#another one but fancier if I felt like saying more words than usual:

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 3 - The Purgatory

Main Masterlist - Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, soulmates, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.

Summary/Warnings: You hold on, and Bucky makes a choice. Usual Warnings, with emphasis on torture.

Author's Note: Me not traumatize my characters challenge: impossible

Word Count: 5.3k

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

Read on A03!

You won’t remember most of it. If you try, you can think of that as a blessing.

Every single memory will be darkened. And some of it might be a coping mechanism—a veil your own mind will weave over the months, because it’s easier to have the gaps than to sit in it and remember—but a lot of it will be literal. It will be dark, because they decided to keep you somewhere that drowns you in it.

You start in a shiner, fancier cage. With clean walls and sterilized tools that put a small brand on your skin—burned and carved on your shoulder—and at the very least, you yourself will never have to see it. 

And you won’t look in a mirror either. They give you one—when they suddenly yank you up and told you that you had to start moving—to smooth out your hair and put yourself together before they shoved you back under somewhere new.

It’s not hard to imagine how they got Bucky to forget his own name. You look at yourself in the mirror and seen more of a reflection of him than yourself. Not the Bucky who’d slept in your bed and fixed all the things that had broken in your house. The Bucky who’d showed up on the side of the road with no words and things behind his eyes that were mauled. 

“Do you know how long you’ve been with them?” You’d asked once, your chin resting on his knee as he played with your hair, and he’d let out a long breath.

“I… Don’t want you to know more about them then you have to-“

“I’m not asking about them.” You’d tipped your head back to meet his gaze. “I just- We know you’re really old, and that the accident was a long, long time ago, but you haven’t said how long-“

“A while.”

You’d sighed. “Sargent-“

“I don’t know.” He’d mumbled, his brows knit together and tone almost desperate. “No matter how far back I think, there’s still something in my head that- It’s always been them. It just keeps looping and telling me that it’s only them, only the mission.”

“Oh.” You’d swallowed, leaning a little further into him. “It’s- Does anything help?”

The pause had been long as he’d stared at you, scanning over your features with another unreadable expression that you somehow understood.

He hadn’t needed to say it, because you felt it too. 

You can still feel it now.

And in the dark of the room they move you to, under all the pressure and weight of this being a new, maybe permanent reality, it helps to think of Bucky.

You don’t know where he is. If he’s looking for you, or if they’re keeping him locked deeper up than before. All you can tell was that he isn’t here, because you would feel it if he was. There would be an instinct of home, the song in your blood telling you that you were safe, even as pain is pushed into and over your body.

It is maybe a mercy, then. That if they have Bucky, they haven’t kept him just a room over, where the song can lie to you and you won’t know how not to believe it. This way you’re able to imagine him somewhere a little warmer and safe, where there isn’t anything to fight or patch up, and he gets to eat and read and do nothing but easy, painless things forever.  

Because he isn’t dead. You’re certain you would’ve known if he was dead. 

Instead you got to imagine him happy, even as you’re alone in the dark. 

After a few months—or only days, or years or decades, it isn’t really possible to tell—they give you a little light. 

It’s worse than the dark.

It’s focused. Bright and blinding and hot on your skin, almost medical feeling—like you’re about it be dissected and put in a jar—and pointed at your face whenever it’s on. They’ll angle it sometimes, blinding or burning one part of you more than all the others, and it’s like they think that, if they light you up just right, they’ll find what you know.

But you don’t know anything at all. You don’t understand half their questions, and the ones you do, they don’t like your answers for.

How do you control the Soldat.

You don’t. You tell them over and over that you don’t know what that means—that you’ve never really controlled anything in your life—but they don’t care for any answer that’s not what they want to hear. 

And you’d tell them what they want to hear, if you had a single fucking clue what that was. You tell them that you don’t know what a soldat is, and they scoff and ignore your questions. They tell you that they know what you’ve been up to, and ask if you sold them out to the Avengers, and you’ve never even fucking seen an Avenger, but it’s all just a dark haze. You aren’t a good enough liar to sell them a story, and you can’t read people well enough to infer what they’re looking for you to say.

But it does click, after another infinite amount of time. 

We have seen him with you. We have reprogrammed him whenever he returned to you. How have you done it.

Bucky.

You’ve known this was about Bucky, but your head has been dazed and exhausted, and somehow you hadn’t tied the two together until now. They’d taken you because of Bucky, but not just to hurt him.

They thought you could control him.

But you didn’t. You can’t convince them that you didn’t.

“I just talked to him,” you whisper, something hot and sticky rolling down your chin. “I’ve only ever talked to him, I don’t know-“

“Liar.” The man hisses. He has a twisted and burned face, frozen in an expression of permanent hate. “He stopped comin’ to see his handler cause of you. And you’re a pretty thing, but that’s not supposed to matter. He’s never supposed to vanish like that, sweetheart, but he was doin’ it all the time, cause of you.”

“I- He’d find me-“

“Even after we wiped his memory?” The man laughs, and the cold sound was going to echo around your ribs long after he was gone. “That’s impossible, sweetheart. Just tell us what you were doin’ to him, and we’ll set you free. We can even use you, get you nice and set up as his new handler, give you anythin’ you want in the world.”

“I-“

“C’mon. And we can have fun. The Soldat was never fun, was he.” The man leans down, that hideous face pulling into a worse smile. “I can be fun.”

The song in your blood roars, and if they’re talking about Bucky, he has a fucking name. He is fun. In a quiet, gentle way that was never forced, never too loud or painful, but perfect. Bucky is perfect.

And you spit in the man’s face. 

He stares at you for a long second, wiping his face with his sleeve, and his mouth curls into a sneer.

“Fine. Have it your way, bitch.” Right before the light is angled back onto your face, he smirks. “You’ll be singing a different tune tomorrow.”

And he asks again. The next day, and the day after that, and for what had felt like the rest of time, the man asks if you’d join them.

How do you control the Soldat, and will you join them.

You never tell them the former, because you might know, but it was still only just a theory. And even if you were right, you’d never been controlling Bucky. He’d just listened because he knew you were safe, the same way that—against all logical and reasonable odds—you’d never been afraid of him. 

They won’t want to hear that, though. Rumlow—you learn his name after another million years or ten seconds, when someone said it and he turns his head, landing one last blow to your body before stalking out of the room—isn’t interested in how you love Bucky, and how you’d gotten him to remember just by being there. How you really didn’t know why it worked, but you know he’d come back to you every time, just as you’d waited for him every time. 

And for the latter, you’d rather die.

You say as much. 

Rumlow hasn’t accepted your answer at all.  

“We’ll teach you better.” He drawls after more time. “Eventually it’ll get into your pretty little head that it’s better with us. We have purpose. Order. I’ve seen your file, sweetheart, I know you like order. And I’ve got a shit ton more of it than the Soldat.”

You don’t think that’s true at all. As the shell or as the person, Bucky had always had order. When he’d come back hollow, he’d still fold all the clothing you gave him and keep everything around himself neat and clean. When he was there for days and almost entirely himself, he liked being clean. He’d done your dishes and organized your whole house while you were gone for the day. He’d said the routine helped him.

You hadn’t really cared why. You’d always loved him all the same.

And you’ll keep loving him until there isn’t anything left of you to feel it.

There’s a world where you died here, though. Being asked the same unanswerable questions over and over and over again, never knowing how to say I don’t fucking know in a way they’ll believe. And that’s when the darkness starts to truly come in.

You’d rather be anywhere else in the world, but you’ve forgotten too much. How food that wasn’t bland and dry rations—designed to keep you right on the edge of alive—tasted, and how the sun looked in comparison to that horrible light, how most any voices sounded when they weren’t weak and desperate like yours, or cold and taunting like Rumlow’s.

You never forget Bucky’s voice. And it might be hard to pictures any colors but black, but you could still see the blue of his eyes. You might not be able to smell anything but blood and cleaner—stinging and horrible at your nose—but in the dead of night you’re able to pretend there was a gentle mint and spice of Bucky all around you.

“Do you have a favorite animal?” You’d asked him eons ago, still in your own bed, his arms caging you easily against his body. 

“I don’t think that’s going to help me remember anything, important, doll.” He’d drawled in your ear, and you’d rolled over, holding his gaze in the dark. 

“It will help you remember your favorite animal.”

“And what’s that going to help?”

“You.” You’d shrugged. “You’re a person. People have favorite things.”

He’d paused, a long shadow cross over his features that wasn’t made of the night. “We sure I’m a person?”

You’d pressed your hand right over his heart, beating steady under your touch, and raised your brows. He’d only sighed.

“A heartbeat doesn’t prove humanity.”

“Maybe.” You’d whispered. “But you feel like a person to me.”

His gaze had softened slightly, and he’d leaned down until his brow was pressed to yours. “Cats.”

“Wha-“

“My animal,” He’d hummed your name, his lips curling in a small smile. “Keep up.”

You’d rolled your eyes, and buried your face into his chest.

You wake up cold and alone, but there’s still a phantom warmth heavy over your body.

It keeps you alive and sane until they found you.

Because there is a world where you’d died in that room, under Rumlow’s hand.

But this is not that world.  

This is the world where something flowed through the room, right before it happened. Something nobody but you could feel or see, sparking your blood and running through your whole body in the choir. The song of home, home is near.

You smile, and Rumlow blinks. 

“What’s got you so fuckin’-“

The door bursts open, and the question is answered before Rumlow is finished asking.

Everything is blurry, but you’re dizzy and exhausted, but you still know this is it.

The end of the dark.

There are clangs of metal and heavy things crashing into each other, shouts you can’t understand and roars you can’t make out, but when the dust settles, you’re looking at blue eyes. 

But they aren’t Bucky’s. You’ve spent long enough looking at and thinking about Bucky’s eyes to know where every shade of blue is, and every hint of white and silver, and those aren’t Bucky’s eyes. 

They belong to a blond man, with shorter hair, wearing a blue suit and holding a-

“Oh, fuck.” You mumble, and Captain America frowns at you.

“Uh oh, she swore. Looks like she short-circuited Rogers.” Another voice comes from somewhere behind the Captain, the owner walking through the door in a big red suit, and maybe you had died. “And she gets to just get away with it too. No lessons about manners?”

“Tony.” Captain America mutters, still scanning over your face with a frown. “Not the time.”

“Right, sorry. Torture dungeon not the place for etiquette, I’m getting it now. But maybe it’s just cause she’s-“

“Tony.”

“Fine. Shutting up.” Iron Man starts to poke around the room like it was simply a fascinating museum. “You never let me have any fun.”

Captain America sighs, giving you an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry about him. I’d say he’s not normally like that, but I don’t think you want to hear a lie.”

“That’s rude, Steven-“

“Stevie.” You whisper, your brain connecting things too fast. 

You don’t know how you knew. There are a million Steve’s in the world. But Bucky had said he was old, and Captain America was very famously old as well, and from Brooklyn, and had been sick until he wasn’t, and you were starting to feel a little fucking sick yourself because the song was still going, but where was Bucky-

“I-“ Steve blinks at you, exchanging what was likely a look with Iron Man, though it’s hard to tell with the mask. “How’d you-“

“I think we have a mutual friend.” You mumble, and Iron Man scoffs.

“You could say that-“

“Tony.” Steve must practice saying that in the mirror. It’s harsher each time. “We talked about this. Don’t.”

“C’mon, Cap, she just spent a year in the Hydra chair-“

“A year?” You squeak, and Steve sighs.

“Oops.” Iron Man mutters. “I’ll just- I think the Widow’s calling for me. Yeah, I can definitely hear her. Nice to meet you,” he says your name, and you swallow. “Sorry about the torture.”

He vanishes out the door, Steve sighs again, and you clear your throat, your voice still small.

“How’d he know my name?”

Steve sighs a third time. He must practice that too. 

“I think…” He says slowly, and you can still feel Bucky, but he’s not here. “We have a lot to talk about.”

——————

He’d turned himself in. After six months of combing the whole goddamn earth for Her and finding nothing, Bucky had showed up at the Avenger’s Compound, jumped the gates, and demanded to see Steve Rogers.

The punk had been on a mission. In Japan, with no-contact.

So Bucky had gotten himself stuck in a small containment room with Tony Stark trying to ask how he’d gotten around security—it had been pretty fucking easy, and Bucky wasn’t responsible for helping Stark fix things—and Sam Wilson asking him a bunch of questions about why he’d just showed up.

“I told you.” Bucky had grumbled, glaring at the floor. “I’ll tell Steve once he gets his ass in here.”

“Yeah, but call me curious.” Wilson had shrugged. “I mean, I just spent six months lookin’ for you, then you just pop-up like nothing happened? Something has to have changed.”

Bucky’s jaw had twitched. He’d wanted to tell Steve, but wherever She was, she couldn’t afford to wait for Steve. And he’d already wasted too much time on dead-ends and empty bases. He needed Her.

Back at his side, but most of all, safe.

“I need help.” Bucky had grunted, looking up to hold Wilson’s shocked gaze. “I- I lost someone.”

“Who?”

Bucky had said Her name, tensed as his head rolled around the best one, you’ve lost the best one, and Wilson had frowned.

“Man, you’re gonna have to give me more than that-“

“She’s missing.”

“I worked that out myself-“

“Hydra.” Bucky had muttered. “Hydra found her. They took her.”

Wilson had been silent for a long moment, then sighed.

“I’ll go call Steve.”

It had been an odd reunion. Short hugs and formalities that had to pushed aside for the story. The reason Bucky was here, and ready to fully deal with the consequences of it, as long as it meant She was safe.

“What I’m still not getting.” Stark had drawled after the rundown. “Was how you had time to get yourself a girlfriend while in robot mode.”

“She’s not-“ Bucky had cut himself off with a sigh. Girlfriend was too complicated, and not nearly strong enough a word. Girlfriend implied temporary. Girlfriend was external. Bucky felt like there was something missing from the fabric of his existence the longer She was in danger. “I wasn’t the robot. With her.”

Steve had blinked. “But the Soldier Programming- Nat and I saw the files, Buck. And when we were fighting, it took a lot just to get you to stop trying to kill me. Which I’m grateful for, but-“

“It was different.” Bucky had sighed, running a hand over his face. “I- There was more. I got injured, and found her. That was it.”

“Didn’t they do, like, a wiping thingy?” Wilson had asked, frowning at the air. “I mean, I’ve never brainwashed a guy, but if I did, I’d wipe his memory of his secret girlfriend-“

“They tried. It didn’t take.”

Steve had let out a long, slow breath. “And you’re sure Hydra has her.”

“Don’t know who else it could be.” Bucky had muttered. 

And there had been other questions. Where he’d looked before. What they might want from Her. What Bucky would be willing to do, if they helped him out with this.

That last question had been Stark, and Steve had shot the asshole a glare, but Bucky had just shrugged.

“Anything.”

Anything meant complete deprogramming and very long trials about getting him a pardon. Complicated meetings and days in government buildings, explaining that he had killed those people, but not those people, and he wasn’t killing people at all anymore, and he had no plans to kill people in the future, so could he please go back to ripping up the earth until he found his girl.

Only one of those things had been a lie. 

The moment Bucky got his hands on whoever had taken Her, he had very long, detailed murder plans. But that would be the end of it.

And time was giving him too many chances to think. The interrogations were making him look at himself too much, making the parts that had already been ugly become hideous. 

Bucky made a choice, when they neared the year-mark of Her disappearance. And She might hate him for it—Hell, he already hated himself for it—but it was smart. Selfless. His first step to getting better was being selfless, and being selfless was giving things up, and She was the best thing in the world.

The old saying went if you love something, set it free.

Bucky loved Her. If he’d ever loved anything, it was Her. Loving Her felt ingrained into his bones, like it was always something Bucky was supposed to do, and meeting Her had just stripping back a layer to reveal that to him. 

When he told Steve his plan, it was met with… pushback.

“Buck, you’ve spent a year looking for her, she’s probably been waiting for you-“

“They took her because of me.” Bucky had sighed, and given Steve a pointed look. “Even if the pardon goes through, she’s gonna have a target on her back. If she’s been waiting for me, she’s probably lost hope.”

Steve had shaken his head. “Or she still has it, because she loves you too-“

“She shouldn’t.”

“Bucky-“

“We both know what I’ve done, Stevie.” Bucky had muttered. “And don’t say it was just the Soldier. She met the Soldier first, I’m not worried about that.”

“So why-“

“Because as long as she’s near me, any version of me, she’ll be in danger.” Bucky wasn’t going to move on this, and he’d known Steve was getting that—he’d deflated and sighed again, giving Bucky an almost disappointed look he didn’t appreciate—but he’d finished his thought anyway. “I’m not worth keeping her in danger. Nothing is.”

They’d found Her the next week. And Bucky had helped with the mission, and gone up to roof when they found Her. Watched from afar as Steve helped Her to the Quinjet, then vomited on the floor because there were bruises and cuts all over Her body, and her hair was tangled and greasy and framing gaunt features, but She was still beautiful.

And Bucky could still feel his whole body telling him to go. Go to Her. She’s safe, She’s home, and you have to go to Her.

He’d fought it. And She’d vanished into the sky.

But Bucky still had nightmares about holding Her, watching the Hydra brand on Her shoulder appear as she died in his arms, and he wasn’t able to do anything.

He hadn’t found Her. The arrow-guy had found Her. And Steve had freed Her. And Stark had given Her a future. 

Something Bucky had never been able to offer Her. Would never be able to offer Her, not like she deserved. 

But that knowledge and resolve wasn’t quite enough to keep him away.

It was creepy. And wrong. And he knew that, but it was more torture for himself than relief, so Bucky allowed it. 

He watched Her.

And it was to keep Her safe. He reminded himself, day after day, that he was keeping an eye on Her so that if more Hydra assholes popped up, he’d be able to keep Her safe.

But She looked happy. And that was the torture. That was the pain he deserved, to see Her smile all the time and know that it had nothing to do with him. Her joy and love wasn’t for Bucky anymore. Maybe it had never been for Bucky. She’d only met pieces of Bucky, and if She’d ever loved him like he loved Her—irreversibly and primally—She’d really loved the Soldat.

No. That was a cruel thing to think of Her, and it wasn’t true. She had cared for, and—at least—liked Bucky. He’d still close his eyes and remember the last night, where he’d finally kissed Her and everything in the world had been painless.

If that was the price he had to pay for Her being happy and safe—remembering that and never having it again—Bucky would do it in a second.

But he still watched. And maybe remained more static than he’d been when Hydra put him in ice. She had an apartment Bucky would never get to go into, with a bed he’d never get to sleep in. Stark had found Her a new job Bucky would never get to hear about, and She finished Her doctorate in a field of study that Bucky didn’t understand.

“Quantum Relativity Theoretical Meta-Physics,” Stark said when Bucky—in a very casual, neutral way—brought it up. “I’d try to explain it to you, but half those words didn’t even exist when you and Capsicle were born.”

Bucky scowled, and left the lab understanding less. At least it sounded smart. She’d always been pretty damn smart. 

Even now, as Bucky waited on the roof make sure She got home safe, he was starting to worry She was too smart for her own good. She always looked around when She stepped out of her car, and Bucky always worried that tonight would be the night she caught him, and their eyes would meet, and Bucky wouldn’t be strong enough to leave-

“Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky whipped around, ready to strike first and ask question after-

“Woah!” The Spider-Boy—Paul? Patrick? Parker?—dodged Bucky’s punch with annoying ease, his hands raised high in the air. “It’s me! Spider-Peter! I mean- Spider-“ The kid sighed. “Shit. I mean, you already knew, right? It’s okay, because you already knew.”

Bucky shrugged, turning back to watch the sidewalk. She wasn’t close—Bucky usually got a feeling like his heart trying to pound into his gut and throat all at once when She was near—but he still didn’t want to risk it. “Sure.”

“Cool.” Peter mumbled, and appeared right at Bucky’s side. “What are we looking at?”

“None of your business.”

“It seems like a sidewalk.”

Bucky sighed, shooting him a glare. “Don’t you have school.”

“Yeah, but it’s like, nine pm on a Friday. And aren’t you supposed to be up at the compound?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, and the Spider-Kid’s eyes widened in his suit. 

“Sorry! I won’t say anything!” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Is this a mission? Can I help with it?”

This wasn’t going to end in Bucky’s favor. He’d been so careful to make sure even Steve didn’t know he was visiting Her. 

He was still going to try and work his way out.

“It’s not a mission. Go home.”

Peter only frowned. “If it’s not a mission, why, uh- This is kind of a roof.”

Bucky sighed. “I know that.”

“Then what-“

“I’m telling you, don’t worry about-“ Bucky cut himself off, because he could feel it. Her. Coming. “You need to go, kid.”

“So it is a mission-“

“It’s not-“

“But- Oh.” Bucky froze, and Peter was looking over his shoulder.

And he didn’t need to look to know She was there. Beautiful, and a little tired but still healthy, still smiling at nothing, fiddling with Her hair as she paused, scanning around for something She never seemed to find.

“I recognize her.” Peter whispered, and for a second, Bucky had forgotten he was there. “Why do I recognize her?”

“Who.” Bucky muttered, and if it was possible, Peter gave him a flat look through the mask.

“The girl you were staring at, dude, I- She looks really familiar- Oh!” Peter blinked. “She has a file! Mr. Stark showed me, he said that she was on a Hydra watchlist-“

Bucky jaw clenched, his words suddenly pushed through teeth. “What the fuck are you talking about, she’s not Hydra-“

“Yeah, sorry, it’s a watchlist to prevent Hydra. From like. Getting her.” Peter tilted his head. “Is that why we’re here. Are you watch-listing?”

That could work. If Stark was already keeping an eye on Her, Bucky was allowed too as well. “Sure.”

“Why?”

Bucky blinked. “You just said why. She’s on Stark’s list-“

“Yeah, but like, he uses a bunch on systems and programs to watch them. I’ve never heard of someone getting a personal detail. Do you, are you like, her friend? From when you were the spooky solider guy?”

It was easier to agree. Maybe if Bucky agreed enough, the kid would leave him alone. “Yeah. That.”

“What?”

“She was my friend.”

“Oh.” Peter frowned again. “Then why are we on the roof-“

“Kid.” Bucky grunted. “Stop asking questions and just say what you’re thinking.”

“But I’m not thinking anything.” Peter paused. “Well, I wasn’t. But now I am. Were you guys like, good friends? Like, kissing friends?”

Bucky stared at him. “How old are you?”

Peter seemed to blush under the mask. “Sixteen, sir.”

“And you’re calling it kissing friends?”

“I- I mean, yes?” Peter bounced slightly on his feet. “Am I right?”

There didn’t seem to be a way out of this. And Bucky had a feeling that if he refused to answer the kid’s questions, he’d just turn around and ask Stark, or worse, Steve.

They’d only kissed once. And friends wasn’t nearly strong enough. 

So Bucky did his best. “It’s complicated.”

“But… yes?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“What does sort of mean?” Peter asked, and when Bucky glanced over at him, he’d taken off his mask.

He had a bright, almost innocent—but not naïve—look in his eyes. It, in a really annoying way, reminded Bucky a whole lot of Steve.

Goddamnit. 

“I used to visit her.” Bucky muttered, staring at where She’d been standing on the sidewalk, even though She’d long gone inside. “As the Soldier. And she helped me remember who I was.”

“I thought Captain Rogers-“

“Steve already knew me. She just found me. And I went back, over and over. And Hydra wiped me, and I lost her.”

Peter frowned. “But she’s right there?”

“I told you.” Bucky grunted. “It’s complicated.”

There was a long paused, the night air flat and hot as Bucky and Peter both stared at the sidewalk, and maybe that was enough. Peter would leave, and Bucky could keep wallowing in peace-

Peter cleared his throat, and Bucky should’ve known better. He never got peace.

“So you’d known her… Through the Hydra brain-stuff.”

“Yes.”

“Did they like, wipe you, and then you’d still remember? Because I’ve heard they used really complex neuro-engineering, and that stuff takes like, years to undo-“

“I don’t care what they used.” Bucky grunted. “I’d find her again. And she’d undo it.”

“Huh.” Peter paused, frowning into the air. “Have you heard of soulmate theory?”

Bucky frowned at him. “What.”

“Oh, it’s really cool. It’s like, this new branch of string theory where they think that two people can be vibrating in the same harmony-“

“Vibrating-“

“It’s part of string theory, which is a whole other conversation, but it’s basically saying that all your like, particles? I guess? They’re the same. So you’re soulmates. And,” Peter made a gesture to the sidewalk. “Maybe that would be able to cheat-code through all the Hydra brain stuff?”

“Kid.” Bucky sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’m not here for therapy. Or suggestions. I’m making sure my- That she’s alive and safe. That’s it.”

“What about what she wants?”

Bucky laughed at that. Dry and flat, because it mostly just hurt. 

Even She’d wanted Bucky before, there was no way She’d want him now. And if She did, she wouldn’t after. Once She looked at Bucky and saw that he was better, but still angry and tired and heavy. Still having nightmares, still unable to give Her a future.

“Trust me.” Bucky muttered. “I’m not what she wants.”

Because it didn’t really matter if they were soulmates. If they were, Bucky loathed the universe for cursing Her like that.

Because no matter what, She’d be better off without him.

And Bucky would just have to keep being selfless, and being alone. 

He stayed on the roof, even after Peter heard a siren and swung away. He watched Her window because, even though She never opened the blind shades, he’d see Her shadow moving and know She was fine.

Bucky wasn’t there, but She was fine.

So he kept watching past midnight, and fought the urge in his body every single second to return to Her side.

He’d have to fight it for the rest of his life. He knew he would.

It really was a small price to pay, if it kept Her safe. Gave Her a future.

A future Bucky would watch from the roof.

Wanting to return to Her side every second.

But never being selfish.

Never giving in.

End Note: Did I... correctly estimate how long a series was going to be?

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[silentmoths]

These hands, Unblemished.

Emerges from your dry wall

been a while, huh?

Mark moth writing SOMETHING in the first half of 2025 off your bingo cards.

anyway, this was spurred on after yesterday's stream, where i had a totally very normal reaction to seeing Blade appear in the anniversary art.

Mid crash-out, @pranabefall sent me this image as well which only sent me into another spiral, especially when I noticed Blade's hands. ungloved, unbanaged for free.

and the thought that either Blades hands have been unscarred and perfect this entire time, or they regrow completely fresh and baby soft and uh...yeah my fucking brain wouldn't let it go so here we are.

ANYWAY

Blade x Reader, SFW

Mentions of death, slight mentions of gore, other than that it's just two nocturnal rats doing nocturnal rat things.

The hum of the ship was nothing but white noise to you now. A soothing purr that permeated the entire rig of the small star-voyager you and the other stellaron hunters called home.

She was a little fancier than some other models built around the same time, Kafka had insisted on making sure the one she…procured, (stolen most likely) had the day-night cycle lighting system, for her beauty sleep, she claimed.

(it was her quiet way of taking care of you all, she would never say it out loud, but she worried after her little group of wanted misfits worse than a mother hen…even if she had her own weird ways of showing it.)

For the now however, it’s just you, in the dimmed light of the kitchen, watching the kettle boil at the ripe hour of three in the morning. One of those weird nights where sleep refused to settle into your bones, no matter how heavy your eyes felt. A little peckish perhaps, that’s what was keeping you up, nothing a cup of instant noodles couldn’t fix. 

You throw away the dried vegetable packet, no matter how long you soaked those things in the hot water they never softened up to anything halfway edible, and you dump the chicken broth powder into the cup as you wait for the inexorable boiling of the electric jug, body half-slumped against the cool metal of the counter.

Thats when you hear it, the slow, soft thud of footsteps in the hall; you knew them all by sound now no matter if shoes were on or off. (a trauma response? Perhaps, who was to say, childhood had not been kind, and one had to learn when to pretend to be doing something else, not today.) “Welcome back to the land of the living.” You sigh as Blade shuffles into view of the doorway. If there was only a single word one could use to describe how his day had been? Rough. Although, kafka now owed you fifty credits for him being up before ‘dawn’, that was a plus. Blade was not as stone faced as people seemed to believe. He was not some cold, unfeeling gargoyle, much as you think he sometimes wished he was. Beneath the exterior he worried over his teammates almost as much, if not more than Kafka did. And surprisingly, there was even a touch of humor in there, if you knew where to look. “Unfortunately.” He mutters as he shambles in; his regular coat and trousers currently being fixed…again…that had a tendency to happen when their wearer often found himself being torn apart; he might be able to stitch himself back together, but his clothes were another story entirely. For now it was the regular ‘he died again’ scrubs. Simply something to throw onto him as his body mended so none of the ladies on board (all of them, unless you counted elio) didn’t have to see him naked all the time, even if he didn’t care.

He looked a mess, you were sure Kafka had only cut his hair recently, and yet his tousled bangs looked even messier than usual, one eye completely eclipsed by navy, the other was distinctly exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that never seemed to leave him, but with the added weight of his mara, and what the curse of his revival added. 

“Unfortunately.” You hum with a small nod as he shambles up beside you, the warmth of his newly regenerated body radiating a little, as it always seemed to for the next twelve or so hours after a death, “One day.”

“One day…” He parrots, not entirely there, not entirely uncommon either. “Hungry?” You question, knowing his response would be unhelpful, but also knowing him well enough that he wouldn’t turn down food if it was made for him, much to his chagrin. (wasteful, he would always claim, he never ate for pleasure, simply for the nutrients…thats what he claimed anyway…if left to his own devices you were all sure he would eat nothing but plain rice, not aboard this ship.) “Mh..there’s little point.” He mutters, gaze following as you disregard his response and reach up to the top shelf for another cup; you had to keep yours up here, lest Silver Wolf snag them, the problem therein being that you weren't exactly much taller than she was.

Your fingers brush against the cup, but instead of gripping, they push the cup further from your grasp. Just as you move to press up onto your toes, Blade beats you to it; fingers brushing softly against your own as he clasps at the cup, bringing it down to the counter for you. Your gaze follows, but not the cup, brow furrowing.

“Your hands…” 

His tired eyes follow your gaze down to his hands as he sets the cup on the counter, and turns his hands over, not quite understanding what the problem was. “They sustained heavy damage when I was on my mission…I assume Kafka cut the old ones off once she and firefly collected my corpse… or I lost them before then and did not realize” A morbid thought to be sure, but not entirely new for him. However the thing that was getting you was that in this state, freshly awoken from the only peaceful rest he ever seems to get, he had forgone the usual bandages and gloves…and his hands were… “Smooth…” You mumble, reaching out to run your fingers along the back of his palm, unblemished, unmarred skin silky beneath your fingers “soft…” 

Blade says nothing, watching as you simply stroke his hand, his face is unreadable, but considering he wasn’t pulling away, or making a remark, it wasn’t entirely disliked…at least that’s what you hope when curiosity gets the better of you, and you gently take that hand and turn it over, spreading your fingers out along his palm. 

His hands were larger, obviously, the tips of your fingers reaching just above the second knuckle’s of his own; with all the heavy training and how recklessly he used his sword, his past life, you expected roughness, callouses and time-worn skin.

You’re met with that same smooth softness, the kind that most women would likely kill for, the kind that would be totally lost on a man like Blade, and yet he lets you keep touching. 

“The extremities of my limbs, and my head always seem to regenerate like this.” He mutters after a while, sounding somewhat frustrated. Deep down, there was the dog in his heart that bore its teeth and raised it’s hackles, angry at his curse, and angry that it seemed to pick and choose what bore permanent marks and what did not; did lan really have such perverse tastes? 

“If so…why do you wear the gloves?” your question comes from a place of genuine curiosity, assuming that it had been to hide away the scarring, to appear as ‘normal’ as possible. Blade considers this for a moment before slowly pulling his hand away from your touch.

His answer is…far more sentimental than you expected, for a man who claimed he was nothing but a tool without need for such things as sentiment. 

“These hands have spilled a lot of blood…” He tells you after a moment, he stares down at his knuckles, flexing his fingers as if really looking at them for the first time “Too much…They don’t deserve to touch those I hold respect for.” 

It’s a quiet admission, something that twists your heart a little. He wasn’t heartless, he wasn't stone, he was not a statue, or a mindless robot, yet he would always try and treat himself as such. “These hands haven’t.” you point out matter of factly as the kettle finally boils “these ones aren’t even a day old, they’re innocent.”

“That which they are attached to is not.” He retorts; not even referring to himself as a person, watching with quiet intensity as you pour the water. You add the vegetables into his cup, for some reason Blade actually seemed to enjoy them, strange creature he was. 

“So? Why do they have to suffer?” You chuckle softly, resting pairs of chopsticks atop the flimsy paper lids to keep the steam in “that’s like…I dunno, denying a child candy because the parent is a dentist.”

A strange correlation, you blame it on three-am delirium. 

You expect him to huff, to pout in his own way, which was just going silent and refusing to respond.

You don’t expect those soft fingers to gently brush against your cheek, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, before lifting to carefully tuck a stray lock of tousled hair behind your ear, an act so unbelievably tender from Blade of all people, you knew Kafka would never believe you in the morning if you told her. 

You blink up at him, his one visible eye glowing softly in the dimmed light of the kitchen. His expression is the same sort of unreadable it always was, but beneath you could swear you see something…soft, softer than usual. 

“Perhaps.” Is all he says to you as he takes his cup of noodles from the counter, turns and slowly shuffles from the kitchen, leaving you alone with your own steeping cup and a soft warmth spreading across your face. 

Just what the hell was that? You were…stunned, left staring at the door dumbfounded. 

Had he hit his head a little too hard before he died? Of all the strange and borderline outlandish things Blade had ever done, of which there had really not been many; it was horrifically unlike him to touch. He always kept to himself, hands always kept close, never reaching unless it was for a utilitarian reason; to pull someone out of the way…never just to touch.

Perhaps your words had resonated with him in some strange way.

Or perhaps, just perhaps, you had bore witness to an incredibly rare moment of…you don’t want to call it weakness, that’s not what it was…a moment of acceptance perhaps? Acceptance that he was not always the cruel and unfeeling monster he claims he was. It’s enough that, after a long moment of figuring yourself out, you grab your cup and trudge from the kitchen (after turning off the lights, waste not what not and all that).

Surprisingly, he’s in the common room, perhaps not yet willing to return to his own cabin, the innate need to move after being dead for a little while perhaps? The cabins on the ship were a little small, perhaps he just wanted some semblance of ‘fresh’ air? Either way, he sits, hunched on the couch like an angsty gargoyle, quietly picking at his meal. Molten gaze flicking up to you a moment before returning to his food. Blade often held an air of grace about him in the things he did, the kind of Xianzhou mannerisms that ran deeper than even his mara could reach.

And yet, as you take a seat beside him to eat, you note that most of that grace is gone for the now, replaced with a tired sort of apathy, it was late, you were both eating junky, sodium ridden noodles, who the hell cared about being ‘proper’ at a time like this?

Neither one of you speaks, it didn’t seem proper to in a time like this, your own gaze lingers on the porthole window, watching the stars and the galaxy quietly twinkling outside in the vast nothingness of space. Meagre meals are eaten and cups are left on the coffee table; it seemed to have done the trick, tire finally beginning to seep into your bones like it should have hours ago. You’re about to wish Blade goodnight when he breaks the silence first.

“You seemed…shocked at the state of my hands.” Blade states more than he asks, his gaze lingering on fresh fingers, unmarred and unblemished. “Just surprised really..” you admit with a shrug “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you not wearing gloves or with them bandaged…” 

For a moment, Blade looks like he’s about to answer, his brow furrows slightly in thought, but an answer never comes, instead you watch as his gaze seems to shift, to somewhere far away from the quiet comfort of the ship, somewhere you don’t know. 

You’d pried too deep, pushed too far, that much you could tell, and yet Blade never saw reason to snap when it happened. This was his response, silence, distance. Perhaps his reasons for keeping his hands covered was something akin to fear, to trauma…perhaps it was something as simple as it being a comfort..either way, it wasn’t something he was willing to share right now. You shrug, breaking the tension as you lean against him, a casual move, something that surprises even you; like this, he feels more approachable, and perhaps, a man in need of reassurance, a man who never allowed vulnerability, not for himself, vulnerability opened pathways to pain, and anguish, something you’re sure he’s experienced more than enough of on his own personal quest for vengeance. “It’s fine.” you chuckle, waving it off “you don’t have to answer, it wasn’t even a question really…just curious, don’t think too hard about it.”

“Foolish.” He mutters, you feel his shoulder shift beneath your leaning frame, making things slightly more comfortable for you; dangerous perhaps as your eyelids grow heavier, harder to keep open with every blink. “...perhaps…one day.” The closest thing to an admission you might get from him, at least. “We’ll see then, hm?” You chuckle, taking his hand again to quietly run a thumb over his knuckles.

“We will…” he nods, his head slowly turning to look you in the face, “Sleep.”

“Mh, but that means getting up.” You sigh, perhaps a little too comfortable where you were. 

Much like his sudden touch in the kitchen, you’re thrown off when he shifts again, an arm slowly draping over your shoulders, pulling you closer into his side, sinfully comfortable and blessedly warm…you hadn’t realized how chilly you’d grown until then as he weight of his arm slowly comes to rest. “I’ll stay a while.” He mutters, his gaze slowly fixing on the porthole now, his voice still distant, far off “Sleep…” You swear you feel his fingers slowly stroke at your hair as you drift off, quiet measures of comfort that draw you in faster than you expect. Kafka is the one to find you both the next morning, a sly smile creeping to her lips as she quickly snaps a photo to show silver wolf and firefly later: you, fast asleep with your head resting against his shoulder, Blade also surprisingly asleep, his head resting softly atop your own, looking peaceful for once. One arm still draped across you, the other with your hand resting in his. She considers being a bitch and waking you both, but she decides to leave it be for now, Firefly wouldn’t be up for another hour yet, and Silver Wolf even later still..what was the harm in letting you both sleep. She does however, begrudgingly leave the fifty credits on the coffee table. A bet was a bet.

[bumlets-appreciation-blog]

Duane Street December Day 9: Marbles

A/N: This has been in my drafts since fucking January.

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Slingshots were a lot more difficult to maneuver than Tumbler had expected when he asked Spot Conlon for one after the strike. Spot and the other Brooklyn newsies made it look easy but so far, Tumbler had dropped almost every marble he’d attempted to load. And the ones he didn’t drop didn’t make it much further than his feet when he launched them. He’d been practicing in the attic for almost two hours, according to the pocket watch he’d borrowed from Racetrack (even if Race didn’t know that he’d borrowed it), and hadn’t been able to hit any of the bottles he’d set up as targets.

It was just so frustrating. He wasn’t used to not being good at things. He was good at selling (one of the perks of being young and adorable), he was good at all of the acrobatic tricks the older boys had taught him, and he was good at the Italian words Race and Itey were trying to teach him. Bumlets had called him a “prodigy,” once while they were playing on the barrels together and sure, Tumbler didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded fancy and the way Bumlets rolled the ‘r’ when he said it made it sound even fancier. He’d always been good at getting things quickly and the fact that he couldn’t get this was starting to grate on him.

With a sigh, Tumbler loaded yet another marble into the slingshot, deciding that if he didn’t land the next three shots, he’d head downstairs and see if he could talk someone into helping. He knew he couldn’t ask Skittery or Bumlets if he wanted to keep the slingshot and while Itey could occasionally be talked into doing something silly, Tumbler had a feeling it wouldn’t work if a weapon was involved. Swifty, however, could probably be convinced. Swifty was usually up for anything as long as no one got hurt.

The first two shots went about as well as the others had, so when Tumbler managed to get the marble properly loaded and aimed, he nearly jumped for joy. It took him a moment to regain his composure, breathing deeply and channeling his inner Spot Conlon as he aimed at the bottle closest to the door. When he released his shot, the marble arched perfectly, moving closer and closer to the bottle as the door opened and a figure stepped into the marble’s trajectory.

“Hey, Tumbs, I’ve been looking for you everywh-”

THWACK. The marble smacked directly into the center of Skittery’s forehead, sending him stumbling back into the cabinet where Tumbler had lined up the bottles. They crashed to the floor around Skittery’s feet, making both of them flinch at the sound of glass breaking. When the sounds of destruction finally stopped, the two boys stood in silence for a beat before Skittery closed his eyes and let out a deep, exasperated breath.

“Why?” Skittery didn’t sound mad, just tired, which honestly was worse than if he had been mad. A mad Skittery was easy to deal with. All Tumbler had to do was show him a new acrobatic trick he’d learned and he’d crack a smile. A tired Skittery was like Skittery in the winter, quiet and withdrawn, almost impossible to get out of bed in the morning and going to sleep as soon as they got back to the lodging house. It was bad and looking at the exhaustion on his older brother’s face made Tumbler feel guilty.

“I…” In hindsight, the whole thing felt a little silly and it was embarrassing to actually say it out loud. “I’m not big enough to fight yet, but I thought if I could shoot like Spot Conlon…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. What could he do? Take on the Delancey brothers? Protect Skittery and the others from grown men who didn’t care that they were hurting kids? Go after the cops who had hurt Race and Blink and Jack and the others at the rally? What could a six-year-old boy do?

Skittery, to his credit, really tried to keep the frustration out of his voice when he replied to Tumbler’s unfinished statement, though it still bled through the concern.

“What the hell do you need to fight for? You know me and the other boys won’t let anything happen to you! I promised I’d always look out for you, didn't I? If you think for one second-”

“But what about you?” Tumbler cried, far louder than he meant to and cutting Skittery off. “You’re my brother! I wanna look out for you too!” Tumbler swallowed hard and fought back tears. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he choked out, a few tears escaping against his will and rolling down his face. As soon as he saw the tears, Skittery quickly stepped over the broken glass on the floor and made his way over to the younger boy, pulling him into his arms and tucking his face into the crook of his neck.

“Why do you think you're gonna lose me?” he asked softly, one hand rubbing soothing circles against Tumbler’s back while the other stroked his hair. It was a familiar motion, one they both knew eased his sadness the fastest, and Tumbler paused for a moment, soaking in Skittery’s comfort before burrowing his face further into the curve of his shoulder, clinging to the front of his shirt as tightly as he could.

“We got separated at the rally and then Bumlets got hurt trying to get me and Flipper out an-and then you all got arrested and you didn’t come home and then Jack got put in the refuge again and everyone was fighting and I know you and Bumlets and Pie-Eater all had your families taken away-” Skittery flinched a little at the mention of his siblings but said nothing “-and I thought that if I could protect you like you protect me, then no one could take any of us away.” Skittery’s grip tightened for a moment before he pulled back just enough to look Tumbler in the eye.

“Listen to me. No one is going to take you away from. Never. I won’t let that happen. Do you understand?” Skittery’s eyes were gentle but there was a stubborn set to his jaw, one that Tumbler knew all too well. It was the same thing that happened every time he’d set his mind to something important to him. And as long as Tumbler could remember, they were the decisions he never faltered on. Tears welled up in his eyes again, so he quickly nodded before moving back into Skittery’s arms. He felt him take a deep breath before he adjusted them both, moving so that Tumbler was sitting more in his lap and his head was tucked back safely into his shoulder.

“You know I love you, right?” Skittery asked, his hands once again making the familiar comforting motions.

“I love you, too.”

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A/N 2: The headcanon about Bumlets getting hurt during the rally came from a conversation I had with the wonderful @chaosfairy18 shortly after I started my blog (old blog, technically). He's barely in the raid scene and just looks so worn out and exhausted that we discussed whether or not he got hurt. @jackcowboyhero gave the idea to give Skittery siblings that got taken away on the orphan train like Bumlets (I like to think it's why they initially bonded) and I'm pretty sure Pie-Eater having a sister came from them too. I stayed up until 3 A.M. to finally finish this so please let me know about any typos lol

[everythingcanadian]

Rocky Mountain Trail, New York

Pairing: Peter Parker/Stephen Strange/Tony Stark

Rating: G

No Warnings

Summary:

Finally, a quiet date day for the three of them. Day 10 of promptober: Hike I have not watched any marvel movie past The Avengers, Winter Soldier, or Dark World. I apologize if this seems ooc

AO3 Portal

The oranges and red and yellows and browns were a sea of beauty as Peter looked around them. His smile was serene among the autumn colours. It wasn’t everyday he got to go on just a normal hike with his partners. Even then the two men that were with him usually took him on fancier dates than this. But it was his pick on a Sunday date and he wanted to go for a hike on a local trail.

The air was cold and refreshing. The Manhattan smog had long filtered out out here. The broken-in hiking boots on his feet kept him nice and warm and his steps firm. He looked like a puppy when he found a cluster of dried leaves to step on in little stomps. The leaves under the treads of his boots were a mix of soft and crunchy. The fact he was kicking the leaves and purposely stepping on the ones that looked crunchy had both Stephen and Tony smiling as they walked behind him. Stephen had one arm looped through Tony’s elbow, looking around the tree-dense trail.

It wasn’t Nepal or Central Park or augmented reality or any of the other many places they’ve been to briefly. It was peaceful and welcoming to Stephen’s mind. Calming even. Even in sweats and good walking shoes he felt sort-of at home. And watching his young lover thoroughly enjoy the autumn colours and fresh outdoors tickled him pink inside his chest. 

Both Stephen and Peter expected Tony to either stay behind for this date, or to whine the whole way through it. So far he had only made a few comments and settled in comfortably to Stephen’s side as they slowly meandered up the trail to the top of the rocky mountain point.

“I’m surprised at you. Not one gripe this whole time.” Stephan teased, side eyeing Tony with a half smile making the age lines show.

Tony scoffed and looked up at Stephen, an unimpressed look set in his face. “It’s the first time I actually enjoy a slow walk. I get to watch the kid frolic and I get to hear beautiful silence from you.”

Stephen hummed before his whole smile showed up. “I’m soaking in the time we have together.” His eyes followed Peter going off the trail and kicking up the leaves that had settled on the forest floor. “For once my mind doesn’t have anything to say other than the sound of satisfaction.”

“Getting soft on me Doc?” Tony quipped. But Stephen could tell Tony was pleased at his words.

“I’m always soft for you two. Believe it or not.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Oh, will you?” He quickly looked around before halting them, bringing his tremoring hands up to cup Tony’s jaw and leaning down to press tender kisses against Tony’s lips. “Are you seeing it now?” His voice was deep, rich, and filling for Tony’s soul. 

Tony grinned, eyes flitting to Stephen’s soft mouth then back up to his eyes. “I may need more evidence to support the theory.”

Stephen considered using his power to swat at Tony’s ass while holding his jaw. Considering how his lover was flirting with him he would have. However he was happily distracted by Peter coming over to them.

“We're almost to the top. You can rest and make out up there.” Peter’s soft pleading tone was ruined by the affection he held in his doe brown eyes. 

Stephen shook his head and sighed as he let go of Tony’s jaw, turning a little and leaning down to give Peter his own kiss. “When we get to the top” another small kiss “you are going to be so thoroughly romanced” another but to the tip of Peter’s nose “that any complaints of us old men stopping for a moment” a final one to Peter’s forehead “will cease to exist in that pretty brain of yours, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes had closed, his smile dopey with Stephen’s kisses. “Can I have some more?”

Tony chuckled, eyes crinkled in the corners when he also moved in to plant a few chilly kisses to Peter’s lips and cheeks. “C’mon Pete, let’s keep going and see the view from the tippy top. Maybe get some pics for your phone.” 

Rolling his eyes, Peter pulled away from them and started heading back up the trail. He could feel both Stephen and Tony’s eyes on his ass. The joggers he chose to wear hugged him nicely and left him feeling confident as they directed his lovers’ eyes to where he wanted them. “I can feel you staring. The faster we get there, the faster we can go home.” He laughed when he heard the semi-quiet swearing and the quick steps to meet up with his easy pace. 

[soilaluna]

how jjk men propose (out of the blue) gojo & toji x f!reader extreme fluffiness 1.6k w

gojo loathes routine. the only thing he's willing to drown in is crowded parties, one-night stands, and unlimited beverages. but not routine —nuh-uh (never). he can think of a thousand reasons why engaging in the same activities with monotonous regularity is unhealthy, crazy, and out of the question for him.

but then you introduce yourself. and you sweep him off his feet in a matter of weeks. then, in just in a couple of months, you drag him into your silly, meticulous routine and he thinks: there's no way he's going to pull through that relationship. he gives the two of you a couple of more weeks, at the most —if he survives dinner at 7 o'clock, if he can endure cleaning the house religiously on sundays, if he can keep taking the dog out for a walk every damn night before going to sleep.

but slowly, very surely, he has a change of heart. and suddenly he finds himself asking you to go out for a jog as soon as the sun comes out. and it's him who starts cooking at 5:45 pm so the dinner is ready just on time before you leave work. and grocery shopping —he loves those. he loves them with you. he adores the little rituals now his just as yours. and he wants them for much longer —forever if it's possible.

he realizes so while both of you are in the supermarket.

you're asking him something about some vegetables. he's clutching a plant of lettuce in his hand when he spits out, "i want this."

you tilt your head. you obviously have no clue what he's referring to cause you inquire, "you want... what? rocket or chicory? cause i find chicory disgustingly bitter."

and so, satoru chuckles, shakes his head, and adds, "no, not that, dummy. this. doing stuff. with you —for the rest of my life. our life, if you let me."

to his heartfelt confession, you answer with silence. it's just a few seconds of disquiet, but for satoru they go by like centuries. people walk around you, and there's too much noise (someone even asked him at one point to move his cart out of the way) but he's solely focused on your narrowed eyes and oh, no.

he royally fucked up.

he acted on impulse and didn't stop to think once about everything else: your own wishes, the proposal —because who the fuck proposes in a supermarket? (someone who doesn't want to hear a yes, obviously).

so, naturally, he panics. he opens and closes his mouth like a fish. he knows what he wants to say —we can wait, we don't have to marry at all, please don't panic, runaway and leave me— yet he can't word a single thought. he hadn't even properly asked! what reaction was he expecting from you?

but then (so merciful) you speak —not quite literally. you just wrap your arms around his neck and smash your lips against his. and oh, no kiss from you has ever felt sweeter. you mouth no words but the message is clear as water and it's so perfect. his hasty decision makes sense, by then. you never asked for anything more than an honest love.

he presses the palms of his hands against your back and hugs you tight against him. seconds go by, minutes —one, three, five. he doesn't count, he doesn't care.

it's not until someone passes by him and coughs that he puts his feet back on the ground. he's about to whine about the devastating interruption but adoration gleams in your toothy smile and wide, bright eyes and there is no way he can waste his attention on anyone else.

"so," you tease, "does this mean we have to plan a fancier dinner?"

(satoru rolls his eyes and then he goes for another kiss).

/

the upper floor is all chatter and laughter while toji's downstairs, in the kitchen, chopping meat for lunch.

he peeps the clock: you've officially been kidnapped by tsumiki and megumi for over an hour. he doesn't know what they're up to but he wouldn't dare stick his head up the stairs —not again, at least. he had already asked once if he could join them and megumi—with his usual, amusing blank stare—practically slammed the door in his face (tsumiki added a scream in the background, go away, dad!). and so, he was relegated to fulfilling the mere role of a chef while wondering just what the hell his kids were doing with his girlfriend.

a few more minutes pass before tsumiki finally speaks to him again.

"dad!"

toji covers the simmering pot before he turns around, "what?"

his daughter pokes her head between the stair railings. "c'mere" once toji gets closer, she adds, hushed, "i just wanna say that this is my idea and my idea only. she didn't want to do it 'cause she thought you'd get mad so please, please, pleaaaaase don't get mad."

toji raises an eyebrow —now he's really intrigued about what they'd been up to. tsumiki always behaved. she knows where the lines are drawn and never bothers to cross them. so whatever they've done, whatever had his daughter worried enough to apologize in advance, must be serious.

"ok?" he falters.

tsumiki whips her head to her right and calls out, "all good!"

megumi instantly appears and positions himself at the top of the stairs. he coughs a couple of times and not a second later, the most out-of-tune version of 'here comes the bride' comes out of his mouth.

slowly, you appear in the line of toji's vision. you respect the typical rhythm of a bride's entrance. one step —pause. another step —pause. one step —pause.

toji's eyes glimmer as he takes you in: your dress is made up of one of the kids' bedsheets, it hugs you loosely over your chest. the silver plastic crown you're wearing —he remembers buying it for tsumiki at a carnival fair not long ago. your holding an improvised bouquet of fresh flowers, so fresh he can see the roots from where he stands (he bets megumi has ripped them out from miss ayumi's garden) (he'd make sure his son apologized later). and the makeup —geez. he'd never seen you wear so much blush and red lipstick. you looked like one of those vintage porcelain dolls but —oh.

if only you knew how exquisite you looked.

you were pouring light everywhere. even if you felt uncomfortable, even if you felt insecure (toji could read you like an open book by now).

"what's the matter, doll?" he inquires.

your eyes bounce between the stairs, the walls, the kids. everywhere else but him.

"tsumiki wanted to play, i told her that it could be —y'know... "

too much? yeah. maybe some time ago.

(he could see why you were freaking out).

the first time you tip-toed around the idea of marriage—a little over a year after you had started dating—was the last time you ever did. it was just a silly comment you had made while you were watching a travel tv show —the couple on-screen was on their honeymoon. you asked him then what his ideal honeymoon location would be.

"for what? 's not like i intend to have one again".

and you never brought up the conversation ever again.

he knew his response had been blunt and unfair. but he'd thought—thanks to his brutish lack of understanding—that it was better to be straightforward and not misleading. the least he wanted was to fuck up what you both had.

(but he did fuck up. greatly).

and only now he had realized it.

there was no one else but you. he already had been gifted a second chance (with you, with love) —and life was often too callous to gift third opportunities. he didn't consider himself a smart man, but he'd be the stupidest human on earth if he wasted another second.

he wanted to marry you (and if he was lucky enough, you'd still want to marry him too, after all).

toji meets you halfway up the stairs. he leaves a couple of steps in between, just enough for him to kneel on one knee.

you look at him with a bent brow, your head is tilted but still, you manage to grin as you ask, "what are you doing?"

"what does it look like?" he questions back, "marry me".

you let out a nervous chuckle, clearly not believing what is happening. "what?"

"what you just heard. marry me, baby. for real." tsumiki immediately lets out a shrill and starts clapping and jumping. "i don't —i don't have a ring right now but i'll get one for ya. and we'll get you a real dress. and the kids will be dressed up all nice and pretty. just the four of us... what do ya think?"

toji waits, in dreadful silence. the second thoughts arrive in a second. maybe he should've prepared everything better. maybe you wanted something special. maybe he had let you down—once again— and suddenly this impulsive decision felt idiotic and absurd. of course, you deserved better. of course, you knew this and he wouldn't blame you if you said—

"yes".

yes.

he thinks he's daydreaming for a second but then—as if you could sense his dubiety—you repeat, louder. "yes!"

yes, yes, yes. you said yes.

your eyes are crystalline, filled to the brim with tears. your smile is as wide and beautiful as ever.

he leaps to his feet and reaches out to you. he clasps his hands around your cheeks and kisses you. tender and passionate. full of endless longing and eternal promises.

the kids are quick to join (megumi hugs you from your side, shedding tears of happiness) (tsumiki jumps to toji's arms, giggling).

(he's never been happier).

"i love you, wife" he utters.

"and i love you, husband."

[angry-geese]

Sage

nanami kento x reader

warnings: none! sfw. entirely fluff, this will quite literally rot your teeth. gn!reader though there is mentions of them being pregnant. aside from that gn pronouns are used.

notes: some dad!nanami and domestic fluff

word count: 1,435

Nanami settled into being a father better than he thought he would.

You were another jujutsu sorcerer, working with Gojo at the time. Your meeting with Nanami was only by chance. The two of you bonded over bullying Gojo. Though you found him much less annoying than Nanami did, you still made it known how you didn't appreciate his antics.

Slowly you wormed your way more into his life. The two of you frequented the same bakery. Early mornings turned into getting pastries together. You offered to pay the first time. He had your order memorized. He picked up little things about you that you hadn't even noticed yourself. Nanami was observant. He didn't intend to memorize these things—he wasn't certain why he was watching you—but he did. The one day you showed up late he had your order waiting for you in his arms. Since you were still under the impression he didn't like you, it was surprising.

The next day he had your order waiting for you.

No matter how many times you offered to pay him back, he always refused. Reluctantly he enjoyed your company. Though you weren't officially partners, Gojo usually ended up sending you on the same missions. Working together turned into spending time together outside of work. Much of your free time was spent at his home, or him at yours. The two of you were inseparable.

Nanami made it known he'd never date a coworker. He was awfully vocal about his distaste for work. The last thing he'd ever want was his personal and work life crossing over. But he made an exception for you.

He realized he was too far gone when he couldn't imagine life without you.

You were always calm and collected and strong in a way he could respect. The jujutsu world was never kind to you, but you took whatever it threw at you with grace. He respected you before he liked you. But when he fell for you, he fell hard.

His confession wasn't anything grand, but he still tried to make it special. After a mission, he invited you out to dinner. The place was a bit fancier than what you usually went to. He insisted it was a special occasion.

Nanami was almost too nervous to get his confession out, but after a few drinks he managed.

To be honest, you were under the impression you were already dating.

Dating wasn't all that different from the way things were before. You were a bit more affectionate around him. You had no problems with draping yourself over his form. Or giving him a kiss without warning. Anything to bother him while he worked. You two would move in together almost instantly.

His plan always was settling down. The idea of a family was scary, but appealing. The typical life of a jujutsu sorcerer—or any normal life at that—wasn’t for him.

From the beginning he wanted kids. You did too—eventually—there was a mutual agreement on it. You weren't exactly trying for one, but you weren't trying to avoid it either. If it happened, it happened, that was your logic. The two of you were well off enough financially to care for a child.

You would find out about your pregnancy not long after.

You didn't tell Nanami for a while. While you knew he would be happy with the news, it never felt like the right moment. You wanted to surprise him with it but the moment to do so never presented itself.

Gojo—of all people—spoiled the surprise. Really it was an accident. You made an offhand comment about missing going to bars. As a joke, he asked: "what? Are you pregnant?"

There was no way you could respond without outing yourself. It was a bit embarrassing that your coworker found out before your husband. Nanami took your silence as a yes.

Upon hearing the news, he was ecstatic.

The second he could, he quit. The jujutsu world is no place for a family. He would be content with never seeing another sorcerer again.

He would hardly leave your side for the next nine months.

Nanami would tag along to each and every one of your doctors appointments. God forbid you lifted something too heavy, or were on your feet too long. He was always on your case about pushing yourself too hard. His presence was suffocating at times, but you knew he meant well. If you wanted it, all you had to do was ask and he’d bring it to you. You tried not to abuse this power too much.

The two of you decided to keep the gender a secret until your child was born.

A few months later you'd have a girl.

Eventually one of you would have to go back to work. Maternity leave wouldn't last forever. Your “normal” job paid enough to support the three of you. You weren't rich, but you made enough to live comfortably. Nanami agreed to stay home and take care of the baby.

He took to being a stay-at-home father better than he thought he would. Being a househusband was a better fit for him than any office work. A deep fear lingers in him that he’ll be a bad parent; the same doubts that any new parent has. He’s not nearly as bad as he says he is. You make sure he knows that.

"She's so little," he says, "am I doing this right?"

The idea of being responsible for such a small and fragile thing scares him.

The tiny bundle rests against his chest. A tuft of soft blonde hair is visible from under her yellow cap. Nanami smooths a hand over her head, fixing her hat. He can't stop the smile that spreads across his face and she chirps happily. Her pudgy fingers reach out and wrap around his much larger one.

"It's a baby carrier, how complicated can it be?" You ask.

The instructions look like they're written in Greek.

He notices your confused look and says a weak: "I told you"

The parts look nothing like the picture. Her baby carrier is a mess of straps and unnecessary clips. You can't tell what parts are spares, or just things you've left out.

It's oddly stressful.

Since when were these things so hard to put together?

"It looks nothing like the picture." He says.

"I mean, it doesn't look wrong." You say, a bit irritated. “As long as it keeps her in one place I think she’ll be fine.”

He fixes her hat one last time.

The walk to the bakery isn't a long one. When you two were looking for a house, you found one nearby. Nanami has your order memorized, and orders for the both of you. He’s made plenty of midnight trips to this place; you had cravings for some pretty strange things. You get your usual order of a coffee, a filled pastry, and a loaf of bread you plan on saving for breakfast tomorrow.

You gather your things and sit on a nearby bench to eat. Although it feels like such a little thing, this feels like the first time you've been out since you had the baby. Being away from work has made you both a bit stir crazy.

"You're dropping food on her head." You say.

A small "oh" leaves his mouth before he picks up the crumb, popping it into his mouth.

"Ken' that's gross."

He looks at you, then down at her, then back to you.

"Yeah."

He smooths a hand over her head. She squeals in delight, her pudgy hands outstretched. Nanami still can't get over how little she is. Months later he's still shocked that something so small is his. He acts like she's the most fragile thing on earth. Constantly you have to remind him that children are a lot more resilient than he thinks. If the baby is crying, he’s usually the first to console her. Even on nights that you offer, he refuses. He’ll stay up for hours reading to her.

He never thought he could love something so much. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, then yours. Moments like this are fleeting. He hates to get sentimental, but moments like this are fleeting. Before you know it, your kid will be all grown up and that thought terrifies him.

You lean your head against his shoulder. He almost seems surprised by it.

“We should hit that bookstore on the way back.” You offhandedly mention.

“Do you have room for more books?” He asks.

No, but you’re getting more anyway.

[satnin-darling]

Just friends. (m) | ONE SHOT | KIM NAMJOON, 8.4k

Pairing(s): Namjoon x Reader, mentions of Hoseok x Reader

Summary: You were interested in sex but it didn’t help that you went to a religious and conservative school. But once you were at university, sex was no longer a big deal and you did it when you wanted like this sex fiend that couldn’t be stopped. Enter Kim Namjoon. He sits next to you to ask to use the plug by your desk in the library. Then, you start seeing him everywhere and inadvertently, you begin to hang out together. You talk about bonsai’s, your hobbies, and god. Oh, and you also have sex, i.e., you take his virginity.

Warnings/Tags: RATED M (18+) for language; smut (fem-reader; hand job; thigh riding; penetrative sex (you take Namjoon’s virginity ahh); multiple orgasms); while you take Namjoon’s virginity, Hoseok took yours lmao; non-idol!AU - University.

=====

-

The first time you asked your friends about sex, you were in high school, and they looked at you with eyes as wide as saucers. Their reaction had implicitly placed a vast distance between them and you, like a gulf. But you figured that it was always there and the ground between was just a layer that was waiting to collapse. You concluded that the topic of ‘sex’ was as earth-shattering to the adolescent mind as you expected. Suddenly, you were apart from them as your interests bifurcated. Though it was foreseeable since you went to a religious school that held conservative beliefs. While you attended the daily church service and as your friends sang hymns to god, you wondered about pleasure, the idea of sex, the performance of it, how it felt to have someone inside you. Such thoughts were all very abrupt and it made you feel like you had an entirely different identity, like there was someone inside you, fighting to come out.

Your parents were devout and subscribed to a different kid. It was a relatively easy narrative to maintain: you were this high-achieving student who never missed a single church service, who loved them and would, more often than not, be obedient. You kept up appearances since you didn’t want to create conflict. You only realised later on that there was the same gulf you had between your friends with your parents, but it might have already been there since you were born.

They were hardly affectionate and only catered to your most basic needs: the need to be clothed, fed, watered etc. You couldn’t blame them, that was what it usually took to raise a kid. Though that didn’t stop you from wanting to talk about things with them, especially during dinner. But it was like they weren’t letting you. Whenever you opened your mouth to speak, your father would clear his throat or your mother would get up and serve the next dish. Interruptions like those forced you to appreciate the silence and carry on without complaint.

But you did wonder if you would have ended up differently if they were more openly loving, if you got regular hugs and shared banter with your father. Your friends had that and you made comparisons of how you grew up. During school festivals, parents would be in attendance but yours could never make it. Work was always the priority and you were raised by a team of nannies that would change like the seasons. You gave up learning their names, dutifully referring to them as ‘Nanny’ and introduced them as such.

By that time, you had given up on wanting things to change and distracted yourself with your curiosity about sex. It filled your waking hours and culminated in one night, at some hotel near the city. His name was Jung Hoseok and he was a newly transferred student at the neighbouring all-boy’s school. He was tall and wiry, and had an infectious and booming laugh. Your friend introduced you to each other in a mixer. The principal’s of both of your schools thought that those would help build a good rapport and expose you to the opposite sex. In the end, these mixers were effectively speed dating pools.

The usual venue was a nearby restaurant which was riddled with religious iconography and foods that were named after the books in the Bible. The night, when the special was cold noodles irrationally titled as the ‘Book of Genesis’ and you were drinking tepid water, you saw Hoseok. He wore a colourful garb which included bright green sweatpants with an oversized yellow shirt and a denim bucket hat. His shoes were white. There wasn’t a single crease or speck of dirt on them. You knew that the ensemble only worked because it was on him. Once you made a joke about the way the picture of Jesus on the wall was overly muscular and looked more like a boyfriend than the Messiah, you were inseparable. As you both deflected disapproving looks, you headed outside.

Hoseok was the first person who was unfazed when you mentioned the word ‘sex.’ He told you that he lost his virginity at the age of fifteen. It was your eyes that went as wide as saucers then. After he bought some food from the nearby street vendors, you both sat on a bench and grew candid about your experiences. Well, more of his. Then, in an almost automatic knee-jerk reaction, you asked him what it was like. He turned to you as he finished the rest of the food and put the trash in the nearby bin.

“What? Sex?”

“Yeah,” you said, placing him on a pedestal then. He shrugged, again unfazed. You liked that. Sex didn’t seem taboo as you sat on a battered bench in front of a park.

“She was older than me, I was nervous and I don’t remember much. Actually, she was really nice about it… she moved away and we didn’t keep in touch,” he answered.

Your brows furrowed at that. You thought that it would have been a bit more special than he let on. He was looking at you curiously, and when he leaned you thought he was going to kiss you. As his bucket hat grew close, you saw that you were right but you kept your eyes open because some part of you didn’t want to miss it. Somehow you forgot that kissing was about the lips and not the eyes. His lips tasted like sugar from the pastry that he ate. You didn’t regret that first time.

Days later, in a dingy motel, you told him you were a virgin. But it had the opposite effect as he suddenly stopped touching you and asked to re-schedule. You asked if he could tell and he shook his head, saying that you were already quite forward.

You were a ball of nervous energy as the date approached. It was a fancier hotel nearer the city. There were important looking people in the lobby and Hoseok held your hand and made you feel more important than you actually felt. As you passed the men in suits and the women in dresses, your palms grew sweaty but he only held onto your hand tighter. In his bag was a box of condoms, cards, and his phone. He wore black, which made you laugh since you thought he was appropriately dressed to mourn the loss of your virginity. On the huge bed, Hoseok was gentle with you. He asked you if you were okay and held you carefully. He made you feel like it was the right time. Unlike him, you remembered everything. And when it did happen, it only hurt for a while.

He dropped you off at your house just in time for curfew. Your parents were waiting in the living room. You told them that you were going to be late and they shouldn’t wait. But you should have known better than to instruct them. So they watched as you ascended the stairs and by the time you reached the top, you overheard your father ask your mother instead of you if you were okay. You wished you had walked slower then so you could answer him yourself.

That evening, you were on your single bed, shrouded in the darkness of your room, wiling the hours away in your thoughts. You wondered if you loved Hoseok. He said that to you during sex and after it. You remember how your stomach flipped. Though you suspected that it wasn't because you felt the same. It was due to the fact that you had never heard that before, not even from your parents. Although it was in the language that you understood, it remained foreign. You ended up smiling at him instead and he understood that that was as much as you could give him at the time. He wrapped his arms around you and ran his fingers through your hair. It was very affectionate - another first that you had.

Hoseok moved away months later somewhere abroad. Somewhere unreachable. That had the effect of embalming the experience in formaldehyde, and you would place it in a shelf in your mind. At times, you would visit it, marvelling at it, thinking that you wouldn’t have the same experience. You didn’t realise that you had it in you to be sentimental and it was Hoseok that brought that out of you. When he left for good, you didn’t keep in contact but you remembered him. You knew that you would forever.

-

When you got to university, sex became something you did on the regular. It was everything you didn’t expect it to be. It was messy, awkward sometimes, addictive most times. You realised that there were a lot of people that you could do it with, it was just a matter of asserting your boundaries and knowing your body. And just like that, the person you thought would remain within you forever was unleashed.

On campus, the students spilled onto the concrete when the lectures concluded on the hour and you recognised the people that you were with. To the nice ones, you would nod to each other with the same jovial manner as if you were course mates that once shared a group project. To those who were assholes, the alternative was that you never acknowledged each other. Usually it was mutual and over time, you found that it was usually you who wouldn’t bat an eyelid.

One evening after a gruelling mid-term exam, you felt like having sex. In the end, you ended up sharing your bed with a grad student. He was stocky like an ox and he had a strange rhythm, sometimes jack-hammering, sometimes it was a slow, body roll. It was intense and passionate but it wasn’t pleasurable. When he tried to cuddle you by wrapping his arms around your body, you were stiff as a board. Then, he pointed out the fact that you seemed cold and detached. That terrified you because that immediately reminded you of your parents. You kept quiet then, remembering the prolonged silences at the dinner table when you all scrambled for conversation. After a while, he had fallen asleep and his snores were so loud that you grew irate. Not having any patience, you roused him and kicked him out. If you were cold and detached you were going to be in the fullest sense of the words. He called you a ‘bitch’ as you slammed the door in his face.

-

Spring had arrived you were holed up in the library with a mountain of tasks ahead of you. But there was a tentative nudge on your elbow. Looking up, you were met with warm brown eyes. He showed a friendly demeanour through a dimpled smile and an open body language.

“Can I use that plug?” He asked. When he spoke, it was with a voice so deep that sometimes, words were lost in its depths. Later on, as you spent more time with each other, you had to ask him to repeat himself which made him aware of it. As a result, he had developed this receptivity that enabled him to gauge when he needed to repeat himself, though an octave higher.

Most of the desks were empty and it was nearing midnight. Nevertheless, you nodded and turned back to your work. Minutes later, there was another tentative nudge. The same brown eyes looked into yours and you noticed the shape, they were slim and tapered at the edges.

“Yeah,” you said, adding a small smile.

“Could you switch it on for me?” He asked.

But he was already leaning over you, his long arm going around. Then, you saw that the switch for the plug was on your left side and instead of asking you to save himself from reaching over, you were suddenly in a compromising position. There were no witnesses. In truth, there would be absolutely no meaning to the fact that he had just reached over. Except that there was because that was one of the many cultural narratives you were surrounded with. The said action would suggest that he had other intentions and it was further reinforced by the fact that he chose to sit next to you instead of the other, unoccupied desks nearby. It wasn’t repulsive nor creepy for you, it was a non-verbal act that was commonplace. He just seemed overly comfortable with you.

Then you would quash these thoughts and carry on. You switched the plug on for him instead, just as his hand wound around you, trapping you between his chest and the desk. He drew back and gave you a grateful smile. The dimples that flanked it became more indented and you saw how there was a mole beneath his bottom lip. When you turned, your laptop screen had dimmed and you moved your mouse rapidly. A quick glance showed that he was already flipping through a textbook. By the time you had re-asserted yourself, you realised that your essay wasn’t going to write itself.

-

In the following days, you attended one of the electives that you were enrolled in. There was a professor who loved to start each lecture with a random fact of the day. He justified it by claiming that integrating something totally unrelated to the substantive content would lead to it sticking into your brain more. You didn’t really care for those facts until one Wednesday, when it was pelting it with rain, and your hair was just about soaked.

As you settled onto a seat the words on the screen captured your attention:

Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, a.k.a., the Frequency Illusion or Recency Bias. This is a situation where something you recently learned about suddenly seems to appear everywhere.

You saw him. He was with a group of other students, all trying to get themselves comfortable for the two hours that lay ahead. The very phenomenon described on the screen was happening before you. It registered in your mind that this was the fifth time you saw him, this nameless guy who had dimples and sat next to you, asking to use the plug on your side for his laptop. The second time was in the cafeteria, where you saw that when he reached the top of the line, he apologised since he didn’t know that seafood was on the menu. You assumed that he didn’t like it or he was allergic but you had already paid so you didn’t get to hear his excuse. The third time was in the library again, where you were in the same line to return books. Your eyes met and you saw how he instinctively ducked, almost slamming the books he had in his hands in the metal basin where they would be deposited. The fourth time was in the student bar, the drinks were cheap because the university sympathised with the plight of the penniless student. But they were diluted and somewhat underwhelming, so you concluded that the sympathy was somewhat misplaced. You saw that he had a beer whereas you had a glass of wine. He was always surrounded by other students.

You found yourself constructing this narrative around him even if you didn’t know his name. You imagined that he was enrolled in a humanities course, that he liked the colour grey, and that his parents were very much together. He probably got lots of hugs and kisses. There was also the chance that he was a serial killer or predator. Then you wondered if he thought of you in the same manner like how you were thinking of him.

In the lecture hall, heaving with students complaining about the rain and discussing what they would eat afterwards as a reward for even turning up, your eyes met once more. You decided then that you overthinking it.

-

“Kim Namjoon,” he said.

You looked at his hand, it was tanned and outstretched towards you. You were at a house party of a mutual friend. There was music in the background for when it got awkward and you also had the excuse of not being able to hear each other because you were in the fray as the fridge-sized speakers thumped next to you.

Taking his hand and grasping it firmly, you nodded, saying your name. It was all very formal. You felt like you were back in school, where the teachers would subscribe you to the same formalities. But it felt weirder to introduce yourself to a person that you thought you already knew. You said your name in return, pulling away first. For the time in between, you both hovered in each other’s space until you were eventually alone outside, leaning against the brick wall and looking at the stars.

“What do you think about green houses?” He asked, cocking his head as he gauged your answer. You shrugged, the last time you were in a greenhouse was in high school. It was sweltering and you had accidentally sat on your camera, cracking the screen. You didn’t get your allowance for the next three weeks. The memory made you scowl.

“I’m guessing that you don’t like them?” He said, looking at the stars again.

“I’ve never really thought about them deeply,” you admitted.

“What about bonsais?” He asked, firmly carrying on the botanical theme. You furrowed your brows, what about them? Instead you said:

“Way too expensive, also very high maintenance,” you replied. It was a satisfactory answer, it opened the conversation for more discussion. You heard him chuckle.

“You probably don’t have a green thumb,” he said, and you looked at him not knowing why you thought that that was a personal attack. You rubbed your arms as you were aware of the cold breeze. His eyes followed your movements making you feel self-conscious.

“How would you know?” You asked, narrowing your eyes. He shrugged.

“It’s either that or you hate plants,” he said simply. And you realised that he was right, so you let out a laugh.

“It’s definitely both.”

-

Over time, you began to hang out with each other and you found that Namjoon was ambitious. He wanted to graduate with top grades to prove to his parents that he was capable of making it in society. Oh, and he also rapped, which was unorthodox since he carried himself like his parents owned a yacht and had a passcode for his front door instead of rusty keys. He did have a passcode but in the place of a yacht was a dinghy that they rented out when they go to Jeju-do in the summer. His existence was very wholesome. Everything you assumed about him was just about right, even the part about his parents being affectionate. You thought that you should be jealous but that was the voice of another person, someone you left behind.

When you asked him why he was at university given that his passion lies in music, he said that he shouldn’t put all of his eggs in one basket. Translation: I need something to fall back on if music falls through. You thought that that was very practical of him.

-

Nearby, there was a small gallery that owned a few works that were noteworthy. After having spent an inordinate amount of time looking around in the rooms, you had grown familiar with the history. To paraphrase, a wealthy woman was kind enough to leave her modest collection of paintings. Now, it provided an aesthetic haven against the more industrial, pollution-ridden surroundings that your campus was located in. Namjoon accompanied you, well, he actually caught you after a lecture with a cup of coffee in hand. You took the coffee and he took your invitation.

There were unspoken rules in a gallery and it included the travelling in a snail’s pace. This caused the soles of your shoes to be loud against the wooden, chevron floors. Numerous paintings were hung on the patterned walls, each evenly spaced with spotlights on them. Usually, during lunch time, it would be filled with locals and students alike but today the gallery was deserted. Namjoon halted in front of a painting vaguely titled: A Boy Praying. When you stood next to him, he leaned to the side, giving you a gentle nudge.

“I can’t work this painting out,” he said. “He doesn’t seem to be praying to me.”

You looked at the picture again, Namjoon had a point. The background was dark, giving the impression of something infinite. The boy’s expression was blank, his face pale, his hands pressed together like a steeple. You then led Namjoon to a bench directly in front of the painting so you could both watch it from a distance.

“I think his face is sweet,” you said, perching at the edge so you could cross your legs. Namjoon had leant back, using his hands to prop himself as he locked his arms.

“He looks confused,” he replied. You looked again, wondering how a blank expression could translate into uncertainty.

“Maybe he’s confused about the existence of god, but then he thought, What the hell, I’m gonna pray just in case,” you said, automatically creating a story. Namjoon chuckled next to you and you saw how he had outstretched his legs, so his body had straightened out. You let my eyes rest on them for a second.

“He looks like he’s performing,” Namjoon said, folding his body, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees so he could rest his chin on his hands. You thought that the painting probably didn’t expect this much attention.

“But he could be wondering if god exists and whether he’s praying just for the sake of it,” you said, seeking a compromise. It served to trivialise the boy in your mind. Namjoon was quiet and with his face in profile, you saw how he would jut his jaw out as a habit of concentration.

“Do you believe in god?” He asked, still looking at the boy who had been praying for centuries. You thought about it and followed his gaze. You saw the details of the painting, the way the boy’s hair and eyebrows were essentially made up of lines, strategically placed this way and that. When you looked closer, it looked like a field raked by the wind.

“I used to,” you said.

There was nothing dramatic to it and didn’t require any effort on your part. It just happened. One day, you just didn’t think about god anymore. The longing for prayer became less urgent until it fizzled into nothing. But the belief had transmuted and, without meaning to sound abstract, you started believing in yourself instead. It was like the space that you thought would be unattended forever was swiftly filled. Namjoon nodded and sighed.

“Me too.”

-

When you visited Namjoon’s studio apartment for the first time, you were astonished at how messy he was. Clothes were strewn everywhere, there were various items scattered around, books and stationary littered the floor, it was a paradigm of a teenage boy’s bedroom. But by the window ledge, there were two bonsai’s. One was small and the other was large. They looked like they were thriving and happy amongst the mess. As Namjoon hovered in his room, he told you about them. You noticed that when he was animated about a particular topic, his words would get tangled up in each other and you had given up on asking him to repeat himself and instead you nodded, fabricating your interest.

As you surveyed the space, you were stood in the middle as he had resorted to cleaning up in an unstructured way. You guessed that he didn’t have people often or if he did, they were used to this. You thought of that as you watched him move around in erratic circles, stepping over things, the tell-tale crunch of a pen underneath the sole of his shoes. You laughed at his clumsiness, right on cue as he tripped over.

-

It was a Tuesday and you were labouring over an essay where the recommended time was two hours. Yet you had been staring at the same page of an article for the past two hours. Your body was incredibly stiff so you decided to stretch. Since you were completely comfortable around Namjoon, you stretched in the manner that reflected that. It involved unfurling, then, as if you were a puppet on a string, you pulled your body taut. You also remembered that you made a noise in between a small moan which immediately roused Namjoon from what ever he was reading. Then, you made the mistake of looking at him and then his crotch, which was suddenly tented. Unable to hold your gasp, you clapped your hands over your mouth, not sure if you wanted to laugh or not.

“Sorry!” He said, resorting to a teenage embarrassment that made you laugh even harder.

“Is that something in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” You chortled, clutching your stomach.

You knew you were being overly familiar but it didn’t matter since he went over to you, tickling your sides. You saw his crotch area up close, and you doubled over in peals of laughter. Then, you were pinned under him, your wrists beneath his grasp, his knee between your legs. That made you stop laughing alright. While the realisation of your position reached you as soon as you felt his hands go over your wrists, Namjoon’s was delayed. In fact, it happened when you raised your eyebrows as you tipped your hips down, the heat between your legs skimming the fabric of of his sweatpants. His eyes, though sharp and tapered, grew round and the first thing that came out of his mouth was that he had a box of condoms, to which you nodded. On top of your sweeping narrative that you had constructed around Namjoon, you added ‘sex-positive’ on the list.

-

“Nice sheets,” you said, as Namjoon kissed along your jaw, his weight above you was pleasant, making you snug in between him and the mattress. You were on top of navy blue bedsheets with repeated patterns of cartoon cactuses. When you saw them earlier, you thought that they were winking at you. He made a noise of agreement, his plush lips travelling down your neck, leaving a trail of heat and goosebumps in its wake.

“So, the essay that I was doing was ah,” you faltered because his fingers found their way through the waistband of your sweatpants, down past your underwear, straight to your slit. They were cold, which made you flinch slightly, your hands bunching his shirt. He pulled back suddenly, looking at you for signs of discomfort. You shook your head, lifting your hips so you could rid yourself of your sweatpants and underwear. He watched as you removed them in a swift movement including your shirt and bra. Mirroring you, he slipped out of his shirt and his sweatpants, the dark fabric of his briefs failing to hide his erection. You saw tan lines on his arms, a clear demarcation due to all the short sleeves that he would wear. His chest was broad and he was overall well-proportioned. As he settled on the bed, he had raised himself, his knees sinking on the mattress right in front of you and you sat up.

“Holy fuck,” you thought aloud. Instead of smirking, Namjoon was genuinely sheepish. Of course he is, you’re practically drooling over his cock. Reaching forward, you peeled off his underwear and emitted a small gasp.

Namjoon grew even more shy and looked anywhere but your eyes. But that was short-lived as you took his throbbing cock in your hands, marvelling at the silken rigidity, how hot it was to the touch. His brown eyes met yours and you could hear and see how his breathing grew heavier, they were slow exhales as you ran your hand up and down his cock. When you rubbed your thumb at the underside of the head, he hissed audibly, baring his teeth, his dimples making an appearance. You spread the pre-cum, tentatively at first, making him thrust into your hand ever so slightly, the sticky liquid proving that lubrication that enabled you to glide your hand up and down. He had moaned then, a low, deep sound that instinctively made your legs close but he had leant forward, causing you to fall back on the bed, your tits bouncing from the abrupt movement.

With his cock still in your hand, you continued to keep an even pressure as you twisted your wrist expertly, enjoying how he was practically falling apart. His arms flanked your head, locked and straining as he looked down, his hair touching your forehead as he thrusted into your hand. Though your arm was already sore, you carried on, more furiously this time, the lewd sounds echoing in your ears, making you wet and you moaned as he kissed you, his tongue sliding against yours as you squeezed his length. You gasped as he moaned your name, spurring you on as you kept the rhythm, ignoring the burn of the muscles in your arm as you varied your movements, twisting your wrist, squeezing his cock, spreading his cum.

“Fuck… ah,” he gasped as he lowered his head, slotting it by the crook of your neck. His warm breath fanned your skin and you shivered, spreading your legs so they didn’t get in the way. You felt how his hard muscles pressed against the soft flesh of the backs of your thighs and how he had resorted to thrusting sloppily. You wrapped your arm around his shoulder as he grunted in your ear and you moaned as he fucked your hand in a staggered manner, desperate movements to chase his high. As you increased the pace, you squeezed his cock and he groaned against your neck, his hips stilling as thick spurts of cum splattered along your skin. You gasped at the contact. He hissed, kissing your neck with insistence as you slowly rode out his orgasm, till he shivered as you let your nail graze over the head. As he lifted himself off of you, he leant forward again, kissing you deeply, nipping at your bottom lip.

“Fuck,” he murmured, sounding in awe. Nearby, you grab his shirt and wiped your front, then proceeded to toss it elsewhere. He watched your movements with a sort of innocent fascination.

Namjoon was looking at you as he rolled over, his back on the headboard, the heave of his chest evident along with the sheen of sweat. Not wanting to waste any more time, your pussy settled over his thigh and you both moaned as you sank over it, feeling how he flexed his muscles, pressing against your swollen clit. You began to rock your hips, feeling how wet you were as you spread it over his skin and as your eyes fluttered close, you felt him raise it slightly, adding more pressure and friction. As you ground your hips even more, your breaths came in soft moans, welcoming the pleasurable relief on your clit. Leaning forward, you kissed him, cradling his face as you rolled your hips, spreading your juices, and he gasped in your mouth. His hands found themselves on your hips but they just rested there and you found that he was holding himself back.

“It’s okay,” you reassured, pulling away, your heart thudding in your chest. You thought that you weren’t normally in a position where you were coaxing someone on touching you. Namjoon looked at you, his eyes travelling from his hands, your naked body, then your pussy on his (now wet) thigh. It was as if he was seeing everything for the first time. Leaning back, you placed your hands over his, pressing his fingers so that they would thaw and he complied as his teeth sank over his plush bottom lip, looking every bit as unsure as he was before. But he followed suit, his large hands breaking from your hold, gripping your ass and jerking your body forwards. You kissed him again, catching the laughter that erupted from his lips. Maybe he was nervous, you thought.

“Ah, fuck,” he groaned, his voice was so deep that you whimpered.

Immediately, you felt the rapid pulses beneath his ribcage as your hands settled on his chest, and you sucked his tongue which caused him to groan, the deep reverberation turning you on even more. You ground your hips more insistently now, clutching his shoulders as his fingers sank on your soft flesh, and the pleasure that petered out returned. Getting into the rhythm, you closed the distance between you, pressing your tits against his chest. Namjoon was strong and you felt it as he caged you in, and your hand slipped down his chest, marvelling at how taut they had become, and you felt how his cock was hard again. You ran your palm over his length teasingly and he hissed as you gently grazed the head. You kissed him, humming against his lips as your hips rolled furiously, your clit swelling, your juices coating his skin.

“F-fuck,” you gasped as he raised his leg again, and you arched your lower back, pressing your pussy down even more, each drag of your hips becoming more precise, and the heat unfurled, permeating your skin, your nerves set alight. His hands kneaded your ass and you whimpered as he helped you and as you sucked his tongue in a messy, desperate kiss, your brought out those guttural groans. In the haze of pleasure, you heard him say your name, sounding like a heavenly sigh and you came with a cry, your juices splattering over his thigh, almost causing you to slip down if not for his grip on you. As you ground your hips even more, you whimpered, pulling away from his lips only to kiss along his neck, and you tasted the salt of his skin as you ran your tongue over the raised tendon. When you sat up, you felt how wet you were, your inner thighs slick with your arousal as you teasingly wiggled your hips and watched his face flicker from the pleasure that he gave you. As you raised yourself, you both saw a string of your cum follow your pussy, snapping against your thigh eventually, making you moan softly. He stared at you as you moved to lay on your back, to which he followed, settling between your legs.

“Where’s the condoms?” You asked, looking at him. He blinked at you and you saw how his hands were already on your calves.

“Oh, yeah. Um, in there,” he replied, sounding nervous. You followed where he turned his head and you reached over to the side table to tug it open. Inside was the said box, still sealed in the plastic film. Namjoon stayed where he was, watching you as you reclined on the bed, spread below him, completely unselfconscious. The foil packets appeared and you tore one off clean from the perforated edges. Tossing the rest of the box elsewhere, you swiped the rest of the bed so that the plastic film wouldn’t get in the way. It fluttered to the edge and disappeared swiftly. You scooted up so you weren’t completely flat as you rested on his pillows. When you tore the foil, you rolled the condom over his cock and he flinched, backing up slightly at the cold lubrication.

“I have something to say,” he said, rather abruptly, causing your arms to fall to your sides. You looked up at him, raising your eyebrows since you had already lifted your legs to hook them over his hips. You waited not saying anything. Then he sat back, his legs folding underneath him as he covered his mouth with his hand. You saw that he was laughing, but the kind of laughter that hinted that nervousness that you gathered from him earlier. It was unexpected. You saw how his dimples peeked from the gap between his fingers and when he laughed even more, the sides of his eyes crumpled and his shoulders shook.

“What’s so funny?” You asked, feeling more and more confused. He gathered himself and took a deep breath. He was serious now, which was a feat since his cock was hard and your pussy was right in front of him.

“I’m a virgin,” he said. You blinked at him, your mouth parting slightly. You remembered Hoseok and his own reaction. You thought that Namjoon was just nervous. You ran your hand through your hair and reclined on the pillows.

“It’s okay. That’s fine,” you replied.

You saw how his cock twitched. You had to admit that that was impressive. He leaned forward as you lifted your legs, getting back into the mindset of sex and leaving his awkward confession behind. As he was already running the head of his cock over your slit, you jolted, but before you both got ahead of yourselves, you rested your hands at the base of his neck to get his attention. He looked at you and you saw that he was holding his breath.

“Are you okay with doing it with me?” You asked. There was a definite pause from him as he decided his fate. You thought that being naked beneath him may have the effect of swaying his decision. With the head of his cock barely touching your pussy, he nodded.

“Yeah, I’m okay with that,” he reassured, kissing you suddenly.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he pressed his body against yours, you felt his hard cock over your slit and you sighed at the contact. You lifted your legs so that they flanked his waist and you felt his hand cover your breast, his fingers tugging at your nipple, making your breath hitch. He lifted his hips in a kind of awkward movement and you ran your hand down his chest, down till you grasped his cock with a firm grip. Resting his forehead against yours, he was looking down now, observing you as you guided him and he pushed his hips forward till your walls began to stretch, taking him in. You gasped as he slowly pushed his cock in, feeling his entire length enter you. When he looked up you saw how there was a flicker of expression that you registered on his face. It was obvious what he was thinking: Oh god, I’m having sex right now. That almost made you laugh out loud if not for him pressing down fully, bottoming out inside you. So your pending laugh was swiftly displaced by a gasp.

“Ah fuck, you’re so tight and wet,” he murmured. You held yourself back from saying ‘I know.’ Then, you ran your hands along his shoulders, ascending till you gently scraped your nails along his scalp, making him shiver. You pulled him down so that his face was tucked by the crook of your neck, and you licked his earlobe, taking it between your teeth, nipping softly. You let one of your hands circle your clit, making yourself wetter so that you both could have an easier time.

“Fuck me any way you like,” you murmured. He said your name in half a groan, still not moving at all, getting used to the feeling of being inside you. As patient as ever, you waited as he lifted his hips, pulling out of you and descending once more. It was a very staggered rhythm and you reached down, your hands gripping his ass to prompt him.

“Sorry,” he said, but you shook your head, tipping your hips upwards so you could accommodate him. As you adjusted yourself, he picked up his thrusts, getting into a more manageable rhythm that you began to moan and let yourself go. He had propped himself up using his arms and he eyes never left your tits as they bounced from his thrusts, his teeth sank over his bottom lip as his brows furrowed from the pleasure. His eyes looked like they needed reassurance and you nodded, your mouth falling open as breathy gasps left your lips.

“Keep going,” you prompted, bucking your hips in response and he carried on as he was, his hips gaining more force that the nervousness he felt was no where to be seen. You wrapped your arms around his torso as he fucked you hard, one of his hands tangled in your hair and the other grasping your calf, holding you open and down. Your swollen clit was exposed and sent electric jolts along your body, making you hypersensitive as you clung onto him, your nails digging crescents into his skin. Your pussy squeezed his cock as you held your breath, the pleasure peaking to the point where you grasped his head and forced him to kiss you, muffling your cries as you came suddenly, gushing around his cock. He grunted, a deep and thunderous noise that reverberated along your entire body, and your pussy massaged his cock in quick rapid pulses that almost forced him out but he pushed his hips forward only to still them as he came. His cum swelled the latex and you whimpered as he ground his hips, spreading your juices even more, making you squirm from how sensitive you became. As he collapsed over you, he sighed your name.

“Congratulations,” you said breathlessly.

He raised himself up. A faint blush coloured his cheeks, his hair was slightly damp from sweat. He was softening inside you and looked thoroughly fucked out. Your surroundings were back in focus and you took into account his room, his cactus bedsheets, and the fact that you just took his virginity.

“You’re a virgin no longer,” you grinned and he laughed, kissing you again.

-

Afterwards, you and Namjoon decided to get ice cream. It was midnight and you walked the path from his studio apartment into the main road, there were many people walking around. It was a student area after all.

You both walked together in close proximity, sometimes the sides of your arms touched, giving you the feeling of safety. If someone were to look at you both, they would see two good friends out for a nightly stroll. He made sure that you weren’t walking on the side of the road where the cars were, and he expertly swerved people as they walked towards the opposite direction. Not once did you have to adjust yourself and you felt like he was a bodyguard and you were this starlet, on the brink of fame. The evening breeze was cold and you tried to stop yourself from shivering.

“Are you cold?” He asked, slowing down his strides.

You shook your head but the chattering of your teeth betrayed you. Then, you felt the heat from his bomber jacket settle over your shoulders. His hands swept over the collar, tugging it firmly so that the sides overlapped. You were suddenly enveloped in Namjoon’s bomber jacket as he lifted your hair so that it wasn’t bunched together in the collar. It swirled as the wind picked up, whipping against the sides of your face. He looked at you, smiling as he did so, tucking your hair behind your ear. Scrunching your nose, you murmured your thanks and continued walking.

-

“I wanted to be a writer but so do a million other people. So I figured that I could just do that on the side and earn a decent living,” you said after stabbing the mint chocolate ice cream with added chocolate chip cookies. The spoon stuck out at an angle. Namjoon told you only after you had order that he hated that flavour so you swatted his arm because it was an opportunity lost for sharing.

The ice cream parlour was at the top of the road. It was open for twenty four hours and those coming from a night out would spill onto the checkered floors. Orders were slurred and coins would be slammed down, rattling on the scratched metal surface. It was still early, so it was just you and Namjoon in a booth, the red leather was worn and lightened at certain spots. Everything was aged and not in the deliberate way that was for the aesthetic. You felt that you were already sat on someone else’s butt cheeks, which were routinely impressed on by former customers.

“My parents found my music on my computer, and,” he paused to eat his vanilla ice cream. The spoon was too small so he was making frequent bites, you saw how he would lick his lips afterwards. “And they destroyed it.”

You raised your eyebrows at that fact. The information misaligned with the image of his doting parents. You didn’t want to pry so you watched as Namjoon scooped another heap of ice cream in his mouth whereas you had hardly touched yours. So you raised your spoon, tugging with some effort as the mint-green dollop of ice cream stretched, fell apart, and made its way into your mouth. It was sharp and minty. You didn’t know why you expected something different.

“What did you want to write about?” He asked, and you swallowed thickly. No one had ever asked you that question before. Pausing, you brought another spoonful of ice cream to your mouth to stall.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to write. I never really wanted anything that bad in my life,” you admitted. The table were you were had a speckled surface, like a quail egg. Namjoon nodded, pouting as he laced his fingers and placed his chin over it.

“I think you’re a thriller or action type of author,” he said, giving you a straight look. You laughed before you answered. Maybe you gave off those vibes: mildly threatening and or calculative.

“You’re way off,” you said, reaching over to the side to grab some tissue. Namjoon got there first and handed it to you. Wiping the corners of your mouth, you saw spots of green as you set it down. The bottom of the bowl was now a pool of mint-chocolate and the chocolate chips bobbed up and down as you disturbed the creamy moat with the miniature spoon.

“Are you a closet romantic then?” He pried, you saw how his arm muscles flexed as he leant forward on the counter. You thought about it, back to the stories that you would write in your room, the ideas flying by so quickly that you were half-writing on paper and half-typing on your laptop. There was a lot of pining, misunderstandings, and conflict. Your characters would suffer unnecessarily due to your glass-half-empty disposition.

“A valid assumption,” you said, not elaborating anymore. You drank your ice cream, unceremoniously tipping the bowl to your lips. When you pulled back, Namjoon had another tissue ready. You took it, scrunching up the previous one in your hand. He was looking at you intently.

“Would you like to go on a date?” He asked.

You saw how he smiled and the dimples appeared again. They were quickly imprinting themselves in your mind. You paused, pursing your lips. You had been in this position before and you knew the answer. It was on the tip of your tongue and you set down the tiny spoon in the bowl with the mint green liquid.

“No thanks,” you said. It sounded cold and detached. You remembered that grad student who was built like an ox and snored like a steam train. The word ‘bitch’ flashed in your mind.

“C’mon, give me a week. Let me court you,” he said, ignoring your answer. Court. It sounded like something your father would say.

“No, Namjoon,” you sighed.

“Joon,” he corrected and you took that into account.

“Okay. Joon. The answer is No,” you repeated.

“Why?” He pouted.

You asked yourself the same thing. When you couldn’t come up with an answer for yourself, you said, “I don’t want to be courted.”

Not wanting to hear any more, you slid off the booth, pulling his jacket off of your shoulders. As you made it over to his side, you gave it to him. He looked at you and received the jacket wordlessly. Grabbing the empty bowl of ice cream, you threw them in a bin. You looked at him once more and you saw how he twisted his head but you could only see his eyes from the seat. They were only staring at you. Admittedly, it looked ridiculous, just a third of Namjoon’s head popping up like a whack-a-mole.

Past the flimsy double doors, you followed the crowd. It was easy to get lost amongst the rowdy students and some of them bumped against you. Walking quickly, you remembered how some of the street lights near where you lived were broken. You rubbed your arms since you felt cold after not moving for a while.

Behind, you could hear someone say ‘Excuse me,’ in a deep voice. It grew closer and as you turned around, you felt the warmth of a jacket over your shoulders once more. Namjoon was shielding you from the crowd till you slowed down at the cross walk. You hadn’t removed his jacket and it became apparent that he was going to walk you back to where you lived. The lights showed a red man walking, though it flickered because someone had thrown a bottle at it.

“I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable,” he said.

You looked at him but he was looking at the lights. The countdown showed that it would turn green in eight seconds but there were people crossing and dodging cars. The light turned green and you matched pace with him. Though it was more him than you. He did have longer strides. When you reached the other side, he was shielding you from the oncoming crowds again. At that point, Namjoon had stopped to let someone through. They were drunk and were slurring words that were unintelligible. You felt Namjoon’s arms around your shoulders as they passed.

“You didn’t. I’m sorry that I just want us to be friends,” you replied. Then he looked at you, smiling like that time you first met.

“I’m not.”

-

Still Friends (I) | Still Friends (II)

-

masterlist.

[kiribaku-queen]

The Blood King and his Queen [1]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Romance, Angst, Drama

Word count: 2.4K

Summary:  From being a mere servant girl to marrying the scariest prince in existence, your world changed right before your eyes. Exchanging places with the princess, you knew, wasn’t going to be easy. But could you have found love on the way? Or was it never meant to be?

A/N: Hello my loves! And welcome back to another, rather long, series! I had so many inspirations for this piece that I couldn’t wait to share with you all! Be warned, this might be a 20 part series, maybe more maybe less but we’ll see what happens! I hope you fall in love with this story as much as I do!

And shout out to this amazing artist for the art! I am literally BLOWN AWAY by this art! I can’t stop looking at it! It’s so amazingly well drawn. Just... yes, yes, yes! Please support this artist if you ever want art done! Pricey but just look at this art. So worth it! Check out the end of the chapter for the full image without text!

Also!!!! Check out my side blog if you’re curious about what fics I’m reading! You’ll find alot of j u i c y stuff and please support my friends by reading and commenting on their stories as well! Love <3

                                                                                                         [next]

Nothing started your morning off better than the princess screaming her head off first thing in the morning. You, along with other servants, rushed to aid the princess in her time of distress. Although, it was never something to worry about with her. It was always something minor, like her hair was styled incorrectly or she didn’t like the color of clothes her servant picked out. Of course, this time, she was making a fuss that her perfume didn’t smell right.

“Your highness, I promise you, it’s the same one,” one of the servants who aided her in the morning pleaded for her life.

“No! You must have switched it out because it smells nothing like mine!” the princess screeched. The princess was so outraged that she started throwing everything and anything that was around her. Clothes, jewelry, candles, mirrors, anything she could get her hands on, she threw it. You and the other girls that just arrived could only watch in horror as her whole room becomes a mess with her belongings, some broken some completely shattered.

You wanted to say something. But you knew you couldn’t. If you stepped out of line or even talked back to any of the royals, you were surely to be punished severely later. Yet, you wanted to say something so bad. It was on the tip of your tongue. Because you knew the reason why it may smell different to the princess. To help your fellow friend in desperate need, you were going to say it. You pray to the gods that what you were about to say was right.

“Princess, if I may,” you started. The princess stopped what she was doing, midair, to give you the coldest stare you have ever received from her. You gulped. Well, too late to back out now. You bowed down your head respectfully while extending your hand to take the perfume. You don’t know why the princess decided to trust you at that moment, but she did. She nodded her head, allowing one of the servants to retrieve the bottle and place it in the palm of your hands.

“I believe it’s because your clothes already have a different perfume on it.” you explain. You pick up a different piece of clothing, one you knew was clean and free from previous scents, and spritzed the perfume onto it. “Here, does this smell like normal?” you offer the piece of clothing to the princess. For a moment, she stares at it, not believing your words. But she forcibly takes it anyway and smells it. The look of realization hit her harder than when she smashed her mirror against the floor. She spares you a second glance before handing off her perfume to someone and faces away.

“I would like to be left alone,” the princess states. After a synchronized bow from all her servants, you left the princess’s quarters and back to your own. When you were far enough, you let out a big sigh of relief. Man, that was scary. You probably shouldn’t be doing that again any time soon. Your friend hooked arms with you, the unexpected force made you loose your balance.

“Your intuition was spot on, once again,” she stated. You could only roll your eyes.

“I was just trying to help the situation,” you explained.

“Yeah, well if only the princess could use her brain once in a while, then she would have figured it out herself,” your friend puffed out her cheeks in annoyance.

“Well maybe her highness wasn’t feeling herself this morning,” you tried to defend her. But really, there was only so much you could defend her on.

“Oh, please, (y/n). You know that’s how she acts all the time. You act more like a princess than the princess herself,” your friend finally let the cat out of the bag. You quickly slapped her hand and checked your surroundings. Phew, no one of importance was in sight.

“Oh hush now. Don’t say things like that,” you scold her, giving her a stern look.

“What? You know all us girls think that. It doesn’t help that you look almost exactly like her. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were the princess instead.”

“Good gracious! Really? How could you say that so loud? What if someone overhears you? Then both you and me could get in trouble,” you warned. You knew your friend couldn’t care less. It was always gossip coming out of these girl’s mouths. That’s how news spreads fast around here. And you didn’t mind the gossip. Actually, you participated in the gossip too. There was a lot of downtime when you weren’t attending to the princess. So what do you do instead? Gossip. But you couldn’t have this type of gossip going around. This was dangerous.

The main girl who caused the princess to get upset, finally left the room. She was visibly traumatized by the whole event. Who wouldn’t be? Dealing with the princess is something else.

You noticed that the girl was bleeding from her finger. She must have gotten it when the princess was throwing glass around the room and it some pieces cut her.

“Come with me,” you gently grabbed her by the arm and led her to a room that was filled with different plants and bottles. The aroma immediately felt welcoming to anyone who stepped in. You went to a part of the room that you knew well and pulled out a bandage.

“This should do the trick,” you say as you finish wrapping her finger up.

“Thank you. How did you…”

“Oh, I learned a few things from the royal doctor. Sort of like an apprentice?” you explained. Being a servant isn’t the only task you knew how to do. On your spare time, you would come to the royal doctor and assist him whenever needed. In return for your volunteer, he taught you everything he knew about medicine. It was still a lot to process, but at least you knew how to do basic first aid.

“Are you even allowed to do that?” the girl asked. You thought for a minute. Was it? It wasn’t stopping you now.

“Well I guess it’s our little secret,” you put your finger to your mouth and gave a small wink.

After properly getting ready, you and the girls rushed to the princess’s side for it was your job to get her ready to be sent of and wedded. And she was not getting wedded off to just any prince. It was the rumored Blood Prince. Ah, yes. You heard much about this Blood Prince. He was the most vicious out of all the princes in the kingdom. Even more so than his eldest brothers. He was rumored to have sharp teeth and eyes that could kill with a single look. He was told to have scars marked all over his body from the battlefield. An ugly being, you imagined. Big, scary, intimidating, ruthless. God, you felt sorry for the princess for marrying such a man. You couldn’t imagine yourself marrying that type of person. Hearing stories about him made your blood run cold and chills down your spine.

You entered the princess’s room where a beautiful, white wedding dress, flowy, magnificent and perfect in all the right ways, was being fitted on the princess. You watched in awe because she looked absolutely fantastical in the dress. What a dream it would to be wear that dress only once in your life. At the same time her dress was being fitted, some servants were doing her hair and putting decorative pins and head pieces on. It was very chaotic in the room, with servants running everywhere, but it was all worth it for the princess to look this way.

You were preparing water for her hands and feet to soak while some of the girls that came with you were deciding which robe that best fits with her wardrobe.

“Your highness looks so lovely,” you commented, gently soaking her hands into warm bowls of water.

“Of course! I have to look my best for a special guest this afternoon,” the princess said in a cheery voice. You tilted your head slightly in confusion. You weren’t aware that the Blood Prince was coming to the palace. You thought the princess was being sent to him instead. You looked up and came into contact with a friend and she was speaking with her eyes.

She doesn’t know. She signaled to you. You frowned.

She doesn’t know?

She does not know.

Your mouth was left slightly ajar. The princess does not know that she is off to be engaged any moment now? This was a dilemma. She thinks a guest is coming. That’s why she’s dressed so much fancier than usual. But when she finds out that she is to be engaged, she’s going to wreck havoc in the palace. Now you really didn’t dare say anything now.

After finding out that very important piece of information, you could see that all the girls in the room knew, besides the princess. The tension in the room was growing increasingly more uncomfortable as time went on. But the princess was so air headed that she couldn’t read the room.

The princess was over the moon with happiness. And it was only because she could wear her fancy and expensive gowns that she can’t wear on the daily. She was skipping down the long corridors, humming a tune to only she knows as you and other servants follow behind her.

“Isn’t this dress beautiful? I feel like I’m in a wedding dress!” the princess exclaimed. You couldn’t help but raise a brow. Well, it’s because the princess is really in a wedding dress. But the princess did look beautiful beyond compare. She almost looked ethereal dancing in front of you like that. As the princess was dancing down the corridor, she passed by one of many large windows that gave a view of the front of the palace. A carriage was waiting to take her away to her fiancé, but she didn’t know that. Or did she?

She stopped in her tracks to take a better look at the carriage outside. A frown laid upon her lips and her eyebrows rightfully furrowed.

“Is that my carriage down there?” she questions. The ladies around you looked at each other, not knowing what to say. But even if they did know what to say, who was going to say it? One of your friends cleared their throat and bowed down to respond to the princess.

“It is, your highness,” she said.

“Whatever for?” a round of gulps could be heard from everyone there.

“For…your trip to your betrothed,” the girl’s voice shook from fear that the princess was going to blow up.

“My betrothed?” the princess repeated.

“Yes, your highness.”

“As in, to marry?”

“Yes, your highness.”

It was quiet. Nothing more came out of the princess’s mouth. And that scared all of you. This was not the normal reaction you were expecting. You expected her highness to rage, cry, scream, yell, destroy everything around her. But no. She was silent, like her tongue was ripped out of her throat.

In one quick movement, the princess turns around and dashes back to her bedroom. And who does she bring along? You! Before you could comprehend anything, the princess had taken you by the hand and now you were running down the corridor with the princess. The other ladies were running after you. When you turned back to look, you even saw a couple of guards running as well. But it was too late for them. The princess got to her room first, slammed the door closed, and barricaded the door with chairs to prevent anyone from coming inside.

“Your highness,” you call, out of breath from the sudden running. The princess didn’t answer you. She started taking off her dress, sending you into complete shock.

“Your highness! What are you doing?” you panicked. She only glared at you while not stopping what she was doing.

“Enough talking. Just take off your clothes,” she ordered you. You bit your lip. You had no idea what was going on but if she demanded it, then you had no choice but to obey. So, you stripped yourself of your filthy clothes and laid them on the floor. While you stood in front of the princess naked, she was getting the remaining of her clothes off. Then, she passed you her dress.

“Quick, put it on,” she said. You hesitated at first. You? Wear something only a princess could wear? But you couldn’t stall any longer. As quickly as you could, you put on the flowy wedding dress while the princess put on your peasant clothes. Banging was coming from the other side of the door, which only made both of you panic even more. If they came in while all this was happening, you would get into so much trouble. As soon as you both got situated in your new outfits, the princess gripped your shoulders so that you were looking her right in the eyes.

“Listen to me closely. You are going to take my place. I’ll be you and you’ll be me until you come back,” she shouted at you in a whisper.

“Your highness?” you began but she shut you up because she wasn’t finished.

“Your mission is to make this prince hate you so much that he calls off this marriage. Then you’ll return and everything will go back to normal,” she continued. It looked like she wanted to say more, but your time together was cut short. The guards had already pushed their way through the door and charging their way towards you. The princess, who was now dressed as you, quickly covered your face with the veil. The veil was thick enough that no one could see your eyes or face.

“Take the princess,” one of the guards ordered. The real princess bowed her head down, faking it until the end. The guards went straight up to you, grabbing you by both of your arms and forcibly escorted you out to the carriage.

And so there you were, on your way to some unknown kingdom, about to marry some man you didn’t even know. All because the princess ordered you to. No matter how much you hated the idea, you couldn’t even voice your opinions to her. You were in no position to do so. Before you left the palace grounds, you looked back, hoping that this was all some sort of sick joke. But the princess was looking down at you from the window, giving you a nod of trust. She trusted you. You had to fulfil her request.

This is how you found yourself in the presence of the most vicious Blood Prince, Bakugou Katsuki.

A/N: Let me know if you want to be put on a tag list! And leave your thoughts below about the first chapter! What did you think so far? How do you think the story is going to go? What did you think about the art? Speaking of art, here is the full image unedited! Are you in love with it just as much as I am?

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

Summary: Elain Archeron and Azriel - in love, in lust, in Italy

Modern AU *slight TOG crossover. If you read my stuff, you know it’s LONG

Warnings: bad language and THIS IS NSFW (not kidding, this is a story, not just sex, but there is a LOT of explicit material here. You can still read the story, but if you are sensitive or underage, skip the naughty bits)

Comments are always appreciated/wanted/needed. Anon or not, just do it! Obviously, reblogs are appreciated. 

Part I (Flowers)

 La Vie En Rose

De l'homme auquel j'appartiens (Of the man to whom I belong)  Quand il me prend dans ses bras Il me parle l'a tout bas (He speaks to me softly) Je vois la vie en rose (And I see life in pink) Il me dit des mots d'amour (He speaks words of love to me) Des mots de tous les jours (They are every day words) Et ça m' fait quelque chose (And they do something to me) Il est entré dans mon coeur (He has entered into my heart) Une part de bonheur (A bit of happiness) Dont je connais la cause (That I know the cause of) C'est lui pour moi (It's only him for me) Moi pour lui dans la vie (And me for him, for life)

Now

Riding in a Ferrari, being enveloped in its supple, buttery leather, gulping in the cypress and cedar-scented air of Tuscany was everything that Elain Archeron had ever wanted. She never knew that this is what she wanted, because riding in very fast, very expensive, sleek Italian cars wasn’t on her ‘fantasy radar’, but now that she was in one, she suddenly came to the realization that this was perhaps one of the best experiences of her life.

The whole thing, so far, has been the best experience of her life.

Well…maybe not the best-best.

Her happiness was deeply intertwined with and caused by the man in the driver seat of the said Ferrari—Azriel. Azriel Archeron, as he loved calling himself. Even if this wasn’t his last name, he preferred using it over his family name, for a variety of personal reasons. There was nothing better, more sublime, more beautiful and more loving than Azriel. The perfect male specimen, if she could say so herself. No one would argue with her assessment either.

Elain

 They were introduced by her sister’s then-boyfriend Cass, who was giving her a lift one afternoon, and then suggested that they stop by Azriel’s car atelier, because he needed to pick something up.

Elain’s heard of the mysterious Azriel from her sisters, both of whom had claimed that he was the most handsome man that either one of them had ever seen. Elain chuckled at the exuberant praise, doubting its truthfulness. There was no such thing as the ‘most handsome’ man. Beauty was in the eyes of the beholder.

She wasn’t sure what a car atelier was, and when Cassian pulled up to a modern-looking building, she said that she’d stay in the car and wait.

“Come on, petal, don’t be shy,” Cassian urged her, holding the car door open for her in a way that indicated that she’d have to get out and follow him.

They entered the foyer, a vast space with racing stripes painted on the polished cement floor, and a sea of model cars dropping from the ceiling. Behind a wall of glass, Elain spied a row of gorgeous cars, none of which were familiar to her. Some unique European models, fit for James Bond’s consumption. There were also neat antique cars, probably from the 50s. She immediately had visions of Grace Kelly and Cary Grant riding in one of these along the Riviera coast.

“What’s this place?” she inquired, looking around at the mid-century modern building that resembled a spaceship.

“This is Az’s baby,” Cass explained vaguely. “Conceived, conceptualized, restored, outfitted—all by the brilliant mind of one Azriel Bagarat.”

“Are you bragging?”

A deep, sensual voice, that could only be called ‘midnight’ sounded behind them, and Cassian’s handsome, tanned face broke in a mischievous smile. “Only about you, brother!”

When Elain turned around, her breath was knocked out from her lungs.

She didn’t know that it was possible, to be actually stunned by someone’s beauty, but there she stood, gaping, feeling the world slow and move in a different manner for a few moments.

Standing at a towering 6”4 or so, the man was at least as tall as Cassian, and Cassian was the tallest man Elain’d ever met. She was just as muscular, but not as bulky. Clad in all black, from expensive, well-tailored Diesel jeans, to a soft t-shirt that stretched over his sharply cut torso, emphasizing the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders, and the narrow waist, true to her sisters’ word, this Azriel was simply exquisite.

Cassian draped his heavy arm around her shoulders and nudged her forward, just a bit, and said,

“Petal, say hello! This is my brother, Azriel. Az, this is my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, the one and only Elain Archeron.”

At the words ‘sister-in-law’ Elain whipped her head to Cassian, who grinned maniacally at her, nodding and answering her silent question.

“When? What are you talking about?” she exclaimed, Azriel momentarily forgotten. “What do you mean? You’ve only been seeing each other for like three months?!?”

“Baby girl, I don’t need three years to decide…Nes is Nes and she is the one for me.”

He shrugged with his usual ease, acting like they were discussing the weather or a good burger that he just ate.

“If Nes hears even a whiff of this, I will know it’s you, petal, and well, I am not sure what I will do,” he decided upon reflection, but then pleaded, “please, don’t tell her. This one,” he nodded towards Azriel, who was standing still, green eyes peeled to Elain, “I can trust. He hardly ever talks,”

“That’s because you talk for all of us,” noted Azriel with a smirk.

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

He extended his hand to her, with an odd, tentative movement, and when she looked down, she saw old, mottled scars that covered his palm and part of his wrist and forearm. A vintage Patek Phillipe on his wrist.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, and he gave her a surprised look, unsure of what she was referring to.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet another Archeron sister,” he said with a soft smile, which made Elain lose her ability to speak for a good few moments, because she was finally able to take in that face that defied description. The sharp cheekbones and the mesmerizing amber and emerald eyes, almond-shaped and slanted hinted at a varied heritage, and unfairly, the man also possessed a perfect nose, and a full, sensuous mouth. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with skin of burnished bronze, which was so in contrast to his bright eyes and raven-black hair, cut in a fashionable undercut. The physique, as she already noted, quickly skimming over the body, matched the face.

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

Graceful, like a courtier, he offered her his arm and said,

“Would you like me to show you around?”

She didn’t want to be impolite, though she suddenly felt sweaty and nervous, and completely out of her league. But she threaded her hand through his arm and lightly squeezed the firm, alarmingly thick bicep.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

She wasn’t sure what she was thinking him for, so she added, “yes, I’d love to see it.”

“Why haven’t we met?” he inquired, those green eyes watching her with such intensity that she felt almost undressed, bared under the gaze. It wasn’t unpleasant, because it wasn’t lascivious, and he didn’t strike her as someone who’d be disrespectful to women.

“I’ve been busy for the past half a year,” she explained.

“Doing what?”

They walked down the wide passage, past all the cars, which Azriel pointed out with a wave of his scarred hand, and dropped names like Pagani, BMW I8, Bugatti Divo, Bugatti Centodieci, Lamborghini Veneto, Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita and so forth. Elain might not have known a ton about cars, but she was not so unaware not to know that a Bugatti and a Lambo were expensive cars.

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

“I was opening my own business,” Elain said, her head thrown back, looking at an entire toy racetrack mounted to the ceiling, with cars zooming by, and somehow, not falling on patrons’ heads.

“What sort of business?”

“Flowers,” she said absently, once they reached another space—a two story-restaurant, bar, and a patio outside as well.

“Flowers?”

“Oh, a flower shop,” she explained at last. Then muttered, awed, “this is really incredible!”

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

She didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, her hand migrated from the crook of his arm to his hand, and now, they walked along the walls lined with Ferrari posters, memorabilia and expensive everything. Walking and holding hands.

“I wouldn’t call myself one,” she admitted, “but I find cars aesthetically pleasing…Never got to ride in anything fancier than a Mercedes or a Lexus,”

“Well, we should remedy that at once!” he decided easily and then said, “pick you up on Friday at seven?”

That sobered her up a bit and she turned to face him. They stopped at the long, chrome-lined bar, and he said, “An espresso?”

“Um,”

But before she could respond, he was behind the counter, playing with a very fancy coffee machine that required a PhD to operate with all the levers and hooks and buttons, and in a few minutes, he poured her a tiny cup of coffee, thick with natural foam, and heady with its enticing scent.

He chugged his own in one go and she followed him, gulping her espresso in two sips. It was better than anything she’d ever drunk in her life.

“Like a date?” she finally asked, truly confused by the offer.

“Would you like it to be a date?” he leaned on the bar, biceps flexing, his arms covered in tattoo sleeves that reached all the way to his fingers. They were quite beautiful, the tattoos, the placement and the design, and Elain recognized the style, since Cassian and Rhysand wore the same kinds of tattoos, if not so extensive.

“Did you draw these?” she asked bluntly, touching her finger to a thick snaking black line, which was shaded with cobalt.

He looked down, at her hand and his arm and nodded, following her finger with his eyes.

“I did. For the three of us. When we made Navy Seals,”

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

He smiled and nodded, “Well, we all grew up in foster care—not all, Cass and I,”

“I heard,”

“Until Rhys’s parents adopted us. But we weren’t the…best of boys,” he chortled, “so to get our heads straight, we were sent to the Navy after school. We figured we’d only stay a bit, but we stayed for a while.”

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

“How old are you?” she blurted. Then blushed and said, “I am sorry. I am usually not so impolite,”

He laughed, “I figured. But that’s alright. I’ll tell you on Friday, though. If you don’t mind?”

“I mean, I don’t mind,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to her espresso cup, “but,”

“How about this—I take you on a drive in one of these fancy cars—and then you can brag to everyone that you’d driven in a,”

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

“Throw something at me,” he urged, eyes glinting with feral delight.

Elain, blush deepening, finally said, “Do you have a Ferrari? I’ve always wanted to drive in a Ferrari.”

“Ahhh, a Ferrarista at heart!” he nodded with approval, folding his arms on his chest, “stick with the classic and the best. And yes, gorgeous, I do have a Ferrari or two.”

Gorgeous.

Azriel

The girl who’d arrived with Cassian, was not Nesta, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. The girl who’d arrived with Cassian was the most gorgeous creature that Azriel had ever seen. Gorgeous and completely unaware.

Women like her, if they were smart and cunning and ambitious, used their beauty for all things good and terrible. But this exquisite creature that Cassian was so blatantly hugging and teasing wasn’t one of those women. Azriel was all too familiar with the types—the maneaters, who hounded him like sharks. He was wealthy, and good-looking, and a decent person, if not exactly a saint. He hobnobbed with celebrities who came to order his cars, which he designed and outfitted based on their specifications and desires.

He was finnicky when it came to taste though. No matter how much rappers asked him to clad their Maybach in gold or some vapid Gucci print, no matter how many heiresses pouted and asked for a bubblegum or Barbie-pink Ferraris, he did not betray the essence and soul of the vehicle. Modify, define, sharpen, stylize—he did it all with precision and skill which was unparalleled. But Azriel Bagarat was known for rejecting even the juiciest of offers, if the request did not coincide with his aesthetic or the history of the car.

He was at his shop—that’s what he called it, though atelier sounded infinitely better and more expensive—that afternoon, knowing that Cassian was going to drop by and select a car for his grandiose proposal to Nesta. There was some concern that Cassian would not fit his 6”5 form into an Aston Martin or a Bentley, so they needed to make sure that the car was appropriate for the occasion and the occupant. Cass insisted on a British vehicle, feeling that Nesta would like something classic and timeless. So be it.

What Azriel did not expect to see that Tuesday afternoon was a girl--because he hesitated to call her a ‘woman’, since she looked so lovely and perfect and innocent--who took his breath away.

His breath had been taken away only once before, by Rhys’s cousin, who strolled like a ray of sunshine into their broken lives.

However, Morrigan chose Cassian. And then Cassian promptly impregnated her, causing a great discontent and strife between everyone. Morrigan, or rather Morgana d’Adda, though she anglicized her name, even if Morrigan d’Adda sounded funny, was just about disavowed by her family for tumbling, and being so stupid and blind as to get knocked up by a hulking nobody mulatto, as her father Keir called Cassian. Rather, sneered, at Cassian.

Even if Azriel didn’t impregnate anybody, he somehow got looped into the family bullshit and once he and Cassian turned 18, they were both shipped off to the navy. To the dismay of the entire Darling clan, Rhys followed them, tossing away his guaranteed admittance to Brown. An Ivy League school for rich stupid heirs. Only Rhys wasn’t stupid. Neither was Cassian a hulking nobody mulatto. And Azriel wasn’t just the ‘fucking weird kid, who might be a serial killer’. They served and they passed the insane Navy Seal training, and they proved themselves.

Nowadays, Cassian now ran security for the Darling conglomerate, while Rhys took over the reins when his father was killed in a car accident. Azriel found his own path, though the association with the Darling name certainly helped his exposure and in building relationships and meeting all the right people. And meeting all the women. The three brothers had gone through their share of wild times, but in the past 3 years, things began to calm down for them.

It began with Rhys meeting Feyre Archeron at an art gallery, where she was exhibiting some of her pieces. Azriel had tugged along with Rhys to see the exhibit, because Rhys was looking for some art for his new office, and he trusted Azriel’s taste and knowledge, and wanted a second pair of eyes.

Rhys followed Feyre like a dog throughout the evening—Azriel was there to witness the pathetic display—and then they ended up at a bar, doing shots and feeding Feyre virgin Cosmos, since she wasn’t even 21 yet. They went to some dance club, Azriel playing the third-wheel and ‘chaperone’, though by the end of the night, Rhys and Feyre disappeared together and weren’t heard from for the next three days.

… “What if he killed her?” proposed Cassian for 100th time, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his long black hair. “Or what if she killed him?”

“I thought that I was the serial killer among the three of us,” drawled Azriel, sprawled on a sofa, watching a game. He wasn’t as concerned, having seen Rhys dripping with intense lust at the sight of the brown-haired teen. It was unusual, since at that time Rhys was almost 25, and Feyre only 19, and the three of them typically tried to avoid teenagers like the plague. But Rhysand Darling seemed genuinely enthralled.

“No, you are the guy with the sex dungeon,” corrected Cassian.

Azriel rolled his eyes, “serial killer with a sex dungeon, huh? Sounds like an interesting story. Alas, much as I’d like to, I don’t have a sex dungeon.”

“Aren’t you building one? In that new garage of yours?” Cassian shrugged.

“Only cars. No sex toys,” sighed Azriel, looking like that might have been an omission on his part.

“Gents, I think I am in love!” the door burst open and a wild-eyed Rhys appeared, his normally pristine hair in disarray, his cheeks flushed, wearing only a white t-shirt and jeans.

“Where the fuck were you for three days?” growled Cassian, showing considerable relief at the sight of his brother.

“Falling in love,” crooned Rhys, falling into a chair, a stupid, dazed look on his face.

“You look like Audrey Hepburn in ‘Sabrina’,” noted Azriel.

“I feel like Audrey Hepburn!” exclaimed Rhys. “She is perfect. Feyre is perfect.”

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

“Feyre Darling,” whispered Rhys with delight, eyes closed, tasting the sound of the name on his tongue. “Feyre Archeron Darling. Or Feyre Darling Archeron?”

“You alright there, buddy?” Cassian frowned. “A little early to be talking last names?”

“She’ll be my wife,” announced Rhysand with his usually unwavering confidence.

And that was that.

Now, the ‘society wedding of the year’ was coming up in three months. Rhysand Darling and Feyre Archeron, the toast of the town, the power couple, the young and beautiful billionaires.

 Now, Azriel stood in front of the most stunning female he’d ever seen and for once, he felt like Rhys. His brain turned into a soupy mess, and he found himself tongue-tied and concentrating was suddenly difficult. He wanted to be a gracious host and a confident, formidable man, who had a reputation to uphold—though he wasn’t sure if Elain was aware of his reputation—but inside, he was a mess. All his insecurities, doubts and self-hate rose to the surface at once, and he hesitated to extend his hand in greeting to her. His mangled, horrible, revolting hand, which was sullied beyond its extensive scars. A hand that killed, and touched way too women, some of whom he probably shouldn’t have been touching at all.

“Beautiful,” she murmured softly, that gorgeous blush spreading over her rose-petal cheeks.

He was so taken aback by the comment, he was nearly flabbergasted when she didn’t pull away, didn’t frown or grimace in disgust, didn’t display any of the usual signs of revulsion that most women did when they saw his hands. Perhaps it was the Patek Phillipe, he tried to convince himself, but deep down he knew—she called his scars ‘beautiful’.

And then she took his arm, her hand strong, surprisingly calloused, if light, and small.

And from that moment on, Azriel became obsessed with that touch.

His body heated and as he led her to the bar, and showed her around his pride and joy, watching for the subtle reactions, for the gleam of wonder and appreciation in her eyes, he couldn’t release…wouldn’t release her hand from his. She asked questions, took in all the memorabilia and gawked at the cars, and then the guest area, and finally, when he sat her down at the bar and made her a coffee, he stepped closer. Trying not to scare her, or seem obnoxious, he couldn’t help invading her personal space, and stood next to her, pretending to take interest in his drink, while hoping that her arm would brush against his own. Skin to skin.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t shy away.

He didn’t expect himself to ask her on what amounted to a date, because he wasn’t even sure how dates worked. His usual ammo consisted of a brief introduction, an even quicker seduction and then a hook up. That’s how he liked it. He preferred no-strings-attached approach to his involvement with women, and it’s been working rather well for him. He never had to sleep with anyone in the same bed, he never had to make anyone breakfast, there was no room for idle chitchat, and usually no second or third dates. It was so easy.

This fucking girl, with her caramel-brown eyes, her golden-amber curls, her soft lips and that damn blush on her cheeks—she was driving him veritably insane with her unique mix of immaculate beauty and a friendly, almost naïve, strangely innocent disposition. And he wanted to go on a date with her. Without an ulterior motive, because at it stood right now, he didn’t care to even get her in bed. That would come later. He was absolutely determined to have this happen later. But…later.

Cassian

“Alrighty, I think I am going with the Bentley,” Cassian sidled to the bar, and interrupted.

If Azriel was annoyed, he didn’t show it.

Cassian spied them at last, making his way through the cavernous entrails of the garage, with all its gleaming cars, the beautiful patrons who were discussing options with no-less beautiful sales people,  and even on-premises tattoo shop, which specialized in Azriel’s sketches and catered to those who didn’t have money to actually outfit their Bugatti to their heart’s desire, but could at least claim that they got a Bagarat tattoo inked on their skin.

Elain and Azriel were standing side by side, somehow melding together nicely, her pretty dress and high-heeled sandals and piles of loose hair in drastic contrast with Azriel’s all-black ensemble, his massive height and the span of his shoulders. But she did not balk from him. Cassian also noticed that she didn’t react to the scars, which Azriel was very self-conscious about, and seemed genuinely interested in the garage.

It was inevitable that the two would eventually meet, especially with the wedding coming up and all the wedding related brouhaha. However, Cassian wanted to have the dibs on gloating down the line, and reminding the two of them, forever, about how it was he who introduced them. Yes, Azriel fucked a lot of models and rich girls, for whom he, strangely, was a riff on a ‘bit of rough’, while being hardly ‘rough’ at all. Azriel was elegant and possessed excellent taste in everything, and he probably had the best manners out of the lot of them. But the tattoos, the cars, the aura of brooding mystery about him, and his generally quiet ways were like honey to the throngs of women who lusted after him.  

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

Cassian knew Azriel probably better than anyone alive, and even that wasn’t saying much, but he was very aware of Azriel’s ‘secret type’ of woman. Basically, it was Elain. Everything about Elain Azriel would like—of that Cassian was certain. Elain was the elusive ‘ideal woman’ of whom Azriel dreamt, but never actually pursued. Slightly unconventional, soft, kind, generous—lovely, would be a good word—Elain was everything that Azriel never had with any other women.

Cassian could already see the hunger and flicker of completely besotted adoration in Azriel’s normally cold eyes.

He was less certain about Elain, having never seen her with a boyfriend. When he had asked Nesta about Elain’s situation, Nesta shrugged and said that Elain was beautiful, but naïve, dreamy and rarely dated.

“A Bentley it is then,” Azriel turned around, though his elbow still touched Elain’s arm. “You’ll fit, big boy?”

Elain giggled.

“I am not Rowan,” Cassian muttered. “I am human sized.”

“Only just.”

“You are the same height,” Cassian reminded him coolly.

“I am a little more human-shaped too.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and said, “Come on, petal. While I love to stand here and listen to his insults, we gotta go.”

Elain’s face dropped into a sad frown only for a second, but she recovered immediately. Cassian noticed it, nevertheless. His petal of a girl didn’t want to leave his brother’s side.

“Bye Azriel,” she said, taking his hand in hers again, of her own volition, and squeezing it lightly. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said. His fingers wrapped over her palm, and he said, “I’ll walk you two out.”

So, his brooding brother didn’t want to release the newfound petal of a girl.

How interesting.

Once they were in Cassian’s Jeep, Elain looked out the window, a dreamy look on her face.

“Oh-oh,” Cassian chuckled, as he navigated the narrow NYC streets.

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

“The ‘oh gods, Azriel is so handsome!’ look. Oh, he is so gorgeous look. Oh, he is so sexy look.”

“He is handsome,” she agreed blandly, knowing that arguing would be silly.

“I hope that you gave him your number,” he said. “Because if you didn’t, I will.”

“It’s none of your business,” she crossed her arms on her chest, and Cass howled loudly.

“You are welcome, by the way,”

“You are ridiculous,” she muttered. “I don’t know how Nesta tolerates you!”

“Oh, Nes tolerates me and then some,” and winked again.

Now

“My love, slow down a bit,” Elain requested, as the road zigzagged among rows of cypresses.

“I thought that you wanted to make it to Florence before traffic hit?” Azriel squeezed her fingers and brought her hand to his lips.

“Seeing that we are already running late, we might as well enjoy the drive,” she shrugged.

A honey-coloured strand of her hair fell out from under the gauzy wrap that she wore around her head a-la Grace Kelley.

“Good.”

“Good what?” she turned her face to him and knocked him out all over again. By the Mother she was superb in every way, and she was his. He couldn’t believe his absurd luck. Things like these didn’t happen to him. Elain was not meant to be his. Yet, here she was, his lovely gentle girl, who loved him with incomprehensible passion and devotion. His.

The hefty, borderline outlandish ring on her finger was proof of that.

He’d worked hard on that ring, designing it himself, wanting to incorporate everything that he loved about her and about the two of them into the design. The result was this stunner that glittered madly in the Italian sun, sitting on her manicured finger, the skin of her arm kissed by a golden tan.

His beautiful girl loved flowers, and she loved him, so her ring, in its platinum setting was a remarkable rose, reflecting Elain’s green thumb and life’s work. He selected the diamond himself, and the amethysts that comprised the petals, even the tiny onyx inserts, to signify him and the black ink of his tattoos. The ring was both extravagant—especially in carats—but intimate as well, a flower that spoke of his eternal love for this woman.

“I am going to take you somewhere, which I think you’d like,” he teased.

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled. 

Azriel

For gods’ sake, he was nervous. Azriel was not prone to nervousness or panic or discomfort, but this date, or whatever it was, filled him with dread.

He shouldn’t have asked her.

He was stupid and blinded by her beauty, by her deliciously voluptuous body, by the long, slender legs, by her shy, sweet smile. Those blushes. For the love of everything, those fine, adorable, sexy blushes.

She was part of the family network—both of his brothers were now in love with her sisters. It was cliché and unrealistic and unbelievable that she and he would end up in the same boat. Besides, he wasn’t so lucky as to have someone like her accept him. So, he was making a huge fucking mistake. If this was all going to go sour—which inevitably it would, of that he had no doubt—he’d mess up the delicate balance that existed between the Darling, Bagarat and Cavalhe brothers and the Archeron sisters. She’d reject him and then it would be awkward. Awkward for the upcoming wedding, in which he and Elain were supposed to couple up and be together in the wedding party. Rhys said, ‘fuck it’ and asked both him and Cassian to be best men, while Feyre had both of her sisters as maids-on-honour. There was no escaping it. Therefore, it would be awkward for the wedding, and then for Christmas and all the summer BBQs and pool parties and…well, he might just have to find excuses to never attend anything, ever.

But here he was, standing in front of an old-fashioned, cute corner storefront in the Village. Flower displays spilled on the sidewalk, and the windows, along with the marble edifice reminded him of Paris. This was exactly how he’d picture Elain’ store—slightly whimsical, elegant, classic, but modern. Au Nom de la Rose – The Name of the Rose—perfectly appropriate for Elain’s store name.

She wasn’t waiting for him outside, and he circled the block three times before, by some miracle, finding a parking space and leaving the silver Ferrari, and then made his way back to the store, arriving 4 minutes late, which was completely unacceptable. The store was technically closed at this hour, but he knocked and heard Elain’s voice telling him to come in. Some internal pressure inside of him released at the sound of her voice.

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

“Azriel, I am so sorry, I am not ready,” Elain came from behind the counter, looking a bit frazzled.

“It’s alright I will wait,” he assured her, but she shook her head and said,

“No…I just received a huge order. An emergency order for an anniversary party. Azriel, it’s my biggest order ever!”

“That’s excellent!” he found himself feeling genuinely happy for her, if not for her concerned expression. “What’s up?”

“I…I,” she stumbled. “Feyre or Nesta would usually come and help out if I need them, but Feyre is in LA, and Nesta…” she swallowed, “Nesta is indisposed.”

Nes is on her period and is feeling like crap, read Cassian’s text from earlier today. I am going fishing. Care to join? Or are you busy romancing a certain Archeron sister?

Nesta was indisposed indeed, though Azriel didn’t feel like he needed to know the details.

“It’s a 25th Anniversary, and I have to make 25 bouquets and 15 centerpieces. The couple’s original florist fell through and they contacted me, in a panic, and I agreed,” she babbled, tugging on her long braid nervously. “And it’s for tomorrow,”

“Alright then,” he shrugged, “what’s the problem then? I am here.”

She looked up at him, her gaze both hopeful and confused.

“You? What are you going to do? I am sorry, Azriel, I am so sorry, we’d have to postpone,”

“We’d have to postpone our drive, but I am here. Use me.”

“Use you?”

“Use my body,” he chuckled, and she giggled an amused laugh.

“I appreciate the offer,” and when he thought that she’d continue rejecting his offer of help, she did the right thing and was a smart girl, nodding at last, and said, “will you truly help?”

“I am not a flower expert,”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she grinned.

He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and said, “Teach me, Archeron. I am an apt pupil.”

He was. Elain showed him model bouquets and thankfully, he wasn’t dumb or clumsy enough to screw them up, once he began copying the originals.

Night fell, and they ordered pizza and he went to get a bottle of wine from the store across the street.

Sitting on the floor of the store, surrounded by piles of flowers, vases, ribbons and twine, they ate pizza, laughing throughout the evening. She stretched her long, bare legs in front of her, crossing them at the ankles, and he couldn’t get enough—the pretty toes, the pale golden skin and the sexy pink nail polish. He didn’t want to seem like a creep, but he snuck more than a few glances at her feet when she wasn’t looking.

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

He stretched on the floor and tucked his arm behind his head.

She kneeled above him, at his side, and said, “Azriel, thank you. I can’t, honestly, thank you enough. You saved me. Maybe my business too!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he retorted gently, “but this was fun…and educational.”

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

“Well, well,” he drummed his fingers on the floor, pretending to think. “So many possibilities,”

At that, she flushed, and he licked his lips, loving the sight of that pink on her cheeks.

“Let’s make a bargain,” he proposed at last.

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“For my exceptional assistance during your time of trouble and despair, you will agree to an outing with me, of my choosing. To do whatever I want.”

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

“Are we going to do something bad?” she finally asked uncertainly.

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

He drew his thumb over her soft skin and she leaned into his palm just a little bit. Gods it felt good. So good. So good to have her so near, so receptive, so unafraid. But he dropped his hand.

“You think I will take you to knock off a couple of 7-11s?”

“Well, if I am entering this death bargain with you, then who the hell knows?” she shrugged.

He laughed, “Death bargain? A little dramatic, are we?”

She was still sitting there, biting her lip, and all he wanted to do was drag his tongue over it. Kiss her large, brown eyes. Fist his hand around the thick mass of her hair, tilt her head and kiss her until she was breathless.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

He was a rational, controlled, some said, cold man.

Not to say that he wasn’t able to find a woman immediately attractive, or want to fuck her, but this was different. This was unknown.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

“Don’t make me do anything bad,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” he promised. “I wouldn’t lead you astray. But,” he sat up, draping his forearms over his knees, “where do you live? Let me take you home,”

“I can take an Uber,”

He gave her an incredulous look and she nodded without further arguments.

“Where do you live?” he asked, once they were outside, somehow internally thrilled that perhaps, she’d invite him inside. He wouldn’t expect anything, obviously, but it would be nice see where she lived, what her private space looked like. So far, he couldn’t pinpoint her style with any accuracy, an interesting mixture of vintage and modern, of flowers and thorns.

“Just two blocks down,” she said, as she locked up the shop.

He gave her his arm, and it seemed like she almost expected it, because she immediately thrust her hand into the loop and he smiled softly.

The little white shorts and the flowery top did things to him, and he was glad to walk side by side, so to prevent himself from staring at her long legs and her neat, lush ass. He was already a mess over her legs, over her bending and squatting in front of him for the past four-five hours.

It was dark and quiet on the street, and they walked in a comfortable silence, each thinking of something of their own.

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

She cried out, landing on her knees on the asphalt, just barely having the time to brace herself on her hand, and ripping the skin of her palm.

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

Tears glistened in her eyes. Possibly from pain, because as she flipped on her butt, they saw that her knees were torn and bleeding, as was her palm, or maybe from shock, as well as embarrassment.

“Shhh,” he cooed gently to her, “are you okay?”

She shook her head. A lonely tear spilled from her eyes.

“Tissues?” he asked quickly, surveying the damage. Bruises were already blossoming on her scuffed kneecaps, all around the wounds.

She wordlessly handed him her bag, allowing him to rummage through it and he found a packet of old tissues, which he gingerly pressed to her bleeding knees.

“My ankle hurts,” she muttered, reaching down to inspect it.

“Let me,” he took her legs and looked over her ankle. She glared questioningly at him, still in some sort of stupor, not understanding what had occurred, and why she was now sitting on the ground, bleeding.

“You broke your heel,” he nodded to her foot and she glanced down, finally realizing that her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. The impact was so strong, it actually fully detached from the sole of the shoe.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

“You should be,” he chuckled, “you gave me quite a scare. I thought you were shot; you went down so quickly!”

She pushed at his arm, half laughing, and have crying.

“Stop making me laugh!” she ordered, sniffling and giggling. “Auuu, it hurts...”

He was lightly pressing on her ankle, and then said, “it’s just twisted. You’ll need ice, but it should be okay…”

“Ok, Doctor Azriel,” she even rolled her eyes slightly and he laughed, flicking her nose.

“I am trained on how to treat combat wounds and catastrophic field injuries, I’ll have you know,” he said and then gave her his hand. “On your feet, soldier! Let me see if you can stand.”

Moaning and groaning, she managed to stand up, but putting any weight on her foot caused a yelp to escape her lips.

“Alright, come on now,” he stepped and opened his arms, “jump in.”

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

“What are you planning to do? Swing me around?”

“I could swing you around, but I was planning on carrying you home, and then making you an ice pack and disinfecting all your cuts.”

Without waiting for her to decide, he scooped her off the ground and she gasped, and he wasn’t sure what the little huff meant.

“But it’s like two blocks!” she protested feebly, and unconvincingly, “I am heavy.”

“Ooohhh,” he groaned dramatically, hefting her to his chest, as they started off. “Sooo, so heavy!”

“I am the fattest of my sisters,” she argued, and even in the darkness he saw that she was blushing realizing how silly her comment was.

“Well, considering that Nesta is like 90 lbs. and Feyre 110 lbs., that’s not saying much,” he assured her.

She was soft and warm in his arms, and when, without prompting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, he felt utterly at peace. Because the pieces of them fit. She fit him.

Blood still dripping, and her arms thrown over his neck, Azriel walked steadily, cradling her to his chest, until they finally reached a pre-War building, and she said, “There is no elevator.”

“Don’t tell me you are on the 6th floor!” he laughed, looking up.

“The third.”

“Guess I will have to haul the fattest of the Archeron sisters to the 3rd floor!” he sighed, and she smacked his arm, protesting,

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

 Her apartment was small, but she’d arranged the furniture in such a way that everything seemed more spacious, and orderly, without unnecessary frills. Mostly grays, turquoise, cobalt and creamy-white. For some reason, he thought that there would be much more pink and general fluff. This though, this he liked.

He sat her down on the sofa and went to the bathroom to find bandages and plasters and other items. She called out from her spot, telling him where to find things and he finally emerged and began working on all her wounds.

“Haven’t lost a soldier yet,” he told her with a chuckle. He kneeled in front of her, and his touch was firm, but surprisingly gentle, as he thoroughly washed every scuff and tear, and then disinfected and decided what needed bandages and what didn’t.

Elain remained mostly silent throughout the procedure, watching him from under her lashes.

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

“Everyone just says how handsome you are,” she lay her head on the back cushion, watching him. He gave her a painkiller, and it was making her drowsy. It was also late. She rarely stayed up this late. “But you are also very nice,” she added.

Elain

She woke up that morning, and was struck by the unfamiliar environment. And pain.

Her knees ached and screamed and hurt, as did her palm.

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

She found herself on her sofa, haphazardly covered by a throw, and with her legs resting on Azriel’s lap.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

She was a clumsy cow, as always, but the incident was unusually embarrassing, even for her. She always spilled or dropped stuff on herself, tripped, stumbled, and fell on her ass at inopportune times, but last night…By the Mother!

The man was gosh darn saint. Not only did she screw up their evening plans, made him work and make bouquets with her, which, probably wasn’t the most exciting thing for him to spend the evening on, but she also almost ate the pavement, and then he carried her for half a mile! And cared for her when they came here. And spent, what must have been a horribly uncomfortable night in a half-seated position, with her, no doubt, pushing at him with her feet.

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

Good going, Elain. Fine job you did of this ‘relationship’. Now, for the rest of her life, she’d be forced to see him at family gatherings, probably with some stunning model of a wife, and he’d always remember her as the girl who tore her heel on the pavement.

She wanted to cry.

Not that she ever, even for a second, believed that this would go anywhere. Her and Azriel. That wasn’t possible. Things like these didn’t happen to her. She was strange and solitary and even if others claimed that she was pretty, going so far as to call her ‘beautiful’, she never felt like that. When Nesta got mad at her, she’d call her a ‘petty idiot’ and Elain felt like that more frequently than she cared to admit. And Azriel…he was cut from a different cloth. He was…

She looked at his face, still perfect, but ever so slightly relaxed and softened in sleep, his eyelids heavy and enviably long, thick lashes fanned over his golden-brown cheeks. He was funny, with a quick, dry sense of humour, intelligent and interesting, and when they talked last night, she couldn’t get enough! He told her fascinating stories from his time in the Navy, about his dream, which resulted in the creation of his beloved garage. It took him three years to open the place—conceptualize what he wanted, how to deliver it, the items to showcase. The result was not just the ‘garage’, but also the popular bar, and recently, a restaurant as well.

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered, squinting at her. “How are you? How’s the pain?”

“Azriel,” she murmured, not even knowing how to thank him, but she attempted, “I want to,”

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

“May I make you, or us, pancakes?” he proposed. “I’ve been sort of thinking about this all night. How I’d like to make you pancakes,”

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

“No, no. My Italian mother would tell you that you should never thank anyone for providing medical help,”

“Why?”

“According to my psychotically superstitious Italian side of the family, the remedy or healing won’t take, if you offer thanks. Imagine, I was forbidden from ever saying ‘thank you’ to a doctor,”

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

“Mom’s side is half Neapolitan and half from Lazio—near Rome.”

He sat up and rolled his neck.

“Can I at least say that I am sorry that you had to be so uncomfortable and sleep on the couch?” she asked.

“It’s alright. Not the best night I’ve ever had, but not the worst one either. The company was nice too,” and he patted her legs.

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

But she didn’t allow herself to have it take root.

Maybe not until he gathered her legs together on his lap and drew his fingers up and down her calf.

“But really, how is the pain?” he asked at last, watching her with his intense, warm eyes. The eyes didn’t warm frequently, it seemed, but when they looked at her—

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

“It’s fine,” she waved her hand, not wanting to burden him any longer with her dumb injuries.

Those long, scarred fingers glided over her skin, and a small smirk touched his lips, “May I kiss it better?”

She blinked at him.

“I hear that I am very good at making pain go away,” he added proudly, and then, his lips descended on her scuffed and bruised knees. She kissed each one, tenderly, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, and pressed his mouth to the inside of her palm. Her breath hitched and she stared at him, wide-eyed, as he watched her, unblinking, gaging every minute reaction. He kissed her hand, inside and then out, and then kissed the other, even though it wasn’t injured, and then returned to her knees and kissed them again.

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

…Azriel, by the stove, flipping pancakes was the sexiest thing Elain had ever seen in her life.

Clad in dark slacks, in his white shirt from last night, with sleeves rolled up and the tattoo sleeves on full display, he stood in her kitchen, barefoot and flipped pancakes like a pro.

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

“I don’t know,” she was still perched on the sofa, like an invalid, but after she washed her face and brushed her hair, he ordered her to sit and not make unnecessary moves. “Everything?”

“My repertoire is limited, when it comes to the kitchen, but what I know how to make, I make well. Cassian is a better cook.”

“Cass?” she smiled.

“Nesta is lucky to have him,” Azriel added, somewhat wistfully.

Elain looked at him and nodded. “I think so too.”

“He is a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known. Where my own family failed, he stepped in, though he is a year younger than me. But he taught me…how to be. Accepted me. Unconditionally. Taught me how to swim, how to ride a bike, how to fight.”

“And you?”

“I? I helped him with his reading,” Azriel rubbed his chin, his stance a little tense.

She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he felt like sharing more.

“It was neglected,” he said at last. “His reading and writing. So, we sat together, late at night, at our foster parents’ house and read.”

He then asked, “coffee?”

The moment of reminiscing was over, and Elain did not press.

She nodded to one of the cupboards and he pulled out a tub of coffee and grimaced.

“This is what you drink?”

“Hey, it’s good coffee! I buy it at Trader Joe’s!” she laughed defensively.

“Baby, we are drinking Italian coffee in this house,” he decided, and there was no arguing with that logic.

 That’s how Elain became Azriel’s ‘baby’.

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

 Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Thanks Nu,” Azriel greeted a lanky, very thin, very tall girl, who handed him two packages and then winked at him and disappeared wordlessly.

“My assistant, Nuala,” he explained, showing Elain two packages of Lavazza coffee. “This will do for now.”

Elain hobbled to the small butcher block island that she’d restored from a console that she found at a flea market. “You text someone and they just appear?”

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you do. Are you in the mafia?”

“First of all, rude,” he placed a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her and then poured her coffee, “second of all, I just know a guy.”

“Who knows where to buy Lavazza on a Saturday morning?” she wondered, tucking into the pancakes.

“I have a network of spies,” he winked at her.

She sipped on the coffee, perhaps not as good a cup as he’d made her at his garage, but glorious nevertheless. “Are you in the CIA?”

“Not in the mafia or the CIA. Just a lowly car guy.”

“Uh-uh.”

They toasted with their coffee cups and Azriel said, “not bad for a first date. Blood and flowers. Very romantic.”

It was that morning, that sunny Saturday morning, over a plate of pancakes and some Italian coffee that Elain Archeron fell in love.

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

Azriel turned off to some side road and how he knew where to go, Elain had no idea, but she just enjoyed the scents and warmth of the day.

“You know,” she laughed. “We are literally under the Tuscan sun right now!”

“All your dreams are coming true,” he ran a loving hand over her bare arm and she tore her gaze from the scenery around her.

“My dreams came true when I met you,” she confessed. “That was the day.”

“So easily impressed!” he teased, but she saw that her words touched something in him. His face softened with happiness.

“Az, slow down,” she whispered, an almost painful pull to kiss him spreading over her. “I want to kiss you.”

He looked at her, eyes hidden behind his Aviator shades, but slowed down and she leaned towards him and planted her mouth on his cheek.

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

“Baby, I don’t want to bust up this nice Ferrari,” he laughed. “And you, who is riding in it.”

Pouting, she ordered, “Then pull over so I can kiss you!”

He laughed louder, throwing his head back, his gorgeous tanned neck annoyingly desirable.

She wanted to bite his vein, lick the salty skin of his neck, and then sink her teeth into his shoulder. Elain was a biter. And a scratcher. Good thing that Azriel was a benevolent lover, who didn’t care if she left his body marked with her love, and didn’t mind the pain. In fact, he encouraged it.

His heavy brown hand lay on her knee, under the hem of her summer dress and he said,

“Why don’t I do something nice for you… then you can kiss me…”

“But I want to kiss you now,” she frowned playfully.

His hand slid a little higher, up her bare thigh, and he pressed his scarred palm into her thin, tender skin, rubbing slowly, indulgently. This was just as much for her as it was for him.

She threw her head into the back of the seat, eyes closed.

Until she yelped softly, when his wicked hand slipped higher and higher, pushing her dress up as well.

“Azriel Bagarat,” she murmured, “what am I going to do with you? And your love for public nudity and lovemaking…”

He shrugged oh so innocently and said, “firstly, it’s Archeron to you, and,”

“Not just yet,” she wiggled her ring-clad hand in front of him, “not until we got the paper and all, to make us official,”

They rolled their eyes at the same time and then laughed.

“And secondly, who can blame me?” he leaned and kissed her shoulder. “You are very hot. And I sort of want to fuck you all the time.”

His long, very experienced fingers made their way even higher, until he drew them along the cotton of her underwear, lightly pressing into the cleft, teasing ever so lightly. She shifted against the fingertips, her thighs falling apart in silent encouragement.

Elain was a giving and a receptive lover, innately knowing what he wanted and accommodating both of their needs thoughtfully, and easily.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmured.

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

He huffed his amusement, and then pushed his finger deeper, firmer against the cotton, whispering,

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

“Only nice?” he withdrew his finger in warning and she grabbed his wrist, and thrust it back in place.

“Maybe a little better than ‘nice’, huh?” he teased.

“A little,” she agreed, gasping when he cupped her fully, swiping his heel of his palm against the length of her folds, feeling the dampness against his skin. Bold, as he always was, he moved the strip of cotton to the side, and hiked up her dress ever higher, exposing her to his exploration.

He snuck a glance at her perfectly peachy, pink pussy, bare and succulent, like a ripe fruit dripping with its sweet juices.

He groaned and then hissed, “I am stopping, right now. I want you coming on my tongue in the next four minutes,”

“So confident, ombre?”

She took to calling him ombre or ‘shadow’, when, early in their relationship, he kept materializing in front of her out of nowhere, stepping out of the shadows. He laughed, but didn’t mind the endearment. What’s more, it became a private thing between the two of them—he’d call her ‘rose’ and she’d call him ‘ombre’. It wasn’t nauseatingly sugary sweet and could be used in public without making people gag. Unlike, for example, the Darlings, who, for whatever reason called each other ‘my darkness’. Or Cassian, who sometimes went with ‘schmoopie’, braving Nesta’s wrath.

Azriel laughed, while incessantly dragging his finger back and forth over the wet slit, without doing much else, and making her gasp and squirm.

“That I can make you come on my tongue in 4 minutes? Fuck yeah! Want me to prove it?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she shook her head, “you don’t get to just do whatever the hell you want, when you want it. If I don’t get my kiss, you don’t get to,”

“What? Lick your pussy? I feel like the punishment is unreasonable,” he protested.

She gave him a sultry look, a look that only he was privy to, and then murmured, spreading her legs a little wider for him,

“Maybe I want to lick something of yours?” she proposed, her voice husky, pouring like honey over his ear.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” he choked out, finally parting the soft cushions of her folds and dragging his knuckles over the wet spread of her. The intoxicating scent of her arousal, mixed with the Italian sunshine and the smell of grass, flowers and cypresses was so heady, he almost swerved, stopping only quick enough to grip the steering wheel tightly in his left hand.

Gods, if he was going to make it to their next destination, he would be impressed with himself. But it was close.

Azriel

Elain loved getting fingered. That was the first thing he learned about her sexually—kissing and fingering.

In the privacy of their world, he fingered her constantly.

It was almost an obligation on his part by now, to have her wake up, tucked into his side, while gently, but thoroughly pumping her soft, indescribably tight center. No matter how many times he’d been inside of her, she remained tight, as tight as the first time. That was a blessing, but a curse as well, for all he could typically think about throughout the day, was sinking into that glorious tightness.

When she was finally semi-awake, she rolled on her back and spread her legs in front of him, so he could finger her in earnest. Two fingers first, nice and deep inside of her, as he knelt in front of her and watched her come undone before him. And then, there was always a moment when her eyes flew open, and her back arched, and he slipped the third one in. The plush, warm walls of her sex stretched and pulled to accommodate him, but he went slow and deep, only grazing the sensitive spot in her, making her moan low and begging, the pressure of his hand steady and firm.

She cried and cried into the pillow, head thrown back in utter extasy, her hair a tangled halo about her. She wasn’t permitted to move her hips, his only order in that early-morning game of theirs, therefore she was wholly dependent on him for her pleasure. If she ever did begin a sensual undulation of her hips around his hand, he’d allow her to continue for a few moments, aware that she was lost in her own pleasure, before cruelly yanking his hand out of her.

“Was my girl allowed to do that?” he’d ask simply, and amidst her disappointed panting, her pleading for more, her sweet, innocent “sorry. I am sorry,” she’d beg him to fill her again.

Then she’d lay still, eyes wide and pleading, her little opening vibrating at the loss, before he placed her feet on his shoulders and thrust in her anew. This time, his scarred, rough, brown, inked fingers disappeared in her completely. She buckled and let out a wild moan that reverberated from the very depth of her, because all four fingers were inside, and his thumb finally, finally began a gorgeously slow torment around her clit. She just lay there, tense and unmoving, watching him, the slurping, obscene sounds of his hand inside of her filling the sleepy morning air around them.

Elain came quietly. She moaned and twisted and gasped as he rubbed her clit, but when the waves finally descended upon her, when he felt the tight, silky flesh grip and pump all four of his fingers, which were now pressing up into her perfect spot, the exhale was soft and intimate. Only for him.

Now

“Don’t wreck the car,” Elain muttered, eyes barely open.

“Will this be the second one?” Azriel asked, while Elain wrapped her hand around his wrist and forcefully jammed his hand inside of her.

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

He’d provide her with at least four daily orgasms. So far, he typically exceeded expectations. It wasn’t particularly difficult, because he often played with her at odd times—when they were watching TV, he’d slip a finger onto her clitty and rub her slowly and leisurely, until she melted from the stimulation. She enjoyed it when he bent her over counters or sinks, and sunk his fingers deep and hard into her perpetually ready hole.

Elain, to his complete delight and fascination, was always just a bit aroused. Always, always just a bit wet, just a little damp for him. He’d make an unscheduled stop at her shop and if it was empty, he’d step behind the counter with her, and soon, she’d be splayed over the counter, his hand between her legs. Yes, they’ve been almost caught plenty of times, but Azriel had the ability to disappear into shadows as soon as he sensed someone coming. Sometimes, when someone would walk in the store, Azriel even pretended that he was a customer, buying flowers, watching her patiently, while she got his bouquet ready for him. Never mind that his hand might have been soaked with her slick, or that he smirked, watching her press her thighs together, while she wrapped the flowers, as she avoided eye contact with him, and handed him the bouquet which he’d inevitably bring home for her.

When he was around her, she jokingly complained that she was of constant need for him, and it was his very enviable and pleasant task to soothe the ache inside of her.

 Azriel

Their friends, family, found their relationship perplexing. But Elain kept her sisters firmly at an arm’s length when it came to the discussion of their sex life. No matter how they tried to pry, she gently, but firmly rebuffed them. Nesta complained and said that they were too obsessed with each other. That Elain was too in love and that Azriel was too dependent on Elain’s love for this to be normal. Elain only shrugged and didn’t argue.

 “It’s not normal!” seethed Nesta, watching Elain and Azriel wrapped around each other on the dance floor, Elain’s body shimmying and swaying around her, arms raised in the air, her hips swooshing to the beat, bumping into his pelvis.

“You think they are gonna do it right on the dancefloor?” Cassian contemplated quietly, not sure if this was outside the realm of possibilities.

“He would!” she spat and gulped down her Aperol spritz aggressively. “I am surprised he is not bending her over…more surprised she isn’t agreeing!”

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

“They never—never—argue. It’s not normal!”

The way Cassian saw it, as long as the two were happy, he had no right to judge.

Nesta was a hot pepper. Feyre, an apple—solid, tasty, dependable. Elain—whipped cream—a delicious topping over anything, but especially Azriel.

 Nevertheless, the word got around.

One day, Azriel, Rowan and Cassian were sitting in Elain’s flower shop, toiling diligently over a huge order of flowers.

They wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not to each other, or their women, but they quite enjoyed hiding in that flower shop and arranging flowers. They claimed that they were doing it for Elain’s sake, to help her out, so she didn’t have to hire additional help just yet, but,

Well, they liked it.

At first, Elain wasn’t sure if Cassian was cut out for the task, because the very first try was a little rough.

“Cass, these are not your enemies that you are about to smite,” Elain instructed gently, prying his fingers from the stems of irises, which he was clutching like he was about to throw a lance.

“Pfff, you look like you are about to choke a chicken,” Nesta teased. And promptly realised her mistake, biting her lip.

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

“What chicken am I choking, sweetheart? My own,”

“Oh no,” Elain stepped in between them, hands on her hips. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“Lainey, don’t allow Cass to choke his chicken in front of us,” begged Azriel, working quickly and deftly, and soliciting an envious look from Cassian, whose flowers were in complete disarray, compared to Azriel’s neat piles and methodical assembly line.

“Yes, no one is choking chickens, penises or each other in here,” ordered Elain sternly, while Nesta and Azriel were laughing silently.

“Hehe,” smirked Cassian, “Elain said ‘penis’!”

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

Cassian began rocking to his own singing, imitating the gravel of Brian Johnson’s voice rather successfully, headbanging over his babybreath, bluebells and irises.

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

 As Cassian fussed over a vase, working on each stem and arranging them just so, wearing a little white apron no less, he asked casually, “So, brother, four?”

Azriel was in his own headspace, and he didn’t even hear Cassian, as he was busy with his own flower arrangement.

There was, expectedly, a competition going on—who’d complete the most arrangements in an hour. Rowan, a veritable giant, and Cassian’s best friend, also wore an apron, but a long one, like a butcher, and was significantly ahead of the pack. That bothered Azriel more than he cared to admit. So, he was re-strategizing his strategy.

“Four what?” Rowan inquired, not taking his eyes off the flowers, working like a machine.

“Ask Az here,” Cassian suggested. He was catching up to Azriel with an alarming speed.

Azriel had never lost, so far. He wasn’t going to lose today.

“Stop speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

“Word on the street is that our Az here provides the flower girl with a minimum of four orgasms on the daily,”

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

“If that’s true,” Rowan drawled, “good for you, man. Though you are putting us to shame with this ridiculous offer of yours. How do you keep up?”

“Easily,” Azriel shrugged. “But it’s freaking me out that you two are talking about my sex life so casually.”

“But fucking four? Daily?” repeated Cassian, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Elain, man,” Rowan rubbed the back of his head, mussing his silver hair, “who would’ve thought?”

Cassian nodded, “No offense, brother, but Elain doesn’t strike anyone as particularly adventurous in the bedroom,”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Azriel said simply.

“Very beautiful,” offered Rowan pacifically, “but…you know…Kind of like Elide, I guess. You wouldn’t know it, looking at her,”

Cassian was nodding. “Yeah, she looks like she eats macaroons and reads Jane Austen,”

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

“One is a French biscuit, made with almond flour and filled with a creamy filling. The other, is a coconut concoction that one usually eats at Passover.”

Rowan was chuckling. Cassian was shaking his head, grunting, “you would know. So, does she? Eat maca--,”

“No, she doesn’t even like macarons. And she doesn’t read Jane Austen. She reads espionage novels. She likes Daniel Silva. Any more stupid questions?”

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

Elain and Elide met through Rowan and it was friendship at first sight.

Azriel couldn’t argue—the two women were similar in many ways. Both were on a quiet side, polite, well-mannered. Elain—a ray of sunshine, tall, slender and curvaceous, smiling and affable, with piles of golden-brown locks and warm brown eyes. Elide—the opposite—small, pale, with perfectly straight, silky black hair and dark, midnight eyes. Both—crafty in the ways of the world, charming, when needed, capable of getting into everyone’s good graces, and therefore, getting what they wanted.

“No, no more stupid questions,” said Cassian. “Just don’t know how you two grumps attracted such lively girls,”

“Lorcan and I aren’t ‘grumps’. We just talk when we need to and don’t have the need for instant gratification or to be the center of attention. Something I can’t say about you,”

“It’s not about me,” Cassian protested, but Azriel stopped him, by raising his finger,

 “Now, if you are not going to shut the fuck up about my woman and me, I will spread a rumour amongst your women, that it’s not four, but six. Daily. Let’s see how you measure up then.”

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

 Now

 “Yes, the second,” Elain nodded with a satisfied smile.

 Azriel

 Naturally, today, he woke her up properly, as he always did.

They stayed in an adorable little villa, near Montepulciano. It was everything a Tuscan villa was supposed to be…

including the dust that settled in its 800-year-old walls. And Elain coughed and coughed and coughed, surprisingly not coughing up a lung.

“We can’t stay here,” Azriel said, frowning.

“Where are going to go? We are in the middle of Tuscany and it’s 10 pm,” she reminded him.

Ever resourceful, he dragged the mattress off the antique bed and plopped it down on the floor of their small balcony.

“We sleep here. Under the night Tuscan sky.”

It was a lovely, if chilly night, and Elain would’ve enjoyed it if she didn’t fall asleep almost immediately and slept through the night.

She was still asleep, when the birds began their morning song and Azriel positioned her on her hands and knees, and carefully removed her nightgown, baring her to the dry, cool morning air.

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

She tucked her hands under her cheek, and followed the direction of Azriel’s hand on her hip, rising her butt high up, and arching her back for him.

Azriel loved having sex out in the open. Especially if she was completely naked. He wasn’t overt about it, but the thrill of being found out, the titillating desire to be watched was always present. She knew it. She indulged his fantasies.

“I don’t think anyone would mind watching you,” he whispered hotly in her ear and lightly bit the apple of her cheek. “But it’s also like 4:15 in the morning. So maybe they are still sleeping.”

He settled behind her and she felt his hands on her back, smoothing over the sharp cut of her tight waist and then the soft curve of her hips.

“Spread your legs for me, my love, I want to play with you a little bit,” he guided her, and she followed his direction, squatting inelegantly on her knees, thighs wide apart for him. He cupped her fully in his palm and then pinched her clit, hard, twisting it and rubbing it between his two fingers, until she bit her forearm, trying to stifle her cries of instant pleasure.  He pinched again, then again, rubbing tightly, while he bit her buttock playfully, but hard enough to leave a pink mark.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, when he nibbled on her flesh again, tugging on the swollen clit with relentless dedication. She managed to twist enough to kiss his knee and whispered, eyes still closed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her wet, stretched opening, dragging his tongue around and around the rim, “and you are so nice and wet for me in the morning. My good girl, what do you want?”

“Only you,” she vowed. “Only you, my Az.”

“Let’s fill your pretty little hole then,” he licked on it again, and then slid one strong, long finger inside. As he began to pump her slowly, he proposed, “When I fill you with my cock later on,”

“Uh oh,” she moaned dreamily, smiling a loving smile, enjoying his finger to the fullest.

“I think I’d like to add a finger or two as well. What do you think?”

“I’d like that, I think,” she complied easily.

Elain was not a particularly imaginative lover, but Azriel was the opposite—he had too much imagination when it came to everything. Especially Elain, and what he liked to do with her sexually. What was absolutely fantastic, and he thanked all the gods for this phenomenon, was that Elain was willing to try anything. She was an absolutely willing and eager lover, who learned from him and learned of her body with readiness and joy. He dominated her completely, but that was the nature of their relationship, and they easily fell into their roles, from the very beginning. She was submissive, loved praise, and loved being guided and told what to do. More than anything else, she loved pleasing him. There was never any pull and push, no competition, no power struggles. Elain was made for him, created and carved from something that was innately his, whether it was his body or his mind, and they lived and loved harmoniously. He complimented her perfectly: her temperament, her needs, her wants. He treated her with admiration, gentleness, adoration and respect, and while his own expectations were high, she met them all with ease. She took control when she needed to. Received what she wanted from him, however she needed to. And he gave and gave.

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

Perhaps that’s what they were. Or maybe, they were even more than that.

Azriel stretched his legs on either side of her curved body and then added another finger inside of her sopping, slippery opening, reaching deep into her and pumping her firmly.

“Auuuu, babe, it’s good…” she squealed, “it’s so good.”

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her buttocks apart with his available hand and swept his tongue over the tiny opening, causing her to seize with surprise and pleasure. Instinctively, she moved her hips against his tongue, pushing her backside into his lips. He licked the little hole in earnest, dragging his tongue back and forth between both of her openings, making her tremble and shudder every time his tongue reached one or the other.

As he sat to the task of licking and sucking her tight hole, he thrust a third finger into her dripping passage, feeling her shift against his face to accommodate the stretch. It was a lot, and she whimpered and moaned from the pressure, but he knew that she could take four, though he wasn’t in a hurry, and worked her diligently and steadily, his tongue laving the other hole just as eagerly.

She was shaking between his legs, her toes curling beneath her, rapid pants escaping into the morning mists, her hair draping the tiled floor in front of her, even spilling through the balcony rails.

Somewhere they heard sheep bleating and Elain laughed softly, before arching her back even further, not caring how splayed she looked. There wasn’t a part of her that he hasn’t seen, hasn’t touched or licked or kissed, not an inch of her that wasn’t caressed by his rough hands, not an orifice that he hasn’t penetrated with his magnificent cock. He’d burrowed inside of her so deeply, so wholly, he possessed all of her and she knew what it’s like to truly be part of another person, to be loved with egregious passion.

He fed another finger inside of her and she cried out, trembling and grunting, as she grabbed and squeezed his foot with mighty strength.

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

“Love, when you are in labour with our baby, I am fully prepared for the fact that you will break my fingers, maybe even my hand.”

“I am sorry,” she laughed, and kissed his foot, dragging her tongue over his toes.

There wasn’t a part of him that she did not love, did not worship with everything she had. No part of his body remained un-kissed, un-touched, un-caressed. A lazy Sunday, especially if the weather was crap and they had no plans to go out, was her favourite time—she could spend the day loving her Azriel. On those days, she pleasured him. And if she spent hours with his cock buried in her throat, or his balls between her lips, or her tongue in his ass, she was only too happy.

The tips of his fingers crawled into that hidden spot inside of her, curling just so, so he could massage and rub her into a frenzy. He stilled for a moment, to allow her to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, as she bit his foot, trying to stifle her screams. She leaked slowly over his hand, as most of it was situated in her clutching, hungry tightness.

“Very good, my baby,” he praised, kissing her buttocks and then giving her anus a few approving licks, “taking all four inside of you,”

“Oh my god, oh,” she groaned, “it’s so tight…Az, my love, I am so full,”

“I know, love,” he coaxed evenly, his hand beginning a steady, firm barrage of deep, pounding thrusts, “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeess,” she only managed, voice thin, pleading. She could barely hold herself up, so he wrapped his arm around her hips, keeping her ass up. She grabbed the balcony wrought-iron spindles, squeezing them tightly, forehead pressed into the mattress, as he pumped her harshly, keeping her on the verge of constant climax, but pulling back just so, for her to moan and beg him in a never ending litany.

“Baby, you want to come?” he teased, still busy with her butthole, which softened under his furious sucking and if they had more time and privacy, Elain would be ready to take him anally soon enough.

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

“Ugh, you are such a horrible tease,” she complained, biting his foot in spite, and he laughed, before slapping her firm, soft buttock.

“Biting a person who is making you come so nicely?” he slapped her again, and she yelped with pleasure, wiggling her ass, silently asking for more.

The walls of her passage clenched desperately over his fingers, and she made a choking, frantic sound in her chest, now beyond pleading or even moaning. He sucked, and slapped, and bit, and thrust, pumping her open, the sounds of the wet and the skin inside of her completely obscene, and music to both of their ears.

Azriel noticed a man, either a delivery guy or a grounds keeper, watching them wide eyed and shocked from a distance. Probably not something he expected to see at 4:40 in the morning. Not that he made a move to leave.

Azriel opted not to alarm Elain, who was coming violently on his hand, her body trembling and jerking, her beautiful, quiet orgasm sweeping everything in its path. His girl deserved a proper wake up, deserved and needed her climaxes, and deserved to be watched, because she was so beautiful. Her teeth and tongue clamped tightly on his foot, his toes, as she bit and licked, completely undone, turned inside out by his expert hand.

He still worked her hand in her, his thrusts shallow and not as strong, when she collapsed on the mattress at last, eyes closed, panting.

He smiled and finally slipped on the mattress alongside her, though he kept a finger between her folds, rubbing soothingly. She’d bite his head off if he removed his hand from her this quickly.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered at last, kissing her cheek.

“Mmmm, good morning,” she sighed with satiated pleasure.

“Some guy caught an eyeful,” he whispered, but she only snuggled to his chest.

“I don’t care…As long as you were watching me, that’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t mind sliding into your little bum right now,” he confessed, stroking her hip and her curvy backside.

“Do you want to take me?” she offered sweetly, eyes fluttering open.

He kissed her head and smiled, “So tempting, but not here and not now. Let’s jump in the shower and then be on our way. We’ve got a decent amount of driving to do today.”

She nodded.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” she stroked his cheek, the sharp, angular cut of it, the dark bronze skin.

“You did, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

 Elain

Their day was long.

They had their cappuccino and cornetti at some café on the road.

Their trip had a purpose—they were actually driving to Maranello, to the Ferrari headquarters where Azriel had 3 days of business meetings.

When Az told her that he was thinking of going to Italy, it was no brainer to say ‘yes’.

It was the first time she was going to leave her business, her shop, for an extended period of time, but Feyre promised to oversee the operations, while Cerridwen, whom Elain recently hired as a full-time employee and who was Nuala’s sister, was going to be responsible for the day-to-day.

The last time Elain’s been to Italy was when she was barely 10 years old. A few years before everything’s went to shit. Back then, her father completed a very lucrative business deal and there was a lot of disposable cash, so the family decided to take a grand trip to Italy.

Little Feyre who was only seven screeched and begged to go to Disneyland, while Nesta and their mother voted for Italy. No one asked Elain, assuming that she’d go wherever she was told.

The trip was extensive, almost four weeks, and they hit all the glamorous Southern parts—the Amalfi coast, with their headquarters in a rented villa near Positano. Then they went to Portofino, and their father rented a yacht for a few days, the trip culminating in Capri. It was a whirlwind on sun and the sea, of lemons, eating grilled squid, at which Feyre stared in horror, though she liked the taste, amazing fruit, endless pastries and gelato. Even their mother yanking a few pastries away from Elain, hissing that she ‘grow fat and not find a husband’ didn’t mar the experience. Elain, always the plumper of the sisters, was used to the warning by then.

 This time around, Elain could eat as much pastry as she wanted.

They landed in Rome, spent four days there, since she insisted on going to the Vatican Museum twice, hear Mass at St. Peter’s, and she didn’t know if she annoyed Azriel with her endless excitement and tales of art, artists, and biblical stories, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was an Art History major in NYU, receiving a full scholarship to attend. She loved it. Didn’t like college all that much as a whole, but loves studying. When everyone was partying, drinking, fucking and skipping classes, she went to the Met and to MOMA and learned and enjoyed herself. She loved history of religion, of other cultures and though not at all religious herself, none of them were, her knowledge on the subject was thorough.

Azriel, it seemed, liked her passion, her excitement, and listened attentively when she went on long explanation of what this or that Saint did and what grizzly death they’d suffered. And what was the significance of the painting or sculpture of the said Saint. Obviously, he was very artistically inclined as well, though his preference lay in design and industrial art, but he enjoyed listening and discussing. They spent hours and hours meandering the halls of the museum, and of the cathedral, and both spent a good half an hour in front of the Pieta, staring in silence and quiet contemplation at the sculpture, holding hands.

It was when they were sitting at a café, sipping some bitter Campari cocktails and watched the sprawling vistas of Rome that Azriel confided to her. Told her of his childhood. She knew some of the details, but he never talked about his childhood, and she opted not to pressure him. It was clear enough that it was horrific in many ways, and bringing up all those memories didn’t make sense to Elain.

Told her how his father, who was rich and vicious, won custody of him from his mother, not because he wanted his son, but out of spite, to torment the mother. And then it was years of solitude and loneliness and emotional and physical abuse. Azriel’s only reprieve was drawing, making designs, sometimes with chalk on the pavement, sometimes on scraps of paper. His stepmother threw everything out as soon as he made it. He languished in his father’s world for 8 years, until a catastrophic event took place—his stepbrothers doused him, his hands, in gasoline and lit him up. They didn’t call the paramedics either, and simply stood there, watching, as he burned. Finally, the neighbors heard his screams and police and ambulance came at last.

Because he was young, he recovered most of the sensations and feeling in his hands, but the skin was permanently scarred and his father refused skin grafts.

He’d met Cassian at the hospital, who came there having been beaten so badly by his foster father, that he had a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured eye socket.

Mrs. Darling, Rhys’s mother, who was one of the biggest benefactors of the children’s hospital where they were recovering, heard their stories and thankfully, her wealth opened every door. Her influence and wealth were no match for Azriel’s father. Hence when she decided that she wanted to adopt the two boys, little could be done to dissuade her. Azriel and Cassian still spent some time in foster care, while the documents were being processed and all the formalities legalized, but at the end, they ended up with the Darlings, as their adopted sons.

Elain wanted to cry for him, for his destroyed childhood, for his tormented youth, for his injuries, for the lack of love in his life. For his sake, though, she didn’t.

Sensing that he needed her support, she didn’t release his hand for the remainder of the day.

And she told him how much she loved him and how happy he made her.

 They left Montepulciano, and then drove for a few hours and stopped at Orvieto, and explored its unnecessary enormous Duomo, which was situated on the hill, amidst the Umbrian lushness. The tiny town did offer spectacular views and great wine, which they enjoyed with lunch.

 Now

Azriel worked his fingers into the supple warmth of her damp pussy and looked down, before ordering, “wider, Lainey”.

She spread her legs wider, her knit dress folded haphazardly over the belly.

“Wider,” he said and she placed one foot on the seat, exposing herself completely to him.

It was never wide enough for him, for he liked to see everything, liked to spread and open and pull her wide apart for his eyes, for his exploration.

He pressed his thumb to her plump pink clit and began to rub.

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

“I need you,” she moaned, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“I need you too, my beauty,” he nodded, “but I think once we get there, you’ll forget all about me.”

She tsked and announced, “I don’t know if anything will impress me as much as your cock in my mouth,”

He started at the blunt words, her amused grin and then burst out laughing.

“Naughty.”

In a few minutes, he rounded a small green hill and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

He’d never been here before, but he’d done his research, finally finding the right spot.

A tiny hidden valley, nestled between a few rolling Tuscan hills, with a small turquoise lake sparkling in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, a mandatory Tuscan villa.

And poppies. Fields of poppies, stretching as far as the eye can see. A blanket of ruby-red poppies, gently swaying in the pine-scented air.

This place was a damn Walmart painting come true, and Azriel loved it for its kitsch, its predictability.

“It’s gorgeous!” she gasped. Then chuckled, adding, “Like one of those mass-produced paintings,”

At that, Azriel roared with laughter, killed the engine and they got out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

She ran into the poppies, brushing her palm over the petals, “But it’s worth it! No painting can ever do this justice! Az…it’s so beautiful!” she twirled in the field of red, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the colours around her—the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald green of the hills, the blood-red of the poppies.

He folded his arms and said, “I am glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

She inspected all the wildflowers that bloomed among the poppies, picking a few purple ones and a daisy and tucking them behind her ear. Another daisy she brought to him and tucked it into his hair.

“There is a blanket in the trunk,” he jerked his head towards the car, and unbuttoned his shirt almost to the navel, “if you want to picnic,”

“I want to picnic!” she squealed and ran to the car to get what she needed.

Soon there was a blanket on the grass and a few bottles of wine in a basket.

He slid down, stretching on the blanket, toeing off his shoes, rolling his shoulders. This was nice. He also relished her happiness, how her high ponytail bounced about as she ran through the field barefoot, and then began twirling, arms outstretched and singing loudly,

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

“Are you coming here?” he called out, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No,” she yelled, “I am picking flowers!”

“They’ll wilt,” he muttered reasonably, but she didn’t hear him.

Azriel dozed off, surprising himself. But the pleasant heat, the sunshine, the breeze, the birds—all lulled him into sleep. He stirred only when he sensed Elain near, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated by a lovely surprise. He propped himself on his elbows and watched his beautiful girl walk towards him completely naked, with a heap of flowers in the crook of her arm. What she did with her dress he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he drunk in the slim, curvy silhouette of her body, the long, slender legs and the toned thighs. Her smooth, pink sex glistened just a bit with her usual arousal, and full breasts bounced with every step. Her hair flowed behind her, unbound.

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

“I can see that. I like it when you get hot like this.”

She stood over him, her delicious slit taunting him and he made to touch it, but she dumped all the flowers on him instead and said, “get up”.

“Why?!” he frowned. “I am so comfortable.”

“I can make you a little more comfortable,” she promised, “but for that, you have to get up.”

With a groan, he got on his feet, only to have her slide on her knees in front of him. She looked up and murmured, “by the time you are done with me, I only want to have gelato to soothe my throat.”

He swallowed audibly, watching her unbutton his trousers and then his shirt. She removed the pants completely, but left the white shirt on, before placing a few soft, loving kisses on the thick slabs of muscles on his stomach. The well-defined outline of his Adonis Belt she traced with her tongue, inevitably making her way from his hip towards the final destination.

“And I want my knees bruised,” she added with a wicked smirk.

He flicked her nose and shook his head, “such filthy words coming from this pretty little mouth.”

She licked her lips with impatience, hungrily watching him fist his member and give it a few rough, preliminary strokes.

“Gods, your cock is gorgeous,” she gasped with admiration, watching him work himself with practiced determination.

“You like my cock?” he drew the thick, smooth head of it over her full lips and she whimpered with anticipation, nodding, kissing it affectionately, with slow, open mouth kisses, as he continued to pump it lazily.

She admitted, “more than anything. Az, Az,” she begged impatiently, as he smeared a trickle of liquid that dribbled from the tip over her lips, “please,”

“Please what?”

She rested her hands on his thighs, kneeling close enough so that her breasts brushed against them, “I want it in my mouth. Please.”

He lightly smacked the thick girth of his shaft over her half-opened mouth, making her shake with anticipation, smiling down at her. Her eyes burned with raw, overwhelming desire.

“But I like it when you ask me, baby. Tell me more,”

“That your cock is gorgeous and ridiculously huge?” she chuckled, relishing in his rubbing the tip insistently over her lips, as she licked the little slit.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“That I love you and can’t wait to suck it?”

“Alright, babe,” she nodded at last, “I guess you’ll just have to suck my huge dick,” and with that, he slid between her lips.

She smiled around him and pulled on it deeper, dragging her tongue over and under the thick shaft. It was always just a little too big for her, so she gasped, as he filled her mouth more and more, sliding in steadily. She eased her throat as much as she could, accepting the thrust and feeling the smooth head dip down, brushing the back of her throat. He was watching her intently, every bob and swallow of her throat, making sure that she was comfortable enough to hold him in. “Big?” he murmured. Her eyes teared up, but she managed a small nod. Her hands squeezed his thighs nervously, tightly, stroking the backs of them, while he began to pull out slowly, before sliding back in.

Nothing was more exciting than Elain’s ability to mould her throat around his shaft, while those big brown eyes blinked at him, seeking approval. He put his hand over her head, stroking it, then caressing her face, her hollowed cheeks, while giving her mouth a few exploratory thrusts.

She readied herself and pulled back, releasing the cock with an audible pop, and then licking the underside, from the balls to the tip.

“Just like that, my love,” he nodded, watching her tuck her face in the crease of his hip and slide her tongue up and down the sides of his cock. “Is that good?”

“It’s the best,” she vowed, “I love licking!” she added enthusiastically, proceeding to do just that.

He always remembered that she was very innocent and whatever she knew, no matter how sensual, erotic or even perverse, it all came from him. He taught her—gently, firmly and thoroughly the art of the bedroom and whatever they did, he was completely assured that she enjoyed and wanted every moment of it. Thankfully, she was so innocent that she didn’t know how to pretend or fake anything, especially when it came to sex, and didn’t know how to play games. She was eager and loving and excitable because what they did together, with each other, pleased her, and for no other reason. Azriel cherished this level of honesty more than anything.

Therefore, when she said that she loved licking, she showed him just how much she enjoyed it, licking up and down voraciously, over the sides, watching him unblinking. He cupped the pouch of his balls in one hand and carefully eased it into her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he groaned, as she wrapped her lips around the ball and began to suck eagerly, not caring if she was loud, smacking her lips, tongue working non-stop, caressing the flesh. She hummed appreciatively around the balls, sending a pleasant shiver down his thighs, her mouth completely filled with him. “That’s good, my girl,” he stroked her head, “just like that. Keep going,” his head fell back with satisfaction, and she swallowed hard around his balls, almost moaning at the sight of his neck, the expression of pleasure written on his face.

“Can I tell you a story?” he muttered huskily, looking back down at her, his eyes dark and his face tense. Elain nodded. He gripped his cock and then slid it back in her mouth, almost to the hilt, making her choke and gag at once, watching her eyes widen.

She was drooling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of her member in her throat, or from the visual display of his stunning body above her. The thick pectorals, adorned with black and blue ink twitched as he began to pump in and out of her mouth, hard and steady. He held the back of her head, but the clutch of his hand was light and casual, only keeping her in place, as his narrow hips flexed with each deep push. A delicious bead of sweat ran down the cobbled network of his abdominal muscles, slowly making its way to the deep V etched into his hips, towards the thick cock that he was currently ramming into her mouth.

She drooled. She licked and laved and lapped. She didn’t care how messy or ridiculous she looked, because her man loved her and loved her on her knees in front of him.

“I couldn’t stop watching you talk,” he grumbled, “the first time I saw you. Your plump lips…Oh fuck, baby, you feel so, so good,” he rode her smoothly, with deep, expert strokes, “you wore that rose-tinted lipstick…and all I could think of afterward was those lips wrapped around my dick.”

She smiled over his member, lightly shaking her head, as much as her current position would allow.

“I am sorry, honey,” he smiled at her, “this pervy mind couldn’t think of anything else but getting my dick down your throat.”

And demonstrating just that, and the resolution of his dream, he pushed further.

“Alright?” he asked, carefully holding her jaw. She blinked her approval. He was unable to take his eyes off her, her lush lips wrapped tightly around the dark mass of him, her beautiful eyes tearing from pressure. He wiped the tears with his thumbs and then gave a brief nod, “give me those flowers, baby.”

Obviously, she couldn’t glance down, so she blindly grabbed a handful of flowers and handed them to him, her expression amused, a little surprised.

“What’s more romantic,” he murmured, stroking her hollowed cheeks and then pulling out a little, before pushing back in, “than putting pretty flowers into my Lainey’s hair,” and he plucked a small poppy from the heap, and pushed in into her hair, “while she deepthroats me?”

He was heavy and thick in her mouth, salty, delicious and familiar, and as he began thrusting firmly, the thick head hitting the back of her throat, Elain settled in for a ride. She wasn’t kidding when she asked for her throat to be raw by the end of it—she liked being sore somewhere in her body from him, at all times. Between her legs, inside her rectum, in her throat—it didn’t matter, though it was nice if it was everywhere, but she loved being marked by him in some way.

The hum and rumble in Azriel’s throat, that of masculine satisfaction and some kind of primal dominance made her so wet, she leaked down her thighs. But he didn’t tell her to touch herself, so she didn’t. He just fucked her throat steadily, the audible sound of her choking and sputtering around his cock and the satisfied snarls emanating from him, the only sounds around them. His hips rocked hard, pumping deep, as he garbled endearments and praise to her, “is that so good, honey? You feel amazing…”

She squeezed his thighs in affirmation. As he worked on her, he kept putting flowers in her hair, admiring her sucking and his work, “so gorgeous, baby. My beautiful girl…Good cock?”

“Mmmm,” she only managed, saliva bathing her chin and chest, her eyes rolling back with pleasure and exhaustion.

“Can you handle a little more?” he begged, “I don’t want to come yet, my love,” another flower in her hair. “I love you on your knees with my cock in her mouth.”

He set a brutal rhythm, muttered, “choke, baby…” and she did, gagging and panting over his member, the lack of oxygen making her pliant and obliging, her mouth existing for his pleasure. When they played a little rougher, he could request to squeeze her throat a little with his hand, while he choked her with his cock, but today, he was feeling romantic, as was she.

Her hair dripped with flowers of all kinds, as he fashioned her into some kind of Summer Lady. Or maybe a Dusk Lady, since the sun began its descent and shadows spread over the pretty little valley.

“Fuck me, you are so beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at her. “My flower girl, with my cock in her mouth. Bob a little, love, show me how much you like it,” he encouraged and she immediately began to bob her head  up and down on him, drool sliding down his shaft, her eyes pleading for his approval, which he gave generously.

He gently, kindly stroked her face, her throat, feeling his cock deep inside it, moving in her, rubbing at the indentation with his thumb. Then, he cupped her face between his large hands and murmured, “open up”, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, as tears slid down when he started to thrust intently, battering her throat. “My girl is sucking so well,” he was relentless now, pounding and pounding, an Elain thought that she might just pass out from the sensation, feeling lightheaded. Azriel had inhuman stamina when he was between her legs, but that also translated to when he was in her mouth, which meant he could ravage her completely. “I’ll feed you all the gelato myself, if you can suck a little more,” he promised with a smirk, pulling out completely. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she gulped in some air, before he thrust back inside, “are you tired?”

She shook her head ‘no’. She was never tired for him. She moaned, though his cock pushed down all sound with brutal, excited enthusiasm, as he cupped his balls tightly in his hand, readying to finally come. “Fuck, baby, you suck so well,” he squeezed her shoulder, stooping over her, the muscled of his abdomen twitching and tensing, his balls tight against her chin. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand, he cupped her under the jaw and kept her head still, as he exploded in her mouth. He poured down her throat with a pleased, blissful moan, throwing his head back, pumping harshly and erratically, filling her mouth over and over. She sucked and drank, swallowing quickly, gluttonously. Azriel always tasted heavenly, but perhaps it was something about being in Italy and all the fruit and wine that they’ve been consuming, but she couldn’t get enough of him now. He shot rope after rope down her throat and she lapped it all with pleasure. He dropped on his knees, exhausted, his cock still in her mouth, and she stroked and caressed his body soothingly, swallowing the last of him.

“Gods, Elain,” was all he managed, as he finally withdrew in an endlessly long pull from her lips.

She gasped, and licked her lips, before placing a loving, playful kiss on the pink, wet head of the shaft.

“Did you have fun, my love?” she cooed tenderly, as Azriel slumped on the blanket, head her on her lap.

“Baby, why do you spoil me like this?” he moaned, reaching for her bare plump breast and cupping lightly.

“Probably because I love you more than it’s prudent,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “More than anything. Love you like I didn’t know I could love anybody. Also,”

“Yes?”

His chest constricted from her simple admissions, from the pure earnestness of her words, from the love that was shining in her brown eyes. He was undeserving of this woman, of her overwhelming love for him, of everything that she gave him so selflessly. But he listened and listened, because everything she told him was like a balm on all the wounds of his soul, and music to his heart.

Her lips were gorgeously, obscenely swollen, and he dragged his thumb over their plumpness. She added, “you are very hot.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “So you are using me for my body?”

“I’d be stupid not to use you for your body. You got one hell of a body, my mysterious, shadowy Azriel.”

“Well, flower girl, you go ahead and use my body as much as you want, for anything you desire. It’s yours.”

He kissed her hand. Then, reached up and kissed her pretty pink nipple.

“As is my heart,” he added softly. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

She lay next to him, both of them sprawled in the blanket of flowers. She picked a poppy and stuck it behind his ear.

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

He propped his cheek and turned to face her. She was still covered in flowers, from all his handiwork.

“We are good together, aren’t we?” she murmured, laying her hand on his neck.

“We are. We are very good together, Lainey.”

She bit her swollen lip and then said, voice quiet, a little uncertain,

“Maybe you want to marry me?” she proposed.

He stilled, waiting for more.

She squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter and continued, no stopping her now, “I know we were thinking later, maybe next y-,”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Elain, I want to marry you now.”

She gasped, tears of joy moistening her eyes, “In Florence?” she begged.

“Yes. In Florence,” he cupped her face in his. “Let’s go get married!”

[reidingmelodies]

Dinos and Tigers and Donuts, Oh My!

Summary: Spencer wanted one thing this year: for your kids to plan his perfect Father’s Day Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Includes: dad!Spencer, heavy mentions of Father’s Day, mentions and consumption of food Category: Fluff Word Count: 2.6k A/N: This isn’t my favorite, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for awhile all the same! Happy Sunday ♥️

 When Spencer was called away on cases your house seemed to lose a bit of its charm.  Mornings felt more tiring than ever before, the afternoon slumps dragged on for what seemed like years, and dinners, even with babbling five and seven-year-olds at your side, were a little too quiet.

This time around though, things were different.  You woke up to your five-year-old daughter sitting by your feet, her mind preoccupied by one of the search and find books Spencer had bought her the week prior.

The space next to you was empty, a piece of paper lying where your husband previously was, and you knew exactly what it was going to say before you even picked it up.

Good morning, love,

I got called on a case this morning, but it’s local and the team thinks we can wrap it up by tonight.  The kids both ate breakfast- and PSA that they were a little too excited I was going to be gone for the day.  I don’t know what they’re planning, but good luck.  I love you, and I’ll see you soon.

-Spencer

Unlike Spencer, you knew exactly what the kids were excited for, and it had everything to do with Father’s Day being tomorrow- you just hoped he would be home in time to celebrate like he predicted.

You folded the letter and placed it in your nightstand along with the others you’ve found gracing his pillow in years past when your bedroom door opened just the slightest amount.

In walked your seven-year-old son, comically exaggerating his tip toe motions as he stage whispered to his sister.  

“Is Mommy still sleeping?” He shifted his gaze in your direction, all effort to keep quiet out the window when he saw your eyes meet his.

“Mom! Guess what?” you opened your mouth to respond, but your daughter beat you to the punch.

“Daddy left for a work trip this morning!  So, we can make our plan today while he isn’t here!”

There was no denying that your kids loved their daddy, that was for sure.

“That’s so great!” you matched their enthusiasm with ease, getting ready for the day while they kept brainstorming in the background.  

Just last week, you had asked Spencer what he wanted to do for Father’s Day over dinner, and the children were as attentive as ever, eyes wide and lips pursed as they waited to hear the plans for the big day.

But, to their amusement, Spencer’s only plan was that they plan the entire day.  His reasoning was that they were the reason he was a dad so they should be the ones to decide what to do, but really you knew the truth was that he overheard their whispers about having the perfect plan for his day.

A plan you were finally going to be let in on, so it seemed.

The three of you made your way down to the kitchen where you settled down with your breakfast, eyebrows raised in enjoyment at your children.  They were sat across from you with a stash of markers and fresh index cards, and they had a few stacks of previously filled out index cards resting along the center of the table.

Ah- so that’s where they’re going with this.

It had become a bit of a family tradition to have a family scavenger hunt whenever you had a full weekend together.  You and Spencer were all too familiar with the concept of cherishing the time you have with your loved ones, and there were many a weekend where Spencer was called away, or you were busy with a million other plans ranging from extended family gatherings to birthday parties or weddings.

It was all the more reason to make the moments where it was just the four of you count even more- and thus, family scavenger hunts were born.

When they were toddlers, the scavenger hunts centered around finding certain shapes or colors, be it in the house or at the park.  Once every item was checked off you would have a family outing of their choice: the go to choice used to be another trip to the park (the one with the ‘fancier’ slides this time), but with the upgrade to slightly harder scavenger hunts centered on science and math they’ve upped their prize to ice cream.

What could you say? They were Spencer’s kids through and through.

“Wow!” you exclaimed, relishing in the beaming smiles on their faces, “do you guys want to make a scavenger hunt for daddy?”

Two enthusiastic faces nodded eagerly in your direction as your son grabbed one of the red markers.

“Yes! And we can have dino pancakes in the morning and get donuts after our scavenger hunt at the zoo- all of daddy’s favorite things!”

Dino pancakes were a Sunday morning staple in your home- you would use a cookie cutter to cut out a dinosaur shaped pancake, and the kids would eat those while you and Spencer would eat the ones with the dinosaur outline in them (and a few regular ones for good measure).  But donuts instead of ice cream?  That was new.

“That’s a great idea, I’m so proud of you guys for working together to plan this,” you praised, “but why donuts?”

Your daughter peered up from the index card she was drawing flowers on to answer your question, “because they’re daddy’s favorite and it’s daddy’s day!”

“And for our scavenger hunt we want all the animals to spell out ‘best dad ever’,” your son tacked on at the end, already beginning the task of writing numbers and circling them on the front of the card.

That was another newfound tradition for your family.  Now that the kids were learning to read, the two of you would try to have the first letter of each answer spell out a certain word or phrase.  Sometimes, it would be something like ‘I love you’ or ‘hello’, other times it would be the name of a special someone that would be joining you for ice cream afterwards (so far ‘Aunt Penny’ and ‘Uncle D’ were their favorite ones to come across).

You grinned once more, moving to grab your laptop and pulling the Smithsonian’s National Zoo site up to look at their list of animals.

“Alright, my loves- let’s do this”.

***

Three hours, eleven index cards, one snack break, and two very patient children later, your scavenger hunt was finished, index cards clipped and ready to go for the following morning.

Each index card had blank slots, the number of which corresponded to the name of the animal, on the front of the card with three fun facts written on the back.  In retrospect, Spencer wouldn’t even need the slots (or more than one fun fact, to be fair), but you knew he’d make a show of trying to think of each and every animal tomorrow afternoon.

Yet another reason you loved him.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur, all of your energy going into spending time with your kids. But once they went to bed, that energy was refocused into prepping for tomorrow to take your mind off the fact that it was nearing 10 PM and your husband wasn’t there.

You couldn’t bear to think of your kids disappointment if he didn’t make it home that night.

Outfits out and pancakes ready to be made, you made your way to the couch when the clock struck 11:30 PM, ready to settle in for a movie while you awaited his return but there was no need- as you walked into the room your husband made his way through the front door.  He looked as exhausted as ever, but the glimmer in his eyes proclaimed what you knew to be true.

He was happy to be home.

***

7 AM the next morning found you face to face with two wide eyed children gently shaking you awake, joy radiating from them as they saw that their father was fast asleep next to you.

With much persuasion in the form of puppy dog eyes, you made your way out of bed and into the kitchen to start the first task of the day: dino pancakes.  

Your little helpers set the table and brought Spencer’s gifts from the coat closet and into the dining room in the meantime, and as you placed the last pancake on a plate two arms wrapped around you and pulled you back tightly.

“Good morning, darling,” his raspy morning voice brought a soft smile to your face, and you leaned your head back to kiss his lips in greeting.

“Happy Father’s Day, Spence,” you laid another kiss against his lips, pulling back as the patter of little feet made their way into the kitchen.

“Daddy!  Happy Father’s Day!”

“Daddy!  Come see your gifts and eat pancakes!”

Two little voices fought for the spotlight, and Spencer kneeled to the ground to wrap the both of them in a hug.  You laughed at the scene, watching as they squeezed him just as hard before grabbing onto his arm and leading him to the dining room table.

“C’mon, Dad,” your son pulled his chair out and pushed his gifts closer to his seat, “let’s eat and open gifts!”

“Gifts?  You guys know I don’t want anything,” his brows furrowed as he looked at you, but you shrugged your eyes and took a bite of your pancakes in response.

“You always say that,” you rightly claimed, “and we always buy you gifts anyway- it’s practically tradition”.

You had a point, there.

Breakfast passed by in a blur of conversation, dad jokes, and present unwrapping.  And just like that, Spencer was the owner of new books to pass his time on the jet, a 5k puzzle you were sure he’d solve in an hour flat, and a homemade Father’s Day shirt with your children’s handprints decorating a globe, the words ’Best Dad in the WORLD!!!’ gracing the blank space.

His eyes sparkled when he saw the shirt, and you swore you’ve never been happier to call that man your husband and the father of your children.

Granted, that thought passed your mind no less than fifteen times a day, but still.

Within the hour, the four of you were out the door and on the way to the zoo, Spencer’s Father’s Day shirt proudly on display.

You drove with a grin, the radio turned off in favor of listening to your children explain today’s scavenger hunt to Spencer.  They were practically giving a word for word verbatim of what the two of you usually told them pre-scavenger hunt, all the more proof that your kids were sponges.

An equally exciting yet terrifying thought.

You were at the zoo within half an hour, your hand intertwined with your son’s while your daughter latched onto her father, everyone eager to start the scavenger hunt.

“Alright, guys,” Spencer began, “what’s our first clue?”

“Mommy can read it!” your daughter piped up and you nodded, grabbing the small pile from her hands before reading the first card of the day.

“Okay, so!  This animal has six letters in its name, and your three fun facts are: whiskers help this animal detect objects around them which helps them navigate the dark, they’re the largest rodents in North America, and when they’re in danger they slap their tail on the surface of the water” you finished your explanation and watched as Spencer’s eyes lit up in recognition, but just as you predicted he dragged the process out instead of guessing right away.

“Hm, it sounds like we should go to the rodent exhibit first!” He proclaimed, and your kids nodded, walking in a row like little ducklings to the exhibit.

The four of you took your time looking at each of the animals, until you came face to face with the animal in question.  “Aha! I think the animal we’re looking for is a beaver,” his answer was met with cheers from both of your children, and you wrote the answer in the blank slots before continuing with the hunt.

At the end of the hour you added an electric eel, sloth bear, tiger, dama gazelle, alpaca, and degu to the list.  Eight animals down, four to go.

Which was fantastic, considering that your kids were starting to get antsy for donuts.

“Okay, guys!  Are we ready for our next animal?” You were walking hand in hand with Spencer, your kids skipping directly in front of you and eagerly shouting in affirmation at your question.

The four of you stepped to the side, and you grabbed hold of the fourth to last index card before reciting the hints.

“Alright so!  This animal is two words, seven letters in the first word and seven in the second.  They have whiskers that look like mustaches, they’re native to the southwest Amazon Basin, and they have claws on each of their toes but the big one”.

“Hmm.. I don’t know guys, what do you think?” Spencer turned to your children, smiling wide when your son giggled in response.

“We can’t tell you, Dad! It’s a secret”.

Spencer laughed, sighing in defeat as your daughter gestured for him to come closer.  He did as asked, leaning down until she able to reach his ear, “I think we should go to the monkey exhibit!”

Her not so quiet whisper brought a smile to both yours and Spencer’s faces, and a grimace to your son’s but to the monkeys you went, where you came face to face with an Emperor Tamarin.

From there you crossed a Von der Decken’s Hornbill and an Eld’s Deer off your list until you had one animal left.

“Alright, my love- last one! This animal is two words, three letters in the first one and five in the second.  They mainly eat bamboo, their fur acts like a camouflage when they climb in trees, and they live in temperate forests in the Himalayas,” you finished your spiel with a quick eyebrow raise towards your children, both of which were not so discreetly pointing at the red panda exhibit just a few feet away.

“Is it a red panda?” Spencer asked, giving both your kids high fives when they jumped up and down in excitement.

“Yay Daddy, you got it! And guess what all of the first letters spell? Best dad ever!” your daughter jumped into his arms and Spencer chuckled, spinning her around and laying a gentle kiss on her head.

“Is that so?” he asked, “you three are too nice to me”.

Truthfully, you didn’t think it was possible to be too nice to Spencer.

“How about our last surprise for Daddy now, my loves?” your question was met with enthusiasm from your little family, and you were back in your car and on your way to Spencer’s favorite bakery in ten minutes flat.

As you pulled up to the bakery, two eager children and one extremely happy father made plans as to what donuts they were going to eat.

It was decided that Spencer would get a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles, your son would get a glazed donut, and your daughter would get jelly.

And you? You had every intention to get your favorite too, but above all you were just happy that another amazing Father’s Day was in the books for Spencer.

The seventh of many.

***

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[book-of-yanderes]

Hi! I just found your account (and I love that you made it clear that there is a difference between fiction and reality, didn't saw it often enough till now) and saw that you even write for OHHS? Is this a dream come true?? ✨ Could I request a yandere Hikaru with a rather introverted reader who (not only doesn't gets hints) keeps to themselves most of the times, but just have problems expressing that they care for others? You know, the type that say "you should take more care of yourself" when you are ill in a not very empathizing way, but then put a little 'eat and drink this, the medicine is on the bottom, get well soon, dont overwork yourself' note with a little bag of grocery stuff inside his locker? I kinda wanna see him going yandere, just completely madness ✨🥺 You don't have to ofc! Have a great night anyways!

Oblivious, Yet Caring (Yandere Hikaru x Reader)

Word Count: 1129

Warnings: obsession, jealousy, possessiveness

-----

It was the same thing, again.

Hikaru and Kaoru had pulled out a shenanigan that ended up with Hikaru hurting himself.

He didn’t care though. 

As a host, it helped him with the princesses and princes that love him. They worried about him and he would feign pain to have them fawn over him even more.

The one thing he didn’t expect was his classmate Y/N to help him out.

“Seriously, you need to be more careful, Hikaru.” they spoke as they helped him organize his shelf in his bedroom.

They were good enough friends that Hikaru invited Y/N over quite a bit. Although he found he was starting to fall for them with how much they tended to him and cared for him. And sure, they came to support him at the Host Club, but it was moments like this where he found himself growing more and more fond of his friend.

But he didn’t expect to get sick just a few weeks after his injury healed.

“Hey, maybe don’t be at the club if you’re not feeling well, Hikaru,” Kaoru commented as he saw Hikaru trying to hide yet another cough during their lunch.

Hikaru looked at Kaoru with a blank expression for a moment before smiling wide. “Hey! I’m completely fine with hosting! Anyways, you and I are a pair…” a cough cut him off and Hikaru was quick to grab his napkin to cover his mouth.

“Seriously… you should go home and rest.” Kaoru only seemed displeased with his brother’s actions.

Kaoru wasn’t the only one.

Y/N was still in the classroom, organizing their wallet/purse before going out to buy themself a lunch. It was easy to note Hikaru wasn’t feeling well, and that was enough for them to feel sorry for him.

An idea was quick to form in Y/N’s head as they left the room, enough for them to hurry off to the local convenience store instead of the restaurant they first had planned to go to.

By the time lunch was almost over, Y/N was back. In their hand was a delicate and pretty package, something fancier than the commoner’s brown sack for a lunch. Before sneaking over to the locker designated to Hikaru, they checked the contents one last time before slipping in a written note. They opened the door to Hikaru’s locker and shut it. 

Thank goodness the classroom trusted each other enough to keep the lockers unlocked in the back of the room.

Soon, it was time to resume lessons, helping to pass time along.

---

“Just go home, I’ll tell boss that you’re not feeling well.” Kaoru was done with it. He knew Hikaru wasn’t feeling well.

Fed up with how much lecturing came from his brother, Hikaru caved in. “Fine… I’ll go home.”

It was enough for Kaoru. He ended up heading off fast to the music room, leaving Hikaru alone in the classroom. Everyone was gone, except for him.

Hikaru walked over to his designated locker and opened it, grabbing his bag automatically before noticing the foreign object placed on the shelf in the locker. It was an orange and blue bag, decorated in a blue ribbon and a fake blue flower. It wasn’t something he was expecting, but he was curious all the same.

He grabbed it and began to open it, finding the folded note first.

   “Hikaru, I overheard that you were sick and saw how bad it’s been affecting you today in class. I made this little goody bag for you with some items to hopefully help you recover quickly.                                                 Get well soon!                                                              Y/N”

Hikaru set the note down on the desk and went to start pulling out the items. There in the bag was herbal tea, some freshly ground ginger in a small glass jar, and a few cans of his favorite chicken flavored soup.

Y/N did all of this for him?

They really did care about him.

But what Hikaru didn’t expect was for this to make him snap.

If Y/N was this caring for him, then they had to be that special somebody.

He had to be with them.

---

Over the next few weeks after Hikaru had recovered, he did everything to grab Y/N’s attention. Subtle hints of how he loved them, how he was overjoyed to see them, spending time with them also increased.

But Y/N didn’t seem to notice the love Hikaru was pouring out to them.

He was getting frustrated.

Any time he saw them talking to the other hosts when they came to hang out at the club visibly upset him.

When Tamaki went to do his usual approach on a guest, it was the last straw.

“Y/N, come with me!” Hikaru shouted across the room when he saw Tamaki dip them.

The shout startled both parties, making Tamaki and Y/N look over at Hikaru. Tamaki was quick to bring them back up, but they were sdnatched quickly by a pissed off Hikaru.

“Hikaru, what’s wrong?” Y/N asked as he dragged them out of the room and into a quiet and more hidden hallway in the school.

Hikaru didn’t respond off the bat and instead went to corner Y/N, trapping them between his arms. Their faces were only a few inches apart, both locking eyes with one another.

“How stupid are you?” he nearly shouted it.

Y/N only kept silent, mouth agape with no answer coming out. Their eyes were wide, not understanding why their friend was so upset.

“I love you and you don’t even see it! And to allow Tamaki to romance you like that? When I’m obviously showing you my feelings for you?”

The confession mixed with anger was making Hikaru red in the face, although Y/N also now had a face dusted with the pink of the blood rushing into their cheeks. Never did they think Hikaru was in love with them.

“Hikaru… I didn’t know you liked me in that way.”

“Well, I do!” 

After that statement, he pulled Y/N into his arms and hugged them tightly. He nuzzled into their upper neck before having his lips close to their ear.

“You always worry about my wellbeing, how can I not fall in love with that? I want you to be mine and mine alone. No one else’s.”

His breathing was shaky as he continued to hold onto Y/N tightly. He was still a bit angry, but now he was calming down as he held them. This felt right, to have them in his arms. And when they began to raise their own arms around him, he felt joy begin to surge throughout him.

“Y/N, be my love. Be with me forever.”

[buckyownsmylife]

Them - Chris Evans Smut

The one where Chris is your professor.

Warnings: smut, professor au, reader is a postgrad student, so no underage business, but definitely some age gap, reader is very clear about what she wants here, lots of dirty talk

Chris’ P.O.V.

Looking out of the window of the fancy bistro I had been waiting on, I just couldn’t believe my luck. Y/N, the woman I had been thinking about for the last three months, that one that had made me accept this stupid idea of a blind date to try to get over her, was standing just outside the restaurant, looking from side to side, clearly waiting for someone that was nowhere around. 

I pondered over what to do, weighing the consequences of what I truly wanted, but in the end, I said, “Fuck it,” and jumped out of my chair, explaining to the host that I only needed a minute.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I knew I was grinning from ear to ear, but that was just the effect she had on me. When her eyes widened as she took in who was talking to her, I had to laugh. “What? Not used to seeing me in more casual clothes?” I was convinced her chuckle was enough to end wars. 

“I don’t think that can be considered casual, Professor Evans,” she said, but with the cutest teasing smirk on her face. Right. There was a reason why coming out here to talk to her could possibly bring severe consequences to my life. She was my student, after all, and even though she was pursuing her PhD and we weren’t currently in an academic setting, her politeness served to remind me of the distance that remained between us.

“Well, I’m not sure I could consider what you’re wearing casual either, but I must say, sweetheart… You look beautiful.” I took pride in the blush that spread through her cheeks, making her almost as red as the dress she was currently wearing. Fuck if I didn’t want her desperately.

“Thank you, sir.” I was convinced she knew about the effect those words had in me, but then again, it wasn’t like I could call her out on it. Clearing my throat, I decided to change the subject before I brought more difficulty for my own situation.

“So, what brings you here on this delightful friday evening?” I forced myself to look away from her as I spoke, mostly because I felt like I’d been staring for too long. But I’d happily look at her for as long as possible, if I didn’t fear for what she’d think of me.

“I’m guessing the same thing that brought you here, Mr. Evans.” To my raised eyebrow, she simply responded with a shake of her head, her delightful giggle going straight to my pants. “C’mon, you’re dressed like this, on a friday night, and waiting for someone in a bistro? You’re obviously on a date!”

Well, I was most definitely impressed, but that didn’t serve to distract myself from the disappointment that pierced through me at the realization that she had dressed up so pretty to go out on a date with someone other than me.

“If that’s the case, then where is the lucky gentleman?” That seemed to be the wrong thing to ask, by the way her beautiful face fell.  Immediately, I felt terrible for being responsible for sucking the light out of this woman.

“Oh… I guess he’s not coming. I’ve been waiting for him for at least an hour, it was supposed to be a blind date. My friend thought he’d be perfect for me or something. Guess he didn’t agree, huh?” She tried to chuckle, but the fact that she couldn’t meet my eyes was enough to demonstrate how embarrassed she was by the whole ordeal.

“Sweetheart…” I itched to touch her, to pull her body to mine and comfort her anyway I could, but she continued to avoid my eyes, keeping up with her own monologue almost like she couldn’t physically stop.

“And the worst part is that I can’t stop thinking about how he probably walked in, saw me and decided to go home. God, this is mortifying. Why am I even telling you this?” At that, she finally looked up to find me looking back at her, and whatever it was she identified in my gaze at last made her stop.

“Come eat with me,” I offered, not even thinking about what I was saying, although capable of admitting that it was all I truly wanted. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but she wasn’t able to structure a proper sentence, looking up at me with those big bright eyes.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I didn’t know what to say. I was completely taken by surprise by his invitation, but I couldn’t really say it made me uncomfortable. I wanted nothing more than the chance to spend some time with him, away from the university environment.

It was no secret that he was attractive, of course. I knew that, but it wasn’t because of it that I wanted the chance to share a meal with him. It was for all of the little things I’d managed to learn over the course of our meetings, the bar trivia he liked to share randomly over cups of coffee when it would make more sense if we were sharing a beer. It was the fact that his mind fascinated me, and I’d never met anyone who had captivated me so much, so easily, in such little time.

Even with so little to go off on, he occupied my mind. And perhaps half of the attraction came from the taboo of it all, but I couldn’t deny that it was there. I wanted to get to know him better. I wanted to say yes. Didn’t I deserve it, after such a lousy night?

“We shouldn’t,” I decided to remind us both, but he only smiled, reaching out for my hand. The touch surprised me even more, but I found myself accepting it easily, even smiling as I looked up at him from underneath my eyelashes to see an answering grin in his handsome face.

“No one has to know. Come on.” He tugged me in the direction of the restaurant he was in, apparently, some place definitely fancier than where my date was supposed to happen, and with a curt nod towards the greeter, he quickly took me to the table he’d been occupying before pulling the chair for me.

Such a simple gesture, not at all romantic, really, but it sent butterflies all over my stomach, and I bit my lip to stop the giddy giggle that wanted to break free. “Thank you,” I recognized, and he only flashed me another perfect smile in return.

“It’s my pleasure. Would you like some wine?” He gestured for the waiter, his eyes barely leaving mine before returning to me again. “It’s okay if you don’t. Choose whatever you want, I’m usually more of a beer guy myself, but with this being an italian restaurant and all…”

I waved his fears away, rejecting the menu the waiter was offering and pointing to the glass of wine that was sitting in front of Chris. “I’ll just have the same, please.” The waiter nodded, already turning to grab me a glass when my professor called him over again.

“Wait! Just bring us the bottle, would you?” I raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk making its way into my face. If there was one thing I had already learned about the man I was about to have dinner with, was that he loved to be teased.

“Planning on getting me drunk, professor? That’s not the right way to keep me quiet.” His eyes grew big at first, before he caught on to the teasing nature of my comments, and then he laughed, a hand going over his chest as he threw his head back and closed his eyes, fully in the moment.

Chris’ P.O.V.

Fuck, this was exactly what I’d hoped for when I took the chance and invited her over here. She was just so damn *funny. I was thrilled to have this opportunity to spend some quality time with her.

“Oh, believe me, sweetheart. I really don’t want to keep you quiet.” Shit. It was only after it was out in the open, and her eyebrows were raised high, that I realized just how weird that sounded, given the context. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was, I really want to hear you.”

By now, she was pressing her lips tightly, clearly trying not to laugh about my awkwardness, so I saved her the trouble by breaking into a fit of laughter myself. “That’s okay, Professor Evans. If it makes you feel any better, I really want to hear you too.”

… Was she flirting with me? The idea caught me by surprise and sent a jolt of thrill up my body, making me sit up straighter in the restaurant’s chair. I pressed my lips tightly together in an effort to suppress my laugh, and looked up at her from under my eyelashes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she teased, and it was my turn to raise my eyebrows.

“Why not?”

“It makes me nervous.” The answer surprised me. I never considered that I could affect her in any way, much less that one, and so I found myself leaning in her direction, my elbows on the table so I could talk more quietly and she could still hear me.

“Why are you nervous? It’s just me. We’ve been alone in smaller environments than this one,” I reminded her, watching with delight as she giggled but avoided my eyes, opting instead to play with the glass of wine that had by now been delivered to us. I knew she was thinking about the tiny office we shared and all the times we had to ignore this sexual tension as it filled the air between us. When her eyes met mine, the mischievous glint in them was unmissable, and so I braced myself for her answer, knowing it would definitely be something as out of the ordinary as herself.

“Yes…” She started, leaning closer to me and lowering her voice, and while I was sure I didn’t want to miss one single word of what she was saying, it was impossible not to look down at how her breasts threatened to spill from her dress. “But this time it’s harder to ignore just how much I want your cock down my throat.”

I was stunned to silence for a minute, staring back at her with my mouth opened as I felt my cock unmistakably harden at her directness. This was so different from the reserved and polite woman I had to work with at the university, and if that one was already enticing, I had no words to describe the minx that stared back at me with deviousness in her eyes.

“Well, now I feel bad,” I settled on saying, eyes dropping to her cleavage before meeting hers again, making sure she saw just how hypnotized by her body I was. “And here I’ve been, picturing you on your knees all this time.”

I *knew she was hot and bothered by my comment, it was pretty obvious by the way she fidgeted in her seat, squeezing her thighs together, I was certain. There was nothing I wanted more than taking her away from here, and just… well… *take her. Preferably more than once, but it didn’t even have to be on a bed. I wasn’t sure I’d hold back enough to get her close to one, even. Especially when she stepped it up a notch, her heeled foot caressing my leg under the table as she whispered, “I think I made a smart choice when I decided to wear this dress tonight.”

Inevitably, my eyes fell to her breasts once more. It was obvious that I agreed, but still, I licked my lips to be able to agree, “Yes, I’m very fond of it as well.” The corners of her lips twisted up, a clear indication that I’d fallen right onto her trap.

“I’m glad you liked the choice. Wanna know why I’m happy I ran into you while wearing it?” I just nodded, dry swallowing at the thought of what she was about to say. “Because I can’t wear anything underneath it.”

My knuckles turned white as I held onto the edge of the table, practically urging myself not to leap out of my seat. “Careful, sweetheart…” I tried to warn, the months of restraint and tension taking a toll out of my patience and control. “You should think about what you’re saying. *Pay attention to what you’re asking of me. I’m not exactly great at resisting something that I want. You have to be sure,” I murmured, eyes never leaving hers as I watched her breathing grow more laboured.

She let the silence simmer the anticipation between us, until I felt like *I was about to collapse.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“I think I’ve made my desires clear.”

That was all it took for him to dart out of the chair, fishing out his wallet and throwing some bills on top of the table before reaching for my hand. “Come.”

I followed easily, body buzzing with excitement as I accepted this first touch from a man I believed to be unreachable only a few hours before.

Nothing was said as he directed me towards his car. Once inside, I took advantage of the few seconds it took for him to reach his own door and took a deep breath, both to calm my nerves and take in the delicious scent of the familiar cologne that seemed to be ingrained in the vehicle. How many days had I spent clenching my thighs as I tried to focus on my research because his scent took over our tiny office? Too many to count. But now he was right here, ready and willing to take care of the mess he made of me.

A shiver went through my body when he finally made his way inside the car, and instead of turning on the engine, fixated his gaze on me. It was heavy with lust and primal need, that much I could recognize - mostly because I knew those two feelings all too well when it came to him.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” It wasn’t a question, and immediately after he was done speaking I was already leaning over to meet him halfway. 

Chris’ kiss was nothing like I expected it to be. While I imagined a gentle lover, he was more on the eager, almost desperate side. I was surprised how much I liked it that way. He took control of our kiss so easily, it made me feel small and under his spell. Like I’d do anything he wanted me to, just as long as he kept devouring me like this.

I lost myself to the kiss, to *him, to the taste of wine and something that was undeniably just him, but then a hand fell on my lap and I gasped, instinctively opening my legs to feel more of his touch. It made him grin, but he didn’t stop kissing me, instead cradling my face between his hands before returning one of them to the spot that was throbbing for him.

“I just really need to feel you, only for a second,” he whispered against my lips, and I could only nod, too lost in his eyes to care about the implications of his words. “Maybe if I have your taste on my lips I’ll feel motivated enough to drive all the way home, instead of just taking you right here.”

Needless to say, paired with two of his fingers curling inside of me before they were gone and wrapped by his lips, the fires of desire had grown to such heights I could no longer control them. “Hmm… Delicious,” he hummed, dark eyes opening to meet mine only for a second before he was turning the engine on. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Chris’ P.O.V.

The second we were inside my apartment, I had to unbuckle my belt and curl my fist around my member - that’s how badly it hurt from the lack of attention. At least I wasn’t the only one desperate to get things going, her dress was on the floor just as I sat back on the couch, moaning both at the feeling of my jerking motions and the sight of her naked body.

“Come here, Miss. Y/L/N,” I instructed, beckoning her over while keeping my other hand occupied with my cock. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Join me.” She didn’t seem to need any further invitation, small frame quickly making her way over to where I was sitting before she dropped to her knees in front of me, right between my thighs that she held to support herself.

“God, you’re sexy.” She smiled up at me from underneath her eyelashes, hands reaching out to take my member from me before she began to lick at my already weeping head, and I had to take a deep breath in order to control myself. “Fuck.”

She was a tease, alright - but that much I knew, already. Instead of immediately starting to suck me off, she opted to get acquainted with the taste of my cock by licking it like a damn ice cream cone, until every inch of it was wrapped in a coat of her saliva and I was trembling underneath her attentions, hands curled into fists in an effort to let her keep her own pace but desperately wanting to gag her on me.

“You taste so good,” she teased, but it did sound more like an absentminded comment. It was just my need that made me believe she was doing it on purpose, trying to get me to break, but I wouldn’t let her win.

“Put it in your mouth, then. I promise I’ll give you more to taste.” If I had been worried I’d scare her away with how open I was about what I wanted, the smirk she gave me assured me it was well received, just as the way she finally wrapped her perfect lips around the head of my cock, tongue swirling over it briefly before starting to slowly suck more of it.

“Shit, yeah. Just like that. Swallow that cock, darling.” She did just so, all the while making sure to keep eye contact with me, which only added fuel to the desire I felt for her. I knew I couldn’t resist for too long, so I reveled in the feeling of her warm mouth, the sloppy blowjob easily the best I’d ever had, before I pulled her to me, making her climb my lap so I could fill my hands with her fantastic ass.

“God, I’ve dreamt about this ass,” I groaned, palming it and using it to rub her pussy over my member, that twitched at the slight contact, making us both gasp. “And this pussy…” the connection was obvious. Of course I’d imagined it too, but the little mynx wanted to hear it for herself.

“Did you think about it at night?” She asked, taking control of the motions I could no longer direct as she rubbed her wet cunt over my member, making me growl on her ear.

“At night, in class…” Maybe I should have felt embarrassed to admit it, but as it were, I didn’t. I couldn’t, not when it was the truth, and not when she was right here, ready to sink down on my cock, looking at me with those sinful eyes. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She bit down on her lower lip to stop the grin from taking over her face, I could see that, but it didn’t stop mine as I watched her rub the head of my member between her lips before finally starting to sink down on it.

“Fuck!” My head fell back on the couch, and I had to hold on her hips to keep control of myself, but still, she was being too slow. Opening my eyes, I saw by the smirk on her lips it was purely to tease me, but two could play at this game. 

“Keep going,” I ordered, slapping her ass before sinking my fingers on it again, for good measure. She gasped, momentarily losing control and falling further down, which was really all I needed to fuck up into her until I bottomed out.

“God, you’re so big!” She really did know how to get a man going.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Once I relinquished the control to him, there was really nothing else I could do but to hold on tight and enjoy the ride. He fucked me like he was trying to cherish every single second of this act we were sharing, probably conscious that we’d never be able to do this again.

“Such a fucking great pussy,” he groaned, fingers now probably bruising my skin as he used his grip on my hips to force my movements to match his. “I bet I can make you even louder.”

I hadn’t even realized I was screaming until he said that, feet raising to the sofa so he could find even more grip to fuck me silly. “Hold tight, sweetheart.” My hands slipped from his shoulders to the back of his neck, as I tried to keep my chest glued to his despite the brutality of his movements.

It didn’t take long for his thrusts to lose their rhythm, and I was dancing on the edge of my own orgasm too, watching a single drop of sweat make its way from his hairline until his jaw, where I leaned down to collect it with my tongue.

“Fuck.” His eyes met mine, holding my gaze hostage as the next words that fell from his lips brought me to my release. “Oh God, please tell me you’ll be mine. I need to know I’ll be able to have you like this whenever I want. Please.”

The aftershocks of my orgasm, paired with the way my pussy clenched around his member, milking his own release, had him cumming as hard as I had, eyes closed tightly and beautiful mouth hanging open as I tried to catch my breath and not lose the show at the same time.

“Do you mean it?” I had to ask, once both of us were able to speak again, still tightly embraced and deeply connected. I could feel his cum slowly seeping out of me and into his own lap.

“Of course.” His eyes searched mine for any inkling of my own feelings in regards to the revelation of his. “You’re worth the trouble it’ll be trying to keep this under wraps. Besides, Professor Stan had mentioned he’d like to seduce you, and I can’t imagine having to watch you be with another man.”

A giggle and a kiss sealed the deal, but we renegotiated the terms of our agreement a dozen of times before finally falling asleep wrapped in each other’s embrace. Thank God I was stood up today.

[candychronicles]

yes sir // i. midoriya

A/N: my take on the bnharem workplace au collab! this is pretty much porn with plot, there’s no real interesting background. i just wanted to write sexy times with midoriya hehe

CHARACTER PAIRING: Izuku Midoriya x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,765

WARNINGS: an obnoxious amount of pet names, soft-ish dom, dubcon maybe?? if you squint??, power dynamics, possessive izuku

SYNOPSIS: an infatuation with one of your bosses turns into something much more interesting. 

Click here to go to work on admiring all the other pieces!

work was never fun but when you directly responded to three equally attractive ceos, it tended to make things easier. despite them all being incredibly attractive, you found yourself particularly drawn to one man in specific: Izuku Midoriya.

he was the face of the operation, the one who greeted the media with a smile and ran lectures, pep talks and gatherings with the employees. not only did he have the charm, but he was smart and analytical, something that came in handy when dealing with other businesses and creating interpersonal relationships. he strived to make everyone feel like they belonged and that’s why you never put any thought into the bright smiles and big waves he gave you as he passed your office every morning.

Bakugou was who you usually worked under, the man being brash and loud but incredibly intelligent and covering a lot of ground when it came to running the company, especially when it came to logistics and timelines. you weren’t his secretary and yet often found yourself in his office helping whenever he called. you would say it was annoying except it meant that he favored you and you often got added perks because of that, like a flexible work schedule and unlimited premium coffee from his personal stash. 

Todoroki was a man who you seldom interacted with but had nothing but pleasant things to say. he was cold and standoffish at first but as you chatted he became more relaxed and willing to talk. he handled a lot of the behind the scenes, keeping up with IT and using his connections from his wealthy family to bring in new business. nonetheless, he was a pleasant man and tried to interact in his own odd way at any appropriate chance he got.

you never realized you had any special treatment outside from your own boss but it became more apparent over the months that they had all taken a liking to you in some form or another. you became absolutely ecstatic when you learned you had a chance with Midoriya, an awkward and yet sincere drunken love confession thrown dramatically your way outside of a business gathering. since he wasn’t technically your personal boss and you harbored a secret crush on him, it was all too easy, with the alcohol flowing through your veins, to say yes to a date with him.

despite his inebriated state the night before, he stayed true to his word and took you to a relaxed and private restaurant, one that you were sure wasn’t cheap as there wasn’t even prices on the menu. he told you to not worry about it and just enjoy the night and enjoy you did. after some awkward laughs here and there, you really got to know him and what he was like: funny, charming, truthful, determined, emotional, raw and bursting with the desire to be understood the way he understood other people. 

you took his truth and ran with it, confiding in him about anything you could think of that was appropriate for a first date and then some, over time learning all there was to know about one another. you spent many a night laid on his chest, confessing your hopes and dreams, listening to his own and promising each other that you would both work towards your desires as hard as possible. 

things outside of the bedroom, however, stayed incredibly private. you understood that he was a shy man by nature and was nervous that your position would be undermined or belittled by the other employees if they found out that you two were together but as time went on, you grew more and more frustrated about him keeping you a secret. all of his reasons, he claimed, were to protect you but you didn’t care and if he didn’t tell you the honest truth soon, you were going to burst.

it only took a few more weeks before things took an interesting turn. you had yet another argument with Midoriya, begging and pleading with him to not hide you anymore, to wear you on his arm with pride and shower you with even the tiniest of affection, but he was not budging, claiming he didn’t want you to get hurt and sad over the other employees judging you despite him not being your actual boss. when you confirmed to Midoriya that this wasn’t a real relationship and cut things off, you were intrigued to find Todoroki at your office door with a bouquet of flowers asking you on a date.

whether it was out of spite or a sheer desire to be seen and acknowledged, you accepted without any hesitation, donning your best dress and heels for the icy man. he took you to a much fancier and flashy restaurant than Midoriya did, flaunting his wealth without a care in the world. you tried some of the finest wines and foods, enjoying the live music and chatting casually with Todoroki. outside of his awkward demeanor, it was a good first date and you had fun, certainly appreciating all that he did for you, but you realized it didn’t matter because you were still head over heels in love with the green haired guy with the golden heart. every little thing Todoroki did, you caught yourself comparing and contrasting with what Midoriya would’ve done and with a sad smile, told him you had fun but that you were going through some personal problems and needed some time before trying anything else. he was nothing but a gentleman and insisted that it was okay but despite his words, you still felt a pang in your heart, guilty for leading him on in the first place.

work the next day was rather uneventful, time spent chipping away at paperwork and organizing events for the next day, Bakugou sliding into your office with an unusually sad look on his face as he handed you your favorite coffee and slid back out, not acknowledging you otherwise. you hummed appreciatively nonetheless, savoring every sip like it was your last. just as you were walking out the door, the last person in your department to stay behind, you got a text from Midoriya asking you to meet in his office to discuss something.

you swallowed thickly, knowing there may be another argument approaching and hoping your heart could handle the pain. with a soft knock to the large wooden doors, you stood, waiting for him to invite you in. 

the door creaked ominously open before you were yanked into the room, wood slamming heavily back into place as he crashed his lips against your own without any warning, harsh and fierce and nothing like he had ever been before. 

you tried to create some space, some sort of distance between you two in order to process the situation but he was relentless, attacking you with such fervor that you had no choice but to follow along, desperate to know what he was thinking.

you didn’t have to wait long before he slowed down, pressing his forehead against your own, breath fanning against your face as he collected his thoughts.

“you went on a date with Todoroki,” he stated simply, eyes shut as he focused on you, your body movements, the way your heart leapt into your throat and your pulse point jumped at the comment. 

“i did,” you replied, squinting your own eyes at him as best as you could in your position, trying to figure out what his next move was.

“why would you do that?” he questioned, hurt laced in his voice.

you contemplated for a few moments on what to say, finally deciding on the truth: “i was hurt and thought that maybe i could get over you by going out with him but i couldn’t. i just wanted someone to show me off for once, not be ashamed to be seen with me.”

“sweetheart,” he sighed into your mouth, lips ghosting over your own. “i was just trying to protect you from the judgement you’d get being with me, but if you’re that insistent in being shown off, then let me show you off.”

one gentle kiss after another was placed on your face, from your temple to your nose to your cheeks to finally your lips, sealing them with yet another searing kiss. you whined into his mouth, enamored by the taste of coffee and mint on his tongue. he pinched your ass and smiled when you squealed, taking advantage of the sound to pick you up against the door, hiking your skirt up to your waist and pressing one experimental finger to your clothed slit, noticing each and every breathy moan that left your body.

“let me take these off, yeah?” he asked, not waiting for a response before he not so delicately ripped your panties off your body, assuring you he’d get you a new pair after you protested against his actions. 

he walked casually over to the desk, setting you down and spreading your knees apart as he kneeled, face cooing over your cunt. you tried to squeeze your knees together in embarrassment but he only pulled them open again, tsking as he brought his thumb pad up to your clit, rubbing delicate circles around the bud as he watched your mouth open into an o.

he continued to rub in circles, changing the pace and pressure as he analyzed your every move, watching to see what made you feel the best. when he was satisfied with the pace, he brought his other hand up to delicately insert a finger into your dripping hole, curling to try to find the place that made you see stars behind your eyelids. it only took a few moments before he hit the spot, your head fallen back and toes curling in pleasure. 

“look at me and nowhere else or i won’t let you cum. do you understand?” he asked, forcefully grabbing your chin.

“y-yes sir.”

he nodded, satisfied with the eye contact before resuming his movement, eyes boring into your own as he watched you struggle to breathe and watch him back, his cock straining in his pants as he watched your eyes water, tears spilling over your cheeks as he brought you so incredibly close to your orgasm.

“sir, please let me cum. p-please, i don’t think i can hold on any longer,” you finally begged, giving into what you knew he secretly wanted.

“my sweet angel wants to cum? i guess she’s been such a good girl that i’ll have to indulge her,” he cooed, picking up the pace and inserting another finger, making it just enough to have you unravel in seconds. 

your head remained still, eyes locked on his own, but your body shook from the mere exhaustion you felt as you forced yourself to not throw your head back in pure ecstasy. he helped you ride your orgasm out with steady thrusts, his long, scarred fingers hitting all the right ridges. 

“look at you being just a doll,” he murmured, opening your mouth to stick his dripping fingers in, pressing down harshly on your tongue, smiling when you gagged. 

“i think my sweetheart deserves a bit of a reward for being such a good girl, hmm? what do you think?” he asked, removing his fingers from your mouth to allow you to speak.

“please sir, please, i need,” you stopped, hiccuping, not realising you were crying as you begged for him.

“you need what angel? c’mon, use your words.”

“i need your cock, please, i need you inside of me. i’ll be good, i’ll be so good, i promise. just please fuck me.”

before you had a chance to realize what was going on, he pulled you off the desk, flipping you around so that your ass was on full display. he gave it one appreciative slap before his belt was being unbuckled, his pants falling to the floor as he pulled out his cock, aching to be buried inside your wet cunt.

“relax for me sweetheart. i’ll take care of you.”

the tip had you instantly pressing yourself into the desk, but as he continued to push into to you, you relished in the way he stretched you out, making you feel so full and warm.

“more, m’need more, please,” you begged, squirming around as you tried to fill yourself up with as much of him as you could.

he obliged without hesitation, sheathing himself fully into you, eyes rolling back into his head as he felt you squeeze around him, pulling him impossibly closer. he placed his hands against your hips to steady himself, pinching the flesh and breathing deeply through his nostrils as he attempted to control himself but once you started begging again, hands gripping the other edge of the deck as you attempted to ground yourself, he lost all control.

“don’t say you didn’t ask for his angel.”

his hips snapped out before surging forward, thrusting hard and deep, his tip kissing your cervix and fingers bruising into your flesh. you cried out, not sure what you were feeling but incredibly happy anyways. his cock pounded in and out of your squelching cunt, your cream dripping down your thighs and his. you felt every little vein, the curve of his shaft, how he fit into you so perfectly, how he was made for you. your vision went white and you held onto the desk for dear life as your legs gave out from under you, your cunt clenching aggressively around his cock as you came.

“i’ve got you, just relax.”

your body went limp as he leaned over you, propping you up against the desk as he continued to thrust into you, moving smoothly as your liquids pooled around his pelvis. your hands kept gripping the desk for dear life as you tried to catch your breath but with every snap of his hips, every nip to your shoulder, every searing hickey left on your neck, had your head reeling and the coil in your stomach building once again.

“‘Zuku, i don’t know how much longer i can hold out. m’gonna cum again,” you whined, breathing heavily as you tried to prolong it for as long as possible.

“c’mon sweetheart, you can do it one more time, just cum for me, it’s okay. i’ve got you.”

it only took three forceful swirls of his fingers on your aching clit to have you squirting all over his cock, your cum gushing everywhere as you arched your back and dug your nails into the glass of the desk. as you squeezed around him, you felt Midoriya cum, burying himself deep inside your pussy, head coming down to rest on your shoulders.

without saying anything, he pulled out gently, wincing as he saw the disheveled state you were in. he helped you sit back on the desk, pulling out some napkins to clean you and then himself up, offering you some water and helping to pour it in your mouth, wiping away your mascara stained cheeks.

“are you okay?” he asked once you had settled down a bit, pulling down your skirt and shakily standing on two legs.

“what are we Midoriya?” you replied, not wanting to let the post sex haze ruin what you had orignially come for.

he sighed, walking over to you and holding your hands in his own, bringing them up to kiss them before responding, “i wanted to protect you but i see how selfish that is now considering the fact that you didn’t care. i’m sorry i didn’t listen but i won’t hide from you anymore and i won’t hide you from the public, no matter what.”

you nodded at his response, eager to be with him again and not be held in the shadows. 

“but in order to do that, i have got to put a few mutual friends in place.”

quizzically, you watched as he sat down in his computer, motioning for you to sit in his lap. he tapped away at a few folders, watching in confusion and then embarrassment as he pulled up a video, one of the encounter you just had. 

“i’m sending this to Bakugou and Todoroki. they always talk about how they could fuck you better, how they could make you scream louder, make you listen, make you theirs. this will prove otherwise. you want me to show you off, have you be mine unconditionally? well you’ve got it babe, loud and clear. you’re mind, understood? and nobody will get in the way of that, not even them.”

[pettygangfriend]

Earn me 2/2

Pairing: Rio x reader. Part one here

Requested by: @appropriate-writers-name sorry it took so long to post the second part, but as you can see it’s pretty long, lol. I hope this was somewhat like what you had in mind💞

Warnings: none, may find some curse words.

Word count: 1509 (Im so sorry, lmao.)

“Either way, my world doesn’t revolve around no man. Remember that.”

The last thing you said to Rio before parting. It was also the last time you had spoken to him, or even heard from him. If you were being honest with yourself, it really did sting. But after a week of sitting around, hoping for a text or a phone call, you decided it was time. It was time to try something new, or, someone new.

Which is exactly how you ended up in your position, right now. Sitting at a tiny table at a bar/restaurant thingy you’ve never been to, with a man you’ve never seen before.

“So what do you do for a living, anyway?” You ask the guy in front of you, trying to make some small talk.

He wasn’t really the smoothest talker- scratch that, he wasn’t much of a talker at all. But as you were only 15 minutes in, you’re willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I make and sell t-shirts.” He didn’t even bother to look at you, being too busy slurping away at his spaghetti.

“Oh thats nice!” You answer, trying to sound somewhat interested. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s not, but it pays the bills. Actually, it doesn’t really, but at least it kills some time”.

You just stare at him with the most confused look. What the fuck does that even mean?

You’re so busy being weirded out, and making a mental note of asking god what you did to deserve this, that you almost didn’t notice a familiar face entering the place, taking a seat at the bar. Rio. His eyes fall on the guy in front of you, looking him up and down, smirking.

A million different emotions and thoughts you had managed to push away, came flooding back, immediately. You do your best to ignore his presence, but his burning eyes on you making it hard to. So after a good 3 minutes of pretending to listen to the pasta eating weirdo in front of you, you decide to find out what the hell Rio’s doing here.

“Please excuse me for a second while I go use the bathroom” is all you say, before getting up from your seat, your eyes catching Rio’s curious ones.

Once you enter the bathroom, it doesn’t take long before he enters shortly after. He locks the door behind him, and turns around to face you. You just stand there, crossing your arms. You sure as hell wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of saying the first word. I guess that’s one thing you guys had in common. Pettiness.

“So first you’re giving me your little speech about needing more, and what not, and now you’re getting it on with some stranger?” He asks you, taking a step closer towards you. “Doesn’t really make sense, does it?”

Letting out a scoff, you bring yourself even closer to him. “When someone ghosts you for a week long, you it does make sense.”

“I had thing’s to do. I’m a busy guy, you know”

“Not busy enough, if you’re out here lurking around on my date”

Apparently you had said something funny, as Rio throws his head back laughing.

“Date? Come on, ma. You know you deserve better than-“ he points around him, the bathroom looking like a scene from a bad movie. “Better than this.”

“What I deserve is someone who’s willing to make an effort, even if it’s this” you copy his movements, pointing at your surroundings.

Alright, that was probably a lie, you did deserve more than this shithole. But you weren’t lying about someone making the effort to go out.

“And that someone is that guy? The one with the spaghetti stain on his shirt?” He says, sticking his hands inside his pockets.

“Well, I don’t see it being you, either. So why don’t you just leave this place, sure you got some more important things to do”

He holds your angry stare for a moment, nodding his head slowly.

“Grab your stuff, we’re leaving this dump” is all he says before wanting to turn around, but you’re quick to pull him back by his arm.

“What do you mean ‘we’re leaving’?!” You whisper yell at him, absolutely dumbfounded.

“What part don’t you get? You wanted someone to take you out, so I’m going to take you out.” He tells you, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

A part of you wants to grab your coat and bolt out of there with Rio, but the other part needed a little more convincing. You couldn’t just leave the other guy behind, right?

“Are you crazy? I can’t just leave him!”

"You really thought that was going somewhere?"

"Yes! He was cute.. in a way" making Rio raise an eyebrow. "Okay maybe not cute, but he was nice!"

“Well either you’re gonna tell him, or I will. Or both of us, that’s cool with me too” he says, already smirking at the look on your face. You hate giving in right now, but at this point you would do anything to get out of this ‘date’.

“Fine. Let’s go”.

After a -not very sincere- apology, you feel like you have moved from one awkward date in a dump, to another awkward one in a fancier place. Honestly, you couldn’t even call this a date. It was more like you shooting Rio angry glares, while he gave short answers to your hundreds of questions.

“So why did you take a whole week to decide on wanting to take me out?”

“Something came up, so I had to go take care of some business out of town.”

“What business?” “Nothing that concerns you”

“Why did you decide you wanted to go out with me, all of a sudden?” “I had time to think.”

“Think about what?” “You and me. Us.”

You let out a deep sigh, his short answers starting to make you wish you hadn’t come with him at all.

“You know what, maybe this was a bad idea. I should just go-” you say, starting to get up from the chair, but Rio takes a hold or your wrist, before moving his hand down to hold yours.

“Don’t.” You look at his face, only to find his usual cold stare, now replaced by a more insecure one. You sit back down, waiting for him to continue, as he’s still holding your hand.

“Look, I don’t really know how to do all this” he starts, referring to the whole ordeal of two people sitting together romantically. Something that was the most normal thing in your mind, yet not in his.

“I’m know how to boss people around, I know how to make money, stay on my game. It’s what I’m used to, it’s what im good at. I’m not used to a ‘normal relationship’, and all the things that come with it. It’s not something that fits into my kind of life”

“If it doesn’t fit into your kind of life, then what am I doing here?” You ask him, already preparing yourself for the disappointment.

Rio looks down at your intertwined hands for a second, giving it a soft squeeze, before pulling your hand more towards him.

“Because when you’re with me, I feel like I can be myself, you know? Like I can finally breath, after the crazy ass day I had. But when you’re not, I feel like there’s something missing, like I need-” Rio thinks for a second, trying to find the right word. And he did. “More.”

All you can do is stare at him, taking in all the words pouring out of his mouth. A warm feeling forms in your stomach, knowing that all this time, he felt the same way. He just didn’t know how to express himself.

“And after I realized that, I tried to figure out how to tell you. You were right about me taking too long, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want-“

“I do.” You’re quick to cut him off. “I’m just happy you came to me. And we don’t have to jump in the deep end, let’s just take it slow. That way, we can both get used to new things” you tell him, sending him a smile, which he happily returns.

“I’d like that, mama.”

The both of you let out a sigh of relieve, finally being able to make things right. This wasn’t going to be easy, but that didn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re on the same page, entering a whole new chapter.

After a nice dinner, where you guys had lots of time to talk about regual things for once, he had decided to take you home.

“So,” he says, making you look over at him. “Does this mean I have to meet your parents?”

You look at him, wondering if this man is actually being serious right now. So much for taking it slow.

“Oh baby, you ain’t ready for all that”

If you’d like to be added to my Rio taglist, please let me know! ✨

@appropriate-writers-name

@gemini0410

@sesamepancakes @vicmackeybullshxt

@chrmdnbeautiful

@thickemadame

@isisafrofairy

@stitchesbystults

[saltybaltic]

Could we get reader and Nat attending something fancy together. Maybe like a wedding! Nat dresses up really nice and lots of flirting maybe

Natasha Romanoff X Reader - DANCE WITH ME

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow X FemReader Fanfic

Synopsis: You and Natasha have been invited to the same wedding party.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive language

Words: 465

You’d managed to avoid her for the most part. Not that you were nervous or lacked the confidence to speak to the other woman, quite the contrary. But it seemed the safer option. Of course that hadn’t stopped you from admiring her, how could you not. Your eyes had been drawn to her from the second she arrived.

Both you and Natasha had been invited to a colleagues wedding. Neither of you were particularly close to the woman in question however it seemed that most of the office had obtained an invite and you were both too polite to decline. Having received your own invitation with a plus one option, you had to assume Natasha had received the same and you couldn’t help but feel relieved that she had also arrived alone.

Perhaps neither one of you would have been given the option of a plus one if people knew the truth. But it was a secret that only the two of you shared; no one else at the office aware of the fact that on occasion you had fallen into bed with the flame haired woman. And who could blame you? It wasn’t uncommon for the office to go out for drinks after a hard day at work or to celebrate a particularly good deal being closed. And that is when it always happened. The playful flirting that was so common place between the two of you occasionally crossing the line and ending with Natasha accompanying you back to your flat.

It had never been anything more than sex. And it had never needed to be. Despite your occasional romantic encounter, it never transferred into your working relationship and no matter how many times it happened, it would never be mentioned again until the next time. The flirting would continue but when the two of you were working together, it almost seemed irrelevant that you were familiar with every inch of Natasha’s body.

So when she arrived at the wedding, it was hardly surprising that you hadn’t felt the need to be glued to her side. She had sent a subtle nod and a smile your way when her eyes fell on you across the room at the reception, before making her way towards the bar. The pair of you had mingled with other colleagues, introducing yourself to people you didn’t know and generally enjoying the vast selection of food and drinks available at the party. But still you couldn’t help but feel drawn to her.

Natasha always looked good. However, dressed in what you had to assume was one of her fancier outfits, you had to admit that she somehow looked even better than usual. Her hair was curled to perfection; deep red waves tumbling over her shoulders and without a hair out of place. The red of her lipstick only complemented it further. The black dress she appeared to have literally poured herself into complimented every asset that you knew she possessed. Your mouth had practically watered as you scanned over her, and it was for that reason that as the party continued and people began to make their way to the dance floor, you were unable to stay away from her any longer.

Making your way over to where Natasha was standing at the bar, you had to assume she was aware of your presence beside her however she did nothing to suggest that was the case. She didn’t even turn to acknowledge you, her hands clasped together on the bar top as she watched the bartender busy himself making her drink. It wasn’t until you placed your hand on her lower back and stepped closer that the smallest trace of a smile graced her features.

“I hope it’s not out of line for me to say you look absolutely incredible today.” you spoke quietly, leaning in towards the other woman as your finger tips brushed delicately over the small of her back.

Natasha’s lips turned up a little further, finally tilting her head to look at you, “And why would that be out of line?”

You shrugged, “Wouldn’t want to overstep my mark.”

Natasha hummed, her attention drifting from you momentarily to thank the bartender as he placed a drink down in front of her. She took a sip from the glass before placing it down and turning to face you again, her hand reaching up to smooth over the lapel of your jacket, “If memory serves correctly, I thought you were quite fond of over stepping your mark.”

For a moment you didn’t know what to say, having never fallen into such direct conversation with Natasha. You never talked about what went on behind closed doors, certainly not in a room full of your colleagues. Your surprise only lasted a second, breaking out into a grin as you nodded your head in the direction of the dance floor, “Would you like to dance with me?”

“Are you any good?” asked Natasha, her tone teasing as she turned away from you again and took another swig of her drink.

Your slipped your hand sideways, fingertips digging ever so slightly into Natasha’s waist instead, “Let’s find out shall we?”

“Lead the way.”

Offering your arm to the other woman, you smiled as she turned and linked her arm with yours, allowing you to lead her towards the dance floor. The band had been playing for a little over an hour ensuring there were now plenty of people enjoying the music. You lead Natasha through the other couples dancing, finding space eventually and turning towards her.

Not waiting for you to take the lead, Natasha didn’t hesitate for a second, one hand coming up to rest on your shoulder as the other slipped in to yours. You smiled and gave her hand a squeeze, your other arm snaking around her waist as the pair of you began to move slowly in time to the music.

“You look good too.” offered Natasha after a few moments, her eyes locked with yours as your eyebrow twitched curiously, “You scrub up well.”

You laughed, “Well aren’t we a perfect pair then.”

“I suppose we are, yes.”

Instinctively you had moved closer as the pair of you danced, no space left between you anymore and your bodies now pressed against one another. The faintest smile was present on both of your lips, eyes locked together as if you were daring the other to look away first. You were the one to lose as Natasha’s tongue poked out to wet her lips, your eyes following the action in a way that had the red head smirking.

Leaning further forward, your cheeks brushed together as you spoke quietly by Natasha’s ear, “Let me take you home tonight.”

Natasha said nothing at first, waiting for you to move back again so that she could look you in the eye. She appeared to consider your request for a few moments, her hand squeezing at your shoulder as she did so before shrugging lightly with a smile, “I was hoping you would.”

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

got my devotion || h. styles

sequel to ‘i can hate you sometimes’

warnings: mentions of sex & alcohol

word count: 2k

summary: you and harry work through your first argument as a couple...

part one.

“So, are we meant to believe that all of a sudden you don’t despise each other?” Sarah asked, her eyes flicking between Harry and yourself.

Harry shrugged, “Despise is a strong word.”

Sarah sent him a bored look, “Don’t act like you haven’t moaned about Y/N before.”

Suddenly, Mitch said, “Maybe it was more of a ‘I like you so I’ll pretend I hate you’?”

You looked between the three of them, shifting uncomfortably. Harry’s hand was resting on your lower back as the two of you sat opposite Sarah and Mitch. The night Harry and yourself had shared a few weeks ago was nothing but beautiful. And, for the most part, all of your friends had been supportive at the news of you and Harry’s sudden shift in relationship. Most people felt the same way about the pair of you: they secretly like each other. It had been somewhat of a running joke within the group that you and Harry were secretly in love. But it’s not like anybody ever expected to end up here: being presented with the news that you and Harry were somewhat of a ‘thing’. “Exactly,” Harry nodded, pointing at Mitch in agreement.

Sarah sent a cautious look towards the two of you. She sighed, as if giving in, “I mean, I am happy for the two of you. I just don’t understand how it all seemed to switch so suddenly? Like, why now? After so long you finally decide to act on however you felt before.”

The four of you were sitting at a restaurant in central London. It was fancy, fancier than anything you’d known growing up. But as soon as you’d become involved with Harry’s circle of friends (having met Sarah on a night out) it became somewhat of the norm for you. You’d worked hard not to let it get to your head, still enjoying the simplicities life had to offer. One of which, which you were sure you were truly witnessing for the first time, was love. Sure, you’d been in love before. There was the ‘first love’ with a boy named Ben, who you were sure you were in love with. It had lasted half a year maybe, but you were sure you’d felt heartbreak when it had ended. Then there was Ethan, which had been enjoyable while it lasted, but you both knew it was never anything long term. But that had been love, a love that wasn’t too hard to get over, but love nonetheless. You even still spoke to Ethan occasionally. Then, of course, there was all the minor ones in between, which hadn’t developed into anything more than dinner and sex. But this - what you had with Harry - you were sure was on the route to something wonderful. Some, perfect blossoming love. That, if it wasn't meant to last a lifetime, would certainly break, not just your heart, but you as a whole in the process. “I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “But it just felt right the other night.”

Sarah looked to you. You had been terribly quiet during dinner. It was unusual, Sarah thought, you were often bubbly and eager to bounce off everyone during most conversations. In fact, she was sure Mitch had said more than you had. She was waiting for you to say something, but she was only met with: “What do you want me to say?” you sighed. 

“Just explain it to me, Y/N,” replied Sarah. “I’ve been subjected to four years of your rants about how much he irritates you. And now you’re acting as if none of it’s ever happened.”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? It just happened, and in the moment it felt right.”

“But it doesn’t now?” she said quickly. And it was then you realised she was just worried about you. Both of you. Your face softened and Harry’s tight grip on your thigh loosened. It was clear you were both just scared she wouldn’t accept whatever was going on between the two of you. But no, she just wanted the best for the both of you. You shook your head, “No, Sarah, it feels great.”

“Okay...” she trailed off; she was accepting that maybe, just maybe, you were both happy with each other. “Then I’m happy for you.”

Her frown moulded into her wonderful smile as she took a sip of her drink. And then the food arrived and all of the uneasy tension slipped into cheery chit chat.

Gradually, the more nights out you and Harry spent together as a couple amongst your friends, the more natural it began to feel. The very first one left you feeling terribly out of place. Sitting beside Harry, his arm hung over the back of your chair, the tips of his fingers lightly tracing little patterns on your arm, was a foreign feeling to you. But it was one you treasured. You got to laugh at his jokes openly now and send adoring looks his way. 

For a moment, it felt like you were flying so high there was no way you could come back down. 

But then the first argument came. It came two months into the little ideal world you and Harry had built for yourselves. It had spiralled from something completely harmless. Something that shouldn’t have sparked an argument in the first place. And all of a sudden, you felt as if everything the pair of you had built up came crashing down around you. And, being frank, it was terrifying. You’d been nothing but happy for two months with Harry by your side. You feared that he’d relapse and put up his cold front with you again. What if, after all that had happened, you fell back into despising one another? 

He’d been round at your house, the two of you spending the evening cuddled up together. Benny had been asleep in front of the fire, twitching occasionally. Usually, cooking together (a glass of wine or two in your system) was the highlight of your week, but neither of you felt like it that particular evening. A pizza between the two of you. That was all it was meant to be, and yet it evolved into something so much more. You told him you’d pay for it - it was only a little less than £20 anyway. He told you’d he do it. But as you explained that he always paid for meals, he interjected saying something about him being the one that ‘makes the money anyway’. You scoffed, that had pissed you off. And in hindsight, you knew he didn’t mean that in a malicious way. Yes, he definitely made more money than you, but that didn’t mean you didn’t make any. You could most certainly pay £20 for a pizza. 

From there, it had spiralled into a full-blown argument. You told him exactly so: that you made enough to support yourself and he should just let you buy the pizza. Looking back, you felt rather foolish for getting so worked up over a takeaway. But it was more the things Harry said; you could see the egotistical boy seeping through his tone. To cut the gruesome details, it resulted in Harry storming out of your house. He slammed the door shut behind him, waking Benny up with a harsh jolt. 

You felt worse after this argument than any of the ones you’d had with Ben or Ethan. But then you’d never felt this strongly for someone before. A bigger argument with any of the others couldn’t have hurt you more than a minor one with Harry did. You were hopelessly devout to him. 

For the next few days, he didn’t say a thing, nor did you. Not to each other at least. You went out for drinks with Sarah, Charlotte and Ny. It beat drinking alone in your home with Benny, who, at the end of the day, wasn’t a great conversationalist. The three women sent apologetic smiles to you as you ranted about how much he frustrated you. And, as you were groaning about him, you began to realise that none of what you were saying was true. He didn’t frustrate you to no end, not even close. Every couple went through their rough patches - their ‘stormy days’ as Charlotte liked to put it. “Couples all have their stormy days, but remember Y/N, the sun is always going to come back out again,” she’d said. 

The four of you had burst into a fit of stifled giggles, realising you’d all had one too many gin and tonics. But Charlotte’s little metaphor was actually quite useful, and in your tipsy state you had the sudden urge to apologise to Harry. He was ready to apologise too, but you were both perhaps the most stubborn out of your friendship circle. So it was a case of who was going to give in first. But, surprisingly, it was Harry.

You were lying in bed, nursing the ghost of a hangover that was pounding at your forehead from the night prior with the girls. Cuddled into your crisp sheets, you desperately needed some sort of medication, whatever you could find in your bathroom, and a glass of cold water. The sound of a knock at the door was enough of an excuse enough for you to drag your stiff body from bed. Benny followed you as you trudged downstairs. You swung open the door and Harry was stood there sheepishly. Sighing, you opened the door further to allow the man into your home.

You didn’t say a word; you didn’t want to let on how relieved you were to see him. He followed you through to the kitchen as you poured yourself a glass of water. Taking a sip of the cooling liquid, you turned to look at him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

It felt so nice to hear his voice in such a gentle way after the last time you’d heard it. Because he was a generally quiet and calm man, it was such a shock to your system to hear him shouting at you. “It’s okay,” you grumbled. 

“It doesn’t sound like it is,” he sighed.

“No, Harry, seriously I’m not angry at you anymore. I’m just a bit hungover, is all,” you informed him, trying to sound as polite as possible.

“Did you go out last night?” he asked, his face softening

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Just with Charlotte, Ny and Sarah.”

“Do you want me to go get you some aspirin or something? I can just run down to the shop, if you want. I’ll be like five minutes,” he said, getting ready to leave before he’d even given you the chance to say anything. 

“It’s okay. There’s some in the bathroom.”

And before you knew it, he was back with the half-empty box of aspirin. After taking a couple, Harry began talking again, “I really am sorry about the other night. It’s just… I’m so desperate to spoil you. Paying whenever we buy food feels like the least I can do.”

“Honestly, it’s okay,” you smiled. “I was just worried you hated me again.”

He placed his hand on your cheek and you couldn’t help but laugh, “What’s funny?”

“I’m having a moment of deja vu,” you chuckled. 

He smiled cheekily, “Yeah? Well, there’s a couple of other things we could do that might give you deja vu.”

You snorted, “That’s the least enticing line I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, give me a break, I’m trying. Did you seriously think I hated you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I was just paranoid. I really enjoyed what was happening between us and I was just afraid it was ending.”

“I wouldn’t want it to end, love. I’m completely devoted to you.”