#EACH PIECE CAN BECOME ANOTHER TREE

[aidaronan]

The years go by. The retail jobs that Steve thinks are temporary keep piling up, but he has no idea what else to do with his life so he just keeps on keeping on.

Until a large tree falls on the lawn of the little house he managed to buy and he gets the quote on removal and the number literally hurts his soul.

He buys a small chainsaw instead. Over the course of a few weeks, he gets most of the branches cut up. He collects some large rocks from down by the quarry and digs out a fire pit in his backyard. On his days off, his friends come over and they sit out back and have a few beers. The pile of wood dwindles. The giant trunk is another story though. His chainsaw isn't big enough for it. Burning it would take forever, and Steve's terrified he'd disappoint Smoky the Bear. He's at a loss.

Until he sees another giant trunk in someone's yard carved into a bear.

He knows what to do then. Not a bear, but something else. Through trial and error, the trunk becomes the rough shape of a woman, the remnants of the branches like a crown on her head. It's not as amazing as the bear he saw, but it's his. He finds he loves the smell of sawdust and the feeling of creating something.

Just like that, Steve realizes what he wants to do. It takes several months and a lot of yard sales, but he scrounges up the tools he needs to start woodworking. He learns to measure twice and cut once. He makes tables and chairs and carves them with art and designs that get better and better the more he learns. Shockingly, people actually buy his pieces.

Even more shocking comes the realization that he's making enough money to do it full time. He puts in his two weeks notice at Melvald's and hands in his assistant manager badge.

He's not sure he's happy, but he is content. It feels good to work hard and actually have things to show for it. It also feels good to work muscles he hasn't used since high school. He carries on for a few years like that, creating and learning and creating some more. Then Eddie Munson blows back into town. Invited back so Hawkins can have their most famous alumnus sing the national anthem at homecoming. Steve's honestly surprised he shows at all. "Can't believe you didn't tell them kiss your hairy ass," Steve says. Because of course Eddie ends up around his fire pit, sipping on Steve's cheap beer like he doesn't have three Grammy awards on his mantel. The years fall away with each drink, reminding Steve of just how much it had hurt when Eddie left. He'd wanted Eddie so bad back then, more than he'd ever wanted anyone. He can feel the echoes of that deep ache across time.

"Pfft. Don't you know all famous people wax our asses now? All the rage in LA." Eddie cuts a look at him and smirks when Steve rolls his eyes, grateful for the lighthearted moment to snap him out of his maudlin nostalgia. "Really though I thought about it, but then I thought it would be way funnier to donate a metric fuckton of money to Hawkins High with the stipulation that it go to the theater and band programs. Kind of bummed they couldn't honor my other request though."

"Which was?"

"My old Hellfire throne. I miss her, but apparently she's not around anymore. Something about water damage."

"Oh yeah. Water main busted a few years back and flooded the theater. I remember that." "Yeah. Had to settle for the promise they'd make a game lounge and stock it with all the supplies a budding young nerd needs."

"That's really nice, Eds."

Eddie shrugs. "I've been known to be nice on occasion. You'll come to homecoming, right? Moral support?"

Steve hasn't been to homecoming in years because he sees the other people who stayed in town all the time, and he has no interest in seeing the people who didn't. He can only answer the same questions so many times. Oh, I'm doing woodwork now. Yep, I still live right here. Nope, still not married, no kids.

He goes though, and he answers the uncomfortable questions. Because Eddie asked him to. Because no matter how long it's been, Steve can't deny that some part of him still...

He says goodbye after, and Eddie leaves again, and Steve tries not to think about that too much in the following days.

He's halfway into the project before he realizes what he's building. He'd seen Eddie's throne quite a few times back when. What he doesn't have memories of, he makes up. He adds his own touches too, making it a throne fit for a rock star, a nerd, a friend.

He carves ornate patterns, he creates scenes of dragons being beaten back by a man with a guitar, crowds of people that could be knights or concertgoers.

It's his favorite piece he's ever done, and his hands are shaking when he dials Eddie's number. He gets an answering machine and stumbles through a message.

"I made you something. I guess it's kind of silly, but it's here in Hawkins if you want it. Or I'm sure you can afford the shipping if you don't want to come. Just, I made you a chair. It's more of a... Well, you'll see. Unless you don't want to... It's Steve by the way." He hangs up before he can embarrass himself even more.

Eddie doesn't call him back. One day passes and then another. Steve tries not to let it get to him. He works on orders and new projects. He enjoys his little backyard oasis. He rents a few movies and thinks they're okay.

He's debarking some wood in his driveway when the rental car pulls up, Eddie stepping out in ripped jeans and an old Metallica tee. "Hi again, Stevie."

"Oh." Steve clears his throat. "The thing's in the garage. I'll..."

Eddie doesn't say anything for a long time, circling the throne, running his tattooed fingers over each little detail.

"You made this whole thing?"

"I did."

"For me?" Eddie looks at him then, one hand still touching the wood like he doesn't want to let go. Even under the harsh lights of the garage, his eyes are such a warm shade of brown that Steve forgets to breathe.

He nods. "For you."

"Why?"

There are a hundred answers Steve could give, but he spent so long not knowing who he was or who he wanted to be. Too long. "Because you'll always be the one that got away. Because some part of me will always want to make you smile no matter how long it's been."

Eddie falls into the throne like he just got the wind knocked out of him.

"You don't have to respond to that," Steve says. "You can just say thank you and take the chair."

"I can." Eddie blows out a breath. "But that would be incredibly stupid considering half my early ballads are about you."

"What?" Unfair. Steve doesn't have a chair to fall into.

"Oh sure, I changed the hes to shes for a while there because..." Eddie waves his hand. "But they're about you, Steve. God, I should've asked you out. I just thought..."

Hearing those words is a lot like seeing that carved bear all over again, something clicking into place that wasn't quite right before.

"Go out with me now then," Steve says. "Or stay in. I've got a frozen lasagna and I rented Contact."

"Steve Harrington? Asking Eddie 'the Freak' Munson on a date? Did hell freeze over?"

"Pfft." Steve takes a step closer toward what he wants most. "Hell froze over in 1986, Eddie. You were there."

Five months and a lot of long distance phone bills later, Steve opens Harrington Woodworking in Los Angeles. That same day, Eddie takes photos for Rolling Stone posing in an ornate throne in his living room. He tells the reporter exactly who made it and what he means. At concerts, he starts singing those ballads the way he always wanted to. More often than not, Steve stands in the wings singing along.

[euphoricfilter]

Stardust || JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x F. Reader

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Friends to Lovers au

Summary: If Jungkook would have known an unintentional orgasm would have led to this, then he would have begged you to work out with him sooner.

Word Count: 5.5k

Tags/ warnings: himbo-ish jk, so much fluff idk where it came from, smut in the forms of: unintentional masturbation turned coregasm, oral (f. receiving), fingering, protected sex (because that’s really cool), mirror sex, doggy style, technically multiple orgasms, they’re both giggly and in love it’s kinda gross, jk is a tits man, he’s obsessed with boobs, it’s all very tame and kinda soft ig

Notes: yay first fic of 2023. this was way harder to write than i’d anticipated, hopefully i pulled through. and if there’s mistakes, no there aren’t!

<3 thank you to my prettiest baby @4amj3zz for reading this atrocity before i posted it

my full masterlist

✯ ✯ ✯

If every living being’s foundation is made of stardust, scattered when born, then Jungkook thinks the two of you were made from the same star.

A friendship that’s near impossible to come by, crafted by the hands of a higher being— delicate fingertips moulding fickle personalities and emotions that seem incomplete when not together. Two angels sent to earth to be each others’ number one in another life they’ll spend together.

Precious, like naturally formed diamonds.

And maybe that’s what your friendship was, one of the world’s little treasures. One everyone yearns for, though only a select few have.

Sure, diamonds can be replicated, graphite turned jewelry, simply there for show. A statement piece if you must.

Fake diamonds and fake friendships that seem to be more common than the real deal. Hard to crack, though not impossible— splitting the two of you up into pitiful shards and lost pieces; where even the most skilled hands have trouble putting it back together.

Jungkook doesn’t remember life before you. Though he thinks it must have been dull, flimsy smiles, and friends that hadn’t bothered to call once they moved away.

His existence so easily forgotten, that the gnawing sadness didn’t seem to last as long as he’d anticipated. Simply walking the path of life alone, though he often thought solitude wasn’t all that bad.

Until your worlds had collided. The big bang of your friendship, a new world, a new start, everything so fresh and untampered with.

He’d thought about what life would be like if one day the two of you were to ever part ways, the very thought of you not being by his side like a harsh punch the gut.

And maybe he had gotten a little teary eyed on those evenings he felt a little softer, a little sadder at the thought of you ever leaving. His hands fumbling around his sheets for his phone, your voice his only remedy for his growing anxiety, where promises were whispered and sleepy smiles remained on your faces as you rested.

Jungkook doubts that day will ever come. And maybe that’s all just wishful thinking, a juvenile dream that the promise you’d made to one another would hold strong for the rest of time, until the two of you lay six feet under. Resting side by side until your bodies rot, flesh becoming one with the earth, what is left of your existence blossoming into something beautiful; perhaps a tree, a flower, truly anything, as long as you were together.

“Together?” you blink up at Jungkook through your lashes, eyebrows creasing in distaste.

Jungkook thinks you look pretty in that moment, even if you are pulling a face at him. The two of you sat at a bench in the park, your head haloed by the setting sun, last of the days warmth kissing both your skin in a gentle goodbye before the moon watches over the two of you.

Littles galaxies reflected in both your eyes, where Jungkook thinks each star in his represents one thing he loves about you; hidden behind the moonlight because he doubt yours represent the same.

“Yes” he nods, hair flopping a little over his forehead, and you push the stray strands out of his eyes. Fingers delicate as they brush over his skin, always so gentle with him that his heart flutters like the delicate wings of a butterfly.

“Kook, I love you— you know I do” and he nods, lips quirking up a little, “But working out just, isn’t for me” you conclude, tone firm and his shoulders deflate. Because he knows it’ll take more than glossy puppy eyes and a pout for you to give in.

“First off, I love you too—“

“Thank you” you nod. But Jungkook doesn’t think you understand the weight behind those words.

“And look, how do you know it’s not for you, if you’ve never tried?”

“You put me off” and Jungkook would have thought you were joking if you didn’t have that deadpan look on your face. One he was all too familiar with.

“Huh” he gawks, “How?”

“You always complain about sore muscles, and the thought of being sweaty grosses me out” your head tips forward dramatically, cushioned by your arms from the table.

“It’s a good ache” he watches you turn your head, lips moulded into an unconvinced pout as you stare up at him through your lashes.

“There is no such thing as a good ache, Jungkook”

“Is too”

“When?” you flail, unbothered as Jungkook’s hands wrap around your wrists.

“Sex ache”

You pause, “Excuse me?”

“You know?” he cocks his head to the side.

“No” you shake your head in utter disbelief.

Jungkook’s mouth falls open, “You’re a little pillow princess aren’t you, I bet you don’t do any of the work”

“Do too, besides—“ you swallow, “It’s none of your business” you pull your hands free of his grasp.

“Come on, I feel like we’re at a point in this relationship we can share these things” his cheek rests atop of your head, each syllable pulled out into a whine.

“I don’t wanna hear about your sex life, Jungkook” you huff.

You watch him sit up ramrod straight, brain whirring behind his eyes. You think that if he thought any harder you’d be able to hear the echo of his voice.

“Actually, I don’t really wanna hear about yours either” his nose scrunches up, melting your resolve.

A secret charm of his that he didn’t know he had; and you’d never tell him either, no way in hell would you let him weaponize your weakness against you when your heart could barely stand being sat so close to him.

“Best friends don’t always share everything” you quip, only it leaves a tangy taste on your tongue.

“I suppose” Jungkook nods, evidently less enthusiasm radiating off him.

Best friends. It always wet your mood. Like sour candy that’s too sour, or a cute dog that’s breath smells like a rotting carcass.

But that’s what you were, introductions to new classmates or new lovers; it was always best friends. Two simple words that felt like utter shit to say, tumbling past your lips like vomit and then you had to rawdog the aftertaste because you don’t have any toothpaste or mints nearby.

Never anything less, even though there was definitely a lot more going on between the two of you. (Not that either of you had any idea about that.)

It’s a wonder as to how neither of you had grasped the fact that every previous relationship the two of you had, had ended because of the other. Nothing ever seeming to fit in place, the click never being there when it came to someone else.

Communication is key in upholding a relationship of any kind, issues easily resolved with hours of conversation turned mutual understanding, and progression made with a mix of both actions and words. As two people whose love languages were physical touch, the former is just as important as the latter.

One of the only reasons your friendship has lasted this long, is that you both value each other enough to communicate when necessary.

Apart from when you could probably really use it, unidentifiable emotions weaving into your hearts, mixed with a dose of denial can really set you back when you’re near infatuated with your closest friend.

It’s not that either of you had never considered a relationship with one another, others outside your little bubble had brought it up enough times that the meager possibility of it actually happening had been cemented into your thick skulls.

Something nice tickling both your brains at the fact so many people thought you were together together; like, in love together.

Long gone were the days where you’d blurt out your denial to dating accusations with rose dusted cheeks, simply believing the world had a thing against opposite sex friendships. Now, the two of you just laughed off whoever liked to comment on how good you looked as a couple. (Which had brought more than a few of Jungkook’s relationships to turmoil)

It’s just that neither of you believed the other wanted anything more than friendship. A rookie mistake on both your parts, especially when you’d both establish that every and all emotions were to be discussed with one another, no matter what you felt.

“One time” you break the silence, any way to ease the growing tension between the two of you “I’ll work out with you one time. And never again”

You watch the smile as it pulls at the corner of his lips, the prettiest smile, your favorite smile, enough of a reward for whatever pain you’re about to put yourself through. Because as long as Jungkook was happy, then you’d crawl to the ends of the earth if it meant you got to see this smile one more time.

“I love you” he bends down, sloppy kiss pressed to your cheek and you can’t help your own smile, heated cheeks covered as you swat him away from your face. Wiping his saliva from your skin with the back of your hand.

“Whatever” you tut, though Jungkook sees through your faux annoyance.

“We can use my at-home gym as well, so we won’t even be in public”

“Wonderful. Let’s go back now, I’m gonna freeze my tits off if we stay any later”

You don’t catch Jungkook’s gaze flickering down to your chest, lingering a little longer than proper before he’s slinging his zip-up hoodie around your shoulders. Eyes flickering down to his hands briefly before he’s knocking shoulders with you.

“Chivalry isn’t dead” you utter, falling into Jungkook’s side when his arm falls over your shoulder.

✯ ✯ ✯

Jeon Jungkook was sex on legs when he worked out.

You were no stranger to him training, countless vacations together, where the morning was spent with him doing press-up on the balcony or the occasional few times he’d bench-press you for a laugh.

You’d never found it funny though, pussy throbbing between your thighs as he’d grab onto you, arms flexing deliciously. And he never seemed to question why you’d lock yourself up in your room after, purely a coincidence that you’d disappear for an hour after his little stunt.

You were no stranger to a half naked Jungkook either.

Nor were you a juvenile teenager whose panties got in a twist when she saw a toned stomach.

However, this wasn’t just any toned stomach.

Jeon Jungkook was built like Adonis. Carved where every crevice had meaning and every flaw only enhanced his beauty. And it’s hard to think the bushy haired, acne prone teen boy you’d first befriended had turned into this.

If puberty had benefited anyone, it was Jungkook.

“We’ll do something easy today, okay?” he claps and you nod, watching as he saunters over to a basket.

“Pink or blue” he holds up two yoga mats.

“I didn’t think you were into rhinestones” you snort, sun catching on the bedazzled rim of the pink mat— streaks of pink painting the wall.

Jungkook drops said mat, chucking you the blue one before he’s dropping to his knees on the floor.

“It’s one of my exes” he tells you, motioning for you to sit.

If people were flowers, then this is the moment you would have wilted. Deflating in on yourself; it’s not that you were jealous per-say. It’s not like him and his ex were dating at all but still. The very mention of her was enough for you to roll your eyes.

“And you didn’t throw it out?” the words hurdle out your mouth before you can even think about what you’re saying.

“No?” his eyes meet your own, “I’m not throwing away good gym equipment”

You sigh, somehow expecting no less from him. Jungkook was a man of many skills, and he’d hounded you to try hobby after hobby with him— but nothing got him going like a good work out. If all other passion in life disappeared then he would still have working out as his escape.

You sigh, “I have somewhere to be later, so let’s hurry this up” a little white lie, but that never hurt anyone.

“You’re not going on another one of those shitty blind dates, are you?” he groans and you whine.

“I told you, I’m never going on any of those ever again”

“You better not” he unrolls his mat, and you follow.

“Or what?” you turn your nose up at him and Jungkook’s foot collides with your thigh.

“On your back, you brat.”

✯ ✯ ✯

“How much more” you flop against the mat, eyes closing.

“That was only the warm up” Jungkook hums, pushing himself up off the floor.

You hear him walk to the other side of the room, cupboard door creaking open as he rummages around for something.

You peek up at him through your lashes when he throws a towel over your back.

“Roll that up” he motions towards it, coming to sit beside you, “And up onto your back again”

Your eyes widen by a fraction when he gently takes the towel out of your hands, pushing your knees apart before he’s closing them; towel stuffed between your thighs.

Your gaze travels down the length of your body, thighs twitching as Jungkook’s fingers wrap around your ankles.

“All you have to do is raise your legs like this okay?” and he demonstrates, making sure to keep your legs straight as he lifts them to a ninety degree angle from your torso. “Leg raises should be easy, even for you” he hums.

“What’s that supposed to mean” you snap, ready to push yourself up, except Jungkook’s hands press down over your chest.

“Hey! No complaining”

You swallow thickly, aware of Jungkook’s eyes on you as you raise your legs on your own this time.

“Pretty good, remember to tense your core when you do it, okay?”

You nod, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you do as you’re told.

Your eyes squeeze shut, body hyper aware of each small movement the towel has right over your clit. Pussy throbbing inside your panties and you worry your slick had started to soak through your shorts.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to take notice of your growing predicament, hands hovering over your calf to make sure you’re raising your legs all the way. Though that’s the least of your worries as you feel each new wave of unadulterated pleasure pulse through your core.

“Not so bad huh?” he grins.

It’s a strange sensation, pure arousal ebbing up your body, every brush of your panties over your clit, weight of the towel over your slit slowly bringing you to the precipice of an orgasm.

“I don’t think—“ you start, cutting yourself off with an arm covering your face at a particularly intense wave of arousal. Your stomach tightening at the feeling.

“Just a few more, you’re doing great”

“Kook, I really don’t think—“ your hand clamps over your mouth as Jungkook’s fingers take hold of your legs, helping you raise them; and that’s all it takes to tip you over the edge. And you can’t help the surprised moan that drips off your lips.

Your knees bend, nudging against your tits as your hand falls over your sodden pussy, dull wave of your orgasm throbbing throughout your body.

Jungkook looks down at you, eyes wide as you simply lay there with your hands between your legs.

“Did you just piss yourself?” he asks, mouth falling open in awe.

“What the fuck?” you cry, “I just came you idiot”

Jungkook’s cheeks flush red, “Oh” he nods, “Oh. You had a— holy shit”

“Don’t look at me like that” your eyes glaze over with tears, heat prickling up your body in embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to, it just happened”

Your feet fall to the floor, towel falling from between your thighs as you let out a stuttered breath, body still buzzing with the after affects or your surprise orgasm.

“Jungkook?” you peek up at him through hooded eyes, heart pattering so hard in your chest you could feel it in your throat.

Jungkook’s eyes meet your own, “That was so fucking hot” he groans, “Looked so pretty”

You watch as his hand rubs over his shorts, his own arousal hard to hide as his head tips back in a way that extenuates his neck.

“Huh?” your eyes widen, willing yourself to not look at what his hands were doing.

“Should have known something like this would have turned you on”

“I wasn’t even turned on” you exasperate, “I clenched my core like you said and it just happened”

“Mhmm” and you can tell he’s unconvinced.

“Stop rubbing your dick, you horny piece of shit” you clamp a hand over your eyes, thighs clenching when he lets out a deep groan.

“Can’t help it” he lets out a sigh, “I’ve been dreaming of what you’d look like when you came, shame it wasn’t on my cock”

Your hand falls from your eyes, “Dreaming?”

“God, haven’t I made it obvious?” he asks, his own hands falling to his sides, though now you have a full view of his straining erection.

“Made what obvious?” you whisper.

“That I like you” he asks and you gawk at him.

“You, like me? I’ve been trying to hint that I like you” you point at him, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Huh?” it’s Jungkook’s turn for furrowed brows, “I swear you didn’t like me”

“I could have sworn you didn’t like me”

Jungkook snorts, “When did I ever say that?”

“You’re unbelievable”

“Me? What about you?”

Your body lays flaccid, muscles loose; heart hammering in your ears as Jungkook leans back on his hands.

“How long?” you ask, not daring to look up at him.

“High school”

You push a palm into the socket of your eye, low groan rumbling up your throat, “I’ve liked you since, I don’t know, probably high school as well”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, voice soft and you can feel yourself tearing up— so many emotions plaguing your mind at once you don’t know how to feel.

Jungkook scoots closer to you, “I could say the same thing about you” you huff.

“Why’re you crying” he frowns, thumb gentle as it brushes against your damp cheek.

“We wasted so many years. I seriously thought— you’ve had so many girlfriends”

“Because I thought you didn’t feel the same, I guess I thought my feelings would go away if I gave my heart to someone else. And then you started dating around too and I really thought I’d never have a chance”

“Me too” you sigh, nose scrunching up in distaste for all your failed relationships.

“Guess it didn’t work out for either of us huh?” he hums and you nod.

“I think we’re both stupid” you murmur.

And Jungkook nods, “I agree”

“What do we do now?” you push yourself up onto your elbows, frown on your face.

“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook’s head hovers over your own, the sun meeting the moon at the same point in the sky— your eclipse. The rest of your world suddenly shrouded in darkness, all you can see, think, smell, everything just Jungkook.

You nod, eyes flitting across his face as his arms cage your head. You can see his biceps flexing in your peripherals, thick muscle straining under the weight of his torso.

Jungkook’s lips hover over your own, a breaths width away from touching. You tilt your head up, pillowy lips cushioning your own and that’s when everything falls into place.

There’s nothing desperate about the kiss, ever so gentle and slow, the two of you aware that lost time can be made up in the future as you simply bask in this moment; your worlds aligning, tilting on the same axis, everything just perfect and right, and your hearts beating in sync, and breathing stuttered as you both pull away with hesitance.

Your hands cup Jungkook’s cheeks, eyes searching his own for anything, just something to tell you this wasn’t all a dream— that he really did like you back.

“You’re so pretty, you know?” he whispers, his lips pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of your lips.

“No” you smile, giggle bubbling up your throat and Jungkook can’t help but grin down at you.

“I’ll tell you every day, all the time. You’ll get sick of me”

“I could never get sick of you, Jungkook” you push yourself up onto your elbows, noses bumping.

He tilts his head, kiss firm, and you moan as his tongue licks at the seam of your lips, a silent plea for access.

You oblige, arms slung over his shoulders as you bring his body closer to your own, heat radiating off the two of you in thick waves.

“You taste so good” he groans, hands wandering down your body, teasing as they pull up the hem of your hoodie, “Want this off”

Your fingers tug at the offending material, dragging it up your body, “Hang on” you pull away from the kiss, and Jungkook feels his cock twitch at the sight of you. Red swollen lips, a sheen of his saliva coating them.

You pull your hoodie over your head, throwing it somewhere, a problem for later. Thighs clenching as Jungkook stares down at you— eyes wandering.

“And this” his fingers skim over the edge of your sports bra, dancing over your skin, mapping you out of every little spot he wants to kiss.

You hesitate.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable” Jungkook’s smile is gentle, retracting his hands and you want to whine at the loss of contact.

“I want to” you tell him, hoping the shake in your voice didn’t sound too unconvincing. The incessant throbbing between your legs wouldn’t go away unless Jungkook helped you out and your patience was slowly wearing thin.

“But?” he urges.

“I’m nervous” you admit and he smiles; reassuring.

“How can I help?”

You squirm under his gaze, fizzling embarrassment painting your cheeks red, “Can we both—“ you cut yourself off with a whine.

“Come on, gotta use your words, my love”

“Can we both get naked” you splutter, “At the same time?”

Jungkook’s head falls back, fully belly laugh wracking through his body, “Of course”

You tug your shorts off, Jungkook following you; a pile of both your clothes laying forgotten by your head. You’re too distracted tugging your sports bra off to see Jungkook’s length slap against his stomach. Tip of his cock an angry red, his fingers barely touching his shaft as he closes them around the length.

“Oh” he croons, “How pretty. Can I touch you?”

You nod, falling onto your back.

Jungkook’s careful as he touches you, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, testing the waters as he tugs at them, eliciting a breathy moan from you.

“Feels good?” his voice low, and you nod; hips involuntarily bucking upwards when you finally cast a glance at his length. Eyes widening a little in awe.

His fingers dig into your flesh, and he bends down, lips closing around one of your nipples. Your back arches, mouth falling open in a silent moan as his teeth nip at the sensitive skin; tugging in a way that sends warm pleasure straight to your core.

He kisses over your chest, lips worshipping your skin, fingers skimming over the underside of your boob.

Each gentle press of his lips are searing as he works down your body. And your breath hitches as his hovers over your pussy, folds glistening with your arousal.

“Oh baby” he groans, and your thighs twitch as his warm breath fans over your core.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, impatient as they tug him closer to where you need him; an embarrassed whine falling past your lips when he kisses over you clit, once, then twice.

“Jungkook” you squeak, legs tensing when he finally wraps his lips around it, tongue flicking at your clit meanly.

He simply hums, vibrations sending a new wave of pleasure straight through your body, another gush of wetness dribbling from your hole. Jungkook wastes no time, fingers scooping up your leaking arousal before he’s pushing them into you.

“Oh” your chest stutters a breath as he pulls his fingers out of you, tongue licking a broad stripe over your cunt before his thumb brushes over your clit.

“You like that?” he asks, though the question was rhetorical as he repeats the motion. Tongue teasing over your hole before he’s lapping up your slick; sucking at your folds, squelching lewd accompanied by each hearty moan.

Your thighs start to shake, clamping around Jungkook’s head though that barely deters him, as he pushes your legs open by your knees.

“Stop. Kook— please” you whimper, “wanna cum around your cock”

That catches his attention, and with one final kiss to your clit he’s pushing himself onto his elbows.

Jungkook looks like the epitome of sin, slick stained chin and swollen red lips, unashamed as he licks your arousal off his face, humming in satisfaction as your chest stutters out a breath.

“Lemme get a condom” he murmurs, lips pressing another kiss over your knee before he’s pushing himself to stand. Your eyes follow his body, heavy cock bobbing against his stomach with every step he takes.

“Hopefully they’re not expired” he calls from the other room, and you giggle at that, “We’re good” he flashes you a grin as he drops back between your legs; foil wrapper held between two fingers.

You watch his fingers run down his length, thumb brushing over his slit and you feel slick dribble out of your hole as a bead of pre-cum coats the head of his cock shiny.

“Please” your head tips back, hands impatient as they tug at your nipples; Jungkook completely entranced by the sight. “Hurry, hurry” you nudge his thigh with your foot, and albeit reluctant, he tears his eyes away from your tits.

He rips the condom open with his teeth, a cheesy attempt at seducing you, and you weren’t about to tell him all he had to do was breathe and you panties would dampen.

He rolls the rubber down his length, fingers wrapping around his cock as he tugs a few times. You choose that moment to flip yourself over, hips raised as your chest lays flat against the floor and Jungkook moans.

“My pretty baby” he croons, hands roaming your ass before he’s pulling your cheeks apart; eyes fixed on your clenching cunt. Ever so enticing, silently begging to be filled and fucked until you can’t think or walk; a perfect excuse for Jungkook to pamper you a little.

You wiggle your hips, giggle muffled in the crook of your elbow has he parts your lips with his thumb, gently dipping into you hole before he’s pulling out.

“Please, Jungkook”

And that’s all it takes for him to line the head of his cock up with you entrance, tip nudging against your clit before he’s pushing into you; every inch stretching you apart deliciously.

“So good” you sigh, walls clenching around him and Jungkook can’t help the stutter of his hips, punching the air out of your lungs at the sudden intrusion.

“Sorry—“ his fingers dig into your hips, “Just feels so good, sucking me in”

You rock back onto his cock, breathy moan tumbling past your lips as your ass meets his pelvis; cock fully tucked into your pussy.

“Give me a moment” you shudder, body thrumming in anticipation.

Jungkook hums, hands wandering your body, fingers dancing over your skin. A surprised moan echoes throughout the room as his hands grab both your tits, squeezing them, fingers rubbing over both your nipples sending hot pleasure straight to your cunt.

He can feel you rhythmically clenching around him, walls sucking him in as you rock forward an inch before you’re sinking back down on his length.

“Okay” you nod, fingers holding onto the edge of the yoga mat.

“You sure?” he asks, pulling out to the tip, hips slow as he plunges back into you.

“Mhmm”

You feel Jungkook’s fingers dig into the meat of your hips, picking up the pace of his thrusts.

You can’t help each near pornographic moan that’s pushed out of you with each harsh slap of Jungkook’s hips meeting your ass, skin smacking wet as your slick coats your thighs.

“So good for me” his head tips back, arms hooking around your bent elbows.

You let out a squeak as he sits you up, and your walls constrict around his length as he pushes deeper inside of you, gush of wetness clinging to his thighs.

“So good” your head tips back onto his shoulder, knees helping you bounce up his length.

Your back arches when the head of cock hits your g-spot, ring of creamy slick gathering at the base of his cock each time you pull up to the tip.

“Look at that” Jungkook murmurs into your ear, one hand tangling into your hair as the other settles over your throat.

He tugs your head up, and you catch your reflection in the full length mirror; insides of your thighs coated in a sheen of your slick, Jungkook’s hips thrusting his cock up into you, both your bodies glistening with sweat.

The red hue of your cheeks flushes down your neck and chest, shade darkening with each wet squelch of your cunt as Jungkook helps you bounce in his lap.

He watches your tits bounce, both his hands wandering to grab them, pulling your back closer to chest as he pounds into you.

“I’m gonna cum” you hiccup, hands scrambling to hold onto his bicep as your other hand travels down your body, fingers gathering up your slick before you’re circling your clit.

You thighs start to shake, crescent moons indented into your skin as Jungkook’s grip on your chest tightens, your walls throbbing around his cock, drawing him closer to his orgasm.

“Yeah?” his hips stutter, “Come for me then, pretty. Let’s come together”

You moan, fingers unrelenting as you thrum at your clit in tight circles. Your orgasm wracks throughout your entire body when it hits, stomach tensing as your cum coats Jungkook cock, which twitches as he thrusts up into you.

He holds you down on his length, deep groan rumbling through his chest as he shoots his seed into the condom, your walls continuing to milk him of everything he’s got.

“Good girl” he soothes, hands falling to your hips as you fall forwards, cheek pressed against the mat as Jungkook pulls out, thrusting back into you gently.

“Thank you” you whimper, thighs tensing as he pulls himself out of your sodden pussy, folds glistening creamy white.

✯ ✯ ✯

Everything feels right. The two of you tucked into Jungkook’s bed after a shower, both your hands roaming one another’s bodies.

You’d clung to Jungkook’s back as he’d cooked you both dinner, work-out long forgotten as you’d both worked up an appetite. Muscles too sore, too achey, to even think of carrying on anything that isn’t wrapping up warm in each others’ arms.

It’s strange how so much, but nothing had changed. You still danced around each other with practiced ease, hands still feathery light, skimming over hips and backs, where legs are tangled under blankets, cold feet on warm skin.

There was something mellow in the air, a film of freedom, hearts on your sleeves for one another to see, where kisses felt softer, deeper in promise and love.

All the ‘I love yous’ holding the right weight, both understanding that the love you feel is the right kind of love.

He’d thought about it a lot, from the day you’d both confessed; messy, but a confession nonetheless. (And he had made sure to ask you to be his girlfriend in a more romantic setting than his spare room turned gym). That maybe the time growing up as just friends wasn’t wasted.

Failed relationships and sticky breakups simply teaching the two of you the right way to love.

Learning the give and take of relationships, what it truly meant to be in love with another person. Where you want nothing more than their happiness, a pure sort of adoration that consumes your entire being until they’re always on your mind. Small, seemingly insignificant parts of life reminding you of them. Trinkets in corner shops or the changes in season, certain smells, textures of clothing.

Learning about what you want for yourselves and how to take care of one another.

So he doesn’t regret all those years spent as just friends. Because maybe the two of you were too young, too eager, too scared about something as precious as true love. Growing up together, as just friends, might have brought the two of you closer than rushed first loves and petty arguments that you’d look back on and regret.

Red string. Stars. Fate. Destiny. Any of it. Jungkook doesn’t know what brought the two of you together, two souls intertwined until you both part ways when your lights flicker out. Though he thinks you’d reignite them wherever the two of you end up later on, new lives, new worlds. New everything, where he gets to learn about you all over again, explore your being, as you explore his, and you’re moulding into one another once more.

He wonders how long you’ve both been laying there, lips pulled up into lazy smiles, kiss swollen; little galaxies reflected in both your eyes.

Where every glistening star is a reason as to why you love each other. Your galaxies shining with a million different reasons, moonlight no longer veiling what lay beneath.

Because Jungkook thinks, if people were made of stardust before they were born. There’s no doubt in his mind, the two of you were made from the same star.

💫 like, reblog, and feedback is encouraged!! thank you so much for reading <3

taglist: @koikooky @fandems @guesswhatimthinking @slut-formattsun @satisfied18 @apollukee @scastro95 @happygolucky7777 @jjkw-7 @taeboludo @fairy-jaykay @jeonjjks @exactlygreatcoffee @itzz-me-duh @jkkkkkay @starstruckfangirls @tornparts @seoqity @straykidsmaxident @bebejungkook @twilight-love-nochu-main @chimmisbae @redeyezbloodymouth

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

[leclerc-hs]

lucky pt. 2 - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: in which you and your childhood best friend, are most definitely in love, but it's too complicated (or is it?) Warnings: most french edited by @softtdaisy (shoutout to her!!), SMUT, angst, 18+, not proofread Word Count: 2,695 Author's Note: I absolutely loved writing this!! I know I said I would wait for the poll to end but I think we can just do bonus scenes in the future if wanted!! xoxo PART 1 BONUS

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Imbécile,” Idiot. Arthur throws a piece of his balled-up napkin, hitting you right in the face. “Maman wants you there, pas d’excuses.” No excuses.

It had been almost two weeks since you and Charles last spoke. The both of you far too stubborn to bring up the argument you last had. Instead, you ignored the problem at hand. By not seeing each other. Sunday dinner at Pascale’s was a weekly occurrence. One that you failed to attend last week, and it was shame on you if you missed another because of Charles.

You release a heavy sigh, acknowledging that you’re about to yield and head over to Pascale’s. After all, it’s not entirely her fault that her son seems to be obvlious to certain things. 

“Il est fou amoureux de toi!” He is in love with you! Arthur exclaims softly as he notices your eyes won’t stray from the icy window of the café you are both seated in. You felt your throat tighten at the phrase.

“Ce n’est pas grave, Arthur,” It doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Him being in love with you wasn’t always enough, or so you thought. He could barely commit to his ex-girlfriend. Could he commit to you? You couldn’t handle losing him if it didn’t work out. It was a recipe for disaster to begin with.

The two of you didn’t realize how dark it was already getting. Meaning you were for sure late to Pascale’s.

“Tu viendras avec moi?” Will you come with me?

“Bien sur.” Of course. You couldn’t not go. One, because you knew nothing but seeing Pascale will put a smile on your face. Two, Arthur wouldn’t let you leave this café without dragging you to his Maman’s first. 

It was a short drive from the café to Pascale’s place. The limited size of the principality made the journey quick, allowing you to take in the charming scenery along the way. As you approached Pascale’s home, a smile graced your lips at the sight of the festive decorations adorning the steps.

Pascale’s touch was evident in the small Christmas trees, their lights casting a warm glow that sparkled beside the front door. The holiday spirit infused the air, creating a sense of coziness and anticipation. 

The warmth of Pascale’s home enveloped you as Arthur swung the door open. His hand gently found its place on the small of your back, guiding you inside with a gesture that spoke of familiarity and care.

He assisted you in shedding the layers of clothes you wore. Your scarf and jacket were in his hands, swiftly finding their place on the nearby coat rack. Amidst the exchange, laughter bubbled up, a spontaneous reaction to the slightly comical struggle Arthur faced in unraveling the scarf from your neck.

The sound of shared laughter echoed through the entrance and into the home, allowing the others to become alert of your presence.

“Que se passe t’il?” What’s going on? You felt your laugh stop almost instantly.

Charles’ question hung in the air, and for a moment you were caught off guard. The warmth of Pascale’s cozy home surrounded you, but the sudden seriousness in his tone made you pause. You looked into his eyes, searching for any hints of the playful banter that usually characterized your interactions.

He stood not too far away, a soft white hoodie and a casual pair of jeans on. You felt your heart clench with want. You missed him. You wanted to hug him and never let go.

“Rien, juste une journée un peu folle,” Nothing, just a bit of a crazy day. You replied with a sheepish smile. Your attempt to brush off the question with a casual response didn’t escape Charles notice. He studied your face for a moment, trying to decipher your emotions. 

Arthur, sensing some tension, guided you towards the living room and past Charles. As you both settled into the inviting cushions, the crackling sounds from the fireplace filled the room with a soothing rhythm.

Pascale entered the room carrying two glasses of wine. “Ma fille,” My girl she says, a term of endearment feeling much like a warm embrace to you. Pascale handed you one of the glasses with a tender smile, sealing the gesture with a gentle kiss on your cheek. 

Charles’s unease didn’t go unnoticed as he took a seat on the sofa across from you and Arthur. The atmosphere seemed charged with tension, and Pascale’s seemingly casual question carried a weight that went beyond mere curiosity.

“Est-ce que tu vois quelqu’un?” Are you seeing anybody? Pascale asked, her tone gentle but perceptive. The question, on the surface, appeared to be a routine inquiry about your romantic life. However, the underlying context hinted at a concern born out of a missed dinner and deviation from the usual routine. 

The atmosphere in the room shifted as you became acutely aware of Charles’s intense gaze beside Pascale. Seated on the couch, his eyes bore into you with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the very core of your being. His eyes, like embers, conveyed a myriad of emotions – curiosity, intensity, and perhaps a touch of scrutiny. 

“Maman, laisse-la tranquille,” Leave her alone. Arthur speaks before you can. A sense of relief filling you up as you take a large gulp of the red wine in your glass.

Pascale scrunches her eyes at Arthur, poised to deliver a retort that only she knows. However, before any words escape her lips, the timer in the kitchen interrupts the moment. “Arthur, viens m’aider.” Come help me. Arthur gives you a sympathetic look before leaving the room following Pascale. 

Lost in thought, your gaze fixates on the flickering flames within the fireplace. The dancing firelight casts shadows that capture your attention, creating a mesmerizing display that seems more captivating than acknowledging a brooding Charles, seated across from you.

“Tu ne peux pas m’ignorer éternellement,” You can’t ignore me forever. His voice interrupts your train of thought, gently pulling you back into the present moment.

The solitary sentence prompts an immediate eye roll from you. How dare he? How dare he pretend that you’re the only one at fault?

“Ne lève pas les yeux au ciel en me regardant,” Don’t roll your eyes at me. The atmosphere shifted as he rose from his seat on the couch, undoubtedly making his way to occupy the now vacant spot beside you. However, the nature of his touch became more intimate than you anticipated. His hands ventured onto your thigh, traveling higher than the boundaries of a typical friendship would permit. 

In a disconcerting turn of events, his other hand gripped your jaw, redirecting your gaze to meet his. The sudden change in physical proximity and the assertiveness of his actions left palpable tension in the air.

“Vas y,” Make me. You provoked him deliberately, seeking to burrow beneath his skin, much like he had already done under yours.

“Viens chez moi.” Come home with me. It wasn’t posed as a question; rather, it was a firm demand – one you were aware you would yield to. You didn’t need to articulate your response; he could discern it just by the slow flicker of your eyes to his. Without another word, you withdrew your chin from his hands and stood up, making your way into the kitchen, and leaving him behind. 

“Nous avons des choses à discuter.” We have more to discuss. You hear him say loud enough for you to hear but low enough for no one else to hear before you cross into the threshold of the kitchen. 

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

Discuss.

You laughed mentally at the word. You and Charles were indisputably not engaging in anything resembling a discussion, that much was certain. Unless you consider the dirty phrases, he’s whispering in your ear a discussion.

“Tu es tellement sexy,” You’re so hot. Charles moans into your mouth as he pushes you onto his unmade bed, falling with you in the process. Both of your clothes were long gone— strewn along the pathway you took from his front door to his bed. “Faite pour moi, putain.” Fucking made for me.

He didn’t know where to look, darting from your thighs to your lips to your unforgettable eyes. His jaw flexed as he let out a soft growl deep in his chest as his finger hooked into the band of your delicate silk panties and ripped them from your body. “Je t’en achèterai advantage.” I’ll buy you more. 

He was so impatient. Couldn’t even wait until he tossed your panties to the side before his mouth was on your center. You gasped as his lips enveloped your sensitive clit and getting a full taste of you. He moaned, dipping his tongue inside of you.

You really believed you could die right here and now. He pulled away momentarily just to look at you, glistening and moaning beneath him. It was a sight he wanted to burn in his memory forever. 

“Tu me rends fou." You drive me insane.

You couldn’t stop moaning. You wanted to tell him that he was the one who drove you insane. That the feeling was more than mutual. But you were incoherent with pleasure. Incapable of words.

He curved two fingers inside of you, almost instantly rubbing your g-spot. “Yeah?” He edged you on. His words alone pushing you to the threshold of your orgasm. “Tu aimes ça?” You like that?

His words were nearly as perilous as his touch. He was smirking above you like the cocky motherfucker he was. You felt delusional as his fingers stroked your g-spot continuously that when he flipped you over and pulled you up to your knees, you let out a shriek of surprise. 

You felt your orgasm closing in as he refused to let up on the assault of your clit. Your orgasm came so fast, you couldn’t even warn Charles before you were trembling all over his fingers.

“Oui, soak me.” Your orgasm was explosive, you could feel your legs shaking. Before you could even recover from the last orgasm, Charles was bringing his fingers that were coated in you to his mouth.

“J'ai vraiment besoin de toi,” I really need you. You muttered softly. The confession so raw. It made Charles heart clench with need to ravish you completely. To ruin you for anybody else.

His grip on your hips tightened as he slipped himself inside of you, eliciting a loud groan. “Mon dieu,”My God.  He moaned. “Tu me fais me sentir si bien,” You make me feel so good.

Your pussy clenched tightly around him at his words. His breaths were jagged and heavy in your ear as he took you harder and harder. 

“Ma salope,” My slut. He groaned, bottoming himself out. “My lucky.”

He could tell that you were there already again, the way you were squeezing him so tight and the clench of your hands trying to support you on the mattress. 

“C’est si bien que ça?,” Is it that nice? “Gonna come for me?”

You did. Your eyes wet with tears from the intensity as his hands squeezed your hips, leaving bruises. He didn’t stop the assault on your pussy, kept pounding into you. He was ruthless.

He threw his head back with a string of curses before pressing soft kisses to your back. He didn’t bother to pull out. He wanted you full of him. In all ways, shapes, and forms. He was selfish. You were thankfully on the pill. He held himself there for a few moments before pulling out and rolling you over to your back so you could face him. He buried his face into your neck, leaving small gentle kisses as you both caught your breath. 

Eventually Charles was able to find the strength to stand and clean you up, pressing a warm cloth to your center as he peppered small kisses to the inside of your thighs. You felt your heart flutter as he tossed the cloth into the hamper and joined you back in the bed, pulling you into his chest under the covers.

You could feel his mind was running a million miles a minute as he traced small circles on your skin. He wanted to ask if you went on any other dates. But he couldn’t handle if you said yes. 

“Qu’est-ce que tu as en tête?” What’s on your mind? You asked.

You were preparing for yet another fight. There was no escaping it any longer. The only sound that filled the air was both of your breathing.

“Je veux que tu sois mienne.” I want you to be mine. As you lay on his chest, you sensed his heartbeat quickening. In response, a soft laugh escaped you, uncertain of how to reply. The weight of your reaction hung heavy in the air, adding more pressure. 

You had to put a stop to this. You felt the panic constricting your throat. You couldn’t continue down this path with him. As you tried to sit up and distance yourself from Charles, his hand swiftly seized your arm, compelling you back towards him. He was determined to make you stay, refusing to let you escape from this conversation any longer.

“Non, arête de fuir le sujet,” No, stop running away from it. He insisted, urging you to stop evading it.  “Il sait déjà que tu m’aimes,” I already know that you love me. He declared, his words rushing out of him uncontrollably. It was as if he couldn’t halt the flow, a sense of panic palpable in his voice. 

You loved him; it wasn’t a secret. Fear held you back. The thought of losing him permanently if things didn’t work out was too daunting. So, you’ve tried to maintain a distance, but it was futile. It was as if he had become your vital source of oxygen – indispensable. You found yourself inextricably linked; your souls entwined. 

“Je ne veux pas te perdre!” I don’t want to lose you. You felt the words rush out of your mouth in a frenzy. His touch, his stare, this conversation was all too much to handle. 

“Je t’aime!” I love you! He repeated it over and over. He wouldn’t stop. You could see the anger forming in his face with each proclamation he made. He was angry. Why wouldn’t you listen? Why wouldn’t you believe him?

“Je suis bien avec toi!” I feel good when I’m with you!

“Tu me plait!” You make me happy!

“J’ai envie de t’embrasser!” I want to kiss you!

“Sans toi, je ne suis rien!” Without you, I am nothing!

“Tu es l’amour de ma vie!” You’re the love of my life!

“Je veux passer ma vie avec toi!” I want to spend my life with you!

“Mon dieu, I even breathe better when I’m with you.”

Tears spilled from your eyes, but he persisted, like a broken record playing an urgent message. His need for you to understand was palpable. He laid bare his soul, expressing that if it wasn’t for you, it would be no one. The pain in his chest mirrored the intensity of his emotions.

His hands held you tightly, rendering you incapable of moving. He needed you close. In response, you brought your hands to his face, swiftly pressing your lips against his.

You felt him grab your face during the kiss, his thumbs brushing the tears from your eyes in the process. 

“You’re mine. My lucky,” he broke the kiss. “You’ve always been mine.”

Your gazes locked, and you held each other’s eyes for an extended moment, as if attempting to decipher the entirety of each other’s thoughts through this intense connection.

“Oui?” He asked softly, seeking confirmation. He needed to hear you say you were his, a moment he had been waiting for his entire life.  He knew he had you now. But he wanted your words.

You recognized there was no longer an option to escape. You belonged to him, and it wasn’t up for discussion. He possessed your heart and soul entirely. You knew that you needed to take a risk. A risk for him. 

You nodded your head slowly, “Oui.”

TAG LIST: @harrysdimple05 @rachyroo-99 @rana030

[transmutationisms]

Any tips for reading academic/dense texts? I’m out of practice and without the guide of a professor to patiently explain every single thing it’s pretty hard getting back into it. Got any advice for improving one’s reading/comprehension abilities? I was reading Gramsci the other day and gave up. So we are talking pretty dire straits.

read a few book reviews or a secondary essay that summarises the text's arguments and significance. these readings are not definitive and you may very well end up disagreeing with them, but knowing what someone else made of the work can help you know what you're looking for when you read it yourself

read the introduction and conclusion first, then tackle the body chapters. this is similar to the above strategy in that it can clue you in to the main arguments and significance of the text before you delve into specific details and arguments. it helps keep you oriented if you know generally where a chapter is going and why. where applicable, you can also read the intro and conclusion to each chapter before reading the middle bits

academic texts are context-bound just like any other writing. if a book is baffling you, it can be clarifying to ask questions like: whom is this trying to respond to? why is the author setting these particular parameters of debate? what arguments or events is the author building on, answering, or taking for granted a reader's awareness of? you don't have to become an expert in every author, their political context, or their intellectual influences, but it often helps to pick up the broad strokes

keep a running lexicon of any specific jargon, vocabulary, or neologisms the author introduces. get into the habit of 'translating' sentences, at least in your head, by replacing all such terms with their definitions when necessary. sometimes you might even find it helpful to draw up some kind of diagram showing how terms relate to one another, like a taxonomical tree or other scheme

don't be afraid to skip around. if a chapter or section is particularly dense, baffling, or irritating, it might make more sense if you come back to it later, after reading other bits of the argument. academic non-fiction follows varying organisational schemata, and often chapters and sections stand on their own (& may even have been written as separate pieces, for instance intended for journal publication)

annotate (i like underlining and scribbling in the margins) and take notes (i like to remind myself what page number i can find a specific topic on) as necessary. the goal is not to disrupt your reading flow, but to give the future you the ability to look back and quickly identify what you thought was important or interesting in a text

[undercoverpena]

under the stars

joel miller x f!reader | masterlist

summary: joel finds that you become a thing of unnatural order, all ethereal as the moonlight kisses your curves.

wordcount: 3.7k warnings: post outbreak. smut. oral sex (m receiving). tying joel up with rope. cutting joel free with a knife. p in v. jo's spelling. feelings, but joel-feelings. softer!joel an: i've had this in my head for so long, getting it down on a page has been the whole wonderful, exciting and exhausting thing. i could sing forever about the moon. thank you to the most wonderful, and amazing @swiftispunk who i threw this at last night and made me feel like i am a goddess of the moon.

Joel had learnt early on that you liked the night.

You’d handed it to him in puzzle pieces—flecks of information that he’d eventually be able to make a portrait out of. First, you’d handed him a story, then a statement and then a feeling.

The only times you didn’t like the night was when it was silent.

No wind in the trees, each branch crunching sounding for miles. You didn’t tell him with your words, but rather your body—frame closer, practically against him.

When he’d seen the abandoned train yard coming into view, he’d already considered it. The night had been closing in, the last embers of daylight casting shadows larger shadows across the tall, wiry grass.

“Ever stayed in a train?”

“Can’t say I have.”

He wonders a lot about the things you haven’t done. If you had a list of things you had hoped to tick off from a list before the world went to shit. Whether you had made a new one when you woke up one day and realised it was kill or be killed.

In another life, he wonders if you’d have been a nurse, a doctor, a baker or a typist—because there’s something about your hands. A soothingness about them wasted on holding a gun or slitting a hole in a person from jaw to pelvis. It’s something which passes over you more when the sun goes down. The sharpness in you fading, as though you truly become the thing you were always supposed to be when shrouded in night and the moon comes out to greet you.

He supposes the night is the constant. The unchanged force that arrived and vanished each day—a fixed point, a welcomed relief. Things don’t appear any more threatening in the dark, no more than the world was before.

Yet, Joel finds that you become a thing of unnatural order, all ethereal as the moonlight kisses your curves. It highlights the lines that bend, and illuminates the sheen which coats your skin as you stare back at him in gratitude, as though the way he makes you feel good can make up for all you were robbed of. He hopes to, not by being the thing you lie next to, but the thing which keeps you safe. A protector, a wall of muscle, bone and flesh that would rip if it meant keeping you whole.

It wouldn’t even matter if it were day or night.

Before it all happened, he’d never have considered that the night was more alive than the day. But he’d witnessed how it was. How the darkness provided by the sky was a gift, the moon licking shadows that added an illusion of safety, one he had used to his advantage.

Your words coaxing him, whispered, all hushed, we can take them—won’t even see us coming. You had been right. Staring up at the sky as you caught your breath, stars inside your eyes and a soul full of darkness.

As he glances over, you’re doing it now.

Peering up through the open hatch of the train roof, cross-legged, dragging his jacket further around your body as you stare, and stare, and stare.

Transfixed, lost. Kidnapped by memories, most likely, ones he won’t rip you from just yet.

He wonders if you had ever wished on them, ever stared up at them with hopefulness swimming in your eyes—their twinkle swirling in the pools of your gaze. Joel wonders whether you’d pleaded for something so hard under the night sky that your nails cut into your palms, only for everything to be robbed from you all the same. Had you ever seen a shooting star, and had you prayed on it for a future that included a white dress or a picket fence?

“Don’t they look so pretty, Joel?”

It falls from you like a whisper, almost innocent—far removed from the killer he knows you can be. From the gutless, powerful soul he sees rip through people when they make you spill crimson and try to take what isn’t theirs.

It’s almost easy, he thinks, to tell you that there’s something prettier next to him. Someone who could rival the prettiest of nights and the most gorgeous of days. Something that could have been fragile, but instead is strong, chaos imagined, all wrapped inside eyes he sees when he dreams.

Head tilting, you meet his gaze, and it’s too much—too strong. It's intoxicating. Feeling drunk off it—that feeling of normalcy you make him want.

“You ever had your cock sucked under the stars?”

You know he has.

Know that under leafless branches and an almost full moon you’d taken him in your mouth. All warm, welcoming—his fingers knotted on the back of your head, biting back each hiss, each grunt as he felt teardrops on the crease of his thighs and hips.

It doesn’t matter what his answer is, you’re already facing him, knees digging into the train floor. Your fingers already working his belt—a glimmer in your eye that has him half-hard already.

Because if lust had a look, he swears it would be you.

That look in your eyes always does something to him. It’s more than just being alive, it’s a glint, a spark of something that he swears would have had rows of people to their knees. Right now, it’s all for him. Only his.

A possessiveness rings through him at the thought; rising up in him when he lingers on it, that he has this with you—has this unlabelled thing where he sees all the shards of you, has met each part which makes you whole.

“I want you to try not touching,” you say, tongue dragging across your bottom lip, mouth close to his.

He wants to taste your request. Breathe it in. Have it merge with his insides, all because of the look that accompanies it. One that makes his jaw tighten, almost tick.

“You think you can do it, Miller? Think you can refrain from touching me until I say so.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Sure.”

The latter catches on his teeth as the cool air brushes over his weeping cock once you free him from his clothing. Your head tilting, holding his stare as you lick a stripe up your palm, before wrapping it around him, pumping him. Tightening your fingers, murmuring about how hard he is for you, how thick he feels in your hand.

“We’ll see,” you smirk, pausing your ministrations, and lowering your head. "Fuck, your cock is perfect, Miller."

A retort brewed, ready to fire, shoot, land. Then, your mouth wraps around him.

Just the tip at first, pausing, all tentative. Your lashes close to your brows as you stare up at him—the moon painting you in a light which he swears he never thought possible. Because it only highlights the appetite you have for him, the starvation to take more of him.

It makes his fingers twitch at his side. Forces his thighs to tense under the need to grasp the back of your head. He refrains, even if it’s a battle he’s prepared to lose. In time.

For now, he wants more of this. Enjoy more of you licking the head of his cock, from humming around him, testing yourself as you try to take more of him, and more, and more—

A groan vibrates around him, making his eyes flutter closed. The battle having appeared sooner, slammed into him as you took more of him. Moaning sweetly around him, tongue swirling around the head when you come up before the tip hits the back of your throat all over again.

Joel doesn’t think of consequences, he just thinks of the need to feel himself in your throat. Letting his fingers move, slide around, brushing up your neck as you take as much of him as you can, mouth so stuffed—

“Hands, Miller.”

He groans, your tongue sliding up the base of him, lips hovering at the head before you trace your lips with him—those perfect, fucking lips—wiping him over you, smearing him.

“I’ll tie your hands down.”

His cock twitches, and you must notice from the way your brow arches, lifting up from him, bottom lip smothered in spit.

Joel finds most of the time, you have heavenly eyes and a hellish smile. A thing which shouldn’t remain, should have been stolen, ripped from you. Right now, you’re nothing but wickedness and darkness.

“Oh, Miller,” you say, voice lower, his name falling like silk. “Do you want me to tie you down? Stop you from touching me.”

He does.

A thing he doesn’t dare deny. His own eyes having caught sight of some frayed rope earlier, pointing it out, instructing—watching in awe as you move swiftly, boots hammering against the train floor, thudding and thudding until you’re on your knees either side of his, holding in both palms.

“Lie down.”

Your instruction carries weight, your body shifting as he lies down, your body crawling up him.

“Do it like—”

“You showed me?” you smirk. “I know how to keep you down, Miller.”

You lean back onto your knees, jean-covered cunt on his chest. Fuck what he’d do to move his hands from waiting for the circles of the knot you’re going to make—and pull you down to his mouth. Lets his breath puff warm air into the worn fabric, forcing it against your likely soaked core. Watch your lashes flutter as you try to make your identical loops, and see if you can think of overlapping them—whether you even make the knot, or let it fall to the wayside as you plead for his mouth, his tongue, his fucking teeth, before he manages to wriggle your clothing down your thighs.

He doesn’t find out, because he doesn’t move. Shadows disguise your expression, all except your smirk as you slide his wrists through the old rope—the frays tickling, brushing over his skin and hair, before with a pull, you tighten it—applying traction.

“Above your head,” you instruct.

You hinge at the hips, falling into the line of the moonlight. And, there’s a little gruffness to your voice, matching the pools of lust currently trying to swallow him whole—readying themselves to consume him, devour him. He doesn’t mind. He never fucking does.

Joel would willingly die in your eyes if he could—in the pair which sees him, all of him. Not afraid of the way he’s worn, the grief he carries, and the array of stories left in scars.

Best looking man I’ve ever killed for.

Only man you’ve killed for.

Fine. Best looking man I’ve laid my eyes on.

He’d succumb to you if you asked. More so, when you slide back down. The seam of your jeans brushing down his cock—the friction pleasant, warranted, needed.

He’s about to ask you to remove them. To bring yourself back up, allow him a taste, something to tide him over, reward you. He’d maybe even beg.

But, he swears your mouth is heaven. That he must have died mere moments ago. Each scrape of your teeth makes him hiss; each hollowing of your cheek makes him want to coat your tongue in his release. His fingers knot around the rope which binds him, hearing it trying to snap under the weight of his own frustration.

It cutting, grazing into flesh, especially as you take so much of him—further than you did before. Barely two fingers worth of him not down your throat, your eyes staring at him, holding his gaze, almost commanding it.

He pulls instinctually, wanting to grab the back of your head, hold you, stroke your neck, cheek—

But, then he ruts his hips into your mouth. Forcing a gag, a cough to arise from your perfect mouth.

“Careful,” he warns, as if it wasn't his doing. His eyes spot them, little streaks of tears which stain your cheeks, all quickly, tumbling and falling to his thighs. “Y’good for me. Fuckin’ perfect, in fact. But, be careful.”

Your tongue licks up the length of him, balls tightening as you graze your teeth over the underside—before he’s enveloped by you again, all warm, inviting, and then your throat squeezes around him.

He’s falling into it, the pool of pleasure—swimming it, bathed to the neck in it under stars and an almost full moon.

He’s sure your mouth is the meaning behind paradise and torture—both perfect and vicious—and he groans, at it. At the way, you swallow around him.

And he can’t take it.

Can’t handle it—

Wants nothing more than to come down your throat and make you taste him until morning.

Cause this is different than last time, and not because it's not a trunk his back is against. But, rather, because you're moon-soaked, kissed by the night. You're a thing he swears glows in the dark, leads a man to shore from choppy waters or could force a man to walk off a cliff.

You're pretty.

It's why he also wants to bury his cock inside you. Wants to feel you squeeze him, grasp for him, whine for him. You make him want, make him desire to possess you. Even if he'll never try to cage you, never tie you down, the thought, the wish, the desire is there. Just the same as how he wants to have you on top of him, under him, even bent over for him. Anything. Everything. All of it, all of you, all—

Mouth lifting off, your eyes glimmer, something there, growing behind your eyes. Spit tying you to him, a bead beginning at the tip of his leaking cock and ending at your swollen, puffed bottom lip.

Then you sneer. Devilishly, all fucking cunningly. “What did you think earlier, Miller?”

Hand taking him, wrapping it around as it moves in fluid motions. Grip how he likes it, a teasing speed that leaves him hovering there, so close to seeing a galaxy of his own and covering your face in his gratitude.

“Miller,” you mutter. "What, did you, think earlier?"

His throat goes dry, bone dry. Like those times when he hadn’t drunk for hours. And he pulls at the rope, wishing to tear himself free and silence your questioning by pushing you down, cheek to the side, sliding his cock inside you until you’re drunk on him, unable to think, ask.

He can feel his skin bruising, marks lacerating against flesh as he grunts at your knot. One he taught you, made you practice—something he knows you must remember from the wink you suddenly shoot him. And he knows from the smirk that cuts across your beautiful face, that the only way he’s going to get any release—is by telling you. Spilling the thing which should die in his throat, blacken, melt down into other things he’ll maybe one day tell you.

“If you want to come—“

Jaw gritting, he swears he could grind his teeth to dust.

Your hand remains poised, but not moving. His name leaves like a spell, but he knows it's draped in poison. Can tell from how it contaminates the air and makes him curse under its potency.

"Joel."

“Fine. I thought—thought y’prettier than the stars. Prettiest—fuck—” Your head dips, sliding the tip of your tongue along his slit, “—thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lifting up from him, bottom lip sliding across your upper lip—painting that in a mixture of his pre-come and your spit too—you slowly smile. “Wasn’t so hard now was it?”

Gritting his teeth, your breath ghosting over his mouth, eyes locked on him. Burying something light, warm, fucking lovely in his soul.

“Cut. Me. Free.”

Tilting your head, he sees your brow lift.

“Now.”

You blink, a thousand universes swirling in your eyes before you move for your knife. “Now?”

“Fuckin’ now, baby.”

You don't blink at the name, you just press the blade against his skin, so close to veins. Yet, he trusts you. More than he thought he would another person, another soul that wasn’t bound to his by blood.

Each slice of the blade against the rope cut through the air, his strangled breaths fading, even as his cock twitched, pleading for release. His eyes just remained on you—the maths of how he’d move you already calculated—watching the vein in your neck, the way spidery shadows cast on your face from your tear-stained lashes.

He felt the rope go slack before your knife stopped, moving in a flash, knife clattering as he flipped you onto your back. Hovering above, likely lit up by the stars and the moon—leering down on you, watching your chest rise and fall.

“So, you think I’m pretty?”

He growls, the button popped on your jeans before he rips them down as much as he can, moving enough to let you kick yourself free, before he plunges his tongue in your open mouth. Tasting, taking, robbing you of the words that you just spoke, the ones which made you cocky. Even if they were true.

But, he wasn’t good—was an animal, a thing carved from grief and the end of days. But then, you were in your own right too. Something that gnashed, scratched, and buried the softer parts of you deep under layers that had taken him months to unearth. To even find, locate.

The animal in you is what made him want to devour, but it was the softness that made him stand in front of you when branches crunched. It was the latter that made him want to pin you down against stiff surfaces and have you feel good, feel adored.

Taking his cock in hand, he drags the head against your soaked folds. Your slick coating him, sliding up and down, watching you, studying you—a sight full of stars, twinkling, pleading. Nails digging into his hips, an order, a demand.

In one thrust, he slides deep into you. Makes you his, like he does whenever you ask him to, when he can, each chance he can get. Never tiring of it, of you.

A thing he could say, fill your pretty little head with it and then fuck it outta you.

“Thinking about how much you like me, Miller?” you whisper, fingers moving up to scratch at his curls, to wrap them around your fingers. “Or, is it more than like, is that what it is?”

A tug, a swallowed groan. His mouth is on yours again—different than before.

A change, a thing the two of you never used to do, but one you do more frequently. Another thing he doesn’t hate. The change happened, and he realised he didn’t want to go back to the time before it. Not when your tongue plunged in his mouth feels good. When you lick at the back of his teeth, flooding his mouth with the taste of salt and remnants of the canned food from earlier.

“Thinking about how y’the most frustrating thing I’ve ever had under me.”

“Would you have it any other way?”

Buried to the hilt, fingers clasped around the space just above your collarbone, he stares into your eyes—wondering if the stars are ever jealous they never get to live in them.

No, he growls.

Your mouth falling open, a moan there, building on your tongue as he hits that spot—knows it, can tell from the way you lightly gasped. It is further evidenced by the way you grasp his hips, almost pinching when he drops onto his forearm above your head, freeing a hand.

“I do like fuckin’ y’under the stars.”

What began as a narrowing of your eyes, ended with a widening. The way it plays out could make him surrender to you every time, render him useless, even heal a shard of him that he thought was long since ruined.

Then, your mouth drops open, a moan emerging—rearing its head in an almost whine-filled cry, as he sticks a finger in, rolling it over your tongue, coating the pad of him in your spit before he slides his hand between your bodies.

And he knows you won’t last long. Not from the way you're clamping down, from the sounds you make—all beautiful, each rich, and fucking sweet. It’s why he drops his voice low, mouth to your ear, grunting your name, that you’re perfect, prettier than a sky full of stars—all the while drawing quick circles on your bundle of nerves, his hips maintaining a constant speed.

“Close, m’close,” you cry out, back arched into him, fingers finding refuge in his hair, face pinned by your forearms.

I know, he thinks, feeling you reach your pinnacle, hovering, hanging, before he delivers one quick thrust and you’re hurtling, spasming. Your body twists as your walls clench around him, coming on his cock, unravelling entirely as he picks up his speed, as he removes his hand from between you for leverage as he fucks into you. Just a few more, knees throbbing even through the pleasure, before his hips stutter, and he’s spilling inside of you, your name cutting into the air, scratching into it, marking it with each letter that makes it up.

Even before he collapses beside you, before breaths are caught, and your head finds that spot on his shoulder, that it’s coming. A look or your tone, that hint of gentleness you otherwise keep bottled up.

So he waits. Listen to the way your heart calms in your chest and your head feels heavy on his bone.

“Your secret is safe with me, Miller,” you whisper, not turning to look at him, just staring through the open hole of the train. “I won’t tell a soul you have a heart.”

Snorting, he swallows. “No one would believe ya if y’did.”

You hum, letting out a gentle breath.

And he just swallows the good he had almost whispered. Because if no one knows, it’s a thing people won’t try to take. And he can’t let you lose another thing, not when he’s sure the whole part of what remains of his heart, belongs to you.

an: hope you liked this. i am a whore for the moon and the stars.

[marxo-fm]

Secrecy

✯ Viscount Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!reader

Summary: You’re the princess of the United Kingdom, trapped in the Kew Palace with nothing to do but obey. That seemed to change after your brother makes an appearance at the ball held in honor of his arrival from the British Military, with a surprise guest.

Warnings: MDNI+18, Mentions of adult theme and language, slight smut with plot, inexperienced!reader, virgin!reader, praising, innocent!reader, Ghost gives reader an anatomy lesson and teaches reader certain things, fingering, slight angst, no use of y/n, head canon, no descriptions of race, skin color, hair type/length, or body type. Reader is in her 20’s and Ghost is in his late 20’s. This takes place during the Regency Era.

Words: 9.7K (I can explain)

A/N: Rewatched Queen Charlotte in one day and got inspired to somehow write this. Idk what came up in my head but I’m not mad about it. I love historical romance pieces and Bridgerton is one of my favorite shows, so this was inspired by that as well. Must I add, this will be a series (let’s act shocked!) but it’ll start off slow and then progress into something very steamy. I plan on making this 2-3 parts? Not entirely sure yet. I’m so excited to make a playlist and have this become a part of my page. I promised to write a Ghost fic in celebration of 300 followers!!! Thank you!!! That’s all peeps, enjoy this and thanks for reading once again. :)

To be in love, is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well. —Gwendolyn Brooks, “To be in Love.”

The rain drummed loudly against the windows of Kew Palace, a historic refuge steeped in tales of bygone eras. Yet another dismal night had slipped away in silence, the relentless downpour obscuring any sounds of the world outside. The scent of rain, laced with the earthy aroma of centuries-old stone, permeated your room through the slightly ajar windows. Candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows that played upon the antique furnishings, each one holding its own secrets from a different age. As you gazed out into the night, the blurred outlines of majestic trees in the palace gardens whispered stories of forgotten romances and royal intrigues, echoing through time.

Yet not one memory of romance had ever occurred to you, sadly.

You sat in silence, enveloped by the heavy presence of the palace's servants, who stood as immobile as statues waiting for a command.

The stillness in the room was deafening, capable of giving even the strongest a throbbing headache, yet this oppressive silence was something you had grown accustomed to. It was an everyday affliction, a reminder of your powerlessness and the stifling constraints of your position.

The relentless cycle of attending balls, tea parties, leisurely walks, and grand masquerades had become a mundane routine. None of these activities could dispel the relentless boredom that had settled over your life. Despite the lavish extravagance and social grandeur, they only served to further emphasize your dull amusement.

Unfortunate yet fortunate at the same time, you learned to be grateful for the position you are in now, but the life you have been given to live wasn’t what you enjoyed. That itself is a secret one must never know of.

Your contemplations were abruptly halted as your mother entered the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. You rose gracefully from your seat, bowing with an elegance through years of refinement. With a quick, composed adjustment of your dress, you presented yourself as the embodiment of poise and decorum. And of course, elegance. It was essential to maintain appearances in the relentless world of aristocratic expectations.

All the servants bowed down before their queen. A display of loyalty and respect—a testament to the power she held.

“Mother.”

“Dearest.” Her voice, filled with warmth and affection, broke through the icy layer of your mood. You responded with a genuine smile, one that masked the melancholy you often kept hidden. It was carefully maintained; your mother could never be burdened with your silent suffering. If she were to glimpse even a fraction of the emotions you endured, she would tirelessly pester and lecture, determined to alleviate your pain.

But this was a battle you chose to wage in solitude, for the sake of preserving the family’s reputation and your own fragile sense of independence.

“We have a ball to attend in the celebration of the upcoming arrival of your brother. It is to be held quite soon, though, we are not sure on the date.” Your ears perked and every melancholic emotions you were enduring suddenly became cheerful. Your brother is finally coming, after being gone for a year. Though it felt like centuries he had been gone.

“That is thrilling news, I pray he arrives safe and well. Have you shared this with our other siblings?” Other siblings meant your six siblings, you’re the youngest of eight children, and it’s rather lonely. It feels like.

“Yes, dearest. I have reminded them that a ball will be held soon. The members of the Ton will be attending and it will be grand.” She replied enthusiastically, “though I have something else to share, beloved.”

Your eyebrows rose, and your curiosity piqued. What more could your mother share with you about the ball? You sought more information.

After a brief pause, she continued, “He is arriving with a guest, a Viscount to be precise. This gentleman is to be accorded the utmost respect, just as I have instilled in all of you. He holds a special place in your brother’s heart, and it is imperative that he is welcomed with the same warmth and hospitality that we extend to family.”

You nod, “of course mother. May I know his name?”

“His name is Simon Riley, he is a fine and distinguished gentleman. He holds the rank of Lieutenant General. Quite remarkable if I do say so myself.” She looked at the servants before setting her eyes on you, “He is also very close to your father.” You gasped, for one to be close to the king—your father of all people, was quite rare. Since he is a busy man with important duties he must fulfill.

“I will treat him with the utmost respect, my dearest mother, rest assured.” Having made your commitment clear, you resumed your thoughts, still buzzing with anticipation for your brother’s return and the upcoming ball.

You returned to the chair you sat in before your mother shared important news, resuming in what you were doing before.

“Read a book, darling. You are amazing at that. Do not bore yourself here.” You nod graciously, you found her encouragement as something you deeply appreciated.

“Thank you mother, I shall read.” You made your way to the nearest shelf, curious as to why you haven’t done this earlier. Maybe your mother was right, do not bore yourself with such thoughts and emotions, instead find joy in reading. It helped you get lost in the pages and words, that you forget whatever was going on in that head of yours.

“Ladies, go help my daughter with the books.” Your mother ordered.

“Certainly, Your Majesty.” They all responded.

“It is quite fine mother, I can do this myself.” You assured, nodding to the servants and their faces expressed a puzzled look. Unsure of whom to listen to. “Yes, love, do as you may.”

The servants walk back to the area they had previously stood in, watching you carefully. “I must leave now, love, It is rather late.”

“Goodnight mother.” You make your way to the shelves once again, the area was dimly lit and the bookshelf stood tall. Its polished mahogany wood gleaming softly in the warm glow of a crackling fireplace.

It was calm.

The scent of aged leather and paper makes its way through the air as your peruse the titles, each elegantly bound with gold lettering.

You spot volumes of Jane Austen’s novels, her delicate pages filled with tales of love and societal intrigue. One most famously known as, “Pride and Prejudice.”

Nearby, a collection of poetry by Lord Byron beckons with its romantic verses. The room is adorned with lush velvet draperies and antique furniture, setting the scene for a world where manners, class, and etiquette reign supreme.

Your delicate fingers skim through every romance book there is.

As you select a book and settle into the armchair, the world outside slowly began to fade away. You immerse yourself in the intricate and vivid description, momentarily escaping the constraints of your era into the enchanting world of literature.

(…)

It is the next morning, as the sun timidly filtered through the drawn blinds in your room, its radiant presence compelling you to squint and shield your eyes.

The birds chirped and the sky is painted with bright whites and bright yellows streamed through the window, a sense of lightness enveloped you. Starting the day with a serene countenance, you blinked away the remnants of sleep from your eyes and smiled drowsily. Your fingertips traced the cotton sheets, as you embraced the morning's gentle charm.

You summon the bell in your bedchamber, signaling to the housemaids that you are indeed awake and require a comforting, warm bath drawn. You stand on your own two feet, welcoming the housemaids inside your bedroom assisting in disrobing your white cotton nightgown.

They draw a bath, filling it with steaming water infused with fragrant oils and rose petals. You step into the tub, sinking into the comforting embrace of the warm, scented embrace, a welcome respite from the chill of the morning.

As you soaked in the fragrant bath, your thoughts drifted to the impending ball. You longed for any additional information your mother might have left off about this highly anticipated event, eager for every intricate detail to fuel your anticipation.

Truth be told, your curiosity about meeting Viscount Simon Riley was quite overwhelming. You harbored an occurring hope that he would prove to be the epitome of a true gentleman. Your mother's praises of him fueled your optimism, suggesting he was a man of impeccable character and esteemed authority, which only heightened your eagerness to make his acquaintance.

Excitement was a vast understatement for the emotions coursing through you.

The revelation that Simon was not only close to your father, the King, but also held a special bond with your brother left you astounded. While many men enjoyed proximity to your father and eldest brother, the depth of connection your mother had described set Simon apart from them all. It led you to believe that he was indeed the definition of a true gentleman.

"Ladies, may I inquire if you have all gathered the latest tidbits of information regarding the upcoming ball?" You found yourself pondering, the fragrant bubbles in the warm bath soothing your senses, as you leaned back against the porcelain tub's elegant curves.

"Not quite, Your Highness," she informed, her voice filled with anticipation. "We've heard rumors that hundreds shall grace the occasion." Excitement surged through your entire being. Finally, the time had arrived to mingle with society, to dance, and to revel. It had been several long months since the last grand ball, and the prospect filled you with eager anticipation.

"Are any of you acquainted with Viscount Simon Riley?" Curiosity overtook you, though you couldn't quite fathom why. After all, you hadn't yet crossed paths with the man, and here you were, posing a question of seemingly little consequence to your maids.

They all gasped and stood quiet, maybe you have said something wrong.

"He is not a man of whom one speaks ill of," she responded cautiously, her voice betraying a hint of unease. "Viscount Simon Riley wields significant power and authority. However, Your Highness, that is all I am permitted to share." Her nervousness was evident, as if she were tiptoeing around a topic that carried great weight.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. This was information your mother had yet to share with you. The maids' description of Viscount Simon Riley sent a shiver down your spine, an ironic sensation given the warmth of the bathwater enveloping you.

"Do not worry, my mother shall remain unaware of this conversation," you assured with a gentle smile and a nod, watching as the tension melted from their bodies.

The curiosity within you compelled you to seek more information. "Can any of you describe his appearance?" You observed the maids exchanging uncertain glances before turning their attention back to you. As warm water continued to flow over your body, their soothing massages on your arms accompanied the anticipation of their response.

“It is okay to tell me,” you reassured with a playful giggle, “once again, mother will not know of this. It is not like you have committed treason!”

"Indeed, Your Highness," she began to speak in hushed tones, her voice carrying an air of trepidation. "Discussing Viscount Simon is a delicate matter. His influence is undeniably formidable, and we speak with a measure of fear." Her concern seemed to stem from the notion that their conversation might somehow reach the ears of this powerful figure.

A shiver of apprehension coursed through you. The maids' fear had a way of rubbing off on you, leaving you with an uneasy feeling about this Viscount Simon.

All excitement about meeting him quickly faded away into the endless void, everything your mother had described about him paled in comparison to the unsettling image the maids were painting of this man.

"Whispers of his enigmatic persona have swept through the highest echelons of society, Your Highness. They speak of him donning a finely crafted mask, shrouding his countenance in secrecy. Only a privileged handful among the Ton have been granted the privilege of glimpsing his true visage, and even the slightest revelation of his features carries the weightiest charge of all – high treason."

You gasped. Oh dear.

"Why does he shroud himself in such mystery?" The quest for information left you yearning for more knowledge. How is it that his existence remained hidden from your awareness until this moment?

Their fearful glances held your attention as they continued, "Your Highness, we remain ignorant of his motives for wearing that ominous mask. Its design, reminiscent of a skull, has earned him the haunting name of 'Ghost' among the hushed whispers of society."

Goosebumps prickled across your skin, and a shiver of fear coursed through you. The once-anticipated ball had transformed into a nightmarish affair, shrouded in dread and uncertainty.

He scared you, and you haven’t even met the man.

"That's enough, ladies. Please, remove this bath swiftly," you commanded. Your mood had done a complete somersault, and now you were acutely aware of your surroundings. It felt as though an ominous presence was creeping into your room, even though he hasn’t arrived yet.

Or maybe he has, but you’ve yet to know.

No no, don’t worry yourself of such horrid thoughts.

You repeat and repeat over and over. The fear of darkness and the ominous weighed heavily on your heart. It was a secret fear, one you dared not share, for you knew that if anyone discovered it, they would only dismiss your worries with laughter and reassurances.

The maids, their hands deft and efficient, hurried over to where you stood by the bath, wrapping you in plush towels to dry your delicate skin. With precision, they helped you into a graceful blue chemise dress, its fabric cool and comforting against your form, the intricate lacework and delicate embroidery adorning it a testament to their impeccable craftsmanship.

Each lace on the dress was adorned with a multitude of tiny individual diamonds, their facets catching even the faintest glimmers of light. The shade of blue, a soft and ethereal hue, served as the perfect canvas for these sparkling gems, making them gleam like stars in the darkness.

"'Tis a truly exquisite chemise," you whispered in admiration, extending your arms gracefully for the maids to slip on your pristine white gloves.

"Made for Her Highness, indeed, just like a rare diamond," your maids complimented, their words like a soothing balm to your nerves. Their unwavering support for uplifting your spirits never failed to bolster your confidence.

"Thank you, ladies. I must take my leave now, as there are matters to discuss with my mother and duties to attend to," you graciously replied, ready to face the responsibilities that awaited you.

(…)

"Yes, Your Majesty. The ball is scheduled for the end of this week, and all is proceeding as planned. Every detail has been meticulously arranged, and all members of the Ton have received their invitations," spoke your mother’s friend at morning call.

She took a delicate sip of her chamomile tea before speaking once more, her voice calm, "That is indeed wonderful news. I pray that everything proceeds without a hitch, and I have the utmost confidence that mishaps shall remain a distant concern." Her friend nods, before turning to you to ask a question.

You straightened your posture and offered a warm smile, "You are truly lovely, my dear. If I may inquire, are you excited for this upcoming ball?" As the question lingered in the air, a torrent of unsettling thoughts flooded your mind. The words of the maids, the mention of the enigmatic "Ghost," and the eerie mask all coalesced into a haunting collage of images. Your body quivered involuntarily, and a palpable sense of unease washed over you, like an ominous shadow creeping into the room.

You masked your true feelings expertly, putting on a facade of excitement. It was clear that your enthusiasm was reserved solely for your brother, not for the Viscount. You knew all too well that you couldn't reveal your fear, so you concealed it behind a carefully crafted persona, concealing the trepidation that lurked beneath the surface.

“Indeed I am quite cheerful. I already know well enough that this ball will be the best of this year.”

She takes a bite of her honey cake, proceeding to invade you with more questions. Questions you were not comfortable answering.

“Well yes…your mother—Her Majesty—is hosting the ball.”

"Ah, yes, of course," you quickly replied, feeling a bit flustered by the reminder. Her raised eyebrow and condescending gaze made you feel like a naive child, an unsettling sensation you couldn't quite shake off.

“Your Majesty, has she not yet met Viscount Riley?” Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Viscount Riley's name, sending a chill down your spine. The palace suddenly felt much colder, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. It was an uncomfortable and awkward moment for her to bring up such a question in the presence of your mother, Her Majesty.

"I am not privy to such information, my dear. However, I have every confidence that she will excel in his company and extend to him the respect I have diligently imparted. Would you not agree, my dearest?"

You nod graciously, before her friend decided to open her mouth once more with questions that made you shift in your seat. Uncomfortably.

"Forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but I have had the privilege of seeing him in person. And, if I may say..." Her voice trailed off, and her response piqued your curiosity, causing your brow to arch. It was evident that she was quite eager to acquire more information about a man you had not yet had the chance to meet.

“He is quite tall,” she began, and your mother adjusted her posture, “he holds such authority and he is not the man to disrespect, he doesn’t speak unless spoken to and most certainly does not show his face to just anyone.”

The maids' prior revelations had served as a disconcerting confirmation. Fear welled up within you, growing like a thunderhead on the horizon, and it cast a foreboding pall over what had once been an eagerly anticipated ball. The event, once a beacon of excitement, had transformed into a looming specter that filled you with apprehension and uncertainty.

“It is quite a mystery, but it is none of our business. Maybe if he is truly as good of a man he is, I will have him marry my daughter.” Your tea to become a chaotic spray, dispersing droplets and saliva particles across the table’s contents. Your cheeks flush crimson as you glance at your mother, her expression clearly reflecting her shock and disapproval.

“Deepest apologies mother, but marriage?” Her lips tightened as you contemplated her words. “If he proves to be a good man, then perhaps. If not, then no. You are two and twenty, it is time you settle down my dearest.”

“I do not know him.”

"Indeed, there is an abundance of time for you to become better acquainted with him," your mother replied with an encouraging smile. Her eyes sparkled with the anticipation of a promising match for her beloved daughter. "I've heard such positive things about Viscount Simon," she continued, her tone brimming with optimism. "He is reputed to be a true gentleman, and I can't help but hold high hopes for your future together, my dearest."

The description of Viscount Simon had already sent shivers of fear down your spine, and the thought of falling in love was an entirely different realm of uncertainty. You wondered if you'd ever experience the kind of love immortalized in poetry and literature, given the enigmatic and potentially imposing nature of this match.

You decided to let the future unfold at its own pace, allowing it to chart its course without rushing or forcing any outcomes.

You held a clear standard for your future husband: he must be a respectful and considerate man, not exhibiting any sexist, disrespectful, misogynistic, or rude behavior. However, if he proved to be the all those things, then marriage would not happen. Your mother, Her Majesty, fully comprehended your stance on the matter.

You valued a man who showed genuine interest in your passions and didn't pass judgment on them. Mutual respect and shared interests were important to you in a potential partner.

While you recognized the significance of politics and manly duties in society, you weren't inclined to marry a man solely focused on these matters. A well-rounded individual who embraced a broader range of interests and pursuits was more appealing to you.

Your mother knew that.

And you prayed the Viscount lived up to to your high standards.

(…)

On the night of the ball, you stood in front of the grand mirror, the flickering candlelight casting a soft, golden glow across your reflection. Your gown, an exquisite creation of silk and lace, clung to your figure in all the right places, its color a subtle shade of pink. The delicate embroidery and beadwork shimmered in the dim light.

Your heart raced, and your gloved hands trembled as you practiced your breathing, trying to calm the storm of nerves within you. The anticipation of meeting Viscount Simon, coupled with the pressure of societal expectations, weighed heavily on your mind. The maids had spared no effort in choosing every accessory, from the intricate hairpin adorning your carefully styled hair to the elegant necklace that graced your neck.

You hoped, with each practiced breath, that tonight would be a turning point, that Viscount Simon would prove to be the gentleman your mother believed him to be, and that the evening would be the start of something meaningful in your life.

——

"Good afternoon, dearest," your father inquired, his arm linked with your mother's. "Where are your siblings?"

You look around, carefully examining the palace in attempt to look for your other siblings, and you’ve caught them. Relief washed over you.

"They are in the library room, Father," you replied. Your gaze wandered over the opulent floral arrangements that adorned the palace. Vibrant blooms graced the staircase and the grand room's tables, filling the air with a fragrant aroma. The Ton had indeed turned out in force for this event, with couples arriving, their arms elegantly linked, creating a sea of fashionable attendees, and not a single person seemed to be without a date.

Although you’re the princess of the United Kingdom, you oddly felt…out of place.

"Mother, you've done a splendid job. This place looks absolutely marvelous," you praised, appreciating the grandeur and elegance that surrounded you. Her smile radiated with warmth, and her pink dress, a few shades darker than yours, effortlessly outshone all the other gowns the ladies wore in the palace, commanding attention with its regal allure.

Diamond encrusted corset with a matching diamond necklace, and many layers underneath the dress made it seem larger.

Of course, it was your mother, the Queen, who had graced the event with her radiant presence. Her regal attire and demeanor left no room for doubt about her esteemed status in the grand ballroom.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” A man who appeared to be taller than your dad, bowed before him and shook his hand.

“Good evening, John. How is it here compared to the states?” The states? He must be American, you are sure.

“It is rather marvelous here, we don’t host balls as often as you do, but this ball is alluring.” And he is American so it seems, the accent was crisp.

“Thank you, John. I hosted this ball.” He bowed to the queen, your mother, before bowing down to you.

“Well of course, Her Majesty created the most perfect ball.” He complimented. Twirling the ends of his mustache, this was the first time you’ve ever met an American.

Your mother smiled, appreciating his sweet compliment towards her. “I must get back to Kyle, Ghost should be here any minute now Your Majesty.”

The mention of "Ghost" made your nerves prickle with unease, considering the unsettling details your maids had shared during your bath. As John reminded your father that Ghost would be arriving shortly, your stomach tightened with knots of apprehension. The looming presence of this mysterious figure cast a shadow over the otherwise glamorous evening.

“Thank you, John. I am quite cheerful in meeting him. It has been far too long.”

John bowed and left the area.

Your mother's concern deepened as she observed the horrified expression etched across your face. She gently placed a hand on your arm and whispered, "Dear, you look as if you're on the brink of fainting. Please, go to the refreshments and fetch yourself a glass of water. Take a moment to compose yourself." Your motherly care enveloped you, and you nodded, grateful for the suggestion to step away briefly from the anxiety that had gripped you.

The grand ballroom began to feel suffocating, and you yearned for a breath of fresh air, a momentary escape from the overwhelming atmosphere. The need to step outside and simply breathe because it became nearly overwhelming, and you decided it was time for a brief respite.

He will be here soon, and there is no avoiding it. This thought completely gnawed at your insides and there is no place for you to hide.

"Sister, are you feeling well?" your eldest sibling inquired, her cream-colored chemise beautifully complementing her shimmering jewelry. Her concerned gaze met yours, and you could sense that she found something amiss in your expression. The irony was not lost on you, given that you were about to meet a man who also bore the name "Ghost."

"I am feeling rather ill," you responded, fabricating a falsehood to avoid the impending meeting with "Ghost." While part of you wanted to avoid this mysterious figure, there was an even stronger desire to reunite with your dear brother. Your deception was a way to navigate the complex emotions and uncertainty of the evening.

How unfortunate. This man will haunt your dreams.

——

You made your way outside, the chilly breeze sweeping over your face as you finally found a moment to breathe. The cool air provided a welcome respite from the suffocating atmosphere inside, and you closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of liberation that came with each deep breath.

As you’re breathing the cool air, a voice is heard from a distance.

"My dearest sister, always wandering," your brother chuckled warmly as he approached. You turned your head swiftly at the sound of his voice and finally laid eyes on your sibling after many long months. He appeared strikingly different, somehow taller and more muscular, and the transformation left you momentarily speechless with surprise and joy.

"Brother!" You couldn't contain your excitement and ran up to him, welcoming him with open arms. The embrace felt like it lasted an eternity, as you cherished every moment, not knowing how long he would stay. It was a precious reunion, and you wanted to make the most of it.

"How have you been? I suppose everything has been well while I was away?" he inquired, his arms crossed as he surveyed the palace grounds. It was just the two of you outside, and he seemed genuinely interested in catching up on all that had transpired during his absence.

Amid the tranquility of the palace gardens, your brother's question hung in the air, and he observed his surroundings with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity. The evening's hushed elegance enveloped both of you as you began to catch up. He looked different from when you last saw him, and you couldn't help but wonder about the experiences that had shaped him during his time away. It was a moment filled with anticipation, longing, and the joy of reconnecting with your brother.

"It has been quite well! Rather normal," you replied with a smile, acknowledging the routine and calmness that had become the norm in his absence. His head tilted as he teased, "The word you're searching for is 'boring,' isn't it? After all, the fun brother hasn't been around." His hearty chuckle filled the air, bringing a touch of lightheartedness to the conversation.

“That is true. I have missed you a ton.”

“And I have missed you more, my dear sister.”

You couldn't help but glance around, hoping against hope that Viscount Riley had not yet arrived. The idea of facing him at this moment was almost unbearable, and you found yourself anxiously searching the surroundings for any sign of his presence.

How awkward.

"Oh, I thought you arrived with a guest," you blurted out, your hope that he had an emergency and didn't come alone shining through your words. The prospect of meeting "Ghost" or Viscount Riley had filled you with apprehension, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread at the thought of encountering him in person. Your brother's response would determine whether your unease would intensify or be somewhat alleviated.

But it was not.

“He is here, in fact, he is inside speaking to our father. I highly suggest you meet him, he is a fine gentleman, though he might frighten some. I can assure you, he means well.”

Meeting him now seemed almost inevitable, and you had to prepare yourself for this encounter with the enigmatic figure.

It is time you met him, to get it over with once and for all.

(…)

Viscount Riley stood before you, his face obscured by a mask that added an aura of mystique to his presence. As you gazed into his eyes, you sensed a depth of emotions and stories waiting to be unveiled. It was a stark contrast to the fear you had felt just moments ago, and now, you found yourself admiring this enigmatic figure, eager to learn more about the man behind the mask.

"Your Highness," his voice, deep and gravely, greeted you. An unfamiliar warmth spread through your stomach, causing your cheeks to flush crimson. It was a sensation you couldn't quite understand. Why did you suddenly feel so flustered in his presence?

"Good evening, My Lord. I extend my gratitude for making the journey to attend this ball," you replied politely, determined to make a favorable first impression, despite your royal status as a princess.

Your mother's friend had not exaggerated; Viscount Riley was indeed exceptionally tall, almost appearing otherworldly. Inhumane. His muscular physique was apparent even beneath the luxurious waistcoat he wore. The choice of an all-black ensemble, combined with the white skull-like mask, added to the air of mystery and intrigue that surrounded him, making his presence all the more imposing.

As Viscount Riley closed the distance between you, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, and your heart quickened with each step he took. His hand, encased in a fine glove, reached out, and you watched in fascination, your gaze locked on his as your brows raised. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, leaving you both on the precipice of an intriguing encounter.

"Care for a dance?" Viscount Riley extended the invitation, his eyes lingering on you as he assessed your presence. His gaze felt almost intimate, as if he were undressing you with his eyes, although you quickly chastised yourself for such inappropriate thoughts. The offer to dance hung in the air, and you considered your response carefully.

You nod, “yes, My Lord.”

"Call me Simon, Your Highness," he suggested, his eyes captivating you with their natural hues in the dim light. They seemed to glisten like moonlight. You hesitated, feeling a mix of intrigue and reluctance. "I'm not sure I am comfortable calling you that," you admitted honestly, the formality of addressing him by his title still lingering between you.

"I have granted you permission, my love. Call me Simon, in private," he whispered softly into your ear, his words tinged with an intimacy that sent a shiver down your spine. His scent, a heady blend of sandalwood, enveloped your senses, and the warmth of his breath against your skin caused a flush of heat to spread through your body, leaving you feeling quite overwhelmed in his presence.

My love.

"Do you know how to dance?" Viscount Simon inquired, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, eliciting a soft gasp from you. As you turned to examine the ballroom, you noticed your family watching with smiles on their faces. "I do, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the intimate moment you shared.

"How about the waltz? Are you familiar with that?" Viscount Simon's hand slipped behind your back, drawing you closer to him in an intimate embrace. Your mouth hung open in astonishment at his boldness, aware of the watchful eyes of the Ton in the ballroom. The closeness between you two, especially in such a public setting, was bound to attract attention and speculation.

"That…I do not know how to," you admitted truthfully. The waltz was indeed a dance you had never mastered, primarily because it required a partner to perform it. The admission was honest, though it left you feeling somewhat vulnerable in this moment with Viscount Simon.

As he continued to examine you, Viscount Simon couldn't deny the striking beauty that stood before him. The tension between you grew thicker, almost suffocating, and he felt a subtle but undeniable change within himself. His chest rose with each breath, and with every passing moment, he seemed to grow larger, as if the weight of the atmosphere and unspoken emotions were affecting him physically.

“I will teach you, Your Highness.” He took your right hand into his left, wrapping his other large hand behind your waist. Pulling you inches closer, if that were possible. You were practically glued to his body.

Your left hand found its place on Viscount Simon's shoulder, and as your touch made contact, you couldn't help but notice the spark in his eyes intensify, transforming into a fiery gaze. The sensation coursing between you was entirely new and left you feeling uncertain about how to navigate it. Yet, there was one undeniable truth: it felt like the pages of a romance novel coming to life, and the allure of the moment was impossible to ignore.

The world around you seemed to fade away, as he began to guide you through the graceful motions of the dance.

He leaned down to your ear, “tell me, love, have you ever done this with anyone before?” You shook your head nervously.

Viscount Simon was nothing like the enigmatic and intimidating figure you had imagined before. He had swiftly disproven your earlier apprehensions, showing himself to be a skilled and confident dance partner. However, the lingering mystery of his masked appearance still intrigued you. Why did he choose to conceal his identity in such a way? Was it a habit, a comfort, or perhaps a symbol of something deeper? As he expertly swayed you through the dance, all your earlier fears seemed to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of fascination and curiosity about this complex man.

“What is going on in that head of yours?”

"I am just trying to be focused, My Lord," you replied, a touch of nerves still present in your voice. He cleared his throat before offering words of encouragement, "You are doing great. Don't think too hard about it, or you'll make a mistake." His reassurance helped ease some of the tension, and you tried to follow his lead with more confidence, allowing the rhythm of the dance to guide your steps.

“Everyone in the room are watching us.”

"Imagine it's just us, Your Highness. Nothing to fret," Viscount Simon whispered, his words a soothing balm to your nerves. With that simple suggestion, you closed your eyes for a brief moment, allowing yourself to immerse in the moment, focusing solely on the dance and the connection you shared, the world around you fading into the background.

"Very well done," Viscount Simon praised, a touch of warmth in his voice. His encouragement and guidance continued to make the dance feel like a shared experience, and you found yourself becoming more at ease with each step, as though the world outside this dance floor had ceased to exist.

The instrumental music slowly started to fade away, as you became enchanted under his mysterious gaze.

In the mesmerizing dance with Viscount Simon, you counted each step and movement carefully. One, a step forward, followed by several backward steps. Then, you counted to two as he gracefully led you to the side, and you followed his lead with precision, completely entranced by the rhythm and grace of the waltz.

"May I ask you a few questions?" you inquired, looking up at Viscount Simon. Or should you call him simply Simon? Your curiosity about the man behind the mask had grown steadily throughout the dance, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity to satisfy it.

"Yes, Your Highness," Viscount Simon replied, his tone respectful as you continued to dance in harmony.

"How long have you been in the military? I can only imagine it's been quite some time," you mused, curious about the path that had led him to his current station. Viscount Simon's physical fitness and the air of intrigue that surrounded him certainly hinted at a rich and varied history. Those eyes of his seemed to hold countless untold stories, and you couldn't help but be drawn to the mystery that shrouded his past.

"I am quite intrigued that someone has inquired about this, especially the princess. It's an honor," Viscount Simon began, a hint of appreciation in his voice. He continued, "I've served in the military for a considerable duration." His sigh hinted at a deeper story. "But I must wonder, why do you ask, Your Highness?" There was a curious and genuine note in his inquiry, as if he too was interested in the motives behind your questions.

His question took you off guard, and you momentarily pause for a moment. Heat swept across your face, and your stomach felt like a hundred butterflies were attacking it at once.

You clear your throat, preparing yourself to speak the truth.

"Well, your physique does suggest you've had a long tenure in the British military," you stated, your words coming out more bluntly than you had intended. You looked away, feeling a bit embarrassed by your straightforward observation. It was as if the words had slipped out of their own accord, revealing your unfiltered thoughts about him.

His head tilts as you both continue the dance, the tension became thicker in the moment.

“I’m glad you’ve noticed that, you have quite the eye darling.”

"I suppose it is rather evident," Viscount Simon replied with a good-natured chuckle, acknowledging the obvious. His height and impressive physical presence were indeed difficult to overlook, and it was refreshing to engage in such candid conversation with him.

“I would like to continue this conversation another time, Your Highness.” The music stopped, and suddenly your heart ached.

The fear and apprehension you had felt before meeting Viscount Simon now seemed misplaced and misjudged. Shame washed over you as you realized that your initial impressions had been far from accurate. Emotions you had never experienced before welled up within you, and you found yourself struggling to process this newfound connection and the complex feelings it stirred within you.

"You look quite sick, Your Highness. Should I summon a doctor?" Viscount Simon's concern was evident in his voice, and he signaled his readiness to assist. However, you shook your head, declining the offer. His expression shifted, and the color of his eyes darkened noticeably. The once-bright stars in his gaze seemed to fade, leaving a shadow of concern and curiosity in their wake.

"I must retire to my bedchamber at once. It seems I may have eaten something disagreeable," you explained, offering a plausible reason for your sudden discomfort. As you made your exit, you couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected attachment you had felt during the dance. Was it the chemistry that had taken you by surprise, or the disappointment of the dance ending so soon when you had secretly wanted it to continue? The confusion within you left you with much to ponder as you retreated from the ballroom.

You heard heavy footsteps in the distance, and you face the sound. Heart beating so fast and hard that you’re afraid it’ll break your ribcage.

Your eyes widened as you glanced back, catching the intense gaze of the tall man in the distance—Viscount Simon. The burning sensation in your stomach flared once more, and your heart raced at the unexpected encounter. It seemed that your paths had crossed again, and the intrigue surrounding him deepened further.

“My Lord, you are not permitted in this area,” you stuttered, your voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and unease. Viscount Simon’s inhumanly towering presence had a profound effect on you, causing your knees to grow weak and your heart to race.

The unexpected encounter left you feeling both vulnerable and intrigued, uncertain of what would come next.

Viscount Simon continued to approach you, seemingly unperturbed by your protest. His voice, when he spoke, carried a darker, gravely, and husky timbre, each word rolling off his tongue with a depth that sent shivers down your spine. It was a voice that held a mysterious allure, and as he drew nearer, you found yourself captivated by the man before you.

“You are still not allowed here, My Lord. Unless are married to me or if you have permission to do—“ he interrupted you for a brief moment, your breath hitched. “Do I have your permission?”

His simple question held a weight that left you questioning your own dignity and morals. "I-I suppose you may. I don't believe you'd cause any harm," you replied tentatively, your nerves causing you to fidget with your hands.

Viscount Simon took note of your hesitation and reached out to gently take your hands in his own. His touch was surprisingly rough and calloused, yet it had a calming effect on your frayed nerves. The unexpected gesture further deepened the sense of connection between you two, leaving you both intrigued and comforted by the enigmatic man before you.

The entire experience felt like something out of a romance novel, a dream brought to life. It was something you had never been entirely sure would happen to you, yet now, it had. The enchanting dance, the mysterious encounter with Viscount Simon, and the complex emotions that had unfolded were all like a dream come true, turning the pages of a story you had never expected to live.

“Open the door, the guards are all downstairs, no need to fret.” He demanded, in a gentle manner.

You obediently opened the door, allowing Viscount Simon to enter. As he stepped into your bedroom, a breeze swept in from the open window, which you had forgotten to close before attending the ball. The cool air helped alleviate the heat on your flushed face, and you welcomed the refreshing sensation, finding comfort in the natural element that had invited itself into your bedroom.

"This is my bedroom," you announced, leading Viscount Simon on a brief tour. You observed him as he moved toward your bed and the bookshelf. His large hands gently skimmed over the rows of books, and his eyes, visible through the skull-like mask, carefully scanned the titles.

“I didn’t take you for such a romance reader, Jane Austen, Your Highness?”

You noticed his finger resting on “Pride and Prejudice” and felt compelled to explain. “Yes, most of them are by Jane Austen, but her works are more than just romance,” you informed him, eager to share your love for literature.

“Excuse me, but there’s not a single book here that is not romance.” His interest in your personal space and choice of reading material piqued your curiosity even further. “Are you an expert perhaps?”

"No, I am not," you admitted, your tone laced with a hint of shame. The vulnerability in sharing this aspect of yourself with Viscount Simon revealed a layer of your character that you hadn't expected to expose during this encounter.

"I can teach you some things from these books, unless you already possess the knowledge," Viscount Simon offered. He selected a random chapter from one of the books and began to read aloud, his gaze eventually shifting back to you.

With his arms now crossed, the buttons on his vest seemed on the verge of bursting due to the muscles that strained against it. The prospect of learning from him, coupled with the undeniable physical presence he exuded, left you intrigued and eager to explore this connection further.

"Knowledge of what?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued by his statement. As Viscount Simon approached you, his every step seemed to carry a weight of its own, and you couldn't help but notice the way his breaths grew heavier, causing his chest to rise with each intake of air.

His masked face concealed most of his expressions, but his eyes continued to hold your attention, revealing a shift in his demeanor that intrigued you even more.

"May I, Your Highness?" Viscount Simon asked softly as he gently lifted your chin with his index finger, tilting it upward until your gazes locked completely. The sudden and intimate gesture left you gasping for air, and a rush of emotions from earlier returned with a renewed intensity. In that moment, it felt as if the world outside your shared space had ceased to exist.

You nodded, still unsure of what he was asking for, and confusion clouded your thoughts. Suddenly, Viscount Simon closed the distance between the two of you, narrowing the gap until you were in close proximity, and your breaths seemed to synchronize in that intimate space.

His lips were soft, and everything you read in the books are now suddenly real.

Viscount Simon’s right hand gently cradled the back of your neck, securing you in his embrace as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was passionate, intense, and consuming, leaving you both breathless and addicted to the taste and sensation of each other. In this private room that had once held your deepest secrets, it now bore witness to your first kiss, a moment that defied propriety but felt undeniably right in that intoxicating connection between you two.

In the midst of the heated kiss, every thought and worry seemed to vanish from your mind. Viscount Simon's warm tongue ventured into your mouth, igniting a rush of desire that left you breathless. You held onto his vest with a desperate grip, the fabric of his waistcoat beneath your fingertips offering an anchor in the whirlwind of sensations that coursed through you. The world outside ceased to exist as you both lost yourselves in this intimate exchange, a forbidden connection that felt undeniably intense and irresistible.

He must’ve kept all this encased during the dance…

Viscount Simon's strong hand cupped your face, holding you tenderly as the intensity of the kiss grew. His groans of pleasure became more pronounced, and the raw desire in his sounds threatened to melt you into a puddle beneath him. The fire in your belly surged, an insatiable heat that refused to be extinguished. Every vein in your body seemed to pulse with desire as you couldn't help but wonder where he had been all this time, and why it had taken so long for your paths to cross in such an electrifying way.

"You... taste delicious," Viscount Simon murmured as he pulled away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva briefly connecting your reddened and swollen lips before breaking. Both of you were left breathless, taking moments to regain your composure as you watched Simon also catch his breath. His remark left you feeling dizzy and uncertain about what had just transpired, and the lingering question of why it had happened hung in the air between you.

“My Lord, why did you kiss me just now?” You broke the silence, and he looks up at you, still panting.

“I sincerely apologize for my actions, Your Highness, but I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Your voice wavered with a mix of desire and frustration as you implored, "Stop asking me such questions before I do something completely and utterly outrageous." The tension between you and Viscount Simon had reached an almost unbearable peak, and your words conveyed both the temptation and the peril of this magnetic connection that had ignited between you.

Your brows furrow, “I don’t understand what I did, My Lord.”

"Simon, Your Highness," he corrected, his tone both firm and possessive as he closed the distance between you once again. The formality mingled with intimacy in his address, emphasizing the complexity of your connection and the roles you both occupied in this uncharted territory of desire and longing.

Suddenly, Viscount Simon began to undress your chemise, leaving you with only your undergarments. Your voice quivered as you confessed, "Simon, I was told this was not allowed unless I am married..." The touch of his hands against your skin felt like lava, igniting a blazing heat that coursed through your body. The boundaries and proprieties that had once defined your world seemed to blur and fade in the face of this overwhelming desire and vulnerability.

“Do you want this?” He asked, a simple question that made you answer it in less than a second. You wanted to shout “yes” but that was deemed highly inappropriate. So you kept quiet and all you did was nod, though, Simon kept asking.

“A nod won’t do, Your Highness. I need to know if you want me to touch you, to kiss every inch of your body, to explore depths no other man has ever explored, and to tell you that you are mine. Do you want that?”

In that suspended moment, you gazed at him in awe, realizing that every description he had given you, every hint of desire and passion he had conveyed, was everything you had been longing for. It was everything you so desperately wanted. The anticipation that had built within you had finally reached its culmination, and now, in this moment, it had all become a breathtaking reality.

"I want you to do all of the above," you confessed in a breathy, fervent tone. In that intimate moment, you could discern the expression in Viscount Simon's eyes behind his mask, and the desire and hunger mirrored in his gaze confirmed the depth of the connection you both shared.

Lust.

Viscount Simon began to unbutton his vest and everything else beneath his waistcoat, gradually revealing his sculpted torso. Each chiseled muscle seemed to tell a story of years of hard work and sacrifice, with every scar etching its own narrative.

Unable to contain your fascination, you traced your fingers delicately across each scar, causing Simon to flinch at your touch. The intimacy of this moment, where you explored the physical evidence of his past, deepened the connection between you even further.

You asked in a voice tinged with sadness, “When and how have you gotten these?” Your fingers continued to trace the scars on his torso, and a part of you wished that he had never had to endure the pain and suffering that each mark represented.

“I would like to talk about these another time, I don’t want to ruin this moment, love.” You understood.

He gets up from off his knees and places both his hands besides you, you sat on the edge of the bed as he leans towards your face. “Would you like me to undress you, Your Highness?”

"You may," you breathed in response, your need for his touch growing more intense with each passing moment. Viscount Simon didn't completely undress you; instead, he lifted your petticoat all the way up to your waist, exposing your white cotton undergarments to him. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, you hid your face, unable to meet his gaze as your desire and vulnerability laid bare before him.

"In all my years of living, I've never seen someone so perfect," Viscount Simon whispered, his words of admiration sending shivers down your spine. He lowered his face to your thighs, and you gasped at the sensation of his soft lips and warm breath trailing across your bare skin. He left a trail of peppered kisses as he slowly made his way to your most sacred and intimate spot, igniting a fiery passion between you that seemed to transcend time and place.

Simon hooks his fingers on the band of your undergarment, and slid them off, leaving you completely bare in front of him. His jaw locks, looking at you like you’re the prey and he’s the predator, ready to devour his meal and fulfill his hunger.

"What are you going to do?" you questioned, your voice filled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Despite your previous experiences with literature and romance, this moment was uncharted territory, and you found yourself both intrigued and apprehensive about what might come next.

He completely ignored your question, taking his finger and touching it on your most sensitive spot. You gripped the cotton sheets, it became victim to your tight hold.

“Your Highness, this spot right here, may cause some discomfort.” He warned, his rough finger circling the bud slowly.

You struggled to breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you found it difficult to form the right words. Your senses were overwhelmed, and your mind raced as you desperately tried to find your voice and articulate your thoughts in this intense and intimate moment.

Small whines and moans left your mouth, putting Simon in a haze. “Now right here,” his finger slid down your throbbing folds, “may hurt, darling.”

You balance yourself on both your elbows, seeing the intense sight in front of you. Simon’s head was in between your legs, and his fingers were on your cunt.

His middle finger enters a part of you that made you let out a scream in response, he may have warned you before, but it still hurt. “Did I hurt you, love? If you’d like me to stop, I can.”

"No, please," you assured him, your voice trembling with both desire and reassurance. "I assure you, I am fine." His hands remained firmly pressed against your thighs, and you welcomed him further into this intimate connection, surrendering to the intoxicating sensations that washed over you.

“Tell me when you’d like me to stop, my princess.”

My Princess. That alone let a moan escape your lips.

His finger began to slide in and out, and the sensations that surged through you left you breathless. It was a mix of pleasure and pain, a new and overwhelming experience that had your body tingling with desire and your mind racing with sensations you had never felt before.

"Oh, Simon..." you whimpered, your head thrashing from side to side as he continued to pay no heed to your whimpers and moans. His mouth descended to your most intimate place, and he began to explore you fully, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you surrendered to the exquisite sensations that washed over you.

“Stay still.” He ordered, ignoring your protests as his hands make their way to your waist and back to your thighs. Gripping them as if he’s scared you’re going to somehow leave his hold. His tongue laps against your entrance as his finger continued to slide inside and out, then quickly adding a second finger.

“Simon!” you screamed, your voice echoing through the room, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation that surged through you. The knots in your stomach tugged tighter, intensifying the anticipation as you neared the peak of ecstasy, the culmination of desire and longing.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, their delicate silk fabric clinging tightly as his warm breath tickles your inner thighs. With each gentle brush of his nose against your bud, a delicious shiver of anticipation courses through your body, intensifying the electric connection between you.

And there, you couldn’t take it anymore. You unraveled underneath him as he continued to devour you, his grip intensified as you thrashed your head around. Every delicate moans escaped your mouth, and you thought you’d never make these noises in your life, yet here you are.

“You are bloody delicious, my love, so sweet.” He kissed your thighs as he hovers over you. His breathe heaving and his chest covered in sweat. You couldn’t deny the attractiveness in front of you, it was almost impossible how someone could look this good in a mask.

"Thank you, Simon," you expressed your gratitude, and in his mysterious eyes, a glint of admiration shimmered like a hidden treasure in the depths of a secret world you had just begun to explore together.

“It is my honor, Your Highness. I am sure the next time we visit, it won’t be the same as this.”

"What do you mean?" you asked, your curiosity piqued, and an unspoken desire that he would stay by your side forever welled up within you. He sighed, his breath carrying the weight of unspoken truths, and his eyes held a depth of emotions that begged to be explored further.

"I mean, Your Highness," he began, his voice holding a note of determination, "that I will never let you go. I intend to reveal the deeper parts of myself to you, and I will slowly begin to show and teach you everything you desire to know." His words carried a promise of a journey into the unknown, an exploration of desires and emotions that lay hidden beneath the surface.

“I realized now more than ever, that I need you.”

——

NOTE: HOLY!!! This took a week (omg) and now it’s finally done. I’m actually so proud of this. Let me know if you’d like to be in the taglist. Once again, thank you all for reading my peeps! :) this was a promise made by me! Also, I may have watched Bridgerton hundreds of times and Queen Charlotte and all of those shows etc etc, but if there’s something historically incorrect, please inform me! I would love to correct it for future readers. Thanks once again!

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week

⚡ - Charging Towards a More Electrifying Future

1. The Kissimmee River has been brought back to life—and wildlife is thriving

The Kissimmee River in Florida was straightened in the 1960s, causing a sharp decline in wildlife and ecological problems. But in the 1990s, a $1 billion restoration project was initiated to restore the river's natural state.

Today, nearly half of the river has been restored, wetlands have been reestablished and rehydrated, and wildlife has returned, including rare and threatened species. Already the biological impact of the project has become clear. As the wetlands have come back, so have the birds.

2. Plastic wrap made from seaweed withstands heat and is compostable

A cling film made from an invasive seaweed can withstand high temperatures yet is still easily compostable. The material could eventually become a sustainable choice for food packaging.

Scientists started with a brown seaweed called sargassum. Sargassum contains long, chain-like molecules similar to those that make up conventional plastic, which made it a good raw material. The researchers mixed it with some acids and salts to get a solution full of these molecules, then blended in chemicals that thickened it and made it more flexible and pliable.

3. An Eagle Who Adopted a Rock Becomes a Real Dad to Orphaned Eaglet

Murphy, a bald eagle that had been showing fatherly instincts, has been sharing an enclosure with an eaglet that survived a fall from a tree during a storm in Ste. Genevieve. Murphy, his rock gone by then, took his role as foster parent seriously. He soon began responding to the chick’s peeps, and protecting it.

And when, as a test, the keepers placed two plates of food in front of the birds — one containing food cut into pieces that the chick could eat by itself, and another with a whole fish that only Murphy could handle — the older bird tore up the fish and fed it to the eaglet.

4. World's largest battery maker announces major breakthrough in energy density

In one of the most significant battery breakthroughs in recent years, the world’s largest battery manufacturer CATL has announced a new “condensed” battery with 500 Wh/kg which it says will go into mass production this year.

“The launch of condensed batteries will usher in an era of universal electrification of sea, land and air transportation, open up more possibilities of the development of the industry, and promote the achieving of the global carbon neutrality goals at an earlier date,” the company said in a presentation at Auto Shanghai on Thursday.

This could be huge. Electric jets and cargo ships become very possible at this point.

5. Cat with '100% fatal' feline coronavirus saved by human Covid-19 medicine

A beloved household cat has made an “astonishing” recovery from a usually fatal illness, thanks to a drug made to treat Covid-19 in humans – and a quick-thinking vet.

Anya​, the 7-year-old birman cat, was suffering from feline infectious peritonitis (FIP), a “100% fatal” viral infection caused by feline coronavirus. That was, until Auckland vet Dr Habin Choi​ intervened, giving Anya an antiviral used to treat Covid-19 called molnupiravir.

6. Kelp forests capture nearly 5 million tonnes of CO2 annually

Kelp forests provide an estimated value of $500 billion to the world and capture 4.5 million tonnes of carbon dioxide from seawater each year. Most of kelp’s economic benefits come from creating habitat for fish and by sequestering nitrogen and phosphorus.

7. Medical Marijuana Improved Parkinson’s Disease Symptoms in 87% of Patients

Medical cannabis (MC) has recently garnered interest as a potential treatment for neurologic diseases, including Parkinson's disease (PD). 87% of patients were noted to exhibit an improvement in any PD symptom after starting medical cannabis. Symptoms with the highest incidence of improvement included cramping/dystonia, pain, spasticity, lack of appetite, dyskinesia, and tremor.

----

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog

[unclewaynemunson]

Pt2 to this post is here 🤗 | AO3 link

When Eddie stumbles out of his room the next day, still half asleep and purposefully headed towards the coffee machine, he notices a crumpled piece of paper on the table. He frowns when he sees it's the note he tossed in the trash a day earlier. It's folded open again, and there's a mysterious, slightly gross looking stain on it, but the number is still clearly readable.

He takes a good few seconds to stare at the digits, written neatly with a blue ballpoint, as if the guy was doing his very best to make sure that none of the numbers would be unreadable. He can't believe that Wayne is invested enough in this to get the note out of the trash for Eddie, even though Eddie already made more than clear how utterly uninterested he is in this Steve person. He shrugs, crumples the note back up again, and tosses it back into the trash.

It goes on like that for a while: every time Eddie wakes up or gets back home, the number is staring at him from the table, only to be crumpled in Eddie's fist again and again and again. Neither Wayne nor Eddie say anything about it; it becomes a tacid game of who can be the most stubborn, and they both know that both of them can keep that up for a very long time. Eddie knows he could just tear it up, or burn it, or poetically bury it at the base of a tree at the edge of the woods outside the trailer. But something's stopping him. It isn't the guy, or even the idea of the guy – he's sure as hell that this Steve wouldn't be for him at all. No, it's the memory of the look on Wayne's face after he gave Eddie the number, all excited and proud of himself. It's the knowledge of how immensely lucky he is to have an uncle like that, who supports him and loves him exactly the way he is, even actively wants him to be happy with another man. It's the flash of disappointment that crossed Wayne's face that first time Eddie made a whole show of throwing the note away. That's the reason he eventually, after almost a whole week of moving the note from trashcan to table and back again, finds himself standing at the phone with the piece of paper in his hand. The note has become truly disgusting by now, with all kinds of unrecognizable smudges on it, but thanks to Steve's clear handwriting, Eddie can still read all the digits.

It doesn't take long before 'Steve Harrington' picks up the horn on the other side.

'Hey, um, this is Eddie,' Eddie says, suddenly feeling awkward about the whole thing and wondering if he should've thought through what he was about to say to Steve. 'You met my uncle at a baseball game, last weekend?'

'Oh!' Steve sounds surprised. 'Eddie! Yeah, yes I did – Wayne, right?'

'Hmhm.'

'I didn't really expect a call anymore, to be honest,' Steve says.

'Yeah, sorry 'bout that,' says Eddie. 'Listen, to be honest, I'm not calling because I actually think this is gonna be something. From what I heard – not to sound like a dick or anything, I'm sure you're perfectly nice and all that – you just, totally don't sound like my type, you know? But my uncle won't drop it, and it'd probably make my life a whole lot easier if I could just prove to him that not every random queer guy he meets is a good match for me, so... Do you wanna meet up for coffee sometime? We can establish what a terrible match we are, I'll pay for your drinks, and then we can move on with our lives without any gnawing guilt or “what if”s playing around in our minds, and we'll never have to think about each other again. How does that sound?'

'Um...' There's a pause of a couple of seconds on the other side of the line, then a small sigh. 'I guess the free coffee sounds good?' It sounds more like a question than a statement, and suddenly, Eddie feels a bit stupid about the whole thing.

'I'm sorry,' he blurts out. 'I totally get it if it's not really what you expected of this. You met my uncle, and I know he's pretty awesome, and, like, wildly attractive and stuff, but if you expect me to be like him – that's not at all what I'm like, you know. So it'll probably be good for both of us to get that out of the way. To establish that we are not at all attracted to each other and happily move on.'

'Yeah, yeah, sure,' says Steve. 'Sounds good. I can't wait to find out what a terrible match you are for me.'

Eddie is relieved to hear the guy softly chuckling. 

Pt3 Seriously the response to this silly lil AU has been sooo lovely, thank all of you so much for your kind words and hilarious tags, it made my day 🥹 Altogether the whole thing will probably get to +/-7 parts, so if you feel like that’s a bit much to keep following, please don’t feel awkward about telling me you’d like to be removed from the taglist, I don't wanna spam anyone!

Taglist: @phantypurple @love-kurdt @eddiemunsonswife @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @swimmingbirdrunningrock @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @yourebuckingkiddingme @th3-r4t-k1ng @messrs-weasley @moonshadows-13 @im-sam-fucking-winchester @xjessicafaithx @yournowheregirl @henderdads @lwhoscribbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon

[friendship-ditch]

Can I ask for one in which the reader meets Katniss in the Hunger Games and when Peeta is captured they start to have a relationship, with Petta's return the reader puts a distance because she doesn't want to be another problem in the Mockingjay's head

Promise

(Katniss Everdeen x Fem Reader) ❀

Summary: After arriving to District 13, you and Katniss find solace in each other and become more than friends, but that all changes after Peeta’s return.

Warnings/Notes: Insecure reader makes dumb decisions—also, thank you for the request! It’s very real

Word Count: 2341

“Y/n!”

Katniss’s arms wrapped around you first, then her face was buried into your shoulder. Her body quivered and her tongue felt heavy in her mouth.

You stumbled back from the force, but almost immediately slid your arms back around her as well, feeling like you’d found your missing piece.

It had been only a few days since you’d seen each other, and even lesser days since you’d met in the Quarter Quell. You bonded quite quickly after you practically fell out of a tree and narrowly missed her arrows, but after that you were the closest being to her in that arena besides Peeta, who had been captured.

Now… you were basically the only person close to Katniss. Sure, there was her family; Primrose and her mother, but Katniss would never want to worry them with her problems, and so, your presence was heavenly.

Katniss buried herself into your embrace, exhaling a shaky sigh as she clung to you like a lifeline. She made a soft noise of disbelief a few seconds after as if it was a miracle you were here beside her.

“I’m here..” You whispered into her hair, breathing in her scent and tightening your grip on her.

Katniss nodded, hair tickling your face as she slowly lifted her head back up. Her eyes were dark and hollow, but there was a small glimmer in them that hadn’t been there before.

“It’s going to be okay now.” You murmured. “We’re safe here, at 13. They can’t hurt us.”

“They took Peeta.” Katniss rasped back as if the whole bunker wasn’t already aware. She was still trembling like a leaf in your arms but it slowed down as she soaked in your embrace. “He’s… he’s in the Capitol. They took him.”

“I know.” You squeezed her tight and then let go to look her in the eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Katniss’s eyes now had a glossy sheen over them and she swallowed heavily, then opened her mouth again. “I can’t lose you too.”

“You’re not going to.” You shook your head fervently. Despite her height and her stature, she seemed so small now.

You gently tilted her face up from the ground, eyes locking.

“I’m here now, for you.” You whispered softly.

The faintest ghost of a smile twitched on her lips and she nodded, sniffling. “O.. Okay.”

And so, Katniss Everdeen was yours, at least for a while.

You shared a room together in the bunker, and though it had two beds, you always slept in the same one, longing for each others warmth.

Friendly, soothing cuddles soon turned into something more, and although neither of you really mentioned it, you were something more than friends. She’d give you a quick kiss before leaving to shoot propaganda films, you’d wash her hair and clean her face after her breakdowns, and you both relished in eachothers arms every morning until you had to go to work.

In any other circumstance, it would’ve been perfect.

It was a few weeks later when Peeta was rescued from the Capitol.

You’d held Katniss all night after the cameras cut out, rubbing her back and just letting her sob into your shoulder. There wasn’t much else you could do besides hold her, and once Peeta nearly choked her to death, you did the same, but in a hospital room.

It took a while for her to gain her voice and her strength back, but her spirit had been broken.

She looked up at you with a dim, blank stare as you came in and sat beside her. Her neck and throat were covered in dark, purple bruises, but she could speak, just very hoarsely.

“I snuck you a cookie.” You murmured softly as you sat beside her on the hospital bed and held the small treat out. It was more of a lump of dough than a cookie, but any sugar down here was enough to be eaten.

Katniss slowly sat up and took the dessert from your hand. She offered you a weak smile and then lifted a hand to her throat, gently running her fingers over the bruising and wincing.

“Kat…” you reached to stop her but she shook her head.

“Does… it still.. look bad?” Katniss croaked, voice almost stuffy and raw, like she was sick with the flu. The effort of using her voice caused her to shudder a little.

“It’s healing.” You responded gently. “And it’s going to get better. You’ll be just like normal, soon enough. The doctors say you’re healing quicker than expected.” She was supposed to be out of the hospital a few days ago, but they decided to keep her a few more days. The doctors guessed that it was her deteriorating mental state that was preventing her vocal chords from healing due to her pure exhaustion, but you couldn’t tell her that.

Katniss nodded slowly. She carefully bit off a small chunk of the cookie, and though she struggled to get it down, she let out a soft sigh of relief and rested her head against your shoulder.

“They could’ve.. thrown you in jail… for that.” Katniss mumbled, teasing you gently.

You chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Maybe so. But it would be worth it, just to see you perk up a little.

Katniss’s cheeks flushed a light pink and she finished off the cookie with a bashful smile.

You brushed the crumbs off her lips, then gave her a quick kiss. Your arms slid around her and you leaned back into the pillows, pulling her into your body.

“Plutarch says that Peeta is getting better.”

Katniss shook her head, closing her eyes as she bore a raspy cough. “That’s… not.. Peeta…”

You knew better than to argue with her, at least while she’s like this.

You felt awful for Peeta, that poor boy had gone through things worse than your nightmares, but you feared him too. Not just because of what he did to Katniss, though it made your blood boil, but because deep down, you knew that if–when he got better, you’d lose her.

“Mm..?” Katniss murmured sleepily into your chest. The drugs they had her on at the hospital for the pain were pretty heavy when they kicked in.

“Nothing.” You shook your head, stroking her hair softly. “Just… get some rest.”

You didn’t have to tell her twice. Katniss fell asleep moments later.

And for a while, you thought maybe your worries were foolish, a projection of your insecurity. Katniss loved you, she did…

But you couldn’t help but feel as though you were more of a problem than a solution.

You made the decision when you, her, Peeta, and the rest of Squad 451 were up one night.

Katniss was listing off facts about Peeta, the things he liked, his little quirks, anything she could think of to bring him back to reality.

And he was listening intently, his eyes locked on hers the whole time.

Even after Katniss gave up and walked off to cuddle up beside you, you knew that things were going to change. As far as you were concerned, you were just another problem for the already struggling Mockingjay; another problem she didn’t need.

You spent the rest of the mission keeping to yourself as best as you could, or talking to the other members instead of Katniss.

She watched you from afar with dark eyes as you spoke to Cressida and Castor, joking with them instead of her, but she made no move to stop you. The hurt was as evident on her face as it was yours and you just wished you could tell her the truth but every time you tried the words turned to cotton in your mouth.

In Tigris’s basement, you found yourself sitting alone and nursing a gash on your leg.

Katniss was the only one that noticed and soon she was beside you, holding a cloth to soak the blood.

Neither of you spoke for a while. It could’ve been because of the exhaustion but both of you knew the truth. Something had shifted.

Finally, Katniss spoke.

“Have I done something wrong?” She asked you softly, tearing off a strip of bandages to wrap your leg with. Her eyes weren’t on yours but you could feel her holding her breath for an answer.

“No.” You shook your head. “I’m afraid I have.”

“What do you mean?”

You winced as she wrapped your leg tight, then let out a pain-filled sigh.

“I don’t think that we… I don’t think that I am what you need right now.” You finally whispered, voice heavy. Now that the truth was out, it was more painful than ever. You regretted saying it almost immediately as you saw the look cross her features.

Katniss’s face wasn’t one of sadness or anger, but one of simple acceptance. She’d long cried out every tear and had gone through more grief tonight than a normal person could live through, she was numb enough that this didn’t even hurt her.

“Are you sure?” Her question was hesitant.

A lump began to form in your throat as you looked up at her. You wanted to swallow back the words on her tongue and tell her that you misspoke, but instead, you nodded. “You don’t need another problem…”

“...okay.”

That was your last exchange with her of the night, and when you woke up the next day, she was gone.

You didn’t get to see her again until after she’d shocked the country at the execution by extinguishing the real enemy, and leaving the public to deal with the other.

Haymitch had gone into the prison cell first, and then ordered you to do the same.

When the guards stepped aside and you entered the empty room of meaningless quartz and riches, your heart sank.

Katniss was sitting on the stairs. Haymitch had already told her she was going home, but your presence was what seemed to surprise her the most.

She looked like a wreck, her body thin and underfed, and her eyes empty. When she looked towards you, it was as if she didn’t know how to process emotions anymore. Her mouth opened a little but nothing came out.

You slowly approached her and took a seat a few feet away.

“Peeta… will come back to District 12, eventually.” You whispered softly. “When the doctors say his mind has healed enough.”

Katniss’s expression softened, then furrowed once more. Processing your words took longer than it should have, but she moved past them. “Are you coming?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to.” Katniss shook her head. Your breakup was a distant memory to her, she couldn’t even bring herself to feel the pain. “I didn’t think… you’d ever want to see me again.”

“I couldn’t live without you.”

“You left me when I needed you most.”

Her words were full of resentment and she turned her head to stare at another crack in the wall.

You nodded, heart weighed down with remorse.

“I know.” You whispered. “And… I’m so sorry. I was foolish and insecure and–”

“Why did you do it?”

“The last thing you needed was another problem.” You mumbled quietly, feeling foolish and stupid now for your past decisions. You were wrong, you knew you were the second you called things off, but you were so lost in your worries that you couldn’t force yourself to fight through them. “But… I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry… I really am.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Katniss’s voice had returned to calm, emotionless. She was looking at you once more, but it was more like she was looking through you.

You bit your tongue. She needed you. She wouldn't survive this without you. You just hoped that somehow you could earn her forgiveness.

“I’m going to make it up to you.” You promised softly.

This caused a small flicker in Katniss’s eyes, but she said nothing else.

She didn’t speak for days after you went to District 12, but things did progress.

At first, you’d been staying at a little, miraculously untouched cabin near the woods, but you spent so much time at Katniss’s house with her you ended up moving in. She came out of her grief-clouded haze and deep apologies were shared. You told her the truth and she told you hers.

You soothed her back to sleep through her nightmares, tucked her into bed after she passed out on the couch, and met her on the porch after her hunting missions. One time exchanges became routine and things picked up as if you’d never split at all. Gentle hugs turned into soft kisses and sleeping on the couch turned into sharing a bed.

It wasn’t perfect or always happy, but it was good enough for the both of you.

Katniss laid in your arms, the lights in your room dim as you gently spooned her from behind and played with her hair. Her back was nestled flush against your stomach, one hand under her head and the other over her waist.

For a while, you thought she was asleep, until she lifted her head up and looked over her shoulder at you.

“Are you always going to stick around?” She rasped softly, voice thick with sleep. Her dark eyes flitted over your face.

You nudged a lock of hair out of her face, tracing your thumb over her freckles. “Unless you find somebody better.” You smiled.

Her brows furrowed, mind drowsy as she thought through your words. Once she understood them, her lips lifted into a small smile and she gently nudged you with her forehead like a cat. “Mm… and who could be better than you?”

You ruffled her hair as she turned to face you and nuzzled into you. “Nobody.” You chuckled softly.

She nodded in agreement and laid her head on your chest. “I don’t want anyone… but you. I only want you…”

“Then you’ll always have me.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[fauustic]

aa hello!! could I request a miguel x enby reader in any way??

the genre really doesn't matter but maybe a little fluff?

for an idea i was thinking the reader works as a florist and miguel knows them meeting them as spiderman. he begins taking a liking to them so he comes to the shop often getting flowers or small bouquets, but each flower means love or care, or notice me? (I'm thinking it would be really adorable if he just, late night studied floriagraphy for them) in the flower language, and they start taking notice to it, and eventually ask him?? idk this is silly but if you wanna write it!!

I hope you have a lovely day!!

(( stares at the miguel gifs i've used so far with a longing gaze... i only have so many left ..

i really hope you enjoy this, thank you so much for your request! it was super sweet. ))

nonbinary reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara

fluff. like pure fluff. its literally just miguel pining after a little silly florist.

warnings: literally none except the use of some language. possible use of incorrect spanish because i'm learning so i have help of a translator in some parts :) let me know if i can fix anything!

word count: 3742

The smell of all kinds of flowers flooded your senses as the floral shop's door opened with a little chime, a beautiful melody that brightens every beginning of your shift. The shop that has become the core of your life was nothing too fancy, hidden away in a cozy little alleyway accompanied by a coffee shop and another restaurant– a safe space along the bustling city. 

Your identity wasn’t something that you mentioned often, but with the support of your coworkers you couldn’t help but express yourself easier. Being able to incorporate outfits of all kinds in your daily life without much more than a stare, some days you’d adorn a long skirt and a tank top, finished off with a floral-patterned apron to keep yourself tidy. Other days, you didn’t exactly confine yourself with a particular style because you were just you. As free and as happy as ever.

That was one of the many things you loved about the city you found yourself in. The growth and ability to thrive in Nueva York was a symbol of diversity, no matter who you were or where you had come from. It was different back home, so the newfound independence pushed you to be more talkative and approachable because you didn’t need to worry about others' thoughts. Labels and identities were celebrated in the cultures you intertwined with.

So when you found out you aligned with the embodiment of being nonbinary, you snatched it up like a piece of treasure and hadn’t looked back at who you were once before.

The love you had for flowers was immeasurable, somehow finding ways to include floral in your outfits no matter what you were wearing. A lovely white magnolia, fresh and healthy, found shelter in the secure pocket of your apron. Another flower was tucked upon the sunhat you adorned, a light pink peony settled right within the ribbon.

The alley your store took home in held a usual quiet atmosphere soothed by the comforting ambience of bird chirping due to housing a small little section for trees scattered about the alleyway. It reminded you of where your love for nature first began. Yet as you misted a bundle of Irises blooming upon a full window-sill, doused in a beautiful sunny haze, the tranquillity washing over you was unfortunately interrupted when a cat bumped against the shop’s window closest to you. It was loud, shaking the Irisies you just tended to.

Jumping from the sudden chaos happening outside your floristry, you couldn’t help but rush out the door with the watering pot still in hand. Did you need to get involved? You couldn't help but wonder to yourself when you noticed the little feline looked as if it was running away from something, but before you could intervene the answer dived past you on all fours, claw marks left in its wake. The figure, you have recognized from the news, was the talk of the city– broadcasts nicknaming the hero “Spiderman.” But what was he doing trying to grab one little kitty with the intensity of a predator? Surely Nueva York had more crime than that.

Entertaining the idea of watching such a well-respected hero having difficulty catching a feline, you played it off as if you were watering the flowers that decorate your shop– but in reality you just wanted to have a good laugh at seeing the man who has made criminals beg on their knees for forgiveness speak to the cat in desperation.

Funnily enough, the cat did climb one of the many large trees planted around your shop, and even if it was a bit hard to hear from the distance, this Spiderman guy wouldn’t stop trying to call for it to come down.

“Come ‘ere, gatito.” He shouted towards the cat at the tree’s base, his claws digging into the bark as if he was contemplating scaling the tree himself. “If I don’t bring you back with me, you will have to give up treats for the rest of your life. You don’t want that, do you?” His next step was to “psspspssp,” which just came out as a weird hiss. The cat only hissed back, which only fueled his discontentment even more. Without another moment to spare, Spiderman scaled the tree in two leaps, plucking the cat from the branches with a cautious hold. When he landed on the ground, he caught you staring a little too hard.

But the scene was just too hilarious, having to stifle a hearty giggle with the back of your hand as you noticed he was walking straight towards your shop. But luck wasn’t on your side today, as he stood right behind you. The window mirrored how he was holding the cat the same way as before, held like a little baby with its arms reaching out to you. You only laughed harder, crumbling to your knees as water splashed at your boots from the watering can. He didn’t dare to utter another word, obviously finding amusement in your little laughing fit over something so stupid.

“Did you get it out of your system, jardinero?” It was no doubt he was smirking under his mouth as he loomed over your laughing form. A ruffled meow followed his question, which only made you double down on your giggles. “Oh my god– I can’t breathe. Holy shit–” You cried out, rolling on the side to only have a flurry of Wisterias cloud your vision. 

“Who knew the biggest baddest hero that Nueva has, could barely even catch a little animal?” You cackled into the air, which instantly made him defensive. 

“I did not have a difficult time with this little pest, he’s as agile as a Roomba.” His tone was flat, if not a bit irritated. If you didn’t notice the soft chuckles escaping him softly, you would have thought he was genuinely bothered. Spiderman scooped up the cat in a more comfortable position, belly facing the both of you as the cat’s back lied against his arms. “Lo que sea–” He muttered through his mask, shaking his head in disbelief. After a short pause, it's clear he had nothing else left to say. “That’s enough entertainment for you today.” It was clear he was done once he spun on his heel, cat in arms and not even sparing a wave.

Something overcame you, as you called out to him. Maybe you were just as stricken as all his other fans, but as he paused with an awaited glance– you rushed through the waves of color in your floral shop before stopping to a bundle of crimson petals. Plucking a single bloom, you rushed out your store in a flustered mess so he wouldn’t have to wait long. 

There wasn’t much to his suit, so there was no way you could easily position it in a way the flower couldn’t fall. So you just settled with putting it against the cat’s ear, the feline wearing it without a care.

You sighed, smoothing out your apron in nervous relief. This was an eventful start to your day, to say the very least. But Spiderman didn’t move from where he moved despite being eager to leave just a moment ago. Instead, his attention was fixated at the bloom in his grasp.

“It’s an Amaryllis. Truly a beautiful one, right?” Your tone shifted, excitement lacing your voice at the opportunity to explain a flower to a stranger– let alone someone that is apparently a huge deal.

“... What does it mean?” When your attention snapped to his masked face, you weren’t able to distinguish his wonderstruck expression. You gladly took the chance to ramble about what you knew about the flower, and explain the exact reason why you chose it. 

“Amaryllis have multiple kinds of meanings you see– every flower does– but they’ve always been a symbol of hard-earned success due to its representation of determination and pride. I thought it was fitting because I was able to watch you in action, and you deserve a reward for your civic duties.” You couldn’t help but include some form of humor in your sprinkles of a compliment, but the truth was there. No matter what he had to do under the mask, he deserved to be reminded that his successful missions help so many people. It may have not been your cat, but you were happy that someone will now return back home to their fluffy companion. “And the scarlet coloring of its petals kinda matches your suit, so in a way it kind of reminds me of you.” The masked man in front of you was completely silent, until the gloved hand meeting his shoulder shook him from his daze. “Good work, Spiderman. Can’t wait what next animal you’re going to save,” The spell you unknowingly put him under was slapped away in an instant at the little jab.

He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips before he could turn away, which only encouraged your teasing more. He waved behind his back, keeping his focus on what’s in front of him. “What will it be, a giraffe? Maybe a walrus–” Spiderman was gone by the time you sputtered the second animal, leaping away with an iron grip on the feline to a nearby building rooftop.

“What about something cool like a whale shark? Now that’d be something to read online..” You mumbled to yourself, brushing off your apron one last time before clutching your trusty watering pail and beginning your duties for the day.

Which is how Miguel O’Hara found himself hunched over his computer, staring at a gallery full of vibrant botany with a sigh. He couldn’t express it under the mask– he had a purpose to not allow any sign of weakness when the suit is on, but he was absolutely smitten by you over some stupid mishap on his end and a nervous, endearing ramble about your knowledge of flowers. The nightlife seeped into the windows of his home, neon lights reflecting off the walls. It was late, but Miguel was determined to shove some kind of information down his brain to make him not look like a complete fool when he arrived at the floral shop again. He was a chemist, for god’s sake– botany wasn’t too far off, was it?

He was just so enthralled with you, the way your eyes lit up ever so slightly at the opportunity of ranting about your favorite thing. The scent of fresh flowers entering his senses through the slightly cracked door of the floristry– it was a place he wanted to spend all his freetime in. Having been surrounded by the burning smell of chemicals and the pollution of such a technologically advanced city, Miguel craved to surround himself with so much nature. Or maybe, secretly, he just yearned to have a space of his own that was hidden away from the evils of Nueva York.

It took him a little while to finally work up the courage to stroll in, not having the mask around his head while he met someone as Spiderman always gave him a weird feeling. But he pushed that aside, chanting the knowledge that he crammed in his memory so he wouldn’t stupidly ask for a bundle of flowers that probably didn’t even exist.

Stepping foot in the floral shop for the first time was like a big breath of fresh air, his muscles relaxing ever so slightly at the influx of sweet scents. It reminded him of you, the same smell of blossoms clinging onto you even after you walked through the alleyway to give him that Amaryllis. He still kept onto it, dried against the confinement of his wallet. 

Miguel was going to start browsing even though he already knew what he wanted simply because he wanted to know this place inside and out– it was a part of you after all. But he didn’t go very long unnoticed, your voice making him well-aware of that. 

“Hey, welcome to Nueva’s most diverse little flower nursery! Happy to see a new face, if there’s anything I can do for you just let me know!” Your voice came from the back of the store, yet you peeked out and was able to study him from afar. He tried his best to be stoic, nodding in understanding before quickly averting his gaze to the waves of flowers you clearly took very good care of. 

Miguel, when faced with attraction to another, struggled deeply with bringing it into words. It didn’t exactly help his case when you haven’t met him outside of being Spiderman, so he devised a subtle plan to get closer to you. He wasn’t religious, but he still prayed that you would pay attention to his little requests and specific choosing of flowers.

And you did, of course you did. Your attentiveness squeezed his heart with a grasp he’s never felt before. After transforming into the Spiderman 2099 he’s come to accept, Miguel just couldn’t bring himself to fall for another. But when it came to you, and your silly little knowledge about flowers and the way he watched you tend to each and every one of them with the same amount of tenderness, the sweetness in your touch made him fall even harder. He imagined your hands grasping his own, as if he was as fragile as a flower. The idea made him flustered.

“A bouquet of red tulips and camellia, please.” He found himself asking you, his index, middle, and ring finger drumming along your counter in a soft rhythm. You were caught by his words almost instantaneously, a certain look in your eyes that even he couldn’t decipher. A knowing smirk erupted on your features, not being able to help yourself at teasing this new customer. “That’s so cute, you found yourself a soulmate?” Miguel choked at the proposal, the question rolling off your tongue in a singsong as you began skipping along the shop you owned. 

The gracefulness you had in every step distracted him, plucking every sense of dignity he had as if he was a flower getting its own petals plucked by your graze. “Only a flower connoisseur would know the meanings behind such simple flowers. It’s what makes them interesting, but I suppose the mix of bright crimson intermingled with a calming purple brings a sort of intensity most people don’t get.” You unknowingly held the bouquet to your heart, a smile blessing your lips. “Camellias are standard flowers that convey longing, mostly a yearning for one out of reach. While a red tulip is a promise, the subtle intention of trying to tell another that you want to spend the rest of your life with the recipient. It’s a big commitment to use such flowers for a bouquet, hopefully you know what you’re getting into.” You wrapped it without a second thought, framed with a sweet soft yellow. 

The cashier popped open as he paid.

“I do,” Miguel peered into your gaze, “I know exactly what I’m gettin’ into, mi sol.” He couldn’t help but utter, scooping the bouquet from your stunned response with a cheeky smile.

“W-What’s your name..?” Your composure lost, you demanded an answer as your finger twirled around an Amaryllis. You had kept one close by since your run-in with Spiderman, your thoughts never swaying from the masked hero until now. The stranger now seemed so familiar, but you couldn’t bring yourself to blurt out anything stupid.

Breathing in the bouquet he picked out, his shoulders sagged just a bit in relief. “Miguel,” He picked up a red tulip, the darkest hue in the bunch, and gently placed it right beyond your ear. “Miguel O’Hara.” His gaze flickered from your name tag and the flower he placed upon your curls, a satisfied quirk of his lips dashing his features. He sounded your name out like a blessing, and the two of you shared a stare that almost knocked you down. 

As he left the floral shop, with the little chime of the door signalling his exit, Miguel had waved behind his back with his other hand keeping the bouquet close to his chest. It reminded you how the masked man occupying your thoughts gave you the same gesture in goodbye, and you couldn’t help but pry the red tulip he placed upon you with delicate hands. 

Bringing it to your nose, suddenly red tulips smelled a lot more honey-like.

The two of you found each other in this routine for weeks now. Neither of you could break, he’d walk into the floral shop and continuously order different kinds of bouquets– sets of flowers that practically screamed, “love me back, you’re all I think about, notice me my dear.” Pink roses hugged by Peruvian and Stargazer lilies, the next week would be more simple– a pair of red roses intertwined with fresh caspia.

His voice was distinct, over the many years you’ve operated this little floral shop hidden away, the only two times you’ve heard the little rambles of his and the light accent within his tone was of course from him, but you kept help but think you’ve heard him somewhere else too. It made you nervous thinking about it, was it truly stupid to think he may be Spiderman? Over just one simple interaction with the masked hero and all of a sudden a person with a similar voice and mannerisms begins parading around your store and buying the most mushy, cliche bundles of floral you’ve ever seen? At this point, Miguel has helped generate an amount of revenue you haven’t seen in months.

By the time his next visit came into fruition, you couldn’t help the question that has loomed over your consciousness for the last week.

“Do.. do you-” You stumbled over your words clumsily, picking at the new floral he’s offered this time. Red roses surrounded by pink, finished off with a row of calla lilies. A beautiful balance of red, pink, and white. “Miguel, what are you trying to say with these bouquets?” You breathed out heavily, the nervousness of speaking about something weighing on you to someone you’ve found yourself attached to crashed against your usual calm and teasing attitude. You were out of your element.

Miguel’s eyes widened at the sudden question, which he averted from your gaze almost immediately. 

Your mind was working a million miles a minute, and as you were trying to get the questions out as fast as possible you stumbled over your words like how you usually do, which in any other situation Miguel would cackle as you burn into the ground in a flustered mess.

“Are you into Spiderman?” You yelled into the empty floral shop, placing your hands down upon the counter in accusation with a thud. A moment of silence hung over the two, bouquet still in your grasp like it's glued to you.

“Am I- what-” Miguel’s jaw practically fell open, in which his fangs were finally on clear display to you. You only could point, stuttering in an embarrassed flurry of limbs as you tried your best to explain yourself. 

“That’s not–” You mumbled as his gaze only widened more, not believing the question he just heard. “I meant are you like–” The silence on Miguel’s end wasn’t making this situation any better. “Are you into me?” You blurted out again, hiding your face in embarrassment. “Like– are you sure you’re into me? Like I didn’t know you would like me like that because I know I express myself a bit differently but–”

Miguel cut yourself off with his hands grasping yours, the bouquet now shared between the two of you. “I-” He sighed, casting his gaze downwards before facing you with a look of determination. As you spent time with Miguel, you came to understand that he never was good at talking about himself. Everything clicked into place as he nodded slowly, not a hint of doubt in his silent confession.

“I thought you’d notice sooner or later,” He huffed, dragging his thumbs against the skin of both of your hands. “Since the moment I saw you with an ungrateful gatito crowding my arms, I can’t lie that you piqued an interest I didn’t know I could feel.” Miguel sighed, leaning forward to lean against the counter opposite of you. “Who you are, how you express yourself– that's why I became so drawn to you, cariño.”

Now your jaw was the one to drop, before dropping your head to the counter the two of you shared in exasperation. “Oh my god! I knew it, I literally knew it. But I didn’t want to seem like some crazy person, you know? But I was right, what the fuck.” He couldn’t but laugh, which earned a warmth spread throughout your chest. Miguel only let out a chuckle and it had your insides twisting as if you were on a rollercoaster.

“You are too much, mi sol.”

“I wasn’t the one buying flowers to subtly tell someone I have a massive crush on them!”

Miguel frowned for only a moment, before leaning in just a bit closer. “Since I put in so much work to flaunt my love for you, do I earn a kiss?”

You rolled your eyes, before practically melting into his touch upon your jaw. Miguel met your lips and it almost felt like rain after a long drought. You didn’t know you wanted to kiss him so badly until his mouth was already on yours, his other hand trailing up the sleeves of your shirt and pulling your floral apron closer to him. 

When the two of you separated after becoming putty in one another’s grasp, Miguel mumbled right upon your lips, breath fanning the blush you felt;

“May I please visit you still, mi corazón? I wouldn’t know what to do without coming here, swallowed by your scent and surrounded by what you love the most.”

You only laughed, nodding against his hand upon your cheek. It soon became a nuzzle, relaxing against his touch like the cat he saved when you first met him. 

“Don’t start asking stupid questions, you know you’re more than welcome to come find me wherever I may end up at.” Miguel smiled, full of teeth and unapologetically showing his fangs.

The two of you intertwined like bonded stems, peppering kisses on one another until the door chimed once again.

[xxnghtclls]

Permission

Chapter 48

(Chapter 47)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags!

Epilogue

Leaves and twigs crack under your feet, leaving trails and patterns on the snowy forest floor.

It’s night. Darkness interrupted by red, little sparks flying through the air. The stinging smell of smoke creeps into your nose. Remnants of the moonlight, far away, quietly shine through the branches of the trees, painting creepy shadows on the white canvas you’re walking on. The further you walk, the more those shadows dance on an orange tint, that starts to coat the snow, coming from a source, that you’ve set up not far away. Carefully, listening to the sounds of the forest, you walk back to that source.

A flame, a campfire. Right here, in the middle of the woods.

Step by step, you’re approaching that fire, holding wood in your arms to keep it burning. The sound of munching echoes in your ear, the sound of feasting, devouring.

It’s been years, since he liberated you. Unintentionally freed you from a miserable life in a miserable village.

Not knowing, what you were destined to become.

A destiny that no one foresaw.

Not even the King of Curses.

Coming closer, you can see the silhouette of your King, sitting on the very same tree he did a year ago.

When he waited night for night, waited for you to go back with him.

You start humming his melody, as your feet carry you back to the fireplace. The fireplace that made you fall in love with this monster, before you put the new wood down onto the ground.

And then, quietly, you turn to him, watching how he’s gnawing some meat off a bone, occasionally humming in satisfaction.

It’s been months, since you completed the ritual.

Since you’ve been killed and reborn and marked with a sign on the skin that covers your heart.

Months of being his and him being yours.

In the shrine you can now call home.

You look at him and smile softly to yourself, finding it cute how invested he is not to waste any meat that’s on that bone, although you have plenty left.

Sitting down on the log to the left of your King, you feel the warmth of his body on your skin and hear his gentle munching in your ear.

And you feel your love for him, still, despite putting you through all this. You lost your heart to him and, no matter what he did, you don’t want it back.

Ever again.

Asshole.

It’s been days since the both of you came back to this place.

A place you cherish in your heart.

And maybe, you hope, Sukuna cherishes it, too.

The crackling of the fire becomes louder and his noises quiet, making you both just sit there in silence, next to each other. He flicks the bare bone into the flames, before you gently lean against his shoulder, let your head quietly bump against him to be closer, feeling his calm breath beneath your soul.

And both of you just watch the fire in front of you, like you did so many times a year ago, when neither of you could express what’s going on.

Heartache.

It’s been seconds, since he let you know how he feels about you.

Although he never says them out loud, those three words that you’ve told him over and over again and still do.

But he doesn’t has to. Because, you know.

This curse.

So overwhelming, so consuming. Tying your souls together so tightly.

And some words don’t need to be spoken to be true.

Sukuna grabs another piece of meat and holds it under your nose. You cooked it yourself, with fresh herbs that you found earlier in the nearby bushes. It smells delicious. You lean back and sit straight again, before you grab the meat and take a bite.

It’s hot, warming you from the inside. You keep blowing and carefully gnawing and nibbling, until you finally can rip off a bigger piece. Feeling his bottom pair of eyes watching you constantly, you peek over to him quickly.

“What?” you ask with your mouth full, making him smirk, as he musters your stuffed cheeks and big eyes.

“Nothing.”

You pause your chewing, pondering.

“Is it how I eat?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

And he doesn’t respond, just keeps focusing on the fire, a hint of his smirk still decorating the corners of his mouth. The flames flicker in his red eyes, the orange light dances on his face and wrinkles. You can’t help to take them in, over and over again, although you already know his features so well, as if they’ve been imprinted on your eyelids.

So beautiful.

You smile to yourself, before you focus back on your meal, until you throw the remaining bone into the fire. Satisfied, you sigh, until you swallow the last bite you took.

Suddenly, something cold gently falls upon on your forehead and you look up. Delicate flakes of fresh snow are illuminated against the dark canvas of the night, falling down right upon you and Sukuna.

You smile softly, before you turn your head to look at him. He’s looking up into the sky, too and you witness, just in time, how a small flake lands on the tip of his nose, melting in an instant. You huff lovingly, before you gently touch that very spot with your finger. More flakes follow, landing on his mask, his eyebrows and lashes, before he opens his mouth, trying to bite your finger that’s resting on his nose.

Clack.

His teeth close around nothing and you quickly retrieve your hand to poke him into his shoulder instead.

Hard.

It makes his lip twitch, before he leans down to you, close to your face, cocking his eyebrow.

“Harder.” he whispers with a smirk, with this… undertone.

And you blush, remembering it’s what you moaned into his ear last night.

When you felt cold and the fire was not enough to warm your moving bodies.

When your skins and limbs and lips were intertwined, like those of lovers are.

When you kissed each other and hold each other dearly, when your hearts started to miss each other and their embrace.

“Are you sure?” you mumble, trying to keep composure. His gentle eyes roam over your face, scan how your delicate skin rushes full of extra heat.

And then he nods, almost unnoticeable, almost hypnotised, as his gaze falls down to your lips.

The string on your heart pulls you in, let your breaths collide and mingle, until they merge, as you start kissing him on his soft lips while feeling small, freezing flakes fall upon your faces. He quietly sighs against your face and keeps squeezing on your beating heart, before you gently lick and suck on his tongue and bottom lip.

“Okay.” you breathe against his pretty mouth, your breath and heartbeat quickened. “Wait here.”

His pupils are blown, already drowning in your being, before you stand up and walk into the snow.

You feel his needy eyes bore into your back, the string on your heart pulling harshly.

To make you walk back to him, to devour your flesh once again. Like last night, like lovers do.

But first, you crouch down, shove some snow between your hands and form a ball. Then, with all your strength, you turn around and throw it at him. Sukuna leans back to dodge but-

Bam!

The snowball hits his shoulder with a wet impact, shattering in a million pieces.

And you gasp in victory, as you throw your arms up in the air.

“Ahhh hahahah!” you exclaim, before a wide grin spreads onto his lips and he flashes his teeth. A sadistic, aroused chuckle escapes his throat, as his eyes flicker right at you, as he slowly rises to his feet, cracking his neck and knuckles, before he growls in excitement.

“So, you wanna play?”

[gretavanfleetposts]

Fire in the Water: Chapter One

Summary: You had thought dating a vampire would be the most complicated thing you'd ever done. But as it turns out, becoming one is even more complicated. The boys are determined to make your transformation as smooth as possible while each fighting to maintain the relationships they once had and those they now lust for. Author's Note: As always, I'd like to thank the lovely @gretasmokerising for inspiring me and encouraging me and @earthlysorrows for editing and helping me piece everything together/brainstorm Content Warnings: swearing, talk of blood, mentions of death and killing, mentions of sex but no actual sex yet (18+ minors do not interact) Word Count: 9k

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How you had gone about meeting a vampire, you weren’t entirely certain. And how you had gone from simply meeting that vampire to dating him was even more beyond you. But one thing was for certain: you had fallen in love with him, irrevocably.

Maybe you should have been more wary about giving yourself over to him so freely but there was just something about Josh that had pulled you in and kept you there. You had later learned that was his gift as a vampire: he could manipulate moods. It was sort of an unconscious thing, not exactly something he could control. You felt certain it was just him though. That was just Josh. He could light up any room he walked into; of course people felt drawn to him.

He just so happened to drink blood to survive. A minor detail, really.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” he asked from the driver’s side of his sedan. His arm stretched over the center console, letting his fingers wind through yours.

“I’m not sure I could be nervous around you even if I had the good sense to be.”

Josh smiled that typical toothy grin, complete with rosy cheeks and bobbing curls, the one that had ignited your feelings for him in the first place.

“Remind me to coax some good sense into you one of these days,” he joked.

You had heard tales of Josh’s brothers over the months the two of you had been together but this would be your first introduction. Josh seemed equal parts excited and hesitant despite it being obvious they were a large part of his life, having spent centuries by his side. You had to meet them at some point. But you felt far less nervous, at least less so in the department that his worries occupied. You had your own attachment to death, primarily in the way of loss, and while Josh had spent centuries by his family's side, you hadn't been so lucky. Now, it was family that you craved, almost as much as you craved Josh.

“Do you think they’ll like me?” you asked as Josh sped down the winding road shrouded by dense trees and thick forest. That was where he called his home, somewhere in the mountains outside of Seattle where the rain was constant and the clouds did their best to cover the Kiszka family secret.

“I think they’ll love you.” He let his eyes drift from the road over to yours to give you a reassuring smile that he might have needed more than you did.

Like you said, you were no stranger to death. Although, usually when the people around you died, they stayed dead.

You almost couldn't believe your eyes when he finally pulled into the long, narrow driveway and parked just outside of the garage to the home. It was a structure made almost entirely out of glass, the large and likely expensive antique decor visible from the outside. It was no wonder they lived so deep into the woods: less people around to observe their not-so-normal lives through the thin glass walls.

Josh opened the passenger side door for you before you had time to register the sound of his own door clicking open and shut.

“God, your house is magnificent. You really shouldn’t have brought me; I may just move in.” You took his arm as you stood from the car, noting the movement by the front door. A pair of vampires stood just inside looking eager to meet you as they helped one another adjust their hair and collars.

“That can be arranged,” Josh whispered, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

He led you toward the house, the door opening just steps before you reached it. Inside, you saw the pair you’d watched through the glass, a man and a woman who, to be completely honest, might have been two of the most beautiful people you'd ever laid eyes on.

"Y/n, meet my only non-related brother Daniel and his partner Adele."

"Oh, it's so good to meet you!” Adele greeted you boldly, throwing her arms around you for a quick, tight squeeze. “Always women coming and going but none ever staying."

She was gorgeous, to say the very least. And the man standing next to her paired well with her too, matching her in stature and beauty. They were both tall and lean with dark eyes and dark hair, hers cascading in long waves down her back, his coiled tightly up by his shoulders. And even though you knew how easily they could kill you, they each had twinkling eyes that when cast upon you made you feel like the only person in the room.

"God, you're beautiful," you blurted out. The words never even traveled to your brain until they exited your mouth and you heard them spoken aloud, met with a sea of laughter from the vampires surrounding you. "I'm so sorry," you stammered, "I don't usually say things like that out loud."

"It's fine," Adele said with a wink that had no small effect on you. "That'd be the gift."

"Irresistible," her partner clarified, squeezing her into his side and nipping at her earlobe.

You noticed it right away, just how forward they were. It was hard to ignore. But what was even less subtle wasn't the way his hands clung to her waist, but the way that he looked at her. It was like she was the only thing he saw.

"Just means I'm good at luring humans to their death," she added herself with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

"Not that we all don't do just fine," Josh quipped.

“You can call me Danny,” Adele's partner said, looking as though he were going to reach across the space between you to shake your hand. But instead, you found yourself swiftly pulled into another tight hug, feet lifting from the ground easily as he engulfed you.

Before you knew what was happening, he was placing you back down onto the ground, his nose lingering near your hair only for a fraction of a second.

“Fuck, you smell good,” he huffed, pulling back with a smile that only grew as he watched you practically dodge out of his grip and back into the safety of Josh's arms.

“Uh thanks,” you mumbled awkwardly.

They were shockingly without restraint although perhaps it was naive to have expected anything else. And despite the forces in your body screaming at you to recognize the danger you were in, his smile somehow warmed your suddenly cool barrier.

You cleared your throat. "Are you irresistible too?"

This time, he let out a hearty laugh, a sound that was easily one of the more beautiful that had graced your ears in the span of your life.

"No, that’s just my natural good looks,” Danny smiled down at you. “I can see the future."

"Really?" you asked, suddenly intrigued rather than startled.

“It’s subjective,” Josh chimed in. “He can only see the path you’re on while you’re on it.”

“We should stay on this path. I think you’ll enjoy it.” Danny gave you a wink before pulling Adele into his side who let a quiet, “Indeed,” fall from her lips.

It was hard to gauge exactly what they had meant by it, though their looks certainly were suggestion enough at what they might’ve been hinting at. Regardless, Josh seemed to think nothing of it. Their…antics must have been a common occurrence.

"Where's Jake?" he asked, already guiding you down the long entryway that ran into the heart of the house.

"He's…occupied," Danny answered.

"Jake lives in the guest house,” Josh explained, turning back to you. “It's easier for him.”

"What do you mean 'easier'?" Walking and talking at the same time, you took the house in, surprisingly brightly lit and not at all what you had been expecting for a bunch of vampires. Of course, they could walk around in the daylight, the only proof of their immortality being the glittering of their skin beneath the sun. But still, it seemed almost too full of life with the glass and the leafy greenery that surrounded you.

"He can feel people's emotions. Manipulate them too, like I can, but much more powerfully. My gifts aren’t really intentional but he can make people feel whatever he wants. The only downside is that when it comes to feeling everything around him, it can be quite strong, especially when you live with four other vampires who feel things much more intensely than humans.” Josh pushed forward as he spoke, making his way down the hallway that opened into a large kitchen filled to the brim with greenery that survived in the seemingly greenhouse-like room. “The distance helps him quiet his mind a little. Plus, he has women over every night and the volume tends to get…loud. It’s like a brothel in here sometimes."

It was in the kitchen that you met the second brother, having come bounding down an open staircase off one corner of the kitchen looking even more dreamy than the last pair of people you had met.

"Thought I smelled the human." His voice was smooth and even and he wore his hair longer than Josh or even Danny, looking something like a modern-day Jesus who had mastered the art of disheveled.

He was breathtaking, just like the others. Maybe even more-so, somehow.

"My dear, this is Sam."

Josh gestured to his brother standing before you, prompting you to reach your hand out to greet him, hopefully a much more civilized greeting than you’d gotten from Danny and Adele.

"It’s nice to meet you," you said with a weary smile, waiting for something outlandish and over the top. But Sam only glanced down at your hand, making no move to take it. Really looking uninterested entirely. It seemed almost worse than the greetings you’d gotten from the others.

"Better keep a close eye on her, Josh,” he said instead, addressing his brother. “She smells quite good."

Without another word, Sam passed you and left out a door behind you, leaving you with nothing to do but stare at his much kinder brother awaiting an explanation. Although, that explanation didn’t come from the direction you were expecting it.

"You can ignore him,” the disembodied voice said. “He's not always in the best of moods. Likes to make it everyone else's problem."

You turned toward where Sam had left to see the twin Josh had told you about, although he and Josh hardly shared much in the way of resemblance when you took in hair and dress. He seemed like Josh’s complete opposite and a little more akin to the vampires you had pictured back when you were still under the assumption they were nothing but fairytales. And though you felt an immediate pang of guilt stab your gut when the thought filled your head, you couldn’t help it. He was ethereal.

"I'm Jake, the cool one." He outstretched his hand and spoke in a somewhat gravelly voice, like it had been exerted somehow though you weren’t sure that could happen to vampires.

You said nothing as you took his hand, unable to form even a single coherent thought or sentence, quite shamefully. And to your horror, it seemed to bring a smile to his face as you stood there stupidly silent.

"Sorry, didn't mean to make you nervous,” he chuckled. “I can fix that if you'd like."

There was a hint of that same suggestion you’d seen in Danny’s eyes although Jake seemed far better with subtlety. But Josh quickly pushed his twin away, severing the contact of your skin against his far too abruptly for your liking.

"No using your gifts on her unless she asks," he reprimanded his brother.

"Well, sometimes it's involuntary," Jake quipped back, his eyes never leaving yours.

You seemed to remember yourself in the sudden silence and cleared your throat.

"I can regulate my own emotions but thank you." You answered his non-question with a polite smile, hopefully a convincing diffusion of the tension you had accidentally created.

"Oh, humans can rarely regulate their own emotions," Jake teased with a smug laugh.

"Oh, are vampires good at it?" you asked, tone laced with sarcasm knowing fully that vampires were notoriously bad at just that, according to Josh anyway.

It prompted a burst of laughter from the twin, finally dropping the look on his face that read like he maybe wanted to eat you. Or fuck you. It was hard to distinguish on a vampire.

Josh’s shoulders seemed to relax then, like he’d been waiting for some sign of Jake’s approval of you and that had been it. It eased you as well, knowing at least someone in the house approved of you.

"I was explaining to her why you live in the guest house."

"You wouldn't believe how annoying Sam and his emotions are,” Jake rolled his eyes. “Although I must say, your emotions are quite strong for a human."

"Is that bad?" you asked curiously.

You weren’t certain it came as a surprise. You knew your emotions were on the more volatile side, especially since the death of your parents less than a year prior. But Josh hadn’t quite seen that side of you yet; he was a natural stifle, keeping you calm without even meaning to.

"It's interesting," Jake answered rather cryptically. Maybe he didn’t know what it meant.

“It’s fine,” Josh assured you instead, rubbing his hands over your biceps. “Nothing to worry about.”

"Must be a very full house of vampires," you said instead in an effort to turn the focus from you and whatever might have been wrong with you.

"Well, Josh isn't the only one with a preference for humans," Jake corrected with a wink.

"Aren't you worried they'll tell people what you are?"

A smirk grew wide in his face, utterly mischievous and suggestive.

"I can be very persuasive."

"There's a serious lack of morality around here," Josh commented quietly, unaware of the embarrassment threatening color in your cheeks at Jake’s pointed remark.

"You must be hungry!" Danny all but yelled as he and Adele burst into the kitchen with brimming excitement, and then more sternly, "Jake, is she hungry?"

"No, not exactly," he answered with a smug look on his face and eyes that stood unwavering on your face.

"Shame, we're always looking for a reason to dirty the kitchen."

Somehow when he said it, it lost all innocuous meaning and took on something far more suggestive. You were beginning to notice a theme and that theme didn't go unnoticed by Josh either, waving his brothers away with a disgusted look on his face.

"Okay, okay, I'm showing her around before you all freak her out even more," he said as he led you to the staircase Sam had descended from with one final disapproving look for the people gathered in the kitchen.

No one looked exactly displeased with themselves, Danny and Adele turning proudly to one another while Jake opted to give you a wiggle of his fingers as you retreated.

“I’m not sure I was really prepared for…that,” you admitted as the two of you moved further into the house.

“It wasn’t too bad, was it?” Josh asked, leading you by hand to his bedroom down a long, wood panel-lined hall.

“May take some getting used to but no, not too bad.”

It would take a lot of getting used to, actually. They were all so very…forward.

“I would tell you they’re harmless but…it wouldn’t exactly be the truth.”

He opened the door to his bedroom, one wall made entirely of glass and overlooking the treeline while the others were obscured with music and art from all over the world. All over time, too, by the looks of it. In the middle sat a bed that appeared slightly out of place, a bit more modern than the rest of the furniture he had decorated with. It was like he had bought it just for you.

“What is it with Sam?” you asked quietly, fingering through a box of records sitting on a small plant stand that looked like he had yet to sort through.

Truthfully it wasn't his more forward family members that stuck out in your mind as you perused his belongings. It was Sam. He was so different from everyone else in the house, almost like he cast a long shadow over everyone. He was certainly the most mysterious, wearing only his misery on his sleeve. It made you wonder if he had always been that way.

Over your shoulder, you watched as Josh’s entire demeanor changed. He seemed to go stiffer, his lips forming into a tight line before he spoke.

“A story for another time, when he isn’t listening so closely.”

“Are they all listening?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Most definitely,” his smile returned.

You must have made a face because Josh was suddenly pinning you to the mattress on the other side of the room from where you had been standing, his fangs baring themselves slightly and an excited look in his eyes.

“You want to give them a show?” he asked as a mischievous look similar to the one his twin wore seeped into his features.

"You haven't even finished the tour!" you squealed, his lips wasting no time attacking your skin.

"Well, getting to know the bedroom is a very important part of the tour!"

You squealed again against the tickle of his facial hair on your skin, giving in almost instantly to the assault and to his hands.

—

When you woke and took in the early morning light as it just barely broke across the dawn, Josh was the first thing your eyes landed on, serene and silent. Hardly even breathing though he often did so just to seem more human to you.

You slept hot and didn't mind the icy feeling of his skin pressed against yours in the night. In fact, most nights it was the only thing that soothed you to sleep anymore. When he was gone, your body certainly noticed as you laid awake in the dark, antique home your parents had left behind, the air conditioner cranked as low as it could handle to somehow lull you into a mock sense of calm that only Josh brought you.

But the nights he was there, he laid dutifully by your side despite the fact that he didn't need sleep. You'd asked him once how he passed the time but all he had said was something about a few hours not being a very long time when you lived for eternity. It didn't make you feel like the night was any less long. It always felt too long that you had to leave him for slumber. Sometimes you'd fight to stay awake just to spend more time with him. But sleep always won.

He watched you silently as you stretched the stiffness from your limbs and rubbed the remnants of dreams from your eyes, arm shooting over to the nightstand at his bedside to fumble around for your phone in search of the time.

You hadn't slept that long, a measly six hours. But even still, it felt too long to leave him.

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long. I could have kept you company.” It was a common argument he had grown used to hearing you mumble in your early morning haze. And he always answered it with a smile and a reason.

“Not to worry, my dear, I know humans need their sleep after sex.”

“I hope we weren’t too loud,” you groaned as his fingers swiped hair out of your eyes, leaving burning trails of memories from the night before.

He was cold to the touch and yet somehow his touch seemed always to scald you. You'd have his fingerprints burned into your skin before long.

Josh let out a laugh with his tongue pressed behind his teeth and his nose scrunched, far too cute at that early hour to be anything close to human.

He was between your legs before you could scold him for laughing at you, his body hovering just above yours like a prize that was yours for the taking if you could lift off the bed and catch him quickly enough.

"You could have been quiet as a mouse and they would have heard anyway," he whispered with his face mere inches from yours, "so no use stifling those beautiful sounds you make."

And just like that, you wanted him again. It was that easy. Maybe that was part of his gift too but more realistically, it was just him.

But your body had other plans, sabotaging your sudden hunger for him with its own. He heard your stomach rumbling before you even felt it and dipped to press a quick kiss to the tip of your nose, already looking far too pleased with himself.

“You sound hungry.” A soft bite to your jaw to punctuate his words send you further into your growing agony.

“Not as hungry as you must be. You haven’t left my side in days. Have you actually eaten anything?”

He pulled back with a toothy grin. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s get you some breakfast, although I think Danny and Adele have already beaten me to it.”

This time it was a kiss pressed to your lips that threatened to keep you in bed, if it weren't for his hands pulling you up out of bed while his lips lingered on yours despite your groan in protest. With only a satisfied giggle, he pushed you out the door in the pajamas he had forced you into the night before and down the steps toward what sounded like a bustling kitchen.

The smell of food cooking finally hit you like a wall at the bottom of the steps. It was there that you took in the sights laid before you: a mess of a kitchen, Adele parked at the large stove top with spatula in hand and large flour-y handprints on the back of her tight jeans, Danny mixing something in a bowl behind her with flour on his cheeks and hands, and a hungover-looking Jake sitting at the kitchen island donning opaque sunglasses and swishing a glass of what looked like dark liquor in his hand.

“Oh good, you’re awake!" Adele exclaimed in a voice that prompted every head to turn toward you. "Food's almost ready!"

Their years without experience in the culinary arts were evident in the portions they had chosen to make, the island littered with various breakfast dishes that no one in their right mind could consume all in one morning.

"I tried to cook but they insisted,” Jake explained plainly, sounding only mildly annoyed as he sipped and observed cooly from behind his sunglasses.

“He’s just upset because we got here before him and kicked him out of the kitchen.” Danny smiled as he finished mixing more batter and passed the bowl to Adele to begin spreading on the hot pan before her.

“He cooks for his humans all the time," Adele explained. "It was our turn.”

God, they were so chipper in the morning, a product of never needing sleep, although Jake somehow looked like he needed some. Maybe he could feel your own fatigue.

"You really don't have to cook for me," you answered, moving to lean against the island as Josh wrapped his arms around your waist to remain close.

Adele flashed another dazzling smile your direction. "Oh nonsense, of course we do."

"Especially after feeling how much energy you expended last night," Jake added without even a glance your direction to see the embarrassment spread like wildfire across your face as he sipped his bourbon like a morning coffee. No doubt he could feel it without needing to look. But you could have sworn that his words were fueled by what sounded like a tinge of jealousy.

"At least somebody in this house got some last night," Josh defended you with a jab at his brother, hugging you tighter to his chest to show that he was in no way embarrassed by your activities the previous night.

"We were trying to be polite-" Danny began to explain while Jake spoke over top of him, "Didn’t want to scare our little human just yet."

Adele's eyes flickered briefly over to the door just off the kitchen that opened out onto the large patio overlooking the backyard. Her smile waned only a sliver before her eyes dropped back to the pan in her hand and as you glanced back to the door, you saw what she must have heard before you: Sam with an annoyed look on his face after presumably being out all night.

The room went oddly quiet when he entered until Danny broke the silence.

"Sam, would you like to help us?"

"I'd rather suffocate," he said simply, his eyes immediately finding yours in the suddenly crowded room.

He was wearing a fitted purple shirt that complimented his complexion well and pants that looked a little more wrinkly than your mother would have ever let you out of the house in. And at his neckline was the only evidence of what he'd been out doing: a small trickle of blood dripping lazily down like it had all the time in the world and no place to be.

"You've got a little-" Jake pointed with his index finger to his collar.

"Fuck,” Sam huffed in exasperation, straining his neck to get a look without stretching the material too far, “I just bought this."

“Such a messy eater,” Jake teased with a smile. “We’re gonna have to buy you a bib.”

He was met with an almost instantaneous glare, a face that could have put the fear of God in anyone it was directed at. But you lacked good sense, and all.

"I can get it clean," you chimed in quietly, almost absentmindedly, a small squeak of a noise that seemed to silence everyone around you more thoroughly than Sam’s looming presence. "I'm not really a stranger to blood stains,” you clarified as eyes turned to you. “Um…do you have a laundry room?"

Sam eyed you carefully, letting his gaze flicker quickly to Josh’s and prompting your own to follow, as if asking for permission despite having already offered. But Josh seemed beyond amused by it all.

"Yeah, he'll show you," he smiled, an indirect order to his brother who had landed his eyes back on your face and for some reason looked furious at the mere suggestion you had made. Nevertheless, he jerked his head in a different direction, signaling you to follow him.

"Don't be too long! Food will be ready soon!" Adele called as Josh released you from his grip to follow Sam down an unexplored hallway to a small laundry room just at the end behind a large set of heavy wooden doors.

It was a rather human-like setup although you weren’t sure what exactly you had been expecting. It made sense that even vampires weren’t immune to the mundane chores that plagued humans. Still, you couldn’t picture the vampire that stood before you, pulling his shirt off to reveal a toned chest that somehow made him look even more god-like, doing his own laundry.

Maybe he made Josh do it.

"You could try controlling your thoughts." His disapproval cut through the silence like a knife.

“I’m so sor-” you began to apologize, fumbling over your words as you averted your gaze in favor of the shirt he had just removed when it dawned on you. "You read minds?" you asked curiously, braving his eyes again.

"Yeah, and yours is quite loud," he said flatly, meeting your gaze almost as if he were daring you to look away.

You did.

"Sorry. I'll try and…think quietly." You cleared your throat and tried not to think anything too embarrassing as you turned your focus to the task at hand. You grabbed a box of baking soda from a shelf above you and let warm water soak into the blood at the small sink in the corner of the room.

"Were you out…" ‘hunting’ you thought, though you didn’t finish that thought out loud.

"Yes."

If you hadn’t seen the resemblance, his succinctness in comparison to Josh’s talkativeness might have been enough to convince you there was no relation between the two boys. He was far less warm, too. That might have been another indication. How they belonged to the same bloodline was beyond you.

“Josh says you and Jake are the only ones not on the bunny diet,” you continued, now trying to distract him from your derailing thoughts which, if his face was any indication, he was displeased by. Not that you had yet seen him looking anything other than displeased. That he wore well.

“It makes you weaker. I figure I’m already going to hell, might as well sin as much as I want.”

He leaned against the dryer, folding his arms across his chest as his eyes dipped to your hands to watch them work.

“Do you kill them?” You weren’t even sure where the question had come from or why your brain had decided it was appropriate small talk with the vampire across from you. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, but more likely some sort of gauge to see how likely he was to snap and kill you right there.

“Do I seem like I have an aversion to killing?”

God, he was intimidating. He was what you had expected when faced with the idea of meeting an entire house of Josh’s vampire kin. Your body screamed at you to be afraid of him. But somehow, by that same lack of sense that probably worried Josh, you were instead only painfully aware of the fact that you were not growing on him by any sense of the phrase.

“I don’t really know…” you answered quietly, and your matter-of-fact tone incited him to roll his eyes.

“Yes, I kill people,” he answered for you, annoyed yet again. “That’s what we were designed for so try not to let it surprise you.”

You nodded and dropped your eyes back down to his shirt again, fully accepting the awkward tension as it washed over you and pursing your lips like it was obvious he killed people. How stupid of you to ask, really.

“Helps if you let it soak in warm water but if you’re in a pinch, scrubbing works too,” you explained, both of you suddenly pretending like he was watching or cared.

He said nothing as you massaged the baking soda into the material gently, the way you had done with countless pairs of cotton underwear in the middle of the night. You imagined what it would be like to wash blood out of your own clothing under these same circumstances, someone else’s blood. Your meal, in fact. It made you wonder if that was in your future, if Josh would turn you.

Josh was strict about the blood he drank, specifically about it not coming from humans. He had explained that animal blood wasn’t nearly as satiating for his kind but that it felt right to him. He had only drank human blood once and quickly found it wasn’t for him. It felt funny to hear a vampire say it but truthfully, you couldn’t picture him hurting someone either, so in some odd sense, it fit. His brothers clearly didn’t have such reservations. You wondered if you’d be the same way, given the opportunity.

"What about Adele and Danny? Do they hunt the way you do?"

It seemed innocuous enough but your question was the final straw for Sam who had been growing more agitated by the moment.

"Are you almost finished? I don't have all day," he spat.

But you couldn’t ignore the irony.

"What an interesting thing for a vampire to say."

You didn’t even laugh at your own joke and that was probably for the best because if looks could kill, Sam was sending you a glare that would have swiftly ended your life.

"Humans are a liability,” he fumed, looking like he was using all of his strength to avoid doing something he would regret, no matter how little he would regret it. “Josh never should have brought you here.”

He stormed out without another word and without his shirt too, leaving you where you stood, sudsy hands and sigh caught in your throat. You felt like an idiot for your failed attempt at making conversation with him. But even more so, you worried that maybe you didn’t mesh well with Josh’s family. You wanted them to like you, desperately so. You had no family of your own anymore and it felt like this was your chance to have it again. To have something again. Every failed attempt with him would feel like another nail in the coffin on your fate that you didn’t want to be as lonely as it threatened.

You finished what you were doing quickly, it was dangerous for you to be alone after all, and returned to the kitchen where a now angry Jake argued passionately with Adele about human recipes and baking times. Danny contributed nothing to help solve the argument other than giggling along and adding in a, “She’s always right, Jake,” at the more inopportune moments, for no other reason than to get a rise out of him apparently.

It was comforting, actually, the bickering. Reminded you of the early mornings with your parents watching them play fight while making waffles for breakfast.

"Don’t let him get to you,"Josh whispered against the shell of your ear when you returned, having heard the entire conversation. They probably all had, actually, but you were trying to save yourself that embarrassment by pretending they hadn’t. Something else that would take some getting used to: the super hearing they all possessed.

"Food is ready!" Adele exclaimed.

She was good at cutting the tension but you certainly hadn’t missed the look she had given Sam when he entered. There was a story there, you could tell. Maybe it was part of the reason Sam seemed so angry.

She handed you a plate stacked high with the pancakes she had been flipping at the stove, Danny pouring a healthy amount of syrup on top as the plate exchanged hands. They seemed unbelievably proud of their work and watched you expectantly as you picked a fork up off the island and took a bite.

It wasn’t exactly a gourmet dish but it was edible, enough to smile and feign enjoyment for the eagerly-awaiting vampires surrounding you. And it seemed to appease.

"Ha! I knew we were better cooks than you!" Adele pointed with her spatula accusingly toward Jake who pushed it out of his face with a wave of his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, why don't you go celebrate."

"Ooh, celebration,” Danny said, suddenly intrigued. “I like the sound of that."

In an instant, his hands were on Adele’s hips, pulling her into a searing kiss that took them out of the kitchen quite quickly, aprons and various other clothing items littering the floor and marking their path down the hallway toward their room. It left you practically speechless.

"Vampires," Jake shook his head and gave you a wink as he began clearing dishes off the kitchen counter.

They didn’t even seem phased by it, leading you to believe that was a common occurrence around here. And rather than addressing it, Josh simply took the plate from your hands and grabbed one of yours now empty to lead you into the dining room just off the kitchen.

“Ruined my perfectly clean kitchen,” you heard Jake mumble as you retreated and chose a seat at the large oak table sitting squarely in the dining room made entirely of glass to give a breathtaking view of the surrounding forest.

"What?" Josh asked with a laugh as he took the seat opposite yours.

"Danny and Adele. They must really love each other." You gave a baffled shake of your head as you committed to choking down Adele’s cooking.

"Well, they are soul ties."

Soul ties: it wasn't something you'd heard Josh talk about before, a missing piece of vampire lore in your catalog.

"What does that mean?"

"Soul ties are like soulmates for vampires," he explained. "Vampires mate for life so when we form a tie with someone, we’re bound to them for eternity. There's some ceremony to it, binding the tie by drinking one another's blood. It's a very sacred thing. The act of drinking for a vampire, it's incredibly profound. But the act of drinking from the person you're tied to, it's the deepest form of intimacy."

You pushed the food around your plate with your fork. "Can vampires only form soul ties with other vampires?"

Josh gave you a knowing smile.

"No, Adele was human when Danny tied with her. It's much stronger when you're a vampire though. For a human, you can resist it longer, the forces pulling you together. As a vampire, it's much harder."

"What do you mean? What forces?"

"Sometimes a tie forms between two people who aren't together. You won't necessarily be instantly drawn to one another but over time, the ability to resist the other person becomes harder and harder. And as a vampire, you’ll grow weaker and weaker until the binding ceremony is performed. You grow to need each other.” He said it with reverence, like he felt its weight. “That's what happened with Adele."

"Her and Danny weren't always together?" You had a hard time imagining the two people you'd just witnessed with their hands all over one another like no one was watching dating other people. And sure, they seemed to be flirty with everyone, yourself included, but there was just no way they hadn't always felt that passion for one another.

"Actually…they weren't." Josh hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Adele was with Sam when her tie with Danny formed."

Suddenly her look and his demeanor made sense. "Her and Sam dated?"

Josh nodded and kept his voice quiet as he continued. "We didn't meet her for a long time after they started dating, probably because he was waiting to form the tie himself. But then, she walked through the door, Danny laid eyes on her, and it became clear why Sam hadn't felt it yet. She tried to resist it for a bit but once Danny turned her, it was too strong to deny."

It dawned on you what Sam's gift was, although it seemed more like a curse when you thought about it now. It was no wonder he seemed like a walking black cloud around the house. He had to listen to their thoughts about how much they loved each other all day, constantly seeing them and hearing them together. It was enough to make anyone miserable.

And you suddenly felt angry for him.

"Why do they flaunt it like that in front of him? Don't they care that he lives here too?"

Josh gave a sympathetic look and shook his head. "It's not really like that. When you're with your tie, and especially after you've done the ritual, nothing else really matters."

You felt the swift sharp sting of worry that he hadn't mentioned soul ties before. And if he hadn't mentioned it before, he likely hadn't felt it before.

"And…have you…" You didn't even want to say it, to speak it into existence and receive confirmation of what you were now terrified of: that Josh wasn't yours to keep. But when you met Josh's eyes as you trailed off into silence, you saw only a gentle smile on his lips.

"No, I haven't felt it yet. But soul ties are situational. You have to be on the right path to form them. And once those paths are right, they can't be unmerged."

"Why would it change?"

"It's just like humans finding their soulmates. You have to be in the right place at the right time, at a point in your life where you're ready to accept that person. It's the same thing, only throw in a bit of the supernatural and it'll do most of the deciding for you."

He gave you a genuine smile, clearly trying to ease your nerves before you had a complete spiral. And truthfully, it didn't put your mind at ease all that much. You liked what you had and at the very least, something had to change to put you on the right path to solidify what you already knew you wanted.

"So…I'm not your soul tie now, but I could be?" you asked, less a question and more clarification to be filed away for your own purposes.

"Yes, it could happen. But it’s not something I want you to worry about. It'll happen when it's meant to happen." He leaned across the table to give you a gentle kiss and another reassuring smile that seemed to do the trick. For now, at least. “Eat. I want to show you something.”

You turned your eyes back down to the plate before you. Maybe, at the very least, Sam could find some satisfaction in the distasteful thoughts you were having about Adele's cooking abilities.

—

When you managed to finish your breakfast, Josh escorted you out into the backyard that was more of an oasis opening into the dense forest surrounding their home than a typical yard. There was the guest house which looked like a small English cottage sitting several yards away from the house and decorated in ivy, tucked neatly into the treeline like it had always been there. And then there was a large greenhouse made entirely of glass, matching the main house that way, surrounded by plants and filled with even more. That was the structure Josh was leading you toward, holding open the door clouded by years of dirt and plants and exposure to the elements.

Inside sat almost every plant native to the northwest coast, all in various states of their life cycles which begged the question of who was taking care of them, who had written the tiny signs that named them all and picked each of the unique planters, some in deep jewel tones blanketing the ceramic, others looking hand-glazed in speckled pots with carved designs. Even the stained glass signs that hung from thick metal wire looked handmade, decorating the inside of the otherwise plain glass of the structure. And stringed lights ran like a blanket across the domed ceiling, looking dusty as though they had remained unlit for quite some time.

“This place is beautiful, Josh,” you marveled at your surroundings, enchanting even in the daytime with the early morning sun glinting off the glass. It set your boyfriend’s skin asparkle, little beams of light dancing across his skin and darting around to ricochet off the walls.

Even in such a mesmerizing place, he stole the show.

“It was Sam's but he doesn't take much interest anymore. The rest of us take turns watering everything now. Sometimes Jake comes out here and reads books to the plants.”

You could picture them all chipping in to keep the greenery alive, each contributing something unique to help the little leaves grow and thrive. Even the plants had a family. It almost made you yearn for their life, digging their roots into soil and sitting, unwavering, watching the world pass them by as Josh and his brothers sat stagnant with them. Living at an entirely different pace than the rest of the world. You’d dig your roots in, too, if you could.

“I can’t stand the thought of you going back to that big house by yourself,” Josh interrupted your rather self-pitying thoughts, diverting your attention to where your roots had once been placed. And so forcefully torn up out of the ground.

“Josh, you’ve been over almost every night for the past two months.” You avoided the obvious to keep from getting more emotional than you wanted to be at that moment.

Your parents had left their house to you, along with everything they had, but Josh knew you had felt stagnant in a different way since their death. You’d quit your job to move back to the place you grew up and take care of their affairs. And mourn. But somewhere along the way, grief had turned to anger, sharp and hot and near constant. It wasn’t until you had met Josh that your demeanor had been thawed…

“I know how much you hate going back in there. I should have brought you over sooner but I wanted to be sure all of this wouldn’t freak you out.”

“There are some things about your brothers that freak me out a little,” you nodded, making your way back to where Josh stood, “but there’s nothing about you that freaks me out.”

He gave you a soft smile as your arms wound around his waist. “You’ll have plenty of time to get used to it when you move in.”

“Oh is that so?” you smiled back at him. “And when did you decide I was moving in?”

“The day I met you, really, but that seemed a bit forward.”

Your smile fell as you realized he wasn’t just being cute for the sake of being cute.

“Wait, you’re being serious,” you breathed.

“Of course I’m being serious,” he grinned, pulling you in at the waist like he was suddenly worried you might run.

“You’re asking me to move in with you?”

He chuckled almost nervously and must have second guessed himself at your reaction because his shoulders squeezed upward in a shrug and he gave you a cautious nod before adding, almost silently, “If you’ll have me.”

It wasn’t that you had meant to worry him with your surprise. But you were surprised. It had been so long since…well, since things had gone well for you. You could feel your mind and body slipping into flight mode, the urge to run before the other shoe dropped sudden and severe. But you did want to move in with him. More than anything, you just wanted to be with him, always. He was your happy place and you certainly didn’t deserve him, but better than running was clinging. And you’d cling to him.

Without any words, you crashed your lips against his, solidifying your answer and earning a sigh of relief from Josh as his lips melded into yours. You could feel the smile that grew there, too, sealing itself into the kiss as his body was suddenly pressing you back into a heavy table in the middle of the greenhouse.

God, you were starting to feel like Danny and Adele, never getting enough of each other.

Josh broke from the kiss briefly, letting his lips fall to your jaw so he could speak better. “We’ll get your stuff tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh.” You weren’t paying attention any longer. The only object of your focus was now his lips. And his body. And his hands.

His lips worked lower as he easily lifted you up onto the table, parting your knees to make space for himself in between. You could imagine a life like this, easily. It made sense to you, as much as it scared you to once again have something so valuable. At least this would hopefully be harder to lose.

Your hands worked up into his hair to pull his lips back to yours, the taught curls wrapping around your fingers and engulfing them like even his hair meant to keep you there. And the hum suddenly buzzing through his lips, it vibrated through you. Fuck, you felt insatiable when it came to him.

His pace quickened as the kiss became more fervent, hungrier. He was always so in control but moments like these where your body was calling to him and moans were building in your chest, you swore you felt that control falter a bit. Secretly, you wanted to see him snap, but you knew the consequences of that were likely a bit more grave than just him being rougher for a night. But still, you wanted it. You couldn’t help but try, even, to push him just a tad further, when your hands lowered to the bulge growing in his khakis and your thighs hugged his hips harder. It was all for him, you were all for him-

“Am I interrupting?”

Jake’s voice startled you both, although you moreso, almost jumping out of your skin. You pulled back to quickly adjust your clothing, trying to save a bit of your dignity in the process. Josh, on the other hand, pulled away rather reluctantly, his fist clenching almost too hard around your thigh before he adjusted his pants and turned toward his brother with a singular word spoken more like a hiss.

“Obviously.”

“You’re parked behind me,” Jake said flatly, gesturing behind him to the garage and only glancing at you for a mere fraction of a second.

“You know where my keys are,” Josh answered, keeping his body in front of yours as you fixed your hair and tried to calm the sudden pounding of your heart in your chest.

“The last time I drove your car, it ended with you ripping the steering wheel out and throwing it at me.”

“You got blood all over the interior.”

“I said I’d have it detailed,” Jake defended himself in a tone that suggested he still didn’t see the problem with what he had done. “Anyway, she already said yes, so you have plenty of time for this,” he gestured vaguely in your direction with only his pointer finger, “later.”

You got a rare glimpse of watching Josh teeter on angry, well past visibly annoyed. To be honest, it turned you on and you prayed Jake couldn’t feel it.

Josh sighed, defeated, and turned back to you.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised with a smile unblemished by his previous anger. Never directed at you.

He was gone in an instant, leaving nothing but wind pushing your hair away from your face and leaving you still sitting on the table, now across from his twin who gave you a smirk the moment Josh was out of earshot.

“Oh don’t be embarrassed,” he relented, confirming your fears, “I’ve felt everything there is to feel.”

“It’s not nice to spy on people,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest to somehow try and hide yourself from him, fully clothed as you were.

He crossed to you, letting his hand absentmindedly adjust the hem of your shirt and almost causing you to jump at the contact as you watched him, still somewhat surprised by the audacity vampires seemed to have.

“It’s not really spying when you’re doing it in a building made of windows,” he said with a purse of his lips as he let his eyes trail over you, taking you in.

Your eyes darted over to his fingers, still resting at the collar of your shirt, and back to his face.

“Do you always give him a hard time like that?”

“Whenever possible,” he grinned wide. “You know, it was sweet of you, pretending like you liked Adele’s and Danny’s cooking this morning.”

You shrugged, oddly feeling at ease the longer he remained close. Maybe he was using his gifts on you.

“Oh, it really wasn’t that bad,” you lied.

He shook his head and tutted his tongue.

“I watched them make it, I know it was.”

“Well, it’s the thought that counts, right?”

He brought his eyes up to yours and for the first time, you took him in up close, his resemblance to Josh, all of the scars that differentiated him, the warmth in his eyes that mimicked his brother’s but somehow promised a little more danger.

“I don’t know; maybe we should ask Sam. That’s his specialty, not mine.” He smiled softly, moving his hand from your shirt to your hair to tuck strands that had been previously disheveled behind your ear.

It took all your strength to focus on the conversation.

“Thanks for not ratting me out to Danny and Adele,” you answered quietly, hoping to quiet your louder emotions.

His smile grew across his face and he leaned in slightly closer to speak barely above a whisper.

“Your little human secrets will always be safe with me.”

You ignored the beat your heart skipped as he said it in favor of chuckling lightly and giving him an exasperated smile yourself.

“A bit condescending, don’t you think?”

He dropped his hand, letting it ghost over your thigh as it fell back to his side.

“Maybe,” he nodded, dipping his eyes to your knees and letting them rake back up your body, “but I felt your heart flutter so, not exactly incentive for me to stop, now is it?”

And then he was back in the doorway of the greenhouse watching Josh cross the almost overgrown lawn.

“Thank you, Joshy,” he called without another look back your way. “Oh and you might want to pick a different place to do it. I don’t want to have to explain to these poor plants what they’ll have seen. It’ll be bad for their development.”

Josh only rolled his eyes and shook his head, returning to your arms where he belonged.

“Where were we?” he smiled.

Taglist: @sparrowofthedawnsworld @demonrat444 @malany-gvf @myownparadise96 @capturethechaos @st4rdust-ch0rds @montenegroisr @sacredjake @notthedroidz @sinarainbows @kissingthegoat @eraofstardustchords @cherryflo @blacksoul-27 @Lyndz2names @earthgrlsreasy @gvfmarge @carlyfleet @thetroublegetssoloud71 @withlovegvf @Suzi107 @gracev0609 @Objectsinspvce @ignite-my-fire @kissakiszka @amorlizette @stardustcatcher @notsostrangerthing @brokebellsgvf @sweet1squash @imleavingyoufornewyork @lipstickitty @ageofhearingloss @zoe-tally06 @mavvanfleet @stardustthread @sammysinger04 @jaketlove @areuirish @kashmirclam @jessicafg03

[sanjisboyfie]

one piece smau: dating usopp edition

— get the amtching usernames bc usopp is a sniper - so he is cupid because he sniped readers heart just like that and theyre both madly in love w each other... everything does add uo i swear

— male reader as alllwayyyysss + i love giving usopp love bc hes so underrated not to mention easily fine as fuck (both in live action and in the anime)

liked by cupidusopp, roro.zoro, and 9k others

snipedbycupid: i was gonna gatekeep this photo of usopp, but decided that his beauty had to be shared w the world

tagged: cupidusopp

cupidusopp: uhmmmm sorry but i got a boyfriend, you can't jus b posting photos of me like this :///

-> snipedbycupid: fym "sorry" ??? is that what you tell other people on the street when they hit on you? "sorry but i have a boyfriend"

-> imcupid: please [name] that is NOT what i meant at all

-> snipedbycupid: so you're calling me stupid now ???

[liked by dni_nami, robinkills and 70 others]

dni_nami: okay but his hair ?? is giving

-> snipedbycupid: all he needs to do is grow his hair out longer so it can be put in a low pony UGHHH im salivating

-> cupidusopp: im taking notes rn so you never leave me

liked by freeluffy, skullnsoul, and 11k others

cupidusopp: me and my boyfriend are so hot and everyone wishes they were us

tagged: snipedbycupid

snipedbycupid: im barking like a DOG rn

-> cupidusopp: wow you really know the way to a man's heart im blushin rn

robinkills: you two look quite intimidating, how cute

-> snipedbycupid: we are the baddest duo in the world everyone needs to fear us

-> dni_nami: yeah, fear the public disturbances you two cause

[liked by roro.zoro, cupidusopp, and 90 others]

princesanji: someone needs to investigate how usopp possibly pulled himself a cute boyfriend

-> snipedbycupid: you're sure you're not gay sanji? you jus called another man cute, that's pretty gay of you

-> cupidusopp: sanji's gay ass in my comment section rn tryna steal my mannn 🤦🏽‍♂️🤦🏽‍♂️🤦🏽‍♂️

-> princesanji: with this attitude i really have no idea how anyone could fall for u

liked by princesaji, SUPERCOLA, robinkills and 12k others

dni_nami: i hate how these two dress better than the entire friend group without even trying

tagged: snipedbycupid and cupidusopp

cupidusopp: me n my baby gotta showout if the rest of u guys are gonna dress bummy af

[liked by snipedbycupid, freeluffy, and 100 others]

snipedbycupid: HE LOOKS EXTRA FINE IN THESE PHOTOS YALL THAT'S LITERALLY MINNEEE THATS MY BABBYY

-> cupidusopp: no way u got me kickin my feet n blushing like a school girl rn 🤭🤭

-> cupidusopp: also you look so FINE here stfu

ttchopper: i want to dress like usopp and [name]! they're so cool

-> roro.zoro: as long as you dont develope their level of stupidity, chopper, i say go for it

-> snipedbycupid: always gotta b the most unhinged shit coming from u zoro

liked by cupidusopp, princesanji, and 10k others

snipedbycupid: the little details of dating usopp <3

tagged: cupidusopp

cupidusopp: please i think i would die for you this is so serious

-> snipedbycupid: LMFAOOA USOPP STOP

roro.zoro: so you guys skipped gym to go on a date? im never inviting you guys again

-> snipedbycupid: did not mean to break ur heart today zoro pls forgive us

freeluffy: BEST FRIENDS ARE IN LOVE BEST FRIENDS ARE IN LOOOOOVVVEEEEE USOPP AND [NAME] SITTING IN A TREE, K I S S I NG !!!

[liked by snipedbycupid, cupidusopp, and 70 others]

-> princesanji: how old are you????

liked by dni_nami, princesanji, and 11k others

cupidusopp: boyfriends that pee together stay together !!!

tagged: snipedbycupid

dni_nami: the internet did not need to see this

-> cupidusopp: someone jelly that they're still single yawnnn

dr.law: this is so unsanitary, i need u both to delete yourselves

-> snipedbycupid: a doctor encouraging something as extreme as this, a shame what our generation has become

-> dr.law: you're the one posting yourself urinating for all to see.

freeluffy: hey where's my photo creds!! i had to stand on the toiler and take a picture over the stall for this angle!!!

SUPERCOLA: usopp had a vision and i can appreciate this - it's borderline art, guys

-> snipedbycupid: we knew you'd get it franky

liked by dni_nami, freeluffy, and 10k others

cupidusopp: i don't get mushy about me and [name]'s relationship often, but this man genuinely is my entire world and i love him so much and not a day goes by that where im not grateful that we have each other <333 i wanna share every single laugh w u, happy 2 years [name]

tagged: snipedbycupid

cupidusopp: I HATE HOW CHEESY THIS IS BUT HES MY POOKIE FR

robinkills: you two are so cute when you're not posting yourselves urinating on social media

-> cupidusopp: PLEASE ROBIN UNDERSTAND THE VISION !!!

skullnsoul: your guys' relationship is so cute because it's a perfect balance of everything you need in a healthy relationshp and im glad you two found each other

[liked by roro.zoro, princesanji, dni_nami, and 100 others]

-> sniperbycupid: awww brook you sound like such a wise old man, me and usopp love u v much thank u

dni_nami: my best friends are so cute UGH i hate u two

SUPERCOLA: i cant believe its been only 2 years it feels like you two have been tgt since forevverrr

-> cupidusopp: thatd b my bad bc ive had a crush on him since we met and i dont think i hid it very well at all.

snipedbycupid's story

WE ARE THE SEXIEST COUPLE KNOWN TO MAN

cupidusopp replied to your story: sorry im coming over rn bc !!!! u look too good in this photo to ignore i cant do this see u in 10

[mxigo]

soul sick | part 1

SERIES SYNOPSIS: It’s hard enough watching the male that holds your heart pine for another woman, one that is the definition of beauty and grace, but to watch him fall for another yet again after you feel the mating bond snap into place is its own hell. A hell that makes you dangerously ill.

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: you get ready to go out with Azriel after his check in with the Illyrian camps, but things don’t go as planned.

WARNINGS: 18+, angst, swearing. a relatively tame first chapter

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

MINORS & AGE-LESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. YOUR AGE MUST BE SOMEWHERE IN YOUR BIO OR YOUR BYF.

NEXT CHAPTER

a.n. if i get anything wrong i’m blaming it on my shit memory and the fact that i haven’t finished acowar and haven’t read acofas and acosf. really just going off what i remember and what i’ve read in other fics. enjoy!

It has been three months since Feyre’s sisters were Made and subsequently brought to the Night Court. You’ve done what you could in aiding their transition to fae life, even getting as far as calling Nesta a friend, cold façade and all. But while you have gained a friend, you’re beginning to lose your best friend, and the male that you love, all at the same time.

It first started with him checking in for a second after the two of you had come back from being out and about in Velaris, then it turned to him apologetically explaining that he already had plans with Elain for the evening, and now, you hardly see him at all anymore.

It’s become more often than not that he spends his time with Elain, leaving you on the back burner, as a second thought to his plans now. You have other friends, yes, but you don’t remember a day where you haven’t at least sent notes back and forth to each other since you became close. It’s like you’re missing a part of you, something that is supposed to be there but isn’t anymore, and your body knows it. Why did it have to be him? She has a mate waiting for her for crying out loud, one who you can tell just genuinely wants to know her, and Azriel is entertaining her, knowing full well what her position is.

Guilt eats at you for these jealous feelings, knowing that the girl has been through so much when her entire life was ripped away and was literally turned into something that she was taught her entire life to fear. You want to be accepting and carefree about the situation, but it is literally impossible when you catch him looking at her with the intense adoration that you have yearned for decades for, and she has simply swooped in and stole him from you.

But tonight, you and Azriel have plans to go out into Velaris for the night for dinner. It’s your tradition that you’ve had for years to catch up after his return from his visits to the Illyrian camps, something to help him unwind. You just hope that for a single night that you can forget about it.

The new dress you bought just yesterday is a beautiful deep burgundy color, the hem falling just above your mid-thigh, long-sleeved, and the neckline plunges lower than what you are used to wearing. You were able to find a pair of nude heels that fit you perfectly in a corner shop. You were even successful in keeping your hair styled for the occasion. It was safe to say that you looked stunning, and there was a glimmer of hope that it wouldn’t be left unnoticed by him.

The heels’ click echoes off the paneled hallway as you scramble to finish getting ready, knowing that you need to leave. You stride into your bedroom, beelining for the jewelry tree on your vanity. Considering the colors that you’re wearing, you think a gold set would be the best, and you know exactly which to wear. Gently, you pick up the teardrop Alexandrite earrings and necklace that Azriel had bought you after one of his trips to the Summer Court. The gem’s color shifts between purple and green depending on the light source, easily making them your favorite pieces.

It hurts a bit when you try to put the earrings in, meeting a bit of resistance as it’s been a while since you’ve last worn any, but you’re able to get them through without too much trouble. The necklace thankfully clasps easily around your neck, the pendant falling in the middle of your chest. The delicate gold glitters in the candlelight, making you smile at the memory of Azriel giving it to you. With a shack of your head, you snap out of the memory’s haze, misting yourself with perfume as a last thought before leaving your bedroom.

The click of your heels echoes off the buildings lining the road as you make your way to Rhys’ townhouse to meet Azriel for drinks before dinner. The night’s cool breeze causes your flesh to break out in goose bumps, but it feels nice over all.

The door unlocks as you turn the knob, and the house becomes alight as you enter. The candles flicker to life to bring the house into a cozy atmosphere, and even the fireplace roars to life to stave off the last of the early spring chill.

The grandfather clock in the foyer chimes, signaling the turn of the hour at seven o’clock. Your heart flutters, excitement filling you knowing that he’ll be here any minute. You make your way into the kitchen, pulling out Azriel’s favorite whiskey and your favorite liqueur, grabbing two tumblers out of the cabinet to set it all out on the table.

Minutes tick by as you wait for him to winnow into the kitchen like he always does, a soft smile on his face as he holds out his elbow like the gentleman he is to winnow you wherever you want to go. You settle into a cushioned seat in the adjoining living room, picking up a book that has been left out and flipping open to the page that you had left on.

Those couple of minutes turn into five, then into fifteen, and then by thirty minutes, you’re constantly glancing between the clock and the kitchen, anxiety eating away at you. Azriel has never been late like this before, and if he’s ever late, it’s only by no more than five. Your stomach rumbles as hunger makes itself known, and you set down the book on the table to stand up. Maybe something happened that’s causing him to be late, but there’s a little voice that’s whispering to you, saying that he’s forgotten about you, that he’s preoccupied by a certain sister.

You shake your head, setting the book back into its spot to stand up and head back into the kitchen. You pour a drink and watch as the dark amber liquid swirls into the cup before settling around the ice. More minutes pass as you finish the drink only to pour another, still waiting, hoping that he will pop into the room, spewing apologies as he tries to explain why he was so late.

But it doesn’t happen. Instead, it is Rhys that winnows into the kitchen, startling you so bad you nearly fall off the stool.

“Mother, Rhys, give a girl a warning before you snap in like that,” you joke, righting yourself up. Your eyes meet his, and you’re confused because he’s confused, staring at you like you are crazy.

“What are you doing here? Are you meeting someone?” he asks, his head tilted slightly as he stares still.

There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, but you want so badly to be wrong about what’s happening.

“I’m meeting Az here. We’re supposed to be going out tonight like we always do when he comes back from the camps, but he’s late. Have you seen him by chance?” A look passes over Rhys’ face, and you recognize that look immediately, your face dropping, heart hammering as you wait for those few words.

“Oh, sweetheart, he left the House with Elain,” he whispered, like you would shatter at just those words, and you suppose you do.

Your breathing stutters, and it’s like the world goes fuzzy, the sounds muted as your breaks cracks. Never in all the years have you been friends with Azriel has he ever forgotten about your nights out when he comes back, let alone either forgetting or just flat out choosing to spend it with another female and not tell you. And of course, it’s with Elain.

Your lungs shake as you take your next breath, reality coming back into focus as you realize that Rhys is still in front of you, worry etched across his face as he too realizes what has happened. You knock back the rest of your drink, and your hands shake as you pick up the glasses to take care of them and to put the bottles away. In an effort to try to get Rhys to go away, to be alone, you put on a fake smile, looking at him.

“Oh, well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected that we’d be going out tonight without checking in with him to see if he was free. That’s my mistake, but thank you for telling me, Rhys. I’ll clean up here and I’ll get going,” you try, but he just shakes his head.

“Nonsense. Leave it, I’ll take care of it later. Let me take you home.”

“Honestly, Rhys, I’m ok. It’s just a misunderstanding on my part. And my home isn’t far from here at all, and the night is nice. You don’t need to winnow me,” you insisted, already done with rinsing out the glasses and putting them away. But your voice is shaking ever so slightly, sick to your stomach, and you know that Rhys notices.

He grimaces, debating with himself on what to do.

“If you’re sure,” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and you nod. “I’ll talk to him when he gets back.”

“No! No, you don’t have to do that. Seriously, Rhys, it’s not a big deal,” you beg, and finally, he relents.

He nods once before stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

“You’ll let me know if you change your mind, right,” he asks.

“Of course,” you promise, and he pops back out of the house, leaving you to truly process the situation.

He took Elain out instead. He left you, that same voice whispers, louder this time. Tears sting your eyes, and a half-sob rips out of your lungs, a hand flying up to your mouth to prevent any more from leaving. But you’re fruitless in your efforts to contain your emotions as tears start spilling over, splattering onto the table.

You leave the townhouse in a flurry, harshly wiping at the tears. The house goes dark behind you and the lock snicks shut, leaving you in the night’s chill. Then all at once, your face crumbles as your emotions make themselves known. You try to reason with yourself that there’s no reason to be upset because it was true when you told Rhys that you never did confirm with Azriel if he didn’t already have plans, you just assumed.

But you never have to check in, he has always been there.

“Fuck,” you whisper, walking down the cobbled road back to your townhouse, furiously wiping away the stray tears.

The walk back is quiet for the most part, and you’re thankful that you don’t run into anyone. You would never let yourself live it down if someone saw you in the state that you’re in. You almost make it back, but as you look up, your heart drops and your veins fill with ice as you recognize two figures walking your way. They are so enraptured with each other that they haven’t noticed you yet, so you quickly move over to the edge of the road, hopefully giving yourself enough space that they don’t see you.

You continue walking, arms crossed, and hair falling around you to shield your face, and you’ve just passed them when you spare a glance, making eye contact with him.

Fuck. You walk faster, eyes trained on the ground.

“Y/N?” he calls out, but you keep walking, quickening your pace.

“Y/N! Hey, wait,” he shouts, and this time catches up with you.

A calloused hand closes itself around your arm, effectively stopping you. You whip your head around to face him, and he looks at you in confusion. His form towers over you, and you’re so close you can smell the cologne wafting off of him. You watch as his face crumbles while he looks you over, and it almost seems like he’s panicking.

“Please, just allow me a moment to explain,” he begs, but you shake your head, eyes screwing shut to prevent him seeing the frustrated tears.

“It’s fine, Az, really. I just wish you would have told me instead of having Rhys be the one to tell me where you were,” you whisper, your eyes now trained on his chest, still avoiding his eyes.

If there’s one thing you hate, it’s confrontation. Even if all you want is for someone to feel what you’re feeling, and to confront them about what they’ve done, you can never bring yourself to do it, to hurt them like they had hurt you. So right now, you just want him to let you go so you can let yourself fall apart and piece yourself back together in the comfort of your home.

He is helpless as he sees you put up your walls, trying to keep your emotions in check by shutting them off entirely. It’s something that he’s never been on the receiving end of, and it crushes him to know that he’s who caused this.

A cold whisper ghosts over your wrist, and you look down to find a shadow caressing you anxiously, but it only makes you even more upset, the corners of your lips forcefully tugging down and eyes burning. Blood thunders in your ears, and you can feel your hands shaking, and no doubt Azriel can feel it too, which just makes you panic harder.

“Please, let me go I just want to go home.”

“Y/N,”

“No, Az. Just—”

“Azriel? Is everything ok?” A soft, ethereal voice breaks the moment, your eyes snapping over to the culprit.

You’re horrified as she walks over, the object of your ire making herself known. She looks absolutely breath taking dressed up, and you can’t help but understand for a moment why he would choose her over yourself. She’s absolutely perfect, and you’re… not.

She stops just behind him, placing a delicate pale hand on his back, looking up at him with worried eyes. His gaze snaps from you to her, and it makes you sick as you watch his face soften for her. You take the moment of weakness to rip your wrist away, giving yourself a step to breathe.

Azriel looks between the two of you, confliction painting his face as he tries to decide what to do, but you don’t give him the chance.

“I used to believe that you wouldn’t go as far as this, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

He reels back like he was physically slapped, looking back at you in astonishment.

“What is that supposed to mean,” he begs, his eyes wide as his grip grows tighter around your wrist, but if you say what you want to say, you’re going to irreparably damage your relationship with him. Despite how you feel, that’s the last thing that you want.

You sigh, closing your eyes and shaking your head, just wanting the conversation to end. “It doesn’t matter. Enjoy your night, Azriel.”

You spin around and high tail it away from him. Although you just want to be left alone, it still makes your heart break even more when he doesn’t try to come after you.

The guilt eats at you again knowing that you ruined his and Elain’s night, but that selfish part of you is glad that you did and made him feel like shit.

Thankfully, you make it back home before you lose it, sobs racking your body as it all comes out. The pain of being pushed aside for someone else yet again comes to a head from tonight’s events. In a fury, you rip off the dress and heels, slinging them somewhere to be found later. You all but drop your jewelry onto the vanity, letting it clatter against the dark wood top. Tears still pour out of your eyes as you rifle through your liquor cabinet, pushing to the back to grab a bottle of dark and strong whiskey, but you slam the door shut as the thought of whiskey being Azriel’s favorite pushes itself to the forefront of your mind.

So instead, you crawl into bed for the night, staining your white sheets with your black-tinted tears.

-

Heavy thudding at your door drags you from sleep, making you groan as you have to peel open your eyes. The sun is blocked out by the thick curtains, confusing you even further as you try to figure out what time it could be. A headache makes itself known, pulsing behind your eyes causing you to groan as you sit up. The thudding continues, and you can’t help but snap.

“Give me a Mother-damned second! Fuck!” You slip from the sheets, stumbling across the room to get to your dresser. You pull a pair of pants and a t-shirt from a drawer, throwing on them on as you make your way to the door. You pray it’s not Azriel, but it’s more than likely it is. He’s the last one you want to see right now. Hopefully, he’s smart enough to stay away for a little while so you can cool off, allowing the whole situation to blow over.

You yank the door open, squinting at the bright sunlight, but they snap awake when you see Mor and Cassian in front of you instead, the latter standing against the door frame with his arms crossed.

“Uh…” You’re at a loss for words, guilty for the way that you had screamed at them.

“Get ready, we’re going to lunch, and you’re going to tell us why Azriel came home like his fucking puppy died,” Mor says, inviting herself in and grabbing you to lead you to your room. You look back at Cassian, eyes begging for help, but he just shrugs. Bastard.

The blonde immediately starts riffling through your wardrobe, picking through dresses and outfits, but you’re not sure what she has in mind. You allow yourself to flop back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. Cassian’s footsteps announce his entrance as he takes a seat on your love seat.

“What’s this?”

You pick your head up to see Mor holding your dress that you left in a ball on the floor. Your face flickers for a moment before you reign it back it, allowing the emotionless mask to take place.

“Nothing,” you whisper, letting your head fall back onto the bed.

It’s silent for a moment as Mor and Cassian look between themselves then back to you. It’s obvious something happened between you two last night, and the story won’t come easy from either of you.

The bed dips as both of your friends sit on the edge, one on either side as the flop down next to you. They remain quiet, but the tension and everything that you’ve been feeling makes your chin tremble, and you bite your lip to try and conceal it. But the tears sting at your eyes anyways, making the ceiling go blurry.

You sit up, digging your elbows into your knees, heaving a great sob. A small hand rests itself on your back, rubbing in circles as you allow yourself to finally fall apart.

“He fucking stood me up,” you choke out. “We always go out when he comes back from the camps. I got dressed up and everything, waited at the townhouse for a half hour just for Rhys to show up and tell me he wasn’t coming. Then I ran into him with Elain on the street on my walk home.”

They’re silent as they let you recount what happened last night, Mor’s face twisting as she watches one of her closest friends fall apart in front of her.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Cassian whispers, but you just shake your head.

“It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fucking fine. He’s either blind or just outright stupid to not see what he’s doing to you.” Cassian’s face is set in a scowl as he thinks about his friend’s behavior after Elain came into the picture.

He knows that his brother has a history of fawning over unavailable women, but for him to entertain one who already has a mate, one that lives with them and wants to engage with her nonetheless, makes him question if Azriel is really that ignorant to the entire situation. It’s not exactly a secret that you harbor feelings for the shadowsinger, but he has been oblivious to the way that you look at him, and Cassian can only imagine how you are with him when no one else is watching.

Mor’s heart breaks while she is helpless watching your face crumble and tears drip off your chin. There’s been a lot that has brought you down, but nothing like this. You keep a strong face around your friends, always trying to be a happy and fun person to be around, letting yourself be the shoulder to lean on when they need it.

Although Mor was the first obstacle between you and Azriel, she was always a good friend to you since you first joined the Inner Circle decades ago. Her warm and confident nature brought you out of your shell when she introduced you to everyone on that fateful night at Rita’s, which in turn brought you to Azriel.

You let your feelings ruin it all, the voice whispers, if you had just kept your feelings in check then you wouldn’t be in this position.

Then, with a deep breath, the mask comes back.

You wipe your face of the tear tracks, sniffling to try and clear your sinuses before looking at Mor and Cassian with a watery smile.

“So, what were you guys saying about lunch?”

A look passes between your friends before looking back at you.

“Well, we thought today would be a good day to try that new place on the Sidra for lunch,” Cassian answers, a slight smile on his face.

“I would love to. Will you two help me pick something to wear?”

“What else would we be here for, angel,” Mor giggles, standing up and taking you with her.

I’m so lucky to have them as friends.

[redroomreflections]

It’s Christmas

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Notes: obviously it’s April but I’m bringing back one of my fav pieces of writing.

The Loud House AU is uploaded on a03 in all of its almost finished glory. Here

SMUT INSIDE - MINORS DNI

This Christmas was going to be different for you. You could tell from the constant snowfall just outside of your window. A blanket of snow covered the entire city just in time for the holiday. The Christmas spirit settled deep in your bones as you thought about how much fun you would have today. With the amount of planning and prepping you did it was a miracle that everything was actually falling into place. Briefly, you went over a mental checklist in your head. Your entire family was here. Each person is in their designated bed or couch. Presents were already under the tree labeled and wrapped. Cookies and milk sitting on the coffee table for Santa. Ones that you munched on to give off the illusion that he visited your house. It was a holiday just like you dreamed of as a kid. The one thing that would make this all better was…your wife. You missed her dearly. It never seemed like there was enough time between you two. This year has been busy and with the kids, work, animals, and everything it’s easy to get lost in things that aren’t each other. The ache in your chest becomes too much. You want Natasha.

You trail your fingers over to the few inches between you. She’s asleep on her side, facing away from you, with her legs angled up towards her stomach. You scoot so her legs are touching yours. You can feel the heat of her body you’re so close. All you want is to feel her. You bring your hand to her arm to trace the smooth skin and her response to your touch is immediate. You stretch your neck to plant a kiss against the back of hers before moving to kiss along her shoulder. Natasha shifts, her breathing no longer the even steadiness of sleep, as she awakens.

“What time is it?” She husks. You can feel the goosebumps on her arms as you continue your touches.

“Early,” You shrug even though she can’t see you. You don’t wait for protest as you wrap your arm around her stomach to pull her against you. She clearly likes your show of strength as a gasp leaves her lips. Her back is now pressed against your front. The curve of her ass fits so perfectly settled against your pelvis. She lets out a breath as you move your hand back to her arm. “It’s Christmas.”

“It’s Christmas,” Natasha repeats. She’s quickly warming up to your advances as she not so subtly pushes her ass into you. She places her hand over yours only to direct your touches to another part of her body. Natasha is direct. She lets you know what she wants. She places your hand just above the waistband of her panties. They’re not anything special. Simple cotton with a thicker waistband but you can’t help how much they turn you on. Your left-hand taps her back and she lifts up for you to slide it under her body. You caress her breast, massaging the soft tissue, as she leans into you more. Her legs part automatically as soon as you push inside of her panties. Your fingers meet dark red curls. She’s not shaved and it’s just how you like it. There’s a shiver along her spine at the first touch of your fingers against her lips. You force her legs open more, positioning your knee under her right leg, leaving her completely open and at your mercy.

There’s not a sound in the room except your heavy breathing and her soft moans. No one needs to say anything you both know what you want. Your hand glides through her wetness with ease. She’s always ready and willing for you to take her. Whenever and however. There is something about the intimacy of this position. She’s facing away from you relying on you to bring her this pleasure. You’re not one to deny her. The tip of your finger circles her clit experimentally. The moan she elicits tells you you’re on the right track.

“Baby,” She moans into the pillow. “Don’t tease.”

“Never,” You promise her as you pull back just slightly to push her onto her back. You’ve changed your mind and want to see all of her. You want to see her face screwed up in pleasure. You want to see the way she bites her lips to keep from screaming out. You want to feel her utterly lost in the feeling of you as she cums. She leans back against the pillows as she lifts her hips to aid in taking off her underwear. You don’t toss the offending item too far in case the little ones wake up earlier than planned.

Natasha looks up at you expectantly with half-lidded eyes. Her chest heaves as she waits for you to do something. Anything. She looks so good like this. So sexy. All for you. Only for you. You can’t help but lean over her, not quite touching her, as you kiss her for the first time that morning. It’s slow, sweet, and a little bit filthy the way she sucks on your tongue. Morning breath be damned. Everything is moving so slowly despite the amount of time you actually have.

“They’re going to be up soon,” She nips at your bottom lip.

“Guess I better get to work then,” You kiss her one last time before moving down her body. You kiss along her clothed upper half, sucking a hardened nipple into your mouth. You give a soft bite as a parting gift before directing your kisses lower. You don’t wait, you don’t tease, and you certainly don’t half-ass it. Her legs part for you, as you settle onto your stomach under the covers, her hands gripping your head. The first lick against her slit causes her to moan. You raise your hand to use two fingers to keep her open. This time the moan she lets out is downright porn-ish. Her back arches as she hisses a quiet “yes,” into the air. You tongue along her clit, coaxing it out of its hood. You suck like it’s the last time you’ll ever do it and Natasha bites her lip to control her volume. You can feel the sleep fully leaving her body as she’s awakened by the new sensations.

“Yes, baby,” She cries just as you give her clit a particularly hard suck. She’s close. She doesn’t need much to come this time. You wrap your arm around her left leg to hold her down as you bring your other fingers to circle her entrance. You breach her hole with one finger thrusting inside experimentally before pulling back out. Natasha whimpers, trying to fight against your hold as she shivers again. “I need more,” She begs. On another thrust out, you add one more finger, pushing into her with a bit more resistance.

“Mhmm,” You moan at the taste of her sending vibrations through her core. You thrust in slowly allowing her to adjust. Finally, when you feel the way her legs shake with each touch against her walls, you speed up. You work overtime to bring her to the brink of pleasure as you suck her clit all the while torpedoing your tongue against the swollen bud. Her eyes fly closed and the grip on your hair tightens. You can feel the slight pain at the base of your neck but you ignore it.

“Look at me baby,” You pull away from her clit, stopping your movements, waiting for her to open her eyes. Natasha groans pulling herself together enough to look down at you. “Good,” You mumble to yourself as you return your lips to where she needs them most. This time your pace is brutal. You need to feel her clench around you. You press against the leg you’re holding to push it up towards her chest. She’s flexible and the move isn’t anything she hasn’t done before. This opens her up wider as you reach under her shirt to grab at her breast. You pinch at her nipple in tandem with the flicks of your tongue. You don’t move or give any firm touch. Just a tracing of your thumb against the edge but it brings her more pleasure. Your other hand continues to thrust inside of her at a pace that has her reeling. She clenches around you, a new gush of wetness coating your fingers, as she cries out over and over.

“Baby, I’m going to-” Natasha whines as she moves her hips against your fingers. She’s almost there you can feel it in the way she breathes, in her needy moans, and the way she’s gripping you. She just needs a bit more.

Before you can react and before she can even finish her sentence the door of your bedroom swings open and a small body catapults itself on your bed.

“It’s Christmas!” Your son mimics the exact words from earlier just as you push yourself under the covers further while letting go of Natasha’s leg. You reluctantly pull your fingers out of her and Natasha has the decency to hide her disappointed whine with a cough. If either of you moves any further he’s going to get an eyeful and you’d rather die. “Mama, it’s Christmas.” He cheers again and Natasha nods along with him.

“I know,” She mumbles as she tries to get her bearings. “James, baby, you didn’t wake up the others did you?” She asks and before he can give her an answer she’s met by the familiar pitter-patter of footsteps coming down the hall. It’s your older daughter. You can tell you’re both holding your breath in hopes that she didn’t bring the little one. Anything but the little one.

Natasha groans as she spots your struggling five-year-old as she carries her baby sister into your bedroom. The toddler practically weighs more than her as she holds her with one hand wrapped around her waist and the other between her legs to clasp her hands together. The toddler in question doesn’t look the least bit phased as her eyes light up upon seeing Natasha.

“Oh, Charlie, you really didn’t have to take Paige out of her crib,” Natasha says exasperatedly.

“It’s okay Mama, I’m big enough to do it,” Charlie comments as she grunts. She stands on the tips of her toes to push Paige onto the bed. “Where’s Mommy?” She walks around to Natasha’s side of the bed.

Natasha reaches to pinch you under the covers but she misses your intended shoulder and ends up with her nails in your cheek.

“Ouch,” You groan and all eyes fly to the lump under the covers.

“Mommy?” James pokes at your form. “What are you doing under there?”

“M-mommy is just playing hide and seek,” You attempt which piques his interest even more.

“Well, I wanna play too,” The three-year-old grabs at the edge of the cover attempting to climb under them.

“No!” Natasha’s protest is a bit louder than necessary startling the kids. At James’ pout and watering eyes, she tries again. “What I meant is that you need your own original hiding spot. It’s not fair to take someone else’s.” She tries and you breathe a sigh of relief at her quick thinking.

“Oh,” James sits back on his legs. He didn’t think of that.

“But why is Mommy hiding under there if you can find her?” Charlie's inquisitive nature isn’t helping you right now. “What were you doing?”. Both of you fumble for an answer. Meanwhile, Natasha tries to combat Paige’s wandering hands as the toddler climbs into her lap. It’s a tight fit that almost has you suffocating from your position under the covers. Totally not how you want to die.

“I know why,” Another voice joins in. Natasha yelps as she spots your oldest daughter, Cara, standing against the doorframe. Natasha almost forgot you had more. She sports a mischievous grin as she tilts her head. Natasha immediately shoots the thirteen-year-old a murderous look. Why oh why did you decide to have kids in the first place?

“Well, why?” Charlie turns to her sister. She blinks not quite understanding the silent conversation they’re having.

“I could tell you,” Cara shrugs. She pauses just for another second before turning and gesturing towards the door. “Or we could go downstairs and help Baba and Deda finish breakfast. Which is so much cooler than my explanation.”

“Pancakes?” James asks.

“Pancakes,” Cara confirms.

“I want,” James forgets you’re even there as he climbs over you, effectively managing to knee you in the back in his haste to go down the stairs. You groan in pain as you wait for his retreating footsteps.

“I wanna help too,” Charlie chases after her younger brother leaving Paige behind. Cara steps across the room, a disgusted look on her face, as she reaches to take the toddler in her arms.

“Mama,” Paige whines not wanting to be separated from her mother just yet.

“Thank you,” Natasha thanked her.

“No way, you two owe me, big time.” Cara shakes her head. “One of those gifts better be a new phone or else I’m telling everyone downstairs.”

“You wouldn’t?” You finally peek from under the covers.

“Oh, I would.” Cara laughs. She’s only half-joking. She’s a good blackmailer that’s for sure. Compliments of her mother being a spy and her other mother being a district attorney. “Now, please, put on the matching pajamas and meet us downstairs in twenty. That’s all I’m giving or Auntie Yelena will come searching for you.”

“We got it,” You roll your eyes knowing her threat is true. Yelena was just like the other kids on Christmas. Excited and energetic. Which was a bad combination in itself.

Cara closes the door behind her leaving you to clean up and get dressed. You wait a few more minutes before looking up at Natasha.

“That was close,” You say and she frowns.

“So was I,” She quips lying back against the pillows to relax.

“Well, she did give us twenty minutes.” You suggest. Natasha removes the arm over her eyes to look at you. Wasn’t a bad idea.

Twenty minutes went by way too fast though you finally have the time to make Natasha cum at least once. You’re just about to start another round when Yelena’s incessant knocking.

“Come out now, or I will drag you by the tits!” She yells through the door before going back downstairs.

What a morning.

Finally, you and Natasha leave the safety of your bedroom to go downstairs and join the rest of the family for breakfast. Natasha immediately goes for the coffee. She mumbled a hello before pouring herself a full cup. You sit at the table, stealing a few strawberries from Paige’s high chair, as she feeds herself.

“So nice to see you this morning,” Melina greets placing a plate of food in front of you.

Alexei is too busy engaging in an intense game of thumb wrestling with James across the table to greet you.

“If they weren’t too busy screwing each other’s brains out the morning would have gone along much quicker,” Yelena mutters.

“Yelena,” Melina scolds and Alexei groans from his spot at the table.

“Mama and Mommy were playing hide and seek,” James supplies as he sits up further to get a good grip on Alexei’s hand.

“Was that what they called it?” Yelena raised a brow. Cara snickers. “Back in my day, it was called -”

“Yelena, I promise both you and Cara’s gifts will be shipped back to the store faster than you can finish that sentence,” Natasha warns from over her mug.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Cara whines.

“You’re no fun,” Yelena pouts before stuffing a waffle in her mouth.

“We did see Santa ate the cookies,” James informed you. “He ate them all up but didn’t drink the milk.”

“Santa’s lactose intolerant we forgot,” You grimace. You were not very fond of the taste of milk and refused to drink it even to fool your kids.

“Morgan says Santa isn’t real and that all of her presents came from her daddy,” Charlie says suddenly. She looks expectantly at you with thick lashes and bright green eyes.

“Morgan also said she could fly and she hasn’t shown you yet,” Yelena interrupted. Nice save.

“Can we open presents now?” Charlie bounces in her seat. “We waited all day for you to eat breakfast.”

“Yes, we can open presents now,” You finish off your meal. Neither of the kids waits for the adults as they race into the living room. Even Cara seems excited as she follows her younger siblings. You help Paige out of her high chair and she toddles behind the rest of them, not missing a beat.

You help Melina put the dishes away while Yelena wipes down the table. Natasha and Alexei are in charge of putting away leftovers. If you keep it clean now you won’t have to clean it later. That’s always been the family motto.

Everyone is gathered in the living room just in time for the first present to be opened. You sit on the edge of the couch with Natasha curling into your lap. She leans her head against your shoulders completely satisfied and in love. Your fingers trace the skin of her back under her pajamas as you watch the kids tear into their presents.

Melina and Alexei help to open and find presents with each of the kids. Yelena is at her own part of the tree ripping open her own presents. She’s just as happy as the rest of them.

“I got new skates?” Caras gasps as she opens up the shoe box. They’re pale pink with yellow shoelaces. Just like she asked for. “Thanks, moms.” She gives you a thumbs-up from across the room.

“I got a new doll!” Charlie is quick to show her bigger sister. She pushes the box into Cara’s lap. “Can you help me open it?”

“Yeah,” Cara turns the box over and over in her hands.

“Santa gave me a nerf gun?” James waits patiently as Alexei inserts the fake rubber bullets into the toy.

“Santa actually brought all of us nerf guns,” Natasha informs the room. “I figured after we open presents we can play?”

“Definitely,” Cara shares in the excitement as she hands the now-opened doll back to Charlie

“Whoa!” Yelena shouts as she grips the edges of a brand-new tactical suit. “This is so badass.”

“It was my idea,” You tell her. “Tony and I came up with some new upgrades. Pockets and all sorts of things.” You say as she feels the materials in her hands.

“So cool,” Is all she can say as she drops the suit back into the box. She stands from her seat with a pout on her face. She gives you no time to move as she tackles you both in a bear hug. “You guys, this is the best Christmas ever!”

The best Christmas ever indeed. Once all the presents are opened and all nerf guns assembled everyone splits up into teams. You with Cara, Natasha with Yelena, Alexei, and Melina with the kids. Everyone has their separate spots in the house as a base. The only rule was to shoot as many people as you can. Which proves to be hard with spies and assassins using their skills to their advantage. It’s pure, delightful chaos. Until you’re facing off against Natasha. Her gun is drawn, pointed straight at your forehead, while yours is pointed toward her chest.

“Put yours down,” She instructs and you shake your head. You raise your chin signaling for her put hers down. It’s a sort of dance between you two as you walk in a circle around the island. You can hear laughter and the sound of toy guns going off in other parts of the house. She raises a brow. A new tactic. “I will let you fuck me with your Christmas present tonight if you put it down.”

“Christmas present?” Your voice breaks as you lick your lips. You hadn’t heard of a Christmas present besides the ones you exchanged earlier today.

“Oh yeah,” Natasha doesn’t offer more. “I think you’ll be very happy with it.” She promises.

“Okay, I’m out.” You lower your gun allowing her to shoot you smack dab in the middle of your head. She’s a good shot. You raise your hand to rub against the sore spot on your face. You pout, bottom lip poking out, as you look over to Natasha. “I didn’t think you’d really shoot me.”

“Merry Christmas,” Natasha steps around the counter to plant a kiss against the spot she just shot. She smirks before running out of the room to find the other half of her team.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Environmental Generational Amnesia: When We Forget Nature’s Past

Originally posted at my blog at https://rebeccalexa.com/environmental-generational-amnesia/

One of the most traumatic and formative experiences of my life occurred when I was thirteen years old. The woods that I loved exploring behind our yard were completely bulldozed one day; I discovered this when I got off the bus from school. It was part of the destruction of an entire wild area that would become yet another subdivision devoid of trees and vines and wildflowers, with no place left for bobwhite quail or garter snakes in the flat green lawns. I was devastated, and in an attempt to try to help me my mom chatted with the developer when she happened to run into her in town. “She knows how you feel,” my mom said. “Her woods were the ones that were torn down to make the junior high track.” Not only did it just not make sense to me that someone who had been through what I was experiencing would then go on to do the same horrible acts, but it was also my first introduction to the reality of environmental generational amnesia.

The term was coined a few years ago in a paper by Peter Kahn and Thea Weiss. It refers to how each generation considers how it first experienced a place as its true baseline, and any change that comes after it is abnormal or unnatural. So for me, the track at my junior high with just a line of trees along the creek was my understanding of its baseline, but the developer remembered that land as acres of woods. A hundred years ago it may have been a farm. Go back several generations to when only the Osage lived here, and it was probably undamaged oak savanna, or perhaps a tallgrass prairie.

When you multiply that shifting understanding of the “normal” state of a place by all the people in a given area, something is bound to be lost as generations die off, and new ones are born into the present state. Couple that with a serious lack of nature literacy, and you have fewer people discussing what the place is versus what it once was.

In cases where almost all the land has been significantly changed by human activity for centuries, it can be incredibly challenging to piece together what it was like before we came through and wrought such imbalances. The only evidence may remain in a few remote undamaged patches, scraps of partial plant and animal communities, and oral and written information passed down by people, whether indigenous or colonizing. Sometimes ecologists and other scientists need to look at the ecosystems of neighboring areas to get some idea of what might have been here before. It’s often a matter of trying to piece together an incomplete puzzle, giving best educated guesses as to what filled the empty niches.

If you have a population that has a dim memory at best of what a place looked like before it was changed at all, they’re less likely to understand when there’s a problem. I knew, for example, that it was wrong to tear down the woods behind my home, but my baseline was “mix of trees and shrubs of various species surrounding a creek with a limestone bed next to a twenty year old subdivision.” No one could tell me what that farm looked like before it became a farm, and I didn’t understand at the time that the mix of plants and animals I knew and loved were neither the complete original assortment, nor were they all native. How was I to know that my yard was once spacious grassland, dotted with white oak here and there? How should I have come to understand that the woods I had cherished were badly out of ecological balance compared to what had once been, that they were exhibiting signs of recolonization after multiple massive disturbances before I was even born?

And this is just one example of one person’s understanding of one place. This environmental generational amnesia has rippling effects worldwide, with people not understanding that the rivers nearby aren’t supposed to be as stick-straight as they are, that the coastline should be covered in wetlands rather than open sand, that the dense forest is only there because natural fires were suppressed and allowed the trees to take over the last meadows. There are even those who have no idea that their air, water, and soil aren’t supposed to be loaded with pollutants, because pollution is all they’ve known for generations. It’s tough to imagine an extinct wetland when you can’t even see the water for the trash, and the sky is brown instead of blue.

It’s not going to be an easy task to try to revive the collective memory of Lands That Were. A good starting point is to talk to our elders, both alive and dead. When we ask those who still live what they remember of a place, we can glean important details even if they themselves weren’t ecologists, or formal scientists of any other sort. If we can take them to these places and have them show us where important landmarks were and describe what has changed, we can start to see more clearly what’s been lost. And when we read the writings and view the landscape art of those who are long passed, we get important snapshots of what was there long before any of us today were alive, tracing that ecological story closer to its origin.

We also need, more than ever, to preserve what ancient ecosystems still remain, whether that’s old growth forests, or prairies that never knew the tearing of the plow, or wetlands never drained or polluted. We can’t just miraculously replace them in a matter of a few years, and they offer us crucial pictures of the end goal in places where  we are attempting long-term habitat restoration. They are living, breathing records of what places looked like before, of the biodiversity and other natural structures that were in place for thousands of years.

Finally, we need to be talking openly about the disconnect between what is and what was. If I, as an incredibly nature-obsessed kid, was startled to think about how my “normal” was only a faint shadow of past ecological glory, then imagine how jarring it must be for someone who is further removed from nature to understand that the forest they walk through is really supposed to be a prairie. (Especially after many years of being told that “planting trees” is the answer to all the ecological problems we face!)

With time and education we can bring about awareness, and that awareness will help us make better decisions for the future. There are so many people who want to undo ecological destruction and make the world a better place; we just need to have better, more accurate information out there on what can be reasonably done. Much of that hinges on having a clearer idea of what’s been lost, so that we can make plans to save whatever is left, and restore as much as we can.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!