#fom x reader

Caldarus will never stop loving the softness of your lips on his.

It isn’t just the physical sensation of kissing that appeals to Caldarus (though, trust me, he adores it). There’s an emotional aspect as well.

Kissing you makes him feel…human. Or, humanly connected to you, at the very least. 

That isn’t to say he feels insecure about his human-esque form, or feels he cannot love you the same way as your fellow humans. Not at all. He just loves connecting with you in distinctly human ways. Kissing, especially on the lips, is such a distinctly human way to express love. He is overjoyed when he gets to relearn humans through you, after his long slumber.

He wonders often what you feel when he kisses you, what his lips feel like to your mortal ones. He hopes his are as warm as yours.

Hayden is the world’s biggest (and best) hugger.

This is just common knowledge. Hayden loves giving and receiving hugs. Hugs are not partner exclusive for him, either; if he knows someone, he’s hugging ‘em.

That being said…you definitely get the rights to some extra special, super exclusive hugs as his lover. 

When Hayden hugs you, his hands splay across your back, like he’s trying to feel as much of your skin as he can. He holds you impossibly close and squeezes you tightly, but not enough to hurt. Years of handling animals have taught him the perfect amount of pressure to apply in any embrace (he hugs a LOT of animals). 

Each and every time you hug, he nuzzles his cheek against your hair and coos words of adoration. No, he never runs out of sweet nothings for you.

Reina loves letting you lay your head on her chest.

There’s nothing she loves more than allowing her hardworking farmer to rest with her at the end of a long day. She gets so much satisfaction and joy from laying with you and letting you snuggle into her chest.

Her biggest love language is acts of service (largely through cooking). Acting as your pillow makes her feel like she’s providing for you, but in a cuddly way! What can she say? She’s a pamperer.

She runs her hand through your hair every time, either humming one of the songs her mother taught her or chit-chatting about her day.

Occasionally, you fall asleep like that, nestled against her. She never wakes you. You need your rest! She stays put until you wake up (or, more often, just falls asleep with you).

Valen never misses the opportunity to rest a hand on the small of your back.

The dear town doctor is a bit teasing with her touch. She likes watching your body respond to hers, even in the smallest ways. She’s very observant of how you react to her attention. 

On evenings spent at the Sleeping Dragon, she slides her hand across your lower back as she takes a seat on the stool next to yours. She lets her hand linger there once she’s settled.

Valen isn’t one to interrupt your conversations with others when she wants attention. But she isn’t one to sit idly by, either. Instead, she approaches from behind and silently waits her turn. This waiting, of course, includes her placing her hand on your hip and giving it a small squeeze, before her fingers wander to your back and wait there while you finish your chat.

Juniper gets cranky if she doesn’t have time in the day to rest her legs on you.

At the end of a long day, there is nothing Juniper enjoys more than draping her legs across your lap. She particularly enjoys doing this while she drinks wine and, well, whines LOL. Or gossips with you. Often both.

It’s something she can do in private, that both lets her be in control of things but also shows you that she trusts you and enjoys your presence…without having to say so aloud.

She never asks you to, but you can tell from the almost imperceptible red hue that appears on her cheeks that she loves when you rest a hand on the bare skin of her leg as you listen to her, nodding along to show your focus. And when you start tracing soothing patterns with your thumb? She has to take a sip of her wine to hide her face.

Ryis knows it’s basic, but he can’t help the way he loves holding hands.

Ryis is a romantic. He knows it. You know it. Everyone knows it. 

Holding hands is classic. It’s cute. (“Almost as cute as your smile,” in his own words.) He loves it. It gives him even more of the warm, fuzzy feelings he associates with even just the thought of you. 

His favorite time of day has become his breaks, when you make the time to join him on the Eastern Road for a few minutes. You two sit on a bench across from the tree you grew together and watch the birds.

No words need to be spoken when he slowly moves his hand closer to you, his pinky finger grazing yours. You merely laugh and intertwine your fingers. He gives your hand a squeeze in reply.

Eiland insists on linking arms whenever you two stroll together.

It is nonnegotiable for him! He wants to be your gentleman, always. He grew up with a lot of etiquette training, and by gosh, he wants to finally put it to use!

I’m being so serious. If it weren’t for you being the most capable adventurer he knows, he’d be throwing his coat over puddles for you. (He still will if you let him. Don’t, by the way; you both know he likes his clothes and will be sad after.)

Eiland knows he can be a lot at times, and that his mind can wander. Having your arm in his, with you walking steady at his side,it grounds him. It makes his thoughts go from flitting here and there, past and future…to settling on you, and your present. Together.

Adeline absolutely melts whenever you hold her face in your hands.

She had no idea how much she liked the feeling until you came along. 

One day, she was rambling, stressed over her duties and feeling like she wasn’t doing enough. Mid-sentence, you gently took hold of her face, your hands cupping her cheeks. You swear to this day that you watched her eyes turn heart-shaped in real time.

She didn’t know she needed that sort of thing until that very moment. And now that she does know, it’s become your patented tunnel vision breaker. Whenever Adeline gets in her head, you lovingly cup her face and all her thoughts turn to jelly.

Sometimes she can feel an anxiety attack coming on and goes to you before it gets bad, lifting your hands and pressing them to her cheeks.

Celine can’t keep herself from kissing you on the cheek.

She just loves giving you little smooches to show her appreciation! You do so much for her, and for Mistria, on a daily basis. She can’t help but swoon over you.

To Celine, cheek kisses are simple, sweet, and effective. And she can do them in public, too! They’re not overboard PDA. To her, they’re just right.

No matter how many times she gives you a quick peck, she always blushes afterward. It’s a Pavlovian response at this point. Even if she’s keeping her cool pretty well, there’s no stopping the giddy flush on her face and the little giggle she lets out.

Right away, he tried to self-reflect, just in case he had done something to contribute to this outcome. “Have I done something to upset you?” he blurted out at once, his voice unsteady. His mouth hung half open as he wished to ask you so much more, but had to refrain to pace himself.

You shook your head. “No, Cal, you’re fine,” you started, ready to explain your reasoning, but by that point, he was already fretting.

“Then why do you wish to go on a break for something we both actively enjoy?” he asked, tears rising to his eyes. “Have I not been satisfying you properly?” he asked again, without giving you time to consider the first question. “I know I have said that being in this new form is strange to me, but I have been doing my best to—” he stopped himself, coming to stare at you with wide, startled eyes. “If you’re not happy, then please, let me try and do better—”

At last, you were able to catch him, rendering him silent for just a moment. “Cal, breathe. It isn’t that,” you assured him with a patient, grounding tone. Your hands reached out to take his into your own, keeping him from trembling. “I’m only suggesting that so you can get more settled in your form. Maybe sex has just been… too distracting lately, when you should be focusing on other things?”

“D-distracting?” he echoed, tilting his head to the side. His long, teal locks fell like silk, catching on his robes. “How could something so pleasant be distracting?”

You brought his hands to his chest, trying to explain it the best that you could. “Because you’re still learning how to even live in this form, aren’t you? Maybe you should be reading more—which you’re already doing, mind you,” you added with a light teasing tone that didn’t quite land on him. “Maybe if you didn’t have to think about intimacy for a while, you would be happier?”

His brows knitted in genuine confusion as he tried to process your words, his tail coming to nervously swish around against the tiled floor. A shaky breath left him as he tried to form a response, initially failing to do so. When he tried once again, he was slightly more successful in maintaining his voice, even if it sounded as nervous as before.

“I don’t understand why you should propose something like that at all, is what I’m lost on,” he said, trying to keep himself steady before continuing. “A good part of living has been the ability to explore everything,” he said, dropping his hands from yours, coming to cup his palms around your face instead, his touch searing hot, “and a significant part of that means exploring you—especially you,” he added before taking a deep breath. “Yes, I will admit that I am greatly enjoying catching up on the history of an era long gone, but it would be a waste if I couldn’t experience you alongside those things, of which I get to learn of your pleasure—and mine,” he added, his face darkening as a certain sort of heat spread across his features. “I apologise for how messy I have been as of late, but do not wish that for a second at all that I desire to be parted from you.”

You considered his words, already feeling silly about suggesting a break at all. “Alright, Cal, I’ll not propose something like that again, but… you’ll have to meet me halfway also, here. I know you’re new to a physical form, but can you… initiate more?”

Caldarus caught your implication right away, dropping his hands from yours at once as he reached to pull you close to him. One hand came to rest on the back of your head, crushing you against his chest, while the other settled over the middle of your back. He hushed you softly, petting you with soothing motions.

“I always, um, wish to,” he admitted quietly, his face looking guilty as he forced himself to confront these thoughts and feelings. “Always,” he added, but then immediately ceased just as his hands found your hips, as if embarrassed. “I am new to this,” he admitted after. “It will take me a while before I can… request so openly,” he added, his golden eyes, however, sharpening as they settled on yours. “Unless you show me—tell me—exactly how you wish to be desired?”

At his plea, you tiptoed up to meet with his lips, pressing a kiss to his mouth, walking him back a few steps until he met with the cool press of the wall, nearly tripping over his tail in the process. Without thinking much, he reciprocated the gesture, kissing you back as if it were a secondary instinct.

“I want you to try being more assertive,” you suggested, pulling back just a little, coming to meet with his flushed face.

“A-assertive?” he repeated, blinking down at you as if he were unsure all of a sudden. “I-I can try,” he quickly said, accepting the challenge.

Within a matter of seconds, he tried to hoist you up, pulling you to meet with his impressive height head-on, encouraging you to find stability by wrapping your legs tight around his waist and to secure your arms around his neck. He kissed you again, his head tilting to find your lips. “Like this?” he asked, seeking your validation.

“Yes,” you nodded along. “But you’ll have to assume that I like everything you do, so no asking questions.”

A heavy gulp passed down his throat as a look of visible nervousness broke out on his face, nodding quickly. Without prompting you any further, he walked you back towards his bed, gently pushing you down against the mattress, coming to hover over you with his clear hardness pushing against you. His skin was scalding by now, searing into your skin through your clothes as he loomed over you. The heat that spread from his body was almost too much, and his eyes burned with want.

“I desire you so utterly,” he admitted at once. “I wish to show you just how much.”

A warm bloom of something hot and anticipatory anchored in your gut. You watched with bated breath as he moved down you, your body half draped over the bed, and your back sprawled out over the mattress. When he met with your lower end, he paused to take off your clothes, coming to stare at your bare form a second later.

“Exploring your body has been… heavenly,” he stopped to admit, his hands slowly parting your legs. “I wish to show you my appreciation.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was already sealed tight between your legs, his tongue tracing along the sensitive skin. Your back arched on reflex, your chest rising outwards with your fingers clawing at the sheets, almost tearing them in the process. His mouth felt so eager, so willing, as he worked on you.

“You taste incredible,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly, his face buried in the apex of you. “I wish to explore you like this—taste you like this—all of the time.”

“C-Cal—” you gasped out, your hand shooting down to grab his hair, instead stabilising yourself as you settled on one of his horns. At your touch, he pushed himself even further in, his motions becoming almost violent in their intensity, eager to have you become putty in his hands.

For if you wished for assertiveness, he would give it to you—he would have you surrender at his mercy and then take care of the mess he had created, melting under what he was responsible for making you feel. He loved how your body responded—how human you were, and to be denied this pleasure all because of misguided consideration—would have ended him entirely. He did not want that. No, goodness, no. He wanted to show you just how important it was to him—how important you were at all.

The intensity of his attention deepened, and by now you were building up to something you could no longer hold back on. Your legs quivered with anticipated release; a warm tingle rising from your coiling gut, the rising pressure gripping your insides. Your hips bucked slightly forward, filling him even further with the taste of you. Your legs were close to giving out entirely, flooding him with your much-anticipated release not even a minute later.

You panted heavily as you felt yourself come, your breath still hot, your vision a blur of stars and whatever else. When you looked back down at him, a new expression settled on his features. Pride, maybe?

“That was incredible, Cal,” you admitted. “How silly of me to even suggest a thing…”

He smiled at you then, wiping your residue off his chin. “All forgiven,” he said softly. “But please, don’t think such things again.”

~~~

March: 2 days

March had a bit of a problem in bed lately, in which he was perhaps trying to prove something to you that you didn’t see the point in. For whatever reason, he kept on trying to last as long as possible, to the point where neither of you would come. It almost felt like an attack on your self-esteem after a while, because he would keep on going until he reached physical exhaustion, unable to finish, leaving both him and you blooming with mutual frustration.

When he proposed, earlier on, another night that you were certain would lead nowhere, you turned your nose at him in an instant.

“Nuh-uh,” you pouted, turning away from him in bed, rolling off to your side, leaving him looking visibly stunned. “It’s just gonna last forever, and then we’ll both be sweaty and frustrated.”

March blinked at your back as you mumbled under your breath, his brows creasing in frustration.

“Now, just what the hell are you talking about?” he asked. “It’s all about the feeling anyway, isn’t it?”

You huffed under the blankets, pulling them over your head to block him out. Maybe you were being immature, but you were also tired from being neglected, the release you were craving so badly.

“Yeah, I like the feeling, but I like the build up too, March,” you blurted out at once, all of your pent-up feelings spilling into the open, “because it means we get to cum, which we haven’t been doing—”

He blinked at your outburst, suddenly lost for words.

“So, I propose that we have a little break until you last less in bed,” you suggested, suddenly feeling silly over how odd it sounded.

A breathless scoff left his lips. “As in a break from sex?” he asked.

You hummed agreeably, turning around and letting the covers fall, coming to face him once more. You could see him look visibly frustrated under that mess of red hair, glaring at you with disbelief. His jaw was pressed tight as he bit his tongue, fighting to keep his composure in check.

“You do know that I only try to go for so long because I think you like it, right?” he asked you, sounding a touch defensive. “You’ve never told me you dislike it, so you’re putting a ban on sex, why, exactly? Don’t you think you’re being unfair?”

At this point, though, you were so far deep into it that you had no choice but to stand your ground. “Yeah, and I’m giving you a break from having to try that hard,” you replied. “Give you a little chance to barely last a second in me.”

March could only stare at you as you gave him the strangest ultimatum he had ever heard before, sagging his shoulders, dropping into bed.

“Well, alright,” he muttered after, not sounding too pleased, but not willing to entertain the matter further. “A week, then. Whatever.”

However, long after you had woken up, and long after even a day—let alone two—had passed, March was already losing it. Somehow, that entire outburst of a conversation felt like an attack on him personally, and you were criticising a vital part of him. Yes, he was going for a longer time because of the noises you were making, but he didn’t do so with the intention of prolonging his release, let alone putting it off at all. He straight up just didn’t know you didn’t like it.

By the end of the second day, therefore, with visible frustration written on his face, he confronted you as soon as you were both off from work.

“So, you want me to fold for you then, huh?” he asked you as soon as he saw you getting ready to head in, his voice loud and assertive.

You blinked and looked around, just in case anyone else was nearby. Thankfully, it was just you two.

“March?” you replied.

“You want me to barely last when I’m in you, is that it?” he asked you again, unable to help but tease you a little. The distance between you both quickly closed as he walked right up to you. His voice lowered when he was right in front of you. “You want it that bad, huh?”

A scoff of a laugh tore from your lips. “It hasn’t even been a week yet.”

“Yeah, it hasn’t,” he replied, mirroring your scoff. “If you really want me to fuck you stupid, though, I’ll be glad to,” he promised, his hands coming to settle on your waist, pulling you close to him.

You blinked at him, laughing breathlessly. Your eyes were now a little too fixated on the rest of him as you spotted a look of genuine yearning fixed in his gaze and the way his arms were so tightly bound with tension that his veins pulsed beneath his skin. He was a little grimy, too, his flesh slick with sweat and peppered with grit after standing behind the furnace all day long.

“March, I—” you uttered, your words suddenly lost.

“You want it just as bad, huh?” he challenged, his voice softer now.

“If you remember our talk, then yes—”

He interrupted you quickly. “I’m going to be so intense, he quickly promised, his voice barely above a whisper. “Both of us will barely last.”

Then, after a pause.

“That sound good to you?” he questioned.

A choke of a gasp left your lips, shuddering from the way his hot breath rolled against your skin as he spoke. “Y-yes,” you obliged, already determined to scrap that silly notion of a plan, ready to dive into his promise.

March smiled widely, then leaned in closer, whispering into your ear, “So, how do you want it?” he asked, pulling back to look into your eyes, before proceeding anyway, the answer finding him a second later. “Or, no, wait. How about I get you on your hands and knees and see how far deep I can go before I can’t take it anymore?” he offered, promising you something that was built from pure sensation.

“Yes, please,” you found yourself blurting out.

March let out a soft breath, walking you back into your shared house, letting you both inside as he guided you through the interior. He turned you over at once, positioning you so that you landed on your hands and knees, wasting no time in helping you out of your workwear, already making quick work of his own. Just as swiftly, he pushed his bare form against the soft give of your ass, groping the mound roughly, making his interest abundantly clear. His cock throbbed against your entrance already, letting you feel the heat of his arousal pulse right at the edge. “Ready?”

You sounded out a soft hum of approval, your words already lost.

Letting out a breathless sigh, March guided himself into your entrance before slowly—almost agonisingly so—easing himself into your core, letting you adjust to the sensation of him, before beginning to move. He went slowly at first, just like you were initially used to, before his hands curled around your hips tighter to find purchase, and he started to snap forward in impactful lunges.

Your breath was pulled from your lungs as he continued to bury himself as far into your sex as he possibly could, finding that each time, the air felt stolen from you. This repeated motion began to loop as he focused on deep, heavy strokes rather than just speed alone, already starting to lose his composure from being so tightly buried within you. The friction was so delicious—the noises you uttered were so intoxicating—the build-up was already happening.

Though first, it was you who surrendered—something hot and tingling spreading through your lower stomach that had emerged in deep, sweeping pleasure—radiating hotness across your form. You cried out his name as he followed up second, lost in the sensation of his cock twitching from within, scalding ropes of built-up pressure finally spilling deep inside of you.

The force of his peak was so great that for a moment, when he pulled back, he went slack before steadying himself. You, on the other hand, were not so subtle, and your knees went weak over the bed, resulting in both of you stumbling over one another, becoming hopelessly entangled.

“A-again tomorrow?” you asked, drunk on the sensation.

A breathless laugh left his lips. “I’ll try,” he gasped, his voice all gravely and low, “maybe for this kind of intensity, breaks are actually needed.”

You laughed, too, supposing he might be right. “Yeah, maybe.”

~~~

Balor: 1 week

When you had first proposed a sex ban for Balor, likely after becoming a bit too tired of hearing his business ventures where they had no place to be repeated—such as the bedroom, right before you were about to have sex—he thought you must have been joking. He thought you were being a bit of a tease, maybe wanting him to grovel before giving him what he thought you both wanted, but then, he found out that you were being serious.

Even after he had dramatically begged for your forgiveness—at his knees, no less—asking for your mercy, you confessed that you were not joking at all. Your expression remained fixed and stern, and you revealed to him that you were at your limit.

At that, he finally, albeit reluctantly, obliged. If you were upset with him and wanted to have a break from intimacy, fine, he wouldn’t push you into anything you were uncomfortable with, but it left him feeling empty in the following week. For one, it was already impacting his life in a way he did not like: suddenly, everything seemed off—even his sales were not built up with such a spark anymore. When speaking to his friends about anything at all, he found himself all dry and closed up. All he cared about in the last five days was making things right with you.

Come Saturday—your usual date day—he was already hoping to amend his wrongdoings, keen to never repeat business talk in the bedroom again, by taking you out on a date and treating you to a nice, big meal, but you were nowhere to be found.

This, alone, already impacted him more than he wanted it to. On a personal scale, he was the one who was used to being the distant one in personal relationships, but this was something far more serious than anything casual. He wanted to have a life with you, so if you were genuinely upset, then he, too, was upset with himself. He did not want to run from this problem, finding that if he were to resolve whatever he had caused, he would have to confront you and fix this.

By the time he had come home, he was a mess as he dragged himself to bed—to you—his eyes glinting with apology as he fell to his knees at the edge of it, his hair dull, his gaze entirely fixed on you.

“Let me start by saying that… you are so important to me,” he began, the apology evident in his voice, his hand reaching out to take yours, kissing you by the knuckles. “You know that, right?”

You allowed him a small, sleepy nod. “I mean, I hope I am.”

“You are,” he insisted, his tone firmer that time. “I shouldn’t be talking about others when the focus should be us, I recognise that now,” he said, reflecting on his earlier actions, feeling regret surface. “All I want at the end of the day is you. Only you.”

“Balor, I understand… if maybe the sex ban was too much,” you began, already backtracking.

“No, you’re right,” he said, holding his ground. “It forced me to think back on what’s a real issue in our relationship. I have been acting too… selfish in our talks. It’s always been about me, my business or about vendor drama, and… that was stupid of me,” he admitted. “I want to amend all of this by making our time in the future about us—only us—no more business talk. What do you say?”

You nodded gently. “I’d like that a lot.”

Balor smiled, lifting himself only slightly so that he could crawl over the bed, coming to hover over you. He pressed his body down against yours, testing for your reaction, before anchoring himself downwards, planting a heavy, deep kiss over your lips. His breath was hot against your skin, his touch was light, explorative, as he felt all around you.

“Let me just focus on you,” he murmured.

At his touch and promise, you lifted your hips to allow his fingers to hook over your underwear, his fingers catching on the elastic. Slowly, then, he fumbled with his trousers, taking out his already erect cock before guiding himself to the entrance of your sex. Leaning back a little, he spat over the heat to coat his tip, before slowly pressing it against your opening, easing it inside with shallow thrusts until your heat enveloped him.

A soft groan of appreciation left his lips as he lurched forward, coming to rest both of his palms on either side of your body, bracing himself over the mattress. Your hips remained pointing upwards as you took him in, your legs spread wide, feeling him push and pull as he bucked into your core. Low, breathless moans were drawn from you with each impact from the sensation of him filling you so deeply.

Balor found himself quickly losing control as the pleasure rose, succumbing to the rising bliss from being buried within you, finding that a week away from you in that regard had already been too much. He leaned back at once, tugging your legs back, keeping your thighs apart as he started to rut into you with abandon. Rough grunts of aching need spilt from his lips as he pounded into your body, his movements quickly becoming an erratic mess as his end neared—of which happened so much quicker now that his focus was purely on you.

“Fuck,” he hissed out. “Almost—”

“Balor, oh god, please—”

At your plea, however, he found himself succumbing immediately, feeling something hot travel in a surge of release, spilling completely inside of you. He could feel his length pulsing, draining him completely of the anticipated release. His whole body was overcome with sweat—a slick sheen coating his forehead and chest before pulling out again—slowly—hissing again, but due to the loss of sensation that time, before collapsing right over you.

Your release was in time with his—squeezing out the pleasure at once—before your body too, collapsed over the bed, feeling his breath race to catch up as he recovered. You, too, heaved from the aftershocks.

“Don’t ever have me stay away from you for so long again,” he muttered sleepily, his nose buried into the crook of your neck, his words coming out as muffled. “And, let me take you out tomorrow,” he added hurriedly. “I didn’t get there earlier today.”

The thought of telling you hurts. He can imagine the questions you'd ask him, the look of disappointment on your face, the betrayal you might feel by it. He's hates the thought of turning his back on you like that. Months ago, he had promised you that you would be helping Mistria get on its feet again together. All your work has been intertwined since that day. Every morning when Balor comes to check on your shipping bin before the sun has even risen solidifies that. It's a truth he can't ignore. He works better by your side.

It's the first time he's ever had a partnership quite like this, and he fears it will be the last time, too. Moving away from Mistria for better pay means leaving you behind. There's no world in which he can have both. And now, he has to make the choice. A glamorous life working far, far away from Mistria, or staying in the one place he's started to feel is home.

The decision is tearing him apart piece by piece, and he's never once felt this fragile or indecisive. Months, even weeks ago, he would have packed his bags overnight and left before morning, chasing opportunities as fast as the wind. He's always been selfish, self-preserving, self-obsessed, and any other vain word one could describe him as. Balor has heard them all, and every time has been unable to defend it. It's the truth, after all. There is nothing that drives him quite as much as tesserae in his pocket. Over time, he's tried to embrace it, living year after year as a vagabond.

He's never shown anyone how lonely it can get. No one ever seemed to care. No one, except you.

He's never given his deepest wants any time to consider. He's always been stubborn like that, convinced that this way of life is the only one that suits him. He doesn't deserve stability or a place to settle down. He doesn't need a home—things like that just aren't compatible for him. And who would even want to make a home with him? Who would even give him the chance?

You.

It's always been you, day after day, month after month. Every time you show up at his stall, every morning you eat breakfast with him at the inn, every night you stay up talking in his room at The Sleeping Dragon, spilling your wants and fears and aspirations. You are the first person who has ever made Balor feel a little less alone—that is why he feels so torn at the thought of leaving you. No one has ever cared if he stayed or not, no one bothered to make a strong connection. Only you.

Balor knows as much as he wants to hide this secret from you, word spreads fast in this town. The second he spilled it to Hemlock at breakfast, he knew it was only a matter of time until you got the news.

The knock on his door is desperate and rushed. He doesn't even have time to answer it before you let yourself in, breathless and determined. Balor expected this. There was no way you would let him go without a fight, and that thought makes his heart feel both guilty and loved at the same time.

"You must be out of your damn mind, Balor," you rasp, staring daggers at him. He stands, pushing his hair back in an attempt to get his thoughts together. How is he supposed to say it to your face? How is he supposed to say goodbye to the person who made him feel the most alive?

"Business calls," he mutters, feeling smaller than ever. Where has his shameless pride gone? Why does he feel so shitty about the whole situation? He should be overjoyed. "I answer. You know me… this is what I do."

"So you're leaving just like that?"

"I already overstayed my welcome. Mistria doesn't need me anymore—" Balor tries to argue. It feels weak and useless. He's dancing around the elephant in the room, too scared to address it. You do it for him.

"I need you, Balor. We're supposed to be in this together, a-and now you want to throw it all away for what? A higher salary?" you stammer, your emotions raw on your face.

Balor feels worse than he thought he would. He's quiet, studying you as if you have the answers. The pain in your eyes is clear as day. The crease of your eyebrows is a desperate plea for him to stay, and the way you gnaw at your lip anxiously a silent confession. The realization hits him like a stab to the heart. He can't leave the person he's fallen in love with.

EILAND

Eiland, despite how knowledgeable and observant he can be, is still as dense as the artifacts he discovers. Perhaps its a royal trait passed down on him, or maybe there's a missing connection between his brain and eyes, but he's missed all the signs thus far.

If you weren't so down bad for him you would have found it frustrating. Instead, it's somehow endearing. The entire town is seated for the entertainment of it all—when will Mistria's beloved lord Eiland realize his own feelings?

Juniper has offered to make you a love potion for him to speed up the process. Reina has planned nearly a dozen dinner dates for you, all of which have been perceived as merely platonic by your dear prince. Holt has given you insights to a man's perspective on it, but even he agrees that Eiland is a rare and almost hopeless case. How could someone be so blind to your pursuits?

You're not even sure how much more you can take before you shut up his excited rambling about Aldarian history with your lips. But still, you force yourself to be patient. One of these days, he has to realize your feelings for him, right?

Today is not unlike any other day spent with Eiland. You've made a fresh strawberry cake—sweet whipped cream and juicy berries filling the layers of soft sponge. It's always been Eiland's favourite. You think his excitement every time a dessert is involved is adorable, and you always find yourself feeding his sweet tooth more and more.

Eiland had sent a letter to you this morning about deciphering an ancient scroll he had come across. You make a good team together, uncovering more about Mistria's past than ever before. Eiland gets delighted whenever you find so much as a speck of new information.

Today's work has stumped Eiland. The words you're picking out from the ancient text seems to all be flowery poetry and figuring out what the meaning behind it is proves difficult. The information you have so far is limited. You know the letter is from an old Aldarian king, but neither you or Eiland can figure out who it's addressed to or why the letter was sent.

"Pass over the cake, I'm having no luck with this," Eiland says in defeat. You slide a piece over—already his second—and scoop some up with your spoon. Holding it up to his mouth and prompting him with an 'ah', Eiland doesn't even question it. He opens his mouth and lets you feed him, a satisfied hum following as he closes his eyes to savour the sweet taste. From the corner of the room, you see Elsie winking at you. You smile back knowing exactly what the scene looks like.

There's nothing that says best friends about it. Eiland's desk is a mess of papers and pens, always enough stationary for both of you, always set up for two. His chair is pulled up right next to yours; too close to not suggest something different. And then there's the way he relaxes next to you every time, as if your mere presence reminds him to relax the tension in his shoulders and let his neck have a rest from hunching over his desk all day.

To the outside eye, it couldn't be more clear. But Eiland still lives oblivious day by day.

Your eyes draw back to the scroll laying on the desk, shifting back and forth between the text and feeding Eiland spoonfuls of cake. You notice one of the words at the top of the letter, almost entirely worn away but just barely legible. Juniper had talked about ways ancient Mistrians' referred to their lovers while trying to help you with Eiland. You recognize the word to mean dearest lover.

You straighten in surprise, losing hold of the spoon in the process in a way that causes some cream smear to the side of Eiland's lips. He opens his eyes again in response to your startle, noticing the spark in your eyes as you piece it all together.

"It's a love letter, Eiland! The king was writing to his dearest lover—look here," you exclaim, pointing to the top of the scroll again. Eiland leans down in excitement, gasping at the detail he had somehow missed.

You get lost in the way his lips turn up in a smile and earrings sway. The shimmer in his purple eyes drawing you closer and the bit of whipped cream on his lip tempting you further. You reach out to wipe it away. Eiland's breath catches in his chest. You're suddenly very close, perhaps too close. He tries to distract himself.

"So the ancient nobles used poetry to win over their lovers… How… romantic…" he whispers, eyes drawn back to yours. His cheeks are dusted with blush all over.

"What about modern day nobles?" you ask quietly, drawing yourself ever closer to Eiland. He takes a breath, considering it carefully.

"I think… they tend to be a bit bolder nowadays."

Your heart soars when you hear that, knowing you've finally got him. When you lean in, his lips are sweeter than you could have imagined. Perhaps its the lingering taste of the strawberry cake, but you have a feeling that Eiland always tastes like this. Whichever it is, you'll have many more months to find out, because when Eiland pulls away, flushed a bright red in shyness, he looks at you with only one emotion in his eyes: love.

HAYDEN

The scene is perfectly domestic in a way that makes Hayden almost shiver. The sun is just starting to peek through the windows of his cottage casting golden beams on the counter-top of the kitchen and the couch where you sit. Henrietta is in your arms, happier than he's ever seen her, and something feels unmistakably right about it all.

You had stopped by his farm early this morning, still sleepy and hair clearly not brushed yet, asking if you could have breakfast with him. Who was he to say no to that adorable sight?

Ever since the news of a new farmer moving into town reached Hayden, he's been curious about you. You became good friends within a few weeks, but something started to shift lately. Over the past six months, you've started putting extra effort into ranching on your own farm, and your passion for it is undeniable. Hayden has always loved like-minded people, those who understand his love for animals and how precious they are. Someone who also wants to spend their life caring for them. Seeing you like that made something in his heart shift. You're kind, patient, perseverant… you fit all of Hayden's standards almost too well.

Love is a tricky subject for Hayden to tackle. He's always felt content in his independent life, alone with his animals for company. It's never felt lonely. There was never anything "missing". He's seen Josephine and Hemlock, Nora and Holt be perfect lovebirds, running the town through the strength of their strong marriages. Hayden has watched their families grow and the town become more lively because of it.

But he loves the quiet life, the routines, the farm-work. He loves Mistria with all his heart, even if the town was far too small for the chance of meeting new people. Everyone knew that newcomers arriving to Mistria was rare. The small community was part of its charm. Growth was a hard thing to achieve.

But when you arrived after the earthquake, determination in your eyes, and a goal that everyone could see, you started to shake Hayden's small world. Every improvement you made to the town: helping with repairs, boosting sales, growing more food locally—made impacts bigger than anyone else ever had before. For the first time, the small town of Mistria started to grow bigger than it ever had.

Hayden has always admired your work ethic. You never seem to tire, and are always up for a new challenge. You learn quickly, are amicable with everyone, and generous beyond nature. But he also adores the faults he's seen in you too. How short-tempered you can be when you reach a stumbling block, your mutters under your breath trying to keep up with all your tasks, and your panic whenever you arrive back home so late your animals have fallen asleep outside. You're not perfect, but you always keep moving forward, and Hayden couldn't ask for anything more in a person.

These thoughts surrounding you swirl in his head as he cracks a few eggs into a sizzling frying pan. They're still warm, freshly laid this morning. Next comes beautifully browned pieces of toast, slathered with butter he had mixed up just two days ago from a fresh batch of cream. Hayden takes pride in his animals and their produce. Happy, healthy animals means fresh, nourishing food.

He sets down the plates on the table and you shoot your head up at the smell. Henrietta squawks, hopping off your lap, allowing you to rise and join Hayden at the breakfast table.

"Looks delicious, Hayden! Thank you, this'll wake me right up," you say, rubbing away the last bits of sleep from your eyes and smiling at him. Hayden's breath catches, strong hands gripping the back of his chair. He waits for you to take a seat before settling down too, eyes never able to leave you.

Maybe it's something about the angelic quiet of the morning, or the soft glow of the sun streaming on your face. Hayden can't help but imagine spending every morning just like this, making you breakfast, talking about the plans for the day. A gentle companionship, something that wouldn't take away from the life he's already built. When Hayden thinks about it, he realizes how perfectly you already fit into it. The way you greet his animals on your way inside. The way Henrietta bawks excitedly at your arrival every time. The way his lips can't help but burst into a breathless smile when he sees you.

Maybe—Hayden thinks—this is what love feels like.

MARCH

Your daily routine confuses March. You spend all day running around, completing different errands. Some days you're planting a new field of seeds. Others, you're delivering something for Adeline. And at least three times a week you're at the mines, digging deeper for fresh ore and gemstones. Your schedule has been busy since the first day you arrived, and March cannot imagine having so much energy and excitement for everything. It makes him exhausted just seeing it.

But what keeps him pondering is how you always take time out of your day to talk to him. Usually you have some ore to give him as well. In the beginning, he tried to refuse it, feeling as though accepting it would hurt his pride in some way. After months, he's learned how determined you are. There's no refusing you anything. You'll always find your way to do what you want, and that includes giving him freshly harvested minerals daily.

Your streak is almost impressive… not like March has been keeping track or anything. You're nearing almost six whole months straight without missing a single day. You're always stopping by first thing in the morning or late at night before heading home—not like he's paid close attention to that—so when the clock strikes 1AM and March still hasn't seen you all day, he starts to wonder what's keeping you. You've never been this late before.

March can't sleep. He tosses and turns in his bed; his pillow feels too warm despite it being a chilly Autumn night, and his blankets scratch and irritate his skin. Why didn't he see you today? Have you finally decided to stop pursuing him so stubbornly? Has he finally gotten rid of you for good? No more interrupted work at the forge? No more bracing himself when he sees you across town and knowing you'll start sprinting towards him any second?

If that's the case, then he should be happy. He's wanted that since the first day you arrived and started bothering him like it was your only daily mission. But… he's not happy at the thought. In fact, he feels the opposite. His chest tightens and his mind is cloudy when he thinks of his day ending without seeing you, without talking to you.

At first, your daily conversations were something he tried to end as fast as possible. But now he's gotten used to them, and perhaps even… looks forward to them. But no, he shouldn't care. If you decide to stop whatever routine you've crafted for the past six months, March won't even bat an eye. His life was fine before you came into it. He can easily go back to pretending like you don't exist.

But he still can't sleep, and the thought still continues to bother him throughout the night.

At 5AM, he gives up trying to sleep. A hot shower and fresh clothes does enough to hide his eye bags, and although he's tired, he has enough energy to start on a new order for tools at the forge. It's a bit early to start business, but it beats staring at the ceiling while you race in his mind. He's starting to get annoyed by how you refuse to leave his head. You decided to not stop by to see him, yet you won't let him stop thinking about you for even a second? Unfair.

He's able to ignore the pit in his stomach for a few hours as he works, getting half the order finished by lunch time. There's still been no sign of you. Just as he's accepting that his suspicions are confirmed—you really have decided to give up your daily visits—he squints over at the fountain. There you are.

He averts his eyes immediately. He can't look too excited to see you again, or you'll never let live it down. But still, he sets down his tools and wipes his hands on his apron, preparing for the impending conversation.

"Morning, March!" you say, cheery as ever.

"It's afternoon," he points out, stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning towards you. Damn, you look prettier than usual.

"You're right—guess I'm a bit late," you shrug, opening up your bag and sifting through it.

"Where were you yesterday? You didn't stop by," March asks, trying to sound as uninterested as possible, even as his heart races to know the reason. If you've stopped by like usual, then surely his original thought must be wrong. You still like seeing him every day… right?

"Ah, I was at the mines!" you explain, biting back a smile. "I lost track of time, though. By the time I got out, I was about to pass out. Plus, I'm sure you were already asleep. It was way past 1AM." He was definitely still awake at 1. He would've opened the door for you. "And look what I found while I was down there!"

You pull out a shiny piece of metal from your bag and plop it into March's hands. He holds it up, studying it. The most perfect gold ore he has ever seen. It's too rare to be turned into a regular bar—heck, it should probably get displayed somewhere. He's never seen a piece of metal so flawless.

"For you!" you grin, eagerly awaiting a response. March just gulps, hoping his red ears don't give him away completely.

God, what have you done to him?

RYIS

When Ryis first started taking orders over from his uncle, he often found it overwhelming doing everything by himself. He's good at his craft, and enjoys it fully, but the demand could easily overload his own ability to keep supplying. But, ever since you've started taking on more jobs with him, he's felt that burden lessen. You're not just a great farmer, but an excellent carpenter, too. Ryis has always found himself drawn to passionate people. Perhaps your talent is what keeps him so invested in you. Hours a week spent in your company still isn't enough for what he craves.

You've been quite productive this morning, stopping by the shop early and getting straight to work on a new set of bookshelves for a library commission. The birds singing has been your background noise, and you flow together with Ryis so naturally anyone would think you've been working together for years. In truth, it's only been a few weeks.

"You know, you're quite like a bird yourself," you say offhandedly, catching Ryis' attention from the other side of the porch. He's at his workbench, biting at his pencil (a habit he can't seem to quit) while thinking of what type of wood would hold up the best for the main bookshelf. It'll have to hold a lot of weight, and given the ornaments and embellishments the commissioner wants, he'll need to pick a wood both sturdy and easy to carve. Mahogany is probably his best bet, although it'll be expensive to supply. You're sorting through some of Landen's old toolboxes, searching for broken pieces and signs of wear.

"How so?" Ryis prompts, turning a fresh piece of paper over to sketch a new print idea.

"You and all your sisters growing up together in your parent's bakery—your "nest", so to speak. But you couldn't stay forever. Birds have to learn to fly on their own eventually. I think it's brave of you to be the first one to take that step. You took a leap of faith, and now look at you? You're soaring," you grin.

Ryis flushes a little. You spell out the thought that he's has had for a long time so clearly. Like you extracted the exact ideas he's had in his head and put them into words. His fascination with birds has always come from a feeling of solidarity. But it's also mixed with admiration (he's sure that anyone could tell that much).

He envies their innate ability to survive and adjust. Birds, upon close observation, have distinct patterns and behaviours. They always seem to know exactly what to do during each stage of life. Migrating south, returning to certain forests for mating, or even the best spots to find food for their young. The many guidebooks he owns on them gives him all the secrets he needs to appreciate all the native species. Their similarities and their differences. He finds a piece of himself in all of them.

Ryis wishes there were a similar guidebook to tell him what he should be doing with his life. You tell him that he's soaring, but most day's he isn't too sure. He misses home; his parents, his sisters, the bakery. At the same time, he's doing his best to make a new home for himself here. He loves living with his uncle and taking over the carpentry business. It feels fulfilling enough. But he feels lonely sometimes too.

"You seem quiet. Thinking?" you inquire, walking over to his bench and pulling up a stool.

"You know, I've always felt a little conflicted. Most days, I feel so glad I took the risk and moved here. I love how closely-knit the town feels. I love seeing how much I can help out. I love having nature in my backyard and waking up to the sound of birds chirping," he smiles. You can't fully decipher the mix of emotions behind his eyes.

"But I also miss the Capital. My family was always busy with business. Even with me and all my sisters, we somehow always felt short-staffed at the bakery. It was always loud… chaotic at times, too. But it felt like home, you know? And, I miss it…"

You pass him a sympathetic smile. "Homesick?"

He nods, biting on his pencil again. Melancholy is an emotion you don't like on Ryis. For someone who shines so brightly in your eyes, he looks deflated. But even in his down-turned state, he's still beautiful. You trace your eyes over his chocolate skin, strong calloused hands that suggest the years he's put into his craft, his deep brown eyes that have stared at you with both wonder and excitement.

Ryis glances back at you, granting a smile that tell you not to worry. He doesn't have to say it out loud for you to know. You make Mistria feel more and more like home every day. With every look and every conversation. Every project you complete together, and each hour you spend birdwatching with him. It's all been adding up faster than Ryis can keep up, but he doesn't need a guidebook to know that he's fallen so in love with you.

© mistria-chronicles ── do not repost translate or copy

The waiting room stinks of strong perfume, something floral and too sweet for his senses, accompanied by an underlying hint of expensive soap that hits the back of his throat unfairly well. So potent is the overwhelming smell that his nose scrunches up in honest distaste, internally lamenting the fact that this is the only place to properly soak his well worked for muscles in the whole of town—he’ll have to chastise Juniper over her choice of scents later, making a mental note to leave an in person review when he gets the chance as he shifts around in his swim shorts until he’s comfortable, tucking his discarded clothes away into one of the provided lockers for safekeeping as he prepares himself for the utter relaxation he’s hopefully about to experience.

Minus the smell, at least. When he’s so used to grease and soot, burning wood that sticks to his skin all night long, anything other than the stench of work is almost too much to bear.

Regardless, his eyes close with promise as he sits on a nearby bench, allowing the soft sounds of running water to fill his mind with such ease that he’s half convinced he could fall asleep right where he is, if not for the allure of releasing all the pent up tension currently coiled tight in his shoulders. Adeline has been working him hard as of late, preparing hundreds—no, thousands it feels like—of these tiny little nails for an upcoming construction project. Meaningless, boring work. Of course, he’s more than happy to help at all, seizing any opportunity to prove just how useful and necessary he is for the town at large. But… Nails? Seriously? His heart yearns for something more substantial, something more important, a flashy show piece that he can attach his name to for recognition or something equally as valiant. Now that would at least make his aching muscles worth the effort, he muses to himself.

Though unfortunately, peaceful musings never seem to last long in this town, try as he might. Not since you came along.

Just as he’s resolved to wash away his frustrations, he hears the familiar pitter patter of another set of feet enter the changing room. Opening his eyes just a smidge, just to get a peak to quell his curiosity, he instead lets his lids fully snap open to the sight of you, his beloved girlfriend.

Well, maybe there are two things worth working his muscles for after all.

Instincts beg him to tense up, showing off for you as you saunter up to his seat with such a soft smile that he almost thinks you’re here to bathe yourself too. The assumption doesn’t last long though, noting the slight pink tinging your cheeks for his viewing pleasure. You’re real pretty when you’re pretending, y’know that? Got his heart racing and everything, body heating up before he’s even had a chance to dip a toe in the soothing waters he was promised this morning. As if he were permanently attached to a leash held by you, suppressing the urge to nervously bounce his leg in an effort to keep his cool guy attitude in front of the one person that matters most.

“Well, look who it is…” he almost coos, allowing only so much softness to taint his voice as he leans forward, looking you up and down as if inspecting your right to be in the bathhouse with him. “I almost didn’t come today.” He admits with a forced sigh, the weight of his words heavy at the back of his tongue, throat threatening to close as he takes in the sight of you first thing in the morning.

Your presence alone commands some semblance of honesty in his words, eager to impress.

“Now I’m glad I did.”

The warmth that flushes up his neck to find home on his cheeks can be dismissed as the heat from the flowing water, right? Nothing more, nothing less, he’s just warm from the humidity, that’s all. Admitting to thing such as eagerness over your presence certainly hasn’t got him light-headed. And his twitching hands certainly have nothing to do with how close you are to him, waking him up far quicker than a dip in the pool could ever hope to—nah. Definitely not.

“Care if I join you?” You ask innocently enough, tilting your head curiously to the side—cute. You’re so infuriatingly, frustratingly cute, his tongue clicking in trained annoyance over how hard his heart races at the sight of you acting so pretty. Like it comes intuitively to you, or perhaps more disappointingly, he’s most susceptible to your natural charms.

Though he takes a moment to respond. Not by choice, rather… His stalling is borne out of a need to compose himself. Replace the softness he aches for you with something more commanding, something to prove his worth, so that you learn to rely on him more than his previous attitude had afforded. A quick lick of guilt catches his breath at the memory of his first meeting with you, needing to offer you more than his past self could ever. But the way that you remain patiently waiting for his response is a swift balm over his bad behaviour, and he appreciates being given such a chance, determined not to let it go to waste.

Exhaling through his nose, he steels himself. The least he can do is give you an honest answer.

“Please,” he chokes out, decidedly not what he had intended on saying, but the word has already left his lips and you’re already smirking back at him and all he has left is to clear his chest from the remainder of shame that coils around his lungs. “I— I mean sure.” He settles on, stuttering through his usual act as you busy yourself with the changing room, and he’s left to contend with the soft twisting in his stomach. Please, please, please, you’re giving him exactly what he wants.

He doesn’t mean to act so foolishly, cursing himself internally at the slip-up. But there’s just something about you, even before he had started seriously courting you—in fact, he might even be worse off now since dating, struggling to bite his tongue around you now that he can call you his. Honesty just spills from him, like water into a cup, or a bath.

Right, he’s here to bathe. There’s nothing wrong about bathing with you, surely… Out of everyone in town, the person he’d be most expected to share a bath with should be you, though butterflies nonetheless line his lungs as you enter his vision again, bathing suit hugging your body in just the right way to make his mind race. Empty besides you, and how pretty you look, and how well you suit that colour, and how hard he itches to reach out and grab at you. Frozen in place in sheer awe over just how much he likes you, adoring with the silence he forces upon himself; he tries not to stare, truthfully, but the sudden heat of your hand on his bare shoulder fills him with the striking realisation that he can stare, and that maybe you want him to. Boyfriend privileges or something, he’s new to all of this. Flailing through a series of new emotions as quickly as he can to try and calm down, but you seem to strive to make his life more difficult by the second.

“Ready?” you speak in such a casual tone, ignorant of the nerves building in his body as his gaze flickers around the space you inhabit, stealing glances of your soft skin, the way the swimsuit makes little indents across your hips, God, your tits…

He is, after all, just a man.

“Yeah,” he swallows down more honesty, “Yeah, okay.” but with how tense his muscles already were, it’s no surprise that he almost springs into action, every inch of him uptight as tries to focus solely on not popping a boner right in front of you, lest he embarrasses himself even further than he already has. He’s so determined to not be viewed as a loser, in fact, that he forgets all about holding your hand as he stomps his way over to the main room, allowing you to trail behind him only because the thought of watching your hips sway in front of his attentive gaze makes his life in such flimsy shorts much more dangerous.

He even enters the bath before you, hoping that the bubbles will hide most of his obvious infatuation for your choice of outfit under the water, taking the furthest side with his arms stretched out and draped along the edge, if only to remain somewhat inn control of his affections. And as you enter the pool yourself, gradually lowering into the water, he can’t help but to imagine that you’re obviously teasing him. A slow show of your body dripping wetter, drool collecting behind his tight jaw as his teeth grind to the view of your legs disappearing under the blue, wetting your skin with condensation droplets that leave him thirstier for something other than a drink, tight little swimsuit growing darker in spots that the water brushes up against, and Jesus fucking Christ, now he’s jealous over water…

Despite his morning plans to ease the tension in his overworked muscles, the pressure only builds in his body as he stares you down, feeling the obvious furrow in his brow as he settles into a neat scowl in response to your effortless taunting. He’s sure you don’t actually mean it, he’s probably just pent up from working such long hours without time to tend to himself, but fuck—what he wouldn’t give to release his stress through the show you’re unknowingly providing him right now.

At least the water is warm, offering a much more pleasant aroma now that you’ve decided to join him in relaxing. Soft sounds of the consistent stream keeping the bath full fill the air, begging to be listened to, but all he can focus on is his own ragged breathing as he looks at anything other than you. As if the pristine tiles of the bathhouse are miraculously more interesting than anything you currently have to offer, which really couldn’t be further from the truth if he was more honest with himself.

He’s strong thought, right? He can handle a little showing off, it’s not like he trains for no reason.

“Comfy?” your question snaps him out of his more indulgent thoughts, directly calling for his attention that he all too eagerly gives without a second thought, only to be met by the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, and a slight jiggle of your tits as you shift around idly; he’d never miss that.

“Mhm,” he nods, knowing full well that if he were to open his mouth to proper conversation, he’s liable to embarrass himself further. “You?”

“Yes. It’s nice here, isn’t it?” Nicer with you, he keeps to himself.

He’s supposed to be resting right now. Loosening his tired muscles, letting the water soothe all of his aches and pains from the past work week. It’s one of the only joys he has, spare the inn on Friday nights. Not that you’re spoiling the fun, abso-fucking-lutely not, it’s just… Well, you’re making it harder for him to let loose, in more ways than one.

What he’s not supposed to be doing in the bath is struggling to hold himself back from jumping you without a word. Jaw as clenched as his arms are taut, all in an effort to appear calm, composed, and collected. Thank God his lower half is hidden under ripples of water, the constant stream from the tap promising to keep his secrets for the time being. Though he doesn’t have the best imagination around, he has enough material right in front of him to think about grabbing your arm and tugging you snug against him in one swift motion, letting you feel the swell of his bulge under the bubbles as a reminder of exactly what you do to him. He can envision shoving your head under the water to meet his hips, hiding you from an unfortunate visitor to keep your dignity in tact. Hooking your legs over his shoulders on the edge of the bath, curling his fingers under your suit—he can think about a lot of things, though none of them are anything you might describe as clean. Desperate, more like.

And it’s not like you help his situation, sitting there just… Just… Fuck, just sitting there! In as little clothing as possible without being naked, prompting his primitive brain to imagine what might be hidden underneath. He’s not stupid, he’s seen your body before, but the way you rest there so nonchalantly in spite of his intimate conflict has him feeling hotter than the water that surrounds him is. Like he’s a lonely pervert or something, leering at you from afar because confronting his affections is far scarier than suppressing them.

He just doesn’t wanna fuck this up. Can’t stand the thought of fucking you up.

Though, from day one, you’ve always been able to see right through him, haven’t you?

“You’re staring, March.”

Shit, the soft teasing lilt you attach to your astute observation has his cheeks feeling flush, stomach twisting with that sickeningly sweet tone you use to scold him with as if parenting him. A childish reaction threatening to creep up his throat in response, if not for the way he thickly swallows it back down with better judgement. You so effortlessly remind him that his affections may be considered rude by most, but the way you’re fluttering your lashes back at him as he continues to gawk begs otherwise.

He’d apologise if he truly meant it.

“No I’m not.” He huffs defiantly, still yet refusing the tear his gaze away from your pretty smile out of rebellion alone. A challenge, perhaps.

“You’re still staring.” Always quick to bark back—it’s part of why he fell for you in the first place.

“Because you’re still yapping.”

A giggle falls from your lips, and he can feel his stomach do a flip as he falls back on his perfected frown, squinting his eyes at you as a means to protect his ego.

“You were staring before that!” you continue, and he knows he can’t argue with that, because it’s the cold hard truth. He was leering at you, in spite of the shame between his legs—or maybe because of that. You’re too pretty for him to discern the difference right now, head fuzzy with thoughts solely of you. Always you, late at night, first thing in the morning, in the bathhouse, doesn’t matter what he’s doing in truth… You’re always at the back of his mind, in his periphery. The resulting throb behind his shorts is the only inevitable outcome, really.

So, he gives up. Sighing heavily as he sinks lower into the bath, as if doing so would somehow absolve him the embarrassment of getting caught red handed, his legs instinctively stretching out under the waves to accidentally brush against your own polite ones; an honest mistake, but his reaction is nonetheless immediate.

Shooting straight up with his lips pressed into a thin line to suppress a pathetic whimper at the mostly innocent touch, core flexed so strongly that it’s a wonder why he even attempted to relax in the first place. Just that brief contact, the lack of concern on your face from his pass against you, is enough to have him gasping for air. The steam surrounding him now feeling much more suffocating than usual, your presence at the opposite end of the bath he usually inhabits having the opposite effect as intended.

Like he said, he’s just a man.

A sensitive, overwhelmed mess of a man, averting his gaze from your curiosity as he chokes on the words he’d like to say. You’re so pretty it’s annoying, I can’t focus on anything besides your chest, the feeling of your skin against my own is enough to get me going.

Obviously, he can’t admit to such dirty thoughts out loud. Not when he’s so out in the open like this, vulnerable to your charms despite his outward sarcastic shield. He can only handle so much!

Though you seem determined to prove him wrong— typical. Inching closer just a bit, worry etched so sweetly on your face that he has half a mind to act up if it’d help soothe your nerves. “Are you okay?” he hears you gasp, but he’s far too concerned with diminishing his growing need for you as opposed to offering you any sort of reassurance. His heart hammers against his chest as he fights his own urges, begging to spill some of his secrets, but he’s much too prideful to let loose in front of the one person he tries his absolute best to be cool in front of. Even if his body betrays him by the second.

But he can’t leave you hanging, forcing out a rough sounding I’m fine, which very much doesn’t sound fine now that he’s heard how steeped in heat his words has become, and he can’t escape your worries for long as you continue to approach, swimming over to his end of the bath as he locks up. Frozen in place, not from fear, but from a selfish want to have you nearby in spite of himself. A prisoner of his own making, coiled up like a spring as you grow closer and closer, a lump in his throat pleading to bark back at your continued sympathies as all the blame falls on you, really. If only you didn’t looks so nice today, too bad he’s useless when it comes to self control, his fault for being unable to react faster to your concern, so on and so forth.

It’s only natural, he swfitly reasons with himself, to be tenting under the water when you are his girlfriend after all. Would be weird if he wasn’t, right? Though his logic does very little at pacifying his increased temperature, a hitch in his breath promising to ruin him as your brows knit together in what he can only describe as adorable confusion.

“Are you sure?” you double check, though there really isn’t any need to. Despite his frown, he’s never felt better. You and him, alone in a bath together? This is the stuff his wet dreams are mode of, to be honest! But therein lies his issue.

He’s all too eager to make his dreams a reality, and your faux innocence is only riling him up further. As if you have no idea exactly as to what you’re doing to him right now, prompting a tut to escape his tight lips at your display of utter naivety.

“’M sure.” Curt and polite, muffled by the water as he attempts to hold on to the last shred of dignity he has, still allowing you to grow closer to him because what else is he gonna do? Deny his girlfriend?

“You look warm…” you pout so cutely at him that he turns to grinding his jaw in an effort to hold back. “It’s a bathhouse.”

You scoff at his self-explanatory reply, though there’s a soft look in your eye that lets him know you haven’t taken his short answer the wrong way. You’re probably used to his communication style by now, right? “Obviously, but I mean more than expected… Are you getting sick?” Every inch of his body is screaming for him to lean forward a little, just enough to close of the distance you’ve thus left between to show you exactly why he looks so red right now. Hair sticks to his forehead not from the steam, but from the sheer amount of sweat your interest in his well-being has caused. Finding it difficult to deny that it’s incredibly hot to him that you’re so concerned about him, knowing that he can look after himself but still finding the time of day to want to care for him. You’re infuriatingly sweet.

He wishes so badly that he carried over some of his previous confidence in the changing room, because he wasn’t lying. He is glad that he came in today, that you seemed to show up as a stoke of luck—how nice it’d be if he could quip back with something snarky, a sarcastic reassurance to get you off his back… Or his front, in this case—with those pouty lips that drive him mad and the breathy tone that has him biting his tongue.

But before he has a chance of formulating anything even close to an answer, you grab on to the side of the bath he rests on, pulling yourself closer as your knee brushes against his crotch, and well fuck.

He’s rock solid.

As if stricken by an immediate sickness, or pained by your soft brush against him, his hands that were white knuckled against the edge of the bath fly under the water, cupping his cock from further investigation as he regards you with an uncharacteristically pleading look. Biting down on his bottom lip to keep his whines hidden, looking at you with such large puppy dog eyes it’s a wonder he doesn’t start sobbing from the sheer humiliation of his current predicament.

And after a brief tense pause, you only make it worse for him.

“Are you…?”

“Shut up—” a mix of whispering and shouting, his voice pitched a tone higher as he struggles to catch his breath from the emotions you’ve stirred inside of him. Obvious now even to you as his knuckles brush against your exposed thigh, and it’s a good thing he’s cupping his crotch at the moment…

On one hand, he’s absolutely mortified. Terrified of the repercussions that may comes from acting like a pervert in public, getting hard solely from watching you out the corner of his eye like some sort of sick peeping tom. You must think he’s gross for that, right? Disgusted in his inability to control himself, still yet reeling from the brief contact of your knee against his hidden cock like some sort of dirty virgin. But on the other hand… He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard before. Heat pooling just below his stomach, muscles taut and tense as if expecting this to go anywhere other than a light scolding, no doubt leaking precum all over Juniper’s poor bath without second thought. Well, it’s not like he can stop himself now, steeping in the embarrassment his lower half had brought upon him, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he cringes at himself enough for the two of you.

An apology rests at the back of his tongue, brought up with the bile that comes from getting caught doing something he really shouldn’t, even if you are his girlfriend. The setting is all wrong—inappropriate at best.

But you bring him back to Earth with a soft, pleasant sound. A little chuckle, more teasing than reprimanding as you settle to his right, body pressed as snug as allowed through the waves against his shaking arm. Don’t fucking do that, he wants to reprimand instead. But the feeling of your tits squishing against his bare arm causes him to stutter, in both mind and body. Reeling from the sensation of your slippery skin, the heat coming off of you overwhelming his senses to a dull, stupid state.

“It’s okay, March,” you whisper against his skin, the intimate sound of your words going straight back down to his cock to make it throb in his protective hold. He hasn’t the strength left to reply to you, at least not verbally, though he continues to shiver nervously back against where your front connects to his flexed arm. “Do you want some help? Can’t leave you here in that state…” He didn’t think it was possible to get harder than he is now, but alas, your offer of help has his eyes rolling back at the mere thought. How kind, he muses to himself, for you to offer relieving him of his perversions like some sort of saint. The contrast of which is not lost on him, serving only to make his hips buck involuntarily as he fully takes in exactly what you’ve just offered, and he shudders out a heavy breath.

Without missing a beat, he looks down between his legs before answering, connecting the dots with ease. “You’re lucky Juniper isn’t here.” He settles on when he finds nothing better to complain about, squinting at you with a lazy lying smile on his face. It is, of course, the truth; without the owner present, it’ll be easier to misbehave. But the pill of his lewd intent is easier to swallow if he has you to blame for it, huffing out some steam at the incredulous expression you offer back at him.

“Me?!” You feign shock, successfully tugging his lips higher. He understands your tone—it’s him that’s hard, he gets it already. Understood it for the past however long he’s been soaking in the tub with you for. “Besides, are you saying you wouldn’t want my help if she was here?”

“No,” he gives in to impulsivity and lets go of his crotch, leaning one arm back to be parallel to your own that hangs over the edge of the tub, facing each other and dripping water onto the floor below with a consistent soft thud. “I’m saying, you’d get us caught if she was.”

You start to whine something petulant, thought he doesn’t particularly care for the contents of your protest, too busy repositioning himself now that you’ve given him the go ahead as he cuts you off mid sentence, standing as best as he can in the shallow bath with his spread wide palms immediately finding home on your hips. Spinning you around before you even realise what’s happening, careful to keep you steady so that you don’t fall and hurt yourself when tending to his desires.

"Atta girl-" he teases once you’re settled, low and strained, like he can't hold himself back much longer.

This position is easier for him to handle. Bending you over the edge of the tub, the thickness of it enough to support your upper body without being too awkward to hold. And, with your face out of view, you’ve got no chance of watching how easily he falls apart for you. Besides, it’s not like he hears you complaining about it. The power dynamics suddenly shifted as he uses his hard worked for strength to his advantage, pinning you in place as water threatens to slosh around your trembling legs, knees buckled just a little to give away your immediate submission to his sudden snap.

This is relaxing too, right? He allows your hands to brace yourself against the edge of the tub, though he’d ordinarily keep them pinned behind—this isn’t an ordinary experience though, is it?

He clicks his tongue down at you, the role reversal causing his dick print to throb under the wet suction of his shorts. “Still happy to help?” his head tilts to the side even if you can’t see it, amused at your sudden ability to shut up, watching the pretty picture of your instinctive swaying from side to side as his own private show. Though he’s mostly provoking you, he is also seeking consent, checking in that you’re okay with this and that he hasn’t allowed his fantasies to run too wild under the insinuation of your words. “Lemme know.” He encourages you when he doesn’t immediately hear a reply, squeezing at your hips with stability to try and communicate that he won’t get upset if you’ve changed your mind, he has a hand for a reason.

A second or two passes, but his cock throbs painfully as if they were minutes... Twitching behind his shorts as he hovers just out of your reach, nonetheless feeling the heat roll off you from his slipping grip of your skin.

He’s about to back off when you finally confirm.

“I wanna help.” You hum, voice drenched in such a sweet, dulcet tone that his mind immediately blanks at, staring dumbly at where your cunt hides behind your swimsuit like it was her consenting. The gentle side to side of your hips helping to hypnotise him as he tracks your movements with a parted mouth, just before he bites down on his bottom lip with resolve.

You’re a great motivator, at the very least.

“Good,” he practically coos down at you, letting one hand drop down to the hem of your swimsuit while the other keeps you nice and steady with an iron grip kept at your hip. He doesn’t work all day for nothing! “Then stay still.”

With his hand dropping lower and lower, he pings the edge of your swimsuit back against your skin once or twice, hearing the echo that resounds around the otherwise empty bathhouse, but he’s much more interested in listening to the short gasps for air you make upon each snap. Teasing your limits as he toys with you in the private public offered by the water, regaining his confidence when he feels you twitch and shift under his scrutinising gaze, already forgetting to stay still.

Not that it bothers him seeing you act so eager like this, pleased with the way you squirm under him as he idly traces the outline of your cunt over your swimsuit, cursing under his breath at the way the way fabric digs into your skin, clinging to your wet heat as you present yourself to him as the answer to his fat, throbbing problem right now.

His chest rumbles with attachment, grip tightening to prevent slipping off your waist as his resolve crumbles the more he idly plays with you.

A soft sigh escapes him as he thumbs at your clit over the skin tight fabric, whistling lowly to himself when your whole body jerks for his attention, something he’s all too eager to provide. Letting out a rough, hushed little “Fuck it—-” before he unceremoniously tugs your suit to the side, freeing that pretty pussy for his eyes to fuck first, his hips instinctively bucking forward a tad to let his bulge rub along your slit. The resulting combined gasp bounces off the walls of the bathhouse like some lewd prayer, his skin immaterially prickling with selfish enjoyment at the way you’re seemingly incapable of withholding your own perversions. You really are lucky to be alone with him right now, huh?

And he’d be lying if he said that the risk wasn’t worth the reward himself. His heart hammers from the thrill of it all, secretly admiring the way you couldn’t care less as to who hears your little whimpers and whines, or perhaps you’re simply revelling in his touch enough that you’ve already forgotten all about the threat itself—the fact that Juniper could return any minute now, or a stray wandering neighbour might decide now is a good time to soak in the pools, only to be met by your shivering sighs and pretty pussy on full display for his wandering hands. Shit, he’s been so hard for so long, he could probably cum just from the sight of your cunt alone. But imagining someone walking in on him inspecting your holes, tugging your cheeks apart to spread you wide open for his leering does get him going more than he’d like to admit. Prideful to a fault, extended to how pleased he is by your display, torn between wanting to share the pretty sight with others versus keeping you all to himself.

The bathhouse meets a nice middle, he muses to himself.

“Doin’ okay?” he checks in, leaning forward just a little behind you only to choke on a whine of his own when the outline of his cock comes into direct contact with your exposed cunt, heaving over you with barely there restraint like a bitch in heat. You should feel lucky, actually, that he’s still got his shorts on. He’d otherwise be balls deep in you already if not for the wet barrier keeping him somewhat sane, cock hot and ready pressed against his skin.

You mumble a small mhm back at him, and he supposes it’ll suffice. Must be hard collecting your words when he’s absentmindedly dragging a finger up and down your bare slit, collecting the slippery slick that drools out from your hole in preparation for him, cunt feeling wetter than the bath he currently stands in. Enough to leave a soft squelch in his trail, a sticky sound of your arousal that has him dangerously on the verge of caving.

Though what really pushes him over the edge is how small and weak you sound when begging him please. “Hurry up,” you whine softly, a cute little sound that has his tip leaking all over himself. “Before someone sees…” He can practically see the pout on your lips as you plead.

And, well, since he’s yet to actually relax this morning, it couldn’t hurt to use his strength one last time, right?

He’d love to spend his time working you open, giving you a few shallow in and outs of his thumb at your entrance, popping it repeatedly in lieu of a proper finger fucking to warm you up. His throat dries up at the sound alone, the way your hole immediately tries to wrap around his barely inside teasing as if begging for it, like you need him just as much as he needs you. And you’re so cute when he’s edging you, ruined from the frustration alone as he so often has his fun. But fuck, you’re right… He only has limited time to impress you, and he wastes part of that precious time in tugging his shorts down just enough for his cock to spring free, the water surrounding him splashing up against his abs, over the edge of the tub, up your backside, purely from how fast he tries to rush. He doesn’t mean to be so clumsy in his plea to free himself, but the water that’s soaked his shorts has left him sensitive and sticky, the material clinging to him for dear life as he gives up half way, letting them hang just under his ass as he lets out a noticeable groan of irritation.

“Right,” he’s quick to excuse himself, genuinely apologetic for making you wait more than a few seconds before giving you exactly what you’re asking for. Promptly grabbing at the base of his cock with one hand, tugging your lips apart with his other, and tapping the tip against your slit once or twice. Allowing you to get sufficiently desperate before pressing forward. “Ready?” he asks, but it’s not really a question. Rhetorical given the way you push back in a seeking of contact without thought, coaxing him closer with a needy whimper that he’d be dumb not to heed.

Even though he tries to go slow for your own sake, he ends up falling forward further than intended due to the moving water under his feet, tip catching on your hole in a way that has him gasping for air. The hands he was using to guide himself in now planted firmly against the edge of the tub, supporting the sheer weight of his indecent intent as he pants heavily above you, hot breath no doubt warming you up more than the bath itself attempts.

He corrects his posture as quick as he can to settle your keening, lovingly tutting down at you as you shift your weight around to try and catch more of his cock inside. Needy little thing, you’re only stroking his ego the more you wriggle around, knowing that you depend on him so eagerly to resolve the tension in your tummy gets him soooo rock hard, God, his want to serve you overtaking all sense as he hovers over you with a twitch in his hips, letting his tip dip deeper into your cunt with a forced sigh escaping him. And he can’t stop now, not when he feels the first suck of your cunt around the sensitive head of his cock, drooling precum against your insides as if you weren’t wet enough already for him to slip further inside, tilting his head back marginally as he enjoys stretching you out at least with his fat girth—who needs fingers when his cock is right there, right? Just the searing heat of his erection, humping into you with small, easing thrusts to help you get accustomed to him again given your little to no prep. But he stutters inside like he can’t help himself, involuntarily offering more than he intended because you indulge him too much.

Though with how warm and wet you already are as half his length throbs inside your hole, he figures you might not need much prep at all. Perhaps the fact that he’s taking you in public is enough to have you ready for him, cunt choking his cock well enough to have his eyes rolling back before he’s even fully inside, silent behind you in pure focus of filling you full and not much else. Eager to please you as he gradually feeds you the final few aching inches, rolling his hips so gently that he’s forced to hold his breath in fear of whimpering praise for you.

Instead, he shudders out a whispered “Holy shit.” To the room itself. The only witness to his perversions.

Ah, but you make it just so easy for him to fall further. Laying limp to let him support his own weight with two damp palms clutching at your hips, nails biting into your slippery skin just a bit to keep himself upright, else he’s liable to fold in half on top of you. Heaving from the amount of effort it takes to simply stall behind you, giving you a few moments to grow accustomed to the stretch he’s kindly offering as his huffs of air are all the compliments you get. Because though he’d be hard pressed to admit it outright, he needs more than a couple of seconds to catch his breath himself from the sheer tightness surrounding him. Poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek in light frustration over how effortlessly you wind him. Without even trying honestly, rendering him useless to anything but his more primal instincts, feeling compelled to prove himself to you with his ability to make you feel good—just because it’s you. He only ever gives in to you.

And it’s only when you start to squirm on the end of his cock, communicating that you’re ready for him to move again, that he gives in to the urge deep in his stomach with a long, drawn out drag backwards. Reeling at the harsh suck of your hole along his length, all the way up until only his tip remains inside as he hold his breath in preparation for giving you exactly what you’ve been asking for.

Some part of him recognises that you’re talking to him. An echoed plea reverberating amongst the lonely baths, high pitched and needy in a way that triggers his rash behaviour as he pushes forward again, lust pooling in his hips to drive himself forward in an immediate, unfair thrust— an attempt to quell the urgency in your tone. Though he’s not sure exactly what you were begging about, he figures he might have hit the mark as he starts with an eager tempo, offering almost his full fat length in an effort to not slap his balls back against you which would surely get him caught with his pants physically down.

The fast fucks he immediately humps into you with cause bubbles to form around his thighs, greedily splashing water well over the edge now that he’s given in to his desire to fuck you first thing in the morning. Been on his mind all night too, y’know? Tip of his cock making a mess of his sheets, fist aching to fuck himself before heading to the baths to try and calm himself down—and then you show up, soft, cute, coaxing him closer with that stupid little swimsuit and kindness in your heart. Helping him by presenting yourself with easy access, prompting him into disregarding his well taught discipline with a simple flutter of lashes and a pretty pout to boot. It’s gross to know just how down bad he is for you, a sickly sweet intimacy crawling up his spine as you already struggle to keep your enjoyment hidden, and he has to wrap a toned arm around your neck so that he can personally muffle your pretty whines. Not that he particularly wants to, biting down on his tongue to keep his own hidden in favour of hearing your choked sobs instead, but he’s a selfish lover at the end of the day. Eager to keep you all to himself, stifling the whines and the gasps his half humps fuck out of you so that no one else gets to hear how pretty you sound when getting fucked.

And he so desperately wants to praise you for your strained efforts. Wants to commend your cunt for wrapping around him so well, squeezing every hot inch he fucks against her, so warm and wet and his—but if he so much as parts his lips to breathe, he knows for sure he’ll get you caught. Dirty words hidden behind his teeth when his jaw clenches at the muted sounds you struggle to suppress, thighs tense with the effort it takes to simply stay standing. Needing more than anything to completely encase you with himself, wrap you up against his own body to fuck you so full of him that you’re forced to confront the fact that he’s so madly obsessed with how good you make him feel, and that you’re all he ever thinks about.

Though he supposes bouncing you back on his cock in semi public like this might suffice for the time being. The pads of his fingers digging into your cheek as a reminder of his affections for you, as if the increasingly fast fucks weren’t enough. Growing sloppy with himself as he adds an extra inch or two with each subsequent thrust, all in an effort to please you more.

It’s easier to ignore the growing recall of his balls surrounding the room he’s plowing you in when the wet suck of your cunt holds all his attention anyway.

He was right, however. You are loud, enough to grab the attention of anyone who dares to dip in the pools this morning.  And despite to the best of his knowledge of secrecy, the idea that someone might be lurking in the shadows, keeping to themselves to watch how well he fucks you over the edge of the bath, listening just as intently as he is to the strangled sounds he refuses to allow pass your lips—God, fuck, the thought alone only makes him hotter. Makes him fuck faster, as much as he can despite the wet ground he stands on, cock sliding inside of your too tight little cunt with ease given how slick you’ve gotten from his attention, dripping into the pools below as he hums with some mixed sense of appreciation and annoyance.

“So good—” he lets slip, embarrassed by the strain present in his tone, but nonetheless allowing a rough groan to escape now that he’s already started yapping, unable to withhold his praise for the way you take his cock any longer, and how nice it feels to be fucking you balls deep in public like this, clinging to you as if his life depended on getting you off first thing in the morning. “Just like that, that’s it.” crooning down at you, laboured breaths fanning across the back of your neck as he leans down just a bit, angling his cock deeper against your insides as his tip kisses precum as far as it can reach. And it doesn’t help that the new position has you gasping louder, whimpering against his trembling palm with barely contained restraint, his head dropping on instinct alone to press against your sticky back, keeping you pinned in place with one hand slipping to your waist to tug at possessively, as if he were sure there were eyes on you and he needed to reassert his dominance.

And it’s almost as if you want to get caught at this rate, pushing back against his every fuck forward in tandem, increasing the loud slap of his balls against your ass with such desperation he can’t even begin to scold, the wet squish of your angel cunt prompting his skin to prickle with increased sensitivity as he feels the urgent need just as strongly. Like the mere existence of you under him is overwhelming, the sounds you’re unable to withhold as he fucks the shape of his cock inside your tight hole with every greedy thrust forward like he’s seeking validation for his efforts causes him to start stuttering. Sloppy with his drives deeper, messy with his affections as he openly pants against your back, cooling your sweat slicked skin as he bullies you against the edge of the tub, letting go of the grip he has on your mouth just to selfishly endure your enjoyment regardless of the risks. It’s much hotter knowing you’re unable to contain yourself when he’s fucking right up to the hilt anyway. A deep sense of worth it urging him to continue ruining you for breakfast.

It’s those risks that has him so hot and eager in the first place anyway. The fact that he’s doing something to you in a place he really shouldn’t; a shared bath house is decidedly not where you should desperately fuck the love of your life over the edge of the pool, drooling a mixture of fluids into the water as if it were home, like it was a private affair shared simply between two lovers and not the town itself. But the fact that his fucks are so wrong to begin with, fervently disregarding privacy in his desires for you, greedy for that pretty pussy choking his cock so well, so fucking good holy shit—knowing that if he were to be caught balls deep in you as he is now, he’d never hear the end of it—that’s what he needs most of all right now. You really shouldn’t be letting him fuck you like this, addicted to the tight fit of your cunt, the way she squeezes him just right, balls taut against your backside as he reluctantly peels himself off of your back, just to push his weight back down on your hips to force your soaked body into a deeper arch for his selfish gratification.

He’s already close. Always quicker than he’d like to be when you’re involved, but can you really blame him? With the way you’re now whimpering without restraint, sighing in that soft, erotic tone he can’t ever deny, he really never had a hope in stopping himself from pure indulgence. Fucking fuller moans out your throat now as he uses your body as an anchor, dragging you back against his pelvis just as much as he buries himself forward to the hilt, a pretty froth of cream adorning the base of his cock as evidence of his good job. He could cum just by looking at that alone, if only he didn’t need you to finish first.

It’s his duty. As your loving, doting, fast fucking boyfriend, he’s supposed to make sure you always cum first.

You make him reckless, your reaction of immediate approval when he drops one hand to between your legs has him compelled to continue, even in spite of your increased volume. He’d tease you for it under normal circumstances, but the needy edge to your tone has his cock throbbing harder, not thinking clearly as he brings his attention to your sensitive little clit, urgently rubbing careless circles against it in a desperate bid to have you creaming his cock as soon as possible, before he acts foolishly first. As seems to be common with you.

He lets out a soft, shuddered sigh at the way your hole clamps down on him harder in response, more demanding as you start to shiver against his touch, evidently appreciating the way he dumbly tries to stroke your clit, even if his actions are more focused on stroking his cock inside of your pretty pussy, wanting to make her all better. “This is all your fault,” he seethes from behind, swallowing a pitchy moan in an attempt to save face, sucking at his teeth to try and stall the inevitable, if only to prolong his own pleasure. Though it’s a bare faced lie—he wanted this just as much as you seem to, if the amount of precum his fat cock fucks out of you is any indication, staining your insides for at least the upcoming week as his own. “Just wanted to relax, and—and fuck,” doesn’t matter what the ill-fitting scolding he was gonna hiss at you with was, because you cut him off perfectly with a rapid rhythm promising to end him. Cunt convulsing around his cock as his hips falter behind you, instinctively rubbing harsher circles against your pretty puffy clit just to make you squirm some more, the sound of your hiccuped moans going straight to his dangerously full balls as his cock pulses with need—just a few more uneven fucks later and he’s collapsing on top of you with a whiny whimper, pained by how good you make him feel.

Thick white ropes shoot from his tip as his pace slows, only offering you half thrusts when your cunt continues to milk him, unable to find his strength to bury balls deep again despite the way he continues rutting against you, fucking his seed deeper with every greedy thrust because he can. And he wants to. Heaving openly above you, panting with sheer bliss when he fills you so full that some of his seed spills out around his stammering fucks, a breathless laugh falling from his bitten lips when he just can’t seem to stop himself, making sure you take every single drop of him and then some before it spills. Nursing his spent and sensitive cock in the warmth of your overstuffed cunt while he still has the chance, while nobody has came to interrupt his lewd display yet.

He only starts to pull out when you begin to actively kick him away, splashing the water in his direction as overstimulation likely takes hold between your legs, and he winces to himself when cum continues to seep from your well loved hole and into the bath water below.

Hopefully Juniper won’t be able to tell later.

Tucking his cock back under his shorts to let the water wash him clean, he leans over your shivering form one more time to make sure you know how thankful he is, and how much he loves you. Leaving a feather-light trail of kisses across your exposed neck, trailing down your spine subtly with an adoring hum filling the space left between your gasps for air. Gently, he shushes you. Not out of annoyance, but as a means to comfort and console you after such hard work, his heart swelling with genuine pride held just for you.

“You okay?” he breathes slow against you, thanking his stamina for the fast recover to allow his focus to rest solely on helping you, hoping that by pressing his heart against your back that you might come down slowly with him. “You did good, so good.” he whispers against your skin, the sudden silence of the tub causes his skin to heat up in soft embarrassment. Hoping to ease some of your potential own, prepared to take the brunt of the bad behaviour if need be. For that kind of fuck again? Absolutely.

Reassured by the sight of your soft nod, he smiles with satisfaction to himself as he pushes up off your back, returning to his previous position in the pool with his back to the edge, settling much more comfortably now that his balls have been drained thanks to your help. A successful morning by all accounts, his muscles now loose, mind calm as he soaks for a moment or two. Allowing you space to collect yourself, though he doesn’t complain when you seek further solace in him by moving to cling to him like a koala. He shifts around to accommodate you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with one arm wrapped around the small of your back to keep you close, the other remaining on the edge to support his own balance. “C’mere pretty,” he nods against your skin, idly huffing in your scent to further relax. If a hug is what you want, then a hug is what you’ll get, especially after that performance. “Glad you showed up.” he offers, unsure as to whether he’s asking you a question, or communicating a statement.

Though you hum agreement back at him regardless, wrapping your arms loosely around his clammy neck as temperatures cool, and you’re left to bask in the afterglow of his tense muscles.

Just as he does too. Resting in the warm water for the first time since he arrived this morning, stretching his legs out under you with a small, pleased sigh.

But he knows you better than that. Dozing off with the weight of you calming him, it’s not long before his eyes snap back open and his expression tugs into that casual scowl he so often wears.

“Bet you’re relaxed now.” you quip, carrying a mischievous lilt to your voice that’s hard to ignore.

And even after all the kindness he’s shown you today; he tuts back at you. Happy to have served you, but just as happy to put you back in your place. Lying through his teeth for the fun of it, lowering his posture so that just his head is above water and letting the pool heal his efforts before barking back.

“No thanks to you.”

Balor:

he's very quick to notice, letting you know with a narrow-eyed grin

might flip or tousle his hair a bit before looking you up and down himself, meeting your eyes again with a playful gaze

"something that caught your eye?"

might bring this up every now and then just to mess with you

Hayden:

the truth is, though, that you caught his eye as well (and he can't help but admire when he thinks you're not looking)

he's a little bashful, but appreciates your adoring gaze nonetheless

probably laughs a lot when he's embarrassed, he can't hide a damn thing

this usually turns into friendly banter and his arm swung around your shoulders

you can count on Hayden to treat you to dinner, he wastes no time and plays no games

Eiland:

really not used to this sort of thing, so he's a bit of a mess (or a massive wreck, whichever you prefer)

he pretends he didn't notice but he's sweating buckets and blushing furiously

but then he just can't stop glancing at your lips and then your eyes and then...suddenly the floor is more interesting than everything else (save him)

makes some sort of excuse about a research breakthrough then runs for the hills

Ryis:

he may be a sweetheart, but he ain't that shy

why does he seem like a "my eyes are up here" kinda guy

and when you lock eyes, you really can't seem to break away

his smile is gorgeously devious...careful, don't fall for his charm (unless you wanna)

he'll take his hand and brush your hair out of your eyes, looking like he just won a grand prize (you, obviously, you're stunning)

March:

he acts like he doesn't care, or rather that it's just another boost to his ego

the redness of his ears betray him. he does care, and he is very, very flustered.

"tch...don't you have better things to be doing than checking me out? you're not even hiding it."

he's like a male bird, he loves to show off--expect him to be flexing his arms after this LMAO

Balor

He handed you a bag of seeds he sourced from the Capital, the rare ones you mentioned wanting weeks ago. "Threw in a few extra varieties," he said, already turning back to his wagon. "No charge. Consider it an investment in future produce." You grabbed the front of his vest and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Balor." His hand froze on a crate of spices. The smooth-talking merchant had absolutely nothing to say, and that alone was worth the price of every seed in the bag.

Then he turned his head, and the look on his face wasn't the easy grin or the salesman's charm, just open surprise. His hand came up and touched the spot where your lips had been. "Well," he said, voice rougher than usual. He cleared his throat. "You're, ah. You're welcome." He turned back to the wagon and started rearranging the same crate he'd already organized, putting everything in wrong. "It was just seeds, nothing much," he muttered, but he was smiling. He couldn't stop touching his cheek for a while after that.

Caldarus

He walked you to the edge of the Deep Woods, further than he usually ventured. You could tell by the tension in his shoulders that being this far from his temple made him uneasy, but he'd insisted because you'd mentioned the trail was uneven. "The path should be clear from here," he said. "I moved a fallen branch earlier that might have obstructed your route." You reached up, caught the edge of his jaw and kissed his cheek. "Thanks Caldarus, I appreciate it."

He didn't move. He stayed at the angle you'd held him at, eyes wide as his hand drifted up to press against the exact spot you kissed. "You touched your mouth to my face," he said quietly. The color that climbed his ears was unmistakable. "I have read about this gesture. It is an expression of affection, between those who care for one another." He looked at his own hand, then back at you. "Would you do it again? I was not adequately prepared the first time, and I would very much like to get more accustomed to it."

Eiland

You asked him offhandly if the museum had any records on old Mistrian farming techniques, not expecting much. The next morning he showed up at your door with an enormous binder full of notes that were bookmarked and color-coded, with a separate sheet of his own recommendations tucked inside. "Some of these are probably outdated, but I thought you'd find the crop rotation methods interesting at least." You took the binder and kissed his cheek, "Thanks Eiland, I'll be sure to put this to good use!"

The blush that covered his face was instant. "Oh! That's... you're welcome. It was nothing. Just some light research." He fiddled with his hair, glanced at the ground, then back at you and the smiled. "I could look into irrigation methods too, if you wanted. I think I saw a section on historical well systems. Could have something pulled together by tomorrow. Maybe tonight, if you'd like?"

Hayden

He spent the better part of an hour helping you fix a busted fence post on your farm, even though it was his day off and he had his own chores waiting. When you tried to apologize for taking up his time, he just waved you off. "Neighbor helping a neighbor, that's all it is. Besides, Henrietta needed the walk." Henrietta, who had done nothing useful the entire time, clucked from the top of a hay bale. You looked at Hayden who grinned at you like fixing your fence was the highlight of his week, and you kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Hayden. Really."

The grin dropped clean off his face as every ounce of his considerable energy rerouted into turning the deepest shade of red you'd ever seen on the man. He took ruffled his hair and brought a hand to his chest. "I... well, shoot!" His voice cracked, and he laughed at himself.. "That was... you just... Gya ha..." The laugh died halfway, "Had I known you were gonna do that, I would have washed up first."

March

You left your pickaxe on the counter at the blacksmith shop with a note about the loose head, expecting to pick it up in a few days. Instead, March tracked you down at the inn that evening and shoved it into your hands, good as new. "Whoever made that originally should be embarrassed." You turned it over, felt the balance, and realized he hadn't just fixed it. He'd reforged the whole head. "March, this is way more than a repair." He cut you off, "--Don't make it weird. It was just... bugging me." You kissed his cheek. "Well thank you."

The flush hit him so hard it was visible even under the dim lighting of the inn. He looked at the far wall. Then the floor. Then the ceiling. Anywhere that wasn't you. "Don't--" he said, but stopped himself. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, then shoved his hands in his pockets. "It was just a pickaxe." He still wasn't looking at you. "...If your axe needs work too, you can drop it off whenever. No rush." He turned and left before you could respond, the back of his neck blazing red just like his hair.

Olric

He overheard you mention to Ryis that you needed materials for a new wall and carried four bags of stones to your farm later that day. "It's no big deal! I was doing my morning run and figured, hey, why not carry some rocks while I'm at it? Combines cardio and strength training!" He was barely winded. You looked at the pile of stone that would have taken you six trips, then looked back at him beaming at you like this was just a fun detour for him. "Thanks Orlic, that was really sweet of you," you said as you kissed his cheek.

His entire face went red, like someone had poured warm water over him. "H-Huh?" He touched his cheek with dusty fingers and stood there blinking at you. After a few seconds he snapped himself out of his daze he bounced on his heels once, then again, like he was amping himself. "Okay! Cool! Awesome!--Do you need anything else? I can carry more things for you. I can carry so many things.--I'll check if Ryis has any extra lumber. Be right back!!" He took off at a jog towards town and you could hear him whooping himself, thinking he was out of earshot.

Ryis

He built you a new set of shelves for the farmhouse, fitted to the odd angles of your walls, with a carved detail along the edges that he must have done by hand. "I noticed the old ones were bowing a little," he said, rubbing sawdust off his forearm. "Figured I'd swap them out before they gave you trouble. The carvings are just... I had some extra time." He didn't, you knew his project list was a mile long. You stepped forward and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Ryis."

He whole body went still like he spotted a bird he'd been waiting for, as he felt his face become warmer and warmer by the second. "Yeah," he said softly. "No problem." A small smile settled on his face as he picked up his toolbox, paused at the door, and looked back at you. "I could add some matching trim around the window frame too... you know, to tie the room together. Just let me know." He said it like it was nothing. But he was still smiling when he left, and you could hear him whistling all the way down the path.

𖠰 He really means no harm whenever he accidentally gets too wrapped up in his meticulous planning ahead.

𖠰 It gets to the point where soon-to-be great-uncle Landon has to intervene himself and make Ryis realise he’s not running out of time and has nine whole months to calmly work on stuff.

𖠰 Calm is what Ryis used to be before he found out he had a child on the way.

𖠰 He’s the annoying pregnancy week-by-week guide books nerd that refuses to enable your unhealthy cravings.

𖠰 He knows how much you want it, but he is not letting you near the dangerous chocolate bar that could threaten the health of his beloved spouse and his unborn child… how about you try this nutrient-dense lentil soup that he cooked up instead? Page 142 of “To Grow a Baby” states that a healthy fetus needs both the iron and folate that it provides to regulate blood sugar levels and help deliver oxygen to the blah blah blah…

𖠰 You feel your eye twitch.

𖠰 You swear that if you didn’t love him as much as you did, you’d strangle him with your own bare hands.

𖠰 But it all turns out for the better when he finally holds his child in his arms after the long wait.

𖠰 Despite growing up in a big family, he doesn’t aspire to that.

𖠰 1 or 2 children; he keeps it demure and orderly

𖠰 It’s because he grew up in a big family that he does not want it. He knows far too well how much work only 2 children are.

𖠰 The founder of gentle parenting.

𖠰 His children turn out to be the most polite and well-mannered ever.

𖠰 I swear this man has patience to spare.

𖠰 He does not fold if they throw a tantrum when he says no. He lets them cry it out if they have to, even as they tug at his clothes to try to change his decision as he goes on with his tasks. He converses calmly with them once they cool down to explain his reasoning, and answers all their questions.

𖠰 He always offers them a hug afterwards, and if they embrace him, he kisses their cheek and forehead and reminds them he loves them. If they are still mad at him and prefer to be alone, he will give them the space they wish to have, not forcing anything as he knows they’ll eventually go back to him and will ask for the hug regardless after calming down.

𖠰 Ornithology books. Whether it is colouring books, illustrations of different species or actual scientific texts, they basically grow up with them and it makes up 70% of your household’s library.

𖠰 Which then comes in handy when he formally takes them birdwatching for the first time.

𖠰 He loves to include them in everything he does, and when they keep curiously looking over his workbench or playing with small pieces of wood and acting like they’re building something, he can’t help but start a small project for a birdhouse with them. He lets them participate and make decisions from the blueprint to the painting.

𖠰 His heart squeezes with fatherly pride whenever he sees the finished product despite the wonky painting and the small flaws,

𖠰 It reminds him of the birdhouse you two made right before becoming a couple. It still stands on the Eastern Road, and every time he walks by it to visit his uncle, it reminds him of the day you two became official, a feeling he can’t wait to have as the years go by and his children’s first project will still be in the same place despite them growing up.

Hayden

𖠰 Alright… so contrary to Ryis, he does not limit you, but enables you.

𖠰 walk with me here.

𖠰 You’re craving apple pie during summer? He’s buying overpriced apples from Balor and dusting off his grandmother’s cooking book. You want honey to eat with bread at 11 p.m? A chocolate bar? He’s waking up Nora and Holt with his knocking at the general store as we speak. He apologises profusely, but he really can’t let his spouse grow his child without indulging in their every request.

𖠰 He tries to tone it down after getting medical advice from Valen, but eventually admits to himself that he can’t resist you and goes back to pampering you.

𖠰 He’s a weak man despite his size.

𖠰 Henrietta has to learn to share the favourite child spot once the kid arrives.

𖠰 Y’all know the voicelines where he says that he wants a big family? yeah.

𖠰 3 to 4 children…

𖠰 This man LOVESSS being a dad.

𖠰 It feels wrong not to see him with children.

𖠰 He takes them everywhere he goes.

𖠰 Not even with a stroller, he just rawdogs it and carries them around town.

𖠰 His children grow up to be very lively and independent; they’re not scared to get dirty or play in mud, and they’ve been doing farmwork disguised as fun activities their whole childhood.

𖠰 Though that freedom leads to a lot of close calls: You may or may not be growing white hairs faster than you should from all the times your children have slipped off horses when little and caught at the last second by their father as he makes a playful comment about “daddy having really good reflexes”

𖠰 He’s kind of a permissive parent. He cannot find it in himself to put his children in time-out for too long or not give in to their puppy eyes when they demand ice cream for dinner or doughnuts for breakfast. Yet you have not seen a man switch his resolve as quickly as he does with just a glance from you.

𖠰 Henrietta learns to love them. Despite her air of pride, you can see how she often lingers near them and “tolerates” their pets, making Hayden nearly shine with happiness.

𖠰 He can’t put that damned camera down. Even if you try to tell him that their first time eating apple pie isn’t a huge milestone, nor was the picture of them eating lasagna for the first time yesterday, he is already preparing the shot to add to the individual photo albums he has for each child.

𖠰 A couple of times a year, he takes them to the Deep Woods to visit great-grandmother Greta. He tells them how great a woman she was, and uses those moments to reflect on how he wishes he could be as good as her and give them the childhood he had on the farm.

𖠰 He loves having them in his arms and reading them to sleep. His heart has never felt more full and at peace than when he has his loved ones at arm's reach. I truly don’t believe there will ever be an age when he will stop holding them or picking them up.