You had been curled up in Dan Heng's side, enjoying the quiet conversation going on around you while March 7th went back and forth with your boyfriend. You had been speaking to Sunday at that point, asking the questions that you often did— if he was having a good time, if he was settling in, if he believes that Mr Yang is handsome for an older man.

He hadn't answered the latter question but you feel like the answer is obvious. 

"Where are you sleeping tonight then?" Had come out of your mouth without you even realising it, and Sunday seemed almost embarrassed to answer. It was really quite cute. 

"I'm sure I will be able to find space around the Express somewhere. I tend to favour places that allow me to admire the cosmos at any given moment, and there is quite a particularly comfortable arm chair in the Parlor Car."

"So… not in a bed then?"

Sunday's ears had turned pink. 

"Well, I do not expect you all to offer me considerable luxuries when I have hardly proven myself worthy of such just yet." Sunday explains, "Nevertheless, I am grateful for the opportunity to travel with you as is." 

You think for a second, then shrug. 

"Well, there's space in me and Dan Heng's room, why don't you bunk with us?" Dan Heng turns around at the sound of his name and you continue. "Sleeping on the arm chairs must be terrible for your neck, surely you're cramping by now?" 

"Ah… there is no need to go out of your way for me." Sunday shakes his head, then appears to hiss at something. "Though, I admit the arm chairs around the Express have been… unforgiving as of late." 

That was enough for you, you clap your hands together and try not to look too happy about helping Sunday out. "It's decided then!" You turn to Dan Heng. "It's fine with you, right?" 

Your boyfriend shrugs, "Its no trouble with me either, I do not mind it." 

Then back to Sunday, who's staring at you both— looking wide eyed and albeit a little flustered, but he appears to take in the excited expression you're wearing before seeming to revert his own to something much more polite. 

"Very well then, it would be impolite for me to turn down your generous invitation, I'm sure…" 

"Yey!" 

But now, circumstances have unfortunately… changed. And by that you mean that Dan Heng has been looking particularly handsome ever since all three of you returned back to your bedroom for the night and now you feel like you just cannot keep your hands to yourself. 

You had atleast waited until the conversation between you three had died down, leaving Sunday in a little makeshift bed thrown together with extra blankets and pillows before retreating to your own with Dan Heng. You waited until his breathing had settled and lights were out, and then you had all but pounced on your boyfriend after that. 

You're trying your best to hold it together, but when you're straddling Dan Heng as you are now and having him kiss you deep and slow— you're hardly to blame for not being able to hold back. Your hands reach for any and every part of him you can feel, from his hair to across his shoulders to down his abdomen, brushing intimate touches over his skin until you're pulling at his shirt and only then does he say something. 

"We should not do this." Dan Heng murmurs against your lips, "We might wake him."

But neither of you stop, your bodies all but grinding against one another. His hand is tight around your wrist and the other wraps around your hips, pressing them close to his. 

"We can be quiet, I promise I will." 

Dan Heng stops for a moment, but then he shifts beneath you, deliberately— until he's able to press his thigh up between your spread legs and without even thinking about it, a soft whine slips from between your lips. It's louder than you wished it was and he swallows it eagerly, but still pulls back to give you a straight look after the fact. 

"That was not entirely convincing." 

"That was hardly fair, you caught me off guard." You click your tongue. "If I'm actually trying to be quiet then I'll be able to." 

"I'm having a hard time believing you." 

You roll your eyes, but in reality you're trying not to laugh at the blank expression Dan Heng's giving you right now. Even with his flushed cheeks and messy hair. 

"Please?" You decide to beg, in a tone that's deliberately soft and airy and as much as Dan Heng knows exactly what you're trying to do; both of his hands rest flat on your hips, and he breathes out a sigh that tells you he's going to do exactly what you're asking anyway. 

"I suggest you try harder this time around then." 

You would've cheered had you not been reminded of your company. So instead, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and lean into give him a peck that doesn't last nearly as long as you wished it to. 

But you know you have to check something beforehand. So from your place still on top of Dan Heng, you angle yourself back— peering over the side of the bed in hopes of catching a glance of Sunday in his makeshift nest. 

You have to squint into the dark to see. 

You nudge Dan Heng. "Do you think he's asleep?" 

"It is doubtful." 

"Really? But he's been so quiet." You try to focus your eyes a bit more in the darkness until you're finally able to catch a glimpse of him. Sunday looks asleep— nuzzled up against one of the thicker blankets with his ear feathers resting softly around his cheeks. His eyes are closed, his breathing is soft. 

You frown. "He looks so serene. Seems pretty asleep to me." 

"I believe he just looks like that." He shrugs. 

"Well that's hardly fair."

You both turn to look at eachother for a beat. Then for a second. 

Until by the third, your lips are slamming against Dan Heng's once more and your hands are back in his hair; he welcomes you eagerly, his hands squeezing into your hips until you're pressing flushed and tight against him. You already feel so incredibly flustered, twisting yourself up in your boyfriend's lap despite the way your friend is sleeping only centimetres away. It's risky— but you can't help it, you need him. 

You atleast do as you said you would, trying to muffle every blissful sound your body wishes to cry out by pushing them behind Dan Heng's teeth. 

It almost works, almost— but a few break through against your will, driven by his insatiable kisses and it's enough to make your boyfriend's hands squish into your thighs as if to try and get your attention. 

"Perhaps we should—" Dan Heng starts but you cut him off. 

"He's definitely asleep."

"You would be mistaken actually." Sunday chooses that moment to respond from his place on the floor, and his voice is sudden enough to almost scare you off of Dan Heng's lap entirely had he not been holding you so tight. 

Your boyfriend looks at you. Face falling flat, but still flushed. 

"I told you."

You think you would've launched yourself into the cosmos out of embarrassment had Sunday not shifted in his sheets and distracted you, drawing both of your attentions as you timidly crawl off of Dan Heng's lap and sit by his side instead. 

"Apologies, I did not mean to startle you. And it was not my intention to easedrop either." Sunday starts, fidgeting with his hands. 

"You could've said something sooner, Sunday." You begin to do the same. "This is so embarrassing." 

But it seems Sunday isn't doing too well himself. When you look up to glance at him, you can just about make out the flush of his face— half obscured by the feathers of his wings curling around his cheeks. But even in the dim lighting of your room it's obvious he's red, which says enough about just how deep of a shade it must be for you to be able to notice. 

"We apologise if we woke you." Dan Heng eventually speaks up, ever the calm one. "It was not our intention to make you uncomfortable." 

But one look in his direction shows off the impression of his half-hard cock in his pants, and even that is too much for you to deal with. You bury your head in your hands and grumble, not only incredibly humiliated but now even hornier having been interrupted. 

Before you can say anything more, Sunday clears his throat— barely able to look at you. 

"I do not wish to intrude, I will easily excuse myself to elsewhere around the Express should you prefer. After all, you were already generous enough to offer me the opportunity to sleep here but you owe me no such kindness should.... circumstances change...."

You stare at him then. Really stare at him. And maybe that's when it clicks— the circumstances of Sunday resting on the floor while you made out with your boyfriend in bed. You don't know how long he's been listening but considering the expression he's wearing, you assume it wasn't all of a sudden. 

You blink and Sunday seems to grow uncomfortable beneath your gaze. A slight enough movement to bring your attention to something much more condemning— because now that you're suddenly aware of the bulge he's obviously trying to hide, you can't find it in yourself to ignore it. 

"Have you ever kissed a girl before, Sunday?" You blurt out, the question sudden enough for even Dan Heng to whip around and look at you. 

"I- I think that is hardly appropriate to share, I mean..." Sunday stammers. "I have had certain relations in the past, nevertheless I believe that—" 

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" You cut him off again. 

Sunday's cheeks appear to flush even pinker. 

"Perhaps." 

Dan Heng's palm rests down on your thigh after that, a wordless plea for you to take it easy and when it makes you notice the way Sunday's burying his face behind his wings, you think maybe he's got a point. 

"What? You don't have to be ashamed about it, I think it's cute," You try to comfort instead. "There's no way you didn't have offers, look at you— halovians are well known for being handsome, aren't they? Then what's the problem?"

"It... simply was not my priority, that is all." 

"So you admit it then? You're a virgin?" 

You gape, because you just can't help yourself. But when you turn to Dan Heng— half expecting him to be just as taken back, he only offers you a shrug. 

"I thought it was quite obvious, was it not?" 

Your attention is drawn back by the sound of shuffling blankets, and then in a moment Sunday is pushing himself to stand and brushing down his clothes. 

"Perhaps I should take my leave."

"You've never been curious?" You call after him. 

You have no idea what you're doing. You can even feel Dan Heng staring at the side of your face as if he's asking you the same thing, and perhaps it's to do with how horny you are right now, or maybe it's because you do feel a bit of pity for Sunday not having felt intimacy before. 

But now you can't stop. You're not sure you even want to. 

You admit he's handsome, sure he's no Dan Heng, but you had meant it when you said it earlier. From the way that he carries himself to his features— his wings, his eyes, his halo. Even now that he's staring at you with such an…. unreadable expression you can't help but want to kick your feet. 

"What?" Sunday looks almost perplexed. 

"Curious?" You repeat, because you're in too deep now. "You've never thought about what it would be like to touch a girl?" 

Sunday doesn't answer right away, he fidgets a bit more. He scratches a hand through his hair, fluttering the feathers of his wings at the same time and then a sudden realisation dawns on you. 

"Wait— You didn't take a vow, right?"

You swear you hear Dan Heng huff out a laugh at your panicked voice. Sunday's palm rests over his face. 

"I really shouldn't overstay my welcome, I- I am sure Pom-Pom will have somewhere in mind for me to-" 

"You staying here isn't an issue." Dan Heng is the one to cut him off this time, earning a look from you aswell. You had thought yourself to be digging your own grave with your insistent questions knowing your boyfriend was right there with no intervention. 

But when Dan Heng turns to meet your eyes after a moment, he seems to be thinking the same thing as you are. 

And it looks like he's on board. 

You turn yourself back towards Sunday, who's frozen in his spot. "But you're not trapped here either, you can leave right now if you want. I'll pretend this conversation never happened and then we'll go back to normal, there's always an armchair waiting for you somewhere, right?" 

Sunday appears to think on that for a moment, and you wonder what sort of things are going on in his mind. You're sure it seems as ridiculous to him as is sounds to you— the night has went from an innocent sleepover between friends to well…. an implication of something to come that holds much more weight… should he decide to stay that is.

You watch as Sunday shifts from one foot to the other, and then with a delicate flutter of his wings he's looking away from you again. 

"If… if it is truly no trouble…" 

You don't respond to that, but you clasp your hands together as if pleased with his answer. It's quiet for a moment then, aside from the shift of the comforter beneath you as you push yourself onto your knees and you catch Dan Heng's gaze in the movement. 

He looks at you— in that grounding, beautiful way that he always does. And then he nods, as if giving you silent permission. 

"Do you two do this often then?" Sunday asks as he watches you get comfortable. 

"No." You say, "Maybe you're just special."

He flushes at that, and you're surprised that the same man who was once so powerful within Penacony would be so easily undone by a few compliments. Pleasantly. 

You can tell that he's out of his element, most likely due to his own inexperience but you're not above taking the lead in this moment— deciding to start with something soft first to test the waters. 

Your hand outstretches towards the man opposite you, and at the same time you feel Dan Heng's arm loop around your waist. 

"Come here." You beckon Sunday closer, a command that he obeys with ease. He moves with a strange grace, his shoulders pulled back, his steps steady and confident. But you notice the furrow of his brows, the curiosity in his gaze. 

When he comes to stand just off the side of the bed you're kneeling on, you look up at him through your lashes. 

"Can I touch them?" You ask, motioning to the wings that elegantly extend from his throat. "I'll be gentle." 

The grey feathers appear to shudder out at the question before Sunday nods. 

"If you would like." 

Dan Heng remains silent behind you, but you can feel his eyes on your features from where he's tethered at your side. His thumb is stroking at the points in your waist where his hand rests, and when you reach out to brush your fingers through Sunday's ear feathers for the first time— you feel him squeeze. 

"They're so soft, you must take great care of them." You say, combing your hand through the nerves of Sunday's wings as his lips part wordlessly. You don't point out the way his whole body seems to clench. "Are they sensitive?" 

"At certain times." Sunday whispers, "Halovians do not often allow others to touch them without reason. Lest it stir an unwelcome reaction." 

"Is this one unwelcome?" 

Your question deliberately accompanies an experimental squeeze of your fingers against the base of Sunday's wings, making them flutter.

"N-not at all." Sunday's next breath shudders out of him. "Quite the opposite."

"That's good." 

The flush on the tips of his cheeks deepens slightly as his wings appear to bend into your touch. 

Sunday looks at you then, and Dan Heng gives your waist another stroke in response. Then you hear his body shift behind you— until you feel him come to kneel at your back and he steadies you against his chest with a touch that's grounding and safe. 

You continue to massage your hands through Sunday's wings, squeezing and applying pressure to certain spots that he seems to favour. With every brush of your fingertips, he appears to get more confident— his lips parting as sounds of lithe and quiet pleasure appear to threaten to spill from behind his teeth. 

He's rocking slightly where he stands, and perhaps you'd be doing the same were Dan Heng not holding you upright— allowing you to use his chest to lean against as Sunday's body tries to sway closer into your touch. 

But Dan Heng’s hands on your waist tether you to reality, despite the way anticipation makes you feel lightheaded and giddy. You press yourself back a bit further, curling into his chest and you feel him lean forward to smear his lips against your neck— pressing a few delicate kisses up the column of your throat as you bare more of your weight back into him.

It's incredibly erotic, having Dan Heng kiss his way up your neck while you're massaging Sunday's wings. You feel pinpricks of pleasure begin to gather beneath your skin as your boyfriend's lips press against the sensitive places he knows you like, and Sunday watches you as you dig your hips back into Dan Heng's crotch— humming when you feel his bulge greet you in return. 

As for Sunday himself, well it’s safe to say he’s pretty overwhelmed right now.

He’s always thought you to be kind, and he’s acutely aware of the possibility of you always appearing during his quieter moments because you feel sorry for him. 

It’s not that he deliberately isolates himself from the Express in the moments you happen to come find him. But it’s more so, Sunday just feels like he’s finally able to exercise his freedom to take a moment of repose whenever he requires it. Back when he was the head of the Oak family, he often found himself chained to the grandeur banquets— forcing himself to socialise even when he felt like he was due to collapse due to his own exhaustion, forcing a smile and a laugh just to keep up appearances. 

But now, as he’s come to find himself a member of the Express— it’s much the opposite. In fact, Mr Yang actually encourages him to get more rest than he ever would’ve considered to take himself. Always insisting that a proper night of sleep would do him good. 

Though it seems tonight, especially now, will be another sleepless one. 

"Are you certain you want this?" Dan Heng interrupts Sunday's train of thought with his question. When he snaps back out of it, he realises you're both staring. "You can stop this at any time." Dan Heng assures him. 

"Apologies, it seems I… lost my train of thought is all." Sunday shakes his head. "I'm fine." 

"Don't overthink it." Dan Heng says again, lips still pressing against your throat and Sunday appreciates the advice as he's drawn back to the pressure of your fingers on his wings. 

He wonders if you can both see how hard he is— how damp the inside of his slacks have become since this all started. If he were to be honest, he's been hard since way before you even touched him; turned on by the simple sounds of your desperation when you believed him to be asleep. 

But he's never been one to feel so… out of control. And as much as Sunday would usually crave the feeling of taking charge in most moments— he can't help but feel particularly out of his depth right now. 

You stroke your fingertips across the top of Sunday's wings and it's so sensitive and good that he feels his body almost crumble; it's concerning actually, he believes he could cum with just this. He moans at that, the pleasure outweighing his embarrassment as he watches Dan Heng continue to kiss at your neck— his hands roaming your body, palming at your breasts and waist at the same time as you curl and back yourself up into his touch. 

It's a spur of the moment thing, the way Sunday reaches out to do the same; to perhaps try his hand at spurring that same reaction from you himself. But when his fingers lift and tilt within even an inch of your direction, Dan Heng's eyes rise again to meet him.

"That would not be wise." Dan Heng says, his voice so absolute it almost chills Sunday as he hesitates. 

"I—" 

"Are you ready for more now, Sunday?" You cut him off, looking at him through long lashes as Dan Heng stays watching from his place behind you. Your dreamy tone is a stark contrast to the almost uncharacteristically rougher tone that just came from your boyfriend, but he doesn't think too much into it. 

"Yes." Sunday responds anyway, "It appears I am at your mercy."

Dan Heng moves from behind you first, resting himself down on the mattress and then he looks at Sunday again. "I suggest you do not get carried away then." 

And he feels vaguely like he's being scolded. 

You follow after him, sitting between your boyfriend's legs with your back to his chest. You angle your hips up a little higher before quickly kicking off the bottoms of your pyjamas and your underwear and getting yourself comfortable. It catches him off guard, the sudden glimpse of your pussy so unfiltered and already so… slick. Your folds are glistening even in the dim lighting of your room on the Express and Sunday wants nothing more than to reach forward and swipe his fingers through it. 

He feels the angle spur a response in him, one that's deep in his lower abdomen as his cock strains against the fabric of his slacks once more and his mouth feels suddenly dry. 

But despite your faux confidence you're feeling just as overwhelmed as you can imagine Sunday is. From your position in Dan Heng's lap you can feel how hard he is, bulge pressing up against your lower back as his breathing makes goosebumps burst across the flesh of your shoulders and neck. 

Not to mention the way Sunday's looking at you, the gold of his eyes appears to shine as he takes you in— admiring your intimate skin is his entirety and it takes everything in you to not close your legs and shy away from it. 

Maybe it's because you know Dan Heng's got you, and it seems he's enjoying this just as much as you are— despite his cool exterior, the warmth of his palm as it rests on the inside of your thigh feels incredible and that alone drives you to keep up whatever game you're playing. You press your back further into his chest before looking up at your new partner from beneath your lashes. 

But Sunday doesn't seem to notice you bringing your foot up until it's pressing beneath the hem of his shirt and you use it to drag the fabric upwards before pressing the sole against his chest. He can't help himself from wrapping his hand around your ankle and squeezing it tight, suddenly feeling like he can't breath at the action. 

"Your turn." You say, acting innocent like you're not showing him your pussy and teasing him with your touch. "Or do you want me to help you?" 

You giggle, so sinfully cute that Sunday feels lightheaded again at the idea of you undressing him. He could lose himself in the image of it, your hands tucking beneath his waistband before pulling it down, blinking up at him as his cock springs free; he feels almost bewildered by his own want. 

It's only when Dan Heng's arm wraps around your shoulders from behind does he find himself on solid ground again and your foot falls back onto the mattress with a soft thud. 

"I am sure he can handle it." Dan Heng assures you, his lips pressing against your ear as your tugged closer to his chest. 

"Yes." Sunday says the same. "You needn't worry about me." 

Sunday's a bit clumsy in the moments after— quickly discarding himself of his slacks and shirt before folding them up neatly and placing them aside. Even in these moments, he cannot skip on his habits but when he feels that first sting of sexual freedom that comes with pulling off his boxers he can't help the way he sucks in through his teeth. 

It leaves him bare in a way he's never felt before, standing infront of you and Dan Heng as you lie back against your boyfriend's chest on the mattress. Your eyes on Sunday's cock. 

"It's so beautiful, Sunday." You say, authentically sweet. "It suits you."

The praise still makes Sunday feel suddenly self-conscious. 

"My apologies if my inexperience hinders this for either of you." 

But it is Dan Heng that responds to him first. His hand comes over to rest on your inner thigh as he spreads your legs wide enough to hook them over his own, and it almost seems like an offering. 

"You need not apologise, though perhaps it's best if you follow my lead." 

"Yeah, Dan Heng's right." You agree. "It's supposed to be fun anyway, so don't worry about it, okay?" 

That does a little for Sunday's anxieties but still he finds himself feeling rather awkward. He swallows heavily for a moment, and then with another glance at your glistening folds his wings shudder again. 

"What's wrong?" You smile, beckoning him closer with a simple blink rather than an outstretched hand this time. "I think you're past being shy now, come closer."

"Let me guide you, okay?" You watch as Sunday does, spreading wide so he has enough space to settle between your legs. "It's really easy once you get the hang of it." 

Your eyes lock on the space below his hips, and he feels his wings instinctively curl around his cheeks in that way they often did whenever he was flustered. 

Sunday watches Dan Heng loop an arm around your waist as he holds you steady, allowing you to rely on him as you turn all of your focus onto Sunday's cock. The first time he feels your fingers reach up to graze along his shaft, he almost cums right there and then, already finding the sensation to feel miles better than his own hand. 

You suck your lower lip between your teeth as you reward Sunday with a few more strokes of your fist, and he feels his expression break into something much less controlled than he's used to as his legs threaten to buckle beneath him. But he can feel Dan Heng staring at him from over your shoulder and his gaze is enough to keep him in check. 

You appear to find a pace quite quickly, though it remains slow and steady, as if you can already tell what he likes. You leave soft touches up the sensitive veins on the side of Sunday's cock and brush your thumb along the sensitive tip, allowing your hand to wrap all the way around him as you easily pinpoint and squeeze at the spots that make him shake. 

"Does it feel good?" You ask, continuing that rhythm along his cock as you send him a heated look from beneath your lashes. 

He feels like he can barely think, but somehow he manages to find words as he readjusts himself between your spread thighs. 

"Astoundingly so." Sunday responds, though he doesn't think that even comes close to just how incredible you're making him feel. "Nevertheless— it is not only my own enjoyment I desire, but that of yours too." 

"You're so thoughtful." 

You seem to giggle again at that, a sound he's growing quite fond of, though it's not mean-spirited and sounds more as if you're pleased. Your free arm blindly reaches back to anchor yourself against Dan Heng and as if the action was a wordless request, your boyfriends hands begin to move against you. 

Sunday can't take his eyes off the way Dan Heng's fingers pull back the folds of your pussy at first— bathing you in tenative, soft touches that despite their litheness seem to spur such a reaction from you it makes your hold on him almost waver. 

But at the same time, it makes Sunday's mouth water and his cock twitch, watching the way two fingers being pressed against your clit is enough to make your back arch— your lips parting to moan as your pussy is spread wide again on Dan Heng's next touch and he takes in the delicate softness and warmth that he wishes to feel for himself. 

His wings flutter at his neck and he looks at you again, a depth to his gaze that you could surely swim in. "Is there something more you require of me, such as…." To have him inside of you, that's what he's implying. His eyes glance down between your legs as if to signify it. 

But with another particularly drool-worthy twitch of your thighs and another few pumps of your hand along Sunday's cock, you lean back into Dan Heng's chest and smile, twisting into your boyfriend's arms as you shake your head and he continues to massage at you with two fingers. 

"This is fine for now." Your lashes flutter as you take a moment to gather the precum from Sunday's tip and smear it along him; making everything feel much more soft and wet. But he doesn't know where to look— trying to decide whether he should admire your beautiful expressions, or watch the way Dan Heng's fingers are drawing another sticky circle through the delicate petals of your pussy and noting how your body twitches in response. 

Your neck turns to look over your shoulder as Dan Heng's eyes finds yours. "And you?" 

The look he gives you in response is so intense, Sunday almost feels it. His fingers come forward to tilt up your chin, “I can handle that part.” 

“Are you sure, I—“ Sunday interjects but Dan Heng's looks at him again, with that same sharp gaze that he had met him with earlier.

“Quite certain.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. 

“Ofcourse.” Sunday says, though his words are wound tight. "It is not my intention to overstep nor take your generosity for granted.”

Dan Heng helps you to your knees easily as he shoves his pants down from beneath you, leaving you hovering above his lap as you face Sunday, allowing him to take in the way your pupils are blown wide and your lips are swollen. He wishes he could kiss you, just to feel what it's like; but there's a part of him that tells him not to take advantage of your kindness; as if your hand is not wrapped around his cock. 

But perhaps that opportunity will come eventually. 

Though for you, you feel like you're already in heaven. 

It only takes seconds, before Dan Heng's cock is springing free and resting against the inside of your thigh; smearing precum along your skin and only moments before he's got it wrapped in his own fist— angling you in a way that has it pressing up against your entrance. You watch as Sunday bites on his lower lip as he watches, and you're not sure if it's all of the attention you feel like is on you right now, or the way Dan Heng lets his cock swipe through your folds; but you're utterly soaked. 

“It’s okay, Sunday. You feel good so far— this is only the first time." You say with such kindness it makes Sunday shudder, but your voice breaks off when you begin to lower yourself down on Dan Heng as he all but splits you apart. 

You don't think you'll ever get used to the stretch, even in this form— it never seems to subside, splitting you apart as your head rolls back but you still manage to push more of Sunday's cock into your tightly wound fist until your hand is squeezing at the base. 

"Do… ah— you want me to put my mouth on it?" You say through fluttered lashes. 

You're certain you hear Sunday gulp. 

"If…. if you're sure and— it is not too much trouble." 

"I want to." 

You lean forward quickly following his permission, forcing Dan Heng to have to hold you steady as he sinks another few inches inside of you— particularly deep this time as your toes curl from where they're folded up beneath you, making your head swirl. You exhale across the sensitive glands in Sunday's cock at first— half to tease him and half to keep yourself coherent, but then comes the first, gentle little kiss that you smear against the tip and he helps you with your reach by taking a step closer. 

And it does help. It helps so much, because by your next sharp inhale you're able to wrap your lips around the tip and suck— and that pressure alone is enough to make Sunday's wings shiver out as he rests his hand on your shoulder. 

You try to keep your focus on him, but as you continue to sink down on him and Dan Heng at the same time— feeding yourself another inch of Sunday's shaft while your boyfriend presses more into your pussy, you feel so incredibly full it's overwhelming. It feels like you're out of body, pleasure making your head feel thick and heavy as your tongue begins to tease the underside of Sunday's cock and your hand is continuing to pump what you can't fit in just yet. 

You gag around him, taking a little too much at once as your throat tightens up all of a sudden and then you begin your withdrawal; leaving spit coating along the flushed veins of his cock as Sunday's hips lean forward to follow your movements. It's as if he's beckoning you not to leave. But when Dan Heng chooses that very opportunity to sink all the way inside of you, you can't help but whine from where your lips are still wrapping around him and Sunday almost breaks. 

You feel like you might pass out. So full and stuffed as your mouth and pussy are both kept busy, thankfully— Dan Heng gives you a moment, letting you get used to the stretch and when you try to blink the stars from your eyes, you notice the way Sunday's staring down at you. Its beautiful really, the way he's watching you twist your hips on top of your boyfriend; his halo just visible over the top of his head as his messy hair frames his flushed cheeks— he looks like he's absolutely enamoured by you. 

But Sunday's cock remains tight against your palm, and despite your current state you still find it in yourself to press a few sensitive kisses up the sides of him, blinking at him as you do so. 

"How does it feel?" You steel yourself enough to ask, breathing hard. Despite how full you feel, despite your eagerness to be stuffed from both sides— your need. 

"Your technique is sure enough …. q-quite impressive."

"So you don't want me to stop?" 

You feel the way Sunday's cock throbs against your palm at your question; as if answering for him, and part of you wonders if he's going to begin to beg. But it appears he's able to keep some semblance of himself at least when he responds. 

"Without a doubt, I do not wish for this to end so soon."

"That's good." 

Dan Heng's voice sounds after that, a soft "Are you ready? Let me know if it gets too much." as his hands stroke up and down your back. 

And as if answering for you; your body begins to shake in anticipation as Dan Heng offers you a few gentle, test thrusts— making sure you're ready before he leans over to smear some soothing kisses along the back of your shoulder. You watch Sunday's lips move with a fluttering blink, and you assume he might be cursing beneath his breath were it not drowned out by the way you're back to suckling at the head of his cock. 

You feel like your ears are ringing and Sunday's hips stutter as he tries so hard not to thrust into your throat. But that same moment, is when Dan Heng begins to find a his pace, and nothing could've ever prepared you for how good it feels to be fucked from one side while taking cock from the other. 

You've never quite felt anything like it. You readjust your knees on the mattress before Dan Heng's hands come to squeeze at your hips and he finds a rhythm to rock up into you. Its slow at first, each thrust long and deep, pushing up against the spongy, sensitive spots inside of you with such an ease that you don't even notice that you're suddenly bouncing on his lap to chase more of it. 

But you use that same momentum to stuff even more of Sunday's length even deeper into your mouth, feeling him hit the back of your throat before he lunges forward and your walls shudder tight around Dan Heng at just how desperate the man above you seems to be. It spurs you on, so you continue to suckle and kiss all over his cock until Dan Heng's voice appears to draw both of your attention. 

"How are you holding up?" He asks, part breathless as he continues to fuck up into your pussy, but still sounding far more composed than you feel.

Sunday thinks he's talking to him but he's not, he's speaking to you. With your mouth stuffed full of cock and your dazed expression— you hardly manage a Mhm. So you pull off for a moment to answer him, replacing your mouth with your fist in the meantime, but Dan Heng tilts your head back to face him and then he hums, murmurs something beneath his breath and kisses you instead. 

You don't see it, but Dan Heng looks at Sunday then, locks his gaze as his mouth moves with yours and the look he gives him almost feels predatory— like the way an animal would guard their resources. Sunday's never seen Dan Heng in such a way; used to his more friendly, but relaxed personality. 

But this, how he is now as he bounces you on his lap and at the same time; watches you stroke at Sunday's cock, makes Dan Heng appear much more dangerous. Possessive even, when his tongue presses its way between your lips and his sharp eyes narrow at the halovian opposite him. 

Sunday makes a mental note of that behaviour, but he doesn't cease his slow, back and forth movements either, thrusting into your fist with an eagerness he would normally be ashamed of. His hips stutter as he rolls the head of his cock through your closely gripped fingers again and this time his lips part, his voice hitching with the exhale that you breath into Dan Heng's mouth. 

You gasp as you break the kiss, and as if Dan Heng can feel something Sunday can't he begins to reach around your hips to rub at your pussy again. It makes your head drop back to moan for a second— so incredibly broken and lost in mindless pleasure but still you find it in yourself to lean forward, allowing Sunday between your lips again as you go back to suckling on the tip of his cock. 

Its like something from one of his most sinful fantasies; to have Dan Heng fucking you while you suck Sunday off and he almost feels guilty for having you in such a position. But there's a part of him, a past part of him that wishes it were he that was getting to feel the sweet hug of your pussy right now— and as he watches your body clench and stutter with every wet slap against Dan Heng's hips, he can't help himself from touching you. 

He ignores the look it earns him from behind you, but he's still respectable enough to not take it too far. Sunday brushes the hair back from your face and watches as you take more of his cock, your eyes fluttering closed at your obscene pleasure as your throat relaxes and you swallow around him. It earns you a moan, then another trembling pump of his hips before you glance up at him through your lashes and that seems to send him hurtling towards his orgasm with a speed he was not expecting. 

Though it appears he's not alone, from where your lips wrap around him— Sunday can feel the way you're moaning around his cock, drooling all over his shaft as Dan Heng continues to rub at your pussy with two fingers while he fucks you. Even your boyfriend has began to moan himself, groans that appear more controlled but rougher in comparison to Sunday's more desperate sounds. 

Sunday feels tension begin to pinch at his shoulders, his thighs shaking as you begin another wet withdrawal and then all of a sudden— with a particularly deep thrust of Dan Heng's cock it sends you forward. Your nose presses against the base of Sunday's cock so suddenly it knocks the air out of him, sending him curling forward as he feels those first tendrils of pleasure begin to take root in his body as his orgasm suddenly blooms. 

It floods into your mouth until you choke, forcing you to draw back so you can really taste his load— though it only takes a few more seconds before you're following him off that edge and having to break away. Dan Heng continues to fuck you through your own organs as he holds you steady, one arm looping around your waist while the other stays between your folds. 

You pump Sunday's cock to draw out his pleasure at the same time, causing a few of the remaining drops of his cum to fall and splatter over your bottom lip and chest and Sunday feels like he might actually pass out at the way his load appears to pearl on top of your skin. 

As your body begins to seize and twitch on top of Dan Heng, Sunday notices the way his pace also does the same— soon followed by a clipped grunt of his own before he can see the sticky ring that appears to form at the base of Dan Heng's cock. 

Everything feels so wet and warm in the aftermath. The long strokes of your fist along Sunday's cock have turned to slow pets, fingers dancing along the now flushed skin until he's shuddering and taking half of a step back. You finish it with a kiss against his tip, as if bidding his pretty cock farewell and then you all but collapse back into Dan Heng's chest as he catches you. 

"How do you feel?" You ask as you take in Sunday's completely roused state. He's much different now compared to how you're used to seeing him; with his incredibly flushed expression and his messy hair, his slacks around his ankles and his wings curling around his cheeks. 

It's quite cute you think, miles from the man you're sure everyone once thought him to be. 

"You held up quite well." Dan Heng offers to Sunday first. 

Followed by your voice as you find yourself comfortable on his softening cock. "Soooo…. how was it?" You murmur, drawing Sunday's gaze to you this time and there appears to be a dull glow to it that wasn't there before. 

"Yes, it was… quite remarkable." 

"I like that compliment." You smile back, watching Sunday's wings spasm in the aftermath of his orgasm as he fumbles to pull back on his underwear and clothes. "But one more thing, come here one more time!" 

It takes considerable effort to push yourself up, still plugged up by Dan Heng's cock but you manage to grab at the chest of Sunday's shirt before all but pulling him into you. Its quick and catches him off guard, the way your lips are soft against his— as if rewarding him with a kiss that is so utterly sweet that he almost melts into you. 

You think he actually might when you feel his body relax, and when you tease along his lips with a press of your tongue— you take pride in the dazed expression it leaves him with when you suddenly pull away. You sink back into Dan Heng's chest with a little kick of your feet, and try not to smile too hard at the way Sunday seems so utterly perplexed and…. blissfully dazed. 

"Maybe you'll have a much better sleep tonight compared to when you first got here." 

You joke, shattering the tension in a lighthearted way that seems to bring Sunday back. He clears his throat. 

"Heh, perhaps that may be the case." He says, but fidgets. "Though I should most likely clean myself up first, I dislike making a mess at the best of times." 

There's a lull of silence after that, and you can tell by the look on Sunday's face that he appears to be thinking. He gathers up the rest of his things, albeit not much, before turning to leave the room before you can stop him. 

"You know, you can still sleep in this room." You say before he can go, causing Sunday to still in his step out of the door before he turns. 

"She is right." Dan Heng agrees, hugging you tight. "Our offer still stands despite what has just taken place." 

You don't know for certain, but you think Sunday seems to relax at that. He exhales a breath, then sighs— as if suddenly remembering how to breath. 

"Then I will see to it that I shan't wake you both on my return." 

You laugh, knowing that no matter how loud he is you're definitely too spent to wake up for anything tonight. "We'll consider it your revenge for earlier." 

"Heh. Perhaps I am owed that much." 

“What do you think about that?” Harumasa asks his partner as they stroll along the boardwalk, their shoes crunching over the light layer of falling snow. He tilts his head back, looking up at the darkening sky– Just barely, he could catch the faintest glimpses of stars between the thick clouds. “I think it'd be pretty funny, getting called out to Hollow Zero and finding a strange gathering of ethereals having a Christmas party,” he says, idly swinging their intertwined hands.

“... You're so silly,” his partner says, fondness in their tone as they lean against his side. He smiles, looking at them; With the faintest dusting of snow on their head, they could almost resemble a powdered donut. The thought made him smile even more, as he reaches with his free hand just to tilt up their face so he can place a kiss on their forehead.

“But you love it when I'm silly, right?” he asks playfully, chuckling softly when a small smile appears on their lips. The way their nose scrunched up from his kiss was adorable to him, and the steady chill only made that feeling stronger, filling him with the desire to wrap them up all safe and warm.

Eventually, they came to a stop at the end of the boardwalk, standing at the railing to look across the frosty lake. It wasn't cold enough for it to freeze over, not yet– If it was, there would've been at least one story on the news of someone attempting to skate on the lake, before falling through the ice and nearly catching hypothermia.

“... Say, is it just me or did it get a little colder out here?” Harumasa asks after a moment, tugging up his scarf as the wind picks up. “How are you not cold with what you're wearing?” he mutters. At the lack of response, he glances at them, before pausing. They tried to hide it by freezing up and standing straight, but it was too late– He saw it. The shiver.

Their shoulders had started to unconsciously hunch up, and he suddenly noticed that they were pressing against his coat with something more than just the usual heart melting joy, and the way they immediately shifted their posture as soon as they sensed Harumasa looking at them… 

“... You,” he says slowly, a soft frown forming on his face as he clicked his tongue at them patronizingly, “I told you to wear a thicker jacket. I told you, didn't I?” he chides, even going as far as to wag his finger at them while they glared at him. “Don’t give me that look, I saw that shiver. If I'm getting cold even in my thick coat, then I know you're basically a popsicle right now.”

They open their mouth with the intent to disagree before a gust blows through them, prompting a shiver that they just couldn't stifle. Once they settled down, they looked away from Harumasa with a slight pout. “... I didn't think there'd be so much wind,” they mumble, “Otherwise, I'd be fine! The coat would've ruined my outfit.”

Harumasa huffs, before he quickly starts to undo the buttons of his coat. His partner blinks, before immediately grabbing his hands to stop him. “Hey, w-wait a minute–! I'm fine, let's just go back, don't take your coat off–”

Harumasa suddenly gives them a wide eyed look of shock. “Uh, are you crazy?! I'm not taking off my coat, not in this weather.” He shakes off their hands, finally getting the last button undone before he swiftly flings open his coat and pulls them into his embrace, trapping them with their back firmly against his chest. He manages to tug three buttons through their loops, before smiling as he settles against them. 

“... There. Feel better now?” he asks, nuzzling the back of their head against his temple. He hears them sigh heavily, before they lean back against him.

“Yes,” they say with an exaggerated sigh after a moment, “Thank you.”

He grins. “I feel so appreciated,” Harumasa says, pulling his arms out of his sleeves just to hug them from behind. He sways gently back and forth, creating a steady rhythm as the wind blows over and around them rather than through them. Watching the sun set over the city of New Eridu as the snowfall began to thicken, Harumasa felt a sense of peace wash over him. Standing here, his partner all nice and warm in his coat, the steady cold of winter nipping at their faces, he could almost fall asleep…

… Until the snow piling up in his beanie suddenly shifted, falling down the tiny sliver of open space between his neck and his scarf. He freezes immediately, a thorough shiver running through his whole body as he let out a loud squeal. “Ohmygod it’s so cold what the hell–?!” he cries, his voice abnormally high pitched. His comfy coat turned into his own prison while he thrashed and tried to rid his poor neck of snow.

His partner just laughs, trying to keep them both from toppling over by quickly turning around and hugging Harumasa tightly– But instead, it has the opposite effect, making him stumble before he loses balance completely. Before he knows it, gravity turns over in itself as they fall backwards onto the ground. For a moment, all he can do is lay there, staring up at the navy sky as snow drifts down and settles on his cheeks. After a moment, though, he hears loud giggles coming from his partner laying on top of him.

They raise their head, a smile on their lips as they reach up and brush the snow off of Harumasa’s face. “... I think it’s time to go home, yeah?” they ask, their voice still warm with laughter as their eyes crinkle with mirth. Harumasa blinks, before his expression softens.

“Yeah.”

------

“Hah?” he snaps, inching closer as he stares into the camera with furrowed brows. You easily ignore him.

“I’ve been meaning to break up with him sooner, but I just didn’t want to handle all the crying and stuff—from him, not me, just to be clear.”

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ cry over your stupid ass video—”

“Unfortunately, he’s a very emotional person. Very clingy, too.”

“I’m not clingy. You’re the one who spams me with texts while I’m on patrol!”

You dab concealer beneath your eyes as he defends himself against every accusation you make, and it becomes far too difficult to hide your laughter. You let out a soft giggle, and he throws you a very offended glare. (Yes, Katsuki is smart enough to know that this is a silly little joke on your part just to be funny. No, that does not stop him from treating this as a serious matter in which he has to protect his dignity. Lucky for you, that only makes for better views.)

“Now, some people might think breaking up with a pro hero wouldn’t be very smart for my brand, but luckily, mine is very easy to replace.”

“Easy to replace?”

You have to look away from him because the expression on his face is making it ten times harder to pretend to take this seriously, and you’re barely keeping a straight face. “There are lots of blonde men in the world, so I’m sure I’ll easily find someone else to fit the role.”

“Who the fuck are you gonna find better than me, huh?” He challenges, particularly irritated by that statement. 

“As you can see, he’s already in denial.”

“Oi! Don’t ignore me!”

“Anger is the next stage of grief.”

The phone is grabbed before you can dab on your blush, and he spins you around, pinning you against the bathroom counter as he gives you a dirty look. You break into a fit of giggles, wrapping your arms around his neck as you press an innocent kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“Hi, baby,” you hum.

He raises a brow. “Don’t hi baby me, dumbass. You make sure you tell that camera that you’ll never dump your boyfriend and that there’s no other man—blonde or not—like him, and—”

You roll your eyes, hands cupping his cheeks as you pull him into a soft, slow kiss, cutting his words off effectively. He melts into you, kissing back as soon as your lips touch his, and you like to think that your silly idea only makes him kiss you a little more seriously. A little more meaningful, just to prove something.

“Don’t worry,” you peck the corner of his mouth, “I was just kidding. I’d never dump someone with pro hero money from the number five spot.”

— — — — —

“Get ready with me to get proposed to by my pro hero boyfriend!”

You beam at your phone camera from your vanity. Behind you, Katsuki is sprawled across the bed, one ankle hooked over the other, scrolling on his phone while sipping on his morning coffee. The coffee immediately goes down the wrong pipe.

He chokes, and a terribly strained coughing fit erupts from behind you. You almost feel bad for disrupting his peace on his day off—almost. 

“Now, the proposal hasn’t been planned yet,” you explain to your hypothetical audience while reaching for your moisturizer, “but I’ve decided I want it to happen today.”

Another coughing fit. “What?”

“Katsuki, are you okay? You’re coughing a lot today. Do you have a cold?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, woman—what the fuck are you up to this time?”

You give him an innocent smile as you say, “Nothing!”

You’ve decided to keep this little game going for as long as you can—a new scheme whenever you can to keep him on his toes. Partially because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his reactions, but partially because, truthfully, you think seeing a softer, more human side of Katsuki will do him some wonders in the public eye. And what sort of doting girlfriend would you be if you didn’t take your chances at helping his public image?

“Why do you keep lying to your audience through these stupid videos?” he demands.

You gasp. “Lying?”

“Yes, lying,” he gives you a flat look, eyeing you like you’re crazy for denying the accusation.

“Why would this be a lie?” You challenge. Then, dramatically, you gasp, clutching your chest in mock hurt as you hiss, “So are you saying that you don't want to marry me?”

“W-what? I didn’t fuckin’ say that—don’t put words in my mouth—”

“So, I guess this video is now becoming a get-ready-with-me to get dumped, because apparently Katsuki wants to break up with me because he fell out of love with me and found someone new. I think he’s been emotionally cheating on me with someone—a sidekick, I’d bet. Always trust your gut, ladies—your gut never lies.”

“Hah?! You—” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he exhales tiredly and gives you a dry look. “You know what, that’s right. M’fuckin’ dumping your ass.”

You clap a hand over your mouth dramatically. “Everyone cancel him!”

— — — — —

“Get ready with me to make out with my pro hero boyfriend!”

You beam at your phone camera yet again. But today, for the first time in the history of these videos, there is no Katsuki behind you that is staring at you in disbelief or glaring at you in irritation. Instead, Katsuki is sitting on the bed, looking up from his phone as a wide, smug grin spreads across his face.

“Finally,” he says, setting his phone aside. “You thought of a good one.”

You blink. “Wait—”

“No, no, you can’t take shit back now. You wanna make out with your pro hero boyfriend, so that’s what your video is gonna be, baby.”

“Katsuki—”

He stands, hastily walking over as he says in approval, “Now we’re talkin. I like this video idea.”

He materializes in front of you, easily grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you up before he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him. His lips start peppering kisses up your throat and along your jaw as he works his way up to your lips. You melt against your will, giggling a little as you hiss (weakly), “Kats! We can’t…you can’t kiss me yet!”

“And why the fuck not, huh? You got some other boyfriend to kiss? Bring ‘im here, I can fight.”

“I have to get ready first,” you huff, shoving him lightly, “that’s the point of a get-ready-with-me? You have to wait till my makeup is done.”

“What’s the point in that?” He hums, pressing a soft, delicate peck to your lips before he murmurs, “s’just gonna be a waste of all your hard work when m’done with you, yeah baby?”

You shiver at the tone in his voice, pupils dilating as you stare at him. His eyes are twinkling with amusement as he gives you a wolfish grin, reaching over and locking your phone, and cutting the camera off from recording. This video might not end up getting posted at all, you think—this one might just break community guidelines. 

He seizes up, bumping his chopsticks. He’s quick to fix himself as you shoot him a nervous, but questioning smile.

“Sorry, you were saying?” he says smoothly (at least he hopes it’s smooth, he still doesn’t know how to talk to pretty people), eager to move past his minor mishap.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” you laugh. “I was just saying that you have a little something on your face.”

Wise feels his cheeks warm. “Oh, really? Thanks for telling me.”

He moves to grab some napkins, but you beat him to it. Wise swears something in him malfunctions when he turns and suddenly you’re all too close to him, your hand reached out to clean up his face.

“Wha- Wait, what’re you-” he sputters, nearly falling off his stool as he lurches back.

“Hey, stand still,” you scold, your slight annoyance only serving to speed up his heart rate because who in the world said it was okay for you to be this cute.

At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if steam was coming from his head, with how fuzzy his mind feels. He can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but just sit there, dazed as you dab obliviously at the corner of his lip.

As you pull away, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, mentally thanking whatever deities reigned above that he hadn’t fainted on the spot. That would’ve been embarrassing; Belle would never let him live it down.

His face feels cooler - hopefully it isn’t so red anymore. By the time he’s able to think coherently again, you’ve started chatting again. Wise nods along (he has no idea what you’re talking about), and goes to slurp up some of his noodles when he sees General Chop again.

The chef, obviously holding back a cackle, grins encouragingly at him and flashes him a thumbs up in support. Wise internally groans. Would it be a bad idea if he drowned himself in his noodles right now?

And this isn’t the first time either - Wise is pretty sure the entirety of Sixth Street is aware of his… ugh, crush on you (saying it out loud both hurts him and makes him feel warm inside. Which is a terrible feeling. He wants to throw up).

Just last week, he’d seen you at the Coff Café, and Tin Man, being both a gracious cafe owner and a huge romantic, had decided that that day was a good day to have a 50% off deal specifically for pairs if they bought two or more items.

Wise hadn’t questioned it at first, since it was normal for shops to occasionally hold discounts like these to attract more customers. Even he was guilty of it, being a business co-owner himself.

But then you had to call him out in the line, excitedly waving him over as you were at the cashier ordering. Tin Man was behind you, a smile in his eyes that Wise wasn’t sure he liked, but he begrudgingly made his way over.

He still remembers the way your eyes sparkled as you explained the discount to him. They reminded him of the stars he’d see at twilight, when he couldn’t sleep and would climb to the roof just to watch New Eridu’s nightlife.

Naturally, he had accepted your offer of buying him a free drink (no one refuses free food), but he quickly learned to regret it when he saw the mischievous gleam in Tin Man’s artificial eyes.

He still gets flustered thinking of it now - the heart-shaped whipped cream and the whisper of “good luck” haunts him, especially when he thinks about how confused you were at the impromptu decoration.

The amount of times he’s caught his neighbors playing matchmaker, he can’t count on both hands - and that’s not including what Belle has tried. It’d be funny if it wasn’t also incredibly humiliating.

“Master, if you were planning on drifting off, perhaps you should’ve stayed home to take a nap.”

Wise sighs. “Be quiet, Fairy. I’m in public.”

“What?” you blink. Wise blinks back before realizing he’d been a little too loud.

“Sorry, I was talking to myself,” he chuckles awkwardly, hands fiddling with each other - it’s a nervous habit of his. You smile understandingly.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, pushing your bowl towards General Chop to signify you were done with it. “You’ve been out of it today, Wise. Something on your mind?”

You, Wise wants to say, but he doesn’t feel like embarrassing himself further. “I guess I’m just tired. Long day today.”

“I can tell,” you laugh, the sound music to his ears. You hop off the stool after sliding your share of the payment to General Chop. “Come on, I’ll walk you home. You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

Wise’s heart does a little tap dance at your offer, but he manages to keep his cool. He hastily pays General Chop before eagerly joining you in your short walk to Random Play.

“Bro!” Belle greets him enthusiastically as he opens the door. Her eyes light up when she sees you, and she raises her eyebrows suggestively at her brother. Wise shoots her a glare when you aren’t looking. “[Name], too? How was your da- mmghhifjk-”

Wise smiles innocently as he slaps a hand over Belle’s mouth. You can’t help but laugh at the two, and Wise admires the crinkle the corners of your eyes.

“Ignore her,” he says nonchalantly, wrinkling his nose as Belle licks his hand like the little rat she is. “Do you want to come in, or…?”

“No, I shouldn’t.” You wave your hands bashfully. “It’s getting late, so I should be getting back home.”

Wise nods in understanding. Belle pries herself free and he wipes his spit-covered hand on her sleeve, ignoring her sputters and protests (she chose this path. She will reap its consequences).

“Well, I guess this is goodbye.”

You nod, shifting your feet. “I guess it is.”

Wise’s brows furrow at your behavior - what’s on your mind. But thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long before his inquiry is answered.

You take a step forward, and Wise feels your arms loop around him in a tight hug. Suddenly, his senses are elevated, and it’s almost as if everything is enhanced tenfold. He can feel your heartbeat against his chest, the soft sound of your breath, your hair tickling his face and the heat that radiates off of your body against him.

“I really enjoyed today,” you say, stepping back with a smile that could rival an angel’s. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”

Wise tries to formulate a response, but all that comes out is a squeak like a dying balloon. God, if his face was red before, it must be flaming now. You giggle at his response, before you wave both him and Belle goodbye and leave for your home.

It takes a good five minutes before he can speak again.

“Hey sis?”

Belle sounds as shocked as him. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m going to faint.”

He hears his sister sigh.

“Wise, you’re helpless, you know that?” she shakes her head exasperatingly. “And just when you finally made progress too.”

The five-minute drive to the corner store didn’t eat up much time, and Eren spent the first half of the hour trying to figure out how to kill the next. He stalled for as long as he could, running down a mental checklist of household essentials and uselessly debating between soda brands. But after a while, he started to feel like a weirdo for stalking every aisle twice over. 

Eren didn’t like being at the apartment when your boyfriend was there. It wasn’t anything personal—okay, maybe it was a little personal, he could admit. Eren had told you before that he was a major douchebag, but hey, at least he was honest. 

Anyway, it wasn’t like anyone wanted to be around when their roommate was getting laid, but Eren had nowhere else to be and a gas tank bordering on empty. He couldn’t even take the long way home.

Somewhere in his gut, Eren hoped you’d be there to greet him when he returned instead of just your boyfriend’s shoes. Not for any special reason; he was just bored. What was the point of having a roommate if they always stayed locked away in their bedroom?

Of course, you’d only been ‘locked away’ for a handful of hours, but that felt more like an eternity to Eren—always one for dramatics. It was an ordinary Tuesday night, with nothing to see or do except wait until he was tired enough for bed. He couldn’t even enjoy the show he’d been watching because you scolded him for putting on an episode while you were out. ‘I can’t believe you watched our show without me!’ Eren wasn’t sure when the ‘our show’ thing started, because it didn’t even seem like you’d been paying attention. 

Unfortunately for him, when Eren stepped through the front door, you weren’t curled in your usual nook on the couch. Your boyfriend’s shoes were still annoyingly kicked to the side, and not a single thing had changed since he left. The apartment wasn’t spacious, which made the silence even more eerie as Eren slipped off his shoes. Even the metallic clang of his keys on the table felt out of place. Something was off. 

Before he could put his finger on it—before he could even crack open his bottle of soda—the first sign of life in the apartment showed itself in the form of shouting. Eren couldn’t tell if it was coming from you or your boyfriend. Probably both.

Your bedroom door swung open; Eren didn’t see it but heard the swoosh of it, the rickety wood shrieking on its hinges. Your boyfriend stormed down the hallway, shoulders tensed and hands drawn into tight fists at his sides.

What did Eren say about him being a douchebag again?

He shot Eren this downright nasty glare for no good reason, flagrantly huffing and puffing his way to snatch his jacket. He was rough with it, leaving the chair wobbly but still upright. 

Prickly and mere seconds away from acting on it, Eren’s disgust curled at his lip to return the sneer. But the asshole had slammed the door behind him before Eren could ask what the hell his problem was. 

The apartment went dead quiet once more. Though your boyfriend was gone, the strangely thick, suffocating air lingered on. Eren didn’t know what to make of it. He couldn’t move, feet planted like they had taken root in the center of the living room. He didn’t want to know what just happened, lest he wished to get wrapped up in your relationship drama, but he carried this dreaded feeling he was about to learn, regardless. Especially once the sniffling began, faint but spilling from your room and into the hall. 

Your bedroom door was still open. Eren grazed his knuckles against it, carefully trying to catch your attention. You only saw his head at first, tentatively poking around the corner. Only after he decided the coast was clear did he make himself known, leaning against the doorframe like he always did when he had something to tell you.

Your initial instinct was to hide your face, to swat away the tears with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. It was your best attempt at collecting yourself, but it was worthless because Eren had already glimpsed the puffy-eyed look on your face. 

You straightened out, uncrumpling your legs and letting them dangle from the edge of your bed. You started fumbling over snot-coated words. “God, sorry. I probably look like a mess.”

Eren didn’t know why you were apologizing, and immediately he felt a pang of sympathy. Despite how it struck him iron-hot in his chest, he didn’t know what to do with the feeling. His body stiffened. 

Thinking (hoping) you’d laugh, or at the very least chuckle, he didn’t disagree. Instead, he pitched you a boyish yet well-meant, “What’s new?” 

You pulled a face but otherwise ignored the comment, reaching toward the box of tissues sat on your nightstand. Eren was surprised there were any left, considering what appeared to be dozens surrounding you. Balled up and scattered across your bed, the floor, and even one on your lap. He didn’t want to, but he took a cautious step into your room. Then another, squeamishly watching as you loudly blew your nose. 

He should say something, shouldn’t he?

“So,” Eren started, rocking back on his heels once. “What happened?” 

You glanced over at him, still looking pretty rough. Streaks of mascara had smeared across the crests of your cheeks, even up to your temples, tinging them like soot. You sucked in a breath and answered, “We broke up.” Between the words, your bottom lip quivered. “He broke up with me.”

Eren’s stomach seized up as he fought off his primal urge to back away slowly and retreat into his bedroom. Say what you want about Eren—label him a cynic or accuse him of being heartless—but he didn’t particularly enjoy dealing with others’ emotions. To put it bluntly, he felt repulsed by them. Most especially, the waterworks that typically accompanied them. 

He averted his eyes like you were some tragic spectacle. He hated seeing you like this. It was such a bummer, no different from spotting a kitten forgotten in a rainstorm. He wished he could console you, find an umbrella and run to your rescue, but that was much more complicated than it sounded. 

If he had known about the breakup earlier (if you had responded to his text message), he would have brought you something back from the store. Ice cream or red wine—the stuff he’d seen in movies—he didn’t know. 

Ugh.

Eren remembered his bottle of soda, still sealed with its condensation cooling his hand. He extended it to you, offering, “Here. You can take this, if you want.” 

Hidden behind your face as you swiped away tears, you grimaced.

“What? No, I don’t want that right now,” you grumbled. Eren could be such an idiot sometimes. 

Your voice was sour enough to sting, as if he had purposefully salted your brand-new wound. Eren’s face said enough—a resounding yikes—but he continued digging his own grave.

Eren tossed his head in the general direction of the front door. “You know, he probably hasn’t gotten too far. I could go kick his—”

“I think I just want to be left alone.”

“Well, what if we—”

“Seriously, Eren,” you snapped. “Go away.”

Tears collected in the corners of your eyes again, welling up like dew. Then, your bottom lip did that trembling thing again. It must have embarrassed you, and that was why you rushed to slam the door in Eren’s face. At least, that was what he told himself, rather than admit he was only making things worse—that maybe he was the last person you wanted to see right then. 

Honestly, Eren began thinking that was the case, and not just in that instance but over the coming days. 

It had been over a week since that night, a very strange eleven days in the cramped apartment you both called home. It wasn’t like you to keep to yourself. Even when Eren first moved in, when he was little more than a stranger to you, you liked his company. You even told him. ‘I just like having someone to talk to. That’s all.’ And you’d do just that, chatting to pass the time it’d take to wash the dishes or whatever other menial task you were up to. Eren never minded, but it did make adjusting to the newfound quietness that much more difficult. He could even admit he missed your unnecessary commentary while he watched TV.

He supposed it was naïve to hope you’d bounce back from a breakup after only a week, but were you really that hung up on this guy? 

No, Eren was sure you were giving him the cold shoulder for badgering you minutes after your boyfriend had stormed out on you. Not that it wasn’t deserved, but for the record, you still hadn’t apologized for slamming the door in his face. 

Neither of you wanted to lose this childish stand-off, nor were you above butting heads like a couple of rams, if given the right provocation. 

To outsiders, the two of you may seem like an unlikely pair. Eren wasn’t your original roommate; that was your friend Mikasa. After a few months of living together, she was offered a temporary position at her dream company a few hours south of here, well out of commuting range. That turned into an offer for a full-time job, just as her friend Eren’s sublease on her bedroom turned into a more permanent arrangement. The two of you have shared this apartment for well over a year now, for no other reason than that it just worked. Things were as simple as that. 

So, one could imagine why Eren had so much trouble wrapping his head around the situation. By now, it was customary, borderline a requirement of living together, for you to annoy each other. You’d poke and poke and poke, as roommates tend to, and no matter what, the other would come around, eventually. Eren always did. You always did. 

Except this time, even Eren’s bribes didn’t work on you. Not even a latte from your favorite cafe (conveniently located on his walk home from the gym) softened you. That was when he knew the situation was dire. Worse than when you discovered he’d been snitching from your expensive hair products in the shower. Things had become awkward, tense, and frankly, unbearable. 

It was Saturday night, probably creeping into Sunday morning. Eren’s eyes burned, looking a bit bloodshot the last time he saw himself in the bathroom mirror. He took it as a sign to shut off his computer. 

You still weren’t home. Eren didn’t know where you’d gone off to, but he didn’t care—though his rampant curiosity said otherwise. Throughout the night, he’d excuse himself from his video game, telling his friends he’d be back in a second, and on his way to ransack the kitchen for the umpteenth time, he’d check to see if your purse was in its rightful spot: draped over the back of the chair. For whatever reason, your absence irked him. 

You knew there was a chance Eren would still be awake when you returned home. You just didn’t expect to bump into him.

From the entryway, with your coat halfway down your arms and sagged around your elbows, you saw Eren emerge from his bedroom. He had a hand shielding his squinted eyes as they adjusted to the brash overhead light. 

His white t-shirt held the wrinkles of his bedsheets. By the look of it, it was an old shirt. Its collar drooped in the front, and its hemline appeared slightly threadbare against his sweatpants. He must have fallen asleep with his hair tied back, stray strands dreaming his cheekbones and curtained his lidded eyes. 

He blinked a few times, then let his hand slump to his side. He studied you with a judgmental once-over. “Did you just get home?” He sounded as groggy as he looked. 

“Yeah,” you replied. It was a dumb question, given your current state of toying with your strappy heels, balancing with a hand planted against the wall as you tried to slip them off. 

Eren retrieved his phone from his pocket. “It’s almost three in the morning.” He showed you the screen as if you requested proof.

“So?”

“What were you doing out that late?” 

You couldn’t decipher his tone, and for the life of you, you couldn’t read the expression on his face. For once, it was blank. Tired, but blank.

“It’s none of your business,” you snarked. 

“It is when you wake me up.”

You had difficulty believing you’d woken him up in the thirty seconds you’d been home. Regardless, you brushed him off with, “I was out with a friend.”

You were purposefully vague because it really was none of Eren’s business. But you let your attitude seethe to the forefront, and with it, an implication you didn’t intend. He gave you this look, stern and accusatory, but more than anything, he appeared absolutely baffled by you.

“You didn’t.”

He actually thought you went crawling back to your ex. 

You decided not to correct him.

“You can’t be serious? After what he did?” he said, referring to the nasty breakup. “After everything?” Referring to the rest. 

You were aware Eren had become an unlucky bystander to your relationship, frequently caught in the fallout of every nuclear fight.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, wiping the sleep from the corners of his eyes. “You could be with anyone you want. Why go back to him?”

You felt insulted that he’d think so lowly of you. To think you were in need of a fatherly lecture—and from him of all people. The audacity, you thought, not reading between the lines when you barked back, “So what if I did? Why do you even care so much?” 

Eren didn’t care. What possibly gave you the impression he cared? You were a big girl, you could date whoever you pleased. You were certainly doing whatever you pleased; the only reason he was talking to you—the only reason he was awake—was because of you. Loudly stumbling through the door in the middle of the night, completely unwilling to consider his perspective on the situation.

A situation you created, by the way. Not just tonight, but eleven days ago. A situation that didn’t need to exist in the first place. The drama, the theatrics—none of it. You must have forgotten Eren wasn’t the one who dumped you. So, in his mind, the better question was:

“Why are you being like this?”

You defensively folded your arms across your chest. “Like what?” 

Eren opened his mouth, raring to sling some smart-ass comment your way, but he merely stammered. He blamed it on the fact that he was torn from his bed and immediately thrown into the ring with you. But truth be told, he could have had eight hours of sleep and a shot of espresso, and he would still suck at this sort of thing. You know, emotions. 

Words failed him miserably. He gave up on them and waved a hand over you as if you were supposed to know what that meant. “Weird and stuff.”

“Weird and stuff,” you mocked with a scoff. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.” 

“You’re never here anymore,” Eren said in exasperation. “And when you are, you’re ignoring—no, you’re actively avoiding me.”

You wanted to do exactly that: roll your eyes and stomp off to your bedroom. Eren knew that. He dared you to prove him right. 

In a way, ending a feud was much like defusing a bomb. Both had you backed into a corner, forcing you to decide on instinct alone. Clip a wire, red or blue, the choice was yours, and cross your fingers that it was over. You could deny, deny, deny. You could put it off for one more day, just to see if it actually explodes. Or you could end it. 

You gave a reluctant exhale. “I went out for drinks with Sasha. We went to her place after, got to talking, and I lost track of the time.” He sighed, too. You watched his shoulders sink. “The breakup was long overdue. I don’t think one night out would change anything between us.”

You told Eren the truth not because it was any of his business but because of the guilt pitting in your stomach. Yes, he was upset you woke him up, you understood that. But hearing him now, you realized his testiness ran much deeper than that. 

The tension in the room eased its grip on your throats. You sensed Eren was about to offer you some cliché, something about there being more fish in the sea. But if it were anything like his last attempt at cheering you up, you weren’t interested. 

You talked over him, confessing, “He dumped me because of you.”

The sentence fell to the floor with a blundering splat. You plopped this thing between you, then expected him to know what to do with it. 

Eren’s eyes narrowed, flickering over you from head to toe. He took in your words, scrutinized and dissected them. Before he could draw his own hasty conclusions, you explained, “That’s the reason he broke up with me—why I’ve been avoiding you.” 

He snorted derisively. “That’s a load of bullshit.”

“That’s what I said. But he told me I either had to move out—either find a place of my own or live with him, or it was over.” 

The mood shifted. Eren stared back at you apprehensively, waiting for you to go on as if you hadn’t already made up your mind and break your lease on the spot. He couldn’t fathom the obvious answer. 

“And?” 

You exaggerated it when you held your arms out at your sides. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

You stared and stared at him, but for once, Eren had nothing to say. You finally disarmed him. He tucked his hands into his pockets in his own Eren-y way of surrender. 

“It sounds stupid, but I like what we have. I like this,” you said earnestly, even if you weren’t quite sure what this was: your living situation, your roommate-ship, your friendship with Eren. Whatever your set-up was, it was comfortable, and maybe it was just some lame proverb, but you couldn’t help but think: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. 

You shrugged. “And I’m definitely not about to ditch it for some jealous douchebag.”

Eren finally cracked. His lips bowed into a small smile. “At least you can finally admit it.”

Deep down, like way down in there, you recognized that none of what happened was Eren’s fault, but that didn’t lessen the blow. Rather than facing it, you thought it was easier to pretend as if Eren wasn’t there, just for a while. Irrational, yes, but it was your gut reaction. And by the time you realized how petulant you’d been acting, you were too ashamed to fess up to it. All you needed was a bit of cornering, it seemed. 

You and Eren were too close, apparently. That was what your ex-boyfriend believed for however long he chose to keep the thought to himself. He stewed on it, no more than a simmer at first, until the whole ordeal came to a seething boil, splattering you when you removed the lid and asked, ‘Why have you been so distant lately?’

Once the argument ensued, it was as though you no longer spoke the same language. Anything you said, any explanation you gave, wasn’t good enough. To him, you were irredeemable. He’d already set his mind on the ultimatum before he even spoke to you. 

You weren’t oblivious to the fact that some may find it strange that you live with one man while in a relationship with another, but was it truly that bizarre a concept? That was how the card fell, so you made the best of the hand you were dealt. Which really wasn’t all that difficult, to be honest. 

Once he started listing everything you’d done wrong over the months, you put together just how long your living arrangement with Eren had been bothering him. He even went as far as to count your crimes on his fingers. Looking back, you wish you’d stopped him there. No one needed to be dating that kind of person, anyway. 

Firstly, and what appeared to be your gravest sin, was that he despised it when you borrowed Eren’s hoodies—which, in your defense, never happened often. Eren left them thrown around the apartment, so you’d only grab them to empty the trash when it was raining or if you went to grab coffee on a chilly day. According to your ex, he was ‘always’ finding them in your room.

Okay, maybe you could appreciate his perspective on that one, but he should have mentioned it sooner. His second reason—and this was where they started sounding silly—was that he ‘always’ heard Eren in the background of your calls. You told him it was far-fetched to think Eren’s naturally loud demeanor was somehow your fault. 

Then he became more upset. He ridiculed you for, in his words, being all ‘Eren this, Eren that’ about everything. Another exaggeration. If you turned to Eren, it was only out of convenience because he was right across the hall. You never had a chance to explain this, he didn’t give you one, so you tuned out the rest of his reasons, more focused on trying to make sense of the tailspin he’d sent you in. 

Then, it hit you. Not like a smack across the face—it was stealthier than that. It prowled from behind in a low rumble, creeping down your spine before pouncing, taking you captive in one go.

“Eren?”

The mildness in your voice took you by surprise. You spoke his name in a quiet request, the same way you would if you needed a favor from him (you did). Immediately, he appeared suspicious, but he met your eye and acknowledged you with knitted brows.

Whenever you needed something, you turned to Eren. 

You had to choose your words carefully now, but there was no careful way to go about this, really. 

You bit down on your bottom lip, unwittingly wetting it. “Would you… kiss me?” 

What you needed now was to forget. To lose yourself in someone else, just for a night.

The softness in Eren’s voice contended with your own. “Why?”

He didn’t say no. His expression certainly didn’t say no, either. And he didn’t dare draw back when you neared him. 

Sasha spent the night encouraging you to find a hookup, telling you the only way to get over someone was to get under another. But meeting someone new was hard. 

“I don’t know,” you slowly said. “Just want to.”

Eren flinched when you laid the tips of your fingers on the back of his wrist. You grazed them higher along his arm, noting how the hairs stood up as you went.

“Don’t you,” you started, in an almost seductive way. “Don’t you want to give it a try? I mean, haven’t you ever thought about it?” 

Eren sucked in a breath and his lips went with it, pinched between his teeth. He didn’t know what to do. Thoughts juggled around in his head; he couldn’t hold onto one without losing another. It didn’t help that the sight of you was incredibly distracting, either. He shut his eyes tight because he was pretty certain he was about to kiss you.

This was a terrible idea. Downright awful. But even so, he couldn’t say it was all that bad once he felt your hand on his chest, even if it made his heartbeat hammer. 

Eren opened his eyes to your face and nothing else. He took you in, from the top of your head to the very tip of your chin. Your hair was a bit out of place, as expected for three in the morning, but your eyes were as bright as ever. Something about them was alluring, though Eren couldn’t pin it. They grew larger and larger until they were out of focus. Closing in, your noses brushed, and Eren’s ‘yes’ died on his lips as he placed them on yours—an answer to both your questions. 

Losing his words between your lips, even as he asked, “Should we be doing this?” he couldn’t stop kissing you. 

You inched back but remained close enough for your breath to warm him when you asked, “Why not?” 

Eren knew you didn’t need him to break it down for you. You were Mikasa’s friend and his roommate. Someone he needed to keep the peace with, even if you were making it difficult. 

“Wouldn’t it make things weird?”

“I thought I already made things weird. And stuff,” you teased. He shot you an unamused glare, which you’d anticipated. “Whatever. You already pop a boner when you see me after a shower. Do you really think this is what will make things weird?” 

Heat scorched the tips of Eren’s ears. There was no way you knew about that. Unless you were looking for it, he supposed, but thinking about that made him more nervous. 

It was that damn robe of yours. The one you only wore once in a blue moon; the telltale sign laundry day was overdue. Eren had only seen you in it a handful of times, incidentally, when you’d pass by one another, but he could picture it easily. The frail piece of fabric hardly counted as a robe, bordering on see-through, clinging to your body as you’d leave the steamy bathroom, into the cool hallway—

You lightly smacked his arm. “I’m just messing with you.”

Eren deflated in relief, but the feeling didn’t last long because you were still between his hands, resting dangerously low on your waist. His senses drizzled from him much like a leaky faucet: drop by drop, until he wasn’t sure there was even any left. 

You batted your eyelashes up at him. “C’mon, you’re really going to make me get off myself?”

Now he was positive that any and all sense had completely drained from him. 

Eren swallowed hard. “Will this help you get over him? Because I’d really like to never see him again if I don’t have to.”

Yeah, that worked. That was how he could justify it. He was only helping you out. Nothing more. Then the problem would be fixed, and everything would go back to normal. Better, even, because now he wouldn’t have to deal with your ex-boyfriend anymore. 

“Mhm,” you murmured. Desire had been buzzing low in your stomach for the better half of the evening, leaving you fuzzy enough to agree to anything he said. Anything to keep the fire in you alive and burning. 

You went to kiss him again, but Eren dodged you with a small tick of his head.

“You just told me you liked this,” he said. “But now you’re willing to risk it? What if you wake up tomorrow and realize this was a mistake?”

He still struggled to understand you. He always struggled to understand you, even after living together for over a year, but this was next level. You had him utterly dumbstruck.

Let there be no misunderstanding: Eren wanted this. He was human, after all, just another twenty-something-year-old guy. Of course he wanted this. It was just that he was also very aware of the consequences. 

You touched his mouth with the tips of your two fingers and pressed down on his lips to shush him. You didn’t want words; you wanted incoherency. Purposeless and meaningless sounds and syllables. Groans pulled from the back of your throats. 

“If it’s a mistake, then let’s make it together.”

You invited him in with a peck at first. A taste. Then he pulled you back in to devour you whole. 

Eren kissed the same way he lived: passionately, intensely, maddeningly. He was better than your ex, which you didn’t expect. The thought of what else he could do better made your stomach flip.

His palm warmed your cheek as slender fingers wrapped around the back of your head. Like an anchor, it kept your dizzy self tethered to him. He smelled of sleep, and he smelled like him. The heady scent coiled around you. You inhaled as you kissed him, and when his mouth dipped to taste the delicate skin behind your ear, you buried your nose in his hair. You imagined your face shoved in his sheets, how they’d smell the same. You’d inhale it then, too, through gasps and an open mouth. 

You smoothed your hands higher up his chest, over his shoulders. Your nails gently scratched at Eren’s back, and even through his t-shirt, you set his nerves ablaze. 

The nagging part of his brain demanding he pump the brakes finally shut down, his entire body thrilled by your touch. It was entirely physical, fueled by carnal desire. Eren acted solely on what he wanted, and that was for your lips to stay exactly where they were. Instead of placing his hands against your shoulders to create some distance, he molded them around your hips. 

You clasped your hands around his larger ones and guided him to your ass. You squeezed down on them, encouraging him to fondle and feel you, and he took to it as if he’d already thought long about everywhere he’d like to grab. 

Mistake or not, Eren knew if he ended it now, the palms of his hands would feel hollow the second you left them. To stop you now would feel like abandoning a hearth in the winter.

You didn’t bother debating between bedrooms and made the decision easy by heading for the couch. If you were being honest, you had considered fucking on this couch before—not with Eren, obviously. The cushions were deep-set, roomier than most. Though it was evident you and Mikasa didn’t spend a fortune on it, at least it was firm enough not to give out beneath you. You’d respected your roommates enough to never give it a spin before, but with Eren, everything was shared. You could do it wherever you wanted. 

Eren lay you back on the couch and positioned himself above you. You wriggled below, attempting to make the space for him to fit between your legs, but it was quite the task in your jeans. You mumbled a ‘hold on’ against his mouth as you reached a hand for the button. Eren was eager to assist. Once your jeans were undone, he pulled them past your knees, freeing one leg so you could kick them off with the other. 

Settling between your thighs, Eren began kissing you again, and you could practically taste the desire on his tongue. His sweatpants did little to hide how hard, and heavy, he was against your leg. You imagined that if you slipped a hand below his waistband, you would find he wasn’t wearing any boxers.

Bunching his shirt in your first, you tugged at the hem. You lifted it out of the way so you could greedily glide your hand beneath. Tracing between the divots of his abdominals, you felt how they tensed as you trailed along. Once it was established that his shirt was no longer wanted, he sat back on his calves to tear it over his head. Yours came next, but it was a bit more complicated than his cotton tee.

“What the fuck,” Eren muttered once he realized your shirt wasn’t coming off. He fiddled with the strings tied around your neck, more frantic to get under the fabric with his fingers and tongue than he was concerned with being chivalrous.  “How did you even get this thing on?”

“Sasha helped,” you said, sounding a tad breathless. “It’s hers. Don’t rip it.”

“Did she have to tie it so many times?”

You arched your back as Eren slipped his hands beneath you, blindly reaching for any of the knots. The straps had been digging into your shoulders all night, marking your skin with soft indentations. With every slackened string came a sense of relief until, eventually, Eren had the shirt bunched around your midsection, your tits out. That was what mattered to him; he could figure out the rest later. 

He cupped your breast in his hand and brought his mouth to you. Your skin was supple and smooth under his impatient lips, balmy and warm from being pressed against him. With a pointed tongue, he flicked over your nipple until it perked. He sucked lightly until your breathing turned fluttery, then pulled off to thumb at it, mouthing over to your other nipple. 

Eren’s touch was resolute, weighed down by hunger as his hand mapped its way down your side. The sensation both unnerved and ignited you—the titillating vulnerability that was being with someone new; how he caressed you for the purpose of exploring, learning for himself what you liked best. 

Heat pooled in your stomach.  Lapped at you like the tides, though far less tranquil. Summery waters lured you in, kept you still and contented beneath Eren, kissing him, letting him kiss you everywhere. From your neck to the dip in the center of your collarbone, focusing the most on your breasts. He made his way down to your hipbones, where it tickled the most. He must have liked the sound you made, something of a giggle, because he grazed his teeth there, pulling the noise from you again. 

But as was certain, the tides would ebb. Tepid waves turned into sea swells. Deep in your stomach, that dull yet glowy ache begged you to do something about it, and fast. Your hips kneaded into him, inviting him to tear off your underwear and fuck you already, please. 

Eren hooked the band of your underwear with his finger, toyingly sliding it along your stomach. You twitched, frustratingly helpless to him. You bit back a strangled murmur urging him to get on with it. 

He sat back, eyes transfixed on where you wanted him most. And he knew just how badly the damp stain left on your underwear.

Eren pressed the pad of his thumb to it, his other fingers resting against your belly. He made soft circles against you, slow and testing. He observed every flick and flinch in your expression, his mouth slightly slackened in a smile that widened with each of your whimpers.

When he finally decided to take off your underwear, it revealed just how wet you were for him—your roommate. The back of your neck fevered when you noticed the lewd string connecting you to the soaked fabric. Eren snapped it with his thumb, and your eyes widened when you watched him bring it to his mouth.

He didn’t anticipate going down on you. You only wanted to get off, and so did he, and a quick fuck would achieve that. But as he played with your clit, your tiny moans had him craving to hear how you sounded when you were wrecked and sobbing out for more. And with the way you were spread and dripping below him—well, he didn’t want any of it to go to waste. Not with how sweet you tasted.

So without hesitation, Eren dove between your thighs, gripping you by the hips and pulling you against the heat of his mouth.

You threw your head back, and it smacked the armrest with a thud loud enough to catch Eren’s attention. He glanced up to check on you, and you found the sight of him inexplicably striking. You didn’t know why, but it was as if his piercing eyes had you pinned to the spot for him, like he had control despite being down between your legs. You went blind to anything but him and his eyes, dazzlingly green against the flush tinting his cheeks.

Once he realized you were (more than) all right, Eren pressed a kiss against your clit before swiping his tongue through you. You shivered as he licked you with broad, lazy strokes of his tongue, savoring you, the button tip of his nose nudging your clit.

“Oh, god,” you breathed sharply. Chin tucked to your chest, you let out a series of heavenly moans that were anything but holy. 

Eren parted you with two fingers. He added more pressure with his tongue as he swirled around your clit. You screwed your lips together rather than allow another cry to spill from you and let the neighbors learn how debauched you sounded when Eren made you come. When he closed his lips around your clit, sucking gently, you had no choice but to bite your knuckles. 

Admittedly, you had wondered before if he was actually talented at this, or if the girls on the other side of his bedroom wall were only trying to boost his ego. He’d answered that for you tonight, by delving his tongue inside you and fucking you with it. 

“Don’t stop,” you rushed to choke out. Your back curved up from the couch cushions. “I’m almost there.”

Closer. You needed him closer. 

You flung your hand to his head, raking your fingers through his hair. The useless tie slipped out as you further disheveled his bedhead. You pushed back the pieces that hid him from you, tugging as you angled him to the spot that made your thighs quiver. 

“Do that again,” Eren breathed, fanning the command over you. 

You did. He groaned. You felt the couch shift as he rutted into it.

Your stomach contracted, that last gasp hitching in your lungs. Whatever glorious thing he did with his tongue felt like fire licking up your spine. He brought you to the very brink of becoming undone until you felt like you were teetering it. 

Eren’s mouth slipped the more you wiggled and writhed. It didn’t matter how he held you, how deep his fingers dug into your thighs, he couldn’t keep you still. At this rate, you’d fall off the couch and undoubtedly take him along with you. 

Eren wrapped his hands around the backs of your knees, pinning them to your chest as a reminder to hold them out of his way. You held them there for him, whining when you felt his fingers on you in tandem with his tongue. He dragged them in and out of you, increasing his pace until he discovered the tempo that had you pulsing around him. He curled his knuckles just right, aiding his tongue in driving you to your release. 

“I’m coming—Fuck, I’m coming,” you whispered, ragged and hardly audible at the end. 

Eren sounded equally muffled, groaning as you started rolling your hips over his mouth. You heard him mumbling something about how fucking hot it was; you couldn’t make him out exactly, not with the way your heart thrummed loudly in your ears.

Unable to hold them up any longer, your legs fell to their sides, jittering ever so as you rode out the final pulses of your orgasm. 

As you worked to find your breath, Eren planted kisses against you, trailing up from your inner thighs until the two of you were face-to-face once more. 

“How was that?” he asked cheekily, grinning and everything.

You playfully pushed his face away from yours, but he continued acting smug about it as he went to kiss your neck. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him go for the band of his sweatpants. You stopped him with a hand against his arm. 

“Condom. Right.” Eren thought for a moment. “Open the side table drawer behind you.”

You frowned but reached a hand back to do so. Eren leaned over you uncomfortably, and you grumbled about it as he searched the drawer. After a second, you both fumbled around until you were sitting side by side. Him with a condom in hand, you wriggling to get your top off. 

As you threw the damn thing on the floor, you complained to Eren, “Please tell me you haven’t fucked someone on our couch before.”

He looked up from fiddling with the condom and gave a weary, “No.” You clearly didn’t believe him. He tutted his tongue. “Whatever. Like you haven’t.”

“I haven’t,” you insisted. 

“Well, you won’t be able to say that any longer.”

In one quick motion, he was above you once more, his hand supporting your lower back as he laid you down on the couch. You looped your arms around his neck and pulled yourself to him for a kiss. 

The intensity with which Eren wanted this, wanted you, surprised him. He’d spent the better half of his night feeling bitter toward you, grumbling about how you had barely spoken in eleven days. Hours ago, he was positive you didn’t want anything to do with him. Now, it was as if you never wanted to leave his arms, and he wasn’t sure he’d let you. 

The kiss was desperate, sucking tongues, skimming your teeth along them, tasting the desire on each other’s breaths. Only when he could no longer go another second without being inside you did Eren stop to catch your face. Between breaths, he asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Cheeks pinched between his fingers, your voice sounded squished and needy as you answered, “Yes.”

Eren’s jaw clenched at the pathetic syllable. He reached a hand down between your legs and touched you. He could play with you all night if you’d let him. So warm and wet and soft around his fingers—how much better you would feel around his cock. 

He rutted against your leg in a helpless search for friction.

“Then tell me what you want.”

Eren angled your jaw higher, brought his lips against your pulse point before kissing, sucking, and nipping at it. 

“Fuck,” you cursed on a delicious hiss. 

“Obviously.” Eren gave a breathy laugh. “Look at me.” You tried your best with his hand still cupping your face. “How do you want me to fuck you?”

You shook free of his hand, panting, “I want it rough.” You grabbed him by the shoulders and tugged him in close. Smoothing back his hair, you took his face between your hands. You wanted to see the look in his eyes when you told him, “Let me feel it.”

You spoke as if you had thought about this before. Eren couldn’t help but wonder if your ex did, in fact, have a reason to worry. But that was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, the only obstacle in his way was his sweatpants, which was quickly resolved by you both pawing to take them off. 

You found the half-opened condom, prepping it as Eren licked his palm once and fisted his cock a few times. A sight you’d call crass if it didn’t turn you on so much. Unbothered by your staring, he took the condom from your hand and rolled it on. 

Eren had you on your back, head laid on the armrest. You hitched one leg around his waist while the other dangled off the couch, giving Eren just enough room to nestle between.

He was hard against the crease of your thigh. With a hand wrapped around his base, he lined his cock up with you. The tip threatened to push inside, but he only glided between your folds in one slow, encompassing stroke. And just as slowly, an overwhelming warmth trickled down your spine. 

Eren continued toying with your clit. The condom’s lube paired with your wetness made it too easy for the head of his cock to slip between you, dipping inside, teasing you. Teeming with anticipation, you were already clenching around him so nicely, and he hadn’t even put more than the tip in. 

But he was just as eager, teasing himself just as much as he teased you. When Eren felt your feel dig into his lower back, wordlessly pleading with him to fuck you already, he succumbed. Not with a gentle tilt of his hips, but a plunge. 

Your wilted gasp became lost somewhere in your throat. You had to swallow it down before you could choke.

Caged between Eren’s arms, you were close enough to catch the slight tremble in his biceps once he was flush against you. His eyes squeezed shut, his lips parted in a shaky and, dare you say, beautiful sigh.

Eren stalled to adjust to you. You were sensitive, squeezing around the thick of him. Of course, you felt fucking amazing, but so much tighter when he split you with his cock and not just his fingers. He took his sweet time pulling out of you, losing himself little by little as he went, just to bury inside you generously again. 

He fucked you with smooth rolls of his hips. And god, it was absolutely effortless, sliding into you over and over, thanks to how wet you were. You scraped at the cushion as if it were a bedsheet, as if you could twist the taut fabric between your fingers to ground yourself. 

Once Eren discovered a pace that had you both breathing hard, he let his head drop against your shoulder. You took it as an opportunity to stifle your moans, mouthing and sucking at his neck, with hands flattened against his back like you wanted him to smother you. 

His skin tasted salty, and if he kissed you anywhere now, you were sure you’d taste the same. The heat between you grew more feverish by the second, leaving you grinding against each other in a sticky lust. 

When the blunt of your teeth dragged over his skin, you swore his groans tapered into low whimpers. You did it again, harsher this time, biting down as the lean muscle gave easily. It kept you quiet enough but pulled another sound from Eren. He muttered some curses you couldn’t make out, and you thought you might have hurt him if not for the way his steady thrusts turned into pounding. 

Already, you realized this position wasn’t going to work for long. Half of you had slipped from the couch, inch by inch with each of Eren’s thrusts. He’d hoist you back into place only for you—the pathetic, squirmy thing that you were—to nearly fall over the edge again. Then the process would repeat. 

Of course, you were the ones who made this more complicated than necessary, forgoing two bedrooms, full-sized beds and all, and chose to fuck on the couch because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves long enough to think ahead. 

Eren shifted upright. He closed his hands around your waist and yanked you closer to him, further down on his cock.

With a yelp, your head slipped from the armrest and bounced against the cushion. He took your wrists and pinned them above your head with a sturdy grasp. Your knees threatened to clamp around him, but he used his free hand to hold you open. 

“Keep ‘em spread for me,” he growled. “Wider.”

You liked how his voice sounded then, all raspy and weighed down by lust. You’d never heard it like that before, and it gave away just how turned on he was. 

You fucked like that for… You weren’t sure how long. Time was irrelevant after three a.m., right? One particularly good thrust had his elbows buckling. Unable to both hold himself up and continue his ruthless pace, he chose the third option and flipped you onto your stomach. 

You leaned on your elbows against the armrest, propping yourself up. His hand forced a nice bend in your back, then smoothed lower before taking a handful of your ass. He spread you indulgently, watching as his cock disappeared inside. 

Too weak to hold your head up, you let it rest against your forearms. “Fuck—you’re deep.”

When he bottomed out, the head of his cock brushed the spot that had you briefly seeing stars. 

Eren slowed at your dubious remark. You cleared things up with a demand of, “Keep going.”

He began ramming into you, and you were far too gone—far too focused on coming again to hold back any longer. The noises that poured from you were pornographic. Short and breathy bleats of ‘right there, right there’ as his cock sent sparks between your legs. 

Your fingers flexed and relaxed around nothing, nails piercing the meat of your palms fiercely enough to leave them tender. You didn’t know if you needed him harder or faster, and through a few choked gasps, you could only plead, “Fuck me.”

You emphasized it by rocking back on him. Eren’s hands found your hips and settled into the crease where they met your stomach. 

“Let me know if it’s too much.”

He was so casual that it almost irritated you. Whatever snippy comment you wanted to make, you kept it to yourself for the sake of getting off again. And you were glad you did, because you would have eaten your words not a second later.

Eren planted one foot on the floor, giving him extra support with every thrust. The first stole your breath; the second knocked it back into you. He took you from behind, sealing every rut of his hips by jerking you back onto his cock. In the tangled spot where too much became ‘yes, yes, yes,’ you became lost in the messy throes of pleasure. 

The sound of smacking skin was more severe than even your loudest of cries. Between, you could hear Eren’s grunts and huffs through his nose, restrained, but telling of just how riled up he was to be ravaging you like this. To have you take and take and take him.

You let your eyes close, only for a second, before they shot open again as you thrust over the armrest. Your chest lurched forward with the brutal snapping of his hips, and you extended a hand to the floor to brace yourself. And bent over that armrest, your ass so perfectly perched in the air for him, you let him have you. 

Eren didn’t let you hang there for long, just enough for the blood to rush to your head a bit. You were blinking and dizzy as he gracelessly swung you upright so you straddled his lap. You went with him, willingly, submissively. Happily. 

You sat on your knees as Eren grabbed hold of you by the waist to impale you on his cock. You gripped his biceps, throwing your head back with a moan as he took care of you, working you up and down over his length. 

He looked you squarely in the face, jaw tight and eyelids heavy with determined lust. You wanted to clear the hair from his face, but before you could, you were kissing again, roughly and carelessly, with him humming as you licked into his open mouth. 

When you pulled away for a breath, saliva connected his lips to yours. Eren’s eyes flitted down to your tits before returning to your face. “You look good like this,” he said, snapping the spit string with a flick of his chin.

“Like what?” you attempted to sass, but it came out warbled as he continued bouncing you in his lap. “Getting fucked by you?” 

“Exactly,” he panted through a half-grin. “Gonna think about this—you taking my cock so fucking good—every time I jerk off.”

That mental image did things to you. 

“Mm, fuck,” you murmured, long and sweet. You shoved a hand between your legs. “I’m close. Keep talking.”

If you’d seen it, if you hadn’t closed your eyes, you would have wanted to slap the smile off Eren’s face. He would have never suspected you’d be so into dirty talk.

“Oh, yeah? Gonna come again?” he cooed. You nodded dumbly. “Playing with yourself—whining on top of me, but you can’t get there on your own, huh? Need me to tell you to come, don’t you, pretty girl?”

The words were heavy on his breath and settled in the depths of your chest.

“Yes,” you sighed, rubbing at yourself desperately.

You sensed Eren enjoyed this—uttering such filth to you—as much as you did. Perhaps even more. His hips sputtered as they bucked into you, as if he wasn’t already rashly stuffing you to the hilt. You could already see the reddened, blotchy marks this would leave on his thighs. An unavoidable consequence of fucking like a couple of animals. 

“I wanna hear you say it.”

You started rolling your hips, babbling, “I need you to make me come. Please make me come.”

His cock jolted inside you, you could feel it. But he didn’t relent; he wanted to play with you for just a bit longer. 

“Tell me how pretty—ah—how pretty you’re going to look coming on my cock.”

You were right there. So close to coming that you would do just about anything—say anything—for him to keep going. It would spill from you in a drooly mess of course, but you’d say it. 

“So pretty—” A shiver reverberated through your whimper, your insides ignited. “I’ll look so pretty for you when I come.”

“Fuck yeah, you will.” 

He punctuated it with a firm slap on your ass, which you barely felt because you were coming, deliciously hard. 

You sounded pitchy and whiny, and you already knew Eren would relentlessly tease you for it in the future. You wished you could cover your mouth, but you were too overwhelmed to do anything but hold on tighter. Pleasure hit you in ripples, and you rode out every last one of them, carving your nails into Eren’s arms like you could wring out the last drops of your orgasm. 

“Goddamn,” Eren remarked, voice tight. “You needed that one, huh?”

He was right, but you wouldn’t have answered him even if you could.

When your shaky comedown finally subsided, it left you in a fog. You fell into him, hooking your chin on his shoulder. Soft, happy hums escaped you while you stayed there, satisfied, as Eren headed toward his own high.

He could have come two positions ago, but he finally allowed it to well up inside him. His hands abandoned your hips only for him to lock his arms around you, holding you there to fuck up into. 

Eren’s breathing picked up, his chest heaving against you. His thrusts turned erratic until he pumped into you one last time, deep, and kept you flush against him. It was your name on his tongue, the word he buried into your neck as he groaned from the back of his throat. 

You felt him throb inside you as he emptied into the condom. Gradually, he moved you over his length a few times to ease himself down. When he lifted you from his lap, his oversensitive cock slipped out from you, tearing a tiny hiss from him. After he let you go, you crumpled to the couch.

You stayed like that for a moment, staring at the ceiling, hands folded over your chest as you timed your racing heart. By the time it evened, Eren patted your leg and stood up. 

He went to the bathroom—you could tell by the fluorescent light seeping into the hallway. You listened to the faucet turn on, then searched for your underwear.

You’d already wrapped yourself in a blanket and snuggled into the couch corner by the time Eren returned. Your eyes lazily followed him as he pulled on his sweatpants and double-checked that you locked the door when you came home. 

Eren flicked the light off, but when he realized you weren’t following him to your respective bedrooms, he turned back to ask, “Aren’t you going to bed?”

You didn’t want to get up yet, whether it was because you were too sleepy, or because your body felt too doughy to walk—or because the thought of tomorrow now felt like a threat.

“No,” you said. You tugged the blanket to your nose and nuzzled into it. “Not yet.”

“Okay.” 

You figured that was that, but instead of leaving, Eren plopped down on the other side of the couch. He answered your question before you could even open your mouth.

“I’ll stay here then, too.”

“Why?” you asked. 

Eren thought it over, and though he couldn’t decide on an answer, he was just as content with, “I don’t know. Just want to.”

Everything was silver in the moonlight, barely sneaking in through cracks in the blinds. All the color had been smudged away like ink, except for Eren’s eyes. You made out the glint in them as he quoted you from earlier. 

“I thought you were so mad at me for waking you up.”

“I got over it,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, for some odd reason, I’m not so tired anymore.”

You laughed through your nose, and Eren tossed back a small smile in return.

He was still shirtless—not that you minded, there was no point in modesty now—with an arm sprawled along the back of the couch. His breaths were no longer heavy, neither of yours were, but you could tell he was still cooling off from your porn star sex because he was quick to tie his hair up again. Neater this time, with every strand up and off the nape of his neck.

His neck.

Eren noticed how your eyes widened, and it freaked him out. “What?”

You stifled a cackle. “That’s a nasty hickey you got there, Eren.”

His expression fell. “Shit.” He started prodding at his neck, looking down as if he could possibly see it. “Is it that bad?”

“A little.” You leaned in to poke the bruise, but he swatted you away. It only made you giggle as you asked, “Hey, can you put on our show? The one I like.”

“You don’t even know the name of it. How can you say you like it?”

“I know it! I just… can’t remember it right now,” you said, confidently and sheepishly, if that were even possible. 

Eren raised an eyebrow. “So I was just that good, huh?”

You snatched a pillow and launched it at his head. “I thought we said we weren’t going to make this weird!”

Eren broke out into the sort of laughter you only hear from someone every once in a while. One that made it feel like you could go back to the way things were—you know, before everything.

And they would, just as Eren hoped. Except now, he had a pretty good solution for the next time he pissed you off. 

✦ smut tags. threesome. spitroasting. oral (m&f receiving). kaveh is a munch n haitham lovesss getting his dick sucked #iktr. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. facials. creampie. sloppy seconds (but only like a peek) (bc i got lazy) (don't kill me).

The dry, dust-laden winds blowing through Caravan Ribbat did nothing to soothe the persistent throb behind your temples. Sitting on a wooden crate near the edge of the outpost, you pulled your shawl tighter around your shoulders, trying to shield yourself from the harsh desert glare. Your stomach let out a demanding growl—probably the fourth in the last hour—but you ignored it, gently waving away a mercenary from the Corps of Thirty who tried to offer you a meager bowl of grain.

“Give it to the family near the merchant stalls,” you said, your voice raspy from the dry air. “They have children with them. I can wait for the next ration cycle.”

She frowned. “That’s what you said yesterday.”

A quaint smile touched your lips. “Because someone else needs it more than I do.”

The mercenary grumbled something about cityfolk with foolish savior complexes before shuffling off to the next group over. You couldn’t even refute her words if you tried.

You were a professor of the Sumeru Akademiya, a woman of intellect and high station, yet out here, none of that mattered. When Lesser Lord Kusanali ordered the mass evacuation of Sumeru City and the rainforest due to the sudden, catastrophic corruption of Irminsul, you were swept away with the rest of the populace. But a decree of that gravity did not come without a price. The citizens were in a perpetual state of unrest, the Corps of Thirty was stretched thin, and there was the impending danger of food running out before the Dendro Archon could resolve the anomaly within the world tree.

Desperate to help make things easier for the people in your vicinity, you’d decline every single meal the mercenaries would offer. Instead, you strictly rationed a handful of Zaytun peaches you had managed to forage when your group first fled the borders of the rainforest. You even gave up your comfortable cot inside the main barracks to an elderly couple, casually lying to the medics that your so-called scholarly insomnia would keep you awake anyway.

However, the truth was much less complicated, and much more embarrassing to admit aloud. You couldn’t sleep because, for the first time in years, your lovers weren’t by your side.

Living under the same roof as Alhaitham and Kaveh meant navigating a constant storm of clashing ideals. One was cold, fiercely pragmatic and calculated; the other was a bleeding heart, an idealist who wore his emotions on his sleeve. They were two hotheaded forces of nature, and you were the grounding wire that kept the house from tearing itself apart.

But for all their bickering, they found common ground in you.

Your lovers doted on you to a fault. In fact, they had an unspoken, fiercely protective rule that you were never to be left alone. If Alhaitham was buried in his duties as a Scribe, Kaveh was by your side, making sure you ate your fill and dragooned you into walks through the Grand Bazaar. If Kaveh was away at a construction site, Alhaitham was there, silently reading on the divan next to you, his foot hooked over your ankle just to maintain contact.

Through the years, you had been utterly, unapologetically spoiled rotten by their devotion, and now, the abrupt separation was something you had a difficult time navigating.

Logically, you understood exactly why they weren’t here. While the rest of the city fled to the desert, Alhaitham and Kaveh had been summoned to the Temple of Silence, where the grand sages of the Akademiya and the rest of Sumeru’s protectors had reached a desperate conclusion. If they could not save Irminsul, they would have to anchor Teyvat’s leylines onto an entirely different yet ancient system known as the Aaru.

They needed Alhaitham’s flawless memory, since he had meticulously read and memorized its ancient manuals, and it required Kaveh’s unparalleled engineering genius to physically manipulate and oversee the volatile revival of such a massive machine. It was a task practically tailor-made for your lovers, but knowing that did not stop the bitter taste of helplessness in your mouth.

Your own area of expertise as a professor did not touch the esoteric mechanisms of King Deshret’s civilization. For all the accolades you had to your name, you were useless to them right now. You couldn’t offer to help; you would only be a distraction, a liability when the very existence of Sumeru itself was on the brink of collapse.

“Did you hear? Some merchants tried to head back toward Gandharva Ville,” a strained whisper passed between a group of evacuees nearby, snapping you out of your thoughts. “They say Lesser Lord Kusanali was just being overtly cautious. There’s nothing wrong with the city!”

“Quiet, you fool,” another snapped. “Do you really want to risk dying like that?”

Doubt, fear, and restlessness were spreading through Caravan Ribbat like wildfire. People were panicked, cooped up in an unfamiliar, harsh environment, whispering conspiracies amongst each other. You closed your eyes, tuning out their voices as you recalled some advice Kaveh once imparted for times when your mind was too loud.

Think of the last time you were happy. That’ll help you look forward to feeling it again. Help you feel a bit more grounded.

Breathing in the dry air, you let your mind drift back to a rare, miraculous weekend where all three of your schedules had perfectly aligned. No lectures, no administrative duties, and no demanding architectural clients.

Just the three of you, tucked inside the quiet sanctuary of your home.

The morning had started with a cleaning frenzy. Kaveh was aggressively sweeping the living room while loudly lecturing Alhaitham about leaving his reference books scattered like stepping stones across the floor. On the other hand, Alhaitham merely turned a page with a smirk he knew would rile the architect up. You had ended up confiscating Kaveh’s broom and Alhaitham’s book, pulling them both into the kitchen by their collars to channel that stubborn energy into making lunch.

Cooking together had been more of a controlled disaster. Kaveh was meticulously plating a salad like a work of art, while Alhaitham chopped meat with startling precision, occasionally leaning over to press a brief kiss to the crown of your head whenever you walked past him. There was a constant undercurrent of bickering—over how much spice to use, who was taking up too much counter space—but it was laced with a kind of domestic warmth that made your heart swell.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the heat had grown stifling, prompting Kaveh to draw a massive, steaming bath in the washroom. It was supposed to be a relaxing wind-down, but with the three of you crowded into the warm water, slick with fragrant oils, you should have known better.

You still remembered the feeling of Alhaitham’s strong hands gripping your hips from behind, his deep voice murmuring possessive praises into your ear. Kaveh had been right in front of you then, eyes dark with a fierce, burning adoration as he captured your mouth, lithe fingers tangling in your damp hair. The bath had quickly devolved into a blur of breathless sighs, and a slow, consuming passion that left all three of you completely undone. Your lovers had taken turns worshiping your body, their clashing personalities melting into a synchronized rhythm to ensure you felt entirely, completely consumed by them.

Afterward, utterly exhausted and thoroughly loved, they had carried your pliant body to the bed. The rest of the late afternoon was spent lounging in the tangled bedsheets and basking in each other’s warmth. Alhaitham’s heavy arm had been draped over your waist, his face buried in your neck, while Kaveh held your hand tightly against his chest until the sun dipped below the horizon.

Now that same sun was setting across the desert, painting the sky in shades of amber and bruised violet, but neither of your lovers were by your side. The warmth of the memory began to fizzle out, leaving you shivering as the temperature began its rapid nightly plunge. You squeezed your eyes shut against the stinging threat of tears, pulling your knees tightly against your chest on that lonely wooden crate.

Please be safe, you prayed.

Please, Haitham. Please, Kaveh.

Though your days had been a blur of endless dust and cold desert nights, the crisis did eventually break.

Thanks to the efforts of the Dendro Archon and the successfully awakened Aaru, the catastrophe had been rightfully dealt with. Irminsul burned for seven days and seven nights, but with the ancient precursor system fully operational and stabilizing the leylines, the evacuation order was finally lifted.

The journey back from the desert was a chaotic exodus. Displaced citizens flooded back through the gates of Sumeru City in an overwhelming sea of tears, laughter, and heavy baggage. Your eyes scanned the crowds, heart beating hummingbird-fast in your ribs. You hadn’t slept, you hadn’t properly eaten, and the sheer desperation of missing them had grown into a palpable ache in your chest, a terrifying certainty that you would simply wither away if you didn’t see them now.

But your lovers had a habit of always showing up exactly when you needed them most.

Striding past the entrance to Treasures Street, looking just as exhausted and road-weary as the day they left, were the two people you’ve wanted to see more than anyone in the world.

A choked sob left your throat. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t even care about your status as a respected member of the Akedemiya faculty, or the dozens of eyes that might be watching. You simply ran.

“Haitham! Kaveh!”

Alhaitham’s eyes snapped toward the sound of your voice, widening in rare surprise just an instant before your body collided with his. You practically leaped into his arms, your hands locking around his neck as your face buried into the crook of his shoulder. He caught you instantly, his powerful arms wrapping around your lower back to hoist you up, anchoring you against his chest with a sudden, fierce possessiveness that nearly cracked your ribs.

The tears you had held back in the desert finally ruining his dark shirt. “You’re back... you’re actually back,” you wept, your whole body trembling with sheer, unadulterated relief.

“I’ve got you. We’re here,” Alhaitham murmured into your hair, his voice rough with an uncharacteristic edge of emotion. He held you so tight there wasn’t a breath of air between you.

“Oh, by the Archons, look at you!” Kaveh’s voice broke into a frantic, tearful panic right beside you. His hands immediately found your face, your shoulders, his lithe fingers trembling as he took in your disheveled appearance. He noticed the slight hollows of your cheeks, the faint dark circles under your eyes. “What happened? You look like a mess! I was going completely out of my mind thinking about you out there all alone!”

Despite his lecturing tone, Kaveh was crying too, his eyes red-rimmed as he leaned in to press his forehead against yours, his hands cupping your jawline as if to ensure you weren’t a mirage.

Alhaitham let out a soft rumble of a laugh—a sound so rare and incredibly tender it made your heart ache. He slowly slid you down his body until your feet touched the cobblestone, though he kept his arms securely locked around your waist, refusing to let you go even an inch.

Leaning down, Alhaitham caught your chin. He gently tilted your face up, using his thumb to brush away the hot tears streaming down your face. With a gentleness saved exclusively for you, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, before finally capturing your lips in a deep, reassuring kiss that tasted of home and shared survival.

When he finally pulled back, a breathtakingly genuine smile graced his handsome features.

“We’re home, prana,” Alhaitham whispered as Kaveh wrapped his arms around both of you from the side, burying his face in your neck with a shuddering sigh as the latter added:

“And we are never, ever leaving you behind again.”

Your home had never felt as sacred as it did now.

The moment the heavy timber door clicked shut behind you, locking out the noise of a recovering Sumeru City, the frantic energy of the streets finally evaporated. Your first order of business was to clean all the muck and grime you all have accumulated in the desert.

The bath your lovers drew was a long, unhurried affair. It was meant to be a practical cleansing but it quickly became an intimate confessional. Crowded together in the rising steam as the scent of fresh padisarah oil filled the room, you each let out all the anecdotes of the past few weeks.

You told them about the more stubborn cityfolk who went against Lesser Lord Kusanali’s orders, how they eventually succumbed to psychosis and turned against each other. But for some reason, Kaveh was more interested in your scant diet of Zaytun peaches and how you’d barely slept a wink all those weeks apart.

He scolded you with tears in his eyes, his soapy hands gently scrubbing your back while he rambled about his own panic while trying to manipulate the volatile mechanisms of the Aaru. Even Alhaitham, typically so guarded with his words, quietly confessed how he had been vividly replaying every possible scenario of you in danger all while he deciphered King Deshret’s contraptions.

“You two have such active imaginations,” you giggled as you swiped a clump of soap suds onto Kaveh’s nose. “We all got back in one piece, didn’t we?”

Kaveh huffed as he rinsed it off. “Don’t you be smart with us, prana. We all know you were probably missing us to death while we were gone.”

“Agreed,” Alhaitham simpered as he did to you what you just did to Kaveh, delighting in the scowl you shot at him as you wiped away a bubbly mustache. “You’re so spoiled, you can’t even sleep without us anymore. What would your students think of you, professor?”

You stuck your tongue out. “And whose fault is that?”

Half-expecting him to bite back with another sharp quip like he always did, you braced yourself for the incoming banter. But instead, your silver-haired lover simply drew closer to you in the massive tub, pressing his warm lips to your forehead as Kaveh shook his head in amusement.

“None but ours,” Alhaitham murmured with a grin.

By the time the three of you finally crept into the master bedroom, the moon was high, casting a soft, silver glow over the sheets. The mattress dipped heavily under their combined weight as they brought you down between them. There was an overwhelming tenderness to the way they approached your body now—a stark contrast to the fierce passion of the bath weeks prior. Though they wouldn’t breathe a word of it, you knew your lovers were desperate to make up for lost time and completely spoil you back to health.

“Your mind’s wandering again, prana,” Kaveh whispered. He braced his weight on his forearms, his long blonde hair brushing against your cheeks as he began to rain soft, feather-light kisses along your jawline. “Are you upset with us?”

“So quick to coddle her,” Alhaitham’s deep voice vibrated against your back. He was stretched out behind you, his broad chest pressed flush against your spine while one of his thick, heavy thighs securely pinned yours down. His large hand slid beneath the small of your back, pulling your hips back against him as he leaned down to press his lips to the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. “Our prana is a resilient little thing. She can handle a few weeks without us. In fact, some time apart would just make her want us even more. You know how needy she gets.”

“Haitham,” you mewled, breath hitching as Alhaitham’s fingers traced a slow, deliberate path up your inner thigh, his touch incredibly warm and calloused against your bare skin. “You leave me to fend for myself for weeks and you’re still in the mood to tease me?”

“Well,” he started, mouthing at your collarbones. “You always sound so much sweeter after some… delayed gratification. Wouldn’t you agree, Kaveh?”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right,” the blond sighed. Unlike earlier, he didn’t offer you a comforting look; instead, his hands slid to your waist, anchoring you down onto Alhaitham’s crotch. “You really shouldn’t have given him an opening, prana. You know how he gets.”

You gasped as Alhaitham began to mouth at your neck. “Hm. She’s already shaking so much and we haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Stop,” you groaned.

A peal of laughter left Kaveh’s lips as he leaned closer to whisper, “Now, now. Did you get so used to living without us that you’ve forgotten who calls the shots?”

Damn it… When it came to sex, Kaveh’s tenderheartedness would often become eclipsed by his penchant for teasing you, perfectly aligning with Alhaitham’s love for tearing down your defenses against your will.

“Let’s remind her then,” Alhaitham hummed. “All those weeks in the desert, and all you can do is whine. How about we see you beg instead.”

You shot him a petulant look. “But—”

Before you could get another word out, Kaveh captured your mouth with his, silencing any further protests with a deep, consuming kiss. His tongue parted your lips with a soft groan, his hands sliding down to cup your breasts, thumbs rhythmically sweeping over your nipples until they hardened under his touch. You arched into him almost instinctively as your fingers tangled in his damp hair, anchoring him closer as his chest pressed flat against yours.

Behind you, Alhaitham’s hand had found the aching center of your desire. He was agonizingly gentle as his long fingers parted your folds and you could barely form a single thought when he slid one into your slick channel. A breathless cry escaped your lips into Kaveh’s mouth as your hips bucked against Alhaitham’s palm.

“So eager for us, are you?” Kaveh murmured, breaking the kiss to look down at you, his eyes dark with a heady mixture of lust and profound adoration. He leaned down to suckle at your throat, his breath hot against your skin. “Were you this lonely the whole time, prana? Tell us.”

For a split second, you wanted to be stubborn and pretend you had handled the separation perfectly fine. But as Alhaitham’s fingers stroked your weeping heat and Kaveh’s lips burned against your jaw, you realized you were just too tired of being strong. Right now, you just wanted to surrender to the overwhelming luxury of being theirs. You wanted them to take total control, to make you come so many times that the agonizing memory of your time apart would be entirely washed away.

“I was,” you whispered, the promise of pleasure finally overriding your pride. “I couldn't even sleep without you both. Please... don’t make me wait anymore.”

The raw honesty of your admission hung heavily in the dim room, prompting your lovers to share a brief look over your body. It was clear neither of them had expected you to yield so quickly, but the realization only fueled their desire.

“Alright then,” Alhaitham acquiesced, his taking on that possessive tone that always made your core ache. “Maybe you do deserve some respite.”

The sudden quickening of Alhaitham’s fingers threw your senses into an absolute tailspin. With a second finger sliding deep inside your weeping cunt, he began a relentless pace that targeted your sweet spot with excruciating precision. You could only throw your head back against his shoulder, a broken sob catching in your throat as he leaned up to suckle lovebites into the tender skin right where your shoulder sloped.

In front of you, Kaveh was utterly transfixed by the desperate, needy sounds leaving your lips. His hands slid up to eagerly fondle your breasts, squeezing and molding the soft flesh. Leaning down, he enveloped one aching tip, plucking at it with his lips and sucking on your nipple with a desperation that had you arching. He was uncharacteristically feral. His teeth grazing your sensitive skin, leaving blooming bruises across your chest and making you cry out into the quiet room.

“Would you look at that,” Kaveh panted against your damp skin, his lips slick with a mixture of his saliva and your sweat. “Wrecked for us after just a few touches. You’re dripping all over Haitham's hand, prana.”

“Please,” you choked out, your hips bucking frantically against Alhaitham’s palm as the unbearable heat in your navel coiled into a tight, screaming peak. “I'm going to come... let me come—”

But before the impending climax could wash over you, your lovers suddenly moved in perfect, unspoken synchronization. Alhaitham abruptly slipped his fingers from your soaking core, and Kaveh pulled away, cutting off the blinding pleasure so fast you let out a pathetic whine of protest.

Before you could even process the loss, their large hands were firmly gripping your hips and waist, flipping you over and shifting your pliant, trembling body until you were forced onto your hands and knees in the center of the bed.

The cold air of the bedroom hit your thoroughly marked skin, making you shiver, but the isolation lasted for only a heartbeat. Alhaitham shifted to kneel directly in front of you, aquamarine eyes half-lidded as he grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. Meanwhile the mattress dipped as Kaveh settled between your spread thighs, his hot breath fanning across your drenched, aching folds.

“K-Kaveh?” you whimpered, your fingers knotting into the damp sheets.

He didn’t offer any explanation, nor did he wait for permission. Kaveh gripped your ass with both hands, spreading you open, and immediately buried his face between your thighs. His hot tongue dragged slowly up your dripping slit before pushing inside you, letting your arousal drip straight onto his tongue. A muffled groan escaped him, the vibration shooting straight through your core as he continued to devour you.

You arched off the bed, a loud cry ripping from your throat, but Alhaitham’s heavy hand instantly came down over your mouth, muffling the sound into his palm.

“Shh, prana,” Alhaitham hummed near your ear as he removed his hand. He looked down at the sight of Kaveh ruthlessly eating you out, a dark glint shining in his gaze. “Did you think about his mouth while you were all alone?”

You couldn’t even dignify yourself with a response. Kaveh was relentless, his fingers digging into your glutes to hold you steady while his tongue swirled and lapped at you, tongue laving at your clit until your hips bucked uncontrollably against his face.

The onslaught on your senses made you dizzy with pleasure. Seeking something, anything to anchor you, your hands scrambled blindly across the sheets until they found Alhaitham’s hips. Your fingers curled into the thick, fluffy white towel still securely knotted around his waist. He hadn’t even bothered to remove it after the bath, too focused on ensuring you were tended to first.

As Kaveh’s tongue dipped deep inside you, mimicking a hard, rhythmic thrust, a wave of desperate heat pooled in your lower belly. Your face pressed right against the heavy bulge straining against the white cloth of Alhaitham’s towel. The scent of him—musk, cedar, and the faint trace of padisarah oil—filled your nostrils.

“Haitham,” you whimpered, frantically nuzzling against the heavy length hidden beneath the cloth, as your mouth brushed over the fabric. “Please... Let me have a taste.”

Alhaitham considered you for a moment, possibly thinking of all the ways he’s going to hold this over your head later. But at the end of the day, he was just a man—a man that could never say no to you when you beg so prettily to have his cock in your mouth.

“Needy little thing,” he muttered, though the hitch in his breath gave away his waning self-control. “But I suppose it’s no surprise that you’re demanding both of us at once after weeks of nothing.”

“Please,” you begged, tears of pure pleasure and desperation pricking your eyes. “I missed you so much. I need you.”

Your desperate pleading broke whatever restraint he had left. With a swift tug, Alhaitham unknotted the towel, tossing it carelessly to the floor. His thick length sprang free, heavy and fully hard, the flushed tip already glistening with pearlescent white. A neat, silver bush of hair crowned the base of his cock, making you look up at him with eager, half-lidded eyes.

When you were certain he wasn’t going to impede your ministrations, your trembling hands gripped his muscular thighs for balance as you leaned forward and took him into your mouth.

A guttural noise tore from Alhaitham’s chest as the warmth of your mouth enveloped him. He locked his fingers into your hair, not to push, but to hold himself steady as you sucked him off with a fierce, unrefined eagerness. Spit already dripped down your chin as you swirled your tongue around the leaking tip, savoring the salty taste of him before pushing forward again, forcing more of his thick shaft into your throat.

Behind you, Kaveh groaned loudly into your dripping core, clearly aroused by the obscene sounds you were making while choking on Alhaitham’s cock. It prompted him to drive his tongue faster, his lithe fingers sliding into your opening to stretch you, matching your own frantic rhythm. You were completely caught in the middle of their devotion, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

As the pressure continued to build in your lower belly, your hips took on a desperate, rhythmic motion of their own, slowly riding Kaveh’s face and fingers. The closer you got to your climax, the more your composure shattered, your shameless moans muffled around Alhaitham’s thick cock. This prompted him to gather your hair securely in his hand as he looked at the way your throat stretched, swallowing him down as far as you could take him.

But just as your vision began to blur and you were on the very precipice of coming all over Kaveh’s tongue, the blond suddenly stopped. He pulled away completely, leaving your soaking core exposed to the cool air of the room.

A pathetic, high-pitched whine left your throat, even more-so than the last. Frustrated and desperate for release, you instinctively started to pull your mouth away from Alhaitham’s cock, wanting to look for Kaveh and demand he fix this—but the Scribe’s grip on your hair tightened, holding your head firmly and dominantly steady in place.

“Ah, ah,” Alhaitham murmured. He tilted your head up with his heavy length still in your mouth, forcing you to look up at him. “You asked for this, didn’t you? Begged for it even. Finish what you started.”

The absolute authority in his tone was a lightning strike straight to your core. It made you so dizzy that your thighs trembled, and you hardly even noticed Kaveh shifting behind you.

The blond was already pushing your knees further apart on the bed. His warm body leaned over you from behind, pressing flush against your ass as his hard cock slid between your soaked folds. He dragged the fat head up and down your dripping slit, coating every inch of his length with your slick arousal, teasing your entrance with shallow little nudges before pulling back again.

“What ever do we do with her, Haitham?” Kaveh chuckled breathlessly along the nape of your neck, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he lined himself up with your entrance.

The friction of Kaveh’s thick length rubbing against your dripping folds had you whimpering almost pathetically, but the teasing didn’t last long. With a sudden, forceful thrust, Kaveh buried his entire length into you from behind. Your eyes went wide, a muffled scream tearing from your lungs as you were stretched entirely full. You were caught in the middle of them, fucked on both ends, filled to the absolute brim by the two lovers who had never, ever left you wanting.

Kaveh didn’t give you a second to adjust. He immediately began to rut behind you, his hands anchoring your hips with a bruising grip as he hit you with deep, grinding thrusts. He moved with a desperate, animalistic rhythm, driving into you so deeply that your hips barely parted from his groin for more than a fraction of a second before he slammed back home. The heat of him was overwhelming, and with every heavy push, you were shoved further up the bed, your mouth sliding deeper onto Alhaitham’s cock.

He let out a sharp hiss—fingers tightening in your hair the moment he felt your throat swallow around him. You’ve done this so many times in so many ways, you already knew how easily Alhaitham could crumble from pleasure if you gave it exactly the way he liked. However, before you could even gloat about that little victory, he momentarily slipped his cock out of your mouth, the sudden absence making you gasp for air, your wet lips parted and slick with his pre.

Alhaitham leaned down over your face as you struggled to draw in a full breath. He pried your lips open with his thumb, stretching your mouth open as he stared directly into your dazed, blown-out eyes, and deliberately dribbled his thick spit straight onto your tongue. The sheer, degrading intimacy of it made your cunt spasm around Kaveh’s length still pounding into you.

“Good girl,” Alhaitham murmured with primal satisfaction before he fed you his cock once more, using his own saliva to slick your lips as he pushed back into your throat.

You couldn’t tell where you ended and they began anymore. Alhaitham dominated your mouth, his hips bucking in a controlled counter-rhythm to Kaveh’s frantic pace behind you. On the other hand, Kaveh was completely lost to pleasure as he slammed into your cunt with frantic, desperate strokes.

“H-Hah— shit,” Kaveh groaned, his voice a broken whisper as your dripping walls clenched around his thick cock.

He leaned down, pressing his sweat-slicked chest flat against your back, his blonde hair falling around your face like a curtain as he peppered your neck with harsh, needy kisses. He bit down on the sensitive junction of your shoulder, marking you possessively, over and over, claiming the skin that had been untouched for weeks.

“You’re so tight, prana... so wet for us,” Kaveh wheezed into your ear, his words a filthy, breathless contrast to the desperate devotion in his voice. “Look how perfectly you take both of us. Our beautiful, spoiled girl... We’re never leaving you again.”

You could only whine and moan around Alhaitham’s length, your body entirely surrendered to the synchronized assault of their love. Kaveh’s grinding thrusts were hitting your sweet spot with each pass, while Alhaitham’s thumb stroked your cheek, keeping you anchored through the dizzying pleasure. Every inch of you was covered in them—their sweat, their spit, their scent, and their overwhelming, suffocating adoration.

You were completely ruined for anyone else, and exactly where you belonged.

The continuous, punishing rhythm of Kaveh’s hips finally began to stutter. He let out a shuddering sigh against the nape of your neck, his fingers digging bruisingly into your hip bones as his deep grinding thrusts lost their frantic pace. He was right on the edge, his entire body stiffening against your back as he prepared to release weeks of built-up anxiety and longing inside you.

Sensing his climax, you desperately needed to feel him fill you completely. You instinctively pulled your mouth back, parting from Alhaitham’s length. This time, there were no consequences; Alhaitham willingly let his grip on your hair slacken, his eyes hooded as he watched you collapse forward against his pelvis.

“Inside me, please... Kaveh, please...” you panted breathlessly. Your face was pressed right against the musky brush of hair trailing down Alhaitham’s navel, and though you’d been talking to Kaveh, your eyes were locked on your silver-haired lover’s thick cock, still glistening with your saliva and a sheen of his own arousal.

Behind you, Kaveh let out a breathless chuckle, the sound vibrating hot against your wet skin. He shifted his grip, one hand wrapping around your waist to anchor you tightly against his groin while his other hand slid down between your thighs, the pads of his fingers catching on your puffy clit.

“Can’t even focus on which one you want at a time,” Kaveh muttered, the words dripping with a heady mix of lust and amusement as his thumb began to relentlessly stroke your hyper-sensitive nub. “A tenured professor of the Akademiya... reduced to being so completely cock-hungry for us. You really are a spoiled little thing, aren’t you?”

His humiliating praise, paired with the rapid, ruthless friction of his thumb on your clit, was the final strike. Overstimulated to the point of delirium, your climax tore through you with a violent force that completely fractured your body.

The sheer intensity of your moans and the vice grip your fluttering cunt had on his length broke what little restraint Kaveh had left. All the while, Alhaitham relished in the show before him—his two lovers losing themselves in each other as you all drowned in shared bliss. He let out a ragged groan, his hand sliding from your hair down to the back of your neck, thumb pressing firmly against your jaw to hold your face up even as your limbs went completely pliant.

As the waves of your orgasm left you entirely limp and breathless on the mattress, Kaveh gave one final thrust, burying himself to the hilt. He threw his head back with a choked groan, his body trembling violently as he came deep inside you, flooding your poor hole with his hot, thick release.

You were entirely undone, floating in a daze of post-orgasmic bliss as Kaveh’s cum began to drip out from where you’re still connected.

But Alhaitham wasn’t finished with you yet.

The steady hand on your neck kept your face tilted up toward him, forcing your glazed eyes to track his movements. With his free hand, Alhaitham began to furiously stoke himself right above you, breath hitching as he stared down at your ruined, beautiful state. Within seconds, he let out a long-winded moan of his own, painting your flushed cheeks, your lips, and your chin in warm, white ropes of his spent desire.

The heavy silence of the bedroom returned, filled only by the synchronized, ragged breathing of the three of you. Kaveh collapsed heavily onto your back, burying his face in your hair with a soft, contented groan, while Alhaitham leaned down, using his unsoiled thumb to gently smear his warmth across your lips before giving you a tender yet lingering kiss.

All three of you collapsed together in a tangled, sweaty heap on the large bed. Kaveh pulled out slowly, groaning at the sight of his cum already starting to leak from your spent cunt, before he flopped down on your left. Alhaitham settled on your right, pulling you securely against his chest so he could start cleaning your face with the towel he’d discarded earlier. For a long moment, the only sounds were your shared heavy breathing and the occasional soft kiss pressed to your skin.

“You two…” you mumbled, “are actually insane. I thought I was going to pass out.”

Kaveh laughed softly, nuzzling into your neck with a blissed-out smile. “We were a little intense tonight, huh?”

“A little?” You shot him a playful glare, though it lost most of its effect with how limp and satisfied you looked. “I’m going to be sore for days. You couldn’t even let me come once before tag-teaming me like that.”

Alhaitham hummed in amusement, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your hip. “You begged so sweetly for both of us. We were simply being generous.”

You huffed, but the sound came out far too content to be convincing. “I missed you idiots… but next time I’m tying you both down first.”

Kaveh grinned against your shoulder. “We’d like to see you try, professor.”

Exhaustion quickly began to pull at your eyelids. The warmth of their bodies, the familiar scent of them surrounding you, and the lingering aftershocks of pleasure made it so easy to drift off. Your breathing started to slow, body melting deeper into the mattress between them.

Until a soft, wet sound reached your ears.

A low, involuntary moan slipped from your lips as you felt two of Kaveh’s fingers push back inside your sensitive cunt, slowly fucking his own cum deeper into you with lazy strokes.

“Kaveh… what are you doing…?” you whined.

He smiled sweetly down at you, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head. “Just lubing you up for Haitham, sweetheart.”

You blinked, still dazed. “But… he already came…”

Kaveh’s grin turned into a cheeky, knowing smirk as he withdrew his fingers. “Oh, you sweet thing. You know how much of a deviant our Scribe is. He loves sloppy seconds. I’m just being a thoughtful lover and making sure you’re nice and wet for him.”

Your face burned. Before you could even form a proper protest, you felt the familiar shape of Alhaitham’s cock, grinding slowly against your ass, sliding through the messy mix of Kaveh’s cum and your own arousal.

“Haitham…” you breathed, half in disbelief, half in renewed want.

He nipped sharply at your earlobe, his breath hot and teasing against your ear as he rubbed the thick head of his cock up and down your drenched folds, coating himself thoroughly.

“You didn’t think we were done with you yet, did you, prana?” he murmured.

Despite how exhausted your body was, a fresh wave of heat bloomed in your stomach. As Alhaitham continued teasing your entrance with his slowly hardening cock, you couldn’t help but think that there was truly nowhere else in the world you’d rather be than right here—safe, spoiled, and completely claimed between your two lovers.

✦ afterword. i would've added more and written alhaitham's sloppy seconds BUT WRITING THREESOMES IS HARD MYAN. next time maybe. who knows! thankies so kindly to my vana mewnbuns for letting me talk her ear off abt this fic,,, my shayla forever ㅠㅠ also didn't rlly proofread this as much bc i could not be assed to do that anymore after slaving away w writing this for the past few days ASJHJDHASF PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!

Moment of Morning Dew

The chandeliers of Dewlight Pavilion glimmered like suspended constellations, their fractured light spilling across polished marble in soft gold and pale violet. Even in the Dreamscape—where beauty was manufactured to perfection—this place still carried a certain weight; a stillness that pressed gently against one’s lungs. Amidst the grandeur of the Pavilion, you stood a step behind Maeven Ellis’s absence—your adoptive mother—her authority as Iris Family Head lingered in your posture in the way attendants lowered their gaze as you passed.

Third to the Head of the Iris Family, yet today, you felt oddly like a child again; waiting in a suffocating office as you were summoned by the Dreammaster himself, you weren’t aware of the reason why he had called upon your name but judging from your senses, you weren’t going to like it.

Across the room, not far off from where you stood, was Sunday, he was situated beneath a stained glass window, its colours painted him in shifting hues of amber, indigo and rose where it bounced off his gleaming halo, depicting him as some kind of reverend being. When you had entered the Dreammaster’s office, you were greeted by the Oak Family Head—a mere formality, a simple nod of his head. No words, no nothing.

It had been a while since you’ve last stood in his presence like this, most of the time you’d see him around Penacony or during grand Family banquets but that was about it, nothing more than a hollow distance between the two of you.

Minutes of deafening silence passed before the doors to the office opened once again and in came Mr. Gopher Wood, it wasn’t his original form, merely someone else’s body—presumably someone from the Oak Family—he had possessed.

“Come closer.” He had instructed before taking a seat behind the wooden desk, his tone was calm yet it held unparalleled authority—as a child, it would always send chills down your spine; countless Family gatherings where he spoke to your mother in such a tone. The Dreammaster was a kind man yet something about him unsettled you.

Without another word, you stepped forward just short of his desk, heels echoing faintly against the marble floors. Sunday mirrored your actions, standing a few centimetres away from you—it was enough to get a whiff of his scent.

Vanilla and musk, something sweet yet pierced one’s senses. You tried to ignore the way his shoulder almost brushed your own and how his figure towered you.

“I’m sure you’re both well aware of rumours that are circulating around the Dreamscape,” Mr. Gopher Wood began, hands folded neatly atop the desk.

You sucked in a small breath, you’d heard them too. Whispers that drifted through velvet corridors, murmured between the cracks of reality that there was in-fighting between The Family lineages which ultimately questioned the Dreamscape’s stability. For a space designed to eliminate unfavourable factors, it wasn’t hard for negativity such as baseless rumours to start circulating within its walls.

Dangerous words which challenged The Family.

But . . as for summoning you and Sunday, you were clueless. Why did the Dreammaster specifically choose you? You weren’t skeptic about Sunday as he held authority over the Oak Family, in other words, he was Mr. Gopher Wood’s successor but as for you . . it didn’t quite make sense.

Neither of you answered, instead, you both waited for the Dreammaster to speak once more. 

“Rumours are . . fragile things, if they are left unchecked, they fracture trust. And in Penacony, trust is the foundation upon which dreams stand.”

The Dreammaster continued, “Thus, we shall give Penacony something stronger than baseless rumours—a symbol of eternal harmony.” Something inside your stomach tightened, you didn’t like the tone in his sentence, as if it was final and had no room for if’s or but’s; an idea that was already concrete before it came into existence.

“You two will be married.” Mr. Gopher Wood stated as if discussing something as simple as a change in décor.

Silence fell.

If the previous silence felt suffocating, this one was much, much worse. It felt heavier and pressed onto your skin tighter as though it was determined to live inside your bones. For a moment, all you could hear was the faint hum of the warm chandeliers—even its glimmering lights felt hot against your skin, a searing burn.

Was the Dreammaster serious? An arranged marriage between you and Sunday? In your eyes, marriage weighed more than a coin being tossed in a bucket, it symbolised unity between two individuals who loved and cherished one another, not a façade to combat baseless rumours, and especially not a lie.

A million emotions surged through you; the thought of eternal unity with Sunday was something you had always dreamed of ever since you were a child. The first time you laid eyes upon him was when you were both naïve and wide-eyed, and something inside your young heart stirred when he laughed at your jokes or tugged at your hands with his, running away from panicked attendants assigned to look after you.

Back then, your adoptive mother would bring you over to the old Oak Family manor for play dates with Sunday and his younger twin sister—a young trio built on mischief and pure wander. The three of you were inseparable until the day duties and career came into talk, where days filled with innocent laughter turned into monotonous lessons that prepared one for the burden of authority.

Yes, you weren’t going to deny it, you had feelings for Sunday that stemmed a long while back but being married to him under a contract that screamed nothing but business was not what younger you would’ve wanted, no, she had dreamed of a blossoming, genuine love.

There was also unease for the role entrusted upon you; how would being in a false marriage affect your naïve heart? You were well aware Sunday didn’t mirror your feelings at all but having him pretend and play the part of a husband was beyond dangerous. It was ironic to think that this marriage was akin to Penacony’s Dreamscape itself—a dream becoming a reality.

But . . was it your dream to be married off to Sunday in the name of falsehood?

With the Charmony Festival inching closer, it wasn’t a surprise the Dreammaster was becoming desperate for a solution.

You laughed. A humourless sound that conveyed the disbelief in your heart; you were raised to be a respectful, refined woman especially in the presence of esteemed Elders but not when said Elder proposed such a bizarre idea. This was marriage the Dreammaster was talking about, a life long commitment—a life long role that was anything but real.

“Pardon my brazenness, Mr. Gopher Wood but . . are you serious?”

The Dreammaster didn’t so much as blink, “Completely.”

At his affirmative reply, you slowly turned your head to the side towards Sunday; he remained expressionless, the glimmer in his citrine eyes hiding more than just pure emotions. His posture remained straight, one hand tucked behind his back just as he had been taught by the Oak Family Elders. Whether the idea affected him or not, Sunday didn’t let on, not even a twitch of his brow nor a rustle of his ivory wings.

“A union between the Oak and Iris Family presented as one of harmony—of perfection. A model pair for Penaconians to look up to, and once the people see The Family’s harmony upon supporting this marriage, rumours will fade.” Mr. Gopher Wood continued, which turned your attention back to him.

The Dreammaster had a point, with two significant figures in the five lineages getting married, Penaconians would witness The Family working together to ensure it happens flawlessly—the Oak Family would be tasked with organization, the Alfalfa Family with financing, the Bloodhound Family with security, the Iris Family with reception entertainment, and the Nightingale Family with decorations. All in perfect harmony.

“And what it needs to see,” You murmured quietly. “Is a lie?” You knew it was only a matter of time before the Dreammaster exhausted his patience and snapped. He had always been fond of you but knew to draw the line at disrespect.

His gaze remained fixated on you, it wasn’t unkind but it was firm, unwilling to back down from the challenge you had presented; he noticed the way your wings rustled imperceptibly, how it curled inwards as if to display silent retaliation.

“The Dreamscape needs stability.”

That wasn’t the answer you were looking for.

Slowly, you exhaled then fully turned toward Sunday, his golden halo glimmered brighter than ever, “Sun—Mr. Sunday.” He looked at you, really looked at you, and for a split second—just a flicker—you saw it. Something from years ago when he used to grin at you over ice cream and toys.

“Are you okay with this?” The question came out softer than you’d expected, laced with vulnerability. Sunday held your gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then, parted his lips to speak, 

“As Oak Family Head, it is my duty to ensure that everything within the Dreamscape remains in order.”

“. . That’s not what I asked.”

Were you surprised, though? You’ve always known Sunday was a selfless individual, especially when it came to Robin but you wished—more than anything—that he’d be a bit more selfish; to do something that he truly wanted and not because he was bound by duty and expectations.

“This arrangement fulfills its purpose.” As expected, Sunday spoke like this matter was nothing more than another responsibility to be managed, throwing out the fact that he was to be married off to someone he didn’t love.

You nodded, “Right.” A small, hollow sound. And once more, you were hit with the harsh reality that this Sunday wouldn’t run away the same way he did during the lessons he found boring, no, instead this Sunday would build the cage himself if it meant keeping everything intact and under his control.

Hesitantly, you looked away first, directing your attention back to the Dreammaster—any second longer looking at those citrine eyes was far too dangerous for your heart, “Apologies, Mr. Gopher Wood but I need time. This isn’t . . exactly a small decision.”

But did you even have the luxury to make a choice? Nonetheless, Mr. Gopher Wood inclined his head slightly and indulged you in your request, “You will have what time is necessary but do understand, the longer uncertainty lingers, the more damage rumours may cause.”

A gentle threat wrapped in silk.

You nodded calmly, though your thoughts were nowhere nearly as composed. Marriage. To Sunday. It was as though the stars were playing a nasty elaborate prank on you but as twisted as it was, a part of you—one buried within the depths of your being—was happy.

Could you blame yourself though? You’ve pined for Sunday for eons because maybe, just maybe, he would finally look at you the same way you’ve looked at him: under the light of romance.

“Then, I shall take my leave. Mr. Gopher Wood. Mr. Sunday.” After necessary formalities, you turned to leave, light from the chandeliers above stretching your meek shadow across the marble floor.

“Maeven Ellis’s daughter.”

You paused. It was the Dreammaster’s voice once again, “You are an actress, are you not?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you spoke up, “Yes.”

“Then think of this as your most important role.”

At his words, your lips pressed into a thin line. That was easier said than done. A performance, of course, everything in Penacony was. You didn’t bother responding, instead, you kept walking, heels echoing with each careful step, out of the Dreammaster’s office and away from Sunday.

Moment of Golden Hour

Despite the name of Golden Hour, sunlight didn’t spill like liquid gold in the Moment but the Dreamscape was as beautiful as ever. After the impromptu meeting with the Dreammaster and Sunday, you found yourself sitting on an iron bench at Aideen Park—a quiet corner devoid of commotion to collect your thoughts. In the distance, laughter echoed and soft music the band performed.

On your lap rested an important document for an upcoming film, pages and pages of a bound script to read and remember but for once, you didn’t feel like reading. Not when your mind wandered off to the encounter a few system hours back, you couldn’t help but replay Mr. Gopher Woods words—that you’d be married to Sunday.

Amidst the serenity of the Moment, your ears perked up at the sound of familiar footsteps coming closer—calculated and sharp—but you didn’t bother looking up.

“I thought you might be here.”

The owner of the calm voice was no other than Sunday, you were more than certain of it because only he had the power to make your heart stutter. You didn’t let on—didn’t show an ounce of emotion just as you’ve been doing for the past years you’ve known him. Slowly, you exhaled, gaze still fixed on the inked pages atop your lap.

“The Oak Family Head seeking an audience with me? What a lucky woman I am.” You chuckled humourlessly. Sunday didn’t reply and you almost felt bad for greeting him with such a sour state, so you spoke up again, “. . Are you surprised? You know my hiding spots better than anyone.”

Growing up, Sunday learned that whenever you had something in mind, you always seemed to seek out quiet spots to unwind and one of them happened to be in Aideen Park—a tucked little area away from everyone while still able to bask in the Moment’s luxury.

“You never changed them.” Sunday whispered in a soft tone, if you hadn’t caught it, you’d think he was merely murmuring to himself. There was something in his voice you didn’t quite recognize, one that made you curl your fingers tighter around the pages.

“Is there . . something you need, Oak Family Head?”

As much as he appreciated authority, Sunday never did like it when you addressed him with formality but he’d rather sever his halo than admit it to your face. After all, it was merely a silly thought. He let your question linger in the air for a while, letting the background noise of the park fill the space between the two of you, then, he spoke,

“I came for your answer.” Straight to it. Of course he did.

A quiet, humourless laugh slipped past your lips, you finally turned to look at him. The golden lights of Aideen Park engulfed his pale blue strands, it softened the edges of his otherwise composed expression but it didn’t make him easier to read. You couldn’t lie, Sunday looked absolutely breathtaking and it pained your heart at how effortless it was for him; his citrine gaze shone the same way his halo did, bright and blinding.

“My answer? That’s what this is to you? And here I thought you came to seek me out as a—I don’t know, maybe a friend?”

It was microscopic but you saw the way Sunday’s shoulders sagged and how the wings behind his ears lowered but you weren’t about to be moved by something minute; what the Dreammaster had asked of you—and Sunday—wasn’t something simple, it asked for your soul, to play a never ending role built on lies.

“It’s a matter that requires resolution.” He replied evenly. Your chest tightened, “Do you know what you’re asking of me, Sunday?” The question came out sharper than intended but you didn’t take it back and for the first time, something flickered across his face, maybe it was surprise, maybe it was discomfort, you didn’t bother deciphering.

“I am aware of the implications—” “No.” You cut him, shaking your head as you stood, the script on your lap swiftly falling onto the ground, long forgotten. “No, you’re aware of the politics of it—the outcome.”

Frustration rose within your body, a scowl forming on your face as you stepped forward. Sunday had never seen such a look painted on your face, he had only ever seen pleasant expressions from you, especially directed towards him.

“You’re asking me to stand beside you in front of all of Penacony and smile like it means something. To let them believe—” Your voice caught slightly but pushed through it, “—to let them believe this is real.”

“That’s the role we’ve been assigned.” He said quietly. “Assigned,” You echoed, almost incredulous. “Is that all this is to you? Another duty? Another piece of the Dreamscape you have to keep polished and intact?”

“If you think I have the luxury to treat it as anything else then you are sorely mistaken.”

“Then, let me ask you one thing, Oak Family Head. Did you have a hand at choosing your . . partner?” With Sunday willing to fulfill such a role, you were certain Mr. Gopher Wood had already told him about the proposal prior to the meeting earlier, and you were sure the latter had at least given him freedom to choose.

Sunday nodded, “Yes.”

You let out a shaky breath, your scowl turning into something much softer. Sadness. “But why? Why me, Sunday? Don’t—Don’t you know how cruel that is? To ask for something that big?” You looked away, unable to see the way regret briefly shadowed his face. His chest tightened at your pitiful form, he didn’t mean to put you in a troubled spot but he wasn’t entirely innocent either.

Marriage meant the two of you were bound to each other for eternity with divorce was absolutely out of the table, especially for prominent figures like you and Sunday; it made sense for a planet that worshipped the Aeon of Harmony.

“. . Because I assumed you wouldn’t be scared doing it with me, at least—doing it by my side.”

Oh, your foolish, foolish heart shouldn’t have skipped a beat at his reply but it did and it angered you even more that it did because despite it all, you still loved him. And maybe you were willing to comply but a greater part of you was stubborn.

“Do not try to mold me with flattery, Sunday. What about us, hm? We’re not symbols—not the ‘model pair’ the Dreammaster deems us to be. We’re people with lives of our own! I cannot dictate for you but I know marriage is something I want to be organic. To fall in love with a man who cherishes and loves me back.”

Words hung heavy in the air, fragile and bare. For a split second, you were convinced he was going to take a step closer and say something that wasn’t measured or wrapped in a silken ribbon called duty. And maybe some twisted part of you wished Sunday would have told you that he’d at least try to love you—to reassure and tell you that your heart has a home in his hands but he didn’t. 

Instead, he said: “We are what Penacony needs us to be.”

Silence settled once more, you didn’t answer this time as you were reminded that you and Sunday held very different dreams. You closed your eyes to steady yourself briefly, and when you opened them again, your expression had shifted, something more resigned, “. . Fine.”

Sunday’s ears perked, wings spreading ever so slightly as if to convey shock. You straightened slightly, smoothing the invisible wrinkles from your clothes—a habit you’ve picked up before you stepped in front of rolling cameras.

There was no use arguing with Sunday or pushing your ideals to him, he was stubborn and he’d do anything to ensure the stability of the Dreamscape, even if it meant carrying the weight of falsehood his whole life. Besides, arguing like this in public was sure to garner unwanted attention, it was only a matter of time before someone heard of the conversation.

“If this is the role entrusted to me then I’ll play it. I’ll accept the marriage.” The words felt foreign on your tongue—too final but you didn’t waver. 

Sunday carefully studied you as if to search for something beneath your composure, “Are you certain?”

You laughed humourlessly, “Do you think I have a choice? But if you want me to be honest, no. But I’ll do it anyway.” For you, you wanted to add. You bent down to swiftly pick up your script, dusting it off lightly, and when you returned his gaze, your expression had settled into something practiced.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it believable.” The corners of your lips tugged upwards despite its heaviness.

“I . . never doubted that. You are one of Penacony’s greatest actresses.” Sunday intended to lighten the mood, to flatter your skills and forget about the tension in the air but for some reason, his words hurt more than anything else. You put too much faith in me, Sunday. You thought.

Sure, acting came easily to you but not when you had to play the eternal role of a loving wife for a man you’ve pined for. For years. It was a twisted game that tested the borders between a dream and reality, and you could only hope to build a cage around your naïve heart.

Moment of Morning Dew

Wedding preparations commenced shortly after meeting with the Dreammaster once more to confirm your stance on his idea; everything was a blur, from colleagues and close friends congratulating you on your engagement (even Robin who sent a congratulatory letter despite being aware of everything) to exclusive interview appearances—sometimes accompanied by Sunday—to talk about every detail.

Of course, since the engagement came out of the blue, it was met with a lot of speculation, and rightfully so as not a single soul had seen you and Sunday together outside Family gatherings but even in banquets, neither you nor him would really converse.

But, those speculations were easily dismissed by letting interviewers know that you hid your relationship with him for personal reasons; it wasn’t foreign for celebrities to do such things. Though, the only truth you uttered during those interviews was probably the fact that you loved Sunday.

There was no denying that, and for Penaconians, that alone was believable. Aside from planned appearances on interviews, you hadn’t seen much of your . .  fiancé but maybe it was for the best, the more he remained at a distance behind closed doors, the more your naïve heart wouldn’t mistake the relationship for something real.

Silk draped from the ceiling in soft, cascading layers, mirrors framed in gold caged you in, it reflected you in every angle, each one just slightly more flattering than the last. Assistants moved like whispers—adjusting and smoothing but never loud enough to cause unnecessary chaos.

The Dewlight Pavilion served many purposes for The Family—the main being a place where Heads discussed important matters but you didn’t expect it to host a fitting room specifically curated for wedding preparations; it only made sense with how busy your schedule was, not to mention how you just finished a table-read two system hours ago which meant the script was still swimming in your mind and so was exhaustion.

“Hold still, please.”

A quiet exhale escaped through your nose, resisting the urge to fidget as a pair of hands adjusted the fall of fabric at your waist; you just wanted to go home. “I am still.” You murmured.

“Still-er.” The head assistant replied gently.

Tired, you bit back a comment, there was no point arguing with anyone. It was evening and you wanted this over and done with, the more you cooperated, the faster this whole thing would be finished.

The gown itself was unsurprisingly perfect. White—of course—but not the stark kind, it shimmered faintly like it had been spun from light filtered through clouds. Intricate golden embroidery traced along the bodice, delicate and intentional. 

“There. All done! How does it feel, miss?”

The head assistant’s dainty voice faded into as you looked at the mirror, it was the first time you stared at your reflection since standing inside this fitting room yet strangely enough, an actress stared right back—the ‘you’ all of Penacony knew, the one in front of flashing lights and rolling cameras.

“You’re truly beautiful, miss!” Another one of the assistants gasped, her reddened face tucked between the hearts of her palms.

“. . Thank you. The dress feels . . fine, it’s not too heavy.” The staff dismissed the absentmindedness laced in your voice, mistaking it for pure awe. You didn’t know what to feel seeing yourself in a wedding dress because even with an exquisite ring wrapped around your finger, you still couldn’t believe you were getting married.

“Turn slightly, please.” The head assistant instructed and you did. The skirt fanned out like a blooming flower, its silken fabric faintly glimmering beneath the lights.

“Perfect.” She breathed out.

Perfect. The word followed you everywhere these days—about your relationship with Sunday, about the engagement ring, and now about the dress. You were about to give her a practised reply, the same one you’ve been giving everyone else—a ‘thank you’ and a smile that reached your eyes—until the atmosphere shifted.

The curtains behind you weren't drawn yet but you knew who was beyond them and you were certain the attendants knew as well from the way their backs straightened, immediately stepping away from the raised platform you stood upon.

“Pardon my intrusion, may I step inside?” 

Sunday’s voice filled the silence. As if on cue, heat blanketed your cheeks, heart racing at the thought of him seeing you in a wedding dress. Your gaze landed on the head assistant through the reflection, giving her a slight nod to which she immediately understood and swiftly drew the curtains back.

As Sunday stepped inside, both attendants silently bowed their heads and headed out, closing the curtains behind them to give privacy. Alone in a small space with him with too many mirrors; you swallowed thickly and smoothed down the skirt of the dress, “I wasn’t aware of your visit.” You murmured, tucking a loose strand behind your ear.

“I was told preparations were underway. I wanted to ensure there were no complications.” 

Of course.

“Well?” You started, head tilted slightly. “You came all this way, you should at least give your evaluation.” Your hands found its way atop your clothed hip. It was half a joke, half a challenge yet you awaited for his words.

Sunday didn’t reply immediately, instead, his gaze settled on you—steady and unreadable. You observed how his amber eyes lingered on the bodice of your dress a second or two longer before moving on to the bloomed skirt. Beneath his wandering gaze, something in your chest tightened, cheeks burning deeper, it almost felt like a thousand needles prickling your skin.

“. . It suits you.” He said at last.

You blinked, brows knitting together, “That’s it?”

“You expected more?”

“I expected something. I’m about to be married off to the Oak Family Head and become the half of Penacony’s model pair, surely that warrants something far better than ‘it suits you’.”

“You always did prefer honest reponses.” That caught you off guard. Sunday wasn’t one to reminisce about the past—at least not with you—but he has done it twice now, once back at Aideen Park and once today.

You didn’t reply nor did you acknowledge how his gaze softened slightly, “Well, if you want honesty then . . you look exquisite and the dress harmonizes with your beauty perfectly,” The end of his sentence ended awkwardly, as if he wanted to speak more but ultimately decided to hold back.

You were well aware there was no romance behind his compliment, it was merely an honest, straightforward one but you couldn’t help suck in a breath. You looked away, clearing your throat lightly, once again smoothing a none existent crease on the dress, “That’s the goal, isn’t it? To make me look presentable for the big day.”

Sunday hummed absentmindedly causing you to risk a glance at him once more, his eyes were still on you but this time he wasn’t assessing, he was admiring.

“How is it then? Convincing enough for you, Mr. Sunday?”

His gaze finally drew upwards ‘til it met your own, a strange glint flickered in his honeyed eyes, “. . Too convincing.”

Whatever that meant

Before you could respond, the head assistant spoke just beyond the drawn curtains, effectively breaking the . . moment between you and Sunday. Akin to a deer caught in headlights, you slightly stepped away from the latter; funnily enough, there was already a great distance between the two of you but somehow you just felt like distancing yourself further.

“Miss, we need to finalize the veil fitting.”

You cleared your throat, trying to burn down Sunday’s weighted stare, “Of course.”

“. . I should take my leave then.” His gaze lingered on your face but you didn’t dare meet it. With that, he let out a soft sigh, turning around to part the curtains and leave but before he could even take one step, you called out his name, tone laced with . . desperation?

“S-Sunday . . ?” You weren’t sure why you did it or what possessed you to even utter his name yet somehow, you felt it was necessary to do so; though, you didn’t know what to say because now, Sunday looked over his shoulder—citrine gaze, full of hidden curiosity, just above his ivory wing—waiting for what was to come next.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” What did that even mean? Why did you say that? You were certain Sunday was just as confused about your reply as you were but he didn’t seem to let on, in fact, without so much of a hitch, he tilted his head, gave a little smile—one that had you biting the inside of your cheek—and replied, “Of course.”

Then, without another word, he gave both attendants a nod of acknowledgement before heading for the door.

Moment of Blue Hour

After two strenuous weeks of running around the Dreamscape—whether it be for work or for wedding preparations—the big day finally came, and in all honesty, you weren’t sure what to feel. The morning felt like a huge blur, attendants rushed in and out of the bridal suite to tend to you, and several loved ones visited in between, it served as a gentle reminder that you weren’t entirely alone. At least not today.

The first to check on you was Robin, she had peeked into your suite with a warm smile on her face, though, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. You didn’t blame her, she knew of the situation and you assumed she also didn’t know how to feel for you—happiness seemed too cruel but sadness would also dampen the unsteady mood that lingered within the atmosphere.

The least she could leave you with was encouragement and a few good words about her brother: “I know you know my older brother well enough so I won’t say much but . . he will never hurt you. You and I both know he wants the best for everyone, and that includes you.”

The next two who visited were Ms. Maeven Ellis and Siobhan who stayed a little longer with you, especially the latter—out of the three, Lady Siobhan was probably the only one who understood your emotions the most as she, too, was pressured with countless expectations within the Iris Family as the second to the Head.

Being an adoptive older sister, she always looked out for you, most of them during young days where Ms. Maeven Ellis would push you to take acting classes. Though, despite the former’s efforts of letting you choose your own path, you did eventually end up in the artistic industry just like everyone else in the Iris Family.

The Eventide was as romantic as ever, docked in the Sea of Dreams where its tranquil waters lulled guests with awe. Warm lights illuminated the expansive boat, it bathed everything in a gentle gleam of gold; its cathedral-like structure effortlessly blended reverence and spectacle, a quiet yet bold message that The Family did not hold back on this grand event. 

Rows upon rows of guests filled the hall, a sea of fine silk and polished smiles—though, however warm they may be, all you could feel were the weight of their stares, a sense of anticipation that settled over your shoulders, it seemed to be heavier than the gown you wore.

The cameras also didn’t help, the subtle click of the shutter every second or so, they hovered discreetly and blended within the crowd but you knew they were there, capturing every movement and emotion etched into your face.

And as you stood at the altar facing Sunday, your hands resting atop his bigger ones, you trembled slightly—a barely noticeable crack on the surface of the glass. He must have noticed because within the next second, his hands squeezed your own, a gentle action to ground you, to serve as a reminder that only you and him mattered in this moment—not the officiant, not the guests, just you and him. A soft, shaky breath escaped your crimson-stained lips, you mirrored Sunday’s action. A small thank you.

The officiant’s voice carried smoothly through the air, unwavering as he spoke of harmony and unity, of two individuals converging into one for the sake of something greater; you heard his words but they felt far away, almost muffled and dream-like. Your focus drifted over to the feeling of Sunday’s hands in yours, to the warmth of it, to the quiet reminder that despite everything, this moment was real

Well, at least parts of it were but you wanted to believe that softness in Sunday’s gaze as he watched you walk down the aisle earlier was genuine—that it wasn’t a mask he prepared and wore for this ceremony but you’d be lying to yourself. To you, Sunday was the hardest book to decipher, the more you read in between lines and paragraphs, the more you’d doubt your thoughts.

“. . And by the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you—”

Your breath caught and the room seemed to still.

“—Husband and wife.” The officiant paused for a split second, letting the words linger in the air and manifest into existence. Then, he continued,

“You may now kiss the bride.”

As his words echoed in your mind, your gaze slowly lifted to Sunday’s and for a moment, you both hesitated. He was the first to move, his head inclined towards you—eyes fluttering shut—slowly leaning in, his hands rested on either side of your waist; the quiet hum of the Dreamscape faded into the background as the space between your faces narrowed with each long second.

This was a part of the performance, you both knew that but it wasn’t something that was rehearsed, and even though you were an actress yourself—where kissing co-actors came naturally—this felt entirely different.

You closed your eyes, heart stuttering, the traitorous beast banging against the cold bars of your chest; for a second, you wondered if Sunday could hear it but upon noticing the unreadable expression on his face, you assumed he was focused on how to approach the kiss everyone anticipated—the subtle pause in his breath was enough to tell you it wasn’t easy for him either.

And just as Sunday was about to seal the kiss, he gracefully lifted a wing to obscure the view, leaving everyone unaware of the small distance between you and him; it was deliberate yet to everyone else, the veil of feathers seemed natural given the way your faces were angled slightly. The perfect illusion of an elegant kiss.

“Forgive me, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable in front of everyone. This . . should suffice, we do not have to go all the way.” Sunday whispered dangerously close, your knees almost buckled at the feel of his hot breath ghosting over your lips.

Your hands, which rested atop his clothed chest, curled slightly, nails digging into the hearts of your palms, “Right . .” You whispered back.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that Sunday only thought of respecting your boundaries—as a matter of fact, you should even be grateful that he didn’t force you and yet something in your chest dipped in disappointment. Albeit small and quiet, it was significant enough to feel it within your ribcage, the low murmur of your heart.

Of course. Sunday would never force something like that and you respected him for it! But . . you couldn’t help think that he simply didn’t want to kiss you. As childish as it sounded, you were convinced.

You bit the insides of your cheeks, lids tightly pressed against your eyes, you didn’t dare take a small peak. Not when his face was barely centimetres away from your own and absolutely not when his intoxicating scent invaded your senses. The wings behind your ears rustled briefly, brushing against Sunday’s.

Slowly, the moment passed; each camera click and quiet gasps from the guests enveloped the enchanting scene at the altar. A few seconds later, his wing lowered—as graceful as ever—once again revealing you both to everyone else, and it was like the entire room breathed out a long sigh.

The guests responded instantly, applause swelled throughout the Eventide, everyone wore a smile on their faces, completely convinced by what they’d witnessed.

You pulled away first, immediately turning to the crowd with the most genuine smile you could muster, trying to mirror everyone else’s joyous expression.

Among the guests, you caught Robin’s gaze who sat on the front row pew—she wore a smile like everyone else but her cerulean eyes gleamed with apology; you assumed she felt partly responsible for her brother’s decision regarding the marriage but you never blamed her, if there was anyone to blame it would be the Dreammaster but you’d never dare utter it into existence. After all, you were just pawns in his Dreamscape.

Funnily enough, as the person who decided you and Sunday to be married, he didn’t attend today, you’ve heard whispers within the Dewlight Pavilion that the Dreammaster wasn’t feeling too well these days, not that you cared about the man. You may have grew up with him around but that doesn't mean you’ve warmed up to him; he still carried the same unsettling aura he had when you were a kid.

After the long awaited ceremony, everyone settled into the reception where an abundance of congratulatory greetings and hugs were given to you and Sunday; most of them came from close co-actors who you’ve worked with on previous films, they also took the time to converse with him and didn’t hold back with such questions.

“Okay, this might be a bit silly to ask but who fell in love first?” Cassian—a co-actor you’ve grown close with—asked with pure curiosity, his hazelnut gaze darted between the two of you, he nursed a half empty glass of SoulGlad, swishing the golden liquid within as he stood before the table you and Sunday sat on.

You briefly looked over to Sunday who already had his eyes on you. “I did,” You started, setting your gaze back to Cassian and pairing it with a small smile.

“This is actually the first time I’m admitting this but . . I’ve had a crush on him ever since we were kids so I’m assuming it was me who fell in love first—I mean, who wouldn’t, right? He was kind and caring, and from then on, my young heart knew who it wanted.”

With every word that rolled from your tongue, heat that blanketed your cheeks intensified. Obviously, everything you stated was the truth but saying it aloud in front of him was rather embarrassing even if he didn’t have a clue how real it was.

A confession veiled as a lie.

You could feel Sunday’s honeyed gaze boring into the side of your face but you kept your eyes on Cassian who animatedly cooed in response, “Well, aren’t you a lucky one, Mr. Sunday!” The brunette inclined his glass towards the two of you as if making a toast.

Sunday chuckled softly in response, uttering a small ‘Indeed, I am.’ You ignored the stutter in your chest.

“Do you guys have a destination for the honeymoon? There are so many worlds to choose from!”

You let out a cough, the heat from your cheeks spreading down the column of your neck and onto your chest where it bloomed, “A-Ah, well! Sunday and I decided that we’ll have to push back our honeymoon for a while. With the Charmony Festival approaching in less than a few months, he’d be busy with preparation and as for my schedule, it’s packed with shoots—you should know.”

Cassian enthusiastically nodded, “That’s right! We’ve an upcoming film together—I can’t believe I forgot! Well, I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time, the two of you should enjoy your first few moments as husband and wife. Haha! I’ll get going then. Oh and I’ll see you on set!” With that, the brunette excused himself and headed for the open bar.

“I wasn’t aware Mr. Cassian is going to play the lead role along with you.” Sunday curiously stated. You shrugged, “I wasn’t aware you were interested in my matters but yes, we will be in a romance film together. Why? Interested in seeing it in the theatres once it comes out, Mr. Sunday?”

He let out a humourless laugh, “I liked your little story earlier. The one you told Mr. Cassian.”

Little story. Well, little did he know how true it all was.

This was supposed to be a happy day but with the amount of times Sunday had unknowingly shattered your naïve heart into more and more pieces today alone, you weren’t certain how long you’d last in this foolish charade, and you couldn’t blame him at all—not that you had anyone else to blame but your feelings.

“What can I say? I’ve been told I’m amazing when it comes to improvising.” You didn’t meet his gaze, instead, your eyes scanned around the room, pretending to skim and scan, feigning interest in the uninteresting.

Well, at least the guests looked like they were having more fun than you—they laughed over clinked glasses and exquisite Penaconian dishes, a genuine expression of joy painted on their alcohol tinted faces.

Sunday left the conversation at that and tended to his own glass, briefly swirling the liquid inside before taking a calculated sip; the golden beverage blanketed his tastebuds, its familiar sweetness putting his mind at ease. He wasn’t certain of the reason but he felt somewhat odd upon hearing your reply, the feeling irked him down to the bone.

Clearly, it was an uncharted territory and Sunday despised places he couldn’t control—the unknown and the unpredictable. He hated the thought of not knowing how to unpack his emotions.

But the real question was: Why did he feel this way? and what was the root of it? Maybe it was stress getting to him, he rarely got decent sleep and his daily schedule was always packed. Yeah, definitely stress.

Old Oak Family Manor (Reality)

A few tiring system hours later, you and Sunday were finally surrounded by pure silence—no prying eyes, no endless questions, just silence. The two of you found yourselves inside the old Oak Family manor, a separate building from the Hotel that stood in Reality but remained just as grand and expansive.

“So . . you’re the only one who lives here now? What about the Dreammaster?”

The manor stood like a quiet declaration of wealth—just as you’ve always remembered it to be—it gleamed like polished marble kissed by dawn, its towering windows framed with intricate carvings and draped with silken curtains.

Everything felt all too familiar and with every turn of your head, an old, tucked memory resurfaced like a bubble floating upwards—the curved staircase you and the twins would sit on to tell ghost stories, the expansive field outside where you’d spend afternoons running around, and . . Sunday’s room where he and Robin would ‘perform’ concerts .

The very room both of you stood in.

You had spent enough time in the old Oak Family manor to know that his room barely changed—sure, his toys were replaced with endless stacks of books and documents, and his bed no longer housed soft plushes but apart from those, everything was the same.

“Ever since I was appointed Head, this manor was entrusted to me. I am not aware of Mr. Gopher Wood’s whereabouts nor do I question it.”

“You don’t have company?” “I have attendants.”

You let out a snort which earned a raised brow from him, “That’s different, Sunday. The attendants work here.” The manor used to be so lively, now it felt completely empty and a little cold; you couldn’t help but wonder if Sunday ever felt lonely, especially with a building so vast—was he haunted by the echoes of his lone footsteps? Did he ever avoid eating in the dining room because he’d be the only one sitting at the long table?

“Nevermind, disregard my last question. Though, I do have another one, are you sure you’re comfortable with me sleeping here? I mean, there are tons of other rooms in this manor.” Naturally, since you were now married to Sunday, it only made sense to reside together in the Oak Family manor, however, you didn’t expect to actually share a room with him.

“You’re my wife, are you not? If anything, it’d only rouse suspicions from attendants about us sleeping in different rooms,”

He had a point.

 “And just because our marriage stands on falsehoods does not mean I won’t uphold my role as your husband. I’m sure you’re aware I’m not that kind of man.” Sunday continued. Again, he was right, he certainly wasn’t the type of person to slack off just because he was out of the spotlight and you didn’t know whether that was a blessing or a curse.

“I suggest you wash up first, it has been a long day, after all, and your clothes are in the closet.” Oh, that’s right, you almost forgot about your belongings, thanks to the help of the Bloodhound Family, all of them were transported to the manor safe and sound; you assumed the attendants must have unpacked it all for you.

You absentmindedly nodded, trying to process the fact that you were now bound not only to Sunday but the manor as well for the rest of your life—that you would come home every single night and sleep beside him.

A foreign feeling washed over your body, the feeling that would grow from the depths of your core in response to a drastic change in your life. It wasn’t unsettling nor uncomfortable per se but it was extremely hard to ignore.

Bathing beneath the warm water took a lot longer than you’d intended, the feel of it against your bare skin soothed you so much that it almost felt like someone had wrapped you in a cozy hug, one that you’ve been deprived of these days.

Now, sitting on your side of the bed—the left side—in your silken nightie, you carefully combed your freshly dried hair, a thousand thoughts coursing through your mind and none of them were coherent.

Sure, what you were wearing was designed entirely for sleeping but Xipe above! You felt absolutely exposed; the way its flimsy straps slid down your shoulders every other minute didn’t help at all.

Even the way Sunday’s honeyed eyes widened when you walked out of the bathroom clearly meant he was taken aback by the brazenness of your attire—or the lack of it. But could you really blame yourself? Prior to tonight, you lived alone and that meant you could wear whatever you wanted to bed with no one to judge.

Setting the comb on the night stand beside you, you quickly tucked yourself beneath the ivory duvet upon hearing the shower turn off; if you hid yourself inside the bed, it would make you feel less exposed to Sunday, you pulled on the duvet ‘til it covered all the way up to the base of your neck.

Yeah, this seemed about right.

He stepped out of the bathroom, clad in a pair of matching pyjamas, hair and wings damp, it took him only about three steps before he stopped in his tracks, gaze fixated on you.

“Is the temperature too cold for your liking . . ?” Sunday stood there dumbfounded at the silly sight before him—you, on the bed with just your head and neck sticking out from under the duvet.

“No, it’s perfectly fine. Why do you ask?” You shook your head, blinking up at him. He replied with a small sigh, “If this is about your . . attire then rest assured I do not mind but if you feel uncomfortable, I can offer you a top to wear over.” He immediately looked away, feigning a cough.

His reply may have been nonchalant but you caught how the tips of his ears flushed a deep pink hue; obviously he, too, was as embarrassed as you were, only he was better at hiding it.

Once again, you shook your head, “I don’t want to bother you with such trivial matters. Besides, I’ll be going to sleep soon.”

Sunday wordlessly nodded before turning off the lights and proceeding to walk towards the shared bed—towards you.

As darkness filled the entire room in an instant, you swallowed thickly, trying to calm your poor, poor heart as his footsteps echoed closer than the last; you closed your eyes as he lifted the duvet—a breeze of cool air momentarily enveloping your bare skin—he slipped inside and the mattress dipped beneath his weight, it made you realise just how small of a space there was between your bodies.

Not enough to have your bare arm brushing against his clothed one but enough to feel warmth that radiated from him.

“Pardon me but would you have trouble sleeping if I turned on a lamp?” Sunday whispered into the darkness.

“I don’t mind but are you not going to sleep? It’s well past midnight.” You opened your eyes and inclined your head, facing him.

“I’ll be writing for a bit as sleep has not yet caught up to me.” The bedside lamp turned on with a soft click which immediately illuminated his half of the bed, casting a warm gentle glow on his softened features. You replied with a wordless nod before turning your back to him and letting the faint sound of pen and paper sully you into endless clouds of dreams.

A couple of pages and half a system hour later, Sunday finally looked up from the inked pages of his book. Curious, he glanced over at your sleeping form which remained with your back towards him, he watched the rhythmic rise and fall with every shallow breath.

Compared to earlier, more of your torso peeked from beneath the duvet, he noticed how the flimsy strap of your nightie had fallen from your shoulder and took the initiative—after whispering an apology for his brazen behaviour—to lean over and fix it.

Sunday let out a sigh, he pulled the shared duvet upwards to cover your shoulder before returning to his side of the bed.

For some reason, he couldn’t help but feel that you held disdain for him—and honestly? Rightfully so because truthfully speaking, he had foolishly roped you into an eternal duty without your consent, without considering how you would feel about the entire idea. It wasn’t like him to involve others in such serious matters, and if given the opportunity to shoulder the problem alone, he would’ve done so in a heartbeat.

Sunday gazed down at his book once more, catching a glimpse of glimmering gold wrapped around a digit of his left hand—his wedding band, it shone quietly beneath the warm glow of the lamp. He brought his hand up to examine the piece of jewellery, honeyed gaze following each curve of the intricate pattern engraved on it. Despite its small size, it sat heavy on his finger and whether it was the weight of burden or something more, he had no idea.

Funnily enough, never in a million years did he think he’d be married before Robin; sure, he was the older twin but relationships and marriage rarely crossed his mind, and as embarrassing as it was, flirting definitely wasn’t for him either.

Moment of Morning Dew

“So what you’re suggesting is a date?”

“Indeed.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you were quite the romantic, Oak Family Head.”

“To be frank, it wasn’t my idea. It was merely suggested to me and I think it’d be appropriate to make occasional appearances in public as husband and wife.”

Well, there goes romance out of the window. So it was tied to duty after all, and here you were thinking Sunday acted out of his own will for once but if there was anyone to blame the feeling of slight disappointment, it would be none other than you and your naïve heart.

It had only been a little over a month after the marriage yet you’ve already been met with disappointments and you hated yourself for feeling that way because it wasn’t even Sunday’s fault—he was only upholding his role but you? You had mistaken his actions for reality.

The chaste forehead kisses whenever he visited you on set paired with a humble bouquet of flowers, the endearments he called you in front of your co-actors, holding your hand—all these were initiated by him and every single time, like a fool, you had mistaken it for something sincere.

How ironic that between the two of you, Sunday would be the better actor. You’ve paid him a visit countless times in Dewlight Pavilion when you weren’t needed on set—brought him food, offered him a shoulder massage whenever he seemed visibly stressed, and even tried convincing him to take a breather but you were rigid and hesitant.

Today just happened to be one of those days where you visited him. As usual, you were as stiff as a board and your words barely held any sincerity in them, as if you merely read off a script. 

And maybe that’s why he took the initiative to lead because he had sensed your hesitancy regarding everything.

“Where are we headed?” You raised a brow, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Sunday gathered every document on his table and stacked them neatly in a pile before placing it to the side, “Aideen Park. I heard there was a small event happening there and I thought we could pay a visit.”

Moment of Golden Hour

Aideen Park was livelier than normal, people lined up for several reasons—food trucks, photobooths, and even a mini ferris wheel ride. Naturally, the band which usually performed at the heart of the Park gained quite a crowd as well, they played an upbeat melody to fit the joyous atmosphere. Several booths and signage within the vicinity was enough to deduce that this public event was run by SoulGlad with their iconic logo plastered everywhere.

“Hm? Did SoulGlad release a new flavour?” You fell into a step beside Sunday, eyes fixated on a stall where a staff happily gave away freebies and judging by the unfamiliar packaging of SoulGlad in his hand, it had to be a new flavour.

He nodded, jutting out his right arm which you wordlessly held on to, “Indeed, SoulGlad has released a new flavour called Charmony to honour the Charmony Festival. I figured I’d acquire several bottles for Robin.”

You hummed at his reply. It was nice knowing he still thought about his sister even in her absence, at heart, Sunday was truly just an older brother taking care of his family and it warmed your heart more than anything.

You’ve always wondered how he felt when Robin left Penacony; from what you could remember, it was a crucial turning point in their lives as well as yours—her music career was taking off, Sunday was training to be Bronze Melodia, and you had just secured your first lead role.

“Have you had the chance to try the new flavour?” You asked, shaking the thoughts away.

At your question, he shook his head, “I have heard from several people that it has its own unique twist to it. Now, I know we have personal security around but it’s best to stay close to me with this many people present.”

With his free arm, he adjusted your hand on his clothed bicep, allowing you to hold him better. “It’s not like I’m going to run away.” You murmured, ignoring the blanket of heat settling on your cheeks.

There had already been a few instances where you had held Sunday by his bicep like this or his hand but you’ve never gotten used to the feeling of his body pressed closely against your own.

Even through the fabric of his blazer, merely touching him seared your skin like a thousand flames—it felt like it was forbidden to do so yet at the same time, you couldn’t quite pull away even if you wanted to.

Sunday led the two of you to a food truck lined with customers and on the way there, you were both excitedly greeted by many event goers and passerbys, with some even coming up to you for autographs and photos.

You only managed to get through three autographs and two photos before Sunday came up behind you, a chivalrous hand hovering on the small of your back as he gently ushered you away, a wing curled around the back of your head, “We should get going before people start shoving one another to get signatures and such.”

Nodding, you smiled apologetically before bidding them good bye, “It was nice seeing you all! I hope everyone enjoys this SoulGlad event!”

“Pardon my intrusion but I noticed you were getting quite flustered so I took matters into my own hands.” Sunday apologised, not realising his hand—which rested on your lower back—had protectively snaked around your waist, it pulled you closer to him, effectively turning your legs into jello. If it wasn’t for his hold, you would’ve already kissed the grounds of Aideen Park.

Oh god, you hoped he hadn’t noticed how your torso shook with a small shudder. You feigned a cough, “T-That’s quite okay, Sunday. Thank you. What did you want to ord—”

“Mr and Mrs Sunday! How lovely to see Penacony’s harmonious couple in our humble event!” One of the SoulGlad staff at the food truck rushed over to the back of the line where you and Sunday stood, effectively gaining attention from customers in the queue. They turned around and whispered amongst themselves, not-so-subtly pointing at you both.

Sunday greeted the Pepeshi staff with a smile, “Ah, hello. Thank you for having us.” 

“Are you two seeking to order? I can take it in advance so the two of you won’t have to wait!” He excitedly spoke, the fluff ball atop his head vigorously swinging back and forth.

In unison, you and Sunday both shook your heads, declining his kind offer, “We shan’t. She and I are here as humble customers, we don’t mind waiting a little while. It would be unfair for those who are before us.”

“No such thing! Mr. Sunday and Mrs are our esteemed guests! You know what? I’ll go ahead and get two servings of our best seller—Clockie Pizza!” Before the two of you could humbly decline once more, the Pepeshi had already taken off towards the food truck, excitement budding with every step he took.

Within a few minutes, he came running back with two servings of Clockie Pizza on a paper plate, steam which radiated from the slices indicated it was freshly taken from the oven.

“Here you are! Two slices for our very special customers, enjoy!” Both of you thanked the Pepeshi staff as he handed the plate over to Sunday, he gave the two of you another excited smile before skipping off towards the food truck. You and Sunday could only exchange lopsided smiles, not really knowing what to make out of the situation; as much as you felt bad, you were pretty hungry so you were absolutely more than thankful.

After eating, the two of you found yourselves in one of the photobooths (Embarrassingly, Sunday had noticed you were staring intently at them while you were eating and asked if you wanted to go). Naturally, the booth had limited space inside which meant you two had to squeeze yourselves on the bench—arms and legs flushed against one another.

You tried not to think about how your wing momentarily brushed his own, his ivory feathers tickling yours; Halovians’ wings were a sensitive area and one couldn’t just reach out and have a feel of it, many Halovians treat their wings as the most important part of their body and consider it an intimate gesture if they willingly let someone touch it.

“How does one operate this?” He drew the crimson curtain on his left side to close off the booth before turning to you with a hint of confusion on his face. At his question, you  mirrored his expression, brows drawn together, “Have you not tried one before?—Nevermind. We simply press this button on the screen to get started and once it starts, the camera takes three pictures so we have to think of different poses for each frame.”

“And oh, it’s timed so efficiency is needed.”

“Seems quite pressuring, no?” Sunday humourlessly laughed. This was his first time trying out a photobooth machine and the thought of coming up with three different poses in a span of mere seconds . . He couldn’t even think of one off the top of his head.

“Oh? Is the Oak Family Head intimidated by a photobooth? Well, if you ever feel stuck, you can go ahead and copy my poses. Ready?” You glanced over at him who only nodded in response, honeyed pupils gleaming beneath the harsh lights of the booth.

Without another word, you leaned over and  pressed the button in the middle before quickly getting into a pose—the classic smile with a peace sign.

On the other hand, Sunday blinked as he watched numbers on the screen count down. 3. Ah, what pose should he do? 2. Maybe just a smile? Would that be too formal? 1. He quickly looked over to you to imitate your pose but before he could even get his hand in position, the camera brightly flashed indicating that the first photo had been taken.

“Quick! Finish off the other half of this heart!”

As the screen began counting down once more, Sunday hesitantly mirrored your gesture with his left hand. Four fingers curl like so . . and how does the thumb go? Ah, straight down at an angle. Then, place it against her hand. While he mused over how to complete the hand heart, the camera flashed once again. Another photo taken, another frame where he wasn’t ready. Why are photobooths so hard?

“Why don’t we just do a smile?” 

Finally, something he could get behind. The two of you instinctively squeezed closer, inclining your heads towards one another with smiles on your face, then, the camera flashed. Sunday let out a soft sigh, it’s as if weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

A small laugh escaped your lips as the two of you exited the booth, “Not bad for your first photobooth experience, huh?” You didn’t notice how heated your skin had become ‘til the air outside pressed against you like an icy envelope.

“You are teasing.” Sunday stared at you with a deadpan expression which only pulled another laugh.

The small machine whirred to life, producing two copies of the strip, you took them both and handed one over to him, “This one is yours, Mr. Oak Family Head.”

You took the time to examine each frame and couldn’t help but crack a smile at how clueless he looked in the first two photos; the first one was him blankly glancing over at you while on the second one, he wore a confused expression while glancing down at his half of the hand heart.

As for the third photo, you didn’t want to look at it for too long. Not because it was hideous or any of that sort—quite the opposite—but because both of you looked like an actual happy couple, a pair who loved one another. You swallowed thickly.

“Where shall we head next? Up for a ferris wheel ride?” Tucking the photo strip inside the pocket of your jacket, you looked up at Sunday with a calculated smile on your face. His gaze lingered on you for a second longer as if to search for something but nonetheless, he nodded.

The ferris wheel carriage was quite small, meaning either you and Sunday would have to squeeze together—again—on one side of the carriage or sit on opposite sides; obviously, both of you opted for the latter, which despite facing one another, at least gave you room to breathe.

You avoided fully facing him by slightly angling yourself sideways to gaze beyond the carriage; the ride wasn’t as grand as the one in Clock Studios Theme Park  but it was able to reveal a great area of Golden Hour once at the top.

Below, Penaconians went on about their day as usual—whether it be shopping, working or simply taking a leisurely stroll in the Moment, you watched as they led their own lives, wondering what it felt like to be a normal Penaconian.

But what did normal mean for you, exactly? You wished you had the answer.

Sunday knew it was rude to stare but he simply couldn’t bring himself to stop either. Earlier, when you were examining the photo strip, he had noticed the solemn expression on your face; how the corners of your lips sunk ever so slightly and the faint gleam of sadness in your eyes.

A wave of regret hit him once more, the same way it had done for the past month—hard. And now as he watched you observe the Dreamscape below, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for your sadness. There had been many instances where he had caught you with a somber expression but he never dared address it, though now seemed like a great opportunity.

“Are you quite alright?”

Turning your head to him, you drew your brows together, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sunday pressed his lips in a thin line, “You . . can always talk to me. As a friend.”

You chuckled, adjusting your body so you could face him fully, “Is the Oak Family Head missing his Bronze Melodia days?”

Deflecting—that’s what you were doing, a habit he never once liked from you but as concerned as he was, he didn’t press any further. Doing so would most likely only worsen whatever you housed inside your chest, and he didn’t want to be the cause of that. Maybe some day you’d finally open up to him about all your worries and feelings but for now, he’d wait even if it meant waiting for eons.

Moment of Sol

“Ah, Mr. Sunday! Lovely to see you here once again. As you can see, we’re about to start filming so it’s best to keep quiet. Other than that, feel free to watch.” The director—who he had come to know as Thaddeus—gleefully whispered before heading to his seat. The former wasn’t old, most likely in his early forties but he did don several silvery strands on his head along with a full beard.

Sunday made his way over to a quiet corner behind all the film crew with a decent view of the scene unfolding before him. The set was a large bedroom dimmed to convey a sultry atmosphere, in the middle sat a large bed draped in crimson sheets where you and Cassian were positioned. Judging by this, he could easily deduce that the scene you were filming was rather intimate—it was a romance film after all.

During the previous times he had visited you, the scenes he witnessed were more . . family friendly. Scenes where Celestine—the character you played—merely caught up with her friends in a coffee shop and all of that sort; there was one that Sunday particularly took a liking to, where you and Cassian argued back and forth—an intense quarrel between two lovers.

It reminded him how much of an amazing actress you were, he didn’t want to admit it but that scene moved him enough to make his eyes water, he could only imagine what it would look like on the big screen. But this scene was entirely different, Sunday had never seen you act intimately before and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

“Quiet on set! Pictures up! Roll sound! Roll camera! Marker . . and action!”

Clap!

The slate’s sound echoed throughout the entire set and Sunday watched as you and Cassian instantly got into character. He sucked in a breath as the two of you slowly inched closer to one another, sealing each other’s lips in a heated kiss.

Soft, wet sounds filled the room, the kiss deepened and turned into something less innocent  and for a brief moment, Sunday forgot he was in a set, and that the scene before him was scripted.

He swallowed thickly, shifting his weight from one foot to another as Cassian roamed his hands all over your body, even going as far as raking his palms along your clothed chest and the area behind your wings. A dainty whimper slipped past your kiss-bitten slips in between breaths, followed by a whisper of his name. 

Something strange bubbled within Sunday’s chest, he was well aware everything was scripted but seeing another man brazenly touch you with lust and fervour, and hearing you breathe out someone else’s name did not feel right at all. Was he jealous? No. But he wasn’t entirely fine with this either. 

Nonetheless, Sunday didn’t have the right to have a say on these matters so he kept quiet and continued watching how Cassian eagerly shoved his tongue past your lips like a hungry beast. He didn’t even realise his jaw had tightened and the tips of his fingers had dug into the hearts of his palms ‘til the Thaddeus yelled ‘Cut!’ ultimately breaking immersion. The two of you pulled away from one another, breathless and hair mussed.

“Cassian, remember to angle your arm slightly or else we won’t be able to see her face—” 

As the director gave him instructions, you managed to spot a familiar face within the small crowd of film crew, his golden halo shone lightly beneath the artificial set lighting—Sunday.

Xipe above, you almost forgot he was going to pay you a visit today, not that you didn’t want him to come, it’s just that having him watch an erotic scene with yourself and Cassian felt odd. You were embarrassed, to say the least. As an actress, you took yourself out of comfort zones countless times for different roles and they were no easy feat but who knew you’d be struggling to act in an intimate scene before Sunday?

With a lopsided smile, you shyly waved at him to which he responded with an incline of his head. Whether he had a smile on his face or not, you weren’t sure, you couldn’t see clearly beyond the lighting.

Sunday, in fact, did not have a smile on his face

It was childish and idiotic to sulk over such a minor thing and if he could stop his chest from tightening weirdly, he would have done so already but he couldn’t, and now a subtle frown blanketed his face. He tried to look at the bright side—how talented you were at acting and how proud he was that you’ve come so far but god he was powerless to his own thoughts.

“Alright, from the top! Sound! Cameras! Marker and . . action!”

Clap!

Again, the entire room snapped into place, including you and Cassian. For the second time, Sunday watched in silence as the two of you passionately made out once more, this time the scene escalated to him pushing you down on the mattress below, lips still locked onto your own, and hands pinned against the pillows.

Even with your eyes closed and even with Cassian smothering you like there was no tomorrow, you could feel the heat of Sunday’s gaze from beyond the cameras and lights—the intensity of it. Getting into the zone was second nature to you yet you couldn’t shake off the nagging thought that he was watching you, it felt like you were cheating right in front of his face; Sunday probably didn’t mind at all but still.

This went on for a few more minutes until Thaddeus was satisfied with the outcome and wrapped up the scene, “Actors, we need you in a wardrobe change and can we please rearrange lighting on the set for the next scene?”

With that, you stood up from the bed and walked over to Sunday who greeted you with a small smile, “Hey, I’m glad you’re here.” You mirrored his smile before loosely wrapping your arms around his waist. A simple performance in front of everyone. He did the same and placed a chaste kiss on the crown of your head.

“You did well, my love.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Mm, really? I’m glad you think so.”

“Well, I shan’t take up any more of your time. Mr. Thaddeus did mention a wardrobe change for you, right?” Sunday slightly pulled back, a warm smile on his face as he gazed down at you. Ah, you wished he stayed for a little longer even though embarrassment ate you alive in his presence  but alas, he was a busy man, so you simply nodded,

“I’ll see you around?” The corners of your lips curled into a smile.

He hummed, he gave you another chaste kiss, this time on your forehead before completely letting go of you. Oh, god. Was it merely your imagination or was he acting extra . . touchy? You wouldn’t even dream of putting Sunday and touchy in the same sentence—they were like two magnets with the same side that repelled one another but his actions proved otherwise. Or maybe you were highly delusional.

Before he could walk away any further, you called out to him, “Sunday?” He turned around, an expectant look painted on his face.

“I . .” Love you? Was that what you were going to say? There was no harm in that, right? Right? Come to think of it, neither of you had ever uttered those words—were you about to start now? Technically, the two of you were married and expressing love to one another was normal. God, why were you even overthinking—

Whatever.

“I love you.”

Sunday’s wings momentarily rustled, a hint of shock washed over his face, albeit subtle, you caught on. His chest tightened but it wasn’t the same feeling as earlier, it didn’t hurt, instead, it felt like a dainty butterfly fluttering inside his ribcage. He stared at you momentarily, the rush of everyone else around fading into the background, his breaths turned shallow and slightly uneven. Was he sick?

“I . . love you, too.” And without another word, he left.

Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake!

You reminded yourself this marriage was fake and so was his response but your heart believed otherwise because now it pounded against the bars of your ribs, it wanted to leap out and find comfort in the warmth of his palms. Heat spread from your cheeks, along the column of your neck, and all the way down to your chest—it bloomed like a fiery flower, its blazing petals hungry for more. 

The urge to tell Sunday as soon as possible settled in your heart.

The night before the Charmony Festival, Old Oak Family Manor (Reality)

Unfortunately, with both your schedules tightly packed, you rarely saw Sunday within the past week—only some nights during ungodly hours where he carefully slipped next to you in bed but other than that, no words were exchanged, and as much as you wanted to talk to him, exhaustion weighed on your body. And as soon as you were enveloped by the softness of the bed, it immediately lulled you into a deep sweet dream.

Tonight wasn’t any different, you came home to yet another empty house—save for the attendants—without Sunday and frankly, you were worried he wasn’t getting the proper rest he needed. You did leave him a couple of messages earlier between your shoots simply asking how he was but he never replied to them, though that wasn't surprising given how close the festival was.

The shared bed felt a lot colder and bigger as you slipped beneath the covers, you turned to face Sunday’s side, stretching out an arm as if to reach for him only to be met with emptiness. A small sigh slipped past your lips, you silently prayed to Xipe that THEY would answer your wishes to see him soon. 

For now, you closed your eyes and went to sleep.

11 system hours later

Ri█—ng!

█Rin█g!

Ring!

At the sound of your phone, you stirred awake in bed, sleep still weighed heavy on your body. Was that your alarm? You didn’t remember setting one last night . . Nonetheless, you slowly opened your eyes and reached for the device atop the wooden nightstand, bringing it to your face. You blinked a few times, doing your best to adjust the blur of your vision to see better.

Mr. Oti Alfalfa

Huh? Why was the Alfalfa Family Head calling you? As if your entire body was doused in icy water, you quickly shot up, fingers raked through your mussed hair as you answered, “H-Hello?”

“Ah, it seems you’ve finally woken up, Miss.”

“Mr. Oti Alfalfa! My sincere apologies, it had been a long night . . May I ask why you’re calling?” You rubbed your temples, looking at the wall clock to check the time—11 system hours?! You’ve been asleep for 11 system hours? Just how tired were you last night? Though, with the weight of sleep on you, it did feel like you slept for quite a while, almost like a never ending dream.

“The Family has cleared your schedule for today, we require your presence at the Dewlight Pavilion right this moment. There are important matters to be discussed.”

At the mention of The Family’s residence, you looked over to your right. No Sunday, an empty space. Seeing as how they required your presence, that meant they asked for him too, right? He must’ve been at the Pavilion already but why didn’t he wake you up from your sleep?

There were a thousand questions that ran through your mind regarding the whole situation but what could they possibly need to discuss with you? They even cleared your schedule which meant it had to be something very serious, not to mention how you could sense the urgency in old Oti’s tone as he spoke of important matters. 

It made you somewhat uneasy.

“Alright. I will be there in a few minutes.”

With that, you quickly got dressed and headed for the Dreamscape.

Moment of Morning Dew

The Dewlight Pavilion housed more members of The Family than usual, its entrance had at least six Bloodhound Family security officers guarding the doors, and the inside wasn’t any better. What was going on? Today was the Charmony Festival, right? So why was almost everyone present in the Pavilion? You walked down its long halls, each step taken heavier than the last.

There was a slight tension in the air, you felt it and it made your stomach churn; you noticed how some attendants gazed at you as if you were some kind of criminal. 

Was . . something wrong? Nonetheless, you ignored them and kept walking ‘til you reached the Council Chamber.

Inside, gathered four Family Heads, they gathered at the heart of the chamber, sitting around a vast circular table. Robin was also present but where was Sunday? Shouldn’t he be present as well? 

“. . May I ask what this is all about?” Your brows furrowed, a small frown forming on your lips; you looked over at Robin who only gave you a solemn expression, even the look on your adoptive mother’s face was hard to explain.

“Are you aware of what has transpired in Penacony?” Oti Alfalfa spoke up.

Slowly, you made your way over to situate yourself next to Robin. “No . .  I have been asleep and only woke up from your call. Did something terrible happen in the Dreamscape?” You felt asking that question would do more harm than good but there had to be a clear reason as to why they needed you here.

The atmosphere was unbearable. Every Head, including Robin wore an unreadable expression, it’s as if all of them were in on some kind of secret and no one dared to inform you about it. Sunday’s absence in this meeting made you all the more nervous. All of them shared strange looks with one another before Oti Alfalfa spoke up once again,

“. . The Oak Family Head and the Dreammaster had committed the highest act of treason—not only to The Family but to the entirety of Penacony. Sunday usurped the Harmony and revived Ena The Order to use THEIR power to create an eternal dream paradise.”

You didn’t know what to say. Was there even anything appropriate to say? 

It didn’t feel real at all, you were hoping they were merely playing a sick, elaborate prank on you but the look on their faces proved otherwise. Old Oti’s words reached your ears the same way nightmares did—fragmented, disjointed, and absolutely impossible to process all at once.

Sunday. Treason. Eternal dream paradise.

No. That wasn’t the Sunday you knew, he couldn’t have possibly done something like that, not the man who had spent most of his life looking out for others—putting their needs before his. It felt contradictory to everything he was. But did it really? Your mind scrambled for reason and context, for some kind of missing piece that would make everything make sense but there was nothing. 

Among the million of questions, your mind raised another: What exactly had your marriage been for? 

You stood with him before all of Penacony yet all this time he secretly worked with the Dreammaster to dismantle the very concept you and he were assigned to uphold—Harmony. A deep, aching sorrow settled beneath your ribs.

“Rightfully, the former Oak Family Head was imprisoned but it has come to our attention that he had managed to flee from prison, he is now deemed a wanted fugitive. We asked you to join this meeting because we have a few questions regarding your husband.” Flee from prison? How? And who aided him? A part of you was relieved that Sunday managed to flee from The Family’s wrath but you were also scared of what he might face once they found him.

You knew what was coming next.

Maeven Ellis parted her crimson-stained lips, she still held onto that unreadable expression, “Oh, Triple-Faced Soul, please sear her tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that she will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.”

“Everyone in this room is aware regarding the status of your marriage with the former Oak Family Head, orchestrated to refute rumours within the Dreamscape. Were you an accomplice to him and the Dreammaster? Was your marriage merely a disguise to direct Penacony’s attention from their dark schemes?”

You shook your head, “No. I was only aware that our marriage was a solution against those rumours.”

Why were they asking you this? Each Family Head had already agreed to the Dreammaster’s proposal of having you and Sunday marry one another, why was Oti Alfalfa acting as if he wasn’t in favour of the proposal?

“Did you have a hand at helping the former Oak Family Head escape?”

Once again, you shook your head, “No. As I mentioned earlier, I just woke up. I came home from a long shoot last night and went to bed as soon as I could.”

“Did the former Oak Family Head tell you of his schemes?”

You were getting sick of this, twice you’ve already told them you weren’t aware of the Dreammaster and Sunday’s plans, why were they so insistent you had a hand at their schemes? Your mother—out of all people—knew you’d never get involved with something like that. Sure, you had the third highest ranking in the Iris Family but you were merely an actress and stayed out of The Family’s business.

“No.”

Oti Alfalfa nodded, briefly glancing at the golden band around your finger, “That is all but let me tell you this, once The Family finds out you have made contact without any notice or you are actively helping the former Oak Family Head hide, you will be met with punishment for aiding and abetting. This applies to you as well, Miss Robin.”

He didn’t have to verbally say it yet you knew between those words he spoke, he wanted to remind you that The Family was always watching.

After being dismissed by Old Oti, you headed straight to Golden Hour to clear your head—you still couldn’t wrap your head around the whole incident. Did he really manage to revive a dead Aeon? The one that Xipe assimilated? The severity of the entire thing was beyond you and there was no easy way to process all this.

Moment of Golden Hour

“You know, Sunny, won’t it be better to bid farewell to her instead of staring at her poster like a total creep?” 

“That implies we won’t see each other again and I do not intend to keep it that way. Even so, I simply cannot bring myself to face her like this even with a disguise. It’s far too risky, Wonweek. I am a fugitive, after all.”

Amidst the glittering luxuries, billboards, and rush of people in the Moment, Sunday—disguised as an Intellitron—stood before an expansive poster of you at Oti Mall, his honeyed gaze traced over your features once, twice, thrice as if to engrave them in his mind.

He was aware the poster was merely an advertisement for a skin care brand yet you looked extremely happy in it and he could only wish the same for you now. With the amount of Bloodhound Family security patrolling around, he assumed news had already broken out regarding his escape, and that you were also aware of it—of everything he had done.

The Pepeshi—Wonweek—who stood next to him hummed, “Oh, really? Not even when she’s right there crying?"

Sunday immediately turned to his companion, “What?” He followed the Pepeshi’s line of sight, it took a few seconds before finally spotting your familiar figure—you sat on a bench in front of Clock Diner, arms crossed over your chest, seemingly staring into nothing. Even though you wore a hat and sunglasses, Sunday could still tell it was you.

“W-Well, maybe not crying but she certainly doesn’t look okay to me.”

“Stay here . .” Sunday absentmindedly murmured, his eyes remained fixated on you, and as if his feet had a mind of its own, he started walking towards you.

“Hey! What the heck happened to ‘I simply cannot bring myself to face her like this’!” Wonweek called out to him, mocking his voice but didn’t bother interfering, he figured the two of you needed to talk, even if it was indirectly.

This wasn’t Sunday’s plan at all, he wasn’t supposed to approach you yet here he was merely three steps away; he had to remind himself not to get carried away with things and that he had a disguise which meant he was a stranger to you.

“Pardon my intrusion, Miss but are you okay?”

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, you immediately snapped out of your thoughts and shifted your gaze to its owner who stood to your left, just beyond your line of sight—it was an Intellitron clad in a long plum coloured dress. Despite their unmoving facial features, you could sense the hint of concern in their voice.

“O-Oh, um! Yes, of course thank you for asking . . Apologies for my rudeness! Did you want to sit down?” You feigned a cough and adjusted the sunglasses atop your nosebridge before scooting to the edge of the bench to make room. The Intellitron murmured a small thank you as she sat down, smoothing the skirt of her dress.

“My apologies if you were taken aback by my brazenness.”

“Not at all! I’m grateful to have someone look out for me, Miss . . ?”

“Wonweek.” The Intellitron replied.

“Miss Wonweek! What a lovely name . . Thank you, again. It’s just that it’s been a long day and, uh, a . . dear friend of mine has gone somewhere far, far away from me, and I am not certain when I will see him next. Or if I will ever see him again.” You tried your best to stabilize your voice but as each word slipped past your lips, they trembled harder than the last, and the only way to calm yourself down was to caress the golden band wrapped around your ring finger.

“This friend . . he seems quite important to you, no?”

Letting out a shaky sigh, you nodded, “He’s someone I hold very dear to my heart and all I wish for is to talk to him. I’ve been meaning to tell him something.” Sunday swallowed thickly, what could that something possibly be? He’d rather not get his hopes up.

“Your friend may have gone off somewhere far away but I am certain once the time is right, destiny will intertwine your paths once more.”

“Of course. And should the path he chooses not include me in the future, I can only hope it’s a path where he is genuinely happy. I am willing to sacrifice that.” After all, your ties with The Family would make the situation difficult—Oti Alfalfa had already warned you earlier that they had eyes and ears everywhere.

“I may not know your friend well but I am certain he would not want a future without you in it.”

3 months and 3 weeks later, Consternation Starzone, Planarcadia

“Ugh, come on! You already picked the last movie, Stelle! Let me pick one for movie night this time!”

As Sunday walked into the hotel room, he was immediately met with a scene of his bickering companions, however, one of them remained seated in a corner with his arms folded across his chest and eyes closed.

“Great, Sunday’s here! He can back me up on this one! Can you please convince her to watch this movie?” The pink haired woman —who he had come to know as Miss March 7th—eagerly walked over to him and shoved her phone before his face, presenting an opened browser tab for an overview of a movie.

Love and Devotion (1h 49m): Estranged childhood best friends find their way back to one another which results in a trip down memory lane and a blossoming love. Faced with obstacles from their contrasting paths, they navigate through difficulties together, ultimately challenging their relationship.

Cast: Mr. Cassian Noctis, Mrs.—

She swiftly pulled away her phone before he could read any further, an expectant look in her eyes. That was your movie, March 7th wanted to watch your movie—he made a promise to himself he’d make time to watch it once it comes out but ever since he boarded the Express, it had only been missions after missions. Though, he was updated enough to know that it received a lot of love not only in Penacony but across the cosmos as well.

“Do you even know what you’re asking of him? That’s his wife in that movie!” Stelle—the other woman March argued with earlier—scratched the back of her head, whisper-yelling the other half of her sentence. She sat on the edge of the bed, a pillow tucked beneath her arms.

The latter quickly connected the dots, her eyes wide with realisation, “O-Oh! Um! You know what, I think we can go with the movie you picked!”

It wasn’t a secret among the Crew that Sunday was married but they figured the topic was sensitive to him as he barely talked about you, even the mention of Penacony had him wearing a solemn expression.

Though it was the complete opposite for him, Sunday wanted to talk about you—about his homeworld but he was afraid doing so would only get his hopes up for nothing. For the past few months he had been hoping to at least get a glimpse of you during his journey around the cosmos, you were an actress after all, you occasionally went on film press tours.

“I don’t mind at all. I had the opportunity to watch behind the scenes while they were shooting and I was more than intrigued to see the finished piece.” Sunday shook his head, he handed March their room keycard she gave him earlier before sitting next to his dark haired companion on the couch.

“Really? That’s so cool! Ugh, I wish I could get her autograph! You know, I was quite surprised when news broke out that she was engaged! I’ve also seen some of the wedding photos and you two looked absolutely stunning! Anyway, how about you Dan Heng? Do you have any movies you wanna watch?” March turned to the man next to Sunday.

Dan Heng opened his eyes and slowly shook his head, “I’m okay with any movie you guys pick.”

After a few more minutes of going back and forth, all lights were turned off and everyone eventually settled on Love and Devotion. Sunday was the most intrigued—even more than March 7th who initially convinced all to watch the movie; he knew of your acting prowess yet  he was completely speechless.

Every single time you appeared on screen, his heart seemed to skip a beat or two, he chalked it up to not having seen your face for a while which is why excitement enveloped him every now and then. 

However, half way through the movie while a particular scene played—the scene he vividly remembered watching on set—a foreign feeling enveloped his entire body, a hint of heat and something more.

Subtly, Sunday looked around to see his companions’ reactions, March 7th and Stelle who were sitting on the bed were unfazed by the escalating scene of the movie whereas Dan Heng merely scrolled on his dimmed phone, a slight blanket of pink dusting his cheeks.

With the volume turned all the way up, wet kissing sounds filled all four walls of the hotel room, it made Sunday’s stomach churn in a way that had him digging the tips of his fingers on his palms.

You and Cassian were only kissing but the intensity and lewd noises you made sent an icy shudder down his spine.

This wasn’t good.

A quiet, shaky sigh left his lips as his pants tightened with each passing second. Oh god, was he . . aroused? He didn’t remember feeling this way when he was on set—quite the opposite—so why now?

Sure, the room was dark enough to hide his growing erection but it wasn’t exactly ideal to experience one around three people. Besides, it was uncouth and he needed to leave. Now.

Sunday immediately stood up, gaining curious glances from everyone else, he tried to subtly cover pants, “Uh, I-I need to get something in Dan Heng and I’s room. Feel free to keep watching.” He didn’t bother waiting for anyone else to respond and immediately headed for the door.

As he stepped out onto the hallway, he breathed out a sigh of relief, at least there wasn’t anyone else around the corridors this late at night. Carefully, he walked towards the shared room, trying his best to avoid further friction in his pants or else it would be a very embarrassing moment for him—it was  humiliating enough to walk with a weird gait, anything more and he’d bury himself in the ground.

Thankfully, Sunday reached the room which he hastily opened with the keycard tucked inside his pocket, he swiftly slipped inside and sat on the edge of his bed with his eyes closed.

Silence settled in the air, it was accompanied by his heavy, uneven breaths as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. He felt extremely filthy—to think of you in such a lustful light without your knowledge, it was beyond unmannerly. 

“F-Forgive me . . for my vulgar thoughts and for what I am about to do.”

In the blink of an eye, Sunday found himself inside the bathroom, door locked and back pressed against it.

Dizziness washed over him and embarrassment ate away at his feverish skin as he reached for the waistband of his pants, he hastily pulled it down with his underwear, a sharp hiss leaving his lips, cock slapping against his lower abdomen. It wore a deep blush of pink and oozed with pearlescent pre-cum, he wondered how his cock would look against your face while you licked and sucked at it.

The soft fabric shamelessly pooled around his ankles which completely exposed his lower half, the cool air against his legs left an icy shudder. Sunday brought the hem of his shirt to his face, biting down at it so it didn’t get in the way.

He wrapped a trembling hand around the base and squeezed, a loud moan immediately spilling from his lips, pre-cum that decorated his sensitive cockhead trickled down.

A pearlescent sheen covered the entirety of Sunday’s cock as he eagerly spread it from tip to base—up and down, up and down, a couple of languid strokes that had him panting heavily.

A vivid imagery of you pumping his cock plagued his mind as he shut his eyes closed, both hands wrapped around the length of his shaft while your tongue gave experimental licks, “Ngh—ah! Mhm!” Sunday whimpered, free hand gripping the cool surface of the bathroom door behind him, he hadn't been doing this for long yet his knees were ready to give up from the immense weight of pleasure.

His chest vigorously rose and fell as each inhale and exhale turned more shallow than the last, he picked up the pace, stroking himself a little faster.

Pure bliss gnawed at his feverish skin, it sank its teeth into him ‘til it reached his very bones, engulfing his entire body in an intoxicating pleasured state.

“Ah—! Haah! Oh, god!”

Despite the sound of blood rushing in his ears, Sunday replayed the sinful moans you made in the movie, how your face contorted in pleasure as Cassian kissed down your neck—lips parted and brows tightly knitted together.

You sang the most exquisite melody he has ever heard and he could only hope to pull the very same ones, maybe something even better, one that would flawlessly intertwine with his own to create an immoral tune.

He bucked his hips into his curled hand at the thought of having sex with you. Embarrassingly, Sunday had never gotten intimate with anyone—his days were packed with duty on top of duty and he wasn’t given the chance to get into a relationship as it was the last thing he had in mind as (former) Oak Family Head. All he knew was to govern the Lineage he grew up in.

But he wondered . . How would you feel around his cock? Were you warm and soft?—maybe even a hint of greediness where you readily swallowed him whole.

It almost pained him that you weren’t in front of him right this moment because now, he had to settle for his inexperienced hand and just the thought of that grew a bud of frustration within his chest. Sunday wanted you—he needed you. 

Badly.

He desired to bury his shaft deep inside and have you come undone around him once, twice, as much as you wanted—‘til your legs trembled around his waist, ‘til your throat ran dry from repeatedly calling his name like a sacred prayer, and even then, he wasn’t sure if his thirst would be satiated.

This wasn’t just lust anymore. No. Sunday wasn’t merely aroused by a heated scene in your movie, he held something much deeper for you in his heart. It had always been there from the start but remained dormant and quiet enough to go unnoticed by him but now that it has bloomed into something greater, he realised that what he held for you was love.

Sunday loved you. Deeply, truly, and agonizingly.

At the sudden realisation, the coil inside him snapped instantaneously, spurts of hot cum spilled from his cock, he came with a loud wanton moan which echoed throughout the bathroom walls. His body trembled and pleasure which engulfed his entire body took him to places he’s never been before.

Sunday grunted as he milked his cock, shamelessly pumping it ‘til it emptied; he slumped against the door, filth settling over him while he tried to catch his breath.

Despite his lust-clouded mind, he only thought of one thing—to tell you how he truly felt.

As morning finally came, Sunday stepped outside the hotel to gather his thoughts after last night’s realisation, he figured getting some fresh air while walking amongst the locals and taking in the beauty of Ahatopia would quench the yearning in his heart.

Duomension City was as busy as ever with students, office workers and early risers trying to get through the morning rush, even at this hour the City remained lively—this world wasn’t entirely different from Penacony, teeming with large and colourful animated posters, it reminded Sunday of Moment of Golden Hour which also brimmed with bright billboards, music, and the surge of Penaconians out and about, it made him miss home even more.

But Planarcadia was different, it was a world that devoured silence and perhaps that’s why Sunday had grown to relax a little because silence left too much room to think. He adjusted the collar of his coat as he stepped through the crowded avenue, weaving between strangers with practised ease.

The cool air smelled faintly of freshly brewed coffee and expensive perfume, it blended seamlessly with the sounds of passing conversations and the quiet hum of cars.

A group of students rushed past him suddenly, laughing too loudly and nearly colliding with his shoulder. Sunday stepped aside instinctively, accidentally knocking into a stranger; the sound of a distinct thud reached his ears, an object falling onto the ground.

He halted his tracks to pick up the fallen object—a bottle of iced coffee—and return it to its owner. Ah, he should really watch his surroundings.

“My apologies for bumping into you, I should’ve been more aware of my—” Sunday stopped mid sentence as he faced the owner of the beverage.

The world didn’t go silent, no, if anything, Planarcadia only grew louder around him—footsteps rushing past, the distant sound of train announcements echoing, laughter from down the street but all of it blurred into meaningless noise because standing only a few inches away was you.

There was no mistaking it with your ivory wings and gleaming halo.

Was he dreaming? It had to be an elaborate prank, no? This was the world of Elation after all, maybe some Fool decided to play a sick joke on him. But the look on your face mirrored his own—shock and confusion.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the sea of people in the vicinity weaved their way around—they split and reformed like water around stone. Strangers brushed against his shoulders unaware that his world had just tilted violently off its axis.

You weren’t doing any better at all, it's as though your heart had forgotten how to beat. Sunday looked different, it wasn’t a drastic change but it was enough for you to notice.

The pristine perfection once attached to him had frayed at the edges, his attire was less . . uniform, and his eyes gleamed with more sincerity but there was undeniable exhaustion on his face, as if the last few months had carved something deeper into him.

And yet it was still him—your Sunday.

“. . You’re here . . ?” He broke the loud silence first.

“So are you.” You breathed out.

He looked down, suddenly remembering the bottle which rested on his palm. Carefully, he stepped closer and held it out, you took it with your left hand, fingers brushing against his gloved hand.

Sunday sucked in a sharp breath as he noticed the familiar band of gold around your ring finger, “You—You still wear your ring?” He asked with a hint of hope evident in his tone.

You almost laughed at the absurdity of his observation but curiosity soon followed, “We are still married, after all. People notice everything, if they don’t see a ring on me, they’d immediately assume divorce. It’s not exactly easy given your absence in Penacony. Why? Do you not wear yours anymore?”

Oh. So you only kept the ring on to avoid speculation and here he thought it meant something more to you but he didn’t have the luxury to sulk about it because every second spent in his presence faced bigger punishment for you—he knew The Family, they weren’t lenient.

He didn’t wear his ring anymore but kept it with him at all times, it was tucked safely inside the inner pocket of his coat, close to his heart. He refused to wear it for the same reason he severed his halo back in Penacony—to feel pain. Albeit not physically, he felt the emotional pain of being undeserving of loving you and being loved by you.

“I think I should go. We—We shouldn’t be talking . .” Sunday shook his head and slowly stepped backwards which earned a baffled expression from you.

That’s it?

After not seeing each other for months, he was just going to chicken out and refuse to talk? You were well aware he only cared for your safety but you believed you needed answers from him and besides, the confession in your heart sat long enough—it was finally time to set it free.

“Really, Sunday?”

The sound of your voice uttering his name had him swallowing thickly. “Because if I remember correctly, you still had the guts to talk to me back in Penacony hours after you became a fugitive.”

He stopped in his tracks, now it was his turn to be confused, “You saw through my disguise?”

“. . I had a hunch it was you. I’ve replayed that conversation a million times for the past few months—over and over ‘til it finally dawned on me. So, please, let’s talk? You told me in that very conversation you wouldn’t want a future without me in it, right?”

Sunday couldn’t refuse.

The two of you found yourselves back at your hotel room—he would’ve offered his room if he wasn’t sharing it with Dan Heng—both of you figured it wasn’t best to talk about such matters in public, especially since merely being seen together with Sunday was already a crime itself.

The hotel you stayed at was more luxurious, a suite which offered a generous view of the bustling city below and its panoramic skyline, and carefully selected artwork adorned its beige painted walls.

“Are you here for a press tour?” He asked, eyeing the expansive room. 

“I’m here on vacation.”

Silence stretched and tension grew thicker with each second, you and Sunday stood a few metres apart from one another, sticking out like sore thumbs. Neither of you dared to speak with the amount of thoughts that raced in your minds—there was simply a lot to talk about that none of you knew where to start at all.

Should you address the elephant in the room? What he did back in Penacony and the fact that he was now a wanted criminal? Or should you tell him the very words in your heart that desired to be known?

Yes, Sunday committed the highest act of treason against his homeland, its people, and The Family but what exactly could you even say to him regarding that matter? Get angry and berate him further like everyone else did in his absence? Doing so still wouldn’t change what he had done. You’ve heard every word The Family higher ups spoke of him—they were rightfully angry, of course, you wouldn’t deny them that feeling but it pained you.

“I need to tell you something.” Both of you spoke up in unison, urgency in your tones equally evident.

“You go ahead first.” Sunday cleared his throat. If he was being honest, he hasn’t been able to sit still ever since he last spoke to you in Penacony—you mentioned how you wanted to tell him something, and judging by the look on your face, he could only assume what you wanted to say was regarding that matter.

Letting out a sigh, you nodded, never in a million years did you think you’d be confessing to him in a luxury hotel room, in a foreign world, stars away from Penacony,

“I know our marriage requires us to . . act in certain ways to make it believable but I have something I’ve buried inside my chest for as long as I can remember and no matter how many times I push it down or simply ignore it, it just won’t go away . . What am I even rambling about? What I’m trying to say is . . I have feelings for you, Sunday—even before this whole marriage act, ever since we were children.”

You looked away and stared at the abstract painting near the bed, you simply couldn’t handle returning Sunday’s stare, especially not when silence grew. Maybe you should have just kept your mouth closed and let him go first because now you were starting to regret it—what if he wanted to get a divorce?

Clearly there was no point in your marriage anymore, he has been absent in public for months and there was no reason to keep up the charade.

Even though your marriage was sealed with a legitimate contract, none of The Family Heads acknowledged its authenticity; your mother and Robin were a different case—it was more so out of respect while the rest did so out of disdain but still, the Dreammaster who orchestrated this unity was already dead which meant it held no significance at all.

Just an empty legal document.

“I . . feel the same way.”

. . What?

“It was foolish of me not to realize sooner. It was easy for me to show affection for you because what I have in my heart is genuine but I merely hid it behind the reason of duty because I wasn’t entirely sure of these feelings at all.” 

Now, it was Sunday’s turn to look away in embarrassment, a hue of deep rose graced his pale cheeks and heat prickled his skin.

Your breath stopped and the city below seemed to disappear, his words weren’t grand but they were honest, probably the most honest it has been since for as long as you could remember, it was a simple truth laid bare beneath a foreign sky.

For a long moment, you couldn’t speak because part of you had wanted this—you dreamed of this for so long now that it felt entirely cruel.

Cruel because you couldn’t be with him, not by your side, not in Penacony, not elsewhere, and now that your hearts were on the table, you simply couldn’t stand the thought of separation.

But for now, you wanted to cherish this moment. To convince yourself that you and Sunday had a future together where he didn’t have to run from The Family and face consequences, that the two of you weren’t bound for interminable separation.

“This is so unfair.” With a shaky breath, you buried your face in the hearts of your palms. You were certain if Aha was aware of the situation you and Sunday were in right now, THEY would be laughing. What a cruel joke from the cosmos.

He closed the distance between the two of you, protectively wrapping his arms around your body as he rested his chin on the crown of your head. It’d be absolutely selfish of him to ask for something more but he couldn’t bear the thought of you being with someone else.

He pulled back and pried your hands away from your face, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheeks as he cupped them, tentative  in a way that almost undid you more than certainty would have.

“. . May I?” He whispered. The warmth of his hand against your skin sent something sharp and aching through your chest.

“You may.”

Sunday slowly leaned in and for a moment, you remembered the ‘kiss’ at Eventide, only this time, it was as real as it got. The kiss wasn’t dramatic nor theatrical—it was merely his lips pressed against your own, soft with a small tremble, as if almost unsure if this was the right thing to do.

One hand found your waist carefully, drawing you closer with a reverence that made your knees feel less reliable all of a sudden. The kiss deepened but not with force but with feeling, slow and tender.

It felt like grief and relief at the same time, as though the two of you mourned the past few months but also treasuring the fact that, somehow, there was still the present and the future.

His lips were warm and softer than you’d imagined in moments you had long since stopped permitting yourself to imagine. Every slight shift was careful, as though he was memorizing the map of your lips. For the first time, this moment was entirely yours and Sunday’s—no ivory wing to shield the kiss, no cameras, and definitely not out of duty.

Your hands found their way to his collar, fingers curling more firmly into him which pulled the faintest sound, something quiet and surprised that sent a shiver down your spine. When you finally parted, it was only enough to breathe; your foreheads rested together, the city below spinning while the morning seemed to hold itself still around you.

“. . So,” You whispered, still breathless, “That was significantly better than the wedding.”

Sunday’s shoulders shifted slightly, he laughed, “I would hope so.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself, and perhaps he saw something equally dangerous in your expression because his gaze softened into something so openly affectionate it nearly stole your breath all over again. You pulled him back down on you, this time the kiss was less hesitant but just as tender than the last, and maybe also a bit rougher—full of desire and hunger.

Sunday’s hand remained at your waist, steady and warm as though he feared everything might vanish if he held on too tightly but this second kiss had already undone that illusion, there was nothing uncertain left in the way you leaned into him, nothing hesitant in the way your fingers dug into the fabric of his coat.

The kiss deepened not with urgency alone but with the quiet ache of something long denied, every touch seemed to carry the weight of love restrained far too long.

“Tell me to stop.” Sunday breathed out between kisses, a shaky whisper. His words weren’t obligation, they were reverence as he would simply not take what was not freely given. 

Your answer came not in words but in the way your hands rose to cradle his face, the way you kissed him again with a certainty that made his breath hitch, and that was enough for him. His restraint broke softly akin to silk slipping loose, not reckless, never reckless but what laid beneath the silken veil was a brewing storm of desire—the feelings of yesterday suddenly coming back to him.

The hand on your waist carefully slid upward, the tips of his fingers tracing your clothed body before he gently ushers you out of your jacket, it fell onto the polished floors with a soft thud—one layer deeper, closer to what you both wanted.

But before you could go any further, Sunday completely pulled away from the kiss, cheeks bitten with pink and lips parted as he breathed heavily.

There was a hint of hesitancy in his face, “I’ve never done this before but I want you . .” He whispered, trailing off as embarrassment engulfed him.

You gave him a small smile and leaned in to kiss his lips, “That’s okay,” Then, the column of his neck, “You can simply,” And the spot beneath his wing, “Follow my lead.”

Oh, you’d be the death of him.

Soon, your hands slid down to unfasten his coat, easing him out of his outer layer ‘til it met yours on the ground.

There was something so heartbreakingly human about this moment—two individuals who had once stood at the altar of Eventide, beneath thousands of watchful eyes, now trembling more in private than both have ever had in public.

No words were spoken as each layer was shed, only the quiet rustle of fabric, shared kisses, and the growing anticipation as you bared your feelings to one another.

Sunday barely noticed you had guided him over to the bed ‘til his back kissed the soft ivory sheets, he was so caught up in the heat of the moment he almost forgot to drink you in—to bask in the sheer beauty of your naked body.

Through tinted cheeks and wet lashes, he looked up at you with pure desire and slowly raked his honeyed gaze all over your body—from your breasts, to the dip of your waist, and all the way down to the apex of your thighs. Sunday let out a shaky breath as he felt his cock hardening even further.

“You’re exquisite.” He breathed out. Paired with your glimmering halo and the wings behind your ears, you were a sight for the heavens.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Sunday.”

A small chuckle escaped your lips, it was clearly a tease to mask the fact that his naked form drove you to the brink of insanity. Beautiful was an understatement—there wasn’t a word in the thesaurus that could describe the angelic sight before you.

The shy look on his face was ironic because his cock stood prouder than ever, begging to be inside you. It flushed pink and leaked a generous amount of pre-cum, and it took all your will power not to lap it up right then and there.

“Wait,” He started. “I want to please you.”

At his request, you switched positions, only this time you sat up on the edge of the bed. Sunday slowly got on his knees before you as he placed a trail of chaste kisses down your neck, collarbones, and just above the valley of your breasts. Sensing slight hesitation from him, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and guided his hand to your chest,

“It feels good when you massage and squeeze it—ah! Just—mhm! Just like that.” You moaned as he gave an experimental squeeze, brain short-circuiting at your immediate reaction to his touch; his palms were expansive and his fingers were long which allowed him to stimulate most of the sensitive area.

Sunday brought both hands to cup each breast, gently massaging them while his eyes darted between your chest and face, he wore an expression full of wonder and curiosity, rosy lips lightly parted as he breathed heavily.

Curious, he eagerly wrapped his lips around a mound, tongue swirling around your hardened nipple, causing your hands to fly to his hair.

“S-Sunday—!”

He responded with a hum which sent vibrations across your skin as you gently tugged at his hair. If he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing and his actions were merely fuelled by the sounds and expressions you made.

With one hand still on your other breast, he gently fondled your sensitive nipple between his lithe fingers, you arched your back, pressing your chest further into his face. Your skin was extremely warm and soft beneath his touch it almost felt unreal; he couldn’t believe he was right in front of you, intimate and vulnerable.

Sunday then switched between your breasts, giving the other the same amount of attention and stimulation before he trailed downwards.

Gentle and hot, he placed wet open-mouthed kisses between the valley of your chest and along your stomach, taking the time to lap up the sensitive area just above your bellybutton.

Once he reached your sex, he looked up at you briefly to look for any discomfort in your face, and upon not finding any, he slowly pried your legs open, revealing your sopping entrance.

All for him?

Though, it felt rather daunting not really knowing where to start. With two fingers, Sunday gently rubbed up and down your slit a couple of times, observing your reaction—you bit the bottom of your lip and your brows slightly knitted together.

So far, so good.

“Y-You can—ngh! Wet your index and—ah—ring finger with your mouth and put them inside.” You let out a soft moan, one hand planted firmly on the mattress to support your crumbling torso while the other explored his hair. Sunday may have been inexperienced but god did he pleasure you effortlessly, he hasn’t even touched you properly yet you were already trembling.

At your words, he paused slightly. Put his fingers inside his mouth? What a bizarre thing to do. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as he wrapped his lips around his digits, effectively wetting them as instructed, he could taste a hint of you.

You could only watch in awe as the sight before you unfolded, never in your lifetime did you think you’d see the revered Sunday—former Bronze Melodia and former Oak Family Head—stick his fingers inside his mouth.

“Now, with your palm facing the ceiling, slowly push them in one by one.”

A soft pop echoed in the silence as he removed his digits from his mouth and brought them down to your sopping cunt. Slowly, he pushed his index finger past your folds and immediately sought your reaction—a soft sigh.

Oh, how warm you were, it felt like he was dipping his hand in a pot of warm honey, slick and smooth, and maybe even as sweet. Sunday gave a few shallow experimental pumps before adding the second digit, eliciting a shaky whimper from you.

“Haa—ah! C-Curl your fingers upwards and—yes! Oh, god! Just like that, Sunday—mhm!” You threw your head back as he curled his fingers, face contorted in pure pleasure.

At your pornographic reaction, he swallowed thickly; he tried not to think about how much his cock ached, being untouched for so long, it’d have to wait for a little while, he wanted to please you ‘til you were satisfied.

Deep in a haze of lust, you tried your best to form a coherent sentence, “Can you—oh, that feels good. Can you feel a spongy texture? Gently apply pressure and rub it back a-and forth—hngh!”

Sunday absentmindedly nodded, he could feel the area you mentioned just above the pads of his fingers. As you instructed, he pressed on it lightly, afraid he’d hurt you if he did more. With a grind of your hips, you let out a wanton moan in the shape of his name.

“Is this okay . . ?” He breathed out.

“Y-You’re doing good. Just keep a delicate, steady pace . .” Your hand on his hair snaked down to the apex of your legs to spread open your cunt, “If you want—haah! You can also kiss at this spot here at the top and—oh, fuck! Sunday!”

Before you could finish your sentence, his lips were already flushed against your entrance, closely following every word you uttered. A slight shudder washed over your naked body as his feathered wings brushed against the insides of your thighs.

“Yes! Lightly suck on it like tha—aah! Ngh! Haah, I’m so close. Don’t—mhm! Don’t stop, please”

With the combined stimulation of his fingers inside you and his lips around your clit, a string of colourful moans left your lips as you slowly sank deeper into the depths of bliss. The sounds you made were music to his ears which only fuelled his actions further.

With a forceful grunt, you threw your head back as you came on Sunday’s fingers—toes curling and thighs shaking at the immense wave of pleasure that hit you.

He slowed down his movements and resorted to languid strokes which allowed you to grind your hips and ride out your orgasm. He let out a shaky moan at the sensation of your walls tightening around his fingers, oddly enough, it felt satisfying for him.

Coming down from your high, you slumped down on the bed, face extremely heated and lips parted to catch your breath.

Wide eyed and in slight awe, Sunday slowly pulled out his slick coated fingers which earned a low whine from you, he curiously examined his soaked digits, they were faintly trembling from the repeated motion.

Without a second thought, he wrapped his lips around them with the sweetness of your taste settling on his tongue. Oh, how dangerously addicting you were. Wet sounds slipped from his mouth as he sucked his digits clean from your saccharine slick, earning a curious glance from you as you lifted your head off the mattress.

He was trying to kill you.

The two of you found yourselves situated further up the bed with Sunday slotted between your parted legs, he hovered over you with one palm firmly planted beside your head while the other languidly pumped his hard cock just before your wet cunt.

He let out soft pants above you, flushed face contorting with pleasure, “A-Are you sure?” Even with his mind entirely clouded by lust he prioritised your comfort.

“As long as it's you, I can never be more sure.”

He smiled in response and placed a chaste kiss on your lips before slowly guiding the tip to your folds. Snaking a hand between your bodies, you helped Sunday position his cock correctly—a few centimetres down—then, you loosely circled your arms around his neck, allowing him to go at his own pace. 

The morning glow surrounded him like a serene aura, it bounced off his pale skin which gave him a heavenly glow. With a shaky exhale, he pushed his cockhead inch by inch which immediately earned a sharp gasp from both of you.

The feeling of you around him was foreign yet oddly comforting, your walls were warm—extremely warm—it almost felt like he was soaking inside a hot tub of water and it made his head spin in a good way.

Sunday met your gaze with his starry ones, a light sheen of tears coating his eyes at how amazing you felt around him.

He couldn’t believe he was inside you, buried deep inside the woman he truly loved; he prayed in the back of his lust-fogged mind hoping that this wasn’t a dream.

You bit your lip as he bottomed out, watching the way Sunday’s body reacted to everything—how his wings curled inwards, how his abdomen tightened and untightened, and how his breathing grew uneven with every passing second. He genuinely looked like he was on cloud nine.

Unwrapping an arm from his neck, you slotted your hand against his jaw—just at the spot below his ear and wing—to caress his cheek, “You okay . . ?”

A small nod, then, his eyes fluttered shut, the tips of his lashes brushing against his rosy stained cheeks. Sunday leaned into your touch with a faint whimper, one that had your brain short-circuiting.

For a minute or two, he stilled inside, allowing you both to adjust to the feeling; this wasn’t your first time but the sheer length of his cock reached spots you didn’t know even existed to the point where you had to count to ten just to steer yourself away from spiraling and cumming right then and there.

“S-So tight—ngh. You feel good.” Sunday slowly pulled back about halfway before thrusting back inside, drawing wanton moans from both of you.

He resorted to languid, deep thrusts which allowed you to feel every inch of him—for your sopping cunt to remember the exact shape of his cock—and each time he bottomed out, his cockhead deliciously kissed your sweet spot.

With the slow rhythm set, the bed creaked and groaned in time with the movements of his hips, sounds of light skin slapping and lewd squelching filled all four walls of the entire room.

Everything felt sinful—from the pornographic moans you let out to the slick that covered his cock and your inner thighs but god was it completely addicting. 

Sunday’s face remained a mere breath away from yours, keeping eye contact, his honeyed gaze pulled you into the depths of warm bliss, akin to a gentle hug that enveloped one’s body.

Every intentional push and pull of his hips knocked out oxygen from your lungs which had you incoherently gasping for his name.

A light sheen of sweat coated your bodies as the morning air grew impossibly thick, the ivory sheets beneath your back clung onto you like second skin, and Sunday’s hair stuck to his forehead but neither of you cared about the filthiness of it, not when your bodies pleasured one another like there was no tomorrow.

Not when he firmly pressed his cock with every thrust inside you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, effectively pulling him closer and allowing him to reach you a little deeper than before; your hands spread across his shoulder blades, curling inwards to decorate his back with rubied streaks.

The sharp sting of your nails sent Sunday forward, his head fell onto the pillows beneath your own, shamelessly moaning dangerously close to your ear.

“Haah—ah! Ah! I’m s-so close, Sunday! God! Please don’t sto—ngh! Don’t stop!”

At the sound of your moans, he picked up his pace, his cock hitting your g-spot a little harder. He also neared his climax and with the way your greedy cunt tightened around him and he knew he wasn’t going to last any longer.

Using all the strength he had left, Sunday lifted himself with trembling arms and gave you an open-mouthed kiss, it was messier than he had intended but the mere feeling of your mouths slotting against one another with your saliva mixing only fuelled the drive of his hips further.

He pulled away slightly, a thin string of spit connecting his lips to yours, “Please cum for me! Ngh—ah! Haah! C-Cum with me!”

With a few more sloppy thrusts, Sunday sheathed the entire length of his cock, firmly pressing into your sensitive spot as he came with a loud, shameless moan, ear feathers shaking from pleasure. You followed shortly after, nails digging into his skin which left red crescent shaped marks all across his back.

Ribbons of thick, warm cum generously coated your walls, you’ve never been this full before but you weren’t complaining, the feeling of Sunday filling you to the brim had you whimpering beneath him.

His cock several times twitched inside you as it emptied itself; he came so much to the point where his cum had started spilling out of you and dripped onto the sheets below, effectively soiling them but he couldn’t just simply stop himself even if he wanted to—it kept coming out in waves ‘til there was nothing left.

Embarrassed, Sunday buried his face at the junction of your neck, prickly heat creeping up his cheeks. A breathless chuckle left your lips, hands soothing over the reddened trails you left on his back, who knew he could actually get embarrassed over something as little as cumming too much?

How adorable.

He rolled over with a grunt and plopped onto the empty spot next to you, you curled next to him, the uneven rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheeks somewhat pulling you back into reality.

One of his arms rested loosely around you, absentmindedly tracing slow, soothing patterns against your back as if he reassured himself that you weren’t just a dream, that you were real and remained right next to him.

For a while, neither of you spoke—the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, just your breaths slowly steadying itself with each second.

A saddened expression washed over your face as reality settled on your shoulders akin to cold seeping through glass—slowly yet adamant—and you were immediately reminded of the predicament you both faced. Your fingers tightened slightly where they rested against him and Sunday noticed immediately,

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” He whispered, confusion painted on his face; his voice was much softer—achingly gentle.

You shook your head, gaze lifting towards the expansive windows and the horizon beyond it, “I just . . I was just reminded of what you and I have to face and I’m scared, Sunday. What—What if The Family finds out you’re here in Planarcadia and—I don’t even want to think about what they’ll do. I’m scared for us because . . I finally have you and I don’t know if that means we’ll be separated again . .”

Really, there was nothing you could do but you wanted to be with Sunday, you wanted to spend your days with him out in the open, not a single care in the cosmos about The Family being after him—you wanted him back home and beside you.

Beside you, he shifted closer, he carefully tilted your chin upward ‘til you had no choice but to look at him. Funnily enough, for all the uncertainty ahead, his gaze remained steady, “We won’t lose one another.”

“Sunday—” “Listen to me.” He softly interrupted, thumb brushing lightly beneath your eye before tears could fully gather.

“I do not know what the next month will look like—or the next year, and I cannot promise you our union either but I can promise you this: when the time comes, I will face it all and I will do everything in my power to rightfully earn the spot beside you.”

Your lips trembled, not only from sadness but from the fragile, terrifying hope that began to bloom beneath your chest.

“The Family won’t stop.” You whispered.

“I know.”

“They won’t forgive easily.”

“I know.”

“There’s a real chance we could be eternally separated.”

Sunday smiled, not because it was funny but because somehow—despite everything—he felt almost fond of your catastrophizing, “Then we shall simply find our way back to one another the same way we did today, no?”

Your laugh came unexpectedly—it was humourless and full of disbelief but purely light hearted, “You make that sound very simple.”

“It won’t be but difficult has never meant impossible.” He murmured, brushing a strand of stray hair from your face with unbearable tenderness. 

Mirroring his smile, you shifted closer to bury yourself against his bare skin as though you were anchoring your heart to him. Sunday’s arm tightened around you immediately, protective without thought before pressing a quiet kiss to your forehead.

And as though all worries dissipated into the skies of Planarcadia, the once lonely suite had transformed into something far more lived-in—the bed remained half unmade, blankets tangled and abandoned, heated remnants of earlier faded into something more wholesome. Room service trays sat on the wooden coffee table, silver lids pushed aside in favour of half-finished lunch.

Sunday was seated on the floor—pants and top messily thrown over his body—eating a fruit. He looked up from where he sat, brows lifting slightly as you eagerly rummaged through your luggage near the entryway. You returned to him with your arms full, a couple of somewhat familiar-looking objects tucked inside.

“What is that?” He blinked

You grinned with entirely too much satisfaction, “Emergency provisions.” 

His confusion turned to suspicion but nonetheless, you carefully set your haul onto the polished floor one by one like priceless contraband:

Sweet dream cloud candies in iridescent wrappers. Golden lullaby honey crisps. Starfall sugar biscuits dusted in edible shimmer. Moondew fruit chews. SoulGlad. And finally, 

“Chocolate pudding tarts.” Sunday breathed out. He stared at the familiar dessert packaging as though it had appeared through divine intervention. 

“I brought these snacks with me so I wouldn’t get homesick while on vacation. I often do the same during press tours—”

Before you could speak any further, the lighthearted atmosphere shifted subtly but you noticed it—the way an expression of sadness crept up his face.

Sunday was homesick.

You hadn’t thought he’d be—no, that wasn’t true, you had thought about it, you just didn’t expect something so minor to make it visible.

Slowly, you opened the packaging and offered the pudding tart. For a second, he simply stared at it but carefully took it nonetheless. He grabbed a silver spoon from one of the trays and scooped a small amount, as if indulging any further was forbidden.

Its familiar sweetness melted on his tongue and you watched as his expression changed into something more nostalgic.

You knew where he had immediately gone—to childhood, to the happier memories where he only worried about how to sneak in more pudding tarts in between music lessons, and what to write in the letter he’d regularly send to Robin (There was just too much to talk about!)

“It tastes the same as I remember . . I—thank you.”

You shook your head, “You don’t have to thank me. I just thought you’d miss some snacks from home.”

You and Sunday spent the entire morning and afternoon holed up in the suite reminiscing about the colourful past, revealing how one deciphered their feelings for the other; he also took the time to give you a proper apology for involving your name and reputation in his affairs to which you accepted.

Maybe it was fate playing a hand.

Once full of worry and fear for the uncertainty that the future held, you learned to slow down and appreciate the present—the fact that Sunday was right beside you, safe and healthy.

For now, you’d cherish this moment in a foreign world, and whatever the future may bring, you knew nothing could pry you and Sunday apart, that was something you were certain of. And this time without any hesitation, you spoke up,

“I love you, Sunday.”

You shift from your seat, feigning skittish. “Did my morose pique the curiosity of the grand performer? Or are you simply worried?”

“Neither.”

“What a benumbed reaction, Anaxa—“

“—goras.” He finishes for you. Usually, whenever he’d add on your behalf, you’d combat it with a snide but today, he’s left with nothing but silence. This made him look up from his instruments and papers, your lack of reactions made him forgo his current experiment.

It made him almost worry, almost.

He sighs instead. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter.”

“You’re quick to lie to me,” Anaxagoras is now facing you, laying a hand on his hip. “That seems like something.”

The way he conducts his questions is making you want to be defensive with your petulant behavior. “Even if something is on my mind, I don’t see why I should be telling you about it.”

“Maybe you should, because if I can find some way to help, your mood would lift, no?”

“Since when have you cared about my moods?”

Silence then.

“Are you aware of what the principle of correspondence is?” Anaxa mutters out and you have the urge to exhale.

“Please spare me a lecture…”

“As above, so below, as within so without.” The professor starts nonetheless. “Everything around us is a mirror that reflects a projection on both our inner and outer manners, think of the relationships as interconnected roots of trees or simply dendrites. It’s the simple work of magic tricks—human behaviors more so than divinity at play.” Anaxagoras approaches you, the chains of his eyepatch filling the slowness of the room.

He levels his face with yours and from your position, you can clearly anatomize the fullness of his eye from here—the hollow of mint with a cut of boysenberry in the center, glowing beneath long lashes.

He continues, “even if I’m half-dead as what that titan said, I can still feel your vibrations and stress, an internal conflict, it’s making shoddy trembles of my glass flasks on that desk.”

“How does that even—“

“Your feet.” Anaxa finally says. “You were unconsciously tapping your feet.”

Oh.

You lay your palms flat on your knees, an unconscious manner.

“I apologize.”

“So you have the decency to apologize and yet not speak your mind further?”

The silence is indefinite yet present. It shallows over at every retort that spills in between both your stubborn tongues.

You shake your head. “You’re difficult.”

His eyes narrow. “You are the one being difficult, actually. I offered help, you refused, I asked about your well-being, you dismissed me.”

“You should consider how your candidness makes it exceptionally hard for me to be open to you, maybe think about that.” You bite back at him, the tension threatening to spill over. “You’re the last person I’d want to go to whenever I have worries, so just simply drop it for today. I’d have to apologize for my lackings, I'll provide you with better companionship and arguments when I’m feeling well.”

“…Truly, I didn’t mean to come off as heartless—“ but you’d already brush past his shoulder before he can fully explain himself like he’d always have, leaving Anaxa to his bubbling vessels, untidy scrolls and a heavy sigh.

Much to his dismay instead of the privacy that he wishes after that argument, Cerces appears just as you vanish from his sight, a liquidy chuckle slipping past their lips. “Sometimes, I even wonder if your heart died along with you, child of humanity.”

“I’d rather you keep silent while I work.” Anaxagoras distastefully returns back to his apparatuses, more quiet and solemn than before.

“You should give chase.” Cerces suggested instead. “That child was simply worried.”

“Worried?” He finds the titan’s words as credulous. “Did you not see the flush of anger directed at me? Besides, I’m preoccupied right now.”

“You say you’re preoccupied and yet it’s you who seem quite distracted. Are you curious about their source of trouble?”

“It’s nothing new, arguments like that. We’ve known each other long before you ever knew me on my deathbed so back off.”

When he’d state his intentions clear, the Titan of Reason—unfazed in their countenance—leaves the professor to his own bearings and he finally has room to breathe.

Your relationship with him has always been rocky. Arguments and walking outs weren’t new, you used to debate about claims and theories a multitude of times back in the Grove, it was part of your dynamic, but every time he realizes belatedly how his string of words had cut you deep beyond the usual shallow jabs thrown on a daily, Anaxagoras cannot help but feel like his hollow chest is being twisted upside down.

In some way, maybe it mattered because despite the clashes and quarrels, you’d stay. You’ve stayed by him for years even after he was ridiculed as a blasphemous fool or a heretic—you’d stay even longer, waiting for him to finish lectern speeches or classes without so much as an ounce of complaint. A simple gesture that he’d been grateful of and even he admits to himself that seeing you being upset with him and his words were the least satisfying things to behold.

It did bother him but admitting that aloud to that titan was the last thing he’d want.

So after an hour or two after he knew you’d calm down, the professor drops his vials and walks down the distasteful and boisterous streets of Okhema in search of you—or more specifically, cruising over to Hyacine and asking for your whereabouts to save him the trouble of turning the Holy City upside down.

It was tempting, for the sake of bringing an irate reaction out of that woman and her golden threads, but his sick body and rational mind stopped him so.

“You are here.”

Anaxagoras has finally found you in some remote corner of the city, you were sitting shiftless above limestone, carving names upon ordinary stones. There was a spare moment in which his dull eyes sought down to you—he’d noticed how your hair is wind-swept and how strands of it stick to your forehead and the skin of your neck. The leaves of your collar are strewn as well, showing the barest hint of collarbones and almost immediately Anaxa shifts his eyes away, he’d asked what you were doing to distract himself from his own keen observations.

“Nobody will remember each scholar that perished fighting the Black tide. I’m merely writing companions I remember that I used to do thesis with, those that don’t have families here in Okhema to remember them…”

Anaxa observes you again, then after a long silence you feel him approaching closer, his shadow stretching before you. Your mind stirs in alertness, noticing what he’s up to—but Anaxa is always two steps ahead of you, before you can cease the pen laid by your side, he has already swiped it. You tried your best to wrestle it from him but Anaxa held it out of reach from you, causing you to sneer.

“Give that back. I forbid you to write your own epitaph!”

“And why not? I’ve done it once in the Grove—“

“Well, this isn’t the Grove—!“ You've paused quickly, noticing that you interrupted him. You waited for an ire to come throttling down at you but when you gaze back at him, Anaxagoras merely raises a brow at you, a faint sheet of amusement in his expression.

“Give me a stone.” He’d ask.

“No—“

“Stone.”

Your shoulders deflate at his tight tone, accepting defeat with petulance and a huff.

Stubborn man, you curse in your head. Stubborn and hard-headed and mean…You digress, ending up giving him one, laying the stone harsher onto his open palm than you intended but his expression remained amused.

When a balance of tamed silence settles, Anaxagoras is the first to speak again after writing an elegy onto the stone, changing the subject with ease.

“It's getting late, you should retire for today.”

And in response, you turn away with a quiet huff of breath. “I‘m…still not used to the Holy City's constant daylights, and I should be saying that to you, the moment you were given apparatuses to quell your complaints, you’ve been doing nothing but your experiments since you’ve arrived from your fight in Castrum Kremnos.”

“Well, thanks to your concern this ill-stricken body has been recovering. Besides, I have nothing much to do, especially when that woman’s threads are all over the place.”

“You almost died.” Your statement held more bite than necessary. For you it showed him your true feelings and for Anaxa—the answer to today’s dismay.

A laugh breaks from his lips.

“Is this why you’re upset?” There’s a hint of mirth in his tone. “You’re upset that I got hurt back at the Grove.”

You rise from your seat, meeting him tooth for tooth, jab for jab. “Is it truly hard for you to comprehend that there are people that care whether or not you’re doing well—?”

Despite your anger, Anaxa is distracted for a moment, watching the sneer on your lips shaping vowels and long consonants, almost as if you're baring his teeth at him. The sudden urge to lean down, kiss you quiet and taste those angry syllables on his teeth stirs in his mind.

The Nousporist sage is anything but a romantic, but temptation truly is a humanistic sin, what is he to be shameful for such selfishness?

“It’s not that.” He answers your spite with dullness. “My field of study has made it easy to forget about one's well-being. You of all people know that very well.”

“Anaxagoras, you could’ve died again and—“

He never wanted for you to concern yourself with him like this. Anaxagoras knew he was risking himself, the nuances of alchemy and the splitting of his soul. So how come—observing the way your expression creases with a certain type of pain that makes it seem like you were the one that felt it, not him.

“If you continue like this, I would go through the same grief of losing you like I did the first time around.”

“Don’t say that, as a Chrysos heir it’s bound to—“ Anaxa is surprised when you reach out to touch him, to dare touch him so freely and yet rebuttals fall flat on his heavy tongue. The warmth of your fingertips that brush over the coolness of his own palm, you bring his hand up to cradle your cheek with utter delicacy like you’re holding glass, it makes his mind go numb.

He is aware of the way his skin dances with the plush warmth of your cheek, strands of your hair he wishes to tangle between his long fingers—to give into temptation and drag his hand slowly down your jaw, the expanse of your neck, down your arms…

“You really should start taking care of yourself more.” Your lips murmur onto his open palm. “Maybe not for yourself, but for me and Hyacine.”

He swallows. ”…I cannot keep promises.”

And you’d feel a faint tug on his end—and that fissures the tension. You let go and he quickly lets his own arm fall back to his side immediately. There’s a part of you that was terrified at the thought of offending him, you never got into Anaxagoras’ bubble without permission, your relationship stayed at a mere arm’s length. Only quirked lips with tongues of appraisals and maybe the occasional longing stares from across large rooms were exchanged between the two of you, no shoulder brushing, hand-holding, breaths upon goosebumped necks—this was your first time ever touching him, his numbed, cold skin against your own.

Maybe your sudden approach shocked him from his nonchalance and arrogance, you’d know because for the first time since you’ve known him, Anaxagoras’ frown is an inch too deep and there’s a concerned fold on his brow.

He clears his throat, his eye looking anywhere but at you. “I need to go, I have to meet with the other Chrysos heirs at the baths today.”

Anaxa looked quite adamant to join the meeting, despite his distaste of the baths and Chrysos heir meetings.

He spares you one last look, “after you’re done with your business, you really should try to rest.”

You frown at his dismissive behavior, nodding your head nonetheless. “Alright, best of luck then.”

He’d merely nod stiffly at your reply and quickly turn on his heel. You would have let out a heavy exhale and scold yourself for touching him without prior permission—if it weren't for a certain titan that appeared before you, their brown curls turning gold under Kephale’s dawn.

“He’s quite provocative, that Nousporist sage, don't you think so too?” Cerces spares you conversation, their voice honeyed with light teasing.

“Anaxagoras’ probably born to be spiteful, so I cannot fault him for such a character flaw, we all have one.”

“You’re fond of him, aren’t you?” Cerces states and heat furnaces upon your cheek at their bold claim. Before you can find some excuse to defend yourself, they spoke again.

“So is he to you. I’ve noticed that whenever you’re around, he’s reduced to a passive child. His tongue is barely glib when you try to put him in his place and the way those sharp eyes soften, oh it reminds me of my lover all too much. It’s an endearing exchange.”

Cerces spoke their affections and you could do nothing but listen to them with a credulous expression. Anaxagoras being endeared by you? You’d try to wrack your mind of instances where you capture such a manner, but all you can remember of him was his sassiness, his dullness, his casual dismissiveness. There was no softness, endearments, fondness.

Despite being called the Titan of reason, you find their reasoning hard to comprehend.

You wouldn’t have believed them, that is until you gaze back at Anaxagoras’ retreating form in the distance and watch him closely, and closely you watch when you catch him moving his hand that you held so closely,

Observing how he flexes his fingers by his side.

There was an uptick in your voice, just at the end, like you had something specific in mind and had for a while—maybe even waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. 

Eren hesitated only long enough for him to notice. “Yeah?” 

You perched upright, and that smile on your face began to grow. Some might call the look wicked, but more than anything, it was coy. Like you were embarrassed and couldn’t possibly believe you found yourself in a situation where you had to ask him, “Would you mind helping me out and putting sunscreen on my back?” You reached for the bottle on the ground. “I can’t exactly reach it myself.” 

There was a split second Eren spent questioning if he’d heard you right. But there wasn’t much room for misinterpretation, was there?

He agreed by walking over rather than risk choking out the words around the lump in his throat. 

You handed Eren the bottle of sunscreen, but instead of merely giving him your back, you flipped to your belly. Hands folded in front of you, you propped yourself up to toss a glance over your shoulder. 

“I usually like to tan my back topless,” you said (way too casually, in Eren’s opinion). “Do you mind untying it for me?” 

He remained feet away, still, with the unopened bottle in hand. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, in part to ease his obvious tension. 

“How long have we known each other again?” you teased. “Mikasa does it for me all the time. What’s the difference?”

There’s a big difference, Eren thought. A huge one, actually, being that Mikasa hadn’t thought about what your naked body might look like for however many years you’d been coming over. For fuck’s sake, you were the first crush Eren remembered having. Of course it was different!

But he couldn’t say any of that. He opted to do as asked, coolly and quietly, absolutely not making a fuss of it, and sat on the very edge of your chair. Only afterwards, once he hid away inside, would he undoubtedly reel over the whole ordeal. 

Your bikini top was strapless. Once he delicately untied the knot in the back, the fabric wilted to your sides and exposed the expanse of your back to him, skin glistening ever so in the sunlight. 

From there, Eren stalled. His mind went utterly blank. He started searching for the sunscreen before remembering you’d already placed the bottle in his hand. You didn’t seem to notice, though, seemingly unbothered as you kicked your feet waiting on him, with all the time in the world. 

He squirted some lotion into his hand and tepidly patted your shoulder. He made a sort of smearing motion, his palm just barely dusting along your shoulder blades.

“You’re going to make my tan streaky,” you jokingly complained. “You can touch me a little, you know? I don’t bruise that easily.”

Eren jumped as you swatted your arm behind your back, seeking him out. You took him by his wrist and gave an encouraging—and surprisingly strong—tug. If that wasn’t enough, you all but yanked him on top of you, leaving him no choice but to straddle your hips to prevent a leg or knee from crashing down on you. 

If Eren thought he couldn’t breathe easy before, then he was suffocating now. He held himself on his knees, not daring to rest any of his weight on you unless he wanted to get a hard-on right then and there. 

But that part was kind of inevitable at this point, wasn’t it? 

Eren tried his best to ignore it. He gently massaged the slathering of sunscreen until it began soaking into your skin. Even before the lotion, you felt soft underneath the flat of his hand. Warm, too. Intoxicatingly so. 

As his hands smoothed down toward the middle of your back, his touch, once irresolute, sturdied. His thumbs pressed into the dip in your lower back, and he guessed you must be sensitive there because, intentionally or not, your back arched. Your ass pressed against him, and it was no secret how humiliatingly hard he was just by this harmless, simple favor. 

Before Eren could react—even think to adjust himself or get off of you entirely—you giggled. Giggled. Not outrightly laughing at him, per se, but something cuter, more mischievous. It made his entire face prickle hotly. 

You backed into him again. It was intentional this time; there was no doubting that. You even gave a little wiggle. Kittenishly, you asked him, “You want me to help you out with that?” 

Eren swallowed hard enough that he wondered if you heard him. Completely frozen, hands still placed against your back, he tried to sort out if this was a vivid afternoon-nap dream, or if this was actually happening right now. You kept on rubbing against the tent in his shorts, and it only made his cock ache for more. He wasn’t thinking when his grasp on you firmed, holding you there for him as he rut against your ass. 

But it still wasn’t nearly enough. Eren’s shorts felt painfully restraining; there were too many layers left between you. 

He stopped for a breath, thanked god for the privacy fence, and shoved his shorts down just enough for him to slip out. He held his cock in one hand and pulled your bottoms nice and tight with his other, then laid himself between your cheeks before humping like some horned-up dog—which, really, he was no better than. 

You looked over your shoulder. Bottom lip bitten through a devilish smile, you extended a hand back to lift your bottoms for Eren to slide underneath. The tight bikini snapped down but elicited no more than, “Fuck,” from him, something of a hiss yet something of pleasure. 

The tight fabric kept his cock snug between your ass, every thrust punctuated by the tip poking through the pretty blue bikini, leaving behind a stain the longer he went. 

“C’mon, Eren. Let me feel it,” you whined. “You’re not going to make me beg for it, are you?” 

He didn’t know that was what you wanted. Truth be told, the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. His brain had short-circuited long ago, and he was more than content with where he’d found himself, already groaning as if he might actually come from this alone.

But there was no way he would ever pass up on the opportunity to fuck you. He still couldn’t help but think he might be dreaming. 

Eren licked his hand, pumped himself a few times, and tucked your bottoms to the side. He spread you a little, just enough for him to push his cock inside you. You took him easily, already soaked wet in anticipation, and he knew he wouldn’t last long. 

Thighs sealed together, your ass bounced with every smack of his hips. Eren watched his cock bury into you, disappearing into the plush of your skin, over and over again. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight. He ended up taking the hem of his t-shirt between his teeth, just to enjoy the view more. 

Your fingers wrapped around the top edge of the chair. You twitched some, clenching your thighs impossibly close, then moaned into your hand. Eren stalled as he fought to stuff himself inside you fully. You weren’t making it easy on him, but he was determined to feel every bit of you, feel you stretch and squeeze around the base of his cock. His arms wavered beneath his weight—weight which you handled well as he white-knuckled your sides. 

So tight, so soft. He was a goner before he even started. 

“Shit,” Eren groaned through his teeth. 

He pulled out, and before he could even touch himself, he spilled across your back. The low muscles of his abdominals began tensing, his cock throbbing in his hand as he pumped out his cum until it dribbled onto your stretched bikini bottoms. 

Eren loosened a hand through his hair, pushing back the beads of sweat that had formed at his hairline. He worked twice as hard to catch his thoughts as to catch his breath. Clarity had hit him like a ton of bricks, and he probably needed to grab you a towel right about now. 

“I, uh,” Eren started, his voice feeling extra thick in his throat. 

You interrupted whatever jumble of words he was going to say with a contented sigh. You pushed yourself upright and faced him, bare chest and all. He gawked for a second too long before meeting your eye, but it was too late; you already had this proud grin across your face. 

“I should probably take a dip in the pool.” You stood up, but your bottoms came right down. You kicked them off your ankle, offering Eren a hand and a nonchalant, “Want to join me?” 

He sat there, still dazed and disheveled, with his pants partly down. He was still hard, too, after seeing your pretty tits and that up-to-no-good look you had on your face. But it didn’t seem like that would be a problem, because he had a feeling you weren’t through with him yet. 

Eren took your hand, happily ready to go wherever you’d lead him. 

“Yeah. Okay.”

It only takes a few more silent steps before you come to the lip of the springs, face to face with Blade and immediately you can feel it aswell as see it— the undisguised desire, hot and earnest in his eyes as he takes you in. He’s shameless in his admiration, much as you are to him.

Every look is slow and hungry, and the unwavering admiration is enough to make you shake when you take that first trembling step into the springs to join him.

Blade doesn’t miss a moment of it, not when he can watch how the water line clings to your breasts and molds to your bare straining nipples as you take a breath in. He watches you sink all the way down into the water, until you sit on a ledge at the other end of the spring where your thighs squeeze together and make an alluring, not so mysterious y-shape hiding your center from view.

It’s deliberate on your part, the distance. A detail that you know Blade won’t stand for, especially given the way his gaze is already devouring you completely. But it gets you the reaction you hope for almost immediately; a drop in Blade’s brows, a heat of something darker in his gaze and his jaw tightens before you speak.

You wave your hand through the water, transfixed by the ripples it creates beneath your touch, the shapes reaching all the way across to your lover at the other side.

“How does it feel?” You ask after a moment, “Better?”

“Mmph.” Is all Blade offers, stubborn. But it only makes you feel all the more playful, admiring the way his broad, scarred chest rests above the water.

His voice is much deeper when it calls your gaze back, and his huge body shifts. “Something wrong?”

“Nope.” You answer too quickly, tilting your head. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

“Is something the matter with you? You’re scowling.”

It takes Blade a second to respond, you watch the lines of his neck and arms flex before he’s relaxing again, and your brows rise at him.

“Come.” He grunts, obviously unamused as he motions to a place by his side. “Closer.”

“This isn’t close enough for you?”

You swear you see the muscles in Blade’s jaw clench.

“No.” He grinds out.

“Are you sure? I thought maybe you’d appreciate some alone time.”

“Don’t toy with me, girl.”

You can’t help yourself, can’t help but rile up the same man many would consider to be a weapon because you see the way he looks at you, notice the way his heavy, half-hard cock is already twitching beneath the surface of the springs.

You could keep going for longer if you wanted, but there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to deny yourself of what awaits you either. Not when you can see the way the temperature of the springs have caused parts of Blade’s features to take on a pink flush, and his chest is rising and falling with his deep breaths.

It’s mouth-watering. So although prematurely, you find yourself closing that distance in only a couple of steps— perhaps driven by your own eagerness as Blade spreads his legs a little wider in anticipation.

You take your new seat by his side before giving him a look.

“Better?”

Blade returns it with one that’s equal parts unamused and full of desire before he motions with his eyes again. To himself this time.

“Here.”

And without a second thought, you do as he says.

Blade sinks into the warm water as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and climb on top of him, placing your knees on either side of his hips as you situate yourself down. Too close to his hard cock for it to be accidental, but he’s more than eager to have you slink into his lap and rub yourself against him.

His body feels like silk beneath you, water sloshing as you feel the first silky grind of his hard cock split through your folds before it’s catching on your clit, making you gasp and moan at the wet, tacky sound that follows.

His eyes all but burn through you.

“How about now?” You ask in a dreamier voice. “Is that what had gotten you so upset?”

“I have no patience for your games.” Blade grunts and grips your waist as you shamelessly rub your pussy across his cock beneath the water. “Teasing me is a bad habit of yours.”

“I thought you liked that about me.” You giggle, but it breaks off into a moan with the next clumsy thrust of your hips, the shaft rolling languidly through your split folds in a way that makes your toes curl.

It’s incredibly intoxicating, the feeling of Blade’s larger body beneath yours accompanied by the temperature of the springs. He feels so rough and safe and warm. You whine his name, nuzzling down into his damp hair and you feel his mouth catch on your soft breast as you lean yourself back to offer him more of it.

Blade’s mouth works at you tirelessly, lapping and kissing at your perked nipples until your thighs quiver, accompanied by the lurid back and forth sway of your hips in his lap as he mindlessly helps you rock back and forth along the length of him. He presses along your lips and the bump of your clit catches on his swollen cockhead, making you both twitch and your whole body jolts when he nips at your tits with his teeth.

“You’re disobedient. This will not end well for you.” He murmurs against your breasts, full of want.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, leaning into your own arm with a lazy, lewd swirl of your hips. Blade’s brows come down as his kisses find their way to your jaw, lips parting to grind out another groan and tease skin with teeth while his rough hands curl into the plush softness of your ass.

You press slow, soft kisses against his forehead, down over his nose and mouth and neck, following the valley of each scar, old and new. Blade lets his head fall back and a deep, guttural growl vibrates against your lips. “Know your limits.”

You pet his shoulders and chest, hum in question that’s way more convincing than it should be for just one sound, and ask in a sweet tone, “And if I don’t?”

“Then when you surrender it will be amusing. Do not test me.”

The depth of Blade’s gaze, accompanied the deep tone of promise in his voice almost burns you, making your pussy twitch from where you’re pressing hard against him. You moan, your toes flexing as they curl up behind you and your nails dig into his arms.

You feel his cock throb at the eagerness of your movements, and then he’s helping grind you against him again.

But it’s almost too easy for Blade to make you into a mess. To make you whimper and keen, peering at him with your forehead against his.

The soft bouncing motion of your body on his cock alongside the saccharine rub of his skin against yours makes you feel delirious. The humid air of the springs fills your lungs with your next inhale, and your breaths turn to rushing pants that make your head spin.

But you can tell that Blade’s enjoying pushing himself up against you, to help you bob and thrust across the length of his cock while you struggle to keep his pace. The catch of his sensitive head and folds of his frenulum against the plush, slick petals of your pussy makes it easy to forget about his prior warning, to ignore the way water splashes over the edge of the springs, to not be affected by what would be embarrassment if anyone were to choose tonight of all nights to indulge in a warm soak.

You feel Blade slip down low in the water, applying pressure to a different angle all while he luxuriates in simply letting you ride him and take your pleasure and give him his. All while he gets to watch your breasts bob and your eyes flutter.

But it’s all too much, too much when the head of his fat cock is pressing through your folds just right and his huge palms are grabbing at your ass to ease himself through it. His hands are pulling you apart, spreading out your pussy from behind to make sure you can’t run from your fate and it makes your heart kick at your chest, you’re beginning to feel boneless above him.

“S-slow down…” You crumble, pleading against Blade’s jugular, but your hips never stopping their hypnotic motions. His chest jumps with an inhale.

“This is what has become of you?” There’s an air of something dark to his tone, his lips smearing against your cheek as he wills your body to keep moving. “Is this all it takes to whittle away one’s resolve?”

Your choked moans of Blade’s name ratchet up in pitch, but squeeze down to a whisper, almost like your whole body is twisting up. He gathers you close and squeezes strong arms around you, you’re gripping tight to the back of his neck and hair while he’s helping hitch your hips impossibly closer to his with a slap of flesh against water.

It’s all too much, the way the tendrils of your orgasm rush towards you with reckless abandon, the pleasure mixing with the rising temperature of the hot springs only making you more lightheaded and pliant. Blade takes in the almost helpless look on your face and all but craves to devour it; mouth smashing onto yours when your head falls forward to allow him the reach.

It’s an intense haze of messy kisses and moans, hands wandering and squeezing, shared growls and shivers despite the heat. The head of his cock catches on your hole, and you moan at the way the simple contact is enough to tease you with the stretch. It makes something grasp deep and agonizing in your gut at the hint of what you could have, hunger rushing fast and quick through his blood as you feel Blade’s cock throb and thicken against you.

“Please…. I—“ Your lips curl, legs shaking as your body bounces against his, you’re so desperate for him to just slip deep inside of you.

But before you can shift your hips just enough to position yourself to allow it, Blade grabs at you— deliberately applying pressure to your clit with the next tangible press of his cock through your folds.

“Not yet.” He almost barks, voice wound tight and cock throbbing as he holds your bleary gaze. “First, I will make something else of you.”

At least you assumed he'd created it. There was no way out from what you'd concluded after a brief search shortly after he'd brought you here. It was comfortable, dark wooden furniture with green upholstering, delicate looking lamps with stained glass tops. Exactly what you imagined a typical home in Sumeru would look like.

He was talking to himself. Subdued, too low for you to catch more than a few scattered words.

The trilune behind him was beautiful. As was his altered body, and you briefly wondered how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair. All three marrows appeared fine this time, so that was hardly what he was ruminating on.

Before you could as much as get out of your chair, Dottore's head snapped towards you and he reappeared directly in front of you. He towered over you like this, the faint blue light emitted by his veins burning your eyes with their divinity. From the looks of it, they extended further beneath the tight bodysuit, perhaps reaching parts of his body that the mere thought of made your face heat.

"I was wondering how your experiment went." You lowered your head in respect, submission, and he sighed.

A hand shot out and wrapped around your throat, just tight enough that you had to struggle for air. Dottore lifted you with ease, a testament to his newfound strength, bringing you up until the pointed beak of his mask was dead center in your field of vision. You clutched at his wrist, desperate for any leverage to prevent what felt like your neck being torn in two and your body falling uselessly to the ground.

It was unnecessarily violent. Uncharacteristically as well. The three moons all pulsed, on the cusp of activation?, you ask yourself, preparing to be torn apart in time and space.

Dottore's fingers tightened for a moment before releasing you with a strained breath. His other hand, the one plated in gold, brushed along your jaw with far too much care.

"There were few bright moments in an otherwise dull performance." His hand had moved to pet your hair.

Who were you to judge the words of a god even if their voice shakes?

A sigh leaves you, nodding along to his words as you sank to your knees. It felt better this way. Dottore chuckled quietly, the sharp edges of his golden claws raking along your scalp. From what you'd seen before casting your gaze to the ground, he appeared unharmed but shaken.

"They certainly were... persistent in their pursuit. Banding together like little vermin huddling for warmth." He clicked his tongue as he abruptly stepped past you. "For all their bravado, you'd have thought they'd have created more of an upper hand."

You twist your head, watching him fling himself carelessly into the armchair you'd previously occupied. The trilune flickers through the fabric before outright disappearing, making you gasp. He pats his knee once, twice, in a quiet command.

"They took down their adversary of course, but most of their time was spent stalling and spewing ridiculous nonsense in an attempt to rattle me. Ah except when they broke the frostmoon through the false firmament, what an unexpected display of power. But they cannot rely on heavenly assistance when the true fight begins."

Something in his tone had you pause, nails digging into the floor as it trembles beneath you. Dottore ran a hand through his hair and the disturbance disappeared again. His legs are parted almost obscenely as he lounges back, so far from his composure.

Despite hoping your position on all fours would make him more amicable, you're still careful to keep your voice as neutral as possible. Surely the last thing a god would want was the sympathy of someone so far beneath them. "Rattle you? Surely The Knave and Marionette at least would know better than to think she could do so with mere words?"

A low, almost purring laugh rang through the air. Dottore wasted no time pressing your face against his thigh the moment your body settled between his feet. His skin crackles with static that tickles your skin. His head falls back once the laughter settles, giving you the smallest peek up under the mask. Something glows crimson.

"You would think so, wouldn't you?" He clicks his tongue in something that sounds like disappointment. A teacher watching a child make the same mistake for the tenth time.

You've barely parted your lips to ask a follow-up question when you're cut off. "Make yourself useful. Fetch my notes and a pen."

There's no point to asking why he doesn't just conjure it up himself (though the question does rest on your tongue) when your limbs respond automatically. He hadn't exactly done much except drop you off in this little space, but a corner was clearly furnished in the same fashion as his office in Zapolarny.

With a thick leather logbook in hand, you chance another question. Perhaps it was silly in nature, but you find yourself compelled to ask anyway. While he was solely your superior and not a god, he'd enjoyed all forms of questions. "Now that Teyvat has one of its original moons back, which of the two others would you prefer to replace?"

This time, kneeling wasn't a conscious choice as much as the very air behind your legs pushed until you fell. The floor bit through your trousers and into your skin this time.

Space warped and the distance between where you'd fallen and where Dottore had now risen to his feet grew shorter.

"I do not aim to replace anything," he spat out as air turned solid beneath his feet to let him ascend another step into nothing, "there will be no pale imitations of the past in the world I will create."

You nodded eagerly, craning your neck almost painfully to keep your eyes on him. Like this, he truly did appear as an omnipresent deity, taking up every inch of your field of vision.

Dottore scoffed when the first tear rolled down your cheek. You'd barely noticed how you'd begun shaking.

You wordlessly passed him the book when he held out a hand, having let himself descend to the floor right before you. His lips were set in a sneer. "Crying doesn't suit you."

A subject crying didn't suit the image of him being a benevolent god either.

You remained fixed on the ground as he went back to lounging in the armchair, now scribbling down notes and grunting to himself ever so often. The first sign that Dottore was slowly giving you back control of your body was the way a tremor had been allowed to move through you. The tears, however, were still being denied release as you slowly calmed down from having displeased him.

Having worked for him for years, it was odd to have witnessed the change that had taken place. Everyone had feared his outbursts at one point. Then there had been a long period, until today, where contemptuous words had seemingly meant nothing to him, chuckling no matter the vile things people called him. How he'd forced you to your knees had felt exactly as dealing with the younger segments.

Dottore snapped his fingers and your eyes immediately went to him, seeing a faint line of crimson split from his chest and open, evaporating the dark blue fabric that clung to his skin, leaving only white cloth and black straps covering him.

"Closer."

Again, you obeyed. Again you were reminded of the benevolence in letting you move your own body. Of giving you the option to refute despite clearly expecting submission. You could've sworn it made his expression soften when you crawled towards him once more. And you were reminded then why you remained by his side, the flutter in your chest when he smiled so fondly. For all the power he now held at his fingertips, he did not look at you any differently than he had before his ascension.

Of course you believed in the cause. But more than that, you believed in him.

Earlier suspicions were confirmed when you allowed your eyes to wander from his face and down to his feet. The changes did indeed extend further, his legs the same light blue with silvery lines. It was magnificent. The very foundation of Irminsul and Teyvat merging with his form.

Praise now rolled off his tongue but you barely heard, mind already wandering to how you'd shown your devotion a mere couple of days ago. The sheer satisfaction of being the one to make such a powerful man unravel had your fingers yearning to grasp at his robes. He'd promised you release then, promised that once he had completed his experiment, you would be rewarded in the most human way.

When you looked up his grin was sharp, surely he'd caught your thoughts.

"Go on then," he urged, voice gentle with all the naive fantasies of the gods' love for mortals.

You were eager in pressing your cheek against his inner thigh, the skin oddly cool to the touch as you rubbed against him like a pet starved of attention. From this distance, the scent of him was impossible to ignore, and you could've sworn the bulge between his thighs had grown as well. Seeing as he was taller now perhaps he'd also-

"No need to be shy, weren't you eager for your reward?"

Before you could answer, Dottore's hand brushed aside the fabric, the sight punching the air from your lungs. Not even fully erect, his cock was already larger than it had been last time you saw it, silvery lines mirroring the ones on his arm extending like veins up the shaft and pulsing with a faint light.

The grin peeking out beneath his mask was sharp, bordering on something feral, when you looked up at him. It was with near trembling hands that you reached for him, anticipation twisting like a knife in your gut. You almost expected to be struck down when your fingers closed around his shaft, or for your ribcage to implode. There were a million ways a god could end your existence before the next beat of your heart. Rip your flesh to shreds before you could howl in agony and reassemble you at leisure.

But Dottore simply inclined his head in silent approval, and so you steeled yourself and dragged your tongue along the underside of his hardening length.

"That's it, but you can do more." His words were a soothing purr, because why would he pick cruelty when he'd seized this power to end injustice. "Don't you want to show me how grateful you are for being one of the chosen?"

You nodded eagerly, crushing the frigid sensation running down your spine, and taking him further into your mouth. Even with his tip rubbing against the back of your throat, much of his length was still between your hands.

His thighs flexed beneath your fingers as you tried to take him a little further, desperately fighting the urge to gag and sputter at the intrusion. Dottore laughed above you, one of his hands tangling in your hair before coming to rest atop your head. Drool gathered around his length and slid down the shaft to wet your hands, making it easier to rub what you couldn't fit in time with the little bops of your head.

"Such a devout follower," he cooed.

Your jaw had begun to ache, but the pleased little sighs you were pulling from him was enough to persist. A little discomfort was nothing compared to what he'd endured to bring salvation to the world.

The thought had barely been conceived before you wanted to retract it. Something changed in your throat. You watched on in horror as his pelvic bone came closer and closer to your face. You wanted to throw up, felt how your throat distended without any real resistance. It didn't hurt so much as it sent a dull throb through your body, mind struggling to make sense of the input it received. You shouldn't be able to take him this far.

No air entered your lungs.

Tears welled up in your eyes.

No air could escape either, your cheeks puffing up uncomfortably as your chest spasmed.

Dottore rolled his hips and you felt bile continue to rise with no release.

His hand had remained in your hair, nails rubbing far too gently against your scalp.

"Oh don't weep little one, I would never let anything happen to you."

Part of you wanted to protest, to tell him that this was already far too much. That you could feel his cock far past your esophagus as he continued to guide your head up and down. But the worst part was the instinctual desires of your body, fingers itching to rip and tear at your skin, to grasp something sharp and plunge it through your neck to secure that air would flow. Not that you were choking, you couldn't be, your mind still far too sharp. But your mind kept screaming that you were.

For the first few seconds after he yanked you away, you felt no difference. Then air flooded your lungs and you gasped and sputtered. Once more, Dottore chuckled in the face of your misery.

"Did that feel good?" He purred.

Only then did you become aware of the treacherous - no, fitting - response to his treatment. Sticky arousal clung to your thighs and your core throbbed with far greater intensity that before his rough treatment. Of course it did. You mentally chastised yourself for doubting him, of course a deity with wisdom as his would know exactly what you needed.

Still, the pleasure coiling didn't feel entirely your own. But you pushed those thoughts down and nodded, still held with your face just inches from his length. The tip looked angry and flushed, glistening pre that seemed to glow with each twitch of his cock slowly leaking down the shaft.

"Wonderful. Get up."

With little fanfare, Dottore released his hold. Nothing felt amiss when you curled a hand protectively around your throat. No torn skin from the stretch nor any deformation. You trembled like a newborn fawn getting to its feet for the first time.

He waved a hand and your body turned. When you tried to look at him over your shoulder he simply tutted and an invisible force snapped your head forward. How vulnerable his power left you was once more cemented in your mind when dancing embers moved across your body and dissolved any trace of clothing. The air wasn't frigid like Snezhnaya but a gentle caress, Dottore wouldn't wish any unpleasantness on you after all.

Perhaps it would've been kinder to let you shiver and worry about the cold instead of his burning gaze when you were forced to bend at the hip. His thumbs pressed into your flesh and spread your folds apart, the sudden touch making your breath catch in your throat. There was nothing gentle in each stroke of his thumb along your slit, every rub ending with a tap against your clit.

You felt yourself clench down around nothing, wetness trickling down your thighs in what felt like concerning amounts. It hadn't been there just moments before, had it? Dottore chuckled and gave your rear an almost affectionate pat. It was enough to make you swallow your worries and instead wriggle your hips a little.

"Oh what a sweet thing, getting all eager for it." Without warning he plunged a finger into your tight heat and you squeaked in surprise, certain that you'd stagger forward. But your feet were rooted to the spot, knees aching as every steady thrust of his long finger forced your to rock forward. It wasn't long before he added another finger, his thrusts coming to a halt as he instead spread you open.

"Doctor?"

He withdrew his fingers with a squelch, silence stretching as you suspected he tasted your essence. The thought itself made your thighs tense up with the need to press together. "Yes, that should do it." His voice was almost clinical, final.

The world blurred before your eyes. When you regained focus once more, the first thing you felt was an immense pressure. Pain flared along your nerves, white-hot and blinding. Your flesh screamed in agony at the feeling of being torn apart at the seams. No sound left your lips, it didn't get the chance before two of his glowing fingers pushed between your lips.

Dottore's hips bucked up beneath you. That was when you realized the position he'd brought you into. Seated on his lap, legs spread wide by his thick thighs, back to his chest, his chin easily resting atop your head thanks to his new height. He had you fully impaled on his cock, thick and pulsating as it stretched you out.

A quiet whimper was allowed to escape into the silence.

It was far too much. You'd seen it. There was no way it should fit in you. But you saw the bulge when your teary eyes flickered down, saw the blue glow of its outline beneath your skin. Your eyes rolled back when he thrust up into you once more, his strength frightening as he leaned back for better leverage.

Dottore pushed down on your tongue, making drool slip down your chin and onto your chest. He brought his free hand up to squeeze at your chest, pinching and tugging at your nipple without the pace of his hips ever faltering. Every thrust punched the air from your lungs, feeling as though he was deep enough to break your ribs from the inside.

His thumb dragged down your lips, smearing your own spit across your skin before both his hands settled on your hips. You wanted to squirm when he lifted you, his thick length dragging against your walls and the feeling of being stuffed full somehow not easing in the slightest.

A soft whisper of 'relax' against the shell of your ear was all the warning you had before he slammed you back down, tearing a scream from your throat. It was raw and unguarded, feeling so far removed from any sound you'd heard yourself make. It echoed around the room, mixing with gleeful laughter from behind you, and the sound of skin against skin.

Pain bloomed from your shoulder where Dottore's teeth had pierced your skin, the pain barely registering through the haze of pleasure as he continued to use your body like a ragdoll. You'd lost control of yourself, every muscle limp as pleasure and pain mixed together, nothing but dead weight in his lap. But Dottore moved you as though you weighed nothing, his nails digging into your hips as he picked up the pace, dragging your body up and down on his cock.

"Aren't you going to tell me how good it feels?"

You could barely make sense of his words, spoken with far too much care for the ruthless snaps of his hips.

"G-good.."

Dottore's chest rumbled behind you with what you guessed was approval as your voice cracked, and he didn't press further. Invisible bonds coiled around your waist, continuing the steady rhythm of fucking you on his cock while his hands were now free to grope at your thighs. You jerked at the first brush of his fingertips against your swollen clit, one of his hands spreading your folds while the other began playing with the little bundle of nerves.

You cried out his name, earning several kisses along your neck

"That's right, if you're too delirious to speak then show me how well I'm taking care of my precious little follower."

Though his words were still kind, there was an unmistakable sharpness to them that matched the sudden harsh pinch to your clit. At the same time he slammed against a particular spot along your sensitive walls, eyes fluttering as your release was wrung from your body. Dottore groaned softly, pace faltering for just a moment before burying as deep as he could, steady pulses of warmth flooding into your body.

Dottore allowed you a moment to catch your breath before pushing you off of his lap, doing nothing to stop your fall face first onto the floor.

"You'll have to clean yourself, I've already loitered here long enough."

You could only croak out a sound of disbelief while pushing yourself back up onto all fours.

"The true experiment has only just left the first phase my dear."