𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓.ᐣ

after being texted to come over to his place, she obeyed immediately. she had to make up some excuse to her boyfriend, saying she had to leave early, before making her way to him. "i hope this is important," she huffed, crossing her arms. "i was busy with my boyfriend."

jae barely looked up at the mention of her boyfriend, thumb lazily scrolling across the screen of his phone as if the word itself had failed to impress him. there was something almost offensively relaxed about him, sprawled against the arm of the couch in a room that smelled faintly of smoke and whatever cheap detergent he'd used on the sheets. “yeah?” he murmured, finally lifting his eyes to her. the corner of his mouth curled. “and yet you came.” he let the silence sit there for a beat, thick as honey. then he held out a folded piece of paper between two fingers. “i need you to pick something up for me.” his gaze flicked pointedly toward her crossed arms. “and since you were so busy, i figured you'd appreciate the opportunity to make up for wasting my time.” his smile sharpened. “so go on, get on your knees. show some gratitude to the person keeping your dirty little secret.”

it   takes   her   many,   many   moments   to   come   down   from   the   crying,   and   it's   all   thanks   to   julian.   despite   his   demeanor   with   his   friends   and   coworkers,   he's   soft   with   her,   he   loves   her   and   would   do   anything   for   her,   and   right   now   it's   really   showing.   the   only   thing   that   could   ruin   this   moment   is   the   mention   of   a   hospital…   oh,   and   there   it   is   .ᐟ   “no,   julian.   fuck   no.”   she   quickly   gathers   herself   up   and   scoots   away   from   him,   using   the   edge   of   the   sink   to   lift   herself   up.   she   puts   toothpaste   on   her   toothbrush   and   begins   to   brush   her   teeth,   then   shortly   after   she   ties   her   hair   up.   “you're   not   taking   me   to   a   hospital.   you   know   my   rule.”   unless   she   was   dying,   there   was   no   need   for   her   to   seek   emergency   care.   it's   a   response   caused   by   the   trauma   of   seeing   her   mother   be   rushed   into   emergency   surgery   that   makes   her   stay   far   away   unless   completely   necessary.   she   won't   even   take   her   to   her   appointments,   julian   and   their   other   friends   have   to   help   her   with   that.   it's   something   she   refuses   to   compromise   on.   now   she   sits   on   the   edge   of   the   bed   with   her   hands   folded   on   her   thighs,   chewing   her   bottom   lip   until   it's   red.   “i   don't   think   it's   just   a   stupid   bug   anymore.”   her   voice   is   barely   above   a   whisper,   and   she   refuses   to   look   up   at   him   as   she   mutters   the   next   words   out   of   her   mouth.   “haven't   had   my   period   in…   almost   four   weeks,   i   think.”

julian  reached  for  her  hand,  threading  their  fingers  together  carefully.  "hey."  his  voice  was  gentle.  "look  at  me."  he  waited  until  she  finally  did.  there  was  something  almost  unbearably  fond  in  his  expression,  though  he  tried  his  best  to  keep  it  tucked  behind  the  concern.  "okay."  his  thumb  brushed  slowly  over  her  knuckles.  "first,  we're  not  gonna  panic."  a  tiny  smile.  "well,  i'm  not  gonna  panic."  he  paused,  swallowing  around  the  enormous,  impossible  hope  threatening  to  spill  out  of  him.  "and  we're  not  gonna  make  any  decisions  tonight."  his  hand  tightened  around  hers.  "if  you're  scared,  you  can  be  scared.  if  you're  angry,  you  can  be  angry.  if  you  don't  know  what  you  want,  then  you  don't  have  to  know  yet."  his  gaze  never  left  hers.  "and  if  this  is  what  you  think  it  might  be,"  there  was  the  faintest  hitch  in  his  voice.  he  couldn't  quite  hide  it.  "...then  i  need  you  to  know  that  i'm  here.  whatever  you  want  to  do,  chanel.  whatever  you  decide,  i'm  with  you."  he  meant  it.  even  if  every  cell  in  his  body  was  screaming  please  let  this  be  real.  even  if  the  idea  of  becoming  a  father  with  the  woman  he'd  loved  since  high  school  felt  like  someone  had  quietly  handed  him  the  future  he'd  spent  half  his  life  dreaming  about.  he  wasn't  going  to  make  her  choose  it  because  he  wanted  it.  julian  leaned  forward,  pressing  a  soft  kiss  against  her  forehead.  "and  just  so  we're  clear,"  his  lips  curved  despite  himself,  the  smallest  glimpse  of  that  barely  contained  excitement  finally  escaping.  "if  you  are  pregnant,  i'm  probably  going  to  be  really,  really  happy."  a  quiet  laugh  left  him.  "like embarrassingly  happy."  then  his  expression  softened  again.  "but  i  don't  want  you  thinking  you  have  to  be  happy  because  i  am."  his  fingers  squeezed  hers.  "you  come  first.  always. then again, you coming first is what got us into this situation."

“they   came   looking   for   you.”   it   was   the   first   sentence   he   spoke   since   they   made   it   to   the   bathroom.   he's   been   hunched   over   a   bunch   of   shitty   bath   towels,   bleeding   out   while   she   continues   her   rant…   it's   been   like   that   for   a   long   time.   he   finally   breaks   away   and   starts   the   shower,   stripping   each   piece   of   bloody   clothing   off   of   him   to   toss   aside   into   the   hamper.   there   weren't   any   guns   involved   thankfully,   just   a   bunch   of   scary   men   who   knew   how   to   use   knives.   he   lets   the   steam   engulf   him   like   a   warm   hug,   a   hug   he   wished   was   his   wife   wrapping   her   arms   around   him,   but   it   is   what   it   is…   wishful   thinking.   “you   can   finally   leave   now,   your   debt   has   been   settled.”   another   wince,   which   he   masks   by   reaching   for   his   bottle   of   body   wash,   playing   it   off   as   if   the   movement   was   what   was   hurting   him.   his   worst   fear   was   finally   coming   true. if   he   bled   out   right   now,   he'll   at   least   be   happy   with   the   few   intimate   moments   they   shared.

her   hands   fly   up   in   exasperation.   "pick   one,   oliver."   she   gestures   toward   him,   toward   the   blood,   the   bruises,   the   entire   ridiculous   situation.   "you   can   have   your   hero   complex.   fine.   you   want   to   swoop   in   and   turn   me   into   a   damsel   every   time   somebody   looks   at   me   wrong?   go   ahead.   apparently   that's   your   favorite   hobby."   her   voice   rises,   "but   you   do   not   get   to   have   the   victim   complex   too!"   she   is   practically   vibrating   now,   anger   doing   the   heavy   lifting   for   emotions   she   has   absolutely   no   intention   of   naming.   "you   don't   get   to   stand   there   bleeding   because   you   decided   to   pay   off   my   debt   and   then   act   like   i'm   some   ungrateful   little   bitch   because   i'm   not   immediately   throwing   myself   at   your   feet   in   gratitude."   her   mouth   opens   and   closes.   because   there   it   is.   the   truth   hiding   underneath   all   that   noise.   she   is   grateful.   painfully   so.   and   guilty.   and   furious   that   he's   given   her   something   she   can't   repay.   and   terrified   by   the   possibility   that   she's   spent   all   this   time   pretending   their   marriage   meant   nothing   because   admitting   otherwise   would   mean   admitting   she   has   something   to   lose.   her   eyes   flicker   over   his   face.   "you're   an   idiot.   an   absolute   fucking   idiot."   she   steps   closer.   "and   i   hate   that   you   did   this."   another   step.   "i   hate   that   you   got   hurt."   her   voice   catches,   but   she   turns   the   stumble   into   a   scowl.   "and   i   hate   that   i   can't   decide   whether   i   want   to   punch   you   or—"   she   stops.   because   there   isn't   another   argument   left.   so   ivy   does   the   only   thing   she   can   think   of.   she   grabs   him   by   the   face   and   kisses   him.   ignoring   the   wet   droplets   landing   on   her   silk   set,   slowly   but   surely   drenching   herself   beneath   the   showerhead   with   him. it's   not   gentle.   it   isn't   particularly   graceful,   either.   it's   the   sort   of   kiss   born   from   frustration   rather   than   romance,   from   too   many   feelings   colliding   in   too   small   a   space.   her   fingers   curl   against   his   jaw   as   though   she's   half   convinced   she   can   physically   hold   him   in   place   long   enough   to   make   sense   of   this.

❛ it's   too   late.   i   know   your   secret,   please   save   the   theatrics.   ❜   roxie   shrugged,   gesturing   to   them   with   the   smuggest   smirk   on   her   face.   ❛ did   you   really   think   nobody   would   find   out?   i   mean   you   make   it   painfully   obvious..   ❜

micah   stares   at   her   for   a   long,   agonizing   second,   mouth   opening   and   closing   once   like   maybe   the   right   words   will   crawl   out   if   he   gives   them   enough   time.   they   don't.   instead,   his   gaze   flickers   toward   the   ceiling,   the   floor,   anywhere   but   her   smug   little   face,   because   suddenly   every   stupid   excuse   he's   ever   made   feels   like   evidence   entered   into   a   courtroom   he   hadn't   known   he   was   standing   trial   in.   "i   don't   know   what   you're   talking   about."   brilliant.   absolutely   fucking   brilliant.   his   shoulders   sag   almost   immediately,   the   lie   dying   somewhere   between   them   with   all   the   dignity   of   a   man   stepping   on   his   own   shoelace.   "okay,   that's   not   true.   i   mean,   it   could   be   true.   technically.   because   you   haven't   actually   said   what   you   think   you   know,   which   means   i'm   not   technically   admitting   to   anything."

lily blinks once, twice — programmed actions that the creator instilled to make her appear as lifelike as possible. it's head tilts at the question, searching her databank for any information involving 'top secret' only to find nothing. " i was unable to find any information on that so i cannot comment on if i was, indeed, it, " she settles back into the easy programmed smile. " hello, tess, " it said before gently raising its arm as a projection of a screen appeared, presenting a seemingly never ending list of options for personalization. " in order to better serve you please adjust my personality and appearance to your liking. "

for  a  moment,  tessa  can  only  stare.  the  blinking  is  almost  enough  to  convince  her  she's  imagining  things,  that  grief  has  finally  chewed  through  the  last  fragile  thread  of  her  sanity  and  decided  this  is  what  she  deserves  for  coming  down  here.  then  lily  tilts  her  head,  answers  her  question  with  that  impossibly  pleasant  little  voice,  and  the  illusion  fractures  all  over  again.  "tess?"  the  nickname  catches  somewhere  deep  in  her  chest.  it's  such  a  stupid  little  thing,  two  syllables  that  shouldn't  mean  anything,  and  yet  grief  has  teeth.  it  finds  the  softest  parts  of  you  and  sinks  them  in  without  mercy.  her  mouth  twitches,  caught  somewhere  between  a  smile  and  the  beginning  of  another  breakdown,  before  she  drags  her  attention  toward  the  holographic  display  unfurling  between  them.  personality.  appearance.  preferences.  a  seemingly  endless  catalogue  of  little  things  she  can  change  with  the  press  of  a  finger.  tessa  stares  at  it  as  though  her  brother  has  somehow  reached  through  the  grave  to  play  one  final  fucking  joke  on  her.  "you  want  me  to  pick  your  personality?"  there's  a  faint  incredulity  woven  through  the  question.  gaze  flickers  from  the  screen  to  lily,  then  back  again.  she  steps  closer,  brow  furrowing  as  her  fingers  hover  over  the  options  without  ever  quite  touching  them.  sweet.  playful.  reserved.  affectionate.  the  words  blur  together  beneath  the  sudden  sheen  gathering  across  her  eyes.  because  what  the  fuck  is  she  supposed  to  do  with  that?  pick  something  her  brother  would've  liked?  pick  something  she'd  like?  turn  this  beautiful,  terrifying  accomplishment  into  a  reflection  of  herself  because  the  person  who  built  her  isn't  here  to  make  those  choices  anymore?  her  hand  finally  drops  to  her  side.  "no."  soft,  but  certain.  “isn’t  there  like  a  base  model  personality?  It’s  too  much  pressure  to  pick  one  myself.”

you'd   think   xavier   was   used   to   isa's   attitude,   but   each   time   she   acts   out   he   seems   to   realize   that   the   last   time   was   tame   in   comparison   to   whatever   the   fuck   was   happening   right   now.   “i   thought   we   were   past   this?”   he   has   a   slight   twinge   of   attitude   in   his   tone,   but   his   composure   remains   cool   and   collected…   for   now.   there's   a   lot   on   his   plate,   between   oliver   getting   fucking   stabbed   and   flora   going   missing,   he   can   only   handle   so   much   of   the   jealousy   that   comes   from   isa.   granted   it   was   warranted,   he   owns   a   strip   club   and   hires   way   too   many   girls   for   the   sight   of   them   only,   her   attitude   was   still   a   lot.   “how   many   times   do   i   have   to   tell   you?   i'm   not   fucking   any   of   them!” / @honeyafter

tucked  beneath  a  stack  of  lingerie  like  somehow  hiding  it  there  makes  the  reality  of  it  less  terrifying.  "i  know."  and  she  does.  fourteen  years  of  xavier  has  taught  her  things  no  one  else  knows.  the  difference  between  his  performances  and  his  truths.  the  particular  cadence  of  his  voice  when  he's  lying  versus  when  he's  irritated.  the  little  tells  that  used  to  amuse  her,  back  when  their  biggest  problem  was  keeping  their  relationship  hidden  from  everyone  else.  he  isn't  lying  now.  that's  never  been  the  problem.  her  fingers  loosen  against  the  countertop.  "i  know  you're  not."  whatever  fight  had  been  burning  through  her  veins  only  moments  ago  seems  to  drain  out  all  at  once,  leaving  something  heavier  in  its  place.  exhaustion.  not  the  kind  that  sleep  fixes,  either.  something  deeper.  cellular.  bone  deep.  the  sort  that  makes  even  standing  upright  feel  like  an  unreasonable  demand.  she  turns  around,  looking  at  him.  xavier,  who  has  a  thousand  fucking  things  pressing  down  on  him  already,  most  of  which  she's  intimately  aware  of  because  somewhere  along  the  way  their  lives  became  so  thoroughly  tangled  that  she  can't  find  the  seam  anymore.  where  his  ends.  where  hers  begins.  and  xavier,  who  still  doesn't  know.  something  flickers  across  her  face.  "i'm  sorry."  the  words  come  out  smaller  than  she'd  intended.  means  them,  too.  "i'm  not—i  haven't  been  myself  lately."  understatement  feels  almost  insulting.  her  gaze  drops  to  the  floor,  suddenly  fascinated  by  a  spot  near  her  feet  that  she  knows  wasn't  there  yesterday.  "i'm  just,"  the  words  don't  come.  or  maybe  there  are  too  many  of  them.  "i'm  tired,  xavier."

her mouth felt so empty without his cock in it, but the way she needed to gasp for air made up for it. outside of carnal bliss she didn't give a shit about his crown, the throne that would one day be his, but here in the bubble they would make for themselves it drove her crazy. his royal cock throbbing inside her, hands of a would-be-king groping every part of her. she, a mere peasant - a speck of dirt to anyone else but him. zoe loved his worship, it was a mutual feeling. " yes, my prince, " she groaned, hand continuing to work his shaft. " i'm your offering -- my body is yours, every part of me is yours, " she hummed ready to take him into her mouth again when she was lifted by him, mouth claiming her's. the maid whimpered and returned the kiss like he could provide the air she needed to breathe. in a way it was true, she was made for him and he for her. zoe arched her back, brushing her stomach against his cock, the precome smearing on her soft skin. " fuck yes, " the thought of her, swollen with his child, a bastard born of their desire and need, it had her eyes rolling as her hands settled on either side of his neck. " fuck me, your highness. please! fuck my little pussy, fill me with your big royal cock. put a bastard in me, let everyone in the castle see how much of a whore i am for you. your pretty little whore. " she moaned, leaning forward to catch his lower lip in between her teeth and gently bite on it with a smile.

the  callouses  of  a  prince  who  had  never  known  manual  labor  rough  against  the  softness  of  a  maid’s  skin.  "gonna  fill  you  up,"  he  murmured  against  her  lips,  his  breath  hot  and  desperate,  "gonna  breed  you  right  here  on  the  throne.  where  every  king  before  me  has  sat  in  judgment.  gonna  fuck  you  until  my  bastard  seed  is  dripping  out  of  you,  until  the  whole  fucking  castle  knows  who  you  belong  to.  until  the  servants  whisper  about  the  prince  who  couldn’t  resist  his  maid  and  the  way  she  moans  my  name  like  a  prayer."  in  this  moment,  with  the  throne  room’s  stained  glass  casting  colored  light  across  her  bare  skin,  the  weight  of  his  bloodline  pressing  down  on  them  both,  he  was  her  god.  "you  want  that,  don"t  you?"  his  voice  dropped  to  a  dark  purr,  the  sound  echoing  off  the  vaulted  ceilings.  "want  them  to  see  how  well  my  little  whore  takes  her  prince;s  cock?  want  them  to  hear  you  scream  my  name?"  he  didn"t  wait  for  an  answer.  the  throne  groaned  beneath  them  as  he  spun  her  around,  bending  her  over  the  armrest,  the  gilded  wood  cool  against  their  fevered  skin.  his  palm  flattening  against  her  back,  pressing  her  down  until  her  cheek  was  pressed  to  the  velvet  that  had  known  the  touch  of  kings.  "please,  your  highness,"  he  echoed,  mocking,  breathless,  as  he  lined  himself  up.  "please let  them  all  watch  as  I  claim  what"s  mine."  and  then  he  was  inside  her,  stretching  her  open  on  the  very  seat  of  his  future  kingdom,  claiming  her  in  one  brutal,  perfect  thrust.

plot: give me a super jealous, spoiled step/half/full sister who might be a lil crazy and lil horny being jealous of her stepbro's new gf !! ...her being the annoying younger sister !! i'll take ur bimbos, 'innocent' girlies, mean girlies, etc.

emma almost laughs. not because it's funny. because she'd spent weeks imagining this exact moment, and somehow reality looked even sadder than the fantasy she'd stitched together in her head. jamie sprawled across the mattress with his hair a mess, mouth swollen from somebody else's kisses, irritation carved between his brows instead of the smile that used to belong to her. her. god, she'd become possessive enough to start thinking like that. the bedroom still smelled like perfume that wasn't hers. sweet. artificial. it clung to the air like a ghost refusing to leave, and emma hated it with a pettiness so ugly she almost reached over to yank the comforter off her brother's bed just because that girl had been sitting on it. instead she eases the door shut behind her with the soft click of a lock falling into place. wet strands of hair drip onto her shoulders, the oversized hoodies and ripped jeans she'd hidden inside for years traded for a tiny black bikini and a gauzy cover up she'd conveniently ‘forgotten’ to tie closed. "that's a hell of a greeting." she folds her arms across her stomach, suddenly aware that she's standing there nearly half naked while jamie looks at her like she's the world's biggest inconvenience. the feeling stings worse than she'd ever admit. "you look disappointed, what she didn't get you off or something? sucks to suck i guess." the statement comes out lighter than it feels. emma wanders farther into the room without waiting for permission, fingers trailing across the cluttered dresser like she owns the place. truthfully, maybe she always thought she did. every inch of jamie's life had once been familiar territory. every couch they'd napped on, scraped knee from skateboarding, stupid horror movie she'd pretended to hate because making fun of them together had been more fun than actually watching. now she couldn't even get five fucking minutes alone with her twin unless she schemed and fought for it. eventually she finds herself at the foot of the bed, mattress dipping beneath her weight as she drops into the space beside him. close enough that their shoulders almost touch. close enough to feel the warmth rolling off his body after the frantic few minutes she'd interrupted. it shouldn't make her heart race. it does. she props herself up on her palms, legs swinging idly over the side of the bed. the skirt she'd thrown over her bikini shifts higher against her thighs, and for once she doesn't yank it back down. she notices him notice. or maybe she only hopes he does. "you know," she says quietly, staring at the floor instead of him, "i bought this because i thought you'd like it." the admission tumbles out before she can stop it. her fingers pinch nervously at the hem of the flimsy cover up. "i don't even wear stuff like this." a humorless laugh escapes. "i hate stuff like this." she'd rather be in basketball shorts. skate shoes. and one of jamie’s hoodies she'd stolen six months ago and conveniently forgotten to return. "i spent..." emma grimaces, "like an hour watching makeup tutorials." two freshly manicured fingers lift to the tiny pink mark near her temple with a sheepish wince. "i burned myself with a curling iron. twice." emma risks a glance toward him. "you didn’t notice any of it." she murmurs, "it’s like you don’t care about me at all anymore."

she loved this, more than she ever thought she would --- his hands in her hair, along for the ride as she took his royal length in her mouth. one would think zoe should feel humiliated, kneeled before the crown prince/king as clothing free as the day she was born, instead it only made her impossibly wetter. her hand squeezed gently the base of his rod, stopping her mouth from going past it's limit as she took him as deep into her throat as she could before completely taking herself off him in suck in a deep ragged breath. " i love the taste of you, your highness. " zoe smiled, her hand working him in place of her mouth now.

the  throne  room  was  his.  gilded,  hallowed,  the  very  heart  of  the  kingdom’s  power  but  it  had  never  felt  so  much  like  hers  as  it  did  in  this  moment.  the  weight  of  the  crown  he  bore  was  nothing  compared  to  the  weight  of  her  name  on  his  lips,  the  way  it  trembled  between  them  like  a  secret  too  sweet  to  keep.  careless  fingers  tangled  in  her  hair,  not  to  guide  or  demand  but  to  worship.  let  her  know  without  words  that  she  was  the  only  sovereign  he  would  ever  kneel  for.  and  god,  did  she  rule  him.  he  could  watch  her  do  this  forever.  the  way  her  throat  worked  around  him  like  a  velvet  vice,  lips  stretched  obscenely  around  his  cock  as  if  the  heavens  had  carved  her  mouth  just  to  take  him.  the  sight  alone  had  his  hips  twitching,  fingers  tangling  in  her  hair.  a  broken  sound  tearing  from  his  throat  as  she  pulled  back,  lips  glistening,  hand  a  vice  around  his  cock.  a  groan  rumbled  in  his  chest,  his  thighs  trembling  as  he  watched  her  stroke  him,  her  touch  as  reverent  as  any  oath  sworn  on  holy  ground.  “fuck,”  the  word  tore  from  his  throat  like  a  prayer.  “look  at  you,  so  pretty  on  your  knees  for  your  prince,  aren’t  you?  like  some  sinful  offering  at  the  foot  of  the  throne.”  his  thumb  brushed  the  damp  proof  of  her  arousal  from  her  cheek,  it  made  his  chest  ache.  he  could  tell  she  loved  this,  loved  the  way  the  gilded  halls  bore  witness  to  their  filth.  the  throne  room  loomed  around  them,  all  gold  and  grandeur,  but  all  he  could  see  was  her,  all  he  could  taste  was  the  salt  of  his  own  skin  on  her  tongue  when  he  yanked  her  up  by  her  hair,  crashing  their  mouths  together.  “i’m  gonna  ruin  you,”  he  growled  against  her  lips,  “knock  you  up  with  my  bastard  seed  right  here  on  daddy’s  throne,”  the  thought  alone  had  his  cock  jerking,  precome  dripping  hot  between  them,  “want  that,  princess?  want  me  to  fill  you  up  so  full  you’ll  be  leaking  me  for  days?”  his  free  hand  slid  down  to  grip  her  thigh,  nails  digging  in  deep  enough  to  leave  marks,  “say  it.  beg  for  it.  please,  your  highness,  please  fuck  me  on  your  father’s  throne  and  put  a  royal  bastard  in  me.”

search merriam-webster's collegiate dictionary for the true definition of tipsy bastard and you'll see a picture of him in all his glory,   white canines on display as shares a shit eating grin to the camera.     for someone who claimed he didn't wanna come to some ‘ fuckin' frat party ’ he sure as hell fits right in,   sixth white claw of the night held loosely between splayed fingers,   body sinking in and settled on a couch that's seen much better days.     friend,   girl,   warm hole he buries himself in that he's come with has all but disappeared,   but he knows how to make his own fun and has done exactly that.     already made a friend who's currently rolling a joint beside him and grabbed the number of a pretty young thing too.     he's not quite drunk yet,   somewhere balanced precariously on the edge of buzzed,   alcohol softening edges otherwise hard and it's with those blunted lines that he sees them,   mate of his whatever the fuck.     they're a supposed slut.     he's heard all the stories: blowjobs given with ease beneath bleachers in the middle of football games,   professors ridden for passing grades during office hours,   a threesome that happened in this very house,   her passed between frat president and vice president.     he's not sure if he sees it   little interactions they have had never screamed whore to him,   and it's a sound he's well versed in.     in fact she seems to be the opposite ...     though he'd be lying if he said it was hard to imagine pretty lips stretched out over his dick.     artificial black cherry is on his tongue as he takes another sip of juvenile poison,   eyes dragging over exposed skin while she roams closer closer and closer,   until she's squeezing herself next to him,   making space out of none.       "oh yeah?"       he maneuvers so they can converse better,   leaning in so she can hear his response.     hand meets knee and a brow raises.     that's new.       "i'd never hide from you.     no drink yet?" he gestures to empty hands.

indiana’s fingers twitched against his leg. a betrayal of the storm raging beneath her skin. the heat of him seeping through the fabric of his jeans. the thin veneer of her confidence wavering. she’d practiced this in the mirror, of course. the tilt of her chin, the way her lashes would dip just so, the slow drag of her teeth over her bottom lip. seduction, or at least what she’d gleaned from late night google searches and the smutty books hidden under her mattress. but it was completely different in real life. she catches the slight lift of his brow the instant his hand settles against her knee. warm. casual. completely harmless. yet it still sends panic fluttering through her stomach like trapped moths battering themselves bloody against glass. god, get it together. she swallowed hard, throat dry. music thrumming between them, a bassline that vibrated through her bones, but all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears. a smile finds her anyway, practiced enough that it almost disguises the riot happening beneath her ribs. "no one’s offered me one." her voice comes softer than intended, forcing herself to hold his gaze instead of looking anywhere else. "so," her eyes drift to the white claw in his hand before lazily climbing back to his face. "i figured i'd steal yours." slender fingers finally gather enough courage to reach forward, brushing over the back of his hand as she plucks the can from his grasp. it's fleeting, barely there, but the contact feels catastrophic on her end. tilting the drink toward her lips, indy takes a sip before immediately regretting it. warm. too sweet. too fizzy. she nearly grimaces, swallowing around the taste before recovering with a tiny wrinkle of her nose. "god, i can't believe people actually drink these voluntarily." the laugh that escapes is genuine this time, small enough to surprise even herself. better. normal. that’s what normal girls did, laugh. she turns slightly toward him, one leg folding beneath the other, head lazily leaning against his shoulder as if she hadn't spent the last ten minutes psyching herself into walking over here. "what did you mean by that anyway," she muses, absentmindedly tracing a thumb around the rim of the can. all too aware of his palm against her knee. "that you’d never hide from me? i don’t think stella would appreciate hearing that."

oliver,   a   karlsson   through   and   through,   was   not   as   sneaky   as   his   siblings.   there   wasn't   anything   that   he   could   sneak   past   his   wife   though,   she   saw   everything,   despite   her   indifference   towards   their   arrangement.   “ivy.”   he   winces   at   her   touch,   trying   to   avoid   her   gaze   at   any   cost.   the   reason   he   didn't   fill   her   in   is   because   anything   his   family   touches   goes   to   shit,   this   is   the   one   thing   he   feels   he   has   control   over.   she's   already   in   trouble,   why   drag   him   into   his   own   issues?   “i'm   fine,   i   just   want   to   take   a   shower.”   small   but   mighty   she   is,   the   grip   on   his   wrist   doesn't   let,   even   when   he   pulls   away   from   her   using   his   strength.   he's   used   to   this,   the   violence…   there   wasn't   a   family   in   las   vegas   that   didn't   want   him   and   his   siblings   heads   on   silver   platters,   this   was   a   part   of   the   job,   and   he   kept   the   club,   the   dancers   and   his   family   safe…   for   now.   “will   you   just   come   with   me   to   the   bathroom?   i'll   explain   everything   in   there.”

the   wince   did   him   no   favors.   it   split   through   her   irritation   like   lightning   through   stained   glass,   illuminating   everything   she'd   been   trying   very   hard   not   to   acknowledge.   the   blood.   the   exhaustion   hanging   from   his   shoulders.   the   way   he   couldn't   even   meet   her   eyes.   coward.   or   perhaps   not.   perhaps   wounded   animals   simply   knew   better   than   to   look   at   someone   who   might   see   how   badly   they'd   been   mauled.   her   fingers   remained   cinched   around   his   wrist,   stubborn   as   iron   despite   the   disparity   between   them.   oliver   could   have   shaken   her   loose   if   he'd   truly   wanted   to.   instead,   there   was   restraint   in   the   way   he   tested   her   grip,   and   somehow   that   infuriated   her   even   more.   "oh,   now   you   want   to   talk?"   ivy's   laugh   was   brittle   enough   to   cut   skin.   "five   seconds   ago   you   were   trying   to   brush   past   me   like   bleeding   through   your   dress   shirt   was   as   ordinary   as   forgetting   your   keys."   she   searched   his   face   despite   his   efforts   to   deny   her   the   privilege,   catching   only   fractured   glimpses   beneath   lowered   lashes.   he   looked   tired.   not   the   kind   sleep   could   mend.  the   sort   that   settled   into   bone   marrow   and   made   a   permanent   home   there. it   made   something   unfamiliar   twist   beneath   her   ribs.   she   hated   it.   "i   don't   need   your   explanations   to   happen   in   a   bathroom,"   she   muttered,   though   the   venom   had   begun   to   dull   around   the   edges.   "unless   you're   planning   on   passing   out   before   you   finish   the   story."   a   beat   of   silence   lingered   between   them,   taut   as   piano   wire.   with   an   exaggerated   sigh,   she   finally   released   his   wrist,   only   to   brush   past   him   instead,   shoulder   clipping   his   with   enough   force   to   make   the   point   that   she   was   still   irritated.   "fine."   the   word   carried   all   the   warmth   of   winter.   "but   if   you're   about   to   collapse,   have   the   decency   to   do   it   somewhere   with   tile.   i'm   not   scrubbing   blood   out   of   the   hardwood   because   you've   got   some   ridiculous   hero   complex."   she   was   already   walking   toward   the   bathroom   before   she'd   finished   speaking.   not   because   he'd   asked.   certainly   not   because   she   was   worried.   if   her   pace   happened   to   slow   enough   that   he   could   keep   up   without   aggravating   whatever   injury   he   was   trying   so   desperately   to   hide—well.   that   was   merely   coincidence. not because she actually cared about him. surely she wouldn't be stupid enough to have developed feelings for a karlsson.