I’ll behave.”

The silence settled again, and neither of you spoke between the sounds of heavy breathing.

As the line remained open and the minutes passed, Barbara’s breath soon turned even and slow, her comforting presence in your ear taking you under as exhaustion finally settled over you like a warm blanket.

“...I’ll come home to you,” you whispered.

Candlelight flickers across the stone floor and drips along the contours of his chiseled abs. Your breath hitches at the image as his muscles ripple under his skin. You’re dead, attending final judgment, yet all you can think about is the curve of his V-line as it dips behind his belt. The taut fibers of his shoulders. The rich flesh hinted at beneath his skin, dark as the fertile soil of the Nile.

As he approaches, his scent envelops you. Myrrh, wild cedar, and dry earth right before the rain. He towers before you. His paw pads graze the sensitive skin of your breasts, sending electric waves to your core as he reaches between them, deep into your chest. His movements are well practiced and clinical as he cradles your heart in his huge paw.

A jolt, not of pain, but of thunder. The coarseness of his pads presses against the tender flesh of your heart, like sun-warmed stone. A firm squeeze from his paw would mash it into a pulp, but his hold remains precise and measured, even reverent. A cold shiver races through you and all you can do is stare into those pitch-black eyes, dense with eons and with a cosmic, impersonal hospitality. And yet, the heat from that impossible intimacy is pooling like honey low in your belly. The closeness of his long snout makes the fine hairs along your neck stand, but not from fear.

Anubis pulls out your heart. Red and bright, it flutters like a small bird in his grasp. Its beat reverberates through the empty hall as he lays it carefully on the scale. The metal dish plummets, lifting the white feather high on the other side. But then—it rises. It finds a point above the feather, dips again, beginning a slow oscillation. Anubis watches, utterly still. He waits, as he always has, for the scale to settle.

Except it doesn’t.

Time stretches. Anubis remains still, patient. You shift, pushing sand across the stone floor with your foot. Eventually, he rises and leans over the scale.

“Strange.”

His voice is deep, resonating through the chamber and sinking low in your core. That’s the first word you’ve heard him speak. For the first time, he truly sees you, an intrigued look crossing his canine features. His long snout sniffs your heart, curious. It tickles.

Anubis is bemused. Across the spans of his eternities, the scale has never been inconclusive. He looks at you, then at the rocking scale, then back at you. He approaches. Moonlight licks his body, and you want a taste. He sniffs at you, his long snout damp and warm as it brushes your skin. His expression is one of pure, unguarded astonishment. Finally, he reaches for your heart again, intent on a closer examination. As he lifts it to his nose and snuffles at it, hot shivers course through your body. They spike at your nipples and condense into a liquid ache at the apex of your thighs. As he carefully inspects the organ, you arch, a silent, helpless writhe of pleasure.

Your reaction fascinates him. His dark tongue slides out and tentatively skims across the surface of your heart.

Its wet heat floods your body, and you can't suppress a strangled moan that echoes between you.

The alienness of that sound astounds him. He stares at you and something new flickers in his eyes, something hungry.

The weight of his gaze is so intense you instinctively break the silence

“Lick a lot of hearts down here?”

“No. Just yours"

“Ohh … what does it taste like?”

He licks across your heart once more, this time more deliberate. There's a mischievous glow in his eyes which he doesn't take off you.

The reaction is instantaneous, your knees buckle at the surge of pleasure, your nipples tickle from the inside as your arousal slicks the fabric of your panties.

Anubis freezes mid action. His nostrils flare. His pupils darken as he lets out a low guttural grunt.

“That smell…”

He sniffs the air around you, quickly tracking the scent directly to its source between your thighs. A giddy giggle escapes your lips. His snout is a grain of sand’s breadth from your skin and you gently stroke its fur. His dark, long tongue slides out and licks the soft curve of your inner thigh. A lush moan from you captures his attention once more and his face is now in front of yours. He sniffs your neck

“That sound… it thrums against my skin. It is pleasing”

Your breath catches in your throat. Before you know it, your hands are traveling the dunes and valleys of his torso. You lean in to smell his rich scent and your tongue slides along the skin of his neck. A deep growl reverberates in his chest and through your bones as your fingers track the geography of his pecs.

Anubis pins both your hands above your head with one huge paw. He trails his tongue along your neck all the way to your clavicles. His breath is hot against your skin. His fangs tear your top. His tongue traces the contours of your breast and licks your nipple into a tight peak that buzzes with desire. A gasp escapes your lips followed by a decadent moan that makes his ears twitch.

Your hand easily slips out of his grasp and maps the route of his v-line while your other hand interlaces its fingers with his. He seems to want to use both paws on you, but he still cradles your heart in one. For a moment he appears confused as to what to do with it. He walks over to the scale and is about to place it on the empty dish again but stops.

“I find myself in no haste to cross you over”

He returns to you, pressing your heart back into your ribcage. He leaves his paw there, feeling the tissues stitch back together, captivated by the violent hammering of your beat against his palm.

A rush of blood courses through your veins like a sandstorm. The heightened intensity of your newly perfused desire is almost too much to bear, a broken cry tearing through you. Anubis watches the flush spread across your skin, his pupils blown wide until his eyes are nothing but boundless black marbles. The scent of your arousal, now amplified, fills his senses until he lets out a low, jagged whimper.

Your eyes meet, stellar vastness against a warm pulse, each mirroring the same need. You place your arms around his neck, searching with your mouth for his. His tongue laps at your lips, a stranger to human kisses. He palms your breasts in his paws, teasing your nipples into aching points. His snout buries between them, sniffing and nibbling gently as he makes his way back down to the origin of the scent that fascinates him.

Impatient, you fumble with your clothes, trying to get them out of the way, which his fangs help you do. Kneeling before you, his nose hovers over your naked mount before sinking between your thighs. You tremble with want, but he seems to hesitate. You whimper at his pause.

“I need to know,” his voice rasps, strained. “Do you truly welcome this, or does my divinity press upon you?”

Your voice is a ragged whisper: “I do. I want this." You guide his head, pushing it against your throbbing pussy. “Taste me.”

As if unleashed, his tongue is on your slit before you can finish the last word. It explores your folds with reverent curiosity.

He grunts.

“I was… unprepared for such a tang. Tart… as unripe fruit."

“Is it… not pleasing?”

“Oh, it's pleasing.” His deep voice rumbling along your cleft. “It is intoxicating. And so wet… a lush hot spring. I might just—”

With that, his tongue pushes against your entrance. You gasp, hips buckling toward him involuntarily. A raw, breathless moan leaves your throat as it slides in. You are amazed by just how long it is, how deep it goes. Its flexible nature allows it to rub all the right places inside you.

As his expedition continues, he soon discovers a spot that makes your pulse rise and your moans explode into needy whimpers.

His ears perk up. “Those sounds are… immensely compelling.” He wraps his paws around your thighs, lifting you effortlessly and securing your legs over his shoulders as he pushes your back against a column. The cold stone a sharp contrast to his hot breath. “I think I shall make you repeat them.”

His tongue circles your clit a few times before sliding back inside you. His movements become rhythmic, relentless, devout, as your cries fill the empty hall.

You thread your fingers through the fur on the back of his head, pulling him closer. As you approach your climax, your juices downpour over his face and your walls clench around him, your cries breaking, feverish. His breath comes in ragged pants.

“Gods” he grunts against your flesh, sound muffled. The vibration of his voice against your tender core sends you over the edge and you bury your nails in his back. He just keeps worshiping you through the first orgasm of your afterlife.

Read part 2

I'd love to get asks

── .✦

You hear her steps before she even opens the door. The clock ticks, your fingers drumming impatiently on the edge of the piano bench. 

She’s late. That’s the first strike against her.

When she finally arrives, she doesn’t apologize. Hell, she doesn't even glance at her watch or pretend to care.

She brushes past you, calm and collected, like she owns the space. Your eyes follow her, you’re offended in a way you haven’t felt in years. You glare at her, throwing daggers. 

“Twenty minutes late,” you say. Your voice is low, letting her know there’s consequences.

“I’m here now,” she says. That’s it.

Nothing else. No excuses. No fluttering eyelashes. No pout. Nothing.

You want to shout at her, show her who you are. 

Instead, you gesture her to sit on the piano bench, side eyeing her.

She sits. Pulls her sheet music from a leather folder, flips it open with forced grace and begins.

The sound is immaculate. Technical, careful, controlled. Every note in its place, every rhythm EXACT.

But there’s no soul or warmth. You hear talent…yes, but not life.

“Stop.” You clap your hands in the air before the measure is over. “Stop. Do you know what this sounds like?”

She looks at you, blankly, waiting.

“This...” you say, letting your hand hover over the keys, not pressing “...sounds like someone who can’t feel, who isn’t even actually playing. Having a perfect execution is nothing if it doesn’t mean anything. Do you understand?”

She calmly nods. Eyeing you up and down. The expression is kinda boring. 

“Mmm, No. You don’t,” you continue, voice stern. “You’re smooth on the surface, but there’s nothing underneath. You don’t play. You’re replicating, you mimic. Copy”

“This…” you tap a single note rudly exaggerated, “...is hollow. Em-P-ty. Weak. Audiences will notice that. You play and boom. Snooze, they’re bored.”

She doesn’t flinch. Her eyes don’t water. Not flustered. 

She just sits there, eyes on you no longer bored but intrigued; letting you think you’ve trapped her, that she is trembling in fear under your critique. 

It scares you when you notice, you don’t react though. You definitely don't know that she’s calculating.

“Again,” you turn around. Your pride hurts more than your anger. “And this time, try to wake up and exist in the piece, not just hit the keys.”

She plays again, almost the same…but this time there’s a subtle change that could pass as emotion and "existing in the piece,” if you weren’t so stubbornly critical. You notice, that annoys you…but you’re curious now.

── .✦

You’ve taught children who cried when you corrected them, adults who panic and freeze like statues, even women old enough to be your mother. All desperate for approval. You are used to fear, respect, awe. None of that is here.

Third Lesson

She is unlike anyone you’ve ever taught.

She leans against the piano casually, smirking when she plays, as if this was a game she’s already won. Her posture is effortless, hands move over the keys with confidence. She’s disciplined, you'll give her that. 

Her attitude is what gets you, you’ve never seen it in a student before. Bold, kinda playful in a way that makes your chest feel weird out of nowhere.

And you can’t stop thinking about it, even after lessons end. The curve of her wrist, the way her fingers fidget before playing, the faint scent she leaves behind when she moves past you. All lingers long after she’s gone and you’re in bed waiting for your husband.

During the lesson, she pauses in the middle of the piece and looks up at you. You were going to snap at her audacity–

“I think I need more lessons,” she says casually, almost teasing. “Special attention.”

You raise a brow. This was usual, students often begged for extra time, for private coaching, for time to make them perfect. However there’s something else behind her words, her tone. It’s not arrogance exactly. It’s confidence, it’s a challenge. 

You narrow your eyes. “Special attention?”

She shrugs, unapologetic. “Yup. I wanna play the best I can. I think you can help me. More than anyone else.”

Her gaze lingers. You feel a sensation, something you thought you had long since bottled up and buried.

Desire?

Yes, that’s what it is. Infuriating totally unwelcome desire. 

You clear your throat, trying to regain control. “You’ll get what you deserve,” you say, thinking your words sound like a warning. Inside, you feel the slightest shiver of anticipation, a thrill. 

She doesn’t say anything else. The lesson resumes, but the tension is there now. 

Now you’re noticing more and more and more. The tilt of her head, the way her eyes follow your hands, the way her lips twitch when she hits a difficult passage perfectly. You’ve taught dozens of attractive adult students. But none like her. None who could make you want to teach, want to linger behind, want… more.

By the time she leaves, you exhale, your mind replaying every note, every glance, every tiny disobedience. You know one thing for certain: this student isn’t like the others. And part of you terrifyingly….hopes she stays exactly that way.

── .✦

You tell yourself it’s professional. That talent like hers needs structure, discipline, and a firm hand.

So, you agreed to the extra lessons. You’re the only who can sharpen and mold something raw into something more…powerful. You say it aloud once in the mirror, and don’t like the way it sounds like an excuse.

She arrives early this time. Something new that unsettles you. 

She doesn’t sit immediately. She stands beside the piano where you are, close enough you’re aware of her without looking. 

Dark slacks, jacket still on, hair falling however she wanted it to fall, she smelled so good. Nothing special in the way she dressed, but you couldn’t ignore how your body reacted anyway. She’s young, has some attitude…she's younger. 

Younger than you, by who knows how much. And yet somehow she turned on something in you that your husband hadn’t in years. A reaction and need to bite your bottom lip, press your hand between your thighs. A tension. It wasn’t just desire anymore; it was a craving that made your body hot and your thoughts run recklessly.

When you finally meet her eyes, she holds your gaze too long.

“You added an hour,” she says lightly. “I was hoping you would.”

“I’m a teacher, I do it for the music,” you reply, point blank period. 

A corner of her mouth lifts, barely noticeable. “Right, of course.”

She plays better than before. Still controlled and mimicking, though now there’s something intentional. No, not emotion exactly like you want. Awareness. Like she knows you’re listening differently.

When she finishes, she turns on the bench to face you. Her knee brushes the piano, again close enough to make you sweat.

“You know…you watch my hands more than listening to me play” she says, tone casual as always, eyes staring. “My other teacher never stare as much.”

You snap back immediately. “Because most students don’t need supervision. Don’t mistake attention for interest.”

She doesn’t take what she said back. She just nods slowly letting the comment fill the air..

“I enjoy strictness,” she says. “It makes me…better.”

That’s where you end it. You stand, step back, put distance where it belongs.

“This is a conservatory, not a playground,” you say crossing your arms. “If you’re here for anything other than improvement, you’re wasting my time.”

She’s taken aback, amused. Eyebrows going up. “Understood,” she says.

Then when she leaves, you’re the one who feels watched. Staring around the room with guilt. 

At home, the apartment feels smaller than usual. Your husband’s shoes are by the door, his jacket over the chair. He’s in the kitchen rearranging something that didn’t need rearranging.

“You’re late,” he says without looking up.

“I had work.”

“You always do.” He pause. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

“I was busy.”

He sighs like you’ve disappointed him. Again. He starts talking about groceries, about a meeting, about how you forgot to replace the lightbulb in the hallway. 

Every word screeching. Every sound punches against your skull.

You grab your coat before he finishes the sentence.

“I’m going out,” you say.

“For what?”

You don’t answer. You don’t owe him one. He’s a hypocrite who sometimes doesn’t even arrive home. 

The park is a few blocks away. The same one you always end up in when the four walls suffocate. You sit on the cold bench with a bottle tucked inside your coat, the city humming softly around you. Streetlights blur. Leaves crunch under passing feet. You drink, let it settle your nerves.

Your phone stays off. But your mind doesn’t.

Her posture. Her voice. That fucking look like she knew exactly how close she could get without touching. You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just a disrespectful student testing boundaries.

Still, you take another drink, on the park bench longer than you should, bottle half empty.

── .✦

After last night, after the park, after the burn of whiskey and the quiet hum of the wind, you come to the conclusion. You're craving it. Attention…affection. Someone who wants you. Not from anyone, not from your husband who barely cared anymore for your existence. From her.

The next day, you’re waiting in the studio, nervous as fuck. She arrives, nonchalantly as ever, folder in hand, eyes scanning the room.

“Late again?” you say, voice more rough than usual.

“I’m actually on time, this time,” she replies, with that mocking smirk you can’t stand. Makes your eye physically twitch. She jokes too much, talks back, she thinks she’s on your level, that you two are equals. 

The lesson begins, usually at first. Throughout the lesson, every correction from you is met with a comeback. Every word you throw, she adds subtle sarcasm. She’s getting bolder with you. Your chest tightens, your fingers itch to correct her more harshly than necessary. She’s testing you. And you, impossibly are enjoying it.

The tension grows. You feel it coming from her, and she seems to feel it too. 

The lesson finishes. She stands at the door about to leave, jacket in hand, eyes meeting yours with that same firm stare. You think you’ve maintained control just barely. 

She looks away and starts to put her jacket on, you see part of her midriff as she slightly lifts her arms up. 

Before you can think better of it, you step forward. Your hand hesitates for the smallest fraction of a second then you press your lips to hers. Starved and famished: you feel deprived for a long time and finally get something you desperately need.

She doesn’t pull back. She leans in. 

Her lips are soft, warm, and responsive. You taste the faint sweetness of her chewing gum, you made her spit out. Fingers tangle in your hair instinctively; she presses closer, tilting her head perfectly. The kiss deepens, hungry, teasing, not messy. Controlled, by her. 

She mimics your energy. 

When you finally part, your foreheads touch, hearts racing, and for a moment, the world disappears with it's consequences.

“I’ll see you next lesson,” she says softly, lips curved, eyes mischievous.

You watch her leave, your body still humming. Your mind scolds you, insisting this was just a student. 

But you know damn well it wasn’t. 

── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦

a/n: started this project early august of 2025. finally got to edit and finish the first part. it's obviously loosely inspired by The Piano Teacher (2001).

The redhead —come on, Abby, seriously, what’s her name?— shifts beside Abby, and Abby feels it more than she sees it. It’s subtle, a micro adjustment, so she doesn’t mind it.

“The strongest thing they have,” you say, and you mean it. The exhaustion is clear in your voice, and it’s all Abby needed to confirm you are having a rough night.

Without thinking, she waves the bartender over. “Whatever she drinks all night long, put it on my tab, alright?”

“Got it,” he nods as he slides your drink over.

“Thanks,” you reach for it, downing it down in a moment before setting the glass with a low thump on the counter. “Another.”

Abby chuckles, letting her free hand come up and squeeze yours as a quick reassurance.

“Thanks, hun,” you say, squeezing back before letting go. “Don’t worry. Night’s still young.”

But Abby’s already turning back to the redhead, reality crashing back in. Right, she was in the middle of a potential hookup.

“So hey,” she puts the smile back on, her voice taking on that practiced lightness once more. “Would you maybe wanna come back to my place? I’ve got a really good—”

“Um, sorry,” the girl’s smile has shifted. It’s more polite and distant now. Her eyes flicker between the two of you for a moment before she grabs her purse, already standing up. “Maybe another time, yeah?”

She’s gone before Abby can even respond, melting back into the crowd as if she was never there at all.

Abby stands frozen, staring at the space where the redhead was. The bass thuds around her, indifferent at what seems to be her third loss of the night. Across the bar, you’re nursing your second drink, staring at the back of her head with knitted brows.

“What the fuck,” Abby mutters, turning back towards the bar just as the bartender comes over, and she points at your now empty glass. “Gimme two of those.”

The bartender nods and gets to work. Abby slumps on the stool right next to you, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. She can feel you staring at her now, the weight of your attention too familiar to go unnoticed.

“Okay, what the hell is happening to us tonight?” you ask, a mix of frustration and amusement on your voice. “I’ve had two girls nope out on me already.”

Abby laughs despite herself, a sharp and bitter sound. “Two? I’ve got three. The last one—” she gestures vaguely at the space where the redhead disappeared, “—literally seemed into it until you showed up.”

“I showed up?” you turn to face her fully now, eyebrows raised. “Don’t start blaming me, I’m not trying to steal your girls. I wasn’t even looking at her.”

“What is it then?” she takes a long sip of her drink as soon as the bartender slides it over, nose scrunching at the bitterness. “Do I have a sign on my back or something? Tonight fucking sucks.”

You glance at her, and despite everything, you feel that familiar pull of attraction. Frustration makes her jaw tight, her neck flexing as she takes another sip, and your eyes trail down the curve of it almost against your will. Her arms are tense too, muscles flexed slightly, and there’s something about angry Abby that’s always gotten under your skin in every way possible.

“Okay, so like,” you force yourself to look away, trying to redirect your train of thought. “Earlier I was talking to this girl at the dance floor, right? Remember, pretty blonde girl with black tips?”

“Yeah, yeah, I was with that cute brunette over there, too.”

“Right, and we all started, y’know, dancing together,” you nod, frowning as you remember. “We were vibing, really vibing, and then— I dunno, she just said something about going to the bathroom and never came back.”

“Yeah, I know, I was right next to you,” Abby sighs, grabbing the second glass of whiskey and downing it before continuing. “The brunette and I ended up at the pool table and she seemed so interested— she even tried teaching me how to play. I remember telling her how good at it you were, and then she’s all like ‘ohh, I have to look for my friends’ and just left!”

“What’s going on? It’s fucking Pride and we can’t get ourselves a good fuck,” you groan, throwing your head backwards in irritation.

Abby gets a full view of your throat, the curve of your neck exposed, and her eyes set on a light bruise that’s finally fading now— a hickey she had left there a week ago. The memory makes heat crawl up her own chest, and she can’t help but smirk at it.

“I don’t know,” Abby says, her voice coming out a bit rougher than intended. “Am I losing my touch?”

“Believe me,” you say, turning to face her again. “If they knew your touch, they wouldn’t be leaving the club without it.”

Abby’s smirk deepens. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

There’s a beat of charged silence between you for a moment, before you speak again.

“Do I not look tonight or what?” you ask, and there’s real vulnerability underneath the joke. “Like, is there something wrong with how I look?”

Abby lets her eyes drag slowly down your frame. Your top clings to your chest and curves just perfectly. She takes in the way you’re sitting, the slight curve of your back, the curve of your thighs against the bar stool, and suddenly her mouth is dry.

When her eyes meet yours again, there’s a heat in them that has nothing to do with the whiskey she’s been drinking. She leans in closer, lips brushing your ear and sending a jolt of electricity through your entire body.

“You look absolutely delicious,” her voice is low now, and your breath catches instantly. “Could eat you up right now.”

Five minutes later, you’re in the bar’s bathroom, Abby dropped to her knees, head buried between your thighs. Her tongue traces patterns that make your thighs shake, and you have to grip the edge of the sink to keep yourself upright.

“Fuck, Abby,” you gasp, your free hand finding her hear and threading through it as she works you over. She moans against you, and the vibration sends a jolt of pleasure through your entire body.

Your hips are moving against her face on their own, chasing the pleasure she’s giving you, and the coil in your stomach is tightening already—

She pulls back so suddenly, you whine at the loss of her touch. She’s smirking, and you would absolutely smack her if it wasn’t for the fact that your legs feel like jelly and you’re pretty sure you’d topple over if you tried.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” she murmurs, an annoying grin on her face. “Wanna come all over my face, don’t you?”

“What the fuck,” your fingers tighten in her hair, tugging her closer but she pulls away again. “Abs, stop teasing!”

“I’m having my time with you,” her lips trail across your thighs lightly, teeth grazing softly at your skin.

“Either you finish what you started or I’ll find someone else who will.”

Abby stills completely. You feel her tense against you, and when she pulls back enough to look up at you, her eyes are dark— not with amusement anymore, but a fiercer feeling. Possessiveness.

“No one,” she starts, voice low and unwavering, “can make you cum like I do. You know that.”

It’s cocky, it’s conceited, and it’s absolutely true. No one knows your body like she does, and it’s so infuriating. No one else can read the way you move, anticipate what you want, and give you exactly what you need before you knew you needed it in the first place.

“Prove it,” you challenge, tugging her hair again.

She dives back in without hesitation, and this time there’s no teasing, no pulling back. Abby’s all intensity now, her mouth and tongue working you like it’s her only goal in life. She flattens her tongue against your clit and drags it in slow, heavy strokes that make your vision blur at the edges.

“Right there,” you pant, your hips bucking against her face. “Fuck, yes, yes, yes—”

Your voice cracks as she doubles down, circling your clit with the tip of her tongue in tight, maddening spirals. Her hands slide up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft of your skin just below where her mouth works you, holding you open for her.

You can hear how wet you are. Obscene, slick sounds echo off the tile walls mixed with Abby’s greedy noises. She’s messy and unapologetic about it, her chin and lips shining with your arousal as she pulls back just enough to suck your clit between her lips, flicking it rapidly with her tongue. She releases it a moment later with a wet pop and looks up at you, her lips swollen and glistening.

“You taste so fucking good,” she growls, and then she’s back, burying her face in you. Your hand in her hair is gripping tight enough to hurt, but she doesn’t flinch. If anything, she moans louder, and the vibration pushes you closer to the edge.

“Please,” you’re whimpering now, grinding against her face shamelessly. “Please, Abby, I’m so close.”

She shifts her grip, one hand sliding off your thigh. Two fingers push inside you without warning, curling immediately to find that spot that makes your back arch. Her mouth stays on your clit, sucking and flicking, while her fingers work you from withing, pressing and stroking in a rhythm so delicious the coil in your stomach tightens to a breaking point.

Your thighs are trembling violently now, your breath coming in short gasps that sound more like sobs.

“Come on, baby,” she mumbles against you, the words muffled slightly but still clear. “Come for me, please, please, baby.”

Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, and you cry out, not giving a fuck if anyone hears outside. Abby rides it out with you, her fingers slowing and her tongue gentling, but not entirely stopping. Your hips jerk involuntarily, oversensitive now, but she holds you through it, milking your pleasure until you’re gasping, utterly wrecked.

When she finally pulls back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, there’s a triumphant expression on her face. You slide down the sink, legs useless, and she catches you, her arms wrapping around your waist as she stands.

“Told you.” She’s so smug about it, clearly satisfied with herself. “No one but me.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you’re smirking too, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw where your arousal still glistens.

“Ready to go back out there?” Abby asks, her eyes roaming over your face with a mischievous look. “You’re practically glowing now. Bet you’ll have better luck picking up women now.”

 “What about you?” You gesture vaguely at the way she’s avoiding pressing her thighs together. “Are you walking away just like that?”

Abby’s smile turns slow and secretive. She glances down at the floor, spotting the black lace she’d rip off your body earlier. She bends to retrieve it, the fabric catching the harsh bathroom light as she straightens.

“Well,” she meets your eyes as she folds the lace, deliberately tucking it into her back jeans pocket. “I’ve got my lucky charm right here now.”

Your mouth goes dry. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious.”

You step back into the bar a couple of minutes later, after fixing each other up as best as you could. The crowd has thickened, bodies pressed together, and Abby’s hands finds the small of your back, guiding you through the people toward the counter.

Both of you end up parting ways and attempting conversation with a couple of women. You keep having to be careful, adjusting your skirt constantly, acutely aware that you’re not wearing anything underneath it now. The fabric keeps riding up, and you have to keep tugging it down every time you move.

At one point, you scan the crowd and spot Abby at the far end near the dance floor, talking to a pretty girl with dark hair. You can’t help but chuckle as you catch a glimpse of your black lace panties peeking out of her back pocket.

The girl she’s talking to leans in closer, but Abby glances back over her own shoulder and her eyes meet you for a moment. A low, satisfied smirk spreads across her face.

“she never even saw a body–” you try to reason, but grace lifts a hand, smiling though shaking her head. 

“don’t– don’t. don’t ask, just support,” she reasons, “steak freaked me the fuck out too after being in a vat of organs, blood and that of the like.”

her comment gets her nudged at her side by you, taking it upon herself to lightheartedly yank you in. you're trapped in her hold, trying to break free and sharing giggles until you hear an expectant cough. the two of you spin, smiles faded to spot the platinum haired girl with a hopeful smile. 

play time is cut to a halt, feeling the analyst pull from you; clearing her throat. “right, emily wanted to ask you something.” emily watches her moms separate, rolling her eyes and pretending to vomit.

“you two are gross,” emily mutters towards you both, which grace perks up at. she’s slouched with a cartoonish book bag hanging off her arm, with a book in the other that she intends to read while grace lectures her about having a good day on the ride to school.

her stance is littered in worry, already queuing you in  on her question, “not because we’re gay— right?” it’s hilarious coming out of your fiancées mouth, but there’s serious undertones that need the answer to that question.

emily’s huge hazel eyes grow wider, “no? kissing is gross. get a room.” 

her reaction makes you turn slightly from the girl, hiding a cackle. grace is of course relieved, but flustered at the girl's attitude (that she gave her). she’s so young but her words hit worse than that of an adult. “yeah, do that on your own time, lover girl,” you tease your love, earning a playful sneer.

“hey,” grace tries to cover up her smile with a faux stern look. “what do you need to ask her? you’re gonna be late for school.”

suddenly, emily glares at grace with the same anxiety that grace usually carries. it makes you raise a brow, wondering what the blondes are up to. “you said you would ask!” she accuses in a whisper, never minding you literally being in front of her. 

“i did, but then you became a little smart ass,” grace leans against the counter, fingers curled  under the marble top. “ask her,” grace tries, the tip of her index finger swatting towards you. but emily rolls her eyes so far back and stomps her feet like she’s been told to ask the most painful question ever. if you were a fly on the wall, you’d assume they’re sisters rather than thinking grace is her guardian. 

“grace—“ emily whines. 

“uh uh,” she remains firm. 

“mom,” the young girl tries again, louder. that makes the analyst a little mushy, but emily is not off the hook. 

sighing out, you step closer to emily. “what’s up? what do you wanna ask me?” the child folds in on herself, eyes glued to the floor as her cheeks burn pink. now she’s shy.

the pair have been thinking about asking you to join them for emily’s birthday for weeks. it happened after grace asked you to be her wife; the cogs in the child’s brain began to turn. she needed you there. before you accepted grace’s proposal, she made sure to make emily’s birthday about her and only with her. no matter what they did, they were thick as thieves. for the past two years, you let them have them their time. now that you’re apart of the family, it’s only fair you join in on the festivities.

“emily would like to know if you’d be joining us for her birthday,” grace’s maternal tone doesn’t match her unamused look, playfully glaring at ‘her’ child. 

you stand stunned. this would be her first birthday with you there. and she wants you there. no way… you thought you were moving fast before, but you suppose the only one who wasn’t ready was— you. 

“aw babe,” you double over to look her in the eyes, hand on her shoulder. “you don’t wanna hang out with your buddies on your birthday? we can do something on the weekend.” your offer doesn’t sit right with her.

emily shakes her head.

“she’s uh— working on that currently,” grace sounds unsure of herself as she says it, hoping that her lack of friend wasn’t rubbing off on the young girl. it’s something you two have dived into recently late at night when she worries for the girl. surely the bookworm converses well, you’ve tagged along to her periodic parent teacher conferences and nothing bad came up about her social skills.

“no one cares about reading. they all care about stupid video games  and toys.” emily’s comment makes your head tilt; like she doesn’t have any toys of her own. it makes grace shudder— ouch. while she loved to read, she was also a huge gaming nerd and still is to this day. that’s only where the two differ. “also, none of them listen to the music i do. you do,” hazel eyes flicker between the of you women, though she settles back with you. 

now, you two can admit that you gave emily her music taste. far too angsty for the average child about to enter double digits. and for that? you share a look with your fiancée. “have you tried asking them what they like?” you offer sweetly, only inquiring out of wonder. your answer was already made up after you found out her circle is far more closed off than it probably should be at this age. 

that was until emily’s dry, “i don’t care about what they like.” 

it probably comes off harsher than intended, but the soft spoken girl doesn’t elaborate. she doesn’t hate school and has a few kids at school she talks to, but none of them give her the desire to spend time outside of school. discernment like that is what makes you feel like you’ve been underestimating the thought process of children. such big feelings in little packages.

now it’s grace that turns her head to the side to cover up a chuckle, denying the girl her expression. she’s quick to close the girls lunchbox and nod for her to follow behind. “come on, we gotta go,” she directs towards the girl, walking up to you as you stand, taking her comfortable kiss. “what do you say, mrs. ashcroft?” grace softly beams, taking notice to emily shuffling behind her.

“soon to be.” as your gaze leaves your fiancé and falls back to the child, you nod. “i would love to join you. and thank you for inviting me.” 

emily hugs you. it’s something small and gentle, but warms your heart. “you’re welcome,” she chirps like she owns the place.