#I look so look forward to reading this again

[dduane]

I just received a copy of a book I've been very much looking forward to by a favorite author, but the quality of the book itself is... not great. Cheap paper, weak binding, even a weird illustration of the main character on the cover that I'm having trouble believing the author approved. Obviously, I don't want to leave a bad review on Amazon or GoodReads or anywhere, as I'm 100% certain the content is as excellent as her other work. But how can I best let the publisher (Baen) know I'm disappointed without threatening to never buy her books again? Because, well, if this is the only option, I'm gonna keep buying them even in my disappointment.

Well, the first thing I thought when I read this was "Wow, I'm really glad I don't have anything in print from Baen at the moment except a couple of anthologized short stories." :)

As for the rest of it, let's take it point by point.

Adding a cut here, because this will run a bit long. Caution: contains auctorial bitching and moaning, painful illustrations of cases in point, and brief advice on how to complain most effectively. (Also links to paintings of cats.)

Cheap paper: This has been an accurate complaint since well before COVID—and it's often been worse since, with supply chain issues also being involved. That said: one way publishers routinely save money on printing books, especially the bigger ones, is by going for thinner/cheaper paper. I remember one of our UK editors going on at great length and with huge annoyance—during one of those late-night convention-bar bitch sessions—over how the only way they could get some really good books published (because Upstairs insisted on reducing the per-copy production costs) was by reducing the paper quality to the point where you could nearly read through it. Sacrificing decent text size(s) also became part of this. Nobody in editorial was happy about the result: but there wasn't much they could do.

Bad bindings: Similar problem. Sewn bindings used to be a thing in paperbacks... but not any more: not for a good while, now. These days, it's all glue. Even hardcovers are showing up glued rather than sewn. Don't get me started. :/ (This is why I so treasure some of the oldest paperbacks I've acquired, which are actually sewn.)

Crap covers: I've had my share of these—though my share of some really good ones, too. And one of the endless frustrations of traditional publishing is that the writer routinely has little or even no influence over what the cover will look like... let alone how much will be spent on it, or (an often-related issue) how good the execution will be.

There are of course exceptions. If you're working at the, well, @neil-gaiman -esque level or similar in publishing, a lot more attention is going to be paid to your thoughts. You may even be able to get "cover veto" written into your contracts, so that if you disapprove, changes will get made. But without actual contractual stipulations, the writer has zero legal recourse or way to withhold approval. (And I bet even Neil has some horror stories.)

The normal workflow looks like this. After a book's purchased, its editor and the art director discuss what it's about and what the cover should look like. The art director then hires an artist and tells them what to do. After that, the artist executes their vision and gets paid. It is incredibly rare for a writer to have any significant input into this process. And as to whether or not they approve of the final result, well... the publisher mostly just shrugs and goes back to eyeing the bottom line, muttering "Who told them they get a vote?"

Now, I've been seriously lucky to occasionally be an exception in this regard. In particular, my editors at Harcourt (when Jane Yolen and Michael Stearns were editing Harcourt's Magic Carpet YA imprint) would ask me what I thought would be a good idea for the next Young Wizards cover, and I'd think about it a bit and send them back a paragraph or so about some core scene. They'd then talk to their art director, and after that send their notes and mine to Cliff Nielsen (who started doing the covers for the hardcover and mass-market paperback editions of the series in the mid-90s) or to Greg Swearingen (who was the artist on the digest-format editions). And the results, by and large, were pretty good. ...I also think affectionately of the UK artist Mick Posen, who insisted on seeing pictures of our cats before painting the covers for the Hodder editions of The Book of Night with Moon and On Her Majesty's Wizardly Service (the UK title for To Visit The Queen).

But this kind of treatment is a courtesy—not even vaguely suggested in the books' contracts, and very much the exception to the rule. And for every writer who's midlist, there are times when the luck runs out. For example: one time I wrote a book that was an AU-Earth-near-future fantasy police procedural, thematically pretty dark—dealing with issues of abuse of megacorporate power, institutionalized bigotry, and (explicitly) attempted genocide. And the cover, done by an artist who's a good friend and some of whose fabulous art hangs in our house, came out looking like this. It was... let's just say "not ideally representative."

So I was glad, when my local workflow allowed it, to recover the current, revised version of the book with something at least a little more apropos. But the original cover's not the artist's fault. He did what the art director told him... as a cover artist must do to get paid, and (ideally) to get hired again. At present, that's how the system works.

...So. You've got a badly-built and -presented book on your hands. How best to make your feelings known in some way that might make a difference down the line? (As you make it plain that you'll keep buying this author's books this way if you must.)

First of all: when (as part of my psych nursing training) we were taught how to complain most effectively, we were told that the first and most basic rule of the art is this:

Only Complain To Someone Who Can Actually Do Something About Your Problem

So I salute your desire not to waste your time taking the issue to the reviews on Amazon, or the pages of Goodreads... because they can't do anything. The odds that anyone from production at Baen is reading the comments there strike me as... well, not infinitesimally small, not being hit-by-a-meteorite-while-in-the-shopping-center-parking-lot small... but really low.

So: write to corporate.

In your place I would go online and rummage around a bit to find out who's on record as the publisher at Baen. I would then write them a letter on paper. And I would lay out the problem pretty much as you laid it out up at the top.

The tone I think I'd choose would be the more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger approach. I'd say, "I write to comment about your recently published book by [X Writer], whose work I love. I have to say, though, that I don't think the cover on [X Book] is terribly representative of the quality of the prose inside. And also, the construction and production quality of the book itself was a disappointment to me because [here spell out why].

"I'd really like to see [X. Writer's] books succeed with you, and I'd like to buy more of them without wondering whether I was going to be disappointed again. But if this is typical of how they're being produced, I'd also be concerned that the state of these books is setting up a situation in which the author's sales will be damaged, and you would stop publishing them... which would really be a shame. Whereas on the other hand, better production quality could keep previous purchasers coming back and buying, not only more books by this author, but books by others whom you publish."

This phrasing, as you'll have seen, walks a bit wide around the issue of your further purchases, while directing attention toward the bottom line... which will routinely be what the publisher's looking at from day to day. And—being, one has to hope, in possession of the wider picture as regards what's going on with their production costs—maybe they can actually do something about it.

Anyway, nothing ventured, nothing gained, yeah? It's worth a try. All you can do is hope for the best.

And finally: please know that I admire your commitment to the author: whoever she is, she's lucky to have you. It's a terrific thing to have readers who'll willing to spend the time to hunt you down, and who're willing not to judge a book by its cover. :)

[paarthunaxx]

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 CALL MY NAME, I’M YOURS TO TAME — 18+

larissa weems x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

status: completed

summary: You and Larissa Weems have been best friends since your years spent together at Nevermore. You have been meeting for tea every week since your graduation. But when the pharmacy in Jericho runs out of heat suppressants, you have to miss your afternoon tea with her.

And Larissa, being the dutiful best friend, pays you a visit instead.

tags: smvt, fluff, werewolf reader, in heat, kn0tting, decades of mutual pining, established friendship, soft larissa weems, larissa weems with a d1ck, shapeshifting, p in v, nickname mommy, nickname puppy

read here on ao3!

“Here is your tea, dear.”

“Thanks, Riss,” You take the teacup from Larissa’s pale hands and rub the pad of your thumb over the painted golden rim of the cup before setting it down on a pretty white saucer. “So, anything else to catch me up on this week?”

Larissa takes a long sip from her own florally adorned teacup and sinks into the armchair across from you. “Do you remember Morticia Frump?” She asks with the smallest hint of bitterness on her tongue. It doesn't come as a surprise to you. Larissa is a sweet woman, but you don't think you've ever heard her speak about Morticia without that resentment in her voice.

“Yes. Your roommate from when we attended Nevermore?” You nod and settle back into your own chair, folding one leg over the other. You notice Larissa’s gaze lingering on them for a flash of a moment, but don’t bother bringing it up. “You’ve spoken to her recently?”

Larissa gives a grim incline of her head and huffs a soft sigh through her nose. “Indeed. She called last night to request that I meet her child and consider enrolling her in the school.”

“And will you?” You ask curiously, lifting your teacup and taking a slow sip. There is just the right amount of sugar and milk mixed in. Larissa always makes the perfect cup of tea.

“I have a duty to look after the children of outcasts. I would not cast a young girl out just because I am not on the best of terms with her mother,” Larissa whispers. “I just wish I did not have to meet Morticia in order to enrol her daughter. I’m afraid it will be too painful to see her again.”

You send a sympathetic smile in her direction and shift forward in your seat. Leaning across the coffee table, you reach out to squeeze her knee. Her breath hitches at the touch as she watches you like a hawk. “It’ll be okay, Riss. Everything happened so long ago. And if she annoys you… Just think about all the different ways you’d like to fight her, then tell me all about it next week.”

Larissa giggles at that and places her large hand over your smaller one which rests on her knee, giving it a gentle pat. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, which you mentally blame on static. “You are right. There’s no point in being so absorbed in the past.”

“I usually am right,” You tease with a soft laugh. “Be the bigger person.”

Larissa raises a neatly plucked eyebrow at that. An amused smirk dances across her painted lips and she quips, “Pun intended?”

You snort around another sip of tea, almost spitting the stuff everywhere. You manage to choke it down and the two of you burst into a fit of giggles. After your laughter trails off, you spend another half an hour catching each other up on everything that has happened in the past week. Just like you have been doing every week for… well, years.

Larissa has been your best friend since you both attended Nevermore. Many times you have looked at her and wondered if there could be something more between you, but you don’t even know if she would want that. If she even likes women. And you’re terrified to risk your friendship by asking her out… No matter how much you adore her.

When the teacups have been drained and the grandfather clock pushed up against the wall starts to chime the hour, you sigh and lean back in your chair. “Time for me to get going.”

Larissa tsks softly, a playful pout poking out her lower lip. “Shame. Time always flies by so quickly with you.”

“I know,” You agree with a short nod. “Maybe we should start doing sleepovers instead of tea.”

“Maybe,” She whispers. A soft pink blush dusts across her pale cheeks and she averts her gaze, clearing her throat. She nudges her empty cup of tea out of the way and rises from her chair, towering over you. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

Oh, how you'd love to climb her like a tree.

You follow her out of her dimly lit office and walk by her side as she leads you through the school to the large front entrance. You fit in some more idle chatter along the way through the familiar hallways, before coming to a stop on the stone steps outside.

“Until next week, dear,” Larissa leans down to wrap her arms around you, giving you a tight hug.

“See you then, Riss,” You stretch up on your tiptoes to hug her back, taking a moment to enjoy the scent of her sweet perfume lingering in your nose.

“I’ll be counting the minutes,” She whispers in your ear. There is such conviction in her soft voice that it feels as though she truly means those words.

She gives your waist a gentle squeeze and you reluctantly pull away from her. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest as your brain immediately cries out in protest at the absence of her warmth. With one final goodbye, you turn away from her and make your way down the steps, bracing yourself for the walk home in the bitter afternoon air.

ᥫ᭡

You hum a soft tune to yourself as you bustle around your apartment, struggling with the bundle in your arms. You snatch up every pillow and blanket you can find, tossing them onto the bed to be arranged into a nest later. Each of them have been picked out specifically for the purpose of nesting, every one as warm and comfortable as possible. The pile on the bed is almost bigger than you, and you stand and stare at the mess of blankets with a proud smile on your face. Although you have your suppressants, it still feels comforting to bury into your nest during your heat, even if it is just to nap or read a book. Like being wrapped up in a warm hug from La—

You startle at the sudden shrill ringing of your phone from where it rests on your nightstand. You place a hand over your thundering heart and puff out a breath to calm yourself. In a few long strides, you cross the room and snatch the phone up to answer it. “Hello?”

“Hello! This is the Jericho pharmacy calling,” The familiar voice of Mrs Jones, the pharmacist, comes from the other end of the phone. “We are so terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but we will not be able to refill your prescription for suppressants at the moment. Our supplier has had a stock issue, and we have to wait for more to come from a bigger supplier in the city.”

“What?” You swallow hard, your eyes widening. Panic splits through you like branching lightning, your hand curling into a fist around the phone so hard you almost shatter it. “How long will that take?”

“Around a week and a half,” The pharmacist informs you.

“A week and a half? But… My heat starts tomorrow, and I don’t have any suppressants,” You whisper. “I haven’t gone through a heat in years. You don’t even have enough to get me through the week?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m so sorry. We can fill your next prescription free of charge as an apology for the delay. And if you need scent blockers, we can have them dropped outside your door.”

“Alright… Well, thank you for telling me. See you in a week and a half,” You hang up and toss your phone on the bed. Scrubbing your hands irately down your face, you mutter one word.

“Shit.”

ᥫ᭡

Sleep doesn’t come easily to you that night. Even wrapped up in the bundles of pillows and blankets that have been arranged for your nest, you can’t stop tossing and turning. Anxiety floods through your veins, making your body feel cold and your chest tight. It’s been so long since you allowed your body to go through a heat. There will be years of pent up energy in control of your body, and it's terrifying. You turned to the internet, searching through outcast forums to find out whether it will be more intense when it comes. Every werewolf in the world seems to be in agreement.

The longer it’s been, the worse your next heat will be.

By the time morning comes, you haven’t slept a wink. You sigh and force yourself out of your bed, shuffling to the kitchen to shove a cup of coffee down your throat. As you stir the sugar cubes into your favourite mug, your gaze happens to drift towards the calendar pinned up on your wall. On the square for that day, there is a large red circle with a little teacup scribbled in the middle.

“Shit,” You hiss for what feels like the millionth time in the last twelve hours. You stand there and stare at the doodle of the teacup, pondering whether you should still try to attend or call Larissa up and tell her you can’t make it to tea that day.

You know if you venture out of the house and your heat comes on, any alpha nearby will be able to smell you from a mile away. There may not be that many in Jericho, but even one would pose such a great danger to you… Never mind the werewolf students at Nevermore.

It would also be incredibly embarrassing to go into heat right in front of your best friend, and have her drive you home as you gush all over the seats of her car and whine in need. You shudder at the thought of what Larissa might think of you after something like that.

Before you can even make a proper decision on what to do, an odd feeling shoots through you. You feel your knees going weak, a sticky liquid clinging to your thighs and soaking your shorts. Another curse slips out as you clutch onto the edge of the counter, gasping at the coiling sensation twisting through your lower stomach. Your whole body shakes and you grab onto the counter for dear life.

Looks like you definitely won’t be seeing Larissa today.

You abandon your coffee, letting it go cold on the counter as you drag yourself back into your bedroom. It’s a difficult trip. Your legs threaten to give out beneath you the whole way there, your mind screaming at you to lay down with them spread and just hope an alpha happens to come along. Your brain has never felt so fuzzy before. You’ve never felt so stupid.

The moment you make it back to your room, you throw yourself into the nest. Your clothes are off in an instant. Flung carelessly in a heap in the corner. With trembling hands, you reach into your nightstand and grab a small purple bullet vibrator, fumbling around to switch it on. The trusty little toy has been used many times in the past while you thought of Laris— of… stuff. As soon as it makes contact with your aching clit you whine and arch off the bed, your body flooding with relief now that you finally have some friction. You bring yourself to the peak within minutes. And again. And again. And again…

But it’s not enough.

You shove your fingers inside while stimulating yourself with the bullet. Two isn’t enough. You add another. Not enough. You sob and writhe, your stupid mutt brain and your body aching for one thing. A quick glance at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand shows the time Larissa should be waking up for the day. You know you should let her know while your brain still works somewhat.

You lick your dry lips and reach out for your phone. Reluctantly, you switch off the vibrator and set it to the side while you call Larissa. She answers almost immediately.

“Hello, darling,” Her sweet, sleepy voice comes through the other end of the phone. “Are you alright?”

Biting back the soft whine that bubbles up from your chest proves almost impossible. The sound of her voice sends another flash of desire through you, your essence coating your shaking thighs. “Larissa,” You whisper hoarsely. “I… I can’t… Make it… Today…”

Concern rings clear through her voice as she hears you panting. “Oh? Is everything alright, dear?”

“Yeah,” Your fingers gravitate towards your swollen clit, rubbing at it slowly as you listen to her speak. You gasp before you can bite back the sound, and clear your throat. “Yeah. Just… Don’t feel so good. I’ll see you next week?”

“Okay… Get better soon, alright? Do call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” The words come out in a breathless mumble before you hang up the phone and chuck it to the side. Just the memory of her voice has you growing wetter by the second, your fingers coated in your juices as you desperately try to satisfy yourself. Flashes of her face shoot through your mind, of her large hands and long fingers…

The vibrator is snatched up again in an instant.

You spend the next hour pleasing yourself without a break. Overstimulation makes your body jolt and twitch, but you can’t stop. You can’t. It just isn’t enough. Your mind is well and truly mush at this point, shown in the way your gaze drifts towards the door and for just a second, you consider opening the door and letting your scent waft out. Waiting for the first alpha to come and claim you.

For a moment, you seriously think about it. It would make your heat more bearable. Yes, said alpha might do horrible things to you, and you don’t really want that, but…

Before you can do anything stupid, the doorbell rings.

Sobbing in frustration, you set your vibrator down again. You force yourself up on shaky legs, not bothering to put pants on. You simply tug the oversized t-shirt down over yourself and shuffle to the front door, yanking it open.

Standing there in front of you is Larissa. Clutched in her hands is a wicker basket stuffed full of gifts. Teabags, cough drops, a couple of face masks, some flowers and a small teddy bear. “Hello,” Larissa greets you with a bright smile. “Since you aren’t well, I thought I would bring—” As soon as she catches sight of you, her words trail off. “...Oh.”

“Larissa,” You gasp. You have to grip onto the door frame to keep yourself upright. Your cheeks are flushed beyond belief, your eyes glazed over and distant. There is a thin layer of sweat on your skin, not to mention the wet patches on the back of your long shirt and your thighs. “I’m in heat.”

Her own cheeks flush when she hears those words. “I… I thought you didn’t go into heat. I thought you took pills.”

“I do. Pharmacy ran out.” Those are the only words you can manage before another tidal wave of need crashes through you and you whimper, sinking to the ground.

“Oh, my darling…” Larissa coos and invites herself inside. She closes and locks the door behind her, sets the gift basket down on the coffee table, then lifts you gently from the floor. She pulls her coat off and folds it over the back of the couch, then slips her feet out of her high heels. “Come on, my sweet. Let’s get you nice and comfortable, okay?”

You know there is no comfortable for you right now, but you don’t dare mention that to her when she is being so sweet. So attentive. You feel yourself getting more wet.

She scoops you up into her arms with ease and carries you to the bedroom. Her chest rumbles a little when she clears her throat upon seeing the vibrator carelessly left on your soaked sheets. Thankfully, she says nothing about it and carefully sets you down.

It kills you to have her so close. You just want to rut against her milky white thigh and have her praise you, you want those long fingers inside you, you want her mouth on you. You’ve loved her for decades, but you’ve never felt such intense need for her in all that time.

“Larissa,” You whimper again, but you have nothing to say. You just need her attention.

“Poor thing,” She whispers. She hesitates for half a second before reaching out to brush her fingertips over your slick thigh. “What can I do for you, dear?”

That simple touch over your thigh alone makes you jolt and gasp. “Don’t… ask me that,” You plead. “You won’t like the answer.”

Larissa leans closer, her larger frame looming over yours as she reaches her free hand out to cup your chin. Her fingers are so gentle as they tilt your head back, as though she is handling something as delicate as a porcelain doll. “What can I do for you, dear?” She repeats in a firm whisper.

You melt as you’re forced to stare up into her sapphire eyes. It feels like you could become nothing more than a puddle in a pile of blankets if she continues this. “I…”

“Tell me,” She urges. Keeping her gaze fixed on you, she dips her head and presses a sweet little kiss to your jaw. “Let me help you. Tell me how.”

As pathetic as it is, the very little resolve you had left snaps as soon as you feel her lips on your skin. “Fuck me,” You pant, raising your hips unabashedly.

“Are you sure?” She asks, her grip on your chin growing slightly firmer. “Are you sure, sweetheart? I’ll do that for you if that’s what you need, but I don’t want you to regret it later…”

“Larissa!” You groan before breaking out into a pathetic ramble. “I won’t regret it. I have loved you since we were teenagers, you’re the love of my life, there is literally nobody else in this world I would rather have help me with this. You must know that. You must have picked up on how much I love y—“

Before you can even finish that word, her lips are on yours.

Both of her hands move to pin your hips to the bed, forcing you to keep still instead of uselessly writhing around. The sheets beneath you become soaked almost to the point of ruin as she kisses you hard, her tongue brushing against yours desperately. You struggle to keep up with the searing heat of her kiss, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she takes complete control. Your hips fight against her hold, and as a result she pins you down harder.

“Riss,” You whine against her lips.

“I know, darling,” She shushes you, one of her hands drifting from your hip to between your legs. You gasp out as her fingers press against you, teasing between your folds. “I know. Give me a minute, okay?”

“Can’t,” A soft sob slips past your parted lips as you pant, the pure desire for her making your body shake. “Can’t. Need you to knot me.”

“You need to wait a moment for my powers to work,” As though trying to sate you for the moment, two of Larissa’s long fingers slip inside you while her thumb rubs at your clit. When you gasp and arch into the feeling, she coos softly and begins kissing along the column of your throat. “My poor puppy. So desperate, aren’t you?”

All you can do is whine, unable to decide whether you should arch into her kisses or her fingers. Another orgasm rips through you as she circles your clit, your body squeezing around her fingers as you gasp and squirm.

“That’s it,” Larissa praises, lightening her hold on your hip. “That’s it, sweetheart. Ride it out.”

You don’t need more convincing than that as your hips move wildly through it, taking everything those digits are giving you.

But you still need more. More sobs leave you and you stare up at her pleadingly. The ability to form words on your lips has left you entirely. All you can do is whimper like the pathetic little thing you are.

“I know, puppy,” She suddenly slips her fingers out of you, making you whine louder. She shushes you firmly and you fall silent in an instant. She straightens up to her full height and begins hitching her skirt up to her thighs, unclipping her stockings and pulling down her panties. Your whole body seizes up at the sight of the penis beneath her skirt, hard and already leaking. She seems to have taken size into account, knowing you will be stretched with the knot. It isn’t too long or thick, made perfectly to fit in your tight hole.

She’s so damn considerate you can’t believe it.

Larissa lays back against the mountain of pillows you have set up, giving herself a tantalising stroke before patting her lap. “Come here, pup.”

You don’t hesitate, scrambling across the bed and setting yourself on one of her large thighs. You fight the urge to rut against it, knowing there is a much better reward waiting right there for you if you’re a good girl for her. She rests her hands on your hips and carefully guides you over here. The leaking tip of her cock rubs against your folds, teasing your clit.

“Are you positive you want this?” Larissa questions in a gentle whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It won’t hurt,” You assure her and cup her cheek. A little smile twists at your lips as she leans into the touch and sighs. Even if she hadn't created her cock to fit you perfectly, you would be so soaked and opened up by this point she could fit inside easily without hurting you.

“Okay. Relax for me, dear,” She nods. She surges forward to capture your lips with her own again. Her big hands pull you closer, and as she distracts you by kissing you like a woman starved, she slips inside you. Both of you gasp in unison, the sensation unfamiliar to each of you. She groans as your tight pussy clenches around her, taking her time to sink deeper and deeper inside you.

That isn’t going to fly with you.

Without warning, you slam your hips down and sheathe her fully inside you. She moans in surprise and chokes out, “Darling—”

Finally getting what you’ve wanted this whole time, you don’t stop. You fuck yourself feverishly on top of her, taking her cock deep inside you over and over again. You keen and whimper as your lips trail down to her neck, sucking and biting at every inch of pale skin you can reach. Even as your mind starts to blur, you have to force yourself not to sink your tiny fangs into her throat and claim her.

“Darling, please, slow down—” Despite her pleading words, her hands continue to guide your hips at the brutal pace you have set for yourself. Her head tips back against the headboard, harsh pants leaving her parted lips every second. “Gods, you need to slow down—”

The stretch of her cock inside you is like pure heaven. To finally be filled, and have her doing it, is the most exhilarating thing you could ever dream of. Having her hit that spot deep inside you, hearing her moans and knowing you are the cause of them. You’re sure you’ve had this wet dream about a hundred times over the past couple of decades, but fuck none of those dreams could ever compare to the real thing.

“You want me to slow down?” You pant in her ear, willing to do whatever she wants even that means slowing down when you just want her to fuck your brains out.

“Gods, no,” She whispers and pulls you down as she starts meeting you halfway in quick thrusts.

You moan in sheer delight, melting against her chest as she fucks you hard. Like she’s been holding back these same feelings for just as long as you have, and now she finally gets to let them out. She holds you tight to her chest with one hand while the other squeezes your ass, kneading it appreciatively between her fingers.

“Riss, I—” You gasp as yet another climax starts to bubble up in the pit of your stomach. You can already feel this one is more intense than the others, and not just because you’re far beyond oversensitive at this point.

“That’s it,” Larissa coos, “come for me, darling. Let me feel you coming around me like a good pup.”

That is all the encouragement you need. This orgasm crashes through you like a tsunami as she pumps into you hard enough to fill the room with harsh slapping sounds. Your nails tear into her shoulders, sharpening into claws that rip right through her nice blazer. Clinging onto her for dear life, your whiny moans fill the room. All you can do is keep riding her and taking her with every deep thrust as your body jolts and writhes under her hold, your whole being on fire with the pleasure she gives you.

“You want mommy to knot you, sweetheart? Want me to fill up that sweet little pussy?” She pants. Your body tightens around her cock at the sound of those words and she giggles, gripping your hips and dragging you down even harder into every snap of her own. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yes,” You pant, nuzzling your nose into her neck and becoming pliant in her hands, allowing her to do whatever she wants with you. “Please please please. Please knot me.”

Moments later, she gives you exactly what you want. She moans sweetly into your ear, her thrusts growing sloppy before she buries herself all the way inside you. She gasps and pants as her release pulses through you, the base of her cock swelling and keeping her stuck inside your pussy.

“You’re mine, now,” She whispers possessively into your ear. You’ve never heard her use that tone with you before, and it makes you shiver with another wave of need. If she wasn’t already stuck in you, you’d be riding her all over again just for that. She brushes some hair back from your sweaty face and kisses your temple. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“I’m yours,” You repeat in a brainless whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling,” Larissa sighs, brushing her nose against your cheek. “I love you so, so much.”

She holds you for a long time, rubbing her hands up and down your back and praising you in a gentle voice. When she can finally pull out of you, she does so slowly, not wanting to hurt your sensitive hole. She curls a finger inside you to feel her own come filling you, and shivers at the feeling of her own stickiness on her fingertip.

“Just beautiful,” She murmurs and casts her blue eyes up to your face. “Do you feel better now, pup?”

“Yeah,” You nod, still a panting mess -- but a satisfied panting mess. “Thank you, Larissa. You… You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to,” She scoops you up and holds you close to her chest, before slipping her long legs over the side of the bed and carrying you bridal style towards the bathroom. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

“Larissa?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Did you really mean it?” You ask nervously as you peer up at her. “When you said you loved me?”

“Of course,” Larissa smiles down at you. Her eyes shine with sincerity, and you can tell there isn’t a hint of dishonesty in her words. “I’ve loved you for… a very long time, sweetheart.”

There is a flutter of hope deep in your stomach as you swallow down a lump in your throat. “You have?”

“Yes.”

You can’t even bring yourself to say all of the things you want to as she perches you on the edge of the bath and begins running the hot water. As the steam fills the bathroom and she pours scented liquid into the water, all you can do is stare at her. At the red lipstick smudged across her beautiful lips, at her flushed cheeks visible even beneath her pale foundation. Her hair is still neatly pinned into place, she still looks eternally graceful despite the slight dishevelled appearance around her. This woman loves you. This… this goddess, standing before you, loves you.

“Larissa?” You clear your throat.

“Yes?” She chuckles, clearly amused by your line of questioning.

“After my heat ends, would you like to go on a date with me?” You blurt out before you can talk yourself out of it.

Larissa watches you for a long moment, a smile twitching at her painted lips. Eventually she nods, reaching out to caress your face. “I would love that.”

She bathes you with a great deal of care, making sure to be delicate near your swollen clit and cum-filled hole. You soon convince her to join you as another rush of heat goes through you, and she knots you again in the bath. Then she has to wash you all over again. Over the course of the next three days, the two of you can’t stop fucking. A couple of decades of pent up desire makes itself known in the course of a few days. During some point in those three days, she creates a set of long canine teeth for herself, sinks them into your throat and marks you as her own. At the end of it, you’re both utterly exhausted, but you’re happy.

So fucking happy.

[galene-gothic]

𝖶𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍

୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Hi snowies, I’m back with another Barbie princess and the pauper themed reading !! I hope this reading found you in good health and that you like it, every reblog is appreciated and thank you for everything :) ˖♡ ˎˊ˗ ꒰ 🐇 ꒱

˗ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗             PAID SERVICES (summer sale and offers)

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 1 ꒱

꒰ Where are you free to begin again and believe ? ꒱

You’ve experienced an ending (possibly even multiple ones) that were very heavy. It was the kind of ending (or a string of them) that came with a lot of pain and hurt but was inevitable, something that could simply not be saved. For many of you a lot of backstabbing and betrayal took place, possibly people bitching too. It could have very well been a whole group of people disliking you or turning against you. I’m strongly getting that you’ve often experienced people not liking you for any reason at all. For many of you, all of this took place at the same time (betrayal, people disliking you for no reason, etc.) You’ve lost a lot or at least feel a strong sense of loss (or have had to feel that way at some point). You have many deep wounds and right now, life seems to be more peaceful for you. However, you’re worn out, tired and disappointed. I need to give you a virtual pat on the back for the way you seem to be handling the situation though. You let things end even though you had to reach the lowest possible point mentally. You allowed yourself time and space to heal and recover. You have always been the type to try your best so you were just like “nothing more can be done now, I tried my best”. Right now, you’re really focused on yourself and your own internal values. Your energy is still not the most harmonious but the way you’re dealing with things seems to make it all harmonious again. You have released many fears and are still doing so. ‘I look to you’ by Whitney Houston is coming through for some reason. You’ve reached a point where you have a harder time trusting people and doubt loyalty but it doesn’t seem to be negative, obviously there are days when the voices do get to you but you’re able to tame them. It’s just that going forward, you want to choose and do what’s best for you. You’re still struggling emotionally but it’s only so that you can do even better going forward and yes, you have dealt with this situation really well. You should be proud of yourself because some of us wouldn’t have been able to think straight if we were in your place. You seem to know that whatever you lost wasn’t that great to begin with and every loss of yours has only led to more wins but one thing that I need to make you aware of is that everyone who lost you has received the biggest L, even if at that time, they were having the time of their lives, you’ve clearly won. You’re free to begin again. What has passed has passed. You’re free to, in fact, you have every right to believe that being in your life and someone having you in their life is a privilege. You’re free to believe that trust needs to be earned. You’re free to believe that you’ve had a string of bad connections and that their words, and actions hurt you so you have every right to feel bad and not want anything to with them. You’re free to believe that you don’t have to fully forgive someone to move on. You’re free to stand up for yourself and not feel bad for doing so. Even if you made a mistake, if someone is going overboard with punishing you by treating you shitty and disrespecting you, you have every right to stand up for yourself as long as you’re still aware of what you did wrong and are holding yourself accountable instead of acting as though you’ve never hurt a fly. You’ve walked away and surrendered which is the best that you could have done, I’m proud of you. You’re free to not want to communicate maturely with those who refused to communicate maturely with you in the past. You’ve always had a personality where you don’t mind compromising for those you love and because it comes so naturally to you, you don’t even bother to voice it out.

However, just because you don’t talk the talk, instead you just walk the walk, people act as though your sacrifices were not big. You’re allowed to have resentments against people as long as you don’t burden yourself. You’re free to find peace in the fact that you’re a great and loving person who has never minded giving up their ego for a greater good, that you’ve always looked at yourself and your loved ones as a team and that’s not a bad quality, you just didn’t know better and had people who weren’t the same as you, around yourself and that’s okay. You’re free to believe and know that you were not being difficult or trying to pick fights, you were trying to fix things because you really cared and wanted to give, and do your best. You’re free to forgive yourself for not voicing out your needs sooner. You’re free to not want to forgive some people, you’re free to deny that you weren’t even involved with certain people if that’s what brings you peace. Remember that the past doesn’t even exist, no one can narrate and decide your story except you, and the truth is, people cannot exist in your reality unless you let them ;). You’re free to not have empathy for those who didn’t have empathy for you. You’re free to be rude and standoffish with those who deserve it. You’re free to believe that it’s okay for people to leave such a bitter taste in your mouth that you wouldn’t want to help them even if they were living out their last few days with a beating heart. You’re allowed to believe that you’re not always the bad person, no matter how much you’ve been villainised, you’ve always tried to watch your actions and when you did make mistakes, you always tried to make up for them, and usually, you didn’t even do anything wrong. You’ve often had people hate you because they’re envious of and feel inferior to you in some way but then they try to make it seem as though it’s your mistakes and actions that they hate you for. You’ve had people trying to isolate you, you’ve had people telling mutuals not to talk to you, you’ve had people trying to turn people against you just for the thrill of putting you down because it’s fun to try to bring down someone who they feel inferior to, it makes them feel superior, watching you question yourself but what they don’t seem to know is that you question yourself to better yourself because you don’t view mistakes as unforgivable sins, you want to take accountability, make amends, do whatever you can to repair the damage that you may have done and do better in the future instead of drowning in self guilt like they want you to 😭. Even if you did temporarily fall into self guilt, you managed to come right out and you always will. You’re free to believe that you’re a good person, you’re free to have faith in your own greatness and embrace your mistakes in a way where you put it all behind yourself, understand that however others have treated you has been wrong as well. You’re free to believe that you’re a good person no matter how many unethical things you may have done, no matter how much others have tried to villainise you. You’re allowed to be cold to those who used your mistakes to try to get you to break. If I was you, I would avoid doing anything that I could possibly regret doing in the future. You’re free to understand that many of your past actions have been shitty but those who jumped to try and knock you down to a peg were not saints either. If they did have a problem with what you did, they would discuss your actions, not your character, they just had a problem with you, and they would sure as hell not gang up against and isolate you. You are allowed to leave your past behind (including any of the actions that you’re not proud of) and do better in the future. Just remember, you’re always free to begin again and you’re always free to believe. When you find the place where your heart belongs, you’ll never leave.

꒰ What’s the destiny that’s written in your heart ? ꒱

The destiny that’s written in your heart is to be seen. Many of you are interested in lifestyles that bring about a lot of eyes on you (possibly being a public figure). I don’t even think that you need to be known on a wide scale, it’s about the expression and success for you. You want to be able to make people happy and help them remain optimistic during hard times. You’re also supposed to be very generous. I just heard that the destiny that’s written in your heart is to belong to everyone, not in a negative way but in a way where everyone has a piece of the good deeds you’ve done inside their hearts and so you belong to them in some capacity. You’re supposed to have a lot of personal integrity and just be an abundant person overall. Even if you are not a public figure or an aspiring one, you’re supposed to be the light in many people’s lives. Due to how you’re going to belong to everyone, you’re also going to have to prioritise your alone time. To you, the time that you spend by yourself is going to be very precious. There are going to be people who are going to want to come into your life in order to dim your light and you’re going to have to find peace in life again and again. YES, PEOPLE ARE GOING TO ACTIVELY TRY TO ADD LACK OF PEACE INTO YOUR LIFE 😍. You’re meant to grow to be someone who’s not really that problematic. Which is why, you may have to step out of character a lot as a teen and early adult, you’ll have to learn how to stay firm in wanting to protect your peace and keep your character strong. Your destiny is to remain firm in your karma and have a strong sense of integrity. You’re supposed to learn how to protect your energy because you will have a lifestyle where you sort of belong to everyone but that’s not realistic, there are only certain people who deserve you in their lives, so you’ll have to learn how to balance it all. Karma is really big in your spread. You’re someone who’s experienced karma, often immediately. You’re supposed to learn many life lessons and lead a life of integrity. Your destiny if you manage to harness it, is to attain status and power but you’ll consistently have to work on balancing different aspects of your life (because you’re going to have it all). I hope that you enjoyed the reading and that it resonated, much love and take care, until next time 💗.

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 2 ꒱

꒰ Where are you free to begin again and believe ? ꒱

Right away, you could be coming from pile 1. If not, much like the previous pile, you’ve undergone an ending too. Yes, this is in fact the ending of whatever situation or situations that took place but that’s the good news, that’s what you’re free to begin from again. When you’re at the lowest, the only place to go to is upwards ;). Who had potato and egg curry/likes it? Maybe, someone here is going to cook it or the dish holds some significance to you? It just randomly came through, doesn’t have to resonate for everyone. The ending doesn’t seem to be singular honestly, I feel like there was a whole cycle of multiple endings that took place but with many delays. If you ever find yourself feeling guilty about not getting over it or feel as though it’s your fault because you delayed these cycles, please be kinder to yourself. When things end, you’re left empty but what happens when a container is left empty? It gives room for new stuff to fill up that space. It’s important for you to not dwell on this ending - the guilt of not ending it sooner, wishing it had never ended, the emptiness you feel, etc. You’re free to begin from everything you’ve ever known because there is so much more in the future, in fact, even in the present itself for you to know. If you’re refusing to end a cycle, you’re only making it harder on yourself, I hope that you’ll be able to start again, no matter how much time it may take. Some of you feel guilty towards yourself because you know that you’re over it, you’re just not letting yourself let go completely. It’s become a habit to think about it, feel certain emotions when you reminisce so it feels foreign for you to move on and feel peace. Even if you’re still emotionally attached to the past, make the conscious effort to move forward. Please remember “no closure is a closure”. No matter how stagnant you feel or have felt, no matter how long you’ve felt it for, no matter how familiar the feeling is to you, you’re free to get out of this energy. Even if you feel as though you were unable to make the most out of your potential so far, even if you feel as though you haven’t achieved much, no matter how disappointed you’ve felt in yourself, don’t burden yourself with such feelings. You’re free to move on and achieve a lot going forward. “Though you may not know where your gifts may lead and it may not show in the start, when you live your dream, you’ll find destiny is written in your heart.” Why are you so concerned about everyone? Why do you try to make things right with your actions even if you aren’t interested in maintaining certain connections? It’s because you’ve achieved a lot when it comes to character. If you feel misunderstood even though you’ve done a lot for others without even talking about it because that’s just you, if you felt betrayed, it’s them, not you. Fight against their opinions, they just dislike how you stand for the things that wish they stood for, they also dislike how you are the way they wish to be in some capacity.

Continue soaring forward with courage, resilience and conviction. You’re allowed to want what you want without always having to adjust to other people’s needs, desires, personalities, lifestyles and actions. Even if you may feel like you’ve betrayed yourself in the past, know that you were living by your truth of loving and keeping your actions in check, you’re always free to begin again and live more truthfully to yourself. In fact, now you know a lot more than you did back then, isn’t that in itself a blessing? Never let anyone influence you and your approach to interpersonal connections. You’re likely a more long term kinda person due to how much you pour into everything and everyone. You’re free to believe that you’re a great person even if you aren’t breaking your leg to please others. At this point, you likely know well enough about that because you seem to have a pretty strong sense of self or are developing it (and have been making good progress with it). You’re free to stand up for yourself and your beliefs. It’s time to be your most honest and authentic self now. You’ve likely started feeling called to it already. No matter how much pressure is placed upon you or how much you’re criticised or blamed, you’re allowed to believe in yourself. You’re allowed to have boundaries and to be fairly protective of yourself. You’re allowed to want to be pursued and want to be courted romantically. You’re allowed to desire to be wooed off your feet xD. You’re allowed to follow whatever your heart’s calling is. You’re allowed to move forward acting more graceful and strong in character and even physically if you’d like. You’re allowed to move your attention onto better things if whatever you’re focused on is affecting you negatively. You’re allowed to repeat mistakes as long as you manage to learn from them in the end. “I think all of us wanna feel something that we’ve forgotten or turned our backs on because maybe we didn’t realise how much we were leaving behind.” It’s okay to make sacrifices, it’s okay to make wrong decisions, it’s okay to learn, that’s how life is. You’re free to desire and believe in a true and deep love connection that you know exists because you’re full of the love that you wish to receive. You’re free to desire a deep connection full of mutual admiration, respect and love. You’re free to want to share your life with someone, just make sure that you’re not going into it with desperation. Your standards are not too high as long as you know that you’re asking for what you can give out. You’re free to want to be around wise people. You’re free to want to have a romantic connection with someone controlled, wise, ethical and respectable. You don’t have to feel bad about taking certain things seriously even if those around you don’t. Like supposing sex is a big thing for you, in this generation that’s kind of rare but it’s okay, do right by yourself. You’re free to have an impartial judgment in the beginning for your own good. You’re free to vet out and choose who deserves to be in your life and who doesn’t. It’s okay to want to strengthen your own character and reputation. You’re free to craft yourself and your life however you want, it’s your life to live.

꒰ What’s the destiny that’s written in your heart ? ꒱

The destiny that’s written in your heart is to leave the past behind. You’re the pile that will either deal with extreme loneliness or isolation of some sort that will only lead to you changing and growing emotionally. If you feel like most things have not worked out for you, please just know that whatever has not worked out is exactly why thing’s are working out for you, you’re going to see it while you’re living your destiny. Somehow, no matter what you go through, no matter how many times you’re hurt, betrayed, etc. you are meant to only continue to become more loving. The more you hurt, the more you learn how to love (yourself and others) is the energy that I’m getting. It’s important for you to be in touch with the present rather than staying stuck on anything from the past, don’t even hold onto the regrets, that’s how you’re blocking your own destiny. You might be the pile that got shamed for being emotional at some point and being too nonchalant at another, you’re going to get closer to yourself which will ultimately lead you to being more in tune with your own emotional nature. The more you’ll grow, the more you’ll embrace and learn just how much of a blessing it is to choose to be ever loving in a bitter world that wants you to be bitter as well. The way you are, your sensitive nature, the way you feel, the way you love, the amount of devotion and loyalty you give out has led you to being hurt, disappointed and regretful several times. There have been times when people have terribly embarrassed because you tried to see the best in them. The clown emoji is coming through, gosh 🤡😭. However, the destiny that’s written in your heart is strongly intertwined with loving and loyalty, you value genuine connections and are extremely compassionate, as you grow older, you’ll learn how to not make everyone’s problems your own. You’re meant to learn healthy boundaries as you grow older, you’ll learn how to extend your love and compassion towards yourself, that’s how you’ll unlock a major part of your destiny. You’re supposed to come in terms with the fact that maybe you weren’t the problem after all. You seem to have taken “the world is your family” too literally, you take on everyone’s problems and sorrows, and try to love and help everyone. Especially when younger, that was what you were like.

As you grow older and finally realise that maybe you weren’t the problem after all, you’ll start seizing opportunities as you let go of regret. It’s going to be a bittersweet but beautiful time. No matter what you may go through, you’ll only gain more self awareness due to it. You’ll start focusing on the more positive aspects of life and yourself. You’ll eventually start having gratitude and find your zest for life again. You’ll learn that you’re not everyone’s mother or caregiver and that what you bring to the table, and who you are is deeply valuable. You’re destined to learn just a little selfishness, not in a sense of only caring about yourself but in a sense of putting yourself first. I’m not sure why but your sex drive keeps on coming through. You either masturbate quite a bit or well, just have a high libido xD. You might have started masturbating much younger than most as well. Doesn’t have to resonate but that’s what came through. I wouldn’t be surprised if this pile has a mother wound or just female figures being unsupportive and problematic towards you. It’s definitely not going to be everyone but you may find yourself having a bad experience with many female figures while growing up. It could be something as simple as you think that you’re good with a certain girl or woman just to find out that they dislike you. You’re meant to have it all, abundance in the truest senses. That’s the destiny that’s written in your heart. You may be the pile that’s not afraid to dream and not just dream but also try your best to execute it. If you have to give up on your dreams for whatever reason, you may feel terribly wrong from within. The destiny that’s written in your heart is a lot of domestic bliss as well. You’re meant to have people who accept and understand your differences in your life. You’re meant to be emotionally content. The reason why you have a hard time with short term, casual stuff is because you’re meant to experience long term deep attachments. The reason you’re so loyal, feel so deeply and know how to be dedicated is because you’re supposed to find worthy enough people to form such lovely and long term connections with. You’re passionate, don’t even try to suppress that true nature of yours by trying to explore some half hearted stuff. You’re well rounded so you’re meant to experience a well rounded life - a blissful home life, a great career, a strong personality and being proud of yourself, you’re meant to have it all. All of this is the destiny that’s written in your heart. I hope that you enjoyed the reading and that it resonated, much love and take care, until next time 💗.

︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 3 ꒱

꒰ Where are you free to begin again and believe ? ꒱

This could be the pile that may have lost their way temporarily or were unable to focus on things that mattered at some point (education, money, career, etc.) You’re free to start again when it comes to education and your goals (educational, career, character, skills, so on and so forth). It’s time for you to believe in your own maturity and sense of independence. You’re free to begin again no matter how many times you may have quit or lost your path. You’re a very responsible person who is focused on building something for yourself right now. You’re free to take on this identity wholly and start/continue showing up consistently for yourself. Maybe you used to be like this as a child, you had all your priorities in place but as you grew up, you started burning out or something just caused you to stray off your path. It’s okay, as long as you get back on track. You’ve always been a very helping and trustworthy person with a strong will. You used to be really reliable, responsible and ambitious even as a kid. Even if you feel like you’ve disappointed yourself, it’s never too late to get back to yourself and your goals. Believe in and stay firm in your own karma (actions/deeds). A routine would really help you. You’re free to start trying to make the most out of your potential. Maybe, you were pushed into a period of solitude causing you to realise that you need to get back on track? It doesn’t have to be for everyone, it’s only for a select few of you. You might have ended up overindulging at some point when younger which led you to straying from your path. It could be an overindulgence of anything - liquor, heartbreak, friends, freedom, etc. You may have wasted that time but the fact that you know what it feels like to enter such an energy means that you’ll avoid it going forward. It’s good that you’ve managed to live such different lifestyles and take on such different identities, just to get back to being yourself and realising that you always knew who you were, and that life is a lot about having the courage to live as who you truly are. If you don’t have a social life or have too much of it (envy, rivalry, lack of approval but also people around you) causing you to either think too much or not have enough space to think, just remember that you’re free to begin again. If you don’t have much of a social life currently, you’ve dealt with envy, rivalry, lack of approval, disappointments, end of friendships, etc. before.

Some of you may be going through it right now, if yes, you’re free to begin again, trust me, it’s going to get better ;). You’re free to believe that your next relationships (platonic and romantic) are going to be great ones. You’re free to believe that change is coming in and it’s going to be big, and in the best way possible. Patience is important here though. Don’t settle and don’t give into desperation or urges of any sort. You’re free to begin again when it comes to self improvement. You’re free to put the past behind you and patiently make the most out of the present while looking forward to a bright future. You’re free to explore and expand beyond what you thought your interests and aesthetics were limited to. You’re free to claim fulfilment. You’ve overcome so much, give yourself a little pat on the shoulder, will you? You’re allowed to go with the flow of things while consistently working on whatever you want. Consistency and patience are guaranteed to reward you as long as you use your brain and abilities to the fullest. Plan but don’t stay stuck on the planning phase. You’re doing so well, please be proud of yourself as well. While others may talk about how much they’ve done, how they are, like they may really boast it, you don’t boast because that’s just innately in you and why would you boast about something that’s just natural to you? BUT THEY’RE REALLY BIG TRAITS AND THINGS IN REAL LIFE! You’re free to let go of extremism in order to find peace. You’re free to make peace with situations even if they were one sided. You’re free to reprioritise and have faith in your priorities even if your priorities were not in the right places for a while. You’re free to move on from the life that was not flowing correctly. You’re free to heal completely even if no one witnessed it and you’re free to feel proud of yourself even if there was no one to witness how much you’ve grown. All work, no play will make you a dull one, please try to strike a good balance between studies/work and life. You’re free to try to manage life better. Your past does not exist, it does not matter. Believe in yourself and your dreams, your hopes and wishes will come true as long as you’re willing to work for them. You’re free to move forward with more confidence and passion, grabbing opportunities and communicating well. You’re likely already a great communicator, if not through speech, it may be through writing but believe in yourself, it’s better to go after the life you want rather than convincing yourself that you’re happy with an average life. Remember, you’re always free to begin again and you’re always free to begin, when you find the place that your heart belongs, you’ll never leave.

꒰ What’s the destiny that’s written in your heart ? ꒱

The destiny that’s written in your heart is quite interesting. You’ve always desired to be looked up to. There’s something traditional and old school that you want, the old school romance, the old school love, the old school family, whatever it may be. It’s because it’s in your destiny. You could be someone who doesn’t enjoy having jokes made about them or didn’t like them when younger. You do not appreciate being the butt of any joke due to how much you value mutual respect. It’s in your destiny to love and adore, and to be loved and adored. You’re likely the marriage type. You want an equal and all encompassing love in which your partner treats you like their own and you treat them like your own. You desire to operate with your partner as a team, a family, united and with each other instead of egoistic and against each other. It’s because you’re destined for that. You’re meant to have a reluctance to explore anything that’s not deep and intense (romantically). You’re meant to have moments when you feel unsuccessful, like you’ve not achieved much, like you’ve not been able to live up to your potential so that you can find it in you to strive towards it. At some point, you’re going to be like “I’ve always known who I am, who I want to be. I’ve always known what was right and yet I strayed off.” That was meant to happen so that you can be more confident in who you are. Due to your deep emotions and the way you feel responsible for everyone and everything, and you desire to have an ethical and good character, you tend to be confused a lot because people try to make you think that you’re doing something wrong? That’s the entire reason why you strayed off your path in the first place. You’re going to be pressured into making decisions without knowing what it is that you truly want. You’re going to find yourself being very emotionally overwhelmed at some point because you also have a tendency to feel things deeply. You won’t know what it is that you truly want. There will be a point where you’ll wonder if you even have faith in yourself at all. You might get severely betrayed at some point when younger, likely by multiple people but might have mixed feelings regarding them because the situations will just be so cloudy. Also, you’re a genuinely really good person so your desire for connection will lead you to treat people as if they are in the same team as you even if they aren’t because you will not be aware of it, you’ll have their best interests at heart but when all of this rose tinted glasses, confusion, fog or whatever you want to call it fades away, you’ll feel as though you lived in an illusion for a quite a while. You’re someone who has a lot of enemies due to your naturally great character. In this world, many people enjoy tearing each other down, you’ll have to learn how to strategically move through life. You’re able to be very strategic, it’s just that you have ethics and morals, and care about people so you try not to hurt them. You’re going to have to learn how to be yourself and follow your path unapologetically no matter who it hurts.

Many of your friends tend to envy you and want similar things that you want, possibly even love interests, don’t feel guilty about doing and choosing what’s best for you. Most of these people desire to be better than you because they do dislike you to some capacity, one more reason to not feel bad. You’re meant to be courageous enough to go for what you want, even if it might cause you to end up in scandals or ostracised because at the end, you manage to gain so much from it, in every way. “You need to be cold to be queen, keep your eyes on the price, Jenny Humphrey. You cannot make people love you but you can make them fear you.” You have had friends who turned out to be envious of you at some point. In fact, you often attract people like this but it does help you grow. You are going to learn how to be selfish with these people. With those who do deserve your love and view you as a team, you’re going to treat them as if they were you, you’re going to give them the best and will try your best to be there for them. Those who see and understand you are going to have your back at all times. You’re going to change and grow a lot through all the envy and one sided rivalry driven conflicts but that will only get you to be more morally driven. You’re going to become more empathetic, trustworthy and a great adviser to those who deserve it, and a selfish, cold person to those who don’t. That’s kind of your destiny because when you’re going to be all kind and giving, having the best interest of everyone at heart, viewing them as a team, they’re going to undervalue you and take you for granted. They’re going to abuse your generosity and giving nature, they’ll also be mean to you, as if nothing you give is enough for them, even though you’re probably the best that they will find but you’ll likely learn the lesson of putting yourself quite young (by your early twenties) because you’ll have already experienced a lot by then. You’re probably meant to be very charitable though. Also, the deep connections that you’ll have (both romantic and platonic) and I mean the healthy, non confusing and lasting ones, they’ll be sacred to you. Those people will understand you on a whole different level and will treat you with such care, it’s touching. You truly do deserve this kind of love. I’m so happy for you. When someone is like you, many will dislike you for your greatness while others will want to find both - more of your greatnesses and your weaknesses in order to love you, in order to have you in their life, in order to be in your life because they’ll see you as someone to treasure, because they’ll grow to love you more and more, the more they get to know you. This is sweet, isn’t it? You’re going to start craving strong and mutual love quite young and you’ll start having a mature approach to relationships. It’s likely because you spent quite some time in illusions while what you were giving out was very real so you’ll crave that same realness because you’ll know that you deserve it. Yes, you will receive it as long as you don’t bend into settling and staying stuck in illusions. All of this is the destiny that’s written in your heart. I hope that you enjoyed the reading and that it resonated, much love and take care, until next time 💗.

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 CHAMPAGNE KISSES

FEATURING: pm!dazai osamu

SUMMARY: in a desperate attempt to try to get you to drink with him, dazai offers up a secret he's never told anyone... and how could you possible refuse that? AKA the first kiss fic.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: here is the promised second fic! another light hearted one :D (warnings: fem!reader, there are some implications of reader and chuuya being taught to use their bodies as tools - as implied in canon - but nothing else really, this is light-hearted as promised)

You don’t usually drink. 

In fact, you usually stay as far away from any type of alcohol as you possibly can because the one time you did drink, you ended up passed out on the floor of the Colonel’s office with no recollection of how you got there. You blame Nakahara Chuuya because he is a bad influence and stole one of Kouyou’s bottles of wine, sneaking it up to your office to convince you to drink with him to celebrate your sixteenth birthday. The Colonel was severely unimpressed with you and you were severely embarrassed, more so when you found out that he spent half of the night cleaning up after you. 

You blame Chuuya. 

Neither of you can recall how you’d gotten separated that night, but you’re certain that it’s his fault somehow.

“Just a few glasses,” Dazai complains, a pout tugging at his lips as he drapes himself half over you and half over your couch, dangling a bottle of champagne in your face as if to tempt you. “We just ended the biggest conflict Yokohama has ever seen. I was just promoted to executive. Celebrate.”

“No,” you tell him instantly, putting your palm to his face and shoving him away from you. 

Dazai instantly lets out a string of complaints, unbalanced as he rolls off the couch and onto the ground. He scowls up at you, disgruntled and irate as he pushes himself back to his feet and throws himself right back down where he was, perhaps even more on top of you than he had been before. You sigh, he looks distinctly pleased by the withering look you give him.

“You drank with Chuuya.” Dazai instantly throws the fact in your face, as offended about it as he was the day he found out you and Chuuya got drunk for the first time without him. As if it was your fault that he was sent away on a two-week mission in Sapporo to try to draw Murasaki and her men out of Yokohama and back to their homefront. 

He didn’t speak to either of you for days.

It was the most peaceful few days of your life.

No, you’re joking, you spent a whole week doing paperwork for him as an apology, but no matter how much he tries to convince you to drink with him so he can be even with Chuuya, you deny it because you have no interest in drinking again any time soon.

“You drank with Chuuya and you won’t drink with me. You hate me,” Dazai complains, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “You want me dead.”

“Dazai,” you start, but he doesn’t even let you get out a second word.

“You can’t even deny it,” Dazai accuses, pulling off of you to glare at you. “I’m supposed to be your best friend. Not Chuuya. You’re trying to replace me with him.”

You give him a blank look right back, and distantly, you wonder how you ended up in this position, regretting that Mori ever pulled you back to Yokohama from Kyoto, desperately wishing to go back to the city just so you can escape Dazai’s dramatics. Maybe you’ll ask him now that the Dragon’s Head Conflict has ended. 

His expression shifts into one of offense, as if he can read your thoughts. 

“Take that back,” he demands.

“I didn’t say anything,” you say, appalled.

“You didn’t need to, it was all over your face. Take it back.”

You lean forward, hand lifting to his face to squish his cheeks together. He squints at you, aggrieved, but you don’t let him yank his face out of your grip.

“I am not drinking with you,” you tell him firmly, tired of this conversation, you’ve been going back and forth about it with him for almost thirty minutes. You duly ignore the way his eyes droop and the way he sticks his bottom lip out—a ridiculous expression considering you’re still squishing his cheeks. “You’re welcome to have a few drinks yourself, but I am not going to be cleaning up after you.”

You drop your hand back to your lap and relax back against the couch, raising your eyebrows when Dazai only continues to pout in your direction. At once, a glimmer of mischief flashes through his visible eye and instantly, you’re on edge, tilting your head to the side as you wait for him to speak. 

With no concept of personal space, clearly, he leans forward again, lips curling up into a suspicious smile. “What if we made a deal?” he asks, looking mighty pleased with himself when your eyes narrow onto him, interest piqued.

“What type of deal?” you ask dubiously, not entirely convinced that he has something up his sleeve that could convince you to drink again.

“If you drink with me, I’ll tell you something about me that I’d never admit sober.”

 Oh.

Dazai smiles like he’s won. 

You click your tongue sharply and then say, “Pour me a glass.”

This was a mistake. 

You don’t know where Dazai got his hands on two bottles of champagne, but you almost would’ve preferred his choice of whiskey to it. The bubbles have gone straight to your head, your entire body feels light and Dazai has become far more touchy than he usually is. It started out with subtle brushes—he moved closer to you, thigh pressed to yours as he spoke animatedly about his portion of the last mission, occasionally knocking his shoulder into yours. He’s no doubt over-exaggerating the grandeur of it all, but you find yourself smiling as he waves his hands around and describes the epic staging of his capture and how he almost died at the hands of the enemy because Chuuya ‘can’t function without Dazai there to order him around.’

You think Chuuya would punch him in the face if he heard Dazai say that, but you think you’ll let it slide this time because Dazai looks cute happy rambling on about the mission and boasting his feats. His cheeks are tinted pink from the alcohol and he’s talking so fast that you can hardly keep up.

Dazai had been weird the past two weeks. You thought he’d be excited with his promotion to executive and beating both you and Chuuya in the race to the open seat, but he’s been oddly glum. Hasn’t risen to the bait of Chuuya’s gibes, hasn’t chased you around headquarters to bother you about one thing or another; when people congratulate him for his promotion, his gaze slides past them as if they aren’t even there. You and Chuuya have been trying to figure out what’s wrong with him but every time you guys try, it’s like he knows to evade you.

This is the most ‘normal’ you’ve seen him in almost two weeks.

“What were you going to tell me?” you finally ask curiously when the conversation lulls as Dazai reaches to pour himself another glass.

He pauses, gaze cutting to the side to look at you. Your eyes narrow and for a moment, neither of you move, just staring at one another. Then Dazai pointedly continues to pour himself another glass.

Notably, not answering your question.

You scowl at him. “You are not getting out of this, Dazai Osamu,” you say, irate. If your voice is a little slurred, you ignore it. “You promised.”

Dazai makes a noise in the back of his throat—something caught between a complaint and a whimper—and you lean a little closer to him, intrigued, watching as his face steadily gets redder.

“Oh my god,” you say more to yourself than him. “You really are embarrassed. Come on, tell me, it can’t be that bad.” 

“I’m not drunk enough,” he protests, trying to physically turn his body away from you, but you shift closer to him, half leaning on his lap so you can keep your gaze trained on his face. “Stop that, get off.” 

“No,” you say instantly, delighted at the change in demeanor. “I’m drunk enough. Tell me. It’s time.”

The expression Dazai shoots at you is nothing short of withering, the look in his eyes hateful, you only give him a simpering smile in return. He pointedly turns his head away from you and mumbles something under his breath that you can’t hear. You frown as you lean in a little more.

“Speak up,” you tell him, nudging your shoulder into his and you can see him scowl, cheeks flushed, chin raised high. 

“I’ve never had my first kiss,” Dazai rushes out as if it’s his greatest shame, refusing to look at you.

You stare for a moment and then you snort.

“Did you just… laugh at me?” Dazai’s head snaps toward you, thoroughly offended.

“No,” you say immediately, forcing the smile off of your face as you look at him, but as soon as you catch the pink tint on his cheeks, your hand is flying to your mouth to muffle another giggle, this one far more obvious than the last.

Dazai looks entirely insulted. “You did. You’re laughing at me. You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasp through a wheeze. “I’m sorry, I just-you’ve got to be lying. There’s no way, I mean-”

Dazai bristles. “Stop laughing at me,” Dazai complains, burying his face in his hands, he covers his cheeks as he turns to glare at you. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised, it’s not like the slug has either.”

“Chuuya has had his first kiss, Dazai,” you say before you can think over your words and instantly Dazai’s brows are furrowing, eye squinting as he looks at you.

You think you’ve made a fatal mistake. The alcohol has made your tongue far too loose.

“How do you know that?” he asks suspiciously, staring at you intently as he waits for an answer.

Shit. You stare at him for a moment, contemplating your options because there’s no way in hell that you’re admitting to Dazai Osamu that you were Nakahara Chuuya’s first kiss. But the longer you wait, the more suspicious he’s getting, you can tell, and you have a feeling that if you do lie, he’s going to figure it out right away.

“He told me,” you finally answer and instantly, Dazai’s gaze sharpens.

Fuck.

“Liar,” he accuses, and you can see that even under the influence of four glasses of champagne, his mind still works sharply—a bit slower, maybe, because even Dazai Osamu is not immune to the effects of alcohol, though he does clearly have a ridiculously high tolerance. 

You see his thoughts whirling, racing to put together the pieces laid out before him, and you watch as he suddenly straightens in his seat, eyes wide. “Dazai-”

“No,” he breathes out, horrified. “No. No. You’re lying. You must be lying.”

“Dazai,” you say again, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Noooooo,” Dazai complains, louder, more aggrieved. He tugs at his hair, squeezes his eyes shut. “No. No. Noooooo, I can’t accept this. Revoke it. Revoke it immediately.”

You blink. “Dazai,” you start slowly, “I can’t just revoke it. That’s-It’s not how that works, what-”

“REVOKE IT!”

“Jesus Christ. Fine. Revoked. It's been revoked.”

Dazai lets out a long breath, leaning back against the couch as he turns another flinty look onto you. “You’re so disgusting.”

“Look in a mirror,” you snap back, irritated.

“No, you look in a mirror. You’ve kissed a-” he gags as if he can hardly bring himself to say the words. “You’ve kissed a slug. You’ve kissed a slug, you’re so disgusting, I can hardly stand to look at you.”

“You’re so fucking dramatic, Dazai,” you snort, rolling your eyes at the genuine repugnance painted all over his face. But you watch as the disgust suddenly disappears, melting into a conflicted expression that you have trouble reading. “You really haven’t had your first kiss?”

You don’t really know what you expected. Well, you would have thought that Dazai would have some experience—maybe not as much as you or Chuuya, the two of you have been trained in utilizing your bodies for strategic purposes, but you would’ve thought maybe he found someone to experiment with. 

Although, you suppose you shouldn’t really be that surprised. Mori is Dazai’s mentor, and he has the boy constantly swamped with missions and operation preparations, keeping him carefully under his thumb so that no one else can taint the control he has over his precious Demon Prodigy—Dazai likely doesn’t even have the time to even think of stuff like this, much less go out of his way to experience it himself. 

Dazai doesn’t respond, pointedly turning his face away from you. 

“So what if I haven’t?” Dazai snips, regaining his cool facade, even if it did take a bit longer while under the influence of the champagne. “Maybe, I’m saving it for someone special, ever think of that?”

You coo, reaching out to pinch his cheek, and Dazai gives you a look nothing short of affronted, pulling his face away just as you feel how warm his cheeks are. 

“Tell me about your dream woman then, Dazai?” You lean your elbow against the back of the couch, resting your cheek on your palm as you look at him. “I wanna know allll about her.”

“Well-” Dazai starts, clearing his throat as he takes another sip of his drink. 

You watch as he stares ahead for a moment, waiting to see what he says—a part of you is genuinely curious, a tight feeling of anticipation in your throat that you can’t seem to push away but don’t know why.

Finally, Dazai looks at you with a crooked smirk and a victorious look in his eye that makes you realize whatever he is about to say is going to piss you off. “You would like to know, wouldn’t you? I knew you had a crush on me. I bet you just want to know if you’re my dream woman.”

“HA!” you bark out a laugh immediately at the prospect, ignoring the weird tug at your chest. “You wish, Dazai, maybe when hell freezes over.”

You miss the way Dazai’s expression falters as you try to distract yourself from the tightness pulling at you by taking another generous sip from your half-full glass.

Dazai lets out an irritable puff, pushing out his cheeks as he looks away from you, making a show of being offended by your comment. You roll your eyes at him as you turn your attention back to him.

“So you’ve both had your first kiss then,” he says, voice clipped, and before you can make a comment about it, he continues, “Whatever. It’s probably not that great anyway. It’s just pushing your lips against someone else’s. What’s so special about that? Honestly, it sounds kind of gross.”

He’s not looking at you, and you have to gnaw at your bottom lip to not snort at the blatant bitterness in his tone as he speaks. You wonder if he’s that aggrieved by the situation, or if the alcohol is just making him looser with his emotions because he’d never usually be so openly bothered by this.

“Why haven’t you kissed one of Mishima’s daughters?” you ask curiously, tucking your knees to your chest as you watch him curiously. “Those three are always hanging around trying to get our attention.”

That’s putting it gently—Mishima’s girls are your age, and whenever the Sun and Steel host an event that the Port Mafia is invited to, the three are all over you guys. Whether it’s teenage rebellion against their father, or they’re actually interested in you, you don’t really know, but they make for better company than most of the other people in attendance and have loose lips, so you tend to find the oldest sister to entertain you for the night.

Dazai hesitates for a moment, an odd expression crossing his face. He finally says, “They’re not interested in me.”

You wrinkle your nose as you look at him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. “What do you mean? The youngest is interested in anything with two legs, pretty low bar to reach,” you try to joke but Dazai seems to find no humor in it, lips curling down as he stares ahead absently.

“Not me,” Dazai says after a few seconds. “... They think I’m weird. Heard them talking about it at the last event—Noriko and Michiko.”

You pause, lowering your glass from your lips to rest your hands down in your lap as you observe him. His expression is mostly blank, but there’s a conflicted look in his eye that makes your throat feel tight. You’d always wondered if Dazai cared about what people would say about him—they’re not exactly subtle regarding how they feel about the youngest executive. They find him odd and disturbing, most people evade him as much as possible. They think he’s inhuman, closer to a demon than man. You’re sure he’s overheard a lot of it: Dazai knows anything and everything that goes on in the Port Mafia, you can’t imagine he’s blind to people’s opinions on him, but if he is aware, he’s never let it outwardly bother him. In fact, you think he’s utilized it to his advantage for the most part.  

But… you’d learned quickly once you were back in Yokohama that Dazai Osamu isn’t alone by choice. He craves interaction with people, but finds little of it because people find his presence unnerving and the few that don’t are wary of the tight leash that Mori has him on. So, you suppose you shouldn’t really be surprised that he’s more bothered than he lets on about some girls your age, who are clearly hung up on both you and Chuuya, having no interest in him because of how they perceive him.

“Well, fuck them,” you finally scoff, already plotting out a way to humiliate the two that Dazai had overheard talking shit about him at the upcoming event in a few weeks. “They’re bitches anyway. And stupid too, clearly. You’re not weird.”

Dazai looks as if he doesn’t believe you, lips tight as he lifts his glass to his lips only to find it empty. He seeks out the bottle and sighs when he notices that it too is empty. He places his glass back down on the table, but doesn’t turn to look at you.

“You don’t need to lie,” he says, keeping his voice breezy but you can see the expression on his face even if he is trying to hide it from you. “I know that I am, I-”

“You’re not,” you repeat, getting increasingly more irritated. “Don’t piss me off. Stop saying that shit.”

“It’s the truth,” Dazai says simply, folding his hands over his lap. “I don’t know why you’re getting so upset about it. Even Chuuya thinks so.”

“It’s not the truth,” you snap, “and I’m getting upset about it because you’re my best friend. I’m sick of people acting like you’re some evil incarnate for doing what we all do. And I’m sick of you letting it feed into whatever complex you have about your humanity. And for your information, Chuuya has drop-kicked people for talking poorly about you—and you better not tell him I told you that, he said he’d kill me if I did.”

Dazai doesn’t react to what you say for a second, brows furrowing and a strange expression crossing over his face at your words, as if he wasn’t sure what he expected from you but it wasn’t that. But it’s the truth. 

Chuuya has beat the shit out of people for talking badly about Dazai—no matter how much he bitches and complains that Dazai is annoying and a freak, he doesn’t let other people say the same shit when he’s around. You don’t like getting your own hands dirty like Chuuya does, but you’ve had people killed for talking badly about Dazai—you won’t admit that to anyone even if there��s a gun to your head—but all it takes is a few words about a certain subordinate stirring dissent within the ranks and the Black Lizards are on the move to take care of the inciter. 

It’s safe to say that the Mafia subordinates are careful to not voice their opinions about Dazai around the two of you anymore. 

Then, he says firmly, “I’m not your best friend.”

Your eye twitches. “What?” 

“I’m not your best friend,” he says again, speaking in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. “Chuuya is your best friend. You hang out with him more than me, you go drinking with him and don’t drink with me unless I bribe you, you kiss him.”

“Why can’t you both be my best friend?” you ask, annoyed, feeling much like a child.

“That defeats the purpose of best,” Dazai says snidely. You roll your eyes at his tone. 

“Well, I only hang out with Chuuya more because you’re on missions more than both of us because you have that fancy executive title now. And I don’t go drinking with Chuuya. I drank with him once and never again.”

You pointedly don’t say anything about the last comment he made, but Dazai catches that, leveling a steady look onto you.

“You kiss Chuuya,” Dazai repeats, quieter this time. “You don’t kiss me.”

“I would kiss you,” you tell him, voice a little more hesitant than you intend for it to be. Nervous, even. 

This is different from when you kiss Chuuya—from when you do anything with Chuuya. Kouyou directed the two of you to each other a few weeks ago toward the end of the conflict, saying that if you ever plan to bring any of the tactics taught by your mentors about utilizing your bodies for strategic purposes to the field, it’s best for the two of you to practice with one another as training. 

It was work. 

It was training. 

It wasn’t whatever this is about to be.

Your heartbeat feels erratic in your chest as you stare at him, he hasn’t reacted to your words, staring at you as if trying to figure out if you’re being serious or if you’re setting him up to make a fool out of himself.

“… I would not mind if hime was my first kiss.”

You let out a flustered noise in the back of your throat at the sudden use of the title you’ve grown to loathe over the past two years, dubbed by none other than Mori himself. Usually, Dazai only uses it whenever he’s trying to goad you into an argument, knowing how much you hate it, but there’s something different about it this time—something that has your cheeks heating up. His voice is softer, breath a bit hitched as he speaks, as if he’s just as nervous as you are but is trying to hide it.

“I thought you were saving it for someone special,” you say quietly, looking at Dazai carefully.

Dazai finally turns his head to look at you, expression subdued. “... Hime is special to me.”

Your breath catches at the admission, wondering if he’s trying to say you’re special because you’re his closest friend or if he’s trying to hint at something more, but Dazai’s expression doesn’t betray any of his thoughts and he doesn't seem inclined to expand on his painfully cryptic comment. 

Nor do you have the courage to ask.

You take in a quick breath, gathering your nerves before Dazai takes your prolonged silence as rejection and flees. You shift closer to him, watching as he takes in a sharp, quiet puff of air, staring at you carefully. His fingers are stiff in his lap, twitching as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. You lift your own hands to cup his cheeks between them.

His bandages are rough against the pads of the fingers on your left hand, and absently, you think that you should maybe stock up on a softer brand, because you’re sure they must be irritating his skin. His skin is smooth in contrast as the fingers of your other hand brush along his cheekbone, you watch as he lets out a shaky breath, visible eye wide as it traces your face. He instinctively leans into your touch and for a moment, you can’t help but wonder when the last time someone has touched him gently. Even Chuuya didn’t have such a reflexive reaction to your touch.

You don’t kiss him for a second, gaze lingering on his face, searching his eye to make sure that he’s ready. His tongue darts out to nervously wet his lips, cheeks tinted pink, fingers still unsteady in his lap as he waits. It’s cute, you think—and it might be the first and last time you’ll ever see Dazai Osamu so plainly flustered over something, so you want to savor it as best you can.

Once you’re satisfied, you lean in to press your lips against his. His lips are chapped and taste like the champagne the two of you have been drinking and faintly like the cigarette he’d been smoking on the walk back to your apartment. Not the most pleasant taste, but for some reason, you can’t seem to get enough of it. 

As far as kisses go, it's definitely a bit awkward, but still, it’s nicer than kissing Chuuya. You tell yourself it’s because kissing Chuuya is like any other job or mission, but a part of you wonders if it might be more than that.

You disregard that thought instantly. 

You keep the kiss soft and chaste, lips moving only subtly against his own. Dazai doesn’t kiss you back—you can feel his lips trembling and you try to relax him by smoothing your thumb over his cheekbone, but it only seems to make him even more nervous from how his breath hitches against your lips.

You can’t help the smile that tugs to the corner of your lips and he can obviously feel it, so he pulls back and asks, “Are you about to laugh at me again?” His voice is edged with a whine, lips turned down and expression sullen.

You don’t respond, instead, you lean in to press another quick kiss against his lips, letting out a puff of amusement when he lets out a surprised noise but swiftly melts into it.

Then you press another, and another after that, and again, until you can feel his own lips curving up against yours. You don’t know how long the two of you sit there, sharing short, chaste kisses and giggles until you can hardly remember how the two of you ended up there. You blame the dizziness you feel and the way your heart flutters in your chest on the alcohol.

When you finally pull away, Dazai’s face is flushed. He tries to hide the way his fingers are shaking by sneaking his hands beneath his thighs to sit on them, attempting to save some face by raising his chin and giving you an arrogant look.

“I knew you had a crush on me.”

“Ugh! I do not, you’re so gross, Dazai.”

But even as you speak the words out loud, you know that it’s a shameless lie. 

[abbyscherry]

⠀⠀⠀ღ ELECTRAPLAYER ✶ CLEAN UP THE MESS YOU MADE !

a/n: massive shoutout to @andersonfilms for helping me with this. with all of it actually ... ily ღ

the slam of the wooden door echoes throughout your shared home, rage spilling over like oil under a gas stove, both of your frustrated but truthfully? more so you. not so carefully you discard the keys in the entry bowl, smirking maliciously as abby just continues to press, creating more distance between the two of you as if this doesn’t need to be discussed. 

abby’s nails pick at the cuticles anxiously and you know if she continues they’ll bleed. you also know, you’re far too stubborn to help her with it, not with the stunt she pulled tonight. the two of you leaving early, the attitude she seemed to pull out of her ass. 

no, you’re not fucking standing for this bullshit. 

anxiously, the blonde halts near the kitchen island, waiting for you to meet her there but you don’t. firm hands running over your hair until they reach the nape of your neck, fingers pressing against the tension built. 

“are we going to talk about this or are you going to continue to give me the silent treatment? that is your typical move, abby.” questioning her as you slowly step forward. cynically, cocking your head to the side, waiting to give her back the same bullshit behaviour she served you on a silver platter all night long. 

her soft jaw clenches, lips pursed into a pout as her arms cross her chest. a needle drop could be heard between the two of you, only sound to be heard is the insistent tapping of your foot. an attempt to edge her into submission. 

taking one step closer, your cologne starting to invade her sense, numbing the frustration nudged in her mind. “is this what you really want? to act like an absolute brat, go to bed angry, and leave this all unresolved just so you can cry to me in the middle of the night when you want me to hold you.” 

“t-that’s not— i don’t do that.” abby defends, breaking her silence for the first time since the two of you headed home. 

“oh? you don’t?” your tongue pokes through your cheek, shaking your head at her in the process. all the fucking talk in the world but when it comes to you? she never has it in her fight back when you do. “okay. fine. let’s just pretend you don’t for one second. why on earth are you pissed at me for talking to people we both know?” 

“you’re calling it talking? please you fucking get off on flirting with other people in front of me.” perhaps she wasn’t thinking clearly, all the pent up frustration doing the talking for her but it spilled before she could halt her words. 

this time she was met with silence, as you roll the sleeves to your elbows carefully, exposing your tattoo forearms, the ones she loves so dearly. abby can’t read you, fuck, you look stone cold. processing what she just said to you as you reassess. 

if abby wants to play dirty, you’ll play goddamn dirty. 

“that’s what you think?” you laughed, dryly but sarcastically in her direction. “you’re gonna stand there, tell me m’flustered over some other girl? right in front of you? my girl? better yet, you wanna say i’m flirting with them?” you scoffed, running your fingers through your hair and tugging gently. 

abby didn’t know why you had switched from being so sweet, soft, and gentle, to suddenly pissed off, and annoyed. it was a joke. a joke she always tells you. always tells you that other girls make you flustered when you suddenly get warm and hot in a room. a joke that you usually laugh at and say something like ‘if it’s not because of you, then i am not flustered, i am pissed off’ and let it go. but since coming home, you’ve been downright moody and pissed off. “it was a joke” she sighed, shrugging off her jacket.

“a joke” you laughed and moved closer, not enough but one step was enough to have her baby blue eyes locking onto yours. “a bit of an overused joke, don’t you think, baby?” you’re scoffing again, cocking your head to the side. “a joke that you should know pisses me off by now”

“babe i didn’t mean it seriously. i know that you dont have eyes for anyone else” abby sighed again, looking at you with softer eyes. softer ones than a few hours ago. ones that would usually have you kneeling at her feet, worshiping the ground she walks on, and doing whatever she wanted you to do. tonight though? tonight you weren’t doing any of that. so she knew she had pissed you off with her joke. 

she’s barely able to keep up with her own thoughts circling in her brain, let alone able to keep up with how fast you’re moving. one second you’re standing so far away from her, so far away from her reach to being right in front of her. looking down at her with a clenched jaw. a clenched jaw that she usually finds so attractive, but now her throat is dry and she’s looking up at you with wide eyes and a pout on her face. “so you think that any girl i see makes me flustered?” you questioned, inching your face closer.

“no! s’not what i mean” she mumbled, shaking her head and closing her eyes.

“no? then what did you mean?”

“it was just a harmless joke, babe. really”

abby chokes out a sound. you can’t really tell when you’re grabbing onto her hand and tilting your head to the side more, your breath fanning her face hotly. “harmless joke?” you’re asking, eyes flickering over the way her eyes flutter open and she’s gasping softly when you’re out of nowhere shoving her hand down your pants. a crimson blush coating her cheeks upon feeling just how wet you are. “you wear those tight fuckin’ pants, that shirt that shows everything, and you think i am flustered because of them? 

“i—”

you have her body boxed in against the wall. her hand shoved down your pants. her brain and body are fighting against each other. one side is telling her to behave and do nothing until you let her do something. but her brain is telling her to touch you. have you gasping under her touch and make you forget all about the joke. and yet she can’t. not when you’re looking down at her like that.

“have you ever taken notice to understand you are the most beautiful person in the entire world, and every single day i am with you or near you, i can’t contain myself? do you really forget how wet you make me?” you whispered against her neck, smirking. “have you forgotten how many times you have made me cum in the same night? forgotten the sounds i make when you touch me?” 

“no— i just—”

“you just what? c’mon baby, speak up, use your words”

“i was teasing you. m’sorry” abby whined, squirming against the wall when you’re sinking your teeth into her neck, and sucked softly. “m’sorry”

“yeah? you know how much i hate being teased” you’re growling, using your free hand and wrapping it around her throat. grinning smugly at the small gasp she lets out when you squeeze just enough. “get on your knees, clean up the mess you made and maybe i’ll think about forgiving you. depends on if you do a good job or not”

[azzibuckets]

for a pazzi prompt maybe them transitioning from friends to lovers but nobody questioning it at all because they’ve always been touchy anyway

in love with you [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: how do i always manage to stray from the prompt…i read this as friends as benefits to lovers😭

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

Paige panted against Azzi’s skin, letting her body fall slack against her best friend. Fingers lightly ran over the skin on her back, soothingly tracing patterns as she recovered. She let her eyes close as she deeply inhaled, trying to memorize Azzi’s scent and ingrain it into her head forever - warm vanilla and mandarin, with a musky hint of sweat.

When Paige finally caught her breath, she propped herself up on her elbows so that she could cup the face of the girl beneath her. “I needed that,” she breathed, the tips of her fingers gently brushing away the hair from Azzi’s eyes.

Azzi subconsciously leaned into her touch, a small smile forming its way onto her pretty pink lips. “What’s a best friend good for if they can’t relieve your stress?” she teased.

Paige bit the inside of her cheek, the startling pain a harsh but much needed reality check for her. Azzi was her best friend, albeit with benefits, but still nothing more. For some reason, she constantly needed the reminder that someone as beautiful and sweet as Azzi Fudd would never fall for someone like her. But it was her fault whenever she got her hopes up, thought maybe the way Azzi looked at her or had sex with her meant something different.

Paige rolled off of the younger girl and studied the ceiling. Azzi stayed for a second there, unmoving, before she lifted herself from the bed and started rummaging around the floor for her clothes.

“Leaving already?” Paige wrinkled her eyebrow, surprised at Azzi’s rush when she usually took her time in bed, sharing in lingering kisses before reluctantly leaving.

“Yeah, sorry,” Azzi said as she continued looking around. “I got something planned.” She turned around, her hands on her hips and a confused expression on her face. “Where’d you throw my shirt again? I could’ve sworn it was over here somewhere.”

Paige shrugged, folding her arms behind her head as she watched her best friend. “I don’t know. Just wear one of my things like you always do.”

Azzi opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated as if she wasn’t sure what to say. Paige leaned forward, suspicious at the girl’s sudden nervousness. “Why are you acting all weird? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

The dark haired girl shook her head too quickly. “No. Just, you know. Prefer to not let everyone know we’re sleeping together.”

Paige grabbed the nearest shirt she could find and wrestled it over her head as she started advancing towards Azzi. “Now you’re definitely being weird. We always wear each other’s clothes and no one cares.” She was directly in front of Azzi now. Paige reached down to grab her hand. “What’s up?” she swung their interlocked hands, her face etched with concern.

Azzi bit her lip, looking everywhere but Paige. “I just have, you know, a date. And showing up wearing your clothes isn’t exactly a good look?”

The blonde’s heart started pounding at this news, but she tried to maintain a facade of indifference. “A date right after a hookup? Azzi, you slut,” she joked, but her laugh sounded choked out and the words hung lifelessly in the air between them, the punchline clearly fucked up.

Azzi shrugged. “You’re the one who called me. And besides, the date’s nothing serious.” She resumed her search for her clothes, but Paige stayed frozen where she was.

After a few moments of silence, Paige spoke up again. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a date?” She nudged the younger girl’s shoulder from where she was bent down.

Azzi didn’t look up. “I don’t know. I didn’t want it to be weird, I guess.”

“Why would it be weird?” Paige’s tone was cautious. “We tell each other everything.”

“Like I said, I don’t know.” Azzi glanced over her shoulder at the blonde before quickly turning back around. She spotted her shirt in the depths of Paige’s closet and grabbed it, rushing to put it on. “It’s just…it’s the first date I’m going on since this started to happen.” She gestured between the two of them, wordlessly indicating their friends with benefits situation. “And I didn’t really know how to go about it. I didn’t wanna be weird?”

Paige bit her cheek again, this time strong enough to draw blood. “Well, we talked about this. We said we wanted to keep things normal, and keeping things normal means continuing to tell me things you’d tell me even without this agreement going on.”

Now fully dressed, Azzi studied herself in the mirror, unleashing the braids from the hasty ponytail she’d thrown her hair in earlier. “Honestly, I don’t get why you care so much,” she muttered.

Paige hovered next to Azzi, desperately wishing the girl would turn around and just look at her, but she stood there stubbornly, eyes fixed on her own reflection. “Sue me for being interested in my best friend’s life.”

Azzi finally made eye contact with her, but her stare was piercing. “Well, you’re starting to act weirdly possessive.”

Paige crossed her arms, conscious of the fact that she was standing doggedly between Azzi and the door. “Don’t go.” She hadn’t meant for those words to come out of her mouth, but they had, and now she wished she’d taped her lips shut.

Azzi’s eyebrow cocked. “Don’t go?” she repeated, a hint of amusement glittering in her eyes.

The older girl cemented her resolve. “Stay,” she pleaded, inwardly wincing at the humiliating desperation that tinged her voice.

Azzi swallowed hard, seemingly starting to understand that Paige wasn’t joking. All humor was gone from her expression now. “Paige,” she said seriously. “You’re my best friend. You know I won’t go if you don’t want me to. But just know that asking me to stay would be incredibly selfish of you.”

Paige dropped her gaze. This is why she loved Azzi - her raw honesty combined with her fierce loyalty. But at the same time, she knew she was being utterly self-absorbed, pathetically trying to keep Azzi to herself when the girl clearly wanted something more than anything Paige could have to offer.

“Fine.” Her voice was weak. She cleared her throat, and said more steadily, “Go.”

Azzi looked at her hard, her eyes steely. But when she brushed past her to leave, the touch of her fingertips to Paige’s elbow was gentle. “I’ll see you later.”

••••••••••••••••••••

Azzi knew that this wouldn’t work. Throwing herself at other girls, hoping one of them would act similarly enough to Paige - talk like her or look like her or smile like her - so that she could mollify the growing ache in her heart and forget about the only person she’s ever truly wanted.

And when the date went absolutely haywire, the other girl turning out to be an egocentric bitch who wouldn’t stop ordering expensive dishes and adding more to the bill, Azzi had walked right on out. Five minutes later, Paige had pulled up to the curb of the restaurant, but not with an i told you so look on her face but a gaze of such softness that Azzi wondered how she’d even agreed to the date in the first place.

“Thanks.” Azzi broke the stifling silence in the car. She leaned her head against the window, studying the dark scenery flying past them.

“I was nearby. It wasn’t a problem.” They both knew Paige was lying, but Azzi appreciated the effort.

Later that night, when Paige had invited her to stay the night and Azzi didn’t have the strength in her to say no like she’s ever been able to say no to Paige, and Azzi started ranting about how she could never find the right person, because they always turned out to be rude or weird or just not for her, Paige had started smiling with that stupid smirk on her face, leaning closer and closer to Azzi, and they’d somehow ended up tangled in white sheets and each other’s limbs for the second time in twenty four hours, but neither of them were really complaining.

And after that, when Paige was lying on Azzi, both of them bare and vulnerable but more than just physically, Paige had said, “You know why all your dates are dumb fucks?”

Azzi had said no. She’d been sleepy, partly from the exhaustion of the day and party from the way Paige was tracing circles around the piercing in her belly button.

That was the night Azzi realized Paige was in love with her, because Paige had told her, had told her about the way she was so selfless and kind and gentle to everyone around her, a warm light that made everyone else shine brighter by simply just existing, about the way she was admiringly wholly and entirely dedicated to developing her art, always looking to the interests of the team before her own, and the way she was so good with kids, always treating them like real people and having conversations with them. And Paige hadn’t said those words explicitly, said “these are the reasons why I’m in love with you.” No, she’d listed them out as reasons why all the people Azzi went on dates with were “dumb fucks.” But by the time Paige had finished her rant, her chest heaving, the look in her eyes full of the familiar desperation and determination that Azzi had become accustomed to along with another thing she’d always failed at recognizing but which she now realized as longing, Azzi had figured that these were the things that Paige was in love with. That sure, these might be things that all the failed dates in her past might’ve failed to seen in her. But more importantly, these were reasons that Paige had wanted her to stay.

And so that night Azzi had taken the initiative to be the one to explicitly say “I love you” first. Even though Paige’s almost-monologue from moments before was basically an “I love you” in its own right.

[cameronspecial]

OMG I HAVE THIS REQUEST FOR RAFE AND I WOULD LOVE TO READ IT AHHH SO ITS BASED OFF THIS https://www.instagram.com/reel/C6FWFacvwzk/?igsh=MTBhNGhjbzA2M2w1Mg== and like maybe you can do it like there coming home from the beach cause it started raining like HEAVY and yk that happens in the video and Rafe grabs her and like protects right when they fall making sure your ok and everything THANKSSSS ID LOVE TO READ ITTT 💗💗🫶🏼🫶🏼

Until My Dying Breath

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Motorcycle Accident

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.4K

Masterlist

Although it is October and the weather is a little cold, Y/N still loves going to the beach. The cool breezes mean that it is rarely populated, making it the perfect place to have a picnic if the weather is good. The sand disperses with each of her steps and she comes to a stop once she finds the perfect spot for their picnic. She drops the cooler backpack onto the blanket Rafe set down and sheds the special motorcycle jacket he ordered for her to keep her safe while they ride. It matches the one he bought himself. He places their helmets beside the bad, his mouth forming a line as he spots the gray clouds rolling in. She doesn’t seem to notice, which he hopes will continue. The weather network said it was likely to rain and he kept it a secret because he was optimistic the experts were incorrect. He knows how much she looks forward to their beach trips. 

The universe seems to have a different idea. The drops first came sporadically. “It’s not that bad. If we keep the food in the cooler and only take out what we eat, we can still have our picnic,” he suggests, kneeling down to take out some food. The clouds seem to want to kick him in the ass because, at that moment, the rain begins its heavy fall. The couple gather their items and run to his bike. He can see her disappointment while they do so. 

“Should we really be on the road while it’s raining this much?” she meekly asks. With his helmet already on his head, he looks up at the sky and calculates in his head the risks. If it were only him and this was before they started dating, Rafe absolutely would’ve still ridden; however, the addition of his precision cargo makes him remove the idea from his mind. “No, you’re right. That would be dangerous,” he concludes. His head swings from side to side in search of somewhere to lay low while they wait out the rain. He spots the awning of a closed coffee shop on the street. His fingers lace with hers and he drags her under it with him. “What should we do while we wait?” she questions. He grins at her from under his helmet, quickly removing it to bring his mouth near hers. “I can think of a few things.” 

———

As soon as the rain dwindled, the pair hopped on his bike and began to make their way home. Yet, it seems Mother Nature isn’t done with her storm because, during their ride, the heavy rain starts again. Rafe is about to pull to the side of the road when the tires lose traction, causing the vehicle to slip to its side. At that moment, the first time Rafe met Y/N’s parents flashes before his eyes. 

———

“I see you have a motorcycle,” Mr. Y/L/N noticed while they both stood at the open front door. They were waiting for Mrs. Y/L/N and Y/N to return from upstairs; Y/N was getting something from her mother. Rafe nodded, “Yes, Sir.” He wasn’t normally polite to adults, but he loved Y/N and he would do anything to make her parents like him. Mr. Y/L/N rubbed his chin with a small bob of his head. “And I’m guessing since you brought Y/N/N here that she tends to ride with you.” 

“Yes, she does, Sir.”

“Those things are pretty dangerous. If something happens, will you protect my daughter?” 

“Until my dying breath, Sir.”

———

Now, brought back to reality, Rafe searches for Y/N through the rain. Her skidding across the road matches his momentum and the only thing he can think of is how to protect her. She is just out of reach, so he extends his hand out, wraps it around her upper arm and pulls her into his chest. The slippery road eases this process. Her back is flushed against his front and he wedges his head under her helmet so it doesn’t scrap against the road. He tries his best to lessen her contact points against the floor, not stopping the movement of their fall. In his mind, he’d rather keep going with him protecting her body than possibly hurting her by halting. In an instant, the sound of leather and helmet grinding against the cement ends and is replaced by the patter of the water. He pants and moans. The lack of adrenaline makes him aware of the growing ache on his left side. He ignores it and immediately pulls his attention to Y/N. 

“I’m okay. Are you okay? Don’t move, Sunshine. Okay, wait until the ambulance gets here. Don’t move.” 

He is thankful they were thrown onto the side of the road, so they aren’t at risk of cars running them over. He goes against his own advice and reaches into his pocket for his phone. He gives his information to dispatch, leaving his phone on the side. He feels her trying to look back towards him and doesn’t let her. “Are you hurt, Rafe? I want to see you,” she worries. The worry in his voice kills him, except he knows it is important to stay still with their helmets on until medical professionals can assess their condition. He does the only thing he can think of to provide her more comfort. He pulls her as close to him as humanly possible. “I’m not hurt. It’s okay. Just stay still and keep your helmet on. Let the paramedics check us for brain or spinal injuries first. They’re on their way, Sunshine. I promise,” he reassures. He tries to hide his pain from his voice, especially when he hears her sniffles through her helmet. “I’m scared, Rafe. I’m scared,” she cries, her breath catching on her words. 

A hand claws at his heart and tears it to shreds. He shouldn’t do it, but her doesn’t care. He rests his helmet on hers. “I know, Sunshine. I’m here. Everything is going to be okay. It’s going to be okay,” he mumbles to her. She can barely hear him through the rain and still, she can understand him. 

Minutes later, they can both hear the approaching sirens. Flashes of blue and red pierce through the gray scenery. “EMS, we are here to help,” the approaching figure informs. The female kneels behind Rafe and he can feel her trying to pry him away from Y/N to take a look at him. “No. No. Look at her first. Check her first,” he insists. The female shakes her head, “My colleague is just behind me and she is going to check on her. I promise. But right now, you seem to be the one, who took the brunt of the accident.” This has Y/N whipping around to face him. “Is he hurt? How serious is it?” she anguishes. The EMS person is by her side already and turns her back onto her side. “I’m sorry, Mrs. But I need you to stay still while I check on you. I promise that my colleague is the best at her job and she will do everything in her power to help him out,” the blonde consoles. 

The blonde and brunette assess the couple and once they are satisfied that they aren’t in critical condition, they get them on gurneys to be further evaluated at the hospital. Before they are loaded into the vehicle, Rafe stops the paramedic. “I need to see. Please, just to make sure she is okay. She was so scared,” he pleads. The paramedic nods and wheels him over to her. Her eyes fall on him and she spies the manner in which his left side is bandaged. His clothes on that side are cut open to reveal the material wrapped around his limbs that is tinted pink. Panic sparkles in her eyes. “You’re hurt. Why didn’t you tell me?” He reaches for her and places his hand into hers. “Because it would’ve worried you. I’m alive though and the paramedics are sure it isn’t serious. What did they say about you? Is everything good? Do you want me to ride with you to the hospital?” Y/N has to giggle at the way he always shows concern for her, even when he is the one with cuts all over his left side. “I’m okay. They are taking me to the hospital to double-check. But as of right now, I’m not presenting any serious symptoms,” she informs him and thinks over the events that transpired. “You protected me from most of the impact. Why?” He looks at her in shock, “Because, Sunshine, I would give my last breath if I knew you would be safe. That’s how much I love you.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[jyuansgf]

nsfw content ahead. minors dni.

– how would they react if you ask them to be rough on you as much as they possibly can during sex? with jing yuan, gepard, argenti. + aftercare. cw: rough fucking, overstim, fingering. a bit of fluff on the aftercare. not proofread.

notes: thanks to my friend for terrorising me into doing this /j ^___^ jokes aside, i had fun writing this!! i didn't want to make this too long so i tried my best.. also my rules, tags everything about my blog is up on my pinned. make sure to read them byf please!! if this one actually gets attention more than i intended it to be, i'll make a part two and a genshin one ;___; 

jing yuan — 

i think jing yuan wouldn’t react any differently when you ask him to be rough on you. jing yuan has always been gentle with you ever since you two started dating—jing yuan can be either a gentleman in bed or.. just fuck your brains out? he’s actually anything you can ask for. he prioritises your pleasure and your comfort more than anything else. you want him to fuck you senseless? sure, you want some intense fucking? go for it, you want some gentle fucking as he whispers some sweet praises right next to your ear? or maybe both—he’s just the perfect man for anything. if you want him to bury your head on the pillows as he pulls on your hair and pounds you from behind, he’ll do it, only if you want him to. although he can’t deny the fact that he likes to see you fall apart on his cock, fucking you rough as possible while his fingers are buried deep inside you. as long as he can make you cum before he does, he’s happy. 

after care with jing yuan is one of the things that you two can always look forward to after having your brains fucked out—and trust me, that isn’t the only thing he’s good at. if he’s that good in bed, he’s definitely more than that when it’s after care. first thing he would ask you if there’s anything that hurts or did he go too far on you, he would even prepare a bath for the both of you (no fucking again, he says) and prepare some sweets or your comfort food after your intimate moment with him. ask him to give you a massage or tell you a random story about his childhood then he shall deliver! or if you just want to lay down on bed, he’ll make sure to clean you up if you fall asleep. he just wants the best for you, and he would be willing to give you more. make sure to thank him, the only thing he’ll ask for you is your love and embrace that he can always come home to.

gepard —

i think he would be a bit taken aback by your request, not that he doesn’t want to do it but he’s got some hesitation in him if he can go that far for you. he would be the type to ask you to show him how you want this to happen or set any boundaries, he thinks you’re someone who should be deeply taken care of in bed and he didn’t even think of this doing this with you at all, he does not want to hurt you. but he’s definitely willing to give it to you if you explain to him that this is not going to hurt you in the least.. it is your request after all. rough sex with gepard would definitely start with lots of foreplay, he’ll hesitate but once he gets the hang of it soon enough you’ll also be fucked dumb on the sheets, and he thinks that awakened something in him.. he doesn’t know that you’re the type to like this nor himself. he would often ask you if you can still take more or if you want him to stop, all his pent up frustrations or stress as a captain of belobog guards will all be poured into you that’ll leave you like a panting mess under him. don’t get him wrong though, he prioritises your release more than his, but forgive him if he accidentally cums inside you again and again.. poor guy can’t help himself at all.

after care with gepard would be a 50/50 situation for the both of you, give him time to recollect himself after because he thinks he’s not able to recover after that.. because of how good it felt. he’ll shower you with kisses and praises immediately after and would ask you questions if he did good or if it’s what you asked for. if you assure him that he did not hurt you at all, that’s the only thing he needs to hear. stay for a little chat with him in bed as you both calm down from it, he would start preparing a bath for you two as he changes the bedsheets, a little subtle kisses before going to sleep is how you two would end the night. he would really do anything for you, if you wanted him to. totally thinks he would be up to doing it again some other time. don’t tease him about it though. he’ll blush a bit if you knew how much he liked it, just a bit, he says.

argenti — 

one of the best gentlemen out there, who just aims to make you feel good no matter what. just like jing yuan, i don’t think he’ll mind it. as for someone who just wants to worship your precious body. but of course he would ask you first if you’re sure about doing it, and if you give him a sign that it’s okay, he doesn’t even hesitate on doing so. he’ll be the type to go slow on you at first, tease you until you’re ready to take him inside your warm cunny. then, the next moment you knew, he’s fucking you in such vigorous pace, would make you suck on his fingers as his lips traces over your body, and if he takes you from behind–he would even wrap his hands around your neck just to take a good look at your pretty messy face, he’ll still kiss your tears away even though he’s ramming inside your sopping wet pussy, he’ll switch by using his fingers, cock or his mouth just to overstimulate you. degrading words would definitely come out of his mouth but he does it in his own unique way (if you know, you know). he will definitely tease you but worry not, you don’t even remember how many times he had made you cum already.

aftercare with argenti? my love, you’re in for a treat. i’m sure we all know this man praises everything he sees, but when it comes to you as if he doesn’t run out of words. your afterglow with him would be definitely something, immediately would cradle you in his arm after making your legs tremble from overstimulation, he would press kisses all over your body and not a single spot would be missed. he would even press a chaste kiss on your clit after he cleaned you up, telling you were such a good girl for taking him or any words of praise that he could think of. the bath was already set up even before the two of you started, some bath bombs, scented candles, and petals scattered all over the floor. he’ll bring you some water or any snacks you prefer as he helps you clean up and after the two of you settles in bed, it would always ends with giggles and topics that the both of you share.. and of course, he doesn’t forget to praise you all over again, may he forgive you for falling asleep as he talks about how your body makes him feel good and how ethereal you are. it’s his way of making you fall asleep after all. 

[1d1195]

Thursday

Read Tuesday and extras here | 2.8k words

From me: based on this ask/suggestion

Warnings: fluff, a bit of angst

Summary: A lot of things are back to normal. Like coffee dates, movie nights, and sharing a skin routine with Niall. But some things are a little uncharted. Like onions, bookmarks, dishes, and exes.

“What’s your favorite day of the week?” She asked.

“Friday of course,” Niall rolled his eyes. “What else would it be?”

“Saturday, obviously,” Harry stared at his friend as he brought a glass of water from the kitchen. He held it out to her. “Here, kitten.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, taking a long sip before Harry took it back from her and placed it on the coffee table in front of them. “Thursday is my favorite,” she told the pair. Harry fell into the seat beside her, his hand immediately resting on the inside of her leg, squeezing her thigh gently.

“Thursday!?” Niall’s eyebrows pinched together. “You still have a whole workday left! Why would you like Thursday?”

She shrugged. “Just... it’s a good day, you know? It’s anticipating for Friday. It’s nice.”

Harry stared at her dreamily. She could feel him look at her in her peripheral. It had been a while since someone looked at her the way he was looking at her. It hadn’t been long since they admitted they still loved each other. Only a few months. They settled back into the same normal routines they had when they dated the first time. “S’cute, love,” he squeezed her leg. “What movie are we doing tonight, Ni?”

“What number are we on?”

Harry shrugged. “Oh, I haven’t a clue. Think Mitch is keeping us on track.”

Since they started seeing one another again, she hadn’t come to one of their weekly movie nights. It made her feel better about not being overbearing and needy. But Harry invited her every week. Niall too. You don’t have to be here because of Harry. I want you here just as much as he does—maybe more because I’m ready to tie you to a chair to stay, Princess.

So finally, after countless invites, she finally caved. Not that it was hard. She was excited to be there. Their group of friends had been making their way through the Best Picture Oscar winners since the award’s beginning. It was cool to see how things changed over time, and it was really adorable to hear the way Harry talked about it. “I don’t have to stay for movie night,” she reminded Harry quietly. “If you want time with just your friends without—”

Although his mouth opened to protest, it wasn’t Harry that answered. “Princess, don’t be ridiculous,” Niall rolled his eyes. “Course we want you here. Help us pick out food.”

Niall cast his phone to the TV screen and was scrolling through the nearby places that would deliver to them in the next hour when their other friends arrived. “M’feeling pizza I think,” Harry suggested.

“Pizza it is,” Niall selected their favorite pizza place and began selecting way more pizza than seven people could ever eat.

“Make sure there’s one without onions.”

Her heart fluttered that Harry remembered that about her after all their time apart. Part of her thought about just going with it, never admitting the change in her palate. But she didn’t want to lie. “Actually,” she cleared her throat. “I like onions now,” she admitted almost shyly. Like she wasn’t allowed to change her mind.

“Y’do?” Harry blinked and turned fully toward her. A delighted smirk on his lips. It made the dimple in his left cheek pop through prominently.

She nodded. “Not sure how it happened. Think I accidentally ate something with onions in it and didn’t pick them out like a five-year-old. It actually tasted good. I like French onion soup now and everything,” she explained.

Harry’s smile grew, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead as if it was a bigger to do than it was; like winning an award or something. “I told y’that y’would like them,” he chuckled. She rolled her eyes and buried her face in his chest. “So brave,” he teased.

“Oh, shut it,” she laughed. “Did you at least warn them that I would be here?” She asked.

“Sarah is really looking forward to seeing you,” Niall once more took the lead in explaining. “She is tired of being the only girl around.”

While it wasn’t fully said, she knew Harry had been seeing a girl. In one way or another. It wasn’t a bad thing, she wasn’t judging. But Harry got exceedingly cagey about it whenever she tried to broach the subject. “What about—”

Harry squeezed her thigh again. A silent directive to stop her question. Niall smirked as Harry cut off her inquiry (and Niall’s impending quip). “Y’could bring a girl home, y’know,” Harry reminded him.

“She’ll be so jealous of our princess here,” Niall winked making her laugh. It really felt so easy. So simple. Just being back where she was supposed to be. Like nothing had changed at all. “Holding out for the one, Harold. You should know something about that,” he said knowingly and finished placing the pizza order. His phone screen disappeared from the TV, and he left the room.

She didn’t want Harry to feel like he had to hide part of his life from her. They were adults. He was allowed to see anyone he wanted. “You know...you can talk about someone you dated—”

“We didn’t date.”

“—pardon, fucked,” she smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes, his cheeks turning a shade redder than she thought he needed to turn. It didn’t bother her that Harry had a life outside of her. He was unbelievably handsome. Unbelievably sweet. He deserved to be happy. She wasn’t jealous of someone else in his life when she had no claim to him in any way. “I jus’ don’t think s’polite t’talk ‘bout her t’you,” he shrugged. “S’rude.”

“Okay,” she nodded encouragingly. “If that’s how you feel, I just wanted you to know you could if you wanted to.”

Harry seemed a little less on edge about it after that, but she noted his grip on her thigh loosened. Even though she kinda liked how his fingers felt pressed into her skin. She figured she could tell him later when they were alone... and her clothes weren’t in the way.

*

They sat in the very coffee shop she used to work in. It was nice to get out and have an inexpensive date—even with two grown up jobs it was smart to sit and relax in the comfy seats and sip coffee they loved so much. It made her heart flutter that Harry still knew her order after so much time. Or maybe that was a comment on her stubbornness to change. “You should try the hazelnut drink they just got,” she smiled at him as they stood in line, holding hands. “It made me think of you.” The overlap of seeing him after two years and the new drink reminded her of all the things he loved and all the things she remembered loving about him. He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek.

Once seated, Harry stretched his legs; they invaded her space beneath the table. But it didn’t seem to bother her. He admired her concentration on the book she was reading; the little furrow of her brow, the way her lips pursed together. She was so adorable, and Harry didn’t think she even knew. Beneath the table he nudged her leg with his knee, and she glanced up at him. He could tell she didn’t want to look up from her book. But he smiled at her. A smile that made her heart and stomach twist because he was so Harry, so perfect. It made her smile back.

“Harry!”

Both their heads turned to the voice. But after a brief moment, she turned to look at Harry. Trying to piece together the recognition. She came up short, but Harry stood and greeted the girl with a hug politely. There was a little flutter of jealousy that pinched her heart and she waited patiently.

“Kitten, this is Hailey,” his voice was neutral.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she cleared her throat and stood.

Hailey was beautiful. There was no question about it. When she left, she was going to ask about a thousand questions. Starting with if she was a model. Then asking Harry if she knew what kind of hair products she used.

“Same to you,” she smiled politely. Her voice took on a new tone as she turned back to Harry. It was obvious her problem wasn’t with her, for which she was grateful. “Hadn’t heard from Harry in a while.”

“That’s my fault,” Harry’s voice was low. As if he was exhausted. She could tell Harry wanted out of this conversation. Curiosity was getting the better of her as she tried to imagine if she had ever met Hailey prior or heard the name in any stories Niall had told.

“How long have you been seeing each other?” Hailey asked. She noticed her tone was getting harsher by the second. Her glare bored into Harry’s face.

She opened her mouth to say, ‘a few months,’ and get her attention away from her boyfriend. But Harry beat her to the punch. “Two and a half years,” he told her.

Hailey quirked an eyebrow up and she tilted her head at him curiously because while true, technically, there was a large two-year gap between the ‘two’ and the ‘half’ part of his sentence. But it did make her heart happy that he was willing to let the gap slide into oblivion. It would definitely require explanation, but it was nice.

Hailey looked at Harry for a long moment. “That’s news to me.”

“Hailey,” he said quietly.

“I can let you guys talk if—”

“S’fine, kitten,” he said quickly.

Hailey looked irritated beyond belief. She wished she fully knew why because right now the only thing she felt was overwhelming uncomfortableness. Quietly she sat in her seat and folded the page of her book down. Harry did a double take and shook his head before turning his attention back to Hailey.

“You ghosted me,” she said.

Harry closed his eyes. “I did,” he admitted. “But we were never...”

“I deserved more than that.”

“You did,” he agreed. It clicked. The girl that Harry wasn’t dating. The girl he was fucking in some arrangement that she didn’t know about. Her cheeks felt warm just knowing what happened. Hailey looked pissed. Her eyes were fueled with anger. “But we weren’t exclusive.”

She continued to glare at him. “You’re an ass.”

“Yes,” Harry nodded in agreement.

It almost seemed like Hailey was mad Harry was agreeing with her. Not that she could fully look at the scene unfolding in front of her to truly gauge it. She was taking extreme interest in her coffee cup. Hailey grabbed Harry’s cup of coffee, pulled the lid off and she closed her eyes as Harry braced for the cold liquid to cover him. “Good luck,” Hailey said in her direction then marched off to the exit. Once out of the shop and everyone was watching Harry drip from head to toe, she jumped into action. She asked her former coworkers for some towels, and she felt her face heat with embarrassment on behalf of Harry. If she wasn’t there, maybe that wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps Hailey would have had a conversation with Harry that she fully deserved and she wouldn’t have felt the need to dump coffee all over him.

“Kitten,” Harry murmured as she dabbed at his clothes and cleaned up the puddle at his feet. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

She smiled weakly. “It’s okay. Are you alright?”

“M’so embarrassed,” he admitted.

She shook her head. “Let’s get out of here,” she squeezed his arm.

“But our date...”

She laughed quietly. “I mean, I wanted you out of your clothes anyway,” she teased.

Harry chuckled, his cheeks turning slightly pink with her flirtatious joke, and looked at his feet. “Yeah? You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” She asked. There was a long pause as she gathered their belongings, returned the towels to the front where she thanked them profusely. Then she held the door open for Harry, sticky with coffee. He shrugged.

“I didn’t...” He sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you about her.”

“Why?”

“Because, kitten. If I knew y’were fucking some guy for the last two years without any strings attached I would be jealous out of m’mind,” he explained. “I’d be jealous if there were strings.”

She made a mental note to keep her ex to herself. “Well... I’m not mad. I wish you had told me so you could have ended things—”

“She was getting attached. I didn’t want a relationship. I started cutting it off weeks before I heard from you. I had only seen her once or twice in the months prior. She texted every now and again. I didn’t want a relationship,” he repeated. She got a jacket he had left in his backseat to lay over the driver’s seat so he wouldn’t have a car that smelled like sour coffee for the rest of time. They could always wash the jacket.

“No?” She asked. Harry took his seat and waited until she was in the passenger seat to continue.

He shook his head. “Now that I have y’back... I don’t know why we broke up,” he tapped his hands on the steering wheel. Her heart fluttered. “S’obvious now. M’not... I don’t know, kitten. Dating didn’t make sense after you. I tried. Really,” he assured her. “S’jus’... you were... you are special.”

She bit the inside of her cheek and felt the heat warm her skin with adoration and embarrassment. “You don’t have to pretend like you didn’t have a life while I wasn’t around.”

“I know. And I was wrong for how I handled Hailey,” he assented.

“Maybe, yes. But she didn’t need to pour coffee all over you.”

“At least it was iced,” Harry chuckled. She smiled. “Are we okay?”

“Of course,” she giggled.

Harry sighed with relief and grabbed her hand. He kissed her knuckles. Turning the car on and backing out of the spot. “Since when d’you fold the page of y’book like a serial killer?”

*

Harry always sucked at doing dishes. When she stayed at his house in the beginning of their relationship it drove her nuts to no end. He used too many and piled them high. Then he would leave them without soaking for so long it was miserable. It wasn’t even her responsibility to do the dishes but she felt like it was after he did all the cooking.

Which was why when he finished making dinner for them on a night in, she was floored to see him doing the dishes right away. Soaking and scrubbing them as she had done so many times over.

“You don’t like dishes,” she mumbled in surprise putting leftovers in Tupperware and condiments in the fridge.

He smirked glancing over his shoulder. “Didn’t realize how much I was torturing you all the years ago.”

She gaped. “What?”

“Niall went t’do the dishes after me shortly after we broke up,” he chuckled. “Said, ‘no wonder she broke up with you; I don’t even want t’be your roommate right now.’ Y’should have said something, kitten.”

Her cheeks felt warm. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“No,” he nodded firmly. “It was pretty bad, baby,” he nudged her with his hip.

She giggled and took the large pan that Harry had used to make stir fry (something that she had forgotten he made so well. It was delicious) and began drying it. “I don’t know, seemed like a bitchy thing to say ‘hey, I know you just made dinner for me and it was delicious and a lot of work, but I kind of want to strangle you for how difficult it is to wash the dishes.’”

He flicked water at her making her wrinkle her nose. The expression was adorable, made her look even cuter than she normally did so that Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “Y’can’t hide stuff like that, kitten. Y’do that and I won’t know m’gonna lose you so I can fix it,” he winked.

“I hope you don’t lose me,” she mumbled.

He chuckled. “Whatcha say, love?” He wrapped his arms around her waist. His hands were still wet and he avoided her shirt as much as possible, holding her slightly awkwardly but it was cute. “Think m’gonna be stupid enough t’lose y’twice?”

She giggled and shook her head. “Not if I have a say in it,” she draped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. He seemed to melt into the kiss—forgetting his hands were wet and getting the back of her shirt wet as well.

Which was fine by him.

He wanted her out of her shirt anyway.

—

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[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter is Back! - 8

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

Chap 1, Chap 2 , Chap 3 , Chap 4 , Chap 5 , Chap 6 , Chap 7 , Chap 8 , Chap 9 ,-

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Everyone's eyes were on you, likely thinking you didn’t exist. The Celestial Enterprise knew the proper miss and acknowledged by your father, the CEO, as Victoria.

This time was different. They were more invested because of the person walking beside you, Bucky Barnes.

You were nervous, for sure, but Bucky was calming you down. He said, “Calm down, I can hear your teeth chattering.”

“I’m not,” you replied. Was it that obvious? You pinched your thigh to clear your mind with the pain.

Bucky chuckled. It was true your teeth didn’t make a sound, but he could feel your fear, so he tried to bring back your fierce character. “Look at all these people. After tonight, they will remember who you truly are.”

Yes. He was right. Before, you could only dream of this, never taking a step because you knew the bridge would be destroyed by your stepmom first.

But this time was different because you could cross the bridge with Bucky's help.

What kind of luck did you have to have Bucky supporting you?

Flashback Start

After remembering everything, Bucky felt a surge of anger at the people who had kidnapped him. But now, that anger was replaced by gratitude as he recalled how he was saved. It was you and your grandma.

It must be God’s work that brought you and him together again. Bucky knew he had to repay the kindness he received from you both.

He went to his parents' house early in the morning. His parents were already up, enjoying a short walk. His dad was sipping coffee and eating toast while his mom was reading the newspaper.

“Son? What are—?” Juliana began, looking up from her newspaper.

“I remembered,” Bucky interrupted, his voice steady.

Bucky’s dad, Rowan, curious but skeptical, remarked, “You forgot something?”

“Shush,” Juliana said, flicking her husband’s hand lightly. She quickly understood what Bucky meant. “Everything?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern and hope.

Bucky sat down to join his parents, taking a deep breath. “Including the person who saved me,” he said, his voice filled with mixed emotions.

His confession took his parents by surprise. The time when Bucky was kidnapped was the darkest day of their lives, like a living hell. It was then that they realized money could bring security and danger. Their only son had become a hostage.

He was kidnapped for two weeks. It was a miracle when the police from an outlying city called to say they had found him. Actually, it was a woman and her granddaughter who discovered Bucky. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Juliana and Rowan wanted to thank the people who had saved their son, but when they tried to get more information, the police said no one was in the cabin anymore.

At that time, there was no social media or viral news. They wanted to keep searching, but they stopped because of Bucky's trauma. He had lost all memories of his kidnappers and the people who saved him.

Although they stopped searching, the Barnes family never stopped being grateful and wishing the best for the people who saved Bucky.

“Could you describe the people who saved you?” Rowan asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Even better. I met them,” Bucky replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

His parents were even more shocked. Juliana’s hand flew to her mouth in surprise while Bucky’s dad sat back, stunned.

“We have to meet them. As Barnes, we never forget the people who helped us,” Rowan declared, his voice filled with determination.

Bucky nodded, a serious expression on his face. “Before you meet them, I need your help.”

His parents listened intently, their faces a mix of curiosity and readiness.

Juliana reached out, touching Bucky’s arm gently. “Whatever you need, son.”

⚾⚾⚾⚾

The luxurious car parked in the school parking lot, drawing curious glances from students. Bucky stepped out, straightening his jacket, and made his way toward the school entrance. It had been a few days since he last saw you, and he was eager to catch up.

As he approached, he heard loud cheers and shouts from the male students, echoing through the windows. The lively and raucous atmosphere was a stark contrast to the quiet, private school he had attended. Intrigued, he followed the noise and found himself at the field track.

He initially thought it was a running exam, but quickly realized it was something different. A group of students was running, chased by someone wielding a baseball bat.

It was you.

You had taken off the cast from your left arm, and as you ran, you swung the bat with determined precision. The sight made the students you were chasing scatter in fear.

"I'm sorry!" Jimmy, one of the students, yelled as he ran.

"Destroying school property with graffiti is a big no, Jimmy," you called back, your voice steady as you gained on him.

Jimmy, looking over his shoulder in terror, suddenly spotted Bucky standing ahead. He remembered this rich man from his previous visit to the school.

"Bro! Help me out a bit," Jimmy pleaded, darting behind Bucky in desperation, using him as a human shield.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing back at Jimmy with mild amusement. He turned his gaze to you, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

You stopped when you saw Bucky, your bloodlust evaporating.

"Oh, hi! What are you doing here?" you asked, catching your breath after the chase.

Bucky, looking out of place compared to you, covered in sweat and still holding the bat, smiled. "What lessons are you teaching right now?"

"Attitude," you replied, pointing the bat at Jimmy, cstill hiding behind Bucky. "This lad behind you wants to be Jackson Pollock. He painted the school's clean wall with graffiti."

Bucky glanced at Jimmy and then back at you. "He did wrong. It must be a hassle to clean it."

"Damn right. The principal will make me clean it," you grumbled.

"That's not fair. I will call a carpenter to paint the wall," Bucky said firmly.

"Really?" Both you and Jimmy asked at the same time, surprised.

Bucky nodded. "As payment, I need to steal you for the rest of the day."

"Yes, please. Bro, take her with you," Jimmy said eagerly, pushing Bucky closer to you.

Neither of you expected it, and you were ready to help Bucky if he panicked. Bucky had prepared himself too, but nothing happened, even though his heartbeat was racing.

"You're not...?" you began, your eyes searching his for any sign of distress.

Bucky grabbed your hand. "Let's go. I want you to meet someone."

"Wait," you protested, but Bucky was already leading you away.

Many students watched in astonishment as their fearless teacher held hands with Bucky. After a brief second, they erupted into cheers.

"Get it, teach! Get it!" "Woohoo! Love is in the air!"

You felt the back of your neck grow hot with embarrassment, but you couldn't help but notice that Bucky seemed different. His grip on your hand was firm and steady, his posture confident.

🍷🍷🍷🍷

Bucky takes you to a luxurious hotel restaurant. The hotel manager welcomes you both warmly, guiding you through the elegant lobby. As you walk, you feel a bit out of place in your casual attire, a stark contrast to the opulence around you. It's been a long time since you've set foot in a five-star hotel.

The manager leads you to a private room and opens the door. Inside, two people are already seated at the dining table. You recognize the woman, and suddenly, it clicks—you're meeting Bucky's parents.

"Oh my god," you murmur under your breath, hastily brushing your hair back and fixing the collar of your shirt.

Juliana rises from her seat and approaches you with a warm smile, wrapping you in a hug. Your hands hover awkwardly in the air, unsure of how to respond. How could a wealthy lady like her be so friendly?

Meanwhile, Bucky's father, Rowan, the CEO of a major company, smiles at you with genuine warmth.

"Thank you for saving my son," Juliana says, her gratitude evident.

You blink, confusion written all over your face. "I... I don't understand."

Bucky clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "I haven't talked to her about that yet."

Juliana chuckles softly. "No wonder she looks clueless. Forgive my son. Please, take a seat."

You sit down, feeling all eyes on you. “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember years ago, you and your grandma found a boy?” Juliana asks gently.

You think about it for a moment. Your grandma? A boy? The memory is blurry, but you recall a boy that your grandma brought to the cabin.

"The next morning, the boy was gone, and we had to leave. It turned out my father had taken the rights to that small cabin too," you say, piecing it together.

“I was that boy,” Bucky reveals.

“You—? No, I don’t think so. Oh my god, it is you,” you gasp as the realization hits.

Cassandra pats your shoulder reassuringly. “That’s why we wanted to meet you. It’s such a small world.”

“Hahaha… yeah,” you laugh nervously, still processing the revelation.

Rowan leans in, his voice filled with gratitude. “We’re forever grateful to you. You and your grandma saved our son's life.”

You feel a rush of emotions. “It was my grandma who found him,” you say modestly.

Bucky nods. “And that’s why we will give Cassandra the best treatment.”

Your heart leaps at his words. This is such a great gift. “Thank you…” you say, holding back your tears.

Juliana offers you a tissue. “This is just the start, my dear. You deserve so much more.”

Bucky and his dad nod in agreement.

“There are two things that she wants: Velari and her childhood home,” Bucky states firmly.

Rowan and Juliana exchange a look of surprise. “That’s it? You only want to get back Velari and the house?” Rowan asks. Because they could give you so much more.

You clear your throat, gathering your thoughts. “To be honest, my knowledge of business isn’t that good. I only want to get back the business that my mom and grandma put their blood, sweat, and tears into. Looking at the design that both women created for Valerie, the root concept of Velari is gone. It has fallen into consumerism.”

Juliana nods in agreement. The old designs from Velari were classic and timeless. She’s too shy to tell you she’s wearing a Velari shirt, but she appreciates how you admit your limitations. You’re not greedy.

Juliana interjects, “What will your father say?”

“He’s only a father in name. He was never a father to me,” you reply, bitterness creeping into your voice.

The Barnes nod their heads, understanding the situation of your family. They know that your mother died of a heart attack after discovering her husband’s infidelity, and that your father prefers his second wife and younger daughter over you.

You look at their supportive expressions, feeling a mix of sadness and gratitude. It’s painful to realize that strangers are more willing to help you than your own blood relatives.

Juliana claps her hands together, breaking the somber mood. “That would be easy. You will get back what’s yours, dear.”

You feel a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you.”

Flashback Ends

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

That brings both of you to the anniversary of Celestial Enterprise. With the support of the Barnes family, you are no longer scared.

Genevieve and Jonathan approach you both. Genevieve wears her one-million-dollar smile, polite yet the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. Inside, she wants to curse you with the most evil words she knows.

Victoria has resigned herself from the party. It was supposed to be her daughter standing beside Bucky, not you.

You smile at your so-called dad and Genevieve, especially her. Jonathan, who used to turn a blind eye, now sees you as worthy of his time.

Genevieve, who used to look at you as if you were beneath her, is now scared. You feel that karma is catching up with your stepmom and stepsister.

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[lam-ila]

I Care About You || Fernando Alonso

Summary: An unfortunate crash prompts Fernando to defend you and confess his feelings.

Word Count: 1,513

Warnings: none (please let me know if you find any that i should add)

F1 Masterlist

a/n: this is gender neutral. hope you enjoy this! feedback is appreciated

LIKES ARE GREAT, REBLOGS ARE BETTER ♡

Just like any other F1 driver, you hated crashes. They were always inevitable, you knew that, every driver knew that, but you absolutely hated them, especially when you were involved in them.

Early on in the first few laps of the Monaco Grand Prix, you were crashed into. The driver behind you tried to overtake you at an extremely narrow part of the track and ended up crashing into the side of your car.

“No, no, no, no, no!” You yelled into the radio as you were crashed into, resulting in a red flag. As you slowed to a stop, TV screens at viewers’ homes displayed “Are you ******* kidding me?”

“Not your fault. Not your fault at all.” your race engineer calmly told you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure my race is over.” You threw your head back as you responded, annoyed at the circumstances you found yourself in.

You climbed out of your car and assessed the damage, realizing that you were right, your race was over. You glanced over to the car that crashed into yours, noting that it had a similar amount of damage as yours and also wouldn’t be able to continue racing. You somehow felt better knowing that you weren’t the only driver to DNF, only feeling a small amount of guilt upon taking pleasure in someone else’s pain, pain that wouldn’t have happened if the driver didn’t try to overtake you.

Once you were off the track, you angrily ripped off your helmet and looked back at the crash, making eye contact with the driver who crashed into you. You quickly turned your head away, not wanting any prolonged eye contact to result in a conversation with the driver, and started to make your way to your team’s hospitality.

After changing out of your racing suit and meeting with the press, you sat down on a couch in your team’s hospitality and opened your phone, only to see the blame of crash being placed onto you. You furrowed your brow upon reading the seemingly endless posts, comments, and headlines blaming you for the crash. Deciding that you read enough, you placed your phone face down on the table in front of you and heavily exhaled in attempt to calm yourself down. You were running on adrenaline since the crash and looking at your phone wasn’t going to help bring your heart rate down.

You placed your elbows on your knees and leaned forward, so that your head was in your hands. You sat in that position for minutes, deep in thought. This was a just a misunderstanding, right? This wasn’t actually your fault, right? You took a deep breath as you shifted your body weight and took support from the back of the couch. You widened your eyes and you realized that you knew for a fact that the crash wasn’t your fault. Not only did your race engineer tell you so, but you also did nothing out of the ordinary while driving on the track. After all, it was the other driver who crashed into you because of a mistake they made, not the other way around.

Your gaze shifted to your phone as you contemplated opening it again to see what else people were saying. Deciding against it, you sighed, rubbed your hand against the top of your head, and stood up, making your way to your team’s garage. You needed a distraction and besides, it would probably look like the crash was your fault if you weren’t seen for the rest of the race.

Once the race ended, you went on your phone again, wanting to see what the overall narrative of the race was and if it was still highly focused on your crash. A video of Fernando, one of the drivers you were good friends with, kept showing up on your Instagram feed and on the fifth time that it showed up, you decided to click on it.

“I don’t think so.” Fernando started, looking a little off screen to look at the interviewer. “The driver behind them to overtake when they shouldn’t have. The track is too narrow to overtake there and this crash just proved that to be correct.” Fernando listened to the interviewer asking a clarifying question before continuing. “No, Y/N L/N is not at fault for this crash.”

You initially smiled and filled with a feeling of warmth. That was your friend, your Fernando, defending you. But then you realized, Fernando was defending you. As much as you appreciated it, you wanted to take care of everything with just you and your team. You didn’t like the way that it all looked: veteran Fernando Alonso defending a driver who is being blamed for a crash.

You marched out of the garage and entered the big post-race crowd of drivers, staff, interviewers, and friends and family of drivers, determined to confront Fernando. You spotted him within the crowd and sped up to reach him before he disappeared in the crowd again.

“I could have handled that myself, you know.” You declared once you caught up to Fernando, still navigating through the crowd.

“You’d rather have me just stand there and let the blame be placed onto you?” He challenged, slowing his pace to hear you out.

“Yes!” You exclaimed while raising your voice a little, turning a few of the heads around you. “That was not your battle to fight.”

“I didn’t want you to have to fight it on your own.” Fernando reasoned, one step ahead of you as you two navigated your way through the crowd.

“Why? You’ve let other drivers figure this type of thing out on their own.”

He quickened his pace, trying to lose you through the chaos of the surrounding crowd.

“Fernando!” You sternly yelled his name, similar to a parent scolding their child and like a child being scolded, he froze and stopped in his tracks. “Please, I just want to understand.” You softly explained, meeting his eyes with a sincere look. He stayed silent, taking a moment to study your features: wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and lips slightly parted. Fernando’s eyes darted around, taking in the amount of people around you.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.” He stated, gently grabbing you by the hand, pulling you out and away from the crowd. You followed Fernando and stumbled over to a less crowded area of the paddock. Once you were standing face to face, you noticed that the area was only used as a means to get from one place to another.

“This private enough for you?” You teased as one side of your lips curled up into a smile. Fernando didn’t verbally respond, but rather nervously nodded with his head slightly tilted down as to not meet your gaze. Your smile fell as you watched a nervous Fernando, something you rarely saw unless something was very much wrong. “Nando?” You used his nickname, hoping it would calm his nerves. “What’s wrong?”

He shifted his head to meet your gaze, then looked back at the ground. Deciding you had enough, you cupped your hand around his cheek and gently moved his head so he would look at you.

“Fernando?” You tried to get him to respond again.

“Hi.” He finally said.

“Hi,” You softly laughed. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

He sighed and straightened his body, removing your hand from his cheek in the process.

“You want to understand, yes?” You nodded enthusiastically, resulting in Fernando chuckling at your silent answer. “Okay, well you are right that I wouldn’t defend other drivers.”

“Then why-”

“You going to let me finish?” Fernando cut you off before laughing once again, this time at you miming zipping your lips together. “I care about you and before you start again, I know what you’re going to say: you care about me because that’s what friends do, they care about each other. But I care about you more than the way friends do, mi amor.”

“Mi amor?” You repeated, raising your eyebrows.

“Eh, too much?” He asked, nervously running his hand through his hair.

“No, I like it.” Fernando breathed a breath of relief at those four words. “It’s a good thing I care about you more than the way friends do too.”

“Yes,” he smiled brighter than you’ve ever seen him smile. “it’s very good.��

Fernando leaned forward and angled his head to kiss you, but you stopped him by lightly placing your hand on his lips. He raised his eyebrows and slightly tilted his head as if saying ‘why’d you do that?’

“I think we sound find somewhere more private for that.” You whispered with a shy smile on your face, not wanting anyone else, or any cameras, to partake in the moment.

Fernando smiled, kissed your hand that was against his lips, then took that hand and held it in his. Taking a few steps, he began to guide you to a much more private location, just as he did before, so he could continue without any worries.

——————————

F1 taglist: @2manytabsopen @matthewkniesys @fallinallincurls

join my taglist here

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[042502]

₊ ⊹ sumarry. You're Matt's girlfriend, but you fuck Chris.

₊ ⊹ content. Infidelity, inappropriate language, dirty talk, boob sucking, and obscene descriptions.

₊ ⊹ author's note. My first language is not English, if you notice any errors you already know why. If you want to read more about the boys, I leave you the m.list here.

I move away a little to keep him away, he was getting too close. I shake my head. I put my legs on the couch so he doesn't come closer.

"I didn't tell you to come and I didn't force you to watch the movie with me," I say and he's looking at me too much.

"No, but you let me in anyway," he comes closer and I walk away again. I'm starting to get nervous. "Why do you go away?"

He ends up cornering me in a corner of the couch, my back touching the edge of the armrest. I put my hands on his chest, stopping him when he spreads my legs and gets between them.

"Go away" I ask him, looking him in the eyes. He licks his lips and looks first at my mouth and then into my eyes.

"I don't want to" he furrows his eyebrows and bites his lower lip. He was so close that his breath hit my face. "Do you want me to leave?" He asks, bringing his face closer to mine. I don't respond, the words don't come out, my heart just beat hard as if it were going to burst out of my chest. He holds on to the sofa with one hand and with the other he caresses my thigh, he is leaning towards me, he has me cornered between him and the sofa. I look at his mouth and that was enough for him to close the distance, kissing me.

And I couldn't resist.

He began to move his mouth against mine, savoring and enjoying the kiss. And I reciprocated. He squeezed my thigh and grabbed me by the waist, managing to pick me up and change the position, leaving me on top of him while he leaned against the back of the chair. From one moment to the next we separated for a microsecond to take a breath, we looked into each other's eyes and it didn't take long for him to eat my mouth again. More intense. More eager. He pressed me against him with both hands on my ass, squeezing it with his fingers, forcing me to move on him, letting me know how turned on he was. He separates his mouth from mine and slides kisses down my neck, grabbing my hair with one of his hands, pulling my head back. Leaving room to kiss my neck more freely.

At that point I no longer knew what I was doing, I just let myself be carried away by the moment of fever. He lets go of my hair and I bite my lower lip, turning my head forward. He takes the opportunity to lower the straps of my shirt, leaving my tits in the air.

"Mmh" I sighed putting my hands on his shoulders as his mouth captured my left nipple. He ran his tongue over the areola and then put my tit in his mouth, making me moan. He sucked and then left a light bite on my nipple.

"How good you are, you son of a bitch," he growls and then runs his tongue along my neck, making me shudder from the wave of pleasure. He squeezed my ass with one of his hands and then slapped me hard in the area, making me complain and jump slightly in place.

This time I'm the one who takes him by the neck and joins our mouths again. I crush my tits against his chest without releasing the kiss. Chris's hands ran over my lower back and he dared to put them through the edge of my shorts, touching my ass directly. He grabbed the edge of my thong and pulled up, causing the bottom of my thong to go between my pussy lips. I pull away a little and bite my lower lip, looking into his eyes. His eyes are dilated and his mouth is swollen from the kiss, I can't help but get hot. I needed it. I felt it very hard under me. I'm about to kiss him again when I hear the lock of the front door lock and the cloud of pleasure in which I was immersed disappears. Matt had arrived. My heart stopped from one moment to the next and she looked at Chris scared.

"Hey baby, I'm here!" Matt's voice is heard in the distance. I quickly get off of Chris and adjust my shirt.

"Go through the kitchen door," I tell him, pointing to the back door in a whisper when he gets up. He smiles mockingly and grabs me by the waist, steals a small kiss from me and nods.

"This isn't over," he warns me in a whisper as well, and then I see him go around the kitchen, sneaking out the back door.

I sit back down on the couch with my heart in my mouth and quickly pretend I'm putting on another movie. My hands are shaking and I'm breathing hard, he tried to regularize it. What was I thinking, for God's sake.

"What's the matter that you're not responding?" Matt's voice made me tense and I watch as he enters the room. I feign surprise and take my eyes off the TV.

"Sorry honey, I was focused on looking for a movie" I say, leaving the control of the TV.

"Were you sitting there all day?" He laughs coming closer, I nod and fake a smile. "I'm not kissing you because I played hockey and I'm all sweaty," he says, pointing to his clothes. I look at him, and yes, he was indeed all sweaty and his clothes were dirty with grass.

"How did it go?" I ask and I thank all of Los Santos who didn't greet me because I'm sure Chris left all his perfume impregnated.

He leans over to the tea table and grabs the open packet of gummies I'd left behind.

"Okay, I'm tired," he complains. "I'm going to take a bath, are you coming?" He asks, giving me a smile.

"You go first, I'll come in a moment.

He nods and leaves the room to go to the second floor. I stayed for a few minutes thinking about what had just happened and caressed my temple when I heard a notification on my cell phone.

@/christophersturniolo he sent you a message: "If you are going to fuck him, think of me."

₊ ⊹ author's note. Thanks for reading, remember to leave your like, a comment and share with your friends. Are you interested in being part of the taglist? Leave me a comment below and I'll add you.

₊ ⊹ taglist. @luverboychris @l34n @sturncakez @imwetforyourmom @hotreaderliin @tillies33ssss @sturnioloxlver @jnkvivi @stvrniolowh0re @adirtylittleheart @melonjollyranche @sssoniaswiftt @ecliphttlunar @jetaimevous @khxna @kiliaisinnnthehouseee @luvr4miya @xoxotaylynn @chr1sgirl4life @lovesturni0l0s @sturnthepot @stunza @certifiedstarrr

[watercolorfreckles]

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

I understand if you don’t want to!!❤️

Hello! This has been sittin in my inbox for many months during my huge writing rut, sorry about that! I know you also gave this prompt to @the-modern-typewriter and she's been making an incredible series with it on patreon! I changed some things around because I don't want to in any way attempt some sad copy of her interpretation, but I was still inspired by the prompt itself, so I've taken some fairly big liberties to avoid any significant similarities! Hope that's okay! Also, please manage your expectations, I do not compare to the magic that is TMT's writing 😆

TW: Brief depictions of body horror. Violence.

The power blew out in sections. The lights dissolved sector by sector with a sickening whine and click–one by one–in approach.

The commotion ripped Eloise from the fictional world she was lost in, aged page corners still pinched beneath her thumb. Her spirited storytelling abruptly died behind her teeth.

Somewhere in the distance, one person shouted. Two.

Her gaze flicked behind them to the door isolating herself and the bound supervillain from the other sectors of the Maximum Security Prison for Powered Individuals or, as everyone called it, The Max. Seeing nothing but black beyond the bullet-proof glass, her attention snapped forward again to the supervillain imprisoned across from her. 

Was this the start of some elaborate escape plan on his part? Why did it have to happen on a day that she was stuck fulfilling her community service hours instead of being something she could safely gawk at in the newspaper from a distance in a few days? Her stomach did a nauseated flip. 

“What are you doing?” she blurted, voice quivering only a little. Her fingers tightened around her book.

The villain made a show of looking pointedly at his restraints. Wrists strung taut and chained to either wall, he shrugged an innocent shoulder at her as if to say “clearly, nothing.” He was perched on the edge of his bed like a bird, tilting his head with a matching sort of probing curiosity. 

For all the chaos outside of the room, Artisan had not a hair out of place. He appeared perfectly unconcerned, though as thoroughly trapped as ever: ankles shackled, arms stretched uselessly apart from each other. The power-dampening collar wrapped around his neck still blipped a faint red light, indicating it was active. 

The prisoners were rioting. Surely they couldn’t get too far? Containing the most dangerous of powered individuals was, after all, the express purpose of the facility…

The lights above them flickered, dipping the room in and out of inky darkness before settling into a dimly lit haze. Eloise’s breath stalled. The imposing dark felt like a threat, as if the lights could keep the monsters at bay. It only made a little sense, in the way that a child feels safe from the monsters under their bed as long as their nightlight is plugged in.

Except that these monsters were real. The most dangerous in the country. And she was currently feet away from the monster that made even other monsters run.

He hadn’t seemed so bad in the time that she’d known him. Quiet, impassive, yet twisting her gut with pity any time she eyed his barbaric restraints. The least she could do–while crossing off her hours–was to read the supervillain a story every few days. She couldn’t change his fate. Couldn’t make him more comfortable. What she could do was rattle off, sheepishly, about fictional worlds and impactful characters in literature and the way that a well-crafted story could transport you somewhere better.

A crash, gunshots, a scream. Tension racketed through Eloise’s shoulders. More shouts chased thundering footsteps.

Things were going very, very, wrong. And she was very much out of her depth.

Eloise jolted as something struck the door, her special-edition copy of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein falling to the ground and skidding away.

Finally, the lights cut out. With it, every noticeable piece of tech died. All of the energy felt sucked out of the room as if vacuumed. The camera’s blinking light disappeared. Alarms that should have been wailing cut silent. Speakers, keypads, and security systems, all dead. The secondary generator hadn’t sprung to life yet. That meant that this was more than a simple power outage. This was a calculated revolt.

 Eloise’s mind raced through a list of everything else that must have been failing. Coms. Sedative gas. Shock collars. Layers and layers of security locks…

Power dampeners.

Panic clamped vice-like and suffocating around her throat. Artisan’s collar was no longer blinking. 

She froze in the eerie silence of the cell, afraid of shattering the fragile calm. Her heart thumped, rabid, against her ribs.

Chains rattled and clinked to the floor.

Eloise bolted blindly for the door, smacking her palm against the DNA scanner while frantically swiping her “Volunteer Staff” badge through the card reader. When neither miraculously came to life, she resorted to banging on the door.

“Let me out, let me out! Guard!”

The door could only be opened by one person inside the cell and one outside simultaneously unlocking the security checkpoints. Even if the power were on, if the guard on the other side was gone…

The emergency floodlights kicked on, bathing the building in startling fluorescence. Eloise flinched, briefly stunned.

Hands grabbed her firmly from behind, yanking her backward.

Eloise yelped. “No, please–!”

The spot that she had been standing in exploded, steel door and concrete chunks collapsing into the room in a barrage of shrapnel. Something–no, someone–landed, bones crunching, at her feet. The guard who had last been standing on the opposite side of the door lay motionless. His blood puddled the floor, staining the soles of her Converse sneakers.

A horrified sound choked in Eloise’s throat.

Another supervillain strode in, eyes alight with hatred and something more–power. His lip curled, waving a mocking hand–engulfed in green energy–at the guard’s corpse. “God. I’ve wanted to do that for far too long. That one always got on my nerves.”

Artisan looked unimpressed. “You’re making a mess in my cell.”

Eloise’s breath caught. Hearing the supervillain’s voice was jarring. Artisan rarely spoke. Not that any of the other staff had ever actually attempted conversation with him… But even in news clips and YouTube videos, he carried himself with the kind of self-assured quiet of someone who had absolutely nothing to prove. His lethal efficiency did more for his reputation than any words could.

The other man was a villain named William Frenzy, a telekinetic with a gleeful taste for violence.

Faced with Artisan’s startling calm, Frenzy… paused. Faltering on a tight rope he had moments before been strolling across. 

“Yes, well. It won’t have to be your cell much longer, will it? They can’t stop all of us.” He smirked at the dead body on the floor. “Some of them can’t even stop one of us.”

Eloise shrank back toward the corner nearest the door, agonizingly slow, willing the ugly shadows from the artificial lighting to swallow her up while the supers focused on each other. She was the kind of person that people tended not to notice; a background character in the perimeter of a story that the protagonist would meet once and never spare a thought again. She wished, then, that invisibility really was her superpower.

Artisan said nothing, his steely gaze fixed upon Frenzy.

Frenzy floundered beneath the scrutiny. The smugness buffered on his face. Finally, he huffed, crossing his arms. “I made you a nice and easy door out. You’re welcome.” He flicked a hand toward the gaping hole in the wall.

Eloise inched further toward it.

Artisan tutted, and while it wasn’t aimed at her, it shot a cold thrill up her spine. She froze, briefly, before continuing her tantalizing escape. She listened to Artisan speak again. 

“I did not need anything from you. I’ll be getting out regardless. You on the other hand…” 

Eloise stared as Frenzy’s skin shrank taut against his bones, the frame of him creaking and groaning like an old tree in the wind. The air choked out of him, fingers grabbing at his jaw as it stretched open too wide. The corners of his lips tore, slitting his mouth into a gaping maw.

The faintest of smiles graced Artisan's lips as he continued, soft as ever. “Say sorry.”

Eloise didn’t wait to see the carnage through, slipping out into the hall and running.

The other sectors were washed in the same sterile glow as Artisan’s cell was, blue-tinged and horrible, like the lights in a dentist's office. She kept to the edge of things as best she could, clinging to the walls and dark corners.

There was brawling in every sector—guards with weapons drawn mowed to the ground by the creatures they had wardened for so long. A villain fell as shots rang out. Another grabbed the guard from behind, cracking his skull against their knee. 

The smell of blood stung Eloise’s nostrils. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe.

She turned to flee down another hall, but two fighting inmates crashed into the doorway in front of her.

Eloise squealed, jerking backward into the belly of the room's chaos.

Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't notice me.

Everyone was so occupied by their chosen prey, maybe she could fade into the background. Maybe she could–

Her heel caught on something and she tumbled, gracelessly, to the floor. It took her several moments to register the lake of blood seeping warm and sticky into her clothing. 

Terror blurred her brain in a white flash bang.

Disappear, disappear, disappear…

“Mm. What do we have here?”

Eloise couldn’t bring herself to lift her head. She clamped her eyes shut, another child’s illusion of protection. 

The villain opposite her chuckled. He ripped her volunteer badge off of its clip against her chest. Her eyes snapped open again. She recognized him as a ringleader among superpowered thieves. They called him Volt.

“Volunteer, eh? A pretty thing like you should know better than to willingly set foot in a prison full of men with nothing left to lose. It’s been a long sentence, darling. I could make excellent use of your volunteer services. Get up.”

Numbly, ears full of static, Eloise shook her head.

Volt frowned, electricity jumping to life in his palms. “No?” He reached for her, hand nearing her throat.

“Keep your hands to yourself or I will remove them.” 

Artisan’s voice was calm. His eyes were not.

The room quieted.

Spatters of red decorated Artisan’s prison uniform. A few drops dotted his face and he brushed them away with his knuckles, smearing the crimson across his cheek. Almost lazily, he popped his neck and stretched his shoulders, no doubt sore from the strain his restraints kept him in.

The villain across from Eloise paused, sparks still dancing across his fingertips. He regarded Artisan with the same wary caution as Frenzy had.

Before he'd been… Before Artisan had…

Eloise swallowed back the nausea climbing her throat.

Finally, Volt’s hand lowered. “She's yours?”

“She's hers. Step away.”

The man hesitated a moment too long. Artisan didn't offer a second warning. 

As if puppeted, the man's fingers raised to gauge at his own eyes. He screamed, the faint evidence of Artisan’s power shimmering over him. He clawed, next, at the skin on his face, peeling it back like wet wallpaper. 

As promised, his wrists crunched and bent, wrenching all on their own at impossible angles.

Eloise covered her ears, unable to bear the screaming. She felt sick.

“Stop,” she whispered finally. “Please.”

It did. The man collapsed into a sobbing, bloodied heap.

When Eloise managed to look at Artisan, she startled to find his attention fixed on her.

They stared at each other for a stretch of silence that itched. She imagined being forced to choke on her own lungs, or her skull constricting in on itself until it squashed her brain into pulp. For being so bold as to run, he might snap her legs and reaffix them the wrong direction, or splinter her bones to poke, grotesque, out of her skin. They always did say that his victims were his personal works of art, bodies twisted into shells of monsters.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her.

The edges of her vision swooped fuzzy and vertiginous. She rose onto wobbly knees and pushed herself to her feet. When she swayed, Artisan caught her elbow, slipping an arm around her waist to lead her forward.

He did not look back at the others, with complete confidence that no one would challenge him.

No one did.

Eloise was barely aware of taking one step after another. When they arrived back in the villain’s cell, the bodies of Frenzy and the dead guard, thankfully, were gone, though the floor was streaked with the drag lines of their blood.

She wrenched her gaze away.

Artisan’s hand moved further down her arm to her wrist, gesturing that she sit on his bed. When she shifted to do so, his grip tightened, tugging her to a stop. She frozen and tried to read his face. 

His dark brows were furrowed, suspicious eyes flicking from hers down to her hand.

He pulled down her sleeve and held her wrist up between them, revealing the power-blocking cuff clamped around it. His head cocked. He waited.

Eloise swallowed. “I’m not a super. I mean- not a super-super. Just a…..no one.”

“A no-one who volunteers at The Max? With a power-dampener?”

“They’re terms of my probation,” she blurted. “A thousand hours of community service here and a power-inhibitor for a year. I think they put me here to threaten me with where I could end up if I continue on like… Um…”

“Me.”

“A villain,” she clarified, as if that was better. 

Her gaze flitted from the fingers wrapped around her wrist and up to the villain’s face again. The harsh lighting haloed him, dimly silhouetting his face. He looked haunting. He looked lovely. A beautiful house, old and creaking, wrapped in ghosts like a bride’s veil and left to rot. 

“What did you do?”

“I…” Eloise felt very small. “I lied about being powered on my documents. So that they wouldn’t put me on the registry. When they found me out, I tried to run away.”

Artisan’s scrutiny burned her cheeks. He let go of her wrist.

“...What can you do?”

“Nothing special,” she said, cradling her wrist–wholly uninjured as it was–in her other hand. “It doesn’t even work most of the time. My power is sort of…blending in. Going unnoticed. When it���s working, I could stand in a the White House and people’s attention would glide over me as if I belonged there. Not quite invisible, but… It just tricks your brain into not thinking twice.”

Artisan’s eyes narrowed.

Eloise flinched back a step, stumbling back over her fallen book onto the bed. She stared at him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, but she still waited for the catch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them? Trying to escape?”

The villain considered her for a long moment. He sat down beside her, and the hard cot creaked beneath his weight. “Mm. That’s just it. No one inside the prison could have blown the power-dampeners. They require someone with powers to turn them off or on, and the security is impenetrable. My team has tried. Besides, if this was a simple power outage, the inhibitors would still be on. But they’re not. This was premeditated–and no one imprisoned here could have done it. No one on the outside could have done it. So. Process of elimination. Who’s left?”

That was the most Eloise had ever heard Artisan speak, and she could only sit and listen intently–As he had when she’d read him stories. Her brain whirred in a jumbled jigsaw of puzzle pieces. 

“It… It could only be an inside job.” She wet her lips. “The heroes- The higher-ups- They want the prisoners to break out so that they can kill them. A clean massacre. Justified under the law. The world’s most dangerous criminals could never be allowed to escape…”

Artisan smiled and it swirled something in her insides. “A convenient way to get rid of all of the pesky criminals clogging up the system. I’d bet anything that there are 50 snipers surrounding the building, waiting to slaughter anyone who steps foot outside.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Artisan agreed, his smile easing into something softer; something with less feral teeth.

“Thank you for helping me,” Eloise whispered. “What do we do now?”

Artisan hummed. He bent down and swept up her book, dropping it into her lap. He laid back against his pillow and crossed his arms behind his head. The bloodspots on his skin and clothes glittered in the lowlight. 

“Keep reading. I want to know how it ends.”

[satorusugurugurl]

Perfect prey was just *chef's kiss*

Was thinking... what if the plan backfired? Like maybe Suguru's curses attracted another curse they weren't expecting and now their darling is in serious danger! Maybe a little bit injured

They feel awful of course, because they put their darling in harm's way! So they manipulate her again, but with a more gentle approach. "Oh sweetheart this was so dangerous... we were So worried... we can't let you do this alone again, our heart wouldn't be able to take it" and then they make it up to her by fucking her until she passes out

Perfect Prey (Part Two)

Characters: Yadere!Geto Suguru, Yadere!Gojo Satoru,AFAB!Reader

Warnings: yandere!Geto/Gojo, manipulation, dub! con read is unaware that the boys are manipulating her! (consent is vital for me!!) double penetration, smut, mentions of wounds, cursing, baby trapping, pregnancy talk, breeding

Word Count: 3,464

A/N: Ah! thank you Nonnie! This was different. I felt really dirty writing them so conniving wanting to baby trap the reader. Well I hope you enjoy!!

Part One

Anxiety and dread sat in the pit of your stomach like a metal ball as the phone rang. Satoru and Suguru were going to be pissed that you took on this mission, but they would have to get over it. You tried to decline when Yaga told you you were being sent to Sendai to deal with a grade-two curse. After your first and last solo mission went haywire, you never took missions without a partner, whether it was Satoru or Suguru.

But you couldn't just stand by the second he told you a child was missing the same area. You had to go on this mission alone while your boyfriends were in Kyoto for a meeting. The child was at risk, so you idly couldn’t stand by and do nothing. They could be upset if they wanted, but this was the right thing to do.

“Hey sweetheart, everything okay?” Satoru asked as you treaded over a bridge leading to an abandoned school in Sendai.

“Promise you won’t be mad.”

Pure and absolute silence rings out, making you swallow hard. “What do you mean? Don’t get mad?” You heard Geto ask what happened in the background. “Sugurh is here too. Tell us what happened,” you grumble, stepping over a fallen log, not looking forward to this conversation.

“Yaga sent me on a mission.”

“Princess, do you remember what happened last time?” Suguru made a tsking sound, speaking down to you as if you were a child who had done something wrong.

“I know, I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. But everyone else was on their own mission or out of town.”

“You still could’ve declined.” The cold chill in Gojo’s voice makes you shiver.

“I couldn't.”

“Yes, you could have.”

“No, Toru, I couldn't!” you snapped, stopping your pace to glare at the ground. “There’s a missing child in the area. It might be at the school building, or the curse could have them.” Both of your partners stay silent, and neither say a word. “I can’t sit back when a child is in danger.” Since they voiced no other sounds of protest, you side and relief. “I’ll be home as soon as I can. I’ll be taking the bullet train home since I’m in Sendai. I love you both.”

The line disconnected, causing Satoru to groan as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. “I swear I’m going to off the higher-ups one of these days.” Subaru, who was glaring out the window of the train back to Tokyo. “You're not opposed to the idea.” The dark-haired man glanced back at his blindfolded best friend.

“Sorry, Satoru, I was just thinking about how much our princess cares about children.”

“Yeah? She loves her students—and cares about the well-being of them.”

“I believe that is something we can use to our advantage.”

Satoru’s curiosity was peaked, and it caused the mischievous grin to deepen his dimple. “Oh, please do elaborate, Suguru.” With his friend's approval, Suguru shut his eyes and smiled.

“What if we gave her a child of her own to take care of? Money is not a problem with your wealth, and neither is mine. If we had a child with her, she could stay home, caring for them while we take on all the missions.”

“Are you suggesting that we baby-trap our perfect girl?”

“Precisely.” Geto shrugged the shoulder, dark strands of hair moving as he shifted in his seat. “If that’s something she wants, we will not force her to do anything she does not want.”

“But with a little persuasion and many videos, she’ll beg for one.”

The strongest sorcerer of the modern age grins before Suguru glances down at his watch. “But before everything is all sunshine and rainbows, our princess must learn another lesson.”

The two of them found themselves in Sendai ten minutes later, thanks to Gojo's teleportation. They stood in the woods as Suguru’s curses searched the area for the missing child you had been so concerned about finding. After combing through every inch and making a quick call to the police station, they confirmed that the boy had been seen earlier that day and was safe and sound at home with his family. Meaning they could use full force like they had done with you before.

Using Suguru's curses at full force to remind you of how much you needed them. As you ran through the second story of the abandoned school building, Geto’s curses swarmed in search of you, and they found you fast. You had to run up the stairs to the third floor when a swarm of fly-like curses slammed into you. Falling onto your back, you shielded your face with your hands, blocking their attacks.

Rage bloomed in the pit of your stomach as you snarled. Flipping over, you flung two talisman papers at the buzzing curses. Upon impact, the paper burned with your cursed energy before the creatures exploded into blue flames. There was a fire raging deep inside of you, one that was going to help you in finding the missing child, and you would be damned if you let a shitty curse your way. Pushing yourself up and off the ground, you bolted up the stairs to continue your frantic search.

Every one of the curses you came across, you exorcised with your papers. Each time that happened, Suguru stiffened, his eyes widening as Satoru dropped his arm over his best friend's shoulder. You had stopped to call either of them because you were handling this perfectly alone. That was both troubling and satisfying.

They knew you were strong. There was no doubt in their minds about that, but now, months after the initial incident they caused, you were even stronger. If you succeeded in dealing with these curses, you might begin to rebel against them, insisting that you could handle yourself, which left both men at a crossroads. They could keep throwing weak grade three and four curses in your way or step it up with a grade two or one.

Amid their conundrum, you kept moving, taking out every curse. Your thoughts revolved around finding the missing child and saving them. You didn't know the child was already at home safe and sound, meaning you were running through a building for nothing.

“Our darling girl is handling herself quite well.”

“She is one of the strongest,” Gojo added head, focused on the school.

Suguru was a second away from agreeing with him when he went silent; seven of his curses were exorcised once—none by you or a different sorcerer. No, the presence that took out those curses was dark and malicious. Suguru knew that Satoru sensed it, too, from the way his body straightened before he yanked his blindfold down, pooling it around his neck.

“Sugu—”

“I know I felt it.”

“A special grade curse.” You grit it out from the third-floor hallway, standing before the curse devouring one of the lower-grade ones chasing you. The six-legged creature towered over you, standing around 7 feet tall. Eight eyes darted with every move you made, following as you reached into your jacket pocket, pulling out a talisman paper as you prepared for the fight of your life.

Geto and Gojo were running through the woods, watching as flashes of blue cursed energy glowed from the broken windows on the third floor. As they approached the building, the north wall crumbled as you battled with the special grade curse. The bastard was throwing you against walls, knocking the wind out of your chest before crawling up onto the ceiling like some humanoid spider.

You shake, pushing yourself up as the curse skittered towards you; just below, Gojo teleported with Geto bolted up the stairs. The special grade curse was just about to bite your head off, but before it had a chance to chomp down, a blue ball of cursed energy slammed through the wall, knocking both you and the curse over the ledge of the north side of the building

“Fuck!” Gojo yelled as you and the curse fell into an abandoned school pool's dirty, mucky water. The water's foul smell soured your stomach as you tried to wiggle yourself from the curse of grasp, only to have it pull you under the black water. Its legs into your sides, pulling you further under the water, dragging you to the bottom of the bottomless pool.

Your paper was useless in a situation like this, but you didn’t need your paper. Not when you had been training so hard, focusing all your energy on your combat skills. Pulling your fist back, you focus hard, concentrating your cursed energy into your fist before slamming it down on the curse's head. Flashes of red and black cursed energy split the water around you, and the curse released you. The black flash hit it head-on. You would need to thank Nanami later for teaching you how to do it.

That was if you made it out of the slimy pool alive.

You couldn’t see everything; it was a blurry black mass until a hand breached under the water, grabbing your jacket and pulling you to the surface. The instant head breached the water, Suguru pulled out, helping you towards the edge. The instant you were on dry land, you sat on your hands and knees as you coughed up the foul-smelling water that had invaded your mouth and nose while Geto rubbed your back soothingly, gently patting it until you were sure your lungs were clear.

“S-Suguru—” you gasp, resting your head on his lap, “W-What are you doing here?” His hand gently stroked your wet hair back

“Yaga called us and told us the child was found. We decided to assist you and let you know the good news. Thank god we got here when we did.”

Another body crutches down next to you; a soft hand gently caresses your cheek. “Yeah, no kidding. Are you okay? You aren’t too injured, are you?”

Shifting slightly, you winced at the scratches and sore spots that would soon become bruises. Despite the minor sting, nothing seemed to be broken. That meant your partners wouldn’t have much to complain about. Pushing yourself up and off of Suguru, you gave your boyfriends a gentle smile and a thumbs up.

“I’ll live.”

Of course, you’d live; you were strong, and the injured were mediocre. Even though you were okay, Satoru and Suguru felt some guilt when you

All got he as they watched you walk into the bathroom for a long shower when you got home. The scratches on your side were bleeding, and the gash on your forehead was starting to swell into a scar with bruises as you shut the door behind you.

Both men exchanged glances with each other the second you came back into the bedroom, carefully crawling into bed between them. They were so lucky that you were strong enough to handle yourself. If it were anyone else, they might not have been as fortunate as you were. Even if they hadn’t interfered with your mission, you could’ve easily faced that special grade and wouldn’t have been off as well as you were. They needed to tell you how much you meant to them and how they were.

That way, you never tried to do a stunt like this again.

Suguru was the first to shift his arm, wrapping around you and holding you gently against him as Satoru leaned into your neck, gently peppering it with kisses. You melted into their gentle caresses, listening to their beating hearts. This was precisely what you needed after a long mission.

“Princess, this was a close call.” Suguru began gently squeezing you. “That was such a dangerous mission you were sent on.”

“Mhm, we were so worried about you, so scared that you would get hurt.” Satoru trailed his lips along your exposed collarbone. “And look,” emotion, his head towards the scratches on your side and the bruise forming on your head. “You did end up getting hurt. That’s something neither of us ever wants to happen.”

Concern was thick in their voices, and you couldn’t help but fill your stomach with guilt. They had warned you that something like this might eventually happen, and they were right. It did happen. You had gotten hurt despite handling yourself as long as you did. You had been training hard to keep up with your partners, and tonight, you thought you could handle this alone. Maybe you could save that child's life without the assistance of your boyfriends. But that special grade made you realize how weaker you were compared to Satoru and Suguru.

“I know.” You whispered, voice breaking as Satoru continued his exploration of your body with his lips. His hands gently grabbed your hips as Suguru slowly lifted your shirt for his best friend. “I-I know if—ah—if it wasn’t for—nngh.” Your mind went blank as Satoru trailed his tongue over your skin. Planting open-mouthed kisses and little nips over your stomach. “I—fuck I don’t know what would have happened.”

Satoru hummed, pulling down the sweats you had on. “We can’t let you do that again; it was too dangerous.” Suguru hummed, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

“Satoru is right; you got hurt. We hate seeing you hurt.”

“But you did so good, doing your absolute best to save a child in need.” Satoru moaned out in between kisses against your skin. “You’d be such a good mommy. You take such good care of our children.”

“You would be.” Warm hands up to your breast, squeezing them softly. “I think that’s what you were meant to do in this world: be the most amazing mother.” You moan, arching your back as Satoru laps at your cunt, his tongue swirling around clit, causing you to jolt back. “Isn’t that something you’ve always wanted since we got together? To have our children and be a stay-at-home mother?”

“I-I—haaaah—yes, I want that.”

Bingo, both men smirk as you shut your eyes tight, losing yourself in the pleasure. This was perfect. If they knocked you up, you’d have no choice but to decline missions. They wouldn’t have to worry about you being in danger. It was a win-win scenario for all of you. You won’t be in danger and have something you always wanted.

“Then let us breed you.” Satoru breathed out against your cunt. “Let us knock you up.”

Suguru’s fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, tugging them before releasing them. “Please, princess, please, you know we’ll take good care of you. We always do.” There was something utterly manipulative and demented with the way they begged you to be the mother of their children; however, you were blind to the malicious intent behind their words. You knew your partners just wanted to take it to the next level.

That nativity was the sole reason you answered the way you did.

“Okay.” If you had known the truth that they were trying to baby-trap you, things wouldn’t have been so simple.

With your consent, both men were removed, and cock were pulled out. Both heads of their dicks at your entrance at the same time, itching to get inside of you. Shafts rub against each other as they begin pushing inside of you thick; their cock stretches you like you had never been stretched before. You gripped onto Satoru’s shoulders, wincing as both men pushed past your tight ring of muscles, sinking into your wet walls.

Your boyfriends grunted and groaned, forcing themselves deeper inside you until they were buried balls deep. You shivered and shook, crying at how full you were, stuffed with both men’s cocks. Seeing your tears and hearing your soft cries had Suguru pressing kisses down the nape of your neck while Satoru began thrusting in and out of you at a gentle pace.

“Look at you, taking both cocks so well.”

“Yeah, such a good girl for us~ going to be. Much a good mommy,”

“Yes, you will be.” Suguru moaned in agreement as he began bucking up into you in time with Satoru’s thrusts. “The perfect mommy~”

Satoru groaned, slamming his lips against yours, kissing you eagerly as you relaxed around them, making it easier for him to fuck into you. “God, I can’t wait to fill you up with my cum~ to watch your stomach swell with one of our kids.” Suguru’s hands squeezed your breasts as he slid his tongue up your neck.

“Yes, you’re beautiful, but I can only imagine how much you will glow when carrying our child. How your breasts will swell.”

“O-Oooh fuck~”

“Nngh fuck, that sweet cunt just twitched; you love this, don’t you~? Being bred by both of us. Imagining being so full of our cum that you’ll be pregnant by the end of the night?”

“Yes! Yes, I want that so bad!”

“Then be a good girl and take all we have to offer,” Satoru growled in your ear, slamming his hips into you, causing both you and Suguru to gasp. The dark-haired man was quick to recover, his hips meeting Satoru’s pace, bucking madly up into you with moans against your shoulder as Satoru grabbed the headboard. “That's right~ our perfect fucking girl is going to take all our cum. We're going to fill you up so good~ so fuckin’ good.”

“Nnngh~ yes,” Suguru whispered into your ear. “I want you to be ours in every way a person can be, Princess.”

Both their cocks inside of you felt so good; you were drooling over the way they slammed into you in sync, how they told you such dirty things. They desperately wanted to breed you, to make you the mother of their children. God, they made you so wet and horny; you tried to do that for them, wanted to take their cum, to be their partner, to be re e their children.

“Oooh fuck me~!” you begged, causing both men to grunt and groan as they slammed into you harder, trying to get deeper inside of you, to fill you full of their cum. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Faster! Faster fuck!”

“Nngh fuck~ fuck yes baby I'm going to cum~ take all of it~ yeah~ take every last fucking drop of our cum!” Satoru growled against your lips, your short breaths mingling with each other as the bed creaked and groaned under both means of frantic thrusts.

“Yea~ I want to be sure you're so full~ I have no intention of leaving this bed until you're bred properly.” a rough growl heated your skin as Suguru reached around, rubbing at your clit. “Now be a good girl and milk our cocks~ allow us to fill you~.”

You came squirming and shaking against Suguru, screaming against Satoru’s lips as he continued fucking into you, as chaste kisses were pressed into your mouth. Your tightening walls, the feeling of each other's cocks throbbing was enough to have your boyfriends stiffening before slamming deep inside the heads of their cocks, twitching as cum filled your womb, which left you gasping, nails digging into Satoru’s shoulder, leaving red crescent moon shapes in your wake as you shivered.

Both men were panting heavily, kissing you gently as they continued rocking into you. Filling you with more of their cum, only stopping when you made the slight sound of discomfort. “Y-You got me.” You whispered as Satoru pulled out first.

“Huh?” a white brow twitched up as Suguru gently helped lay you onto your side as he slowly fucked into you pushing their cum deeper inside.

“What do you mean, Princess?”

“Y-You haaah nnngh~!” you gripped the sheets as Sugurh grabbed your hips fucking you tenderly. “I-I know you got me p-pregnant.”

Satoru grinned, kissing you softly as Sugurh continued thrusting into you from behind. “Oh, sweetheart~ even if we didn't do that first round, you will be by the night's end.”

Each took two more turns making sweet, tender love to you. Filling you with their cum. You were so happy, drooling as they fucked you stupidly, until your eyes rolled back, and you passed out from the exhaustion and pleasure. The night had started sour but turned into something so romantic and loving. While you were blissful, your partners smirked, watching their cum leaking out of your cunt. Sure, they were excited to start a family with you. But they were more excited that now, you would be theirs and theirs alone.

No matter who the father was of the first child, the other wouldn't stop until you were full of the second. They fully intended to make sure you'd never leave their sight. For you belonged to them and then alone.

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

epilogue

london air has never suited her. she could not put a name on it, but it was not like home—neither was her dorm, to be honest. hence, she found herself walking the streets one good morning.

she has always wanted to go to that art museum nearby but could not find the time to do so. university sucks, she gathered, but does love her program wholeheartedly. she really should not have been on this field though. engineering and astrophysics, perhaps, but they were harder to reach and unpractical. it is not to say she does not love what she does currently.

entering the place, she could not count how many times she already whispered magnificent in her mind. the structure, the artworks, the architecture—everything.

but, more than that, the girl was in love with art. she could not create her own, for heaven's sake, but she does love it.

so, she made sure to wander around to the fullest. the least she could do was appreciate others' works. of course, there were paintings she did not feel much—good thing she was alone though or else the girl has already yapped about it. she continued to go in deeper in the exhibit, admiring the genius of multiple artists. some were even hundreds of years ago.

she always found it unfair how we could preserve objects for hundreds of years but find it awfully hard to reach a hundred years ourselves. the things that are made outlive the creator. it was utterly unfair, but she thought.

perhaps, art was not meant for the present but for the future. it was made, not for the current eyes but for someone in the years to come.

in that sense, art is a form of communication through time. a kind of time travel, per se.

it was quite similar to schrödinger's cat. you could be present and absent at the same time. and that's exactly what she thought before her eyes landed on a huge painting.

she read its label, which was quite brief compared to the others, only containing the name, the artist, the medium, and the year created.

the execution of lady loraine silva

benedict bridgerton, 1815

"such a sad painting." she muttered unknowingly out loud. the girl was taken by it, intimately observing the details of the artwork.

"with a sad story too."

a voice added beside her. she turned to the man with friendly eyes as they both stand in front of the painting, admiring it. she pouted at that, the exhibit only placed the name of the works and no description at all.

maybe, it was a well-known art that does not even need to be explained as it speaks for itself, which she had to agree it did speak for itself. she was almost embarrassed that her being uncultured is showing.

"i am afraid i do not know the story well."

the man turned to her with intrigue—not that his interest was not already piqued before he even stood beside her. his eyes shined at that. he loved nothing more than to talk about the things he is well-knowledgeable.

"lady loraine silva is an eighteen-year old who was executed along with her father's second-in-command, colonel montague, for high treason."

she looked at him as she listened, lips parting in surprise, "oh, wow. i'd have to agree with you then. that's a really sad story—at a very young age too!"

he nodded with closed eyes as he continued, "benedict bridgerton, the artist, is said to be her lover. he finished the painting just weeks after the execution happened."

"damn," she whispered, letting her sight fall on the artwork again, "so much grief on a single painting."

"this letter is written by him." he stepped forward, gesturing to the letter incased in a glass near the painting before turning to her.

she followed his lead, walking near to read the two hundred years old paper.

give me your permission and i will continue to love you in another. believe that i will run amock across the universe until i find you.

and so, when you see the world ending in the newspapers, trust that it is my work because i still have not met you again.

she pursed her lips after reading, the man beside her actively watching her reaction. it was immensely sorrowful that she could feel the torment they must have been at that time.

she did not want to lose hope though. that was not her. so, she raised her eyes at him with a shine.

"the world is not ending. perhaps, he found her already."

his eyes widened just quite a bit, lips parting by her exceptional thought before a warm smile settled on his features, "perhaps."

she grinned widely—it was almost childish.

she let her gaze fall back on the paintaing across them both, a comfortable silence between them. it was amazing, really. people are so much in tune with their emotions.

"luke thompson."

the man beside her spoke once again. he introduced charmingly, putting a hand forward.

"francine silva."

she did not think twice in grasping it—and as she did, she could almost recognise him. she could almost tell he was somebody that she used to know.

"a relative?" his brows raised in surprise followed by a chuckle as he gestured to the painting, "you cannot possibly be a descendant because... well."

francine laughed genuinely, the sorrow of the art in front of them completely forgotten, "you'd be surprised at the amount of people in the world who have that surname."

she continued, gesturing to the exhibit around them, "do you work here? you know an awful lot about the artworks."

"you'd be surprised at the amount of people who work here and don't know a thing about these all." his familiar lopsided grin showed.

he was effortlessly funny as the girl jokingly narrowed her eyes to the workers who had their backs on the two.

he chuckled as he clarified, "i am an actor."

"really? that's amazing!" her mouth was agape at that, shrugging off her earlier thoughts.

ah, maybe that's why he looked familiar earlier.

the silva pouted right after, "i apologise i do not recognise you. i don't watch much telly nowadays."

luke shook his head dismissively as if saying it was not a problem at all, "you don't have to apologise. i am in theater and plays more anyway."

she gushed at the mention, "oh, i love plays!"

he beamed at her excitement, placing his fingers below his chin as if in deep thinking, "let me guess what you do. i am quite good at this."

she laughed at him acting serious with the game he started himself as he leaned to her for closer observation, "something related with arts?"

she blew a sigh, seemingly sulking, "i still can't even paint."

he stepped back at that, crossing his arms with a teasing judging look, "well, why are you here then?"

"can't i be an enjoyer of it even if i can't do it myself?" she rolled her eyes at his accusing tone before she continued, pulling a face, "i am on a break. if i look at cells, muscles, and neurons from my textbook for another second, i will die."

"ah, medical school then." he stated with confidence as the girl nodded begrudgingly.

"well, since you're on a break," luke began with a genuine smile as he playfully blocked her view of the artwork in front, offering his hand, "francine silva, what do you say for a quick tea?"

she beamed at him, her eyes shining like how the stars did one strange night during the regency period. she placed her own hand at the care of his.

"i thought you'd never ask."

they both knew they had to exit the museum together. they did not understand it, of course, but they may have felt it.

they may have recognised each other by touch alone. now and then.

perhaps, he was indeed somebody she used to know.

curious—how many people must have been listening to music they made in their previous lives, read books they do not remember writing.

how many people must have stared at their own art in museums with no recollection of the pain they had to go through to create that.

luckily, they stumbled upon each other today, just like they had three times before.

once in eighteen-fifteen.

once in eighteen-ninety-four.

once in nineteen-fourty-five.

perhaps, their love would be a little less painful this time.

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