#enchanthings

“—and technically, jellyfish don’t even have brains,” he said, waving a half-full beer can for emphasis. “Which is kind of terrifying if you think about it, because they still function perfectly fine. They sting, they float, they hunt. No brain required! Meanwhile, we have brains, and I can’t even cook rice without ruining it. What does that say about evolution? Nothing good.”

You giggled, clutching your drink. “You’re like obsessed with the weirdest facts.”

“They’re not weird, they’re practical! Like, if we ever have to fight an alien that looks like a jellyfish, guess who’s going to save all your lives? This guy.” He pointed to himself proudly. “Because I’ll know not to aim for the brain. Jellyfish don’t have brains!”

“Christ, Chase,” Harcourt muttered, taking a swig from her beer. “You’re exhausting.”

Adrian grinned, unbothered. “Exhaustingly prepared.”

You’d noticed it before, but it hit you sharper in the haze of beer and rooftop lights. The way Adrian never seemed to flinch when people tossed jabs at him. Harcourt could cut him down with a single sentence, Chris could roll his eyes, Economos could groan every time he opened his mouth (but you did notice that he would still humor him), and Adrian just…took it. Not even took it, just shrugged it off. Grinning, bouncing right back, like their words couldn’t touch him.

Maybe he didn’t even notice. Or maybe he noticed and genuinely didn’t care. Either way, it was kind of incredible.

You, who could spiral for days over one offhand comment, couldn’t wrap your head around it. And maybe that was why you always made a point to be nice to him. To laugh at his stupid jokes, to actually listen when he rambled on about owl facts, to see him. Because underneath the quirks and tangents, he deserved someone who did.

You leaned your head against the back of your chair, warmth bubbling in your chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

And then, your bladder reminded you of the three drinks past your limit.

You groaned softly, sitting up too fast. The world tilted. “Uh oh.”

Adrian leaned forward, alarmed. “Uh oh? What kind of uh oh? Vomit uh oh or…like, existential uh oh?”

“I need to pee,” you whispered like it was a state secret.

“Oh! Pee, uh oh. Got it. That’s manageable. I can handle that.” He hopped up so fast his chair toppled over. “Come on, I’ll escort you. Bathroom mission, let’s go.”

You tried to stand on your own, but your knees buckled immediately. Adrian darted in, catching you by the elbow.

“Whoa there! Okay, you’re like…a baby giraffe right now. Very majestic, very wobbly.”

You snorted, leaning into him. “You’re so loud.”

“Better than you face-planting into the concrete,” he said seriously, guiding you across the rooftop. Adebayo and Harcourt were deep in some hushed conversation, too distracted to notice your clumsy escape.

Adrian muttered to himself as you stumbled down the stairs. “Okay, left foot, then right foot. Yes, exactly, nailed it. You’re like ninety percent sober in my eyes right now. World record.”

You couldn’t stop giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He helped you to the bathroom door, bracing you with both hands on your shoulders. “You good from here? Do you need like…a spotter? Because I don’t think I’m allowed inside unless it’s a medical emergency. And even then, questionable.”

You waved him off, still laughing. “I got it.”

“Okay. But yell if you fall in. I’ll heroically rescue you.” And honestly, you don’t even think he’s joking. 

When you emerged a few minutes later, he was waiting against the wall, humming to himself, arms folded like he’d just been guarding a priceless artifact instead of a bathroom door.

“Success?” he asked brightly, straightening the second he saw you.

His grin spread wide and unselfconscious, crooked at one corner, the kind of smile that looked like it belonged on a kid who just got picked first for kickball. It was goofy, earnest, and so Adrian, and yet, it hit you right in the chest.

“Success,” you confirmed, trying not to melt under the weight of how proud he looked just because you managed to pee without catastrophe.

He beamed even harder, like you’d just aced a final exam. “I knew you could do it. I never doubted you for a second. Well, okay, maybe for a second, but that was only because you walked into the doorframe before opening it. But after that, total confidence.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe not, but you blurted: “You’re so nice. Like—so nice. Do you know that? You take care of me, and I don’t even deserve it.”

His face went crimson immediately. “What? No! Of course, you deserve it. You deserve, like, Olympic-level care. The highest quality care known to mankind.”

You swayed toward him, poking his chest clumsily. “You’re the best, Adrian Chase. The best.”

He swallowed hard, eyes darting around like he was looking for backup. “Okay, uh, you’re super drunk. Which means it’s hydration time!” He darted into the kitchen, returned with a glass of water, and pressed it into your hands. “Drink this. Doctor’s orders. And by doctor, I mean me, and I am definitely not a doctor, but still. It’s medically sound.”

You obediently sipped the water, lips puckering at the bland taste. “Boring,” you muttered, but drank anyway because his expectant look told you he wouldn’t let you off the hook.

When you handed the glass back, Adrian hovered for a second like he wasn’t sure if you’d actually done it, then nodded with exaggerated approval. “Good. Hydration levels restored. Now, rooftop adventure awaits.”

Back upstairs, the party was still going, Chris yelling about how beer tasted better from a boot (he didn’t own a boot, but was determined to find one), and Harcourt had taken permanent refuge on her phone. You dropped into your chair again, a fresh drink already in your hand before Adrian could stop it.

You plopped down in your chair, fumbling for your phone. “Okay,” you slurred, swiping until the screen blurred a little less. “I’m gonna quiz you.”

Adrian perked up instantly, practically bouncing. “Quiz me? Hell yeah. This is my moment.”

“It’s… owl facts. Or spider facts. If you’re wrong, you take a shot. If you’re right, I do.” You held up your phone like it was a sacred text.

Adrian hesitated. You’re drunk. You’re really drunk. But then your smile tugged at him, wide and conspiratorial, and the little (well, huge) part of him that always wanted to impress you whispered to play along and make you laugh.

“Deal.”

The first round was easy. “How far can an owl turn its head?” you asked, trying to sound stern.

“Two-hundred and seventy degrees!” he blurted instantly, and the confidence in his voice made you laugh out loud.

“Dammit,” you said, tipping back your drink.

Adrian’s chest tightened at the sound of your laugh, wild and unrestrained, bubbling out of you like champagne fizz. He wanted to bottle it, keep it, make it last forever.

Next question, spiders.  “Which spider… um…” You leaned forward, nearly tipping your phone into your lap. Adrian caught it for you, steadying your hand. Your skin brushed his, and he froze.

You barely noticed. “Which spider can jump, like… a lot?”

“Easy! Jumping spiders. It’s literally in its name.” He said, a grin plastered on his face.

You groaned again and drank. “You’re cheating.”

Adrian gasped, hand flying to his chest. “Cheating? No. I would never cheat at owl-and-spider trivia. That would be a crime against nature. That’d be like, like faking a high score in Pac-Man. It cheapens the experience. And trust me, I respect owls and spiders far too much to betray them like that. They deserve integrity.”

You blinked at him for a beat, then burst out laughing so hard you nearly spilled your drink.

The next one tripped him. “Owls… can smell really well?” he guessed.

Your jaw dropped. “WRONG. They can’t smell at all.” You shoved a shot glass at him like you were handing down a sentence.

He tossed it back, grimacing, but secretly relieved it was him instead of you.

By the time you’d run through half your list, you were a mess of giggles, phone slipping from your fingers. Adrian snatched it before it hit the ground.

“Whoa, careful!” He cradled the phone like it was a fragile treasure, holding it up out of your reach for a second. “This thing’s basically your lifeline. What if you drop it and it shatters? Then you’ll have no maps, no music, no emergency spider facts. And then what? Total societal collapse. I’d have to personally escort you everywhere like your human GPS.”

“Wouldn’t be so bad,” you teased, reaching lazily for the phone.

His ears went red. “Well, uh, yeah, I mean—directions are kind of my thing. Left, right, up, down. North, south, spider, owl.”

You snorted, clapping a hand over your mouth. God, everything he said was ridiculous. But it was the way he said it, so earnestly, like he wasn’t even trying to be funny. You leaned against him fully now, cheek brushing his shoulder, because your body felt like it was made of lead and warmth, and Adrian Chase was comfortable. Way too comfortable.

He stilled.  The warmth of you against him almost short-circuited his brain.

He glanced at your empty glass, then at your flushed face, and decided before his nerves could talk him out of it. “Okay, I think the quizmaster is officially cut off. Hydration round two.”

You groaned but didn’t resist as he swapped your cup for the one filled with juice. You were too busy giggling into your sleeve to notice the difference, sipping happily like it was the best drink you’d ever had.

“See?” Adrian said, eyes sparkling with relief. “Still fun, zero percent liver damage. It’s what the pros call a win-win.”

And even as the rooftop noise swirled around you, his focus never left your face. Flushed, bright-eyed, smiling at him like he was the only one worth looking at.

The night air nipped at your skin, sharper now that the buzz from the drinks was settling in. You rubbed at your arms, trying to shake it off, but the thin straps of your cami didn’t offer much help.

“You’re cold,” Adrian said suddenly, already tugging at the hem of his sweater like he’d been waiting for an excuse to strip.

Your head snapped up. “What? No, I’m fine. Seriously, don’t—”

Too late. He was already halfway out of it, wrestling the knit over his head in a tangle of arms and curls.

“Adrian, stop,” you hissed, reaching out like you could shove it back down onto him, but he popped out of the neck hole with a triumphant grin and held the sweater out to you.

“Here. Put it on before you, like, get hypothermia, and I have to fashion a makeshift blanket out of beer boxes.”

You stared. Not at the sweater. At him. Bare skin glowing in the rooftop light, muscles more defined than they had any right to be, chest rising and falling like he wasn’t even aware you were staring.

He blinked at you, puzzled. “What? Do you not like sweaters? Is it, like, a texture thing? Because I totally get it, some fabrics feel like sandpaper, and it’s the worst.”

“Dude. You’re shirtless.”

“Yeah, duh.” He shoved the sweater at you again, determined. “I’m giving you my sweater so you’re not cold. That’s how clothing works. One person takes it off, the other person puts it on. Trade economy.”

You spluttered, “Well—what about you?”

Adrian just shrugged, unconcerned. “I run hot. Plus, worst-case scenario, I start doing push-ups until I’m warm again. Or sit-ups. Or interpretive dance. Point is, you’re cold and I’m not, so the sweater goes to you.”

You finally tugged it over your head, drowning in the oversized knit. It smelled like detergent and beer and something faintly metallic that was just him. And you couldn’t stop staring at him, even as he turned back to the group, laughing like nothing was different, like he hadn’t just stripped half-naked in the cold without a second thought because he noticed you shivering.

For some reason, every time your eyes flicked to Adrian, your stomach twisted into knots. You’d seen plenty of shirtless people before; it usually didn’t do much, but him? Him, right now? Your pulse picked up, your cheeks flamed, and suddenly your hands felt clammy.

So you tried to distract yourself. You leaned toward Harcourt. “You always this quiet at parties?”

Emilia glanced at you, sharp as ever. “You always this jumpy?”

Your mouth opened, ready to protest, but before you could, Adebayo’s voice cut through the night, high and gleeful. Economos shouted something back. You turned for what felt like a second, and suddenly Adrian wasn’t in his jeans anymore.

Just underwear. Standing on the rooftop with his arms spread like a victorious wrestler, while beer was poured over him like some ridiculous ritual, sliding in golden rivulets across the ridges of his chest and stomach.

Your breath hitched. Your eyes locked on him, tracing the curve of his chest, the line of his abs, the way the liquid clung to his skin, highlighting every curve, every flex, which made your stomach flutter and your heart beat like a drum. You should probably look away. Look at literally anything else. A bird, the sky, your own hands—just not him.

But you couldn’t. You can’t stop staring at the way the beer slicked across his skin, catching in the dip of his collarbone, tracing down the planes of his stomach. Your face burned hotter than the alcohol in your veins. Your eyes, despite your best efforts, drifted lower. Just far enough to take in the curve of his hips and the obvious outline of his crotch in those snug boxers. Your face burned hotter than the alcohol in your veins, and your stomach knotted with a cocktail of embarrassment and… something else entirely.

Next to you, Emilia smirked. “Wow. Subtle.”

Your head snapped toward her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she said, too casually. “You’re really enjoying the view huh?”

Your face burned. “I—I wasn’t—look, I need to—uh—pee.”

You scrambled to your feet, desperate for escape. But the universe wasn’t letting you off easy. Between the alcohol buzzing in your veins, the oversized sweater sleeves, and your stupid platform boots, you barely made it two steps before your toe caught on a chair.

You flailed, arms windmilling as you stumbled forward, and a warm, solid weight caught you before you could topple completely.

“Whoa—gotcha,” Adrian said, his voice calm but firm, hands landing on your waist to steady you. Your own hands instinctively pressed against his chest to keep your balance, and the heat radiating from him through the thin fabric of the sweater made your brain short-circuit.

You froze, heart hammering. His fingers lingered a second too long, brushing along your sides, steadying you in a way that made your pulse spike. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, and suddenly every rational thought fled.

Do you like Adrian Chase? The thought hit like a jolt of electricity, and your cheeks flamed hotter than before.

Adrian, for all his usual awkwardness and rambling, didn’t seem to notice the shift. He tilted his head, eyes scanning yours, maybe thinking you were just off-balance, not realizing your hands were still pressed against him. “You okay?” he asked, voice soft, almost conspiratorial.

You nodded, though your stomach twisted.

You finally eased down onto the edge of a chair, letting out a shaky sigh. Your eyes flicked across the rooftop, and that’s when you caught Adebayo’s gaze, one of those looks that said I see exactly what’s happening here. You froze, cheeks heating all over again. You quirked your eyebrows, suddenly aware that maybe you were the object of a little harmless teasing.

Before you could dwell on it, a warm voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. 

“Uh… you know, you should really take these off,”he said, crouching down, hands resting lightly on your knees, “these boots? Absolute hazard. Let’s take them off before you need to get stitches from the ER.” 

You glanced down at your boots, about to try to unstrap them yourself. “Oh… yeah, okay.”

Before your fingers could fumble with the straps, his hands were already there, gentle but firm. “Nah, I’ve got this. Trust me.” His touch was careful, deliberate, and your pulse spiked as he slid the boot off.

“Okay, much safer,” he said finally, pulling back just enough to give you space, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You can now navigate the treacherous rooftop without fear of platform-boot calamities. Consider me your… personal safety officer.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, heart hammering, though your thoughts were in turmoil. Do you really like him? or is it the alcohol in your system? The combination of his charm, his warmth, and the simple intimacy of him helping you was dizzying.

Adrian, blissfully oblivious to your mental chaos, leaned back on his heels and grinned. “Alright, hazard mitigated. You’re welcome. I’ll be expecting a formal thank-you card, or at least a handshake. Preferably both.”

The party had died down, and everyone had retreated to Emilia’s apartment. Economos and Adebayo’s voices were faint in the other room, bickering about UNO rules with the kind of energy that could last all night. In here, though, it was just you, the toilet, and Adrian kneeling on the tile beside you.

You gagged miserably, clutching the edge of the bowl like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

“Easy, easy,” Adrian murmured, sweeping your hair back with one hand, palm warm and steady against your crown. He didn’t even flinch when you retched again, just kept rubbing slow, grounding circles on your back. His jeans had to be soaking up whatever cold lingered on the tile, but he didn’t budge.

You slumped forward with a groan, chest heaving. “Ugh. Kill me.”

“No way,” he said instantly, voice bright but soft. “You’re like… top-tier. One of my favorite people ever.”

That made your heart skip, a strange little stutter that had no business happening in the middle of you throwing up in Harcourt’s bathroom. You would’ve dwelled on it, replayed those words over and over, tried to figure out if he meant them the way you wanted him to, but your stomach lurched again, cruel and untimely, and you bent over the bowl.

Adrian didn’t flinch. He just tightened his hold on your hair, murmuring quiet encouragements between his usual rambling. “Okay, good, just get it all out. Not that throwing up is good, but, like, sometimes it’s part of the process. You’re basically detoxing. People pay hundreds of dollars for juice cleanses when this is way more effective. Not that I recommend it, because it sucks, obviously.”

You coughed weakly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “How are you okay, dude? I’m pretty sure you drank way more than me.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s ‘cause of my healing factor. My body burns through alcohol faster than normal, so it takes a lot more to get me sick. It’s like—uh, like my liver’s got a cheat code.” He tapped his chest with two fingers, almost proud. “Infinite lives. Well, liver lives.”

You rolled your eyes, rinsing your mouth out at the sink. “Lucky.”

The mirror fogged faintly from the hot tap you’d just run, and you braced your hands against the edge of the sink, catching your breath. When you finally turned, he was hovering a few feet away, like he wasn’t sure if he should come closer or give you space.

The bathroom wasn’t tiny, but the fluorescent light and tiled walls made it feel smaller, more intimate than it really was. Adrian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, eyes darting everywhere but yours. His glasses had slid a fraction down his nose, and he pushed them back up with his finger in that nervous, familiar way.

Your gaze traveled over him. His curls were messy from the rooftop wind, falling in uneven tufts across his forehead, soft in a way that made your fingers ache to touch them. The robe he’d thrown on hung loosely off his shoulders, the collar gaping just enough to reveal a strip of bare skin and the defined lines of his chest. 

You tugged at the oversized sweater you were wearing, which was Adrian’s sweater, trying to pull it tighter around yourself, half for warmth, half because it felt like a flimsy shield against the heat rising in your cheeks.

And even though you practically saw him naked earlier, seeing him this close, like this, knocked the breath out of you. Heat crept up your neck before you could fight it, your body betraying you with the sudden rush of fluster.

Adrian’s cheeks were flushed too, a soft pink climbing high across his face. Whether it was from the leftover alcohol, the heat trapped in the tiny bathroom, or the fact that you were staring at him like you’d never seen him before, you couldn’t tell.

You thought about how he’d just spent the last half hour holding your hair, rubbing your back, taking care of you without a single complaint. You thought about the ridiculous, earnest things he’d said tonight that had made you laugh even when your stomach was twisting.

And now here he was. Just you and him, close enough that if you leaned forward an inch, your shoulder would brush his chest. Close enough that you could hear the way his breath hitched when your eyes lingered on him too long.

“Adrian,” you whispered, your voice lower than you meant it to be.

That finally made him look at you. Really look. His eyes found yours, and for once, he didn’t fidget or ramble to fill the space. He just stood there, pressed back against the door like it was the only thing holding him up, breath shallow like yours had stolen it away.

Something pulled tight in your chest. You swallowed hard, pulse skipping, and before you could talk yourself out of it, the words tumbled out.

“You’re my favorite person, too.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavier than they should’ve been, and Adrian’s lips parted like he wanted to say something back. But nothing came.

Your gaze slipped lower, unbidden, catching on his mouth. Just a second too long. You dragged your eyes back up, but not before he noticed. His throat bobbed with a swallow, and then, true to form, he panicked.

“Oh, uh—yeah? I mean, you’re great. Really great. Like, top-tier great. Honestly, if there was like a ranking system for people, you’d be way up there. S-tier. God-tier, even. Like, sometimes you even beat Peacemaker, and he's like my BEST friend. It's not just 'cause you’re funny and badass, but you're like so nice. To me. So nice to me. And sometimes I think maybe you don’t even realize it, but—yeah, it’s like… you’re just really, really good to me. And–”

“Adrian.”

Your voice cut through his rambling, sharper than you meant it to be, but he froze instantly. His eyes widened behind the faint flush on his cheeks, mouth still half-open like he’d been about to tumble into another tangent.

His rambling pressed warm against your chest, a soft, steady presence that had been with you all night as he took care of you, made you laugh, and somehow made the chaos of the party feel safe. After everything tonight, you didn’t just question it anymore. You knew. You liked him. Really liked him. And yeah, maybe it was the alcohol in your system, burning courage through your veins and making you reckless, but the truth was there, undeniable. Your chest was tight, your palms sweaty against the cool porcelain of the sink, but you leaned in just enough that he’d feel the shift in the air between you.

“I like you.”

His brain short-circuited. Full stop. Whatever words had been lining up in his head scattered like startled birds. “You—what?” His voice cracked embarrassingly on the single syllable, and he blinked, rapid and uneven, like maybe he’d misheard.

You nodded, throat thick. “I like you, Adrian. Like… a lot”

His face lit up like you’d just handed him the keys to the Batmobile. His grin was crooked, wide, and almost disbelieving. “Oh my god. That’s—that’s amazing. That’s like the best thing anyone’s ever said to me in the history of forever. Are you—are you sure? Like, you’re not just drunk-nice, right? ‘Cause sometimes people are drunk-nice and then they wake up and it’s like, ‘oops, didn’t mean it.’”

But you didn’t let him finish. Your body moved before your brain could catch up, leaning in, eyes fluttering shut. And for one wild second, he leaned in too. His breath ghosted over yours, the world tilting dangerously close to perfect—

Then he jerked back like he’d just remembered where he was. “Wait—no, nope—hold on!”

Your eyes snapped open, confusion stabbing through your haze. “What?”

His hands flailed uselessly, his robe slipping down his shoulder as he scrambled for words. “You’re, uh—you’re super drunk. Like, very drunk. And I don’t—”

The pit in your stomach dropped lower than any hangover could reach. “Oh.” Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to, brittle at the edges. “Do you not…do you not like me?”

“What?!” He almost shouted it, panicked, arms waving like he was trying to physically swat the idea out of the air. “No! God, no, are you kidding? I—of course I like you. I’ve liked you forever. Like, you’re—” He cut himself off, dragging a shaky hand down his face. “I just don’t want our first kiss to be in Harcourt’s bathroom while you’re drunk and still tasting like, y’know, tequila and stomach acid.”

Your cheeks burned hot, and you tried to laugh it off, even though the sound wobbled. “Fair. I mean, I wouldn’t wanna kiss me either, considering I just—”

“No!” He crouched slightly to meet your eyes, frantic. “That’s not it at all. You could puke on my shoes and I’d still wanna kiss you, okay? But not like this. You deserve better than this. Better than me screwing it up in a gross bathroom.”

“Okay,” you whispered, trying for casual but failing, the words trembling out. “So… you’ll kiss me tomorrow?”

Adrian blinked, then gave a short, nervous laugh. “Yeah. Tomorrow. Unless tomorrow you decide you hate me, which—uh, fingers crossed you don’t. Then maybe the next day.”

Your lips twitched despite the heat in your cheeks. “Idiot.”

He smiled, softer than you’d ever seen, and leaned down, brushing a quick, careful kiss against your forehead. 

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, almost like a vow.

And even with the tequila fog still in your veins, your heart steadied at the sound.

Now that you are husband and wife, Valarr finds it difficult to deny your wishes. Resulting in the Red Keep turning into a sanctuary to all creatures great and small. Valarr and the rest of the family did not mind the dozen or so stray cats wandering around the castle since they helped keep the rats away. Or the extra hounds in the kennels.

One time, you were in the Godswood when you found an injured rabbit. Valarr was reluctant about letting you keep it in the castle, much less your shared chambers. But the moment you looked up at him with those soft, pleading eyes, he was saying yes without second thought. Resulting in a small brown rabbit hopping around your shared solar for a few weeks.

Until Valarr gently reasoned with you that a wild animal is not meant to be cooped up. He went with you as you tearfully released it back into the Godswood. One look at your crestfallen face broke his heart, but he knew it was for the best.

He even agreed to let you bring some insects into the castle as long as you kept them in jars or cages. Mostly, you brought in beetles, moths, and an occasional earthworm. No one in the Red Keep understood your fascination with these insects. Nonetheless, Valarr or his younger brother Matarys would sit with you in their spare time and listen to you talk about the different species. It's clear that your love for all living things knew no boundaries.

Your gentle heart and soft nature were infectious. Soon, everyone in the Red Keep, from cooks to maids to Kingsguard, even the Hand himself were mindful of any insects that crossed their path. They were afraid it was one of your 'pets' that had gotten out of its cage.

One time, you were breaking fast with Valarr and Matarys when Valarr accidentally squished a beetle as he was getting up. It wasn't one of your cherished pets, but he was torn up about the ordeal that he was soon found in the Godswood, trying to find another beetle for you.

And then the day came when Valarr did the unthinkable.

He said no to you.

The hour is late, and Valarr's growing concern for your whereabouts is increasing by the passing minute. It's already nightfall, and last he heard, you haven't been seen for hours. It wouldn't be the first time you've gotten lost within the huge castle. The last time you got lost, you somehow found yourself in the Dragonpit, and it was hours until one of the Kingsguard found you.

Valarr is about to send out a search party for you when the door creaks open, and you slowly peer into the chamber. You slightly startle at the sight of your husband; you thought he would still be in the Tower of the Hand. Valarr crosses the distance in a few quick strides, and he cups your face in his hands. His brown and violet eyes are soft as they examine you, making sure you're not hurt.

"Ñuha jorrāeliarzy. Where have you wandered off to? I was worried."

If your hands weren't currently occupied with holding your newfound pet, you would reach out and soothe away the worry line on Valarr's forehead.

"I'm sorry, my love. I fell asleep in the garden... again," you quietly admit, looking down at your cupped hands.

Valarr smiles at you and lets out a relieved laugh. "You and that damn garden," Valarr sighs, but his fond expression remains on his face as he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Just as long as you didn't bring in another creature," he adds, pulling you into his embrace. A faint scent of dragon's breath lingers around you.

He's aware of how you slightly turn your body away from him and how you're not returning his embrace. "I take it the small council went well?"

Valarr gives you a quizzical look. You've never shown interest in the small council, and then he glances down at your cupped hands. He sees a long, slender leg poke out between your fingers, and he's jolting back.

"What's in your hands?" His voice is slightly raised as his eyes remain glued to your hands.

"Valarr-"

"Show me," he demands, voice wavering slightly.

You sigh and slowly part your hands. Valarr resists the urge to scream even though one is fighting to come out. Nestled between your hands is possibly the largest spider he's ever laid eyes on. A cold sweat breaks out at the back of his neck, and his heart pounds in his chest. He ever so slowly backs away from you.

He doesn't mind insects, but he hates spiders.

He finds them creepy, almost unnatural, the way they move and spin their webs. He'd hoped he would have grown out of his childhood fear of spiders.

"Seven hells! Wh-what... why, why?" he splutters out.

"I found her on me when I woke up," you say, tone cheerful as you raise your hands up to get a better look at the arachnid.

"Don't! Don't do that. Put it down or toss it in the fire." He feels faint watching you coo at the spider. He doesn't understand how you're not the least bit afraid of a creature with so many legs.

"Valarr, it's a living creature, how could you suggest such a thing?" you gasp, but for the sake of your husband, you lower your hands.

"It's a beast a-a monster a-"

Your joyous laugh drowns out the rest of his words. "My love, it's a harmless small spider. I want to keep her."

"Absolutely not," he firmly replies as he watches the spider start to leave your hand and move up your arm. He looks around for something to swat it with.

"Can I not keep her in a jar?"

"No." His eyes land on a scroll of parchment, and he grabs it. Your eyes widen as you watch his draw nearer, the scroll tightly clutched in his hand.

"Valarr-"

"My love, please be reasonable. I beg you. Some things shouldn't be kept alive."

You hold your ground. "Has this spider harmed you in any way?"

"It is harming me just by being in my presence." There's a slight pout on his face. Eyes begging you to let him get rid of the spider.

You sigh, a little sad to say goodbye to your new friend. You start to walk over to Valarr, who lets out a slightly undignified noise for a prince of the realm.

You give him a teasing smile as you pass him, and he follows you out to the balcony and watches as you let the spider crawl onto a vine. You turn to him.

"There, it's gone. Is my prince happy?"

Valarr watches as the spider disappears from view. "Very." He quickly ushers you inside and closes the doors. He doesn't want the spider to come crawling back inside. Because next time he sees that spider, he won't be as reasonable.

you've been taking care of him for days now—feeding him, tending to the scratches you swore were nothing, making sure he's warm, letting him lean against you while he recovers. each small gesture, each quiet moment together, has built a tension you hadn't fully recognized until now. the way he waits for your attention, the way he studies you in silence—it's becoming impossible to ignore.

you inch away from the couch and he leans against the armrest, eyes never leaving you, voice low and smooth. "don't wander too far. i like having you in my sight."

that's when it hits—you feel it in your chest, in the small hairs on your arms. the way he watches, every glance, every flicker of muscle, like he's memorizing you piece by piece. the heat radiating off him, quiet but insistent, makes your skin hum and pulse in a way you didn't expect.

your movements feel deliberate now, almost instinctive, every shift of your weight pulling him closer. every brush of your fingers along the couch, every tremble in your breath, makes him lean in, pressing his heat against you. the tip of his nose brushes your shoulder. his hands roam—gripping, kneading, dragging along the curve of your neck, the line of your jaw, the swell of your chest. you shiver under his touch, back arching, hips tilting into him without thought.

he murmurs your name over and over, low and wet against your ear, calling you his human as his lips trace shallow kisses down your neck, then biting just hard enough to make you gasp. his hands wander to your thighs, pressing, squeezing, moving you against him until every inch of you aches for more. you grind against him, chest flush, nipples brushing the fabric of his shirt, desperate for friction, for contact, for the way he dominates without words.

when he tips you back, presses you fully into the couch, skin sliding against skin, you're caught entirely but you don't pull away. you let him have you, let him teach you, let him mark you as something beyond just a human who cared for a lost stranger in an alley.

his mouth moves lower. his teeth graze your lower stomach, trailing kisses as his hands hold you steady. you gasp, hips tilting instinctively as his tongue brushes against your slit, teasing over your wetness, tasting you. your back arches as he moans softly, lips sucking, tongue pressing, fingers dragging along your thighs. you clutch his hair, tug him closer, moans slipping past your lips.

"so sweet," he growls, voice low and controlled. "you taste incredible, my human."

you're trembling, thighs quivering as he licks, sucks, teases. fingers curl into your hips, pressing you into him as your body reacts, every flick of his tongue sending shivers, every press of his lips drawing gasps from your throat.

he alternates between sucking and teasing, fingers brushing, tongue curling, every motion deliberate. you moan openly, hips rocking, hands gripping his shoulders.

he pulls back just long enough to line himself up, hips pressing against you, hard, teasing. your body writhes, desperate for more. he pushes inside slowly, letting you feel every inch before moving fully.

"there you are," he growls. "so perfect."

your back arches, chest pressed to his, every nerve on fire. his hands clutch your hips, controlling the rhythm. your moans grow louder, head tipped back, nails raking down his back.

he leans down, mouth brushing yours in a heated kiss, groaning over your lips, jaw, neck. you're trembling, completely lost.

"cum for me," he murmurs.

you do, almost immediately as if he was in complete control now. clenching, shivering, crying out into his neck as he presses, thrusts, holds you tight, milking every sound, every quiver. lips on your shoulder, voice harsh, needy, praising.

he's still inside you, thick and impossibly hot, every thrust slow and dragging out the tension until your body shakes. his hands grip your hips, thumb circling your clit.

"you feel exquisite, so warm…don't make me stop," he says, teasing and commanding.

"yes… don't stop…" you whisper.

he chuckles, thrusting deeper. "that's it… my good human. so perfect, trembling for me."

you moan, hips lifting instinctively, trying to ride him, and he presses you flat.

"you belong to me," he growls. "every sound, every shiver… i feel it all."

his hand cups your ass, pulling you flush against him. "don't fight it. scream if you need to… no one else hears it."

"please— keep going…" you gasp.

he smirks, teeth grazing lightly. "i'm far from done."

you arch, legs trembling, body wracked with pleasure. he presses harder, rolling his hips slowly. you cry out, hips jerking, every nerve on fire as he drags you up the edge again and again, whispering filthy praise into your ear.

"look at you, squeezing me… mine… all mine," he hisses. "cum for me… human, all over me."

and when you cum, it's not gentle. thighs clamp around him, body convulsing, chest heaving, voice raw. he doesn't pull away, grinding slow, deep, circling your clit as he whispers, "good girl… not done yet."

your vision flickers but he stays, moving again, dragging you into the next wave. moan after moan, gasp after gasp, breaking apart in multiple staggered climaxes. he hovers, lips brushing your jaw, murmuring, nipping, reminding you how tight and wet you are.

"don't fight it," he hisses. "finish again… i know you love it."

you cry out, arching, shaking, writhing under him, cumming again, muscles clenching, shivering, and he keeps going, hands pressing, lips claiming, voice low and steady.

finally, your body trembles uncontrollably, mind swimming, vision flickering—but he's still there. still inside. still moving. still claiming. whispering your name, "so good… so perfect…"

your body goes limp, shivers fading… and you feel him continuing, deliberate, a low hum vibrating against your skin, keeping you tethered as consciousness slips.

when you wake, your body is warm. heavy. sore in the best way. your chest rises sharply as awareness comes back in pieces, he's still there, still inside. eyes glowing faintly, gaze fixed on you with possessive hunger. not moving fast. not rough. just slow. steady thrusts, like he never stopped. when your gaze finally focuses on him, his mouth curves.

"there you are," he says quietly.

his hips roll once, deeper, just enough to make you gasp.

"i was wondering how long you'd last."

his fingers slide along your jaw, down your throat, over your collarbone—possessive.

"did i exhaust you," he asks softly, "or do you want me to keep going?"

and the way he says it makes it clear—he absolutely will.

Annie had been sitting in the same spot for ten minutes. Head down, fingers moving, and face gradually twisting into a scowl. 

You just said you were here 30 minutes ago Stack. I need to get my stuff. Why are you playing with me? Have I ever played with you like that?

662-431-1666 

I had to step out real quick my bad Annie damn. Stop acting like that. 

662-431-1666 

Idk why you in a rush to get that shit anyway. You know we gone be back. Know you miss me. 

The sad thing was, he really believed that. 

“I’m so tired of this shit,” Her words were sharp, cutting through the silence of the car, coated heavily in the frustration that’d been building since this morning. 

Today…today had been long — nothing but problem after problem. A missed alarm, frizzy hair, the battery in her car dying, too much traffic, her smoothie place randomly closing for ‘renovations’, the air conditioning going out at her shop, and now Stack.

They’d been broken up since the first. 

It was the fifteenth. 

And the patience Annie was forcing herself to have with him, had just about run out. 

She’d been trying to grab her last few items from Stack’s place for the past 2 weeks. Was being mature about the situation — texting to see when the best time for her to come by would be, promising to be in and out fast, asking to come collect her property nicely. 

And while she was busy trying to be mature, Elias Moore spent the last 15 days giving her the run around. Bulllshitting. Not responding to her messages, or outright claiming he never saw them, or changing the subject entirely to try and convince her to have ‘one more conversation’ before she went and ‘just ended shit’.

Annie already knew what he wanted. Another chance. A reaction. An attitude. Her energy. He wanted to know he still had her attention. He wanted her emotional. Because he was real good at manipulating emotions. At turning situations around in his favor if given enough time.

Annie didn’t budge. Had instead, been treating him as the child he was acting like. No responses if he wasn’t giving her a time she could stop by. No snapping back when he said something petty. No arguing whenever he conveniently found a way not to be home when she was in the area.

She’d been keeping her composure, because that’s how you had to handle Stack. You couldn’t give an inch, ‘cause he’d take a mile. Couldn’t be even a little soft, because he’d turn you to putty. Couldn’t start playing his games, because he was likely to win. 

5 months with him taught her that. 

And 5 months with Annie should have taught him that when she said something, she meant it. 

They were done. Not for play. For real. And no amount of slick talk, sweet words, or petty games was going to change that. 

When he’d responded to her text earlier — a simple Can I grab my stuff after work today Stack? It’s been two weeks — with a response that didn’t avoid the question or piss her off, she’d thought he’d finally accepted what it was.

And now that she was here, at the time they’d agreed on, he was nowhere to be found. Was on her line playing. Because that’s all Stack knew how to do. 

“He think he ‘bout to waste my gas and have me coming out here for no reason?” She was still talking to herself — crossing her arms, setting her jaw, shifting in her seat like she was about to settle in. ‘Cause she was. Decided, right then and there, that she wasn’t leaving here empty handed. 

And then the universe, for whatever reason, finally seemed to get on the same page as her. Chose that exact moment to let up after the horrible day she’d had. Chose that exact moment to give her a break.

Or at least, what she thought was one.

Annie recognized the car as soon as she saw it. Blacked out, 4 door, more classic than flashy — pulling into the complex, driving past her, and parking a few spots down. It was the same car that always occupied the spot.

It was Smoke’s car. 

Elijah’s car.

Annie blinked a couple times. 

Maybe she really wouldn’t have to leave here empty handed.

And then she was moving. Before her brain even had time to catch up. Killing the engine, grabbing her purse, reaching for the door handle.

Since one twin wasn’t here to let her in, she was hoping the other one would. 

A cool breeze wrapped around her as she locked her car —the kind that typically accompanies early fall. It was Annie’s favorite season and she was dressed for it. Leather skirt, soft sweater, sheer tights. New thigh high boots with a heel that clicked every time her feet hit the pavement.

Those clicks brought her right to Smoke, just as he was getting out the car. Her eyes flicked over him casually. Automatic. 

He had a duffle bag on one shoulder, beats in his left hand, grey sweats and white tee shirt sitting comfortably on his frame. A frame that was built different than his brothers. Smoke had shoulders that were a little broader than Stack’s, a chest that was a little thicker, arms that were a little more defined. And a permanent glare the younger Moore didn’t often wear.

“Hi Smoke,” His stare was already on her when her gaze reached his face. Them deep brown eyes of his carrying that weight they always did. The one that, when she first started coming around, gave Annie pause. Not because it made her uncomfortable. Just because… it could be a lot at first. All his focus on you at once. 

She’d learned over time, that was just Smoke though. Deliberate. Attentive. Was used to it now. Mostly. 

“Annie,” His head tilted a little in acknowledgment. Eyebrows didn’t raise though. Voice didn’t change from its same even timbre. Like he wasn’t even surprised to see her. “Thought that was yo’ car.” Lips, nose, brows, lips again — that was the path his gaze followed. Like he was checkin’ for somethin’. Like he couldn’t help himself.  “Wussup? You ight?” 

It was what he usually asked when they saw each other. Annie figured it was just him being polite and typically she’d give polite back. Answer with a vague ‘Yeah, I’m good. How are you?’

Today? Being polite and vague were the furthest things from her mind.

“I’m the opposite actually,” Her lips curled, but it wasn’t in a soft way. Her ‘smile’ was strained. Pulled tight in the corners. 

And Smoke caught it instantly. All of it — from her tone, to way them baby doll eyes was squinting, to the sharp cock of her head. It made something sit up in his chest. That same something that was always woken up around her. 

He shut his door, clicked the lock, came forward half a step. “Wussup? You lookin’ for Stack?” 

He hadn’t told a joke but Annie laughed anyways. The sound abrupt and sharp. Leaving her mouth completely of its own volition. 

“Stack wish I was lookin’ for him.” She shifted her weight, irritation thrumming through her body from just saying his name. “I’m actually looking for a way into y’all apartment. You going up right?” 

Smoke did give a little reaction to that. A careful blink, as he processed her words. “I am.” Lips, nose, brows, lips again. His eyes followed the same path from earlier before landing back on hers. “You comin’ up to wait for him?” 

“You being serious or you playin’ Smoke?” Annie fired the question his way before his words even had time to land. Shifted her weight again like he was irritating her now. 

There was a moment of silence. Another careful blink, before Smoke responded. Calmly.

“Why would I be playin’ wit’ you, Annie?” He could tell she was frustrated ‘bout something. Had a lil bass in her voice and all. It was probably the way she was used to talking to Stack. 

Annie blinked disbelievingly. “So, you saying you don’t know? I’m coming up there to grab my stuff. The same stuff yo brother been holding hostage since we broke up. He said he’d be here to let me in and I drove 25 minutes in the opposite direction of my house — with a fucked up car battery by the way — and now he’s nowhere to be found.” The words just tumbled out, drenched in all the impatience and aggravation that’d been building. 

And Smoke was listening. He was. But them two words she’d dropped at the beginning of her lil spiel were echoing real loud in his head. Demanding attention.

Broke up. 

“Since when?” 

He didn’t even realize he’d asked the question out loud until Annie frowned. 

“What?” 

“How long y’all been broken up? When ‘dat even happen?” 

Annie frowned harder. Lost some of the attitude in her voice as she really looked at him. “…So, you really didn’t know?” That was weird. Not what she expected. “I broke up with Stack like two weeks ago, Smoke. I been tryna grab my stuff this whole time.” 

Smoke wasn’t ever the loudest in the room, but there was a difference between him being quiet and him being quiet. If Annie was paying more attention, she may have caught it. The slight narrow to his eyes. The subtle flex of his jaw. It didn’t come across like he was angry. It came across like he was calculating. Putting 2 and 2 together, subtracting what didn’t add up, coming to realizations and then determining what those realizations meant. 

His brain was working and in his silence Annie continued pressing. 

“So, can I come up with you? All I wonna do is get my stuff. It won’t even take 5 minutes.” Her and Smoke were cordial. Friendlyish. But she wasn’t his brother. Annie knew Smoke probably wouldn’t want to get in the middle of whatever game Stack was playing. Annie also knew she wasn’t taking no for an answer. 

Smoke didn’t make her wait much longer. 

All that processing he was doing, seemed to come to a halt. Like a decision had just been made. He came back online all at once — jaw setting instead of flexing, shoulders shifting to restore his perfect posture, deep eyes following their favorite path around Annie’s face — lips, nose, brows, lips again. And then he met her stare. 

“Yeah.” Smoke’s tongue swiped his bottom lip. Head jerked a little in the direction of the door. “C’mon.” 

Annie moved around Stack’s bedroom with purpose. Passed the half made bed, and wall of sneakers, and tv he always left on. She had one reason for being here and the sooner she was done, the sooner she could leave.

She started at the dresser. Went from the dresser, to his computer desk; from his computer desk, to his bathroom; from his bathroom, to his walk in closet and by the time she made it back to home base she had everything — the couple of eye shadow pallets she’d left, some tee shirts, the slippers she’d brought to keep over here, a few random books she’d had in rotation and the rest of her curl crème (because that shit was expensive).

A handful of items. And it’d taken her two weeks to get ‘em. 

“Like, what chu’ tryna keep eye shadow for Stack?” Annie sucked her teeth as she glanced around one last time. Still very much had an attitude even with her belongings in hand, because it shouldn’t have taken all this. 

But at least now, she never had to see the inside of this apartment again. 

Her last look around confirmed she had everything and she wasted no time leaving the room. Had no regret or lingering feelings to make her hesitate as she flicked Stack’s light off and took the few steps back into the common area. She wanted to get home, shower, and sleep. Wasn’t even gone bother with dinner tonight. 

The twins’ apartment was a decent size. Open concept, big kitchen, bigger living room, a small office space off to the side. You could take it all in at once and as Annie’s heels clicked against hard wood, she made eye contact with Smoke.

He was in the kitchen, back against the counter, empty water bottle he’d just drained in hand. Was watching her — dark orbs following a different path than earlier as she walked. Lips, nose, brows, thighs, boots, thighs again. His face never changed once. 

Annie came to a stop at the big island where her purse sat. Wasn’t paying much attention to what his face was or wasn’t doing.

“I got everything.” She stated the obvious, taking her attention off of him to focus on fitting what she could inside her bag. “Thank’s for letting me come up real quick Smoke. You are officially my favorite twin.” 

Smoke didn’t laugh at the joke. A beat of silence settled in the space between them instead — not charged but not completely relaxed either — and he only bothered to fill it when Annie glanced back up. 

“You wonna talk about it?” Smoke sounded like his name. Had a voice that was the perfect blend of smooth and throaty. A voice he never had to raise to get attention.

He had Annie’s right now. Her hands paused inside her purse. Head tilted slightly. Words came out a mix of hesitant, dry, and amused. “Do I want to talk about Stack with you? ….I’ll pass. Thanks though?”

“Didn’t say nothin’ about Stack.” 

Annie’s brows furrowed, “So what you askin’ about? Me?” 

Smoke didn’t verbally respond. Just blinked. Crossed his arms like he was all ears. 

Annie shook her head, “I’m fine Smoke. You don’t gotta force a conversation ‘cause yo’ brother acting stupid.”

She wasn’t being a smart ass. She was being real. Her and Smoke had always kept conversations brief; hi, bye, how are you, have a good day. She didn’t need to start having heart to hearts with him now. 

“You ‘ont look fine.” Smoke didn’t even acknowledge the rest of her words . “Look tired. Pissed off.” 

Annie’s nose wrinkled, “Okay, so you’re rude.” 

“Nah. Just callin’ out what I see.” He followed his path — lips, nose, brows, lips again. Looked her dead in the eyes as he continued. “You too pretty to be walkin’ around muggin’ like that. Jus’ tryna make sure you straight.” 

He said it bluntly. Let the words fall like he had all the right in the world to say them. And after he said them, he let ‘em sit. 

Quite stretched as Annie stood across from him, face contorting in confusion, like she suddenly couldn’t understand English.

“Excuse me?” That’s what she managed when she found her voice. She studied Smoke, waiting for his thick lips to curl, waiting for the punchline to a joke he hadn’t told. 

None of that came. 

“You too pretty to be walking around muggin’ like that. To be carrying all that weight on yo’ shoulders. So, if you wonna talk, I’ll listen.”

Annie let out a bemused laugh. One that was real short. “Okay so, whatever y’all got going on —” her hands left her purse as they started moving with her words. “I don’t want no parts of it. This has been the day from hell. You and Stack can keep the weird shit over there.” 

Smoke’s gaze followed her hands. All that movement. All that attitude. 

“Stack don’t have nothing to do with me making sure you good.”

“But he does have something to do with whatever game you tryna’ run right now. Since when am I pretty, Smoke?” Annie knew she was pretty. What she didn’t know is why Smoke was suddenly commenting on it. Why he was looking at her close like that. Why he was still standing here talking to her, when she should have been out the door already. 

It had to be something to do with Stack…another game, more playing. Annie didn’t know what the point of this was — what it would or wouldn’t prove to the younger Moore — but nothing Stack did made sense these days. She wasn’t about to waste time trying to make it. 

And Smoke wasn’t about to waste time talking in circles. Was done wasting time when it came to her.

When he moved, it wasn’t fast. Wasn’t jerky. It was deliberate. A shift of his shoulders. A slow step forward. 

“You done always been pretty.” His eyes followed that path — lips, nose, brows, lips again. “Since the day I met you. So when I say I don’t like seeing yo’ face all frowned up, I mean it. Especially when that shit behind something that wasn't ever gon’ work in the first place.” 

Annie was trying to catch up. Tryna make sense of everything he was saying. Smoke didn’t give her time. 

“I ain’t runnin’ no game and I ain’t Stack. Whatever y’all had, that he fucked up? That’s on him. It don’t got nothin’ to do wit’ what’s ‘bout to happen wit’ us.” 

Smoke looked as serious as he sounded — wide jaw set, hooded eyes locked on hers, head moving a little with every word he dropped — like he needed to emphasize what he was saying. Like he needed to make sure she understood it. 

Annie didn’t understand a damn thing; what he was saying, where it was coming from, the weird flutter she suddenly felt low in her stomach. The heat that accompanied it.

She cleared her throat, blinked. “Am I missing something here?” She was crossing her arms over her heavy chest as a wrinkle formed between her brows. “What are you talking about? What us? And what you mean me and Stack was never gone work? Are you okay??” They were genuine questions she actually wanted answers to.

Smoke only concerned himself with one.

“Nah, I’m not okay actually.” His accent carried a rough edge. Feet brought him to the other side of the island, directly across from where she stood. “Been asking that nigga where you been at, he said you was just busy. Whole time, you walkin’ around like sin dressed in a skirt. Single as a mufucka’, huh?” 

This time she was paying attention. To the way his eyes slid over her thighs. To the muscle in his jaw that kept jumping. To how he held his body — muscles tight in a way that had less to do with good posture and everything to do with control. Like he was holding something back. Like he’d been holding something back. 

For some reason, it made Annie’s throat dry — his low eyes and careful steps and reckless words. Made her pulse stop and start even as her brain continued working, trying to unravel what was happening in real time. 

This wasn’t Smoke. 

Polite, distant, respectful Smoke.

Polite or practiced Annie? Distant or disciplined? Respectful or patient? 

She shook her head, “Smoke, what’s going on?”

The island might as well have not even been between them, with the way his words washed over her. With the way she could physically feel his stare. Hot, steady, unrelenting. 

“You remember when I met you?” He ain’t wait for a response. Didn’t blink as he continued. “Cornbread threw that cook out. I wasn’t even gon’ go. Was about to leave, when you stepped out wearing that lil ass sundress. Hair all curly. Smilin’. Walkin’ around like you knew you’d just made every niggas day up in there.” 

It’d been hot that day. At least 95. She’d still came through though. Had dropped off the dessert she’d made in the kitchen and then headed out back. Where the twins had been. 

“I felt you soon as you stepped outside,” Smoke was recounting. Stare growing sharp, like he was still there at the spades table, half ass paying attention, when Annie stepped out the screen door and shifted his whole world. 

“And you ain’t walk around 5 minutes before you felt me,” His body leaned forward unconsciously. Just a little bit. Annie always testing the tight grip he kept on his self-control, whether she knew it or not. 

“You rememba’ that don’t you? When you felt me?”

Annie couldn’t do nothing but swallow.

Because she did. 

Cornbread had told her it’d be a nice little crowd — good people, good music, good food, and good drinks. He’d told the truth — mostly. Except the crowd wasn’t all that little. Annie wasn’t complaining though. This was just what she needed; kids running around playing tag and jumping through sprinklers, men manning the grills — arguing over who actually knew how to throw down, women sitting back lookin’ pretty, talkin’ a lil shit, dancing in they seats when the beat washed over ‘em just right. Annie needed all of it. Needed time with her people, to decompress. 

And she was making sure she did just that. Already had a drink in her hand as she stood around with Giselle, Omari, and Lloyd. 

“I’m sayin’ GiGi, when you gone stop playing wit’ a nigga?” Omari was grinning slick, looking over Giselle slow.“You can come down here to visit me but won’t give me yo’ number?” 

Giselle laughed, popped her gum, gave Annie that look only best friends understood. 

“Boy, I came up here to visit my best friend. Nobody is thinking about you Omari. I don’t want what everybody and they mama done already had.” 

That was all it took for them to start; talkin’ shit, flirtin’ heavy, actin’ like they ain’t have no real tension building under all that playing.

Annie and Lloyd gave each other a glance like ‘damn I wish they’d fuck already’ before she tuned the back and forth out. She went to take a slow sip of her drink, something real sweet and real strong, just how she liked, when something made her pause. 

It was nothing around Annie that changed — the scent of grilled meat was still in the air, whoever was controlling the music still had that old T-pain thumping, Giselle was still smacking on gum and playing hard to get. But Annie felt it. Internally — a shift, a heightened sense of awareness waking up. That prickly sensation that came from being watched. Hard. 

She lowered her cup, head turning a little as her eyes flitted over the back yard. There was melanin everywhere. Black skin shining, white teeth flashing, the occasional glint of gold or diamond, from a grill or a chain. Nothing that explained what she was feeling. Until she found him — seated at a black card table, wife beater clinging to his bronze skin, low cut fade sharp, thick lips unsmiling, and eyes? Deep, dark, round — pointed directly at Annie. Piercing through Annie from all the way across the yard. 

Everything except her pulse froze. 

Giselle, Omari, Lloyd? The music, shrieks of laughter, heavy bass? All of it faded into the background. All of it ceased to exist as Annie felt what it was like to have all his attention on her for the first time. 

Her stomach tightened. Mouth went dry. Body heated up from the inside out. 

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked. They both just looked. For one beat. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seve—

And then out of nowhere, someone with the same face entered Annie’s line of sight. Forced the stare she’d been holding with the other man to break. The one coming towards her was slick, trouble. She could tell from the easy swagger he had. From the smirk he wore — cocky and satisfied like he already knew he would get what he was coming over there for. 

His name was Stack. And he was distracting. Loud. Demanded attention. Managed to get a few minutes of it from her before Annie was searching again. Peering over his shoulder. Trying to find the one that hadn’t approached her. But when she looked, Smoke was nowhere to be found. 

“Yeah, you remeba’.” Smoke’s voice brought her back to the present. To the kitchen. With him. And the way he was looking at her now. It was so familiar to how he’d looked at her then. To how, she was realizing, he always looked at her. Annie swallowed rough as Smoke continued. “What you felt, that’s what I’m talking ‘bout. That’s what’s going on. That’s us.” 

Annie’s thoughts were all over the place. Logic tangling with emotion — with confusion and whatever else was going on in her chest right now. Meanwhile, her entire soul exhaled, as if it was saying ‘damn, finally’. She didn’t know what to settle on —which thought, which feeling. So, she snapped at him instead. 

“You don’t even make sense.” Annie’s doe eyes narrowed. “You didn’t even say anything to me that day. Or the next time we saw each other. This is not — there is no us. Do you hear yoself? I just broke up with your brother.” 

“I ain’t have to say shit. Still got under yo’ skin. Still had you thinkin’ ‘bout me after I left.” He knew what he said was truth, because she’d gotten under his skin in the same way. He wasn’t asking her for confirmation when he spoke. He was just finally putting what they both already knew, out into the air. And he was no longer standing on the other side of the island. He was moving. “Stack stepped to you, I assumed you’d make the right choice. You didn’t. I ‘ont know why — and we gon’ deal wit’ that. But all ‘dis playing you been doin’? Wasting 5 months when you know damn well you too much woman for him? When you know he can’t give you what chu’ need? That’s dead. So I hope you got that shit out yo’ system.” 

He was serious. Was standing in front of her, so close she could feel the heat coming off of him, looking dead ass serious.

Annie’s mouth opened, “….” and then her mouth closed. She didn’t even know what to say to that. To any of it. 

His tone had the nerve to carry a current of aggravation  — like she’d done something to him. Like everything he was saying made sense, was a fact, was final — and she was the one tripping. 

“You keep saying stuff like that,” She tried again, eyes still locked on his, air between them heavy in a way it had no right to be. Something inevitable unfolding between them. “About what was never gone work for me, the kind of woman I am, what or who, you assumed I would choose — when I didn’t know either of you by the way. You sound crazy. What would you even know about what I need?” 

Annie was trying to work out what was going on out loud. Trying to process what she was feeling, what was happening, and what it all meant, while Smoke stood there running out of patience. He had done his processing already. Had spent 5 months playing the back — watching and waiting. 

He was done doing that shit. 

His feet carried him forward, brought him chest to chest with her. 

It made Annie blink in surprise. Made her exhale shakily as his scent — something warm and smoky—enveloped her.

“Smoke wha—” 

“I know eerythang ‘bout what you need Annie,” His gaze darkened, eyes followed his favorite path. Lips, nose, brows, lips again. “And when I’m done wit’ you…” He brought his stare back to hers. “You ain’t never gone ask that shit again.” 

Most people were eating dinner right now. Winding down. Jumping in the shower.  Getting ready for bed so they could repeat today all over again. 

There was one apartment though, one bedroom within the apartment, where sleep wasn’t even a thought. Where it wouldn’t be a thought, any time soon. 

“Smoke.” Annie gasped his name, soft Nola accent wrapping around the 5 letters like a curse and a prayer. She didn’t know how long she’d been like this —skirt rolled up to her stomach, tights torn off, legs spread wide in Smoke’s bed. Had no idea how long he’d been buried face deep — eating. Just knew that since he’d started, he hadn’t stopped, and she was a fucking mess because of it. 

Pussy leaking slow and filthy, strands of sticky wet all over her thighs, running down the crack of her ass, soaking Smoke’s face. 

You ever got yo’ pussy ate so good, it scared you?

That was Annie. Heart beating in time with her clit, hands gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles hurt, hips moving without her permission — arching higher towards the mouth glued over her pussy.

“Sm-oke,” Her voice was broken. Needy. Legs trying to slam close when his mouth locked on to her clit and sucked — mean and nasty. 

“If I gotta tell you keep yo’ legs open again, ima tie these mufuckas’ up Annie.” 

Smoke’s voice carried an edge — rough, impatient, hungry. Breath washed over her core as fingers sunk into the fat of her thighs to force them back open, to force them wide, so he could see everything. So he could reach everything. 

“A hard-head make a soft ass. Keep playing wit’ me and you gone see baby.”

It shouldn’t have made her wetter. The way he was talking to her. Handling her — like she was his to do with as he pleased. 

Her pussy didn’t quite get the memo. Pearl pulsed at his words, like being tied up, left at his mercy? Was exactly what it wanted. 

And Smoke saw that. The way that pretty ass clit jumped. Damn near started drooling, even as his jaw clenched tight. 

“You really got me fucked up.” He peered up at her from where he laid flat between her legs, looked past that soft stomach and them big heaving titties. Looked right at her face and followed his path — from her parted lips, to her scrunched up nose, to the deep furrow between her brows, and back again. “You kept this pretty shit from me for 5 months? This good wet ass pussy?” 

The fingers around her thighs pressed in deeper. Annie’s teeth sunk into her bottom lip as Smoke’s glare got meaner. 

“I’m bout to eat this shit tell my jaw lock. And you gone let me. Gone thank me by the time I’m done.”

Smoke was back in it before she could respond. Kept her legs forced open in a butterfly position as he started lapping at her center. Long slow licks from hole to clit and back again. 

“Ouuu shit.” Annie couldn’t tell you why she’d left her place tonight. Was no longer thinking about tee-shirts, or makeup pallets, or books. Could only think about Smoke and what he was doing to her.

Her entire body was hot. Over - stimulated. Sweat gathering at the small of her back, nipples hard and aching, titties bouncing, stomach contracting. Pussy loud and extra.

It sounded like they were sitting by a stream. One that got so much wetter when Smoke flattened his tongue, made it wide, and locked in. He went from long slow drags through her pussy, to gliding his pink muscle directly over her bundle of nerves. Again. 

And again. 

And again.

Annie saw God. Back arching unnaturally, hand pressing down on top of his head, mouth completely dropping open as loud drawn out moans rose out of her throat.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, mmmmmm Smoke.You eating this pussy so good. You eating this pussy so good Smoke. So good. So go-od!”

He grunted — jaw working, tongue sliding over her nonstop like he couldn’t help himself. Like he couldn’t get enough of her.

Annie’s thighs tried to close. 

Couldn’t. Smoke still had them locked down.

“What the fuck are you doin’ to me??” Annie felt white hot pleasure coiling in her stomach. Felt her eyes start to roll. Her pulse climbing fast. 

It was too much. Smoke’s loud slurps. That wet warm tongue making love to her clit. The low whimpers climbing over each other to fall out her mouth. 

She was about to— 

“I’m about to fuckin’ cum Smoke!” 

Pop! 

It was a wet nasty sound — his mouth releasing her bundle of her nerves. His lips pulling back from all that cream he was suctioned to. 

Annie’s eyes flew open — wide and dazed. Clit literally jumped. Hole spasmed around nothing as Smoke raised his head right before she tipped over the edge. 

“What the fu—”

“You ain’t think you was ‘bout to cum did you?” He was looking up at her, beard soaked, lids heavy, nostrils flared. “Nah. You don’t just get that, Annie.” 

Annie was still breathing hard, open thighs twitching, brain jumbled, the tightness in her stomach slowly subsiding the longer she went without Smoke’s mouth on her.

She blinked down at him. Once. Twice. 

“Nigga what?”

Smoke shook his head. Couldn’t wait to get that fuckin’ mouth together.

“You ‘bout to work for this nut.” One hand let go of her thigh, came to her center just to ghost over her pussy. Just to make her lashes flutter, even as she kept her face frowned up. “Gone beg for it. Gone wait, just like I had to.”

Annie’s mouth was already opening — to bark back. To tell him he’d lost his damn mind, when his thumb slid between her folds. Slow. Deliberate. Right up to where she was poking. 

The shit she was about to talk? Stuck in her throat. 

“You gone beg. Gone ask nicely. Gone say please.” It was an order. Not a request. “And when I feel like letting you cum, you’ll cum.” His thumb rolled soft over her button. Pressed down hard right after. 

Annie was fighting a losing battle. Tryna glare while her hips lifted, seeking more.

“I’m not —”

“Gone ask what I know ‘bout what you need,” he cut her off. Eyes flashing. Started alternating. A soft roll of his thumb then pressing down rough. Over and over again. “I’m bouta’ show you. You bouta see what you get when you fuck with the big brother.”

And Smoke was done talking. Was ready to get back in that pussy. Tongue first. 

“Gimmie this fat ass clit.” He was mumbling to himself — voice low. Guttural. Eyes focused back between her legs. Dick straining against his sweats. Mouth seeking her out before he’d even finished his sentence. 

Annie wanted to tell him she wouldn’t be begging anyone for anything. Wanted to tell him that if he was mad his brother stepped first, he needed to take that up with Stack. Or better yet, himself. 

How do you talk shit though, when you have hands sinking into your soft hips, pulling you up, right on to the tongue that’s breaking you and putting you back together all at once? 

You don’t.

Annie’s head fell back as Smoke started back up like he’d never stopped. Flicking her clit with his tongue. Sucking at it. Spitting on it and letting the saliva drip. 

“Look at all this mufuckin’ cream. I ain’t even let you cum yet and you makin’ a fuckin’ mess.” His words were sharp. Hard. Like he was trying to maintain control over her and losing his own as he stared at the puddle leaking out of her pussy. Out of his pussy. 

He left her clit alone — went right to that hole. The one that was spasming. The one dripping all that honey. 

“Smoke,” Annie breathed his name, hands leaving the sheets to squeeze at her breasts, as he drunk her down. As he devoured her.

He sucked slow and nasty. Tongue planted between her folds, hitting every spot. Like he knew her body inside out already. His hand went from her waist to her stomach, cupping it, squeezing, grounding himself.

“This good ass pussy.” His soft lips brushed her clit as he spoke. Tongue darted out to taste her. “This why that nigga don’t wonna let you go.” 

He slid one hand to her center, spread her pussy wide and just stared for a second. At that poking clit. At all that wet. He shook his head, laughed dark in a way that made Annie’s breath stutter. 

“Nigga didn’t even deserve to smell this shit.”

He rolled his tongue over her again. Slow and thorough, while Annie shuddered underneath him. 

“You eat this pussy like you made for it.”

Suck. 

“I eat this pussy like it’s mine.” His fingers went from spreading her lips to sliding down on either side of her clit. Playin’ with her. Making her groan. 

“Mad cause that nigga was holding some books hostage? You lucky I ‘ont hold you hostage.” 

“Smookeee,” she dragged his name out, eyes slamming shut as his words washed over her. As he continued eating while he talked — more than she’d ever heard. 

“I ain’t never seen pussy this wet.” 

Suck. Lick. Slurp. 

“You said I was crazy earlier right? You ‘ont even know. Let another nigga near my pussy again and see what happen.”

Suck. Lick. Slurp. 

“Had me waiting on this shit. Pulling on this dick at night thinkin’ ‘bout you just like this. Under me. A wet pretty ass fuckin’ mess.” 

That image — how wrong it was — that’s what set Annie off. 

“Oh my—”

Her thighs snapped around his head, breath caught in her chest, world started to tilt —

Before it was put right back on its axis. 

Smoke’s hands went back to her thighs. Head yanked away as he forced her legs open. As he forced her heat to sit there — unlicked, unsucked, and unsatisfied. 

Her stomach clenched painfully as she was denied. As she was forced to straddle that line between pressure building and sweet release. And then not allowed to tip over it.

Annie damn near threw a tantrum. Fists hitting the mattress, head snapping up so hard her neck almost dislocated from her body. 

“Are you serious??” 

Smoke met her heated stare head on —no remorse in his gaze. No give. His lips were shiny with her essence as he spoke, hands still keeping spread open. “What I jus’ say? You think I’m talkin’ just to hear my voice Annie?”

Annie wanted to scream. Wanted to get up and leave this damn apartment like she should have 20 minutes ago. Wanted to grab the back of his head and put him where she needed him most. 

“I’m not playing this game,” she sounded as stern as she could with her pussy out, spread wide right under Smoke’s mouth. “I am a grown ass woman. I don’t know what —”

“Done told you, I don’t play games.” His voice was stern. Made her pussy jump in the worst way. “I ain’t Stack. And you gone learn that when I say somethin’ — I mean it. And that go for everything.” 

Annie didn’t know what that meant. 

Smoke didn’t wait for her to figure it out. 

When he went down on her for the third time, he was talking less. Too busy cleaning his plate. Licking back up through her slit like he’d missed it. 

Annie was pissed — pissed and moaning so loud she was she sure this whole damn complex could hear her. 

“Ouuu you just —” her teeth were clenched. Hand going to the back of his head, ready to use his tongue since he kept taking it away. “You eat it so good. Why the fuck are you doing that???”

Smoke didn’t eat pussy like he was checking it off a list. Smoke ate pussy like that was the list. Like it was the only thing that mattered — using his tongue to plant his name on her soul.

Her clit was swollen. Puffy. Doing the begging for her. She was crying from her center. And Smoke drank it all down, sticky sweet strings of her essence coating his taste buds, nose brushing her clit, tongue fucking into her hole before dragging back to her bundle of nerves and working it. Twirling his tongue. Spitting nasty on her cunt and slurping it back up. 

Spit. Suck. Lick. Slurp. 

Spit. Suck. Lick. Slurp. 

Like he was tryna keep it for himself. 

He focused in that way only Smoke could. Eating like he had a vendetta against her pussy. Eating like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted in his life.

“Sm—oke, I can’t —” She went from pulling his head in, to pushing on it. Trying to get him off, even as her hips raised. It was like her body couldn’t make up its mind. “Smoke — SmokeSmokeSmoke —” She chanted his name like she was at an alter praying. Pussy sliding against his face. Hand pushing on his head. Then pulling it closer. Then pushing it away again. 

And Smoke just kept going. Licking. Sucking. Worshipping.

You ever got yo’ pussy ate so good, you started hearing wedding bells? 

“SmokeSmokeSmoke—” The build up didn’t come slow. Her breathing was already erratic. Eyes already rolling back. Dark skin prickling. Pussy sensitive. Mouth moving without her permission. “This is too—” The words came out in a gasp. “It’s too much — Smoke please. Pleasepleasepleaseplease —”

Annie didn’t register she’d said the words tell they were out of her mouth. 

Didn’t care anymore. She just needed to cum.

And Smoke — when he heard her voice breaking, heard her begging so good — it made something primal unlock in his chest. Made his soul stir. Made his hands dig deeper into her flesh. 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” Annie rambled, she was so close, was right there and then Smoke spoke. Said the words into her pussy. 

“Umhm,” his voice was rough. Gravel against her skin. “Go ‘head, baby.” 

Suck. 

Annie broke. Completely. Actually screamed as that tight tension coiling in her stomach snapped — there one second and shattering the next. 

Her pussy gushed — like a dam breaking. And her body bent like it was trying to get away from it — the pleasure, the heat, the tongue still twisting around her clit. Her back arched, hips tried to sink into the bed, thighs fought the hands keeping her open, fingers gripped the sheets so hard they were damn near off the mattress. 

“Ohmygo-odddddd!” Annie’s voice was broken. Lashes wet. Pussy spasming.

“Umhm,” Spit. Suck. Lick. Slurp. Suck. Suck. Suck. Smoke’s eyes studied her as he ate, the way her stomach moved in time with her thrashing, the way them titties bounced, the delicate curve to her neck as she threw her head back. “Won’t neva’ play da’ back wit’ you again. This mine. You mine. Look at this pretty pussy cum. Pussy know it’s home.” 

Smoke was trying to drain her dry. Had to be. 

It felt like every nerve in Annie’s body was alive. It felt like she wasn’t even in her body anymore — like she had no control of it. Shaking, twisting, forced to feel the pleasure rolling through her. It was everywhere. She felt him everywhere. 

Her pussy made a loud, slow, slick mess. Clit thumping, cream leaking, Smoke cleaning it up. All Annie could do was fall apart. And it felt so good while she did it…

It took…longer than usual. For her legs to stop shaking. For her dropped mouth to close. For her lungs to remember how to work again. Her brain came back online slow, lids fluttering open as her soul re-entered her body. 

The first thing Annie saw was Smoke. He’d moved up from between her thighs. Was hovering over her now. Hands planted on both sides of her frame, face wet, eyes sweeping slow — landing on her lips, nose, brows, and then her lips again. 

The first thing Annie felt when he met her stare, was too complicated to put into words. She was stripped bare — not physically. In a different way. In a way, she wasn’t sure she liked.

And the first thing she thought, as Smoke gazed down at her — jaw locked, eyes…not hard, but certain, like she’d just confirmed everything he already knew, was — Annie, what the fuck did you just do?

A/n : A part 2 is 100% coming. I’m in the middle of looking for apartments rn so I’m a little busy, but I’m locking in on this as far as writing goes, so hopefully it doesn’t take too long. Hope y’all re-enjoyed the first half. 🫶🏾 (side note 👀 Y’all she was NOT supposed to break I stg. And then she just did 😭😭 ) Also, I tagged who I could, Tumblr was tripping so if I missed you, my apologiessss.

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Visionaries : @lizbehave @thebumblebeesworld @shereeluvssinners @underated345-blog @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @bananajoeclone @hotebonynearby @atpeaceinthestars @hdfen2474 @aellesa @honeytoffee @chromexbarbie

Tim Drake

— The type that isn’t big on planning extravagant dates. He prefers simplicity over complexity when it comes to showing he loves you. Believes that him going over case files while you read your book is more expressive of his cherishment for you. You two don’t need flashy acts of romance to be at peace.

— The type to fall in love with your mind. Your intellectual ability is the one thing he loves the most about you.

— The type to remember every minuscule detail about you. From how you like your coffee all the way down to which microexpressions equate to which thought is in your head.

— The type to always check in with you, look after you, and be around you when he can. When you do the same with him back, willing to meet him half way when he didn’t expect you to, it makes him fall for you more. He’s used to being the responsible one, the ‘mother hen’, upholding everyone’s needs above his own cause that’s when he’s the most useful. Yet you see his worth simply by him existing.

— The type that’s more subtle with his touch, yet no less intense. He’ll rest a hand on the small of your back as you walk in public, or he’ll rest his forehead on your shoulder when his insomnia fueled sleep deprivation catches up to him.

Jason Todd

— The type that’s a gentle giant beneath his rough exterior. His touch is gentle, words delivered with such softness that it makes you melt.

— The type to keep you close when you manage to break down the heavily guarded walls he’s built up over the years. Jason is a difficult man to get through. He cherishes the patience you gave even when he was being overly difficult. He extends the same courtesy in return.

— The type to respect strength. It doesn’t matter which type — physically, mentally, emotionally, intellectually — he respects it, and falls for you even harder. He respects you more when you have the strength to call him out on his bullshit. He has a tendency to push himself too far. Having someone who is not afraid to point it out to him keeps him at a healthy balance. It shows you care, and sometimes thats all he needs.

— The type to be protective. He’s been through and seen a lot of shit. He’ll track your location, but doesn’t check it consistently. He only checks it if you’ve been gone longer than usual, or if he hasn’t heard from you in a while. Sometimes he’ll just check absentmindedly, just to have that reassurance. He trusts you, he doesn’t trust Gotham.

— The type to read to you anytime you ask. He’ll even let you pick the book.