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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years

Note

Comte’s One More Wedding Event (full release)that should have just came out in Japanese Version. Could you translate it or summarize it, please? Thank you for your time.

I can't believe you want to give me this kind of power, but if you insist 😂💛

That being said, because my translation skills are rough at best, I'll be summarizing and selecting specific parts to discuss if I feel a need to quote directly.

If you don't want spoilers for Comte ES, run!

Y'all. Y'ALL. REEEEEEEEE I LOVE HIM. NOBODY LOOK AT ME I'VE BEEN CRYING ON AND OFF FOR DAYS

ANYWAY

So this particular event begins with MC bringing Comte a letter as he thanks her. One glance at the return address tells him that it's a pureblood gathering invitation, and upon opening it he's right. He shrugs it off and says he'll reply to it later, setting it aside.

MC, perceptive as ever, asks if he's declining the invitation. Comte explains the nature of the party and how only purebloods are allowed to end. Furthermore, the gathering takes place on their first wedding anniversary--and he would much prefer to spend the day with her.

Comte: “MC, any gorgeous evening party–no matter how beautiful–means nothing to me without my wife at my side. The place I belong is with you.”

MC: “Er…”

His gold eyes are steady and unwavering as he looks at me, and my heart skips a beat.

Comte: “Anywho I have no intention of attending this party, as it also overlaps with the date of our anniversary. Our first wedding anniversary is an important day, and I want to spend it with my beloved wife.”

Comte smiles winningly, all while staring straight at me.

MC, however, finds herself conflicted. Given how little she knows about purebloods, she wishes she could attend the party to better understand him and the community he's a part of. She admits this, to Comte's great surprise, but feels bad about it because she doesn't mean to ask something impossible of him. (One of the requirements of the party is that you have to be a pureblood vampire to be invited. ON WEDNESDAYS WE WEAR PINK) Comte clarifies that--because she's his wife--she's welcome to attend alongside him. He offers to take her with him if that's what she wants.

MC: “Are you really sure it’s okay for me to go, though?”

Comte: “Certainly. But I would never force you if you were uncomfortable, of course.”

MC: “No, I don’t hate the idea!”

Comte: “But I’d understand if being surrounded by purebloods would be rather nerve-wracking for you…And so many of them have a superiority complex a mile wide; they’re a prideful bunch. While it may not be all of us, there are enough that it might be stifling for you to be around them.”

Comte: “In light of all that, are you certain you still wish to go?”

[I know he’s just doing his best to prepare me for what I might face at a party like this--he doesn’t want me going in with the wrong idea. It’s very likely he had intended to decline the invitation to spare me the discomfort, and the burden of making a choice that would affect/limit him too. The concern in his features makes me melt.]

The part I love most about this scene is that this is just the beginning of so many attempts on his part to prepare her realistically, but also support her decision. As much as he wants to go with her he's never going to put her in the position of deciding for the both of them. He knows there's a great deal of pressure to face among such a forbidding/traditional society, and if she needs more time to prepare for that--he wants to give her the space to get used to something so unfamiliar. In truth, I don't see him ever asking her to go if she didn't want to--even if it stung to have that part of him rejected...

MC considers for a moment, but she's resolved to understand him and his people better. She explains as much, and Comte brightens at the confession.

MC: “I’m sorry if it’s a bit much to ask of you, but thank you…!”

Comte: “I should be the one thanking you, now I look forward to the gathering.”

MC: “You’re…looking forward to it?”

When I tilt my head quizzically, le Comte draws me close with a faint smile on his lips.

Comte: “I’m excited to introduce you as my wife.” (SCREAMS AND CRIES)

This gets INSANELY cute because he gathers her close to him and she just gets very bashful about it. She apologizes--saying she knows she should be more used to it given they've already been married a year now, but his response is so sweet: “Why apologize? I’ve always thought my wife is the cutest.”

They both think back to their wedding ceremony at the mention of how long they've been together, and MC's eyes find the flower pins she gifted him on top of his hourglass (which fking one he has like 300).

Some background for anyone unaware: when Comte and MC got married, MC gifted him these flower pins--they were flowers that were preserved (in metal I think? idk exactly how it works they just look metallic in his outfit art). She explains that they're an attempt to symbolize her love for him, in that she intends to remain unchanging in her feelings forever. I find it's also an apt metaphor for MC herself; it's not unlike her agreement to become a vampire to stay with him.

MC: “You’ve been taking good care of the flowers I gave you.”

Right next to the hourglass lie the preserved flowers I gave him. They gleam in the light with ease, clearly polished and looked after–not a speck of dust on them.

Comte: “With those you swore your love to me. Isn’t it only natural that I’d take good care of them?” (LISTEN COMTE YOU AND I BOTH KNOW THE REALITY OF THE MALE SPECIES QUIT PLAYIN)

After that scene there's a timeskip to the night of the party--and after everyone celebrates their anniversary in the mansion all day--they hop in a carriage. MC is a little lost in thought, preparing herself for what's to come. When he asks if she's nervous she fully admits to it, but with a caveat. She's nervous because she doesn't know what to expect and she's concerned about committing a social faux pas, but she's not afraid or anxious.

Before I came to this time I had absolutely no concept of what an elaborate dinner party looked like–and besides which, this time it’s going to be a room full of purebloods. I’m nervous, sure, because I’ve never done this before--but it’s not quite anxiety or fear.

MC: “As long as you’re beside me, I’m invincible–anytime, anywhere.”

I can navigate anything: unfamiliar social circles, even an entirely new era of time. Because Comte is always so steady and reliable, always there for me, my anxiety ebbs and I can shine–be the very best I can be.

Comte: “MC…”

Comte looks absolutely moved by what I have to say, directing a gentle, tender look at me.

Comte reiterates his previous warning, that they might be weirdos and/or rude because they're stuck in their ways. He knows their discriminatory nature is wrong, but he believes in her ability to overcome those things--and fully intends to support her. He also lets her know what to expect in terms of the schedule: mostly mingling, and dancing is reserved for the very end of the party only.

Gatsby hour begins and MC marvels at the enormous venue sparsely populated by people dressed to the nines (I can only imagine how Comte dressed her up for this event in light of that LMFAO). Comte tells her he's going to get some drinks, and MC agrees to wait for him. In a classic lowkey queen move, she retreats against a nearby wall to take in her surroundings. She feels a certain intensity to be surrounded by people who look so young and beautiful, and yet carry the experience of lifetimes within them. She also notes the slightest permeating scent of blood in the air, assuming most of the people in attendance are drinking Rouge in their wine glasses.

When Comte returns to her, he offers her a glass of red wine, and she takes it with a smile.

MEAN GIRLS TIME!!!!!

So these two ladies approach le Comte yelling about how long it's been since they've seen him, and about the rumors that he got married. Without missing a beat he confirms it's true, and introduces MC to them as his wife. MC offers a greeting and a curtsy, but the women openly spurn her because she's not a vampire lmao. ("Who put you on the planet" energy, essentially). I still can't tell if they were acting like insane mother-in-laws on Comte's behalf, or out of jealousy--or weirdly both.

All casual dismissal, the women sashay away from us, dresses swishing.

[It seems like I really won’t be accepted as Comte’s life partner so long as I remain human…]

Comte: “…I’m sorry. I’m afraid that is the usual attitude of pureblood vampires. Not all of us are like that, but they still made you feel uncomfortable ;;;;”

MC: “That’s not something to apologize for. I’m happy to attend such a lovely party as your wife.”

I don’t want to ruin the occasion for him, so I beam at him.

Comte: “MC…” His lips descend close to my ear, pressing the lightest kiss against it.

Comte: “Thank you, MC…I’m happy, too.”

While Comte is full of uwus and love for his wife, she notes he stops there--likely because it's a public venue. (And I'd wager respectability politics, given a lot of old school people tend to say horrible things at the slightest sign of PDA lol. It would give them all the more reason to be nasty to MC.) MC notes that no matter how small the gesture or how often he extends his affection, it always sets her heart racing (what a damn mood) and they both gear up to greet everyone else. They're both like ganbatte!!! at each other and it's really cute, haha.

[No matter how many times he does things like this, I’m always caught off guard. I imagine we’ll be this way forever…]

Comte: “Here we go, the party’s only just begun. Let’s get to it and enjoy ourselves. No need to hesitate, it’s our wedding anniversary after all–this is a time for you to smile.”

MC: “Haha, thank you very much! Then I’ll definitely enjoy it to the fullest!”

We continue to greet and chat with other purebloods, the night goes on while I sample some of their food–

At some point MC separates from Comte to use the restroom. When she exits to rejoin the crowd, she hears the voices of those two women that openly rejected her earlier. They basically talk about how Comte and MC will never last or have a meaningful relationship, and that Comte is wasting his time not breeding more master race pureblood babies for the community's future. (Not remotely surprised Leonardo does not like them at this juncture lmao)

While MC was well aware she'd face some level of disdain, she admits that it still hurts to hear--and doesn't want Comte to see her upset. So she walks out to a nearby balcony to look at the stars and cool off before returning to his side.

Comte: “MC.”

MC: “Eh…? Comte, when did you get here?”

Comte: “You hadn’t returned for a while, so I went looking for you.”

MC: “Ah, I’m sorry to worry you. The stars were so lovely I couldn’t help but linger a bit to enjoy the sight of them.”

When I try to hide my gloomy feelings, he stares at me.

Comte: “You seem upset all of a sudden. Did something happen? Did someone…say something to you, by any chance?”

MC: “Ah, I can’t hide from you it seems. I guess I am a little upset.”

Comte: “…”

Comte: “MC, do you regret marrying me?”

MC: “!”

MC: “That’s not the case at all. No matter what finds us in the future, I’ll never regret having married you. I’m glad I met you, Abel–that will never change…”

When I tell him my heartfelt feelings, he gently wraps his arms around me.

Comte: “…Me too, MC.” The voice that murmurs at my ear is filled with such ardor that my heart melts.

Comte: “It might have been too much to ask of you to come here. But no matter how difficult the truth may be, it’s an undeniable fact that I’m a pureblood.”

Comte: “I was so happy that you wanted to know more about me–to know me better–that I was spoiled by your words. And yet, as a result of that indulgence, I hurt you…”

MC: “…No. That’s not it. Abel, I’m not familiar with vampires. But this last year, I was with a pureblood who’s kinder than anyone else I know.”

I have no innate fear or dislike of purebloods–because the person I love more than anyone else in the world is a pureblood vampire.

MC: “That’s why I’m not afraid, or dreading any of this.” It might seem outlandish, but his presence was like magic; it was enough to give me the strength to have courage and find kindness for the people around me.

MC: “No matter who stands in my way in the future, I will do my best to be recognized as your partner someday. Didn't I tell you before? I'm invincible anytime, anywhere, as long as you're there with me!”

Upon hearing her resolve to stay with him, he feels the need to renew his vow to her too--telling her that he'll always love her as well, and that his feelings have only grown since then. One important bit to note in his confession is that he fully admits he had a hard time coming to term with what he was, he's only a little more accepting of being a pureblood because her existence redefines what an eternity means to him. He explains that, while no end of time used to be an upsetting and hollow concept to him, the fact that his long life will be spent cultivating his love for her gives him the strength to face his reality.

They kiss and MC acknowledges that life--no matter how long--always has its ups and downs. Sometimes there will be rough times, like when those Mean Girls women were actively nasty and unfair to her. And sometimes there will be joyous times, like how Comte just repeated his vow to her so sweetly. But more than anything, it's important to live in the present moment as fully as possible, and she deepens her kiss with Comte accordingly.

After what I assume to be an excellent make out, they return to the venue and rejoin the group of vampires. Now then, because it's Comte and Comte refuses to take any shit he reveals his ace in the hand. Premeditated and all cunning expectation, the show begins:

After reaffirming our feelings for the other, we return to the hall. When we wandered around to greet people today, there were also vampires who were kind to me. For those that remain perturbed by my presence, they continue to sneer at me as though I were an eyesore.

[I don’t care. Comte’s by my side…]

Comte: “…That’s right, MC. There was one thing I forgot to mention.”

MC: “Huh?”

Comte: “A short while ago, you said something about doing your best to earn their approval. I wouldn’t even worry about it, you’re perfect just as you are. Everyone here just doesn’t have the slightest inkling as to your charms yet. For those with the ability to see, feel free to show them as many times as you like.”

MC: “Comte…”

At that very moment, a waltz begins to flow into the hall.

Comte: “Oh, is it time to dance already? MC, shall we?” (Oh Is It TiMe To DaNcE aLrEaDy, damn clown)

MC: “Yes.”

In time with the melody, we begin to waltz together. When I'd first arrived to this era, the steps and the dance itself were unfamiliar to me. Now when I dance with Comte it’s nearly effortless–natural as breathing.

[Comte has taken me to so many evening parties at this point. Thanks to his impeccable leading any uncertainty in my step is elegantly disguised.]

Comte: “MC.”

As we danced, he called my name--crooned it softly.

Comte: “…Have you noticed? Everyone is watching us.”

At the sound of this new information, I look around.

[Oh, it’s true–everyone really is looking at us…]

And it’s not like before, tinged with displeasure and contempt. It’s like they can’t look away from us now, dazzled and intrigued.

MC: “Makes sense–you’ve always been a very graceful dancer, Comte, it’s impossible not to find it captivating.”

Comte: “No. Without you as my partner, I can’t enjoy it nearly as much as I do now.”

He grins as he says so, the sentiment reflected in his buoyant step. Beautiful, noble…and above all, lively. Even though I’m always by his side, I remain endlessly captivated by that smile and movement.

Comte: “We are more in tune with each other than every other pair here, don’t you think?”

MC: “Haha, that’s right!”

I think le Comte is lovely no matter who he’s dancing with, but I’m sure I’m the one who gets along with him best–I think so, because his golden eyes reflect no one else but me.

[No matter what anyone says…I won’t give up this position to anyone else.]

When the song is over, and the dance is finished, the hall is filled with the raucous sound of applause and cheering. All these people are looking at us and their eyes are shining.

[I wonder…if maybe our feelings for each other were transmitted more clearly after that dance? The mere thought of it makes me feel ticklish and delighted.]

After their lovely display, the Mean Girls ladies approach MC to apologize as everybody is leaving for the night. MC accepts their apologies and says she wants to find a way to get along with them moving forward, though they're still pretty reluctant (probably only apologized to save face).

Differences in lifestyle and family tradition...I think there are many reasons why they can’t accept me. I don’t think it’s easy to understand the breadth of the gap between us; I’m sure I’ll need more time to be able to bridge those differences.

[I don’t know the way of life or struggle of the pureblood people yet. But…I want to understand.]

Even if we are endlessly different, I don’t want to give up on finding some sort of compromise. Next to me, le Comte smiles silently. For the foreseeable future--as long as it may take--I want to prove that I can make this person happy.

I deadass can't stop laughing at the fact of Comte standing next to MC all :)))))) (y'all he is emitting BOSS M U S I C)

After that, Comte and MC also head into their carriage and head home:

Comte: “MC, thank you.”

Le Comte remarks on the way home in the carriage.

MC: “…? I haven’t done anything worth thanks.”

Comte: “For today, for coming with me. And--up until now and from now on--for being by my side. I wanted to thank you again.”

He leans over from where he sits next to me and entwines our fingers together.

MC: “…Abel?”

Comte: “…Today is not just the day of the party, but our wedding anniversary too, right? From here on out, it’s time for only us two to be together.”

This is essentially where the premium story ends, and then it moves into the epilogue. I'll give some tidbits from the epilogue, just because it was so endlessly gratifying. Other than them having the smash of the century, it's mostly Comte going overstimulation feral service top. But there are so many really romantic moments during the shameless fking ;-;

The more he kisses me, the more my need for him spirals out of control. As if to entice him I twist my tongue with his deeper and deeper.

Comte: “MC…”

He exhales my name on a single heated syllable, and I can tell by the way he’s looking at me precisely what it is he wants.

Comte: “MC, what do you want to do…? I want to make you happy tonight. Do you want me to be kind? Or take you with reckless abandon?”

MC: “Abel…please do as you like. That’s what would make me happiest. :>”

Comte: “…I see. So you want to be made a mess of, is what you mean.”

MC: “Mn, aah–”

When his hands trace my sides seductively, my sensitive body reacts on it’s own.

Comte: “…You’re really cute, MC. Tonight, I’ll remind you the joy of being mine again.”

---

Comte: “Always so sensitive. Just the slightest touch, and you cry out with such a sweet voice…”

MC: “Well, it is your fault…”

[Because if Abel touches me like that…He spoils me and leaves me in an endless sea of pleasure, building up to that crest–fading–and building up again…because he loves me so dearly.]

Comte: “My fault, is it?…I like the sound of that.”

With a bewitching smile, he makes short work of his tie and button down. Even the most casual gestures like this are done with such grace that it becomes sensual. I’m drawn to the sight of him revealing more and more of his skin, thinking he’s far too much of a tease.

Comte: “…If you look at me with such desirous, greedy eyes, I’m going to lose control myself, MC.”

----

MC: “I…all I do is take from you…” I’m embarrassed because I’m so inexperienced that all I do is drown in the pleasure he gives me.

Comte: “…If you really think so, then you’re too unaware.”

MC: “Mn–ah, hah…”

Comte: “I’m the one who can’t stop wanting you…MC.”

When he leans over to murmur in my ear, his voice is suffused with desire–breathing shallow. From the gap between his lips, I can see the fangs which have never broken my skin…

MC: “Abel…do you want to bite me?”

If the answer is yes, then I’d be delighted. A vampire’s hunger for blood is often tied to romantic feeling. If he wants to suck my blood, then that’s all the more evidence that he loves me.

Comte: “That’s right. I want to sink my fangs into your soft skin…To taste your blood, to know your body and soul--I want to make every part of you mine.”

MC: “Mn…”

He drops a kiss to my throat, tickled by his tongue as he licks there–as if to taste me.

Comte: “But…”

Only I am reflected in his eyes.

Comte: “The only thing I want more than biting you is to take good care of you. I don’t want to impulsively take anything from you.”

MC: “Abel…”

....

Comte: “Someday…I will make you into a vampire. But, right now, I want you to stay exactly as you are.”

The heat of him coupled by that serious look...my heart is swept away.

Comte: “So…can you bear with my hesitation for just a little while longer?”

MC: “Yes…forever. I’ll always be yours.” I replied, wrapping my arms around his back. He squinted, as if he were staring at something dazzling.

Comte: “I’m always hesitating, but…MC. I will absolutely never let you go. I swear my love to you forever, my dear wife.”

----

The last part of the epilogue is confusing because I'm not sure if it's intended to be an actual dream or Comte just messing with her, but here goes:

[Morning already…?]

At the sensation of sunlight, I open my eyes.

MC: “Eh!?”

Comte: “Are you up, MC? The defenseless face you make when you’re asleep is adorable, but when you open your eyes and look at me that’s also lovely.”

He was lying in bed, unlike last night, wearing the same outfit he had on for our wedding.

[Ah, I’m most likely dreaming.] When I realize it, I get a ticklish feeling in my chest and can’t help the smile that finds my face.

MC: “Haha…”

Comte: “MC? What’s wrong?”

MC: “No, I was just thinking you really will always be by my side. I’m glad to see you in my dreams like this…I’m happy.”

Comte: “…Haha, that’s right. I’m happy too. But…it’s not always a dream right?”

MC: “Er…”

His voice easily makes my heart flutter, like sweet sake.

Comte: “Would you like to see if it’s a dream? …Once again, with your body.”

My heart thunders under his sultry gaze, covetous gold eyes beckoning me closer. (COME HITHER FUCK)

MC: “Yes, Abel. As many times as you like…take me.”

I know dream-like, impossibly happy days will continue as long as I stay by his side–

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is so much going on here that I don't even know how to encompass all my feelings other than to say MARRIED COUPLE G O A L S. AAAAAAAAA I LOVE HIM SO MUCH HE'S SUCH A DOTING HUSBAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PUT A RING ON ME S I R

I really love the endless reciprocity coming from MC, lmao. She very openly wants to respond to his efforts, wants to make him happy too, is just as desirous in their coupling. I also love how much personality and spunk she has??? I was fucking d y i n g when she was like:

MC: "Aren't the stars so nice." Comte: "Adorable that you'd try to out-fake the king faker. What really happened." MC: "Damn it."

It's been a long time since I've gotten this much serotonin from a story m a nnnnnn

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp jpn spoilers #can't believe mc defeated pureblood regina george #what a time to be alive folks #god this event is going to give me cavities #im so fucking softe #the way he just loves and supports her in such a steadfast and lowkey way #though i will admit it was a little hilarious watching this event because i was so like 'lmao is that the best you got'#i grew up with rich suburban white girls what do i care im too busy eating shrimp #GOD and the fangy part #swear to god every single time he gets fangy i just ascend #fingers crossed his fifth bday event will be him turning her IM BEGGING CRYBIRD #thanks for this request!!! hope this all makes sense #always welcome <3 #at this point i have to wonder if there is a different writer for some of comte's stories bc yeesh #h e l p comte is too powerful...#rambles #not incorrect quotes #yall when he asks if mc regrets marrying him i swear to god my heart just stopped in my chest #BABY NO?????? MY GOD?????? YOU ARE LITERALLY MY DREAM HUSBAND?????? STOP???????

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friendlypsychopathnextdoor · 2 years

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How can I motivate myself to finish school

1. Why do you wish to finish school?

Use that reason and push through, step by step. If you put in more work now you will experience a sense of success as you receive better results. This will fuel your motivation and make it more enjoyable and therefore school itself “easier”.

2. Enjoying it.

Find something enjoyable about the topic that is currently being taught in a class you struggle with and volunteer to give a presentation on that specifically. For example if you struggle with history, but enjoy physics give a presentation on the workings and the development of “Little Boy” and “Fat man” or the “machinery” used to build the pyramids. If you prefer biology, but struggle with maths offer to give a presentation on exponential functions using the example of bacterial growth. Most people are naturally curious about something and if you manage to transfer your curiosity to a subject that is otherwise difficult it will become easier to invest time.

3. Yet.

Do not allow yourself to say or even think “I suck at this”, “I can’t do this”, especially when it comes to entire subjects. Sometimes you will need more time to learn something, others will struggle in different areas, but it is more of a matter of “I can’t do this, yet” unless you give up.

4. Distractions.

It is often that other things seem more important or at least more enjoyable and while indulgance to a certain degree is healthy especially as a child/teenager, “social obligations” created by friends or romantic partners are less important at this stage of your development. It is likely that if people insist you prioritise them, that they do not have your best future interest in mind and you will suffer no long term loss from losing their “friendship”/“partnership”. However, in general it is best to turn distractions into rewards. If you wish to play a new computer game, force yourself to do parts of your homework first. Maybe after doing the first half you can start loading the game and then when you are done you will play it. This short partial reward system works especially well if you have long study sessions ahead that you can thereby split into smaller more realistic intervalls all followed by a small-“partial” reward that will not lead to a longer interruption.

5. Routine.

There are a lot of “study schedules”, most of which are absurd online, but they are unlikely to help you. If you struggle with motivation to begin with trying to follow a strict schedule, even if you set it yourself, will likely demotivate you even more. Instead, for example just plan to go to the library next Saturday to learn ahead or catch up a bit. If this works for you, then maybe go again next Wednesday etc.. If you wish to have a plan then set it up in a way that there is less scheduled than you would ideally be able to do, for it is very demotivating to fall behind your own ideals.

6. Environment.

Study, if possible, somewhere were you are surrounded by people also studying who are otherwise not part of your peer group or home. People seem to be more motivated when they see strangers sharing their suffering as well as giving room for competition and new contacts, be it a personal “library romance” or the law students who fell asleep on their desk a few tables over. Going out to study, to a park, your school, your cellar etc. will also make the experience more similiar to other hobbies you might have, allow for less distractions than your own room and you are less likely to give up, if you have put in the effort of getting there with all your materials.

7. Exam dates.

Something a bit of a personal trick, which might not be something you wish to do or should do, is to schedule exams earlier than they actually are. It has led to a lot of confusion by my classmates and parents in the past, but as a teenager I have made a point of putting the exam date a day or even a few days earlier in every calendar than it actually was, so much so that this “wrong date” was the one which I thought of when I thought of the exam. I finished all of my studies before that date and as it arrived I “suddenly” had time for revision. This practice can prevent procrastination, however, it makes no sense if all of your exams are within the same week, unless you move all of the by an equal amount forward in time.

Post scriptum: This advice is mostly centred on struggling less as a student and less on motivation, mostly because people can easier motivate themselves to do things they are good at.

Post post scriptum: There is a saying that “school is not for everyone”, however, unless you have an alternative that would be likely to financially secure you and offer you more joy than any job you could get by finishing school, droping out, especially if you are young and not far ahead in your academic endeavours is a bit of a pointlessly dramatic choice. When you ask the question under point one, the answer “I think a phd would look nice next to my name one day”, “I don’t know what else to do”, “my parents would think I am a bit stupid otherwise” are perfectally acceptable reasons. You can still search for alternatives to academia, but that does not mean you need to make your time till then more difficult and if you put enough effort in to succeed in some larts, those will become a lot less difficult.

#ask #answered #school #academic #life advice #study motivation #study advice

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jalapeno-princess · 3 years

Text

Body Language

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: The most adorable fluff I have ever written with some first time sex (the smut in here is so vanilla and soft and terrible but I don’t even care at this point lol)

Word Count: 14.5K

Summary: You and your boyfriend Mark had plans to go out on a date until the two of you find out that it is expected to rain for the rest of the night. What starts off as a romantic night in turns in to finally becoming one with the love of your life.

Warnings: Oral (male and female receiving), fingering, breast play

A/N: Hey guys! If I am being completely honest, this is one of my favorite stories I’ve ever written because Mark is such a soft, fluffy and doting boyfriend in here (and I feel with my entire ass that he is like this in real life) and I don’t know but I just find it so cute when boyfriends are considerate of their partner’s desires to wait for sex (it’s rare but if a man really loves you he will wait for however long you need him to)(it’s even more rare when he puts your pleasure before his own but there are men out there and I still have yet to find one like that but one day)(@God...When?) by the way, this is based on the song “Teach me how to love” by Shawn Mendes, I highly recommend that you listen to the song before or while reading this so it makes more sense. Happy reading!

Ooh, your body's like an ocean I'm devoted To explore you Ooh, what do you desire? I'm inspired I'll do it for you

Won't you draw a map for me? Laced with strawberries And I'll get on my knees Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me how to love Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love

“Thank you for tuning in to Good Evening Los Angeles. Make sure to stay indoors tonight for there is a 80% chance of rainfall with winds up to 25 miles per hour. We’re also expecting a thunderstorm on Wednesday with winds between 30 to 35 miles per hour—“

Mark released an exasperated sigh once he heard the weather forecast and was quick to change the channel in disappointment.

“Well, I guess there goes our plans for tonight. We haven’t gone out on a date in almost an entire month because we’re both so busy, I really wanted to take you to that new sushi restaurant but I guess it’s just going to have to wait.”

You giggled softly at his now upset demeanor and took this time to snuggle up closer to his body if it was even physically possible. Your bodies were practically glued together to the point where you could feel his heart beat against your chest.

His arms were wrapped protectively around your waist as he was propped up against his headboard with you lying on top of him, legs on either side of his lap—hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Right after you returned home from work a little over two hours ago, Mark suggested that you took a quick nap to regain some energy before you both went out to dinner later that night.

For the last week and a half, he’s been planning to take you out on a date and claimed that there was something he had to tell you. Being the impatient person that you were on top of overthinking quite often, you begged him to confess what was weighing heavy on his mind, but he would always try to change the subject and told you not to worry about it.

As much as you were dying to know what he was hiding from you, you knew Mark like the back of your hand—if it was something bad, he would have told you already so you just had to accept that he was going to tell you on his own time; even if it meant having to wait another week until the both of you could go out on a date again.

He was quick to give you one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants to change in to—this was a regular occurrence. For the last six months of your relationship, the two of you spent quite a lot of time at each other’s places. A lot of your stuff was scattered throughout his apartment; he purchased both your shampoo and conditioner, body wash, a toothbrush and some other beauty products that were currently sitting on the bathroom counter—your side to be exact.

There were a few of your clothes in his closet, but you never got around to using them. Whenever you would sleep over, he’d lend you some of his clothes because he claimed almost every item he owned looked amazing on you. You had a few of your work sandals and flats on his shoe rack, some of your vitamins and medication on his kitchen counter and he even purchased Disney+ because you were such a fan of Disney movies.

Your place mirrored his; he had set up an Xbox in your living room to play with when he did come over, he had some of his clothes in your closet and in your drawers; some that he left there and some you would secretly take over time. He left a few of his rings and a necklace his parents gave to him on your dresser and he’d even bring his briefcase over if he had plans on staying the night.

Sometimes, your mutual friends would hint towards the two of you moving in together since technically, you already did. However, Mark never really said anything about it and you just assumed that he believed it was still too early in your relationship to move in together.

You thought about it every now and then; you wouldn’t mind going to bed wrapped tightly in his warm, protective embrace and getting to wake up next to him in all his handsome glory every single day. Any moment spent with your boyfriend made you always feel so happy; Mark had to be one of the best things in your life at the moment.

Your heart craved his presence all the time—even when the two of you had a small argument or disagreement which never happened all too often. Whenever the two of you couldn’t hang out and spend time together—if your schedules collided or if either of you went home to visit your families, your chest would always feel so empty.

Mark Tuan is where you held your heart; the both of you might not have been together for all that long just yet, but you felt and believed wholeheartedly that he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. You could only hope he felt the same way about you because you honestly didn’t know what you would do if you were to lose him. Mark in more or less words was your soulmate—your best friend.

From the time you were a little girl, you were such a hopeless romantic. You were in love with the idea of love and being in love and it wasn’t until Mark came in to your life did you realize how beautiful the concept of love really was. He’s opened your eyes to so many different things; he’s brought in so much life and color in to your dull and seemingly black and white world. You placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth—trying to take his mind off of the unfortunate weather situation and thankfully, it worked.

He smiled against your lips, humming gently and deepening the kiss as he brought his fingers in to your shirt and grazed them just above your belly button.

“That’s fine baby, we can just stay in tonight. If I’m being honest, I didn’t really feel like getting ready or dressing up. I just want to be lazy. We can order some take out and watch another movie if that’s okay with you.”

He was silent for a few seconds, as if he was considering your suggestion to follow what the weather reporter said and stay inside for the night. He nodded in agreement before placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“That sounds like a plan. I don’t care where we are or what we end up doing, I just want to be with you.” You playfully flicked his forehead and giggled at his look of confusion.

“You’re such a cheeseball Mark. Don’t say things like that, you don’t understand what your words do to my heart. What do you feel like eating tonight?”

You repositioned your body and sat right on top of his lap so that he could look at your phone while you scrolled through the many take out options that California had to offer. He placed his chin on your shoulder; watching as you searched up restaurants and fast food joints near his apartment. Feeling his breath against your neck sent a tingling sensation to your chest; it wasn’t like you weren’t used to the proximity.

You and Mark clung to one another like sloths. If you were cooking, washing the dishes or doing laundry, he’d always take his place behind you and allowed you to do your thing, but he had to be holding you at all times. He confessed that he just loved the feeling of having you near; your presence always calmed him down and made him feel at ease.

However, he seemed to be quite touchy tonight in particular, not that you were complaining. His hands were lingering in foreign places; the two of you had yet to become one in that sense. Since Mark was your first genuine boyfriend, you had yet to give yourself to anyone.

It wasn’t as though you were waiting for marriage or anything, but you were the type of person who believed that sex was a spiritual, sensual and memorable experience as much as it was sexual. You wanted to save your virginity for someone you knew would love you and cherish you for your entire being; not just your body.

Sex to some people was a way to receive pleasure and to soothe their carnal urges—but you believed that it was so much more than reaching an orgasm. You wanted to trust the person you decided to give your body to and you were more than grateful that Mark was so patient, considerate and understanding of your feelings.

Not once did he ever ask you to go that far with him; he made it known that he wanted to take your relationship at the pace that you were most comfortable with. Although you were sure it had to be hard for him to stay abstinent, especially because it was scientifically proven that men had their needs and desired sex more than women did; he continued to be such a gentleman and allowed you to determine when you were ready to give yourself to him.

It didn’t take you long to realize that you were in love with your boyfriend; actually, you noticed that your feelings for Mark went further than just infatuation around the beginning of the second month. The two of you had yet to say that four letter word though; it almost slipped from your lips a couple of times, but you were afraid of rejection if you were to tell him only to find out that he didn’t reciprocate your fame feelings.

As the days went by, you were soon losing your resolve. Seeing him shirtless almost every day, kissing him passionately and making out with him fervently, having him drag his fingers along your bare skin—each and every touch drove you closer to your end. You knew you’d have to have him one of these days; and with the way you’d feel him harden up against your butt or your thigh as the two of you would cuddle or the way his jaw would drop and clench when he’d see you in a body hugging dress or even in one of his baggy shirts, you knew he was just as on the brink of insanity as you were.

“Hmm, pizza sounds good—“

“We always get pizza—“

“Well, that’s because I love pizza. Almost as much as I love y—yogurt. Uh—fine, we can get whatever it is that you want. How about you decide what we eat and I’ll pick out a movie for us?”

You could feel your heart rate increase immensely as you heard the l word fall from his lips—but your stomach sank when he caught himself. Was he going to finally confess what you’ve been dreaming of him to say since the day you realized you felt that way toward him? Did he really love yogurt? Or did he catch himself about to say the only thing that the two of you have been prolonging on getting around to and try to redirect the entire conversation so that maybe you could forget about it?

Luckily you weren’t facing him or else he’d be able to see the frown that quickly rose on your face. You continued to look at different menus for a few more minutes as he pulled up Netflix and began to scan through the many different shows and movies there were.

“Oooh, what about Thai food? It’s been a while since we’ve had pad Thai. We can share multiple entrees if you want?” You felt him hum against your shoulder blade and you took that as a yes before calling in your order.

“Should we wait for the food before putting on a movie? Or shall we watch a tv show for now and just wait for it to arrive?”

“I’m fine with waiting, there’s a new episode of buzzfeed unsolved that I’ve been wanting to watch. Is that okay with you?” He placed a kiss on the back of your neck and began to graze both of his thumbs on your hip bones.

“I like the sound of that. I’m glad you waited for me—you always have a habit of being impatient and watching without me—ow, what was that for? You know it’s true y/n. You finished an entire season of The Office while I was in Taiwan.”

He rubbed the left side of his abdomen where you had hit him and playfully pinched your cheek. Your mind wandered back to that day three months ago; his entire family went to China in order to attend his cousin’s wedding and it was the first time the two of you went over a week without seeing each other physically. He called you whenever he had the chance and tried to send you as many photos of his trip as the terrible service in Taiwan allowed him to.

In order to take your mind off of his absence, you sneakily watched some episodes of your favorite show even after promising to wait for him to come back. You tried to watch other series, but nothing really entertained you like the cast of the office did. Mark was pretty upset when he found out—you forgot that Netflix showed you where you last left off and it was on an episode he had yet to see.

Hell, he had multiple episodes to finish of the previous season to even start on the one you currently were watching. He gave you the silent treatment for two days; although, he still continued to take care of you silently—but he willingly gave in on the third day after you cooked him some of his favorite meals to get him to forgive you. He also claimed that he couldn’t stay mad at you for much longer and he could tell you learned your lesson by how apologetic you were in order to get him to start talking to you again.

From that day on, he made you promise him that you wouldn’t watch anything without him and the entire memory made you snicker. Mark was twenty-seven years old, yet he still acted like a child. Even his laugh was that of a little kid; you didn’t think it was possible for a man his age to have such an adorable, contagious and high pitched laugh that never failed to send warmth to your cheeks every time you were the cause of it.

His laughter and child-like mindset were only two of the many things you appreciated about your boyfriend. He was like a breath of fresh air—he never took life too seriously as most of the people around you did. He kept you sane in a world where everyone was seemingly crazy because of how hectic the real world could get. Both his and your laughter filled the room as Steve Carrell’s character was freaking out about something and soon, there was a knock at the door which you assumed was the delivery guy.

“I’ll be right back babe.”

He gently lifted you off of his lap in order for him to get up and stole a chaste kiss from your lips while making his way to the front door. You decided to grab some napkins and chopsticks from the kitchen and waited for him to head back to his room.

“Shit, how much did we order, this bag is heavy as hell.”

You couldn’t help but stifle back a laugh and led the way back to his room. He placed the food down on the bed and you began to distribute food on both your plates—all the while thanking him for buying the food. To say Mark was generous was an understatement.

He loved buying things for you no matter how many times you’d tell him to save his money for things he’d actually need. Sometimes, the two of you would fight over who was going to pay; most of the time, he would give his card—whether it was at a restaurant, while you’d go grocery shopping together; if you went to watch a movie or went to the arcade, if you went shopping for new clothes or just random trinkets he’d see that he thought you’d like, he’d purchase it in a heartbeat.

Mark just really enjoyed seeing a smile on your face and he would do whatever he could just to make you happy. You tried to tell him time and time again that you weren’t a materialistic person, truthfully—he could write you a heartfelt letter or give you a ring pop and you would probably cry. But he’d never listen and you just got used to his generosity over time; it just showed you how much you meant to him and knowing that alone did wonders to your heart.

Even if you had given him his own share of what you ordered, he’d playfully steal some food off of your plate just to rile you up. Mark was well aware of how protective you could be when it came to your food. There were times when you felt like sharing with him, but that was only if you both got different meals and he wanted to try yours or if you so happened to be eating and felt bad that he didn’t have any food.

He did feed you to make up for his many bits of teasing and you could feel your heart flutter every time he brought the chopstick full of noodles up to your mouth. When you were both done and full beyond belief, he took the empty bag and went to go throw it away while you prepared the area for you to both get comfortable in.

Once he was finished putting away the left overs and taking out the trash, he made a beeline to where you were and flung himself on top of you; earning himself a loud groan and a punch to the shoulder. He was quick to pull you back in to the previous position; allowing you to sit in between his legs while he intertwined one of your hands with his and placed his free one on top of your lap.

“I was thinking we could watch that Ted Bundy movie since you were interested about his case back when they did an unsolved mystery about it.”

Mark was always great at observing people; since he was more on the introverted and soft spoken side, he was more of a listener than he was a talker. For the last month, you’ve taken an interest in murder mysteries and solving crimes.

You had the adorable tendency to repeatedly tell Mark your theories or who you suspected the killer was while you watched these shows and your excitement never failed to bring your boyfriend so much satisfaction himself. For some reason, you were beginning to feel warmth in your chest—it wasn’t the kind that you’d always seem to get whenever Mark would compliment you or did something to make your heart flutter. This was a feeling you couldn’t fathom in to words—it was one you weren’t familiar with, but it did feel good.

Really good.

Maybe it was just because hearing him point out such a small detail that he remembered set it in stone that he really did care about you. God, what did you do to deserve such a wonderful human being to call your boyfriend? What war did you lead in your past life to be the lucky girl who was able to love Mark Tuan? For the first hour of the movie, you found yourself unable to take your eyes off of the screen—it was just so addicting.

Not only was the acting really good from both the main characters, but the storyline and the suspense was too interesting to pull your attention away from. Mark had to cover your mouth with his hand because you were unable to stop talking about how stupid the justice system were to believe Ted’s lies in the first place and that if you were a detective at the time, you would have seen through his act from the beginning.

“He’s not even that good looking, why would these girls fall for him?”

He snickered against your neck at your enthusiasm; you would always be very verbal when it came to movies like this. Movies where you would put yourself in the shoes of one of the characters and explain in to detail to your boyfriend how you would have went about the entire situation.

Unfortunately, you failed to notice the warning at the beginning; you were too excited with the idea of how the director and all the screenwriters came up with the movie in it’s entirety to read that there was explicit sexual content in the film. When Zac Efron and one of his love interests began to have sex up against a vending machine, you were unprepared to say the least for what was coming.

The female’s moans were extremely loud and Zac’s thrusts were rough; the two of them were practically shaking the vending machine and you were feeling flustered at the sight and the noise. Especially because you were watching such a graphic scene with your boyfriend who you had yet to have sexual intercourse with. If you and Mark were to have had sex already, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt so awkward watching other people having sex. But because you had yet to participate in that activity, it just felt so weird.

Mark began to tense up against your body and before you knew it, there was something hard pressing up against your ass. You weren’t stupid, you could tell that this scene was having an effect on your boyfriend as much as it was on you. There was a tingling sensation between your thighs; you’ve felt it a couple of times before, but now that you were watching a sex scene and found yourself growing hot at every thrust and curse of how good it felt, you had a huge feeling you were turned on—but it wasn’t because of the two people fucking, it’s because of the beautiful boy whose embrace you were currently in.

To your dismay, the scene seemed as if it was going on for hours—it’s as though you were now watching a porno and you honestly didn’t know how to feel about it. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell by his now clammy hands and the way he was slowly retracting himself away from you, that Mark was having a hard time watching—especially because he probably wanted to be doing the same thing they were and you couldn’t blame him, you wanted it too.

“Babe, I um—I’ll be right back. I have to uh—use the bathroom—y/n, what are you—holy shit—“

Whether it was because you were exceedingly horny at this point and wanted to give in to finally experience what so many people referred to as their favorite past times, or because seeing the woman on screen beg Zac to fuck her harder made you want to feel exactly what it was that drove her to the point of cursing and begging for him to go faster. You also wanted to use this as your way to nonverbally confess your love to him.

You were a coward; there was no way you’d be able to tell him that four letter word without knowing that he felt the same exact way, so you were going to wait for as long as you had to. Surprising both yourself and your boyfriend, you brought your hands down to his clothed erection and began to palm him through his sweats.

He was hard as a rock; just feeling him made your breath hitch. You had no idea what you were doing, this was another reason why you’ve tried so long to prolong having sex with him; you knew he had previous girlfriends and although he never talked much about that part of his past life, you were sure he must have had a few one night stands and you were afraid that you wouldn’t be able to give him the pleasure he desired—the pleasure he deserved.

However, watching his head tilt back as you shoved your hand in to his pants in order to actually feel him without the restraints of his clothing, you had a huge feeling you were doing something right.

“B—babe, baby—fuck, just like that y/n. That feels so good. Ahhh—“

You pulled down his sweats to give yourself better access to his lower region and did him a favor by pulling him out of his briefs. The sight of his cock standing right at attention; the tip red and leaking precum made your mouth water. You’ve never watched porn before and the closest you got to seeing Mark naked was when he’d come outside in just a towel right after he would take a shower—so this was the first time you’ve ever seen a penis. Well, other than what your high school health teacher showed in class.

From what your friends would tell you, penises were ugly. But then again, genitalia in general was not the prettiest sight. Maybe you were being biased because he was your boyfriend, but his cock was very pretty. Was that even possible? You had no clue at all, but what you did know was that you wanted to feel him inside of your mouth and inside of your pussy.

“Mark.”

He was quick to look down at you and with the way he was gazing at you; with so much adoration, yet lust in his eyes, you knew that tonight was going to be the night you gave yourself to him. You couldn’t wait anymore; you needed him.

“Yeah?”

You took in a deep breath; suddenly nerves began to build up and you had a hard time understanding why, but you found yourself fondling his balls against the thin cotton material.

“I’m ready. I want you. I want all of you Mark. I need you—I trust you. I’m all yours if you’ll have me baby.”

He was at a loss for words; were you really telling him that you wanted to finally have sex with him? You giggled softly at his blank expression; he must have had been processing what you just told him, but when it finally registered in his mind, you were being pulled up to his level and he smashed your lips together.

The kiss was rough; he was allowing his hormones to act for him and you were extremely thankful for it. In the past, the two of you had many passionate make out sessions which usually ended with Mark giving you an excuse as to why he had to leave early or why he took so long in the bathroom. Now, it all made sense.

“Shit, are you sure baby? Fuck—I’m so excited, please excuse my swearing but fuck—I promise you, I’m going to take such good care of you okay? You don’t understand how long I’ve been dreaming about this day. Your body—God spent a lot of time creating you. I lose my damn mind every single day watching you walk out in these tight little outfits and in my clothes and it takes every single bone in my body not to just say fuck it and have my way with you. You’re so fucking beautiful y/n, every single thing about you is mesmerizing. You’re one of the seven wonders of the world—I would stare at you all day if time allowed me to. Everything about you—your personality, your strength, your courage, your passion and dedication to every single activity and job you put your heart and mind in to—you’re simply perfect baby and I can’t wait to show you exactly what you mean to me. I’m going to warn you right now, I’m not a mind reader unfortunately, so I can’t tell what you’re thinking. I’m going to need you to tell me what feels good, what hurts, what feels uncomfortable, what you like—just be vocal okay baby? I want your experience to be mind blowing. I want this night to be one you will remember for a very long time.”

You bit your lip at his words—you knew you were making the right decision in allowing Mark to be the person to take your innocence away. He already was the rightful owner of your heart, so you saw no harm in giving him the entirety of your being.

There was nobody else in the entire world that you saw yourself with—Mark was it for you. You came to the decision months ago that you wanted Mark to be the first person you experienced going all the way with and you could only hope and pray he’d be the last and only person.

He pulled you on to his lap and reconnected his lips with yours—grinding your clothed core against his naked sex. His fingers were squeezing all but gently on your lower waist as he guided your grinding—a breathy moan left his lips practically every ten seconds. If you thought hearing your boyfriend laugh was your favorite sound in the entire world, his moans and growls against your jaw had to be pretty high on that list also.

“Mark—babe—I want to suck you off.” He quickly pulled his lips away from yours and his eyes widened in shock at your sudden confession.

“W—what—you want to—you want to suck me off—who are you and what did you do to my sweet, innocent girl y/n? Where did you get such a potty mouth babe?”

“I don’t know, seeing your cock did things to me. You’re huge—is that even going to fit in either of my holes?”

Mark tried to cover up his mouth to prevent himself from laughing more than he should, but you were just so adorably naïve that he couldn’t help himself. You didn’t know what the average size; length and width of a penis was, but Mark had to be around 6.5 to 7 inches in length and his girth was thick. You looked at him and pouted slightly; you were only ruining the night the longer you continued to indirectly hint towards your lack of experience. What if he was laughing because he already knew you’d have no idea what you’d be doing if you did end up blowing him off.

Apparently receiving head was something a lot of guys enjoyed most about sexual intercourse—so you wanted to do that for Mark as your way of thanking him for being such a perfect boyfriend. For never failing to supply you with everything that you need, for making you laugh on the days that you didn’t think you were able to do anything but cry, for picking you up and dropping you off to work when he had the time, for comforting you when you had a rough day by preparing you a bath and making you a cup of tea—you just wanted him to know that you were aware and extremely appreciative of his many sacrifices, how he was so quick to tend to your needs and how he’d drop everything to be by your side.

He didn’t have to say it; you knew deep in your heart that Mark loved you just by his doting actions. But you were hoping that maybe one day, he’d finally say those three words you’ve been dying to hear from the first time he kissed you.

“Yes, it will fit. How the hell are you so cute when asking to give me head? You can’t be real—fuck, hearing you ask to suck my dick is something I’ll never get used to but shit—I think I could come just by hearing you talk dirty. You’re so fucking sexy—please—blow me baby.”

You stole one more sweet kiss from his soft lips and got down on your knees; you were level with his cock and you wrapped your hand around his length, earning yourself a breathy sigh.

“I um—I don’t know what I’m doing, so do you think you could guide me?” He gave you an adoring smile while gathering all your hair and putting it in to a makeshift ponytail.

“You’re going to want to lubricate me just a little bit so it’ll be easier for you to take me in your mouth—so you can either spit on me or lick the sides of my dick and—holy—s—shit—just like that—oh—“

You didn’t hesitate to follow his directions; gripping his cock at the base, you licked long stripes up and down; making sure to press your tongue down harder on his veins. You then brought one of his balls inside of your mouth; sucking and nibbling on it for a few seconds before switching over to the other side.

After showing some love to both of his balls for around a little over a minute, you circled your tongue around the tip of his dick and flicked at his slit just to see what would get a rise out of him for future reference. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but you gave him no chance to emit any kind of speech before you finally wrapped your mouth around him. You wished you could have recorded his reaction in that moment; his moan went straight to your core.

His eyelashes fluttered as he shut his eyes and threw his head back—you didn’t know what to think about his reaction so far, but when he brought his hands down to your hair and tugged on it all but gently, you had a feeling you must have been doing something right. You continued your movements but increased your speed—bobbing your mouth up and down on his shaft as quickly as you could. Since he was well endowed, you tried your best to swallow as much of him that your throat would allow; the tip of his cock met your vulva with every thrust.

Tears began to build up at your eyes and you weren’t going to lie, it was painful. You were starting to choke and gag as he sank deeper inside of your throat. However, hearing his moans echo throughout the room as multiple curses fell from his mouth only led you to desire going faster—taking him completely down your throat and pumping whatever you couldn’t fit in to your mouth with your hand.

“Shit—baby, that feels so fucking good I can’t even—your mouth is so—feels amazing—“

You hummed softly at his compliment against his girth—pulling away in order to smile up at him but ultimately shoving him back inside of you. It was unexpected; you didn’t think you could benefit from giving head, but you were having just as much fun blowing your boyfriend as he was adamantly was being on the receiving end.

Something about seeing him writhing at your ministrations and hearing him praise you sent warmth straight to your folds. You also really enjoyed having his cocked stuffed in to your mouth; something about it made you feel confident; sexy even and you weren’t one to get all that cocky, but you were getting off on your boyfriend’s many praises of what a good girl you were. All you wanted was to please your boyfriend, you didn’t care whether or not you were doing it right—but hearing him whine and beg you to suck him harder brought you just as much pleasure.

“Y/n—can I—do you think I could fuck your face? Would that be okay or is that too much? You can be honest with me baby, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this—I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to—“

“Do whatever it is that you want with me, I can take it Mark. I want to take care of you too. Tonight is as much about you as it is about me. I want to learn how to please you; I want to show you just how much you mean to me, so do your worst babe. Fuck, I love sucking your dick Mark. It feels so fucking good.”

He whimpered at your explicit words; yet he was quick to shove his cock back inside of your mouth—making sure you were prepared for him before he began roughly pumping in and out of your wet cavern. He tugged on your ponytail ever so gently and pushed you further down his length to the point where your teeth were grazing his balls. You honestly didn’t even think you were capable to practically swallow him whole, but you could feel his tip deep in the back of your throat.

That must have been a good thing; your friends always made comments about how they couldn’t fit even half of their partner’s cock in their mouths and apparently, guys enjoyed it when girls could deepthroat. The naughty and sinful noises falling repeatedly from Mark’s lips made it obvious that he was having the time of his life.

“Such a good, good girl. You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth. God, if only you could see yourself right now. You look so fucking sexy and you’re taking me so well. Your mouth was made to suck my cock y/n.”

You brought both your hands up to his ass and playfully squeezed his cheeks, earning you the most adorable gasp from your boyfriend. After this experience, you were well aware that you’d need to blow him at least every other day in order to get your own fill. If he already felt wonderful against your tongue, your mouth started to water at the thought of how he’d feel in between your pussy.

“Baby—I’m close—I’m going to—I—mmm—“

Before you could even process his stuttering, his creamy, warm liquid filled up the entirety of your mouth. You sucked him dry of all his cum—making sure to lap up any left over substance from off of your lips. Absentmindedly, you brought your thumb up to his head and grazed your nail around his tip, flicking at his slit playfully. He lightly tugged on your hair and the noise he released from the back of his throat—a mixture of a moan and a whine caused the coil deep inside of your core to tighten.

After a few more long licks against his girth, you made your way back up to him and stole a sweet kiss from his lips. His movements were quick; he pulled you with him back on to the bed and flipped over your bodies so that he was on top of you.

“What in the hell was that y/n? There is no way that could have been your first time—you were—holy shit I can’t even explain how incredible that felt and how amazing you are I’m honestly speechless. Damn baby, you’re a professional; that was the best head I’ve ever been given. Your tongue—God, you were made to suck my cock baby. Thank you—I’ll do whatever it is you ask of me—anything baby. Shit. Give me a moment will you?”

He began to take in deep breaths, his chest heaved right above yours. You couldn’t hold back; you released a snarky giggle at the way he was acting like he just finished a marathon. He had to be overreacting; there was no way you blew him as well as he claimed that you did.

All you did was sink your mouth on his cock and bobbed your head along his hardened length—going by your instincts and what you believed would drive him crazy. You did suck and nibble on his tip in particular; he seemed to react the most when you focused on that particular area of his penis. It was obvious he was sensitive there, and you were going to use that knowledge as your advantage and for future reference.

Once your boyfriend caught his breath, he turned around to face you and brought his hand up to your cheek, cupping and playfully pinching it before stealing multiple sweet kisses from your lips.

“You can’t be real—there’s no way. You—God, you’re wonderful. Absolutely extraordinary. I can’t even think right now. I know we’ve waited to be intimate for when you were ready, but damn—I’ve been missing out. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me, but I really would not mind receiving a blow job at least twice a day.”

You jokingly rolled your eyes and softly flicked his forehead at his comment; but you already came to the decision that you would need to have him in your mouth as much as he was hinting towards needing to have you.

“If I’m already losing my mind at having your pretty little mouth around me, what more when I’m buried in your pretty little cunt? I’m so fucking excited to be inside of you baby—but first, I really want to return the favor. I want you to feel the euphoria you just sent me through.”

There were a few moments every now and then when you would imagine what it would feel like to have someone go down on you. Whenever you would go out to meet up with your group of friends, you would talk about everything going on in your lives; work, school, family drama—and you didn’t know how the topic of sex would come about, but they all seemed to live very sexually active lives. Since you were twenty-three years old, you felt embarrassed at the fact that you were still a virgin.

Even more so because you were in a relationship—although sex was an exceptionally big deal when it came to dating, it wasn’t everything. You knew it was normal for some couples to not have sex at all—some people didn’t necessarily care for it and others didn’t revolve their relationships around it. But both you and Mark were still so young; sex was on the minds of almost everyone at your age.

Therefore, you kept to yourself and never joined in as your friends would go in to great detail about how amazing it felt to be eaten out and that some of them were so addicted to having sex to the point where they would have to call in sick from their jobs because they weren’t physically able to walk. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t envious of the fact that every single one of your friends has had some kind of sexual experience.

Apparently, it felt better to have sex with the person you were in a relationship with—or the person you were in love with. Sex was more meaningful and there was more connection—more intimacy involved. One of your friends stated that it was because men had a tendency of giving their all when feelings of love and adoration were involved. Now that you began to think about your conversations with them, you felt as though their words played a small part in leading you to finally wanting to go all the way with Mark.

“Hey, you alright? I didn’t hurt you too much did I?”

You didn’t realize you were spacing out until you felt him run his fingers through your tousled hair. Seeing the worry that was now on his face tugged at your heartstrings; it was painfully obvious that he was enjoying himself. Maybe a little too much, but you liked it. However, you were well aware that Mark wasn’t going to allow this continue unless you were having just as much fun as he was—no matter how thrilled he was to finally get to love on your body.

His reaction made you smile softly to yourself; although he would remind you on a daily basis how you were the best thing that has ever happened to him and that just the mere thought of you is what would keep him going throughout the day, it was nice hearing him worry about how you were doing. Honestly, what did you do to deserve him?

“I’m fine baby. I was just thinking. But—um—I—I didn’t think we would be doing this so I—uh—I’m not really—tidy down there and I don’t want you to see—“ He giggled against the juncture of your neck and dragged his teeth along your collarbone; humming while leaving wet pecks in his wake.

“Baby. Look at me.”

You lifted your head and made direct eye contact with the older boy. In the beginning of your relationship, you were very shy to even hold his hand. Every time he’d look at you or catch you looking at him, heat would rise upon your cheeks as you would blush in embarrassment. But overtime, you were able to look at him without having to turn away from growing shy and timid. You believed it was because you were a lot more comfortable with your boyfriend now and he was very verbal about how much he took great delight in being able to look at you; so you’ve grown immune to his many stolen glances. Although; you still had your few moments of shyness—but Mark was a fan of knowing the effect his gaze had on you.

“I don’t care about things like that, okay? Really—most men don’t and the ones who do are complete assholes. Whether you’re as bare as the desert or have a full on jungle going on, it really doesn’t matter to me. I’m going to eat you out nonetheless. We don’t have to do that if you’re not comfortable just yet, but I’m going to tell you now, I’ve been dreaming about the moment I finally get to have my face smashed up against your pussy since the first day I realized I had feelings for you. It will feel amazing—I promise you. But just like you baby, I want to learn your body. I want to learn each and every curve—I want to map you entirely with my tongue. I want to memorize each and every single birth and beauty mark, every scar, every dimple. I want to know it all and I have the rest of my life to learn. I need you to tell me what you like—what you couldn’t care less for, what you want me to focus on, whether you want me to slow down or pick up my pace. I want you to be verbal about what feels good. I need you to teach me how to love your beautiful body y/n and I won’t stop until you got to feel even half of the amount of pleasure you’ve given me. Okay? I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Each word that fell from his lips; his entire confession of what he had planned to do to you filled your chest with wonder and excitement. You were never afraid of finally giving up your innocence. Sure, you were worried that when he were to finally make his way inside of you—the pain would be unbearable and extremely uncomfortable.

There were quite a few first time horror stories that you’ve heard in the last year from your closest friends, some of your cousins and even a couple of your classmates. But you genuinely didn’t even think about how it would hurt; you trusted Mark more than anyone else in the entire world. You believed wholeheartedly that he wouldn’t hurt you and as much as you didn’t want to think about any of his past lovers, you were sure he had enough experience in bed to know how to take care of a girl.

Hearing that he planned on spending the rest of his life with you just set his feelings in stone for you. The two of you talked about your future together on multiple occasions; where you’d want to live in, the kind of house you’d want to purchase, getting a dog together—things like that, but you didn’t think he was all too serious about you being the person he ended up marrying. It was still so early on in your relationship to plan so far ahead, but when it’s real love, you just know and you’ve known for a long time now that he was the man you want nothing more than to see at the end of the aisle one day.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Are you sure baby?”

“Yes. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure about anything else in my entire life. I’ve found myself staring at you whenever you’d bite on or lick your lips. I—I’ve pictured how they would feel like nibbling and licking on my clit. I—hate to say this but I think I actually came once—I don’t know if I did, I don’t know how these things work, but my underwear was soaked and my vagina hurt the entire day so—please, eat me Mark Tuan. Show me what that tongue does. Fuck me with your mouth.”

His jaw was now clenched and the veins on his neck grew more prominent. The low, stifled sound of what you assumed as a growl came from the back of his throat. He gave you no time to even think of what to say or how to react, he pushed you roughly on to his bed and smashed his lips against yours. His kisses were hard—fleeting, rushed—he tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth and kissed you with all the breath he had in his body.

His hands moved all along your sides; he’s touched you quite often, but not in the way that he was right now. Your body felt as those it was burning in flames—there was electricity running through your blood and you had to squeeze your thighs together because of how dominant and animalistic he was acting.

“Fuck, I didn’t realize how sexy hearing you command me to eat you out would sound. You’re so fucking hot, I can’t wait to devour you. But before I do anything, let’s get this off of you. Don’t get me wrong, you look so gorgeous in every outfit that you wear—but whenever you wear my clothes, I get hard every single time. It actually took every bone in my body not to beg you to let me have my way with you. Sometimes, I’ll even buy clothes for myself that I think would look good on you. I really don’t want to rush our relationship and all I care about is your happiness and your well being—but hearing that you trust me and that you want me to be the only man—a lucky man at that—to have you—I’ll never take that for granted.”

He practically yanked his shirt off of you and flew it somewhere across the room. It didn’t matter to either of you—you were both eager to finally indulge in one another and with the way he was quickly discarding both of your clothes from your bodies; impatient to have his way with you—you knew he didn’t care about the state of his bedroom floor. Not when he was seconds away from ravishing in your dripping cunt.

“I really wanted to take my time with you—I wanted our first time together to be soft and slow, but I can’t. The need to fuck the living shit out of you is strong. Oh God—your tits. Ah, I’m fucked. Seriously. As your boyfriend, I always find my gaze wandering over to these pretty titties of yours. But fuck—seeing them bare; your nipples are so perky and I’m sure if I were to flick one of them—they’d be hard. I can’t even tell you how much I’ve been wanting to suck on these huge breasts of yours. Whenever you’d wear a low cut top or even tops that are tight and hug your breasts perfectly—I wondered how wonderful it would feel getting to suck on and massage them.”

You bit your lip at the thought of him palming himself and getting hard while thinking about your boobs. The truth was all coming out and you wished you came to the decision to become one with him sooner—much sooner. His words were doing wonders on the burning sensation in between your thighs.

“Can I tell you something?” He nodded vehemently and you found yourself snickering at how eager he was to respond anything you said or asked of him.

“I’ve played with my breasts a couple of times and I’d pretend it was you in my place. You have such long, skinny fingers and you have such nice hands for a man—I’ve grown curious about what you would do to me once we became intimate and I actually really enjoy how it feels. Breast play—I like it a lot, but I’m sure you can do so much better.”

“You’ve touched yourself?”

“No. Not down there. Only my boobs. I’m too much of a coward to masturbate.”

Out of no where, he lifted up one of his hands and motioned for you to take it. You looked at him in confusion, but he motioned towards your mounds and you had an idea of what he was hinting towards wanting you to do.

“Take my hand and show me how you touch your breasts when you think of me—when you’re horny and playing with yourself. You know, I would have gladly done it for you. All you had to do was ask baby—now I’m hard thinking about you kneading these large mounds. Shit, we need to speed up this process, I need to hurry up and rail you or else I think I’m going to lose my fucking mind. Teach me baby—show me how you do it so I get an idea of what makes your pussy throb. Show me—and then I’ll take matters in to my own hands.”

You did as you were told—not wanting to wait much longer to feel his hands wander throughout your body. His touch was featherlight; you could tell that he was all talk. His words might have been naughty but you knew he was still going to be a gentleman when it came down to it. Mark was always so soft and gentle whenever it came to you.

Sometimes, he’d take care of you as if you were a child; he would feed you if the two of you went out on a date, he would push you on the inside of the sidewalk, run you a bath after you had a long day and he’d also tuck you in to bed before preparing what he needed for the next day.

As horny as he probably was right now, you could tell he was going to try his best not to go past his boundaries and risk making you feel uncomfortable. You dragged his hand between the valley of your breasts; letting his nails graze just below your bosom and you could feel goosebumps rising on your skin at how cold his fingertips were. To his surprise, you cupped one of your breasts with his hand and whispered for him to take your nipple in between his fingers.

“Pinch it—mmm—like that.”

“Like this?”

He squeezed your left breast—molding and kneading while twisting at your right nipple. Just the feeling of him pinching and rolling it in between his fingers was enough to elicit a breathy moan from your lips. You leaned your head back against his pillows as he was hovering over your lap. He leaned down so that you could feel his cock against your clothed entrance.

Mark had left you only in your underwear while he was completely bare of any clothing—if you weren’t so focused on watching him show so much love to your chest, you would have ripped your panty off just to have his naked sex pressed up against yours. He continued his ministrations—spending most of his time just fondling your tits and flicking your nipples.

After a couple of minutes tugging on his soft brown locks and trying to conceal your noises of pleasure, he looked at you with a devilish grin and a sneaky glint in his eye. Right as you were about to ask him why he looked as if he had a trick up his sleeve, he lowered his face down to your chest and wrapped his lips around your breast.

“Oh God—mmm—Mark—holy—“

You couldn’t describe how amazing it felt having him suck on one of your mounds. The sensation was exceedingly mind blowing. He brought your nipple in between his teeth; lightly biting your hardened nub. He lifted his hand up to your other breast and began to squeeze it softly. When you felt him humming as he started to switch back and forth between your boobs; making sure both of your breasts got the same amount of attention, the throbbing sensation in between your thighs heightened.

“Such pretty—pretty titties. I could suck on these things all day if you’d let me.”

You were about to retaliate—wanting to jokingly scold him because you weren’t quite used to him being this vulgar, but he was quick to return his mouth back to your chest.

“Mark.”

He looked so adorable as he released your boob with a loud pop sound. “Yes baby? You okay?”

You nodded in agreement before reaching for his hand and lowering it down to the waistband of your panties. Your boyfriend needed to know just how absolutely mad you were quickly becoming at his generous ministrations. He practically sucked your tits like it was his life duty to—as if it was his job. Without hesitation, you forcefully shoved his fingers inside; his breathing began to increase as he dragged his fingers along your wet folds.

“Holy fuck, you’re soaking wet princess. I’m not even kidding babe, you’re like the Pacific Ocean. All because I’m sucking on your titties? God y/n, where the hell did you come from? You’re otherworldly.”

To your dismay, he pulled his fingers away before genuinely doing anything, but he was quick to put his fingers in to his mouth and sucked on your essence. The sight alone sent chills down your spine—it was so fucking hot. He was so fucking hot and you needed him to speed up the process or else you would actually cry from sexual frustration.

“Just as I expected; you taste delicious. So sweet. Mind if I get a taste straight from the source?” Once he received your nod of approval, he kissed you a few times—smiling against your lips as he began to cup your sex through the flimsy cotton.

“Promise me you’ll be vocal about what feels good and what doesn’t. If you need me to stop—if it gets too much, I’ll try to pull away, but I can’t promise you anything. You taste too good.”

Before you knew it, he started to make his way down your body. He ran his hands along your sides while leaving kisses down your neck—your collarbones, kissing both breasts, gripping your hips while placing kisses down your stomach. Once his face was right above your naval, he left a chaste kiss on your belly button causing you to giggle at the tickling sensation—but the laughter didn’t last long.

He put both of his hands on either of your knees and pried your legs open; giving him better access to your entrance. Knowing that his face was just meters away from your core sent you in to a frenzy. This was something from your wildest dreams; you knew that the two of you would become intimate sooner or later, but seeing him in between your thighs made you lightheaded.

Mark wasted no time in nibbling on your soft skin—he bit on your underwear and pulled it down to your legs, completely ridding you of your final piece of clothing. You were grateful that you picked the right kind of panties to wear tonight; although you were sure Mark wouldn’t have cared at all if you decided to wear boy shorts or granny panties.

Since you were in a position where you weren’t able to see him, you soon grew insecure at the idea of being completely bare in front of him. All you wanted was to be enough for your boyfriend; he was nothing short of perfect and you desired to be exactly that for him. It’s what he deserved.

Seeing as how you lacked self-confidence, you brought your hands up to your eyes to prevent yourself from seeing his reaction of seeing you completely naked. Mark was a very kind person towards you; especially because he was your boyfriend, so you knew that there was a chance he would lie or not tell you the complete truth in order to save your feelings.

You were afraid that he might have been with girls who had nicer bodies than you—skinnier, smaller and more petite frames with tiny waists, big breasts and a round, plump ass. You’d rather him be honest with you, but even if he just so happened to find flaws on your body, you were well aware that he wouldn’t admit it. That’s just who he was; Mark hated hurting people’s feelings, even if they deserved to know the truth. Just because you were his girlfriend wouldn’t change the fact that he was always looking out to protect people and prevent them from feeling bad about themselves.

“Nope—we’re not having any of that.” He reached up to pull your hands away from your face and gave you a scowl. “You—are so breathtakingly beautiful. I can’t even fathom your beauty in to words. I could write a novel about your gorgeous features—how did I get so damn lucky? Your body; fuck—your body is a damn wonderland y/n and I can’t wait to explore it. You have such a pretty cunt and I’m so excited to fuck it. Listen to me baby—you are the most beautiful girl on this hell forsaken earth you hear me? By the end of the night, I will make sure you know how much of a goddess you are.”

He blew warm air against your cunt—immediately sending shivers down your spine. Finally, after what felt like hours waiting for him touch you—to actually touch you, he licked a long strip along your folds and you let out a loud whimper.

“Fuck!”

“You like that?”

You nodded so quickly—not caring how straight forward your response was. He began to lick and suck along your folds—his hands made their way up to your ass cheeks and squeezed both as he went to work; nibbling and sucking on your pussy. His teeth grazed against your overly sensitive nub and you found yourself pulling on the bedsheets—needing to grip at anything other than his hair because you knew if you were to tug on his locks while he was sucking you dry—he’d probably be bald by the end of the night.

“Fuck—Mark! Ah—there, right there—oh—“

With every hum and moan against your core, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your end. You believed that you were close to orgasming; there was an unfamiliar burning sensation in your stomach and you knew that Mark was going to do whatever he could to lessen the tension. Your moans only grew louder the longer his mouth stayed on your cunt; his wet muscle continued to lap up your juices. To your delight, he brought his index and middle finger up to your entrance and didn’t give you any time to prepare before he shoved both digits inside of you.

“Oh my God—Mark! That feels—so, so good!”

You couldn’t even describe the euphoria you were feeling as his tongue licked and slurped against your clit while he began pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your heart felt as if it was about to leap out of your chest; he was taking your breath away and you were sure with how many times you were chanting his name that you were going to lose your voice before the night ends. When you felt him curl both fingers inside of you, you yelped in shock.

He was reaching deeper—you weren’t sure just how far into your cunt that his fingers could go, but he began to graze along an area that was soon causing your knees to buckle and your thighs to shake.

“Mark—Mark—oh—baby—“

“That’s your g-spot if you didn’t already know. I plan on keeping that in mind. Feels good doesn’t it?”

“Mmm—yeah—please, go faster.”

He giggled against your folds and placed a sloppy kiss against your labia all the while adding in another finger inside. You could feel tears brimming at your eyelids, but it was only because he was bringing you so much pleasure. You absentmindedly lowered your hand down to his face and cupped his cheek; he might have said his main purpose was to please you, but you were hoping that he was receiving the same amount of ecstasy that he was giving to you. His movements picked up—switching between his lips, tongue and fingers. He even playfully slapped your pussy in the hopes of getting a rise out of you and instead of growing irritated, you were sure he brought you closer to your end.

“Close baby?”

“Yes—God yes. Your tongue—your fingers—I can’t hold it in anymore—“

“You don’t have to. Let go for me.”

The last sentence came out as a command; his voice was low and raspy which caused you to do exactly as you were told. Your head felt as if it was about to blow up. Everything was spinning; you began to see white and the tightness in your stomach was no longer there. It felt like a wave crashed upon you and filled up your lungs; taking your breath away completely. Mark didn’t stop his licking—he continued to suck up your juices entirely.

He drank from your cunt like you were a well and he was dying of thirst. Once your boyfriend decided that he rid you completely of your release, he pulled his fingers out of the depths of your silky walls and made his way back up to you. The sight of your fucked out state made him chuckle—your chest was rapidly rising, some of your hair was stuck to your forehead and your eyes were rolled to the back of your head.

In that moment—seeing you look as if the wind was completely swept out of you, he knew this was when you looked the most ethereal. The kiss against your forehead was delicate; featherlight. Nothing compared to the rough and impatient ones he left on your core just a few moments ago. When he brought his fingers up to your lips, you saw the white liquid running along both his index and his ring fingers and internally groaned.

“I want you to taste yourself. Say ah.”

You stuck out your tongue and allowed him to insert his digits inside of your mouth; you made sure to make direct eye contact as you sucked on his fingers just like you previously did with his length. You swirled your tongue around both of them, making sure to press your wet muscle before allowing him to pull them out. His brows were furrowed while he dragged his teeth along his bottom lip. He was obviously extremely turned on by your ministrations and soon, his lips were back on yours.

His hands immediately cupped both your cheeks as he put in as much energy in to the kiss that he could muster. With the way he was kissing you—like he would die if he were to take his lips away from yours, you were growing impatient with wanting to finally have him fill you up.

Having his naked body pressed up against yours, feeling his cock graze against your entrance, having your breasts pressed up firmly against his chest—everything was getting too much for you. There were so many emotions running through you; you were never going to get enough of having Mark like this.

“How was it y/n? I mean—I’m assuming you were having a great time. You absentmindedly began to wrap your legs around my head and I did grow a little lightheaded but—“

“Oh my God Mark, why didn’t you say anything?! I’m so sorry—“

He let out a soft snicker against your neck and placed a kiss there while making his way back up to you. “Don’t apologize, it was fucking sexy as hell. You’re like my own personal ear muffs. Being suffocated by these thick thighs of yours would be an ideal way to go if you ask me.”

You both erupted in laughter at his silly comment and you enjoyed the playful banter going on between the two of you. Was it normal to joke around during a time of lust and erotica? It didn’t matter—everything that happened tonight would be forever imprinted in to your heart. The events that happened so far were just as touching and heartwarming as they were sexual.

“You’re such a dumbass you know that? But yes, I had a wonderful time. Thank you baby. That was—wow—more than I could ever imagine. Fuck, that felt heavenly. I really liked that; more than I’d want to admit. Your lips and your tongue are now my favorite body parts on you.”

“Oh, really? I’ll keep that in mind for future reference. I enjoyed that just as much as you did. I’m not kidding, you taste marvelous. I could spend the entire rest of tonight with my head in between your thighs—but I think it’s time you and I finally um—you know—“

“Fuck?”

“Jeez y/n, could you be any less romantic?”

He squeezed your ass and slapped both of your both of your cheeks. However, he was quick to change his demeanor from naughty to gentle and soft. His eyes softened and he brought some of your hair behind your ear; letting his fingers glide along your neck and collarbones. The glint in his eyes made your heart swell up—any nerves that you had before going in to it were completely gone now. All you could think about was giving yourself completely to the love of your life.

“Babe.”

“Yeah?”

“Take me already. I’m yours.”

He gave you a soft smile and brought his bottom lip in between his teeth; he took his index finger and began to trace your features—starting with both your brows, then taking it along your nose to just above your Cupid’s bow. His ran his thumb along your top lip and you placed a sweet kiss on the back of it.

“Say it again.”

“Huh?”

“I’m yours. I want you to say it again.” If you were to take a look at yourself right now, you were sure your cheeks would be flushed—you were now shy for the first time tonight.

“Mark Tuan—I’m yours. Forever.”

He clenched his jaw—your words obviously had some kind of affect on him. To your confusion, he got off of you and leaped over to his drawer; rummaging through clothes and underwear. Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting for him to find whatever it was that he looked for, he released a sigh of relief and briskly made his way back over to you.

The tin foil packet was held in between his fingers and he waved it around like some kind of trophy. Only then did it really occur to you that you were going to lose your virginity—and to the man who your entire life revolved around. It was a bittersweet feeling; but you were more than happy to eventually be able to experience having your way with one another. He tore open the wrapper and placed the condom on his dick—crawling over to you and hovering over your lap. He gently took your chin in between his fingers and lifted your face so that you were looking up at him.

“I’m sorry if it hurts okay? It might feel uncomfortable and maybe even painful at first. I want you to tell me if you need me to stop or to slow down. I’ll try not to go too hard since it is your first time, but if you were already so tight around my fingers, I can only imagine you’re going to clench around me with your pussy in the most delicious way. You trust me right?”

You nodded—not missing a beat while giving him an exhausted smile. It wasn’t even up for debate, you trusted Mark with your entire being. He was the only person you would confess every single thing to. Whenever you had good news, he was the first person you wanted to tell and whenever your day wasn’t all that great, you wanted to find solace in him and he wrapped up in his embrace. When you nonverbally gave him your permission to take the lead, he lined himself at your entrance and tapped his cock against your folds; running it back and forth along your labia in order to collect some of your juices.

“Remember, I don’t move unless you say I can.”

He lowered himself and placed his lips against yours; you assumed it was his way of taking your mind off of the stretch that was about to come. As soon as Mark entered himself inside of you, you couldn’t help but let out a whimper. It wasn’t all that painful, but it was uncomfortable. Obviously, you weren’t used to being filled like this; something about the way his cock felt against your walls ignited a tingling sensation to your core. Your boyfriend moaned against your mouth and tightened his grip on your hip bones. “

Fuck—you’re so tight. Shit; I’m not even exaggerating—“

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes. God yes. You feel glorious. But are you okay? It doesn’t hurt too much does it?”

You shook your head in disagreement. No matter how uncomfortable you were, it was adamant that your boyfriend was trying his best not to lose his shit. You were going to suck it up and take him like a big girl; you were well aware that the pain would soon be replaced with pleasure once he began to pick up the pace.

“Mark, you can move. I’m okay.”

His eyes seemingly rolled to the back of his head after hearing you give him permission to move and he didn’t even take a second to process that information, he began to ram himself slowly inside of you. He pulled his cock out of you before pounding his length back inside of your cunt all but gently. His pelvis hit your ass with each and every thrust and just as you expected it, you were now moaning in pleasure from the feeling of the tip of his cock hitting the back of your cervix.

The two of you moaned in unison each time he bottomed in and out of you. He rotated between stealing chaste kisses from you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and groaning against your jaw and sucking on both of your breasts; biting on your nipples whenever he thrusted himself a little too roughly.

“F—fuck—feels so—“

“I know—shit—you’re so fucking wet y/n—“

His pace grew quicker to the point where he was practically railing you—the sound of skin smacking and clapping against each other alongside of both his and your moans and curses bounced off of his walls. You weren’t sure whether or not he was aware that he was leaving bruises on your skin, but you didn’t care—your mind was solely focused on him and only him. Everything else was just going to have to with till the morning. He pulled his hands away from your waist and brought them up to your breasts, pushing them up and down as he mirrored his movements inside of your warm cavern.

“You look so beautiful right now I don’t think there are enough words in the English dictionary to even describe just how gorgeous you are. I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

He lifted one of your legs and threw it over his shoulder; you weren’t sure exactly what he was doing until he pushed his dick back into your folds and began to reach deeper and further in to your pussy. “H-holy shit Mark—“ His girth continuously grazed against your clit; the way his hands were roaming all throughout your body, you had a feeling he couldn’t keep his hands in one place.

Sweat was dripping down the both of you; when he lifted your other leg on top of his shoulder, you immediately clenched around him. The sensation was driving you literally insane. He was right; now that he had an idea of what made you squirm and scream, you could tell that he was going to use it against you.

“Fuck, did you just get tighter? Stop that—please, I know I’m minutes away from coming and I don’t want to cum just yet. I really didn’t want to tease you tonight, but I will teach you a lesson if I have to. Don’t test me y/n. Come on, you’ve been such a good girl this entire night baby. We can experiment more next time, but for now, I just want to make love to my pretty girl.”

It was tempting; if he was going to mess around with you by constantly trying to reach for your g-spot, you wanted to show him the same amount of teasing by clenching around him. You also wanted to see just how animalistic your boyfriend could get and you wanted him to go rough on you—but you didn’t want to have to beg him to do something, anything to help you reach your release. You wanted to experience coming with him—you were already so close to your second coming.

Mark was a man of actions rather than of talking, so you trusted the fact that he would punish you if you did continue to go against his wishes. Although you were well aware now that you’ve finally had him inside of you, having sex would be a frequent activity—you felt yourself smiling like an idiot hearing him make plans for the next time you’d tumble in to bed together.

After a few moments, you felt your legs giving in—probably because of how sore your inner thighs were now that he kept burying himself in between them at a mind blowing pace. He fucked you like he had vengeance on you—his cock filled you to the hilt. Slowly, he brought your legs off of him and got closer to you; he intertwined your hands together and placed them on either side of your head.

He continued to pump himself inside of you—constant moans continued to fall from your lips. You were completely speechless; his name fell off of your lips like a mantra. He kissed you hard; his pink lips were swollen and you were sure your lips looked similar if not the same.

“Y/n.”

You looked up at him and your breath hitched when you saw the way he was looking at you. His gaze was one that you didn’t recognize. His eyes were soft—he had a small smile that you wouldn’t have been able to distinguish if you didn’t see the glint in his eyes. You were about to question his sudden whisper of your name but he beat you to it.

“I love you. God, do I love you. I love you so much baby. I love you, I love you, I love you. I don’t ever want to stop saying it.”

With every thrust came a love confession and just hearing him admit those three magical words; the three words you’ve been yearning to hear for months—his words alone sent butterflies to your tummy and you weren’t even able to say it back to him before you felt yourself letting go and seeing stars for a second time. With a few more thrusts, you were soon being filled with his creamy, warm liquid and he flopped down on top of you while burying his face in between your breasts.

You brought one hand in to his hair while dragging the other gently across of the expense of his back. The two of you laid there in silence; giving yourselves some time to both settle down from your breathtaking and extremely mind blowing orgasms. You were sure he could feel your heart racing against his chest; his was beating rapidly against yours. A huge grin rose on your face as you began to think about his love confession.

He loved you.

You didn’t care that it took him six months to admit his feelings for you, you were completely over the moon. You left a soft kiss right below his ear.

“I love you too Mark and I’m in love with you. I have been for longer than I’d like to admit. I’ve been wanting to tell you for months, but I was afraid that it was too early to tell you and that you didn’t feel that way about me—“

“I’ve been in love with you since our second date y/n I’m not even joking. Don’t get me wrong, like I’ve mentioned multiple times tonight, you’re genuinely such a beautiful girl—you’re literally a sight for sore eyes. But everything about you is seemingly perfect. Your personality, your intelligence, your kindness, generosity and your heart. The way you dropped everything to run over to help that older lady carry her groceries to the bus stop and then the way you didn’t even hesitate to buy ice cream for that little girl who dropped hers at the play ground. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, I need you to know that. I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re my entire world y/n. These last six months with you—getting to love you—kissing you, having late night conversations about the future with you, going on all these cute little dates with you, staying up till three in the morning to talk with you—I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I would go to the ends of this earth if it meant having you for the rest of my life in each and every lifetime.”

Tears began to fall down your cheeks and you immediately pulled him in to another kiss; you didn’t think you were able to top his heartfelt speech nor did you want to. You could only hope your signs of affection would be enough to prove what your words weren’t able to.

“Is sex everything you could hope it would be?”

“Yes. I um—I’m actually upset with myself for waiting this long. If I knew back then what I know now; if I knew how glorious making love to you would be then I would have let you take me right after our first date. You’re so good to me Mark. You’re the best boyfriend a girl could ever ask for. Thank you for that; and for every single thing that you do for me. Was I okay though? I know, you’ve probably been with partners who had more experience and were able to please you in better ways than I did, but I’m willing to learn whatever I need to in order to be good enough for you—“

You frowned when he roughly placed his hand over your mouth in attempts to silence you and licked his hand out of force of habit. “I never ever want to hear you say that you aren’t good enough for me or that you want to change your ways to be what you think I deserve. You are what I deserve; hell, if anything, I’m not good enough for you y/n. That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life and I mean it. I’m not just saying that to spare your feelings or to make you feel better about the situation. You are the only person I’ve ever been in love with. You’re the only person I am ever going to love. What we had wasn’t sex—we made love. You were perfect baby. You made sure to take care of me and made tonight about us—even if I really wanted to focus specifically on you. Did I not praise you enough for the mindblowing blowjob you gave me? Where did you even learn how to do that? That was—I’m speechless. You took my breath away at least five times tonight and now you’re doing it for a sixth time just looking the way you do right now. If you’re not tired, I’m hard again. I’m sure you can feel it. There are so many things I want to do to you and since the night is still young, maybe we can cross some of those things off of my list. I want you on all fours baby. I wanna see that ass clap for me.”

Your imagination Now I'm fixated And I'm dying to learn Every inch of you Therе's something new F'ing me up I'm what you deserve, just

Draw a map for me Laced with strawberries And I'll get on my knees

Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me how to love Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love

How to love How to love Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love

Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush

Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me how to love (please teach me how to love) Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love

How to love How to love Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love How to love How to love Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love

#got7 imagines #got7 #got7 mark #mark tuan #mark tuan imagines

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

you shine, i'll shine for you

pairing: alina starkov/genya safin, background nina zenik/matthias helvar

fandom: shadow and bone (tv)

rating: general

word count: 5163

warning: referenced cheating, swearing

summary: Genya thought she’d seen it all, until today, where a young person her age rushes through the door and approaches her with a strange question, “What sort of flowers do you get to tell someone to go fuck themselves?” (flower shop au)

(a fluffy au that’s been loooong underway !! inspired by this post, naturally. had a bit too much fun searching up flower meanings as well so... hope you enjoy!)

read on ao3

Genya believes flowers speak their own language.

They show love, adoration, and everything in between, and there’s a reason they’re used for most special occasions, she thinks; although a staple gift when you barely know someone, they’re also an invitation to get to know someone better.

Like Nina and Matthias. It didn’t surprise her in the least that he wanted to ask Nina out, alas, he asked Genya for help on the bouquet, since he just started. The look on her friend’s face when she told her about their fast date was too precious.

And naturally, this is why she opened her little flower shop in the first place. She loved the area, homely and cozy, the atmosphere and the residents.

She’s helped their clients with gifts for any situation you could think of; a last minute anniversary gift, flower arrangements for that big fairytale wedding, the perfect Mother’s Day bouquet, and the businessman getting flowers for his beloved sister’s grave touched her deeply.

Genya thought she’d seen it all, until today, where a young person her age rushes through the door and approaches her with a strange question, “What sort of flowers do you get to tell someone to go fuck themselves?”

She’s simply baffled by the request.

The client’s got restless hands and fire in their eyes, dark hair in a braided bun and wearing a baby blue dress, neck and ears dressed with gold jewelry and a matching septum piercing. They’re almost glowing in the late autumn sun, to be completely honest.

In fact, they’re already reaching for their purse, while Genya tries to work through her confusion and do her best - this is an assignment like any other, she reminds herself, this is her job.

“Oh, uh, depends on the occasion, really…” she starts, and since the customer in front of her curses themself as they find their wallet, the clear anger on their face intensifying, she figures she’ll need to keep her cool, “If I may ask?”

In customer service you’ll have to deal with rude clientele, God knows Genya has, and although this person in no way seems like that type of person, she still keeps it a priority to not upset them anymore than someone else already has.

She smiles, giving them less of her staple customer service smile, more a hesitant smile because the client also sniffs, and wipes their eyes rather stubbornly before looking back at her.

They’re also more beautiful than sunflowers in bloom, that much is obvious. But someone’s hurt them, and it makes Genya’s heart ache for them with a stinging kind of certainty.

“Sure,” they reply, sniffling again, “My boyfriend’s cheated on me for the second time.”

Second time? Dear God.

Genya doesn’t even know this man, but she does know he’s an asshole, mind the language. She’s sure she must look shocked, because the client chuckles bitterly, clutching their wallet a bit tighter.

“I just need him to fuck off for good. It’s long overdue, really.”

She decides to smile again, nodding, hoping she’s conveying her sympathy right, “I understand.”

And since she gets a timid smile back, albeit still with clenched fists down their side, it makes Genya a little more sure of herself again. If the person wasn’t pretty before, they’re even prettier now. She mentally curses whoever this man is for making them this angry, and making them cry. No one deserves that, but especially not them, Genya thinks.

Luckily it’s a Monday, a slow day for flower sales, and they’re the only customer inside, so she’s reaching for her encyclopedia immediately.

“I do know a bit about flower meanings,” she explains to them, “It’s not common knowledge, but I got a few ideas.”

The client nods, satisfied, and their eyes turn a little less angry and more curious.

“What’s your budget?” she asks while flickering through the pages, and the person in front of her takes less than a second to answer, “The biggest you got, he- We were supposed to go to Paris, so I’ve been saving up. Got some money to blow.”

What a fucking douchebag. Again, excuse the language, but this really sounds like the sort of person who’s drink she would gladly spit in. She might be really excited for this bouquet, now. Serves him right.

Everything that jumps to her mind should be in stock, actually. Genya’s never had to look up negative meanings to the flowers before, admittedly, but she does find some scribbled notes in what appears to be Nina’s handwriting next to the black roses. Revenge roses. Okay, maybe a bit too sinister, but she’ll keep them in mind.

She finds herself moving out behind the counter before she knows it, and when she picks up the first bunch she notices her client looking over her shoulder in an adorable kind of confusion, so Genya speaks up, “These are yellow carnations, they signal disappointment.”

They nod again, the small smile on their lips growing just an inch brighter. Their hands seem more relaxed, she finds herself noticing.

“Perfect,” they approve, “Is there a hate flower, you think?”

The bluntness no longer surprises her, and since the client huffs at themselves, Genya returns the smile with more certainty. Fair enough, she decides.

“Yes, surprisingly enough,” she chuckles, “Orange lilies. I also have foxglove for insincerity?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“I thought so,” Genya likes this person, she decides, probably way more than she should for a complete stranger, but… can you blame her?

She likes the guts it takes to make a bouquet like this, to be honest. And it’s like they keep getting prettier and prettier the more Genya looks at them, is that crazy? Probably. Matthias would roll his eyes at her, but she and Nina both know how cheesy he actually is, so whatever.

This client is also getting a hate bouquet for a soon-to-be-ex, though, so she’s real with herself, she can’t allow herself to get attached or anything. Would be unprofessional, regardless, but she can admire them anyway, right?

“What else, what else…” Genya wanders a bit more, her client following in tow, she’s got the centerpieces, but the white of this flower would add nicely to the overall look, “Meadowsweet! It, uh, it stands for uselessness.”

The person in front of her lights even more up at the suggestion. She’s thrilled, because honestly, not only helping them but also maybe, possibly impressing this client is suddenly very important to her.

“Alright, I think that’ll do nicely,” she finally tells them, writing the names and price ranges down on her notepad. “Unless you want to add some geraniums, too?” The customer looks at the sample she shows them, biting their lip in contemplation.

“It’s beautiful,” they confess.

“It is,” she agrees, “But it also signals stupidity.”

They laugh at that, a ringing sound like bells or… butterfly wings, maybe. This is just about making Genya’s whole week right now.

“Yeah, I need those.”

And so it’s decided, and she returns to her counter with the notes and shows the client the different bouquet sizes. She figures they might need a card, too, “I don’t have any ‘Fuck you’ cards, unfortunately. Will a blank one be alright?”

They nod, more eager than ever.

“Actually,” they’re running their finger over the sheet with the sizes before looking back at Genya again, “I know this is a big ask, but I was gonna leave the bouquet at his office. Do you think… we could, maybe, cover his desk in these flowers?”

Yet another suggestion that has her standing wide-eyed.

The client chuckles at themself again and fumbles a strand of hair behind their ear, “I’ll pay whatever it costs, I promise. If it’s even possible, that is.”

Genya considers this, and well, it’s definitely possible, they’ve got enough stock for it. The same thing as decorating a chapel for a wedding, sort of, but on a smaller scale. It’s doable.

“I do think my delivery guy can carry it, actually,” she replies, hoping Matthias won’t ask too many questions, but oh well, “We would need entry to the building, though-”

“I have the keys.”

“Oh.”

This person is well prepared. Genya loves it.

“It’s just really a matter of how many bouquets will be needed…” she’s thinking hard, an office cubicle is what she imagines the client is talking about, not too hard to fill up, realistically, “20? Will that be plenty?”

They full-on grin, “God, yes. Make it 22. I, uh, I got cash.”

And so it’s sorted, and a promise of scheduling the delivery for Wednesday, said soon-to-be-ex’s next work day, is settled. Matthias delivers the flowers a little before 8, the customer lets him in and they carry the load together, foolproof plan, Genya’s sure. “This is his number, Matthias Helvar, if you have any trouble, running late or getting into the building, whatever it may be.”

“Thank you so much for this, seriously,” they’re smiling almost from ear to ear, and honestly, she’s a little embarrassed that making this particular person as happy as they appear to be is making her feel so… warm? “This is perfect. I cannot wait to see his face. And walk away.”

It’s a funny sort of bonding experience, or feels like it, less than a transaction.

Before the client leaves, Genya gets their contact information in return, and an excited wave as the doorbell rings them out. Alina Starkov, the card says, and she/they pronouns right underneath.

She wonders if she’ll ever see them again. She doubts it. But she hopes she’s wrong.

Genya does, in fact, see a particular client again, one that for some reason stays on her mind after the delivery is done and in the five weeks till she sees them again, embarrassingly enough.

Matthias didn’t ask a lot of questions, besides the wide eyes and then looking the happiest she’s seen him since Nina kissed him for the first time. He didn’t need convincing, to put it simply.

“Whoever this Alina is, they got some guts,” he laughed to her while they were packaging all those flowers for him, “Practically covered our expenses for the month.”

That’s true, it’s lovely, that pure luck that sometimes hits them like a flood.

She’s over the moon, but of course, she doesn’t mention the part of it being because of that person’s bright smile replacing dried tear stains, and how the change made Genya feel like she’s never done anything more important than making her happy. God, Safin, Nina is rubbing off on you.

The boy lets her know the delivery went smoothly, and that Alina thanked him profusely, but that’s as much as she knows before the bell rings on a late Thursday and Nina’s voice calls from the front of house and reaches to the back where Genya is currently cutting stems.

She dries off her hands in their signature lavender apron - credit to Nina for that, as well - you’d be surprised how dirty a day’s work can get, and Genya takes care not to ruin any of her many, many floral dresses. Yes, she wears florals only to work. Once again, sue her.

She’s not sure why her friend would need assistance, she rarely asks for it, yet, there she stands.

Alina Starkov gives her a smile once again, but it’s less timid today, in no way tearful, instead calm and curious. Like they’re happy to see her, almost.

“Genya! Hi!” she says, and she’s more than a little surprised, much like their first meeting. Did she ever introduce herself? “Sorry, I hope I’m not disturbing, I, uh, I told Nina how grateful I am for your help with you-know-who. Wanted to thank you in person.”

That’s just way too adorable, isn’t it?

She feels her smile growing without even controlling it, and the brunette next to her is definitely looking like she wants to ask some questions ( many questions), but she’ll have to wait, geez, Genya cannot be having a romance novel moment in her store of all places.

Realising she also has to collect herself while being in front of the client and her best friend, and not zone out because her inner hopeless romantic is firing up inside her, she decides to brush it off and try to act casual, somehow, “I’m just happy to help. I assume it went as planned, then?” “Better than planned, even. He’ll be regretting it for the rest of his life, I hope.”

Alina laughs, and Genya gets that warm flush inside her chest again. And out of the corner of her eye, Nina looks less curious and more just straight up smug. Damn her.

“I think Matthias is calling me,” is actually how Nina first speaks up, and while the client nods, like they’re away in thought, Genya sees right through her.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“You didn’t?” her friend questions, tilting her head, already moving towards the door Genya just came through, “Oh, I did. Can’t leave him hanging, might be urgent.”

“Nina-”

“Back in a jiffy!”

She’s left alone with Alina. Which is fine, you know, they were alone when they first met, right- but listen, Genya is still very much thinking about the person saying her name and the realization that she is, of course, wearing a name tag hits simultaneously with another shock: she remembered her name.

Logically, that’s not out of the ordinary at all. Gosh.

But she knows it’s not because it’s a shocking experience and more that a person who’s as beautiful as them is smiling at her and that they might just be the prettiest person she’s ever seen and that the thought of making her happy is making Genya happy, believe it or not. She doesn’t understand why this is different from any of her other experiences, but it is.

She hasn’t seen a smile like theirs before, that she knows. It makes her feel all strange and bubbly, like drinking champagne.

However, Alina is speaking up again, so Genya desperately needs to get out of her head.

“I was actually… uh, wondering if you’re maybe able to help me out again?” she starts, looking a tiny bit nervous, “If you’re not busy, that is, oh my God.”

And maybe Genya shakes her head way too quickly, but sue her, “Not at all!”

The client grins, the blush in their cheeks surely must be from the cold wind outside, and it just makes them prettier, if that’s even possible. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Now, she’s gotten this nickname before. Of course those times weren’t from Alina, and she makes sure to hide just how flustered she’s becoming, shaking her head and swinging her hand, “Stop it. I’ll try my best, heh.”

Alina clears her throat before continuing, “My best friend’s coming home, I haven’t seen him in over a year, and… Do you have, like, friendship flowers? I wanna surprise him at the airport.”

Once again, the person in front of her is just downright adorable. It’s almost frustrating.

Genya chuckles, because she doesn’t need the encyclopedia for this request, and easily makes her way over to the roses.

The client looks over the bouquet she picks up with the very same joy as their first meeting. “Yellow rose is the friendship flower, actually! Usually put together with violets, but I can change it up if you want…?”

“No no no!” they hastily reply, already taking the offer of grabbing the bundle, looking down upon it with visible dimples and eyes shimmering with excitement, “They’re perfect. Mal’s gonna love them, I know it!”

“Ah, I hope so.”

She feels almost shy with all this flattery coming her way, especially from Alina, of course, and once more she thanks her just about five hundred times before hurrying out the shop, phone chiming in the distance.

Even after they’ve left, Genya still cannot believe they came back. And remembered her. Or like, specifically sought out her help, again. Huh.

Nina immediately peeks her head around the corner when the front door has shut, her face lit up like it’s Christmas Eve, “They seemed nice. And pretty.”

“Nina,” is all she can come up with, giving her best glare, while her best friend feigns innocence.

“Yes, Genya?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

She sighs, “Just don’t.”

If Genya’s second encounter with Alina Starkov wasn’t surprising enough already, imagine her shock when she finds exactly this person entering her shop two months later. Events requiring flowers aren’t constant, which, again, is why she didn’t expect to see her ever again, but she’s not complaining, of course.

She’s working the counter when the door opening reveals Alina, their golden earrings present as always and her hair in two buns, wearing a cropped rainbow sweater and dungarees. Looking just as pretty as last time she saw them, oh God, that fluster’s coming right back.

Except she’s not alone this time. Alina’s got a taller stranger in tow, with curly hair, lip ring and pink floral shirt layered over possibly the most ridiculous graphic tee Genya’s ever laid her eyes upon.

Her recurring client waves when they spot her, heading straight to her, while their friend is almost spinning around in awe.

“Hello again,” Genya greets her, because fuck, she might just get excited over the mere sight of them. Meeting again. Is the universe trying to tell her something?

It’s an absurd thought that shouldn’t matter at all, get yourself together, she tells herself.

“Hi!” They seem even more excited than last time she saw them, and Genya wonders what the occasion could be before Alina continues, “How’ve you been?”

There’s that funny feeling again.

It’s kind of like a lump in her throat, this time, but still as bubbly and warm as before. It’s also just endearing for many different reasons, one being that she rarely gets customers twice, or thrice, and casual conversation is never as easy as theirs. She’s overthinking it, definitely.

“Busy, but good,” Genya tells her, and is about to return it, while remembering their companion, “You? And sorry, ah, I’m Genya.”

Alina’s eyes are like fireworks, almost, and she waves over her friend who’s entranced by the lilies. They’ve got a spring in their step as they make it over to them.

“This is Jesper,” they introduce them, and the tall stranger winks in greeting, “Jesper, this is Genya. I told him all about the shop, cause you’re like… the queen of flowers.”

Oh my God, why is she so sweet? It almost makes her feel embarrassed, the two of them looking at her as she imagines a blush rising just from the client’s words.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Right back at ya!” he replies, one hand in his pocket and another gesturing wildly in the air, “This is amazing, by the way. I see why Alina goes to you for stuff like this.”

Genya laughs, feeling strangely more comfortable and less nervous now. Still, she figures she should probably get to business, they wouldn’t have come here if they didn’t have a purchase in mind, right? As much as the compliments are much appreciated, Alina being the source of them is yet again making her slightly incapable of functioning normally.

She can only hope she’s improved at hiding crushes since high school, because, well… that is what this is. Genya can’t really lie to herself anymore, or pretend it’s nothing.

It’s making her slightly breathless, this person appearing and reappearing in her life.

But she does need to get over it, because as she tells herself every time, Alina is a customer and she is a salesperson. Her life isn’t a rom-com, as tragic as that may be.

“I hope your friend liked the flowers,” she said, not even needing to wait for a response as they lit up again and confirmed, dimpled smile and all, “Can I help you with anything today?”

Alina nods and hooks her arm with Jesper, “You know it. Friends of ours just got engaged, we wanna have a, uh… tiny celebration for them.”

“By that we mean surprise the shit out of them,” he follows with no hesitation, and Genya and Alina laugh, in syncron. Alright, that’s also totally fine.

“I’m sure we can figure something out for that,” she tells them. She figures flower meanings are less necessary this time around, and when she spots the bottle of champagne and heart shaped box in the client’s tote bag, she decides on a simple question, “Well, red roses are the classic. Most romantic. Do they have any favorite flowers or colors, and such?”

Jesper seems to be squinting in concentration, and Alina bites their lip. It’s quite endearing.

But the client’s eyes widen, then, and they blurt out with only a beat difference, “Pink!”

It comes out as a half-yell, actually, judging by the sweet elderly woman from down the block jumping in the other end of the shop, and Matthias nearly dropping the bunch of tulips he’s carrying onto the back of his bike wagon. The two look awfully apologetic during it all.

“Inej’s favorite color,” Alina explains with an embarrassed giggle, ducking their head, “It’s pink.”

Genya nods, “I see. How about… pink and white lilies, then?”

Jesper seems to smile in approval. “I like that. See, I would’ve just gone with pink roses.”

She gives them a sample, which they both seem pleased with, she hopes so at least, while chuckling once more at his statement, “Could work as well. But these are popular for gifts, they symbolise admiration.”

Her (favorite) client scrunches her nose with as big a grin as hers, already made up their mind, “I think she’ll love them.” And Genya, of course, feels a massive honor in helping them. Again. She can’t believe Alina’s come back two times. Gosh, she’s thinking too much.

“I’ll write these up for you, then,” she tells them while they’re already following her to the counter. At the same time, Jesper’s got furrowed brows in a thinkful sort of face, and Genya doesn’t really know if this is directed to Alina or herself, nevertheless he wonders aloud, “Not sure what my favorite flower is. You got one, Alina?”

“Duh,” the shorter person answers, without hesitation, “Sunflower. Everyone’s got one, right?

Sunflower .

In her mind, nothing else has made as much sense as this. This was the flower she first associated her client with, what their beauty could only be compared with. They shine, so much it’s near blinding Genya, at this point. Yes, she knows it’s cheesy, but it’s only in her head, after all.

Genya realises this question, however, is very much meant for her, and so she answers while typing in their total, bouquet already wrapped up to go, “I think so, yeah. I think your favorite means a lot for you, as a person.”

The taller man seems to consider this.

Then, “I like daffodils.”

“They mean rebirth,” she tells him, “Good choice.”

He looks pleased by her explanation. Alina seems to be the one deep in thought now, though, in fact, they’ve already paid and got the bunch in hand, Jesper saluting Genya in goodbye when the client asks, “What’s your favorite?”

As many times before, they never cease to surprise her, do they?

“My favorite flowers?”

She nods.

“Magnolias,” Genya needs no time to consider this, it’s easy, “Perseverance.”

Alina’s got her wide grin again, but… it changes, a little bit. It’s almost secretive. Promising. Regardless, Genya doesn’t know what to do with her thoughts about it, or the client bidding them their own farewell with, “Till next time!”

She’s quite sure this person will be the death of her, sooner or later.

And as if they could read her mind, Nina and Matthias appear at her side, the man’s arms crossed and her best friend’s arm around his waist, both looking at Genya like they could somehow dig into her brain and know all her secrets. They’re so annoying sometimes. When they’re not adorable. Mostly annoying, though.

“What are you two looking at?” she asks them, and the couple exchange a look before Nina grins.

“They asked for your favorite flower,” she says, her boyfriend nodding in agreement. Genya doesn’t know what to say.

“I know.”

Matthias cocks a brow, “You do?”

She scoffs in disbelief at whatever game they have going on, “Yes?”

Her best friend sighs and puts her free on her shoulder. She tilts her head, “Matthias asked for my favorite before our first date.”

Genya frowns. “I know.”

Nina then chuckles, because they’re both weird and wonderful at the same time, apparently, “You’re impossible.”

“I know what you’re suggesting, Nin,” she then says, because come on, it’s obvious what they’re implying. And it’s bullshit. It was just a question, you know? It must’ve been. Curiosity, that’s all. “But that is impossible.”

And because Nina’s looking at her in disbelief, she tilts her head in return, and her friend gives up on the staring contest soon enough. “Whatever you say, babe.”

As Genya expected, although much to her disappointment, it seems she won’t see anymore of her beautiful client with raven hair and smile like the sun itself, tragically.

It’s her own fault, really, getting… a bit too attached. She’s fine!

Of course Nina and Matthias are right about her crush, she already knew this. And a month after their last meeting, she admitted defeat just so they could get off her ass about it. Now, though, her best friend looks at her with a sad smile sometimes, like she can sense the disappointment that Alina’s presence is missing entirely from the shop.

They don’t have anything requiring flowers, she didn’t expect them to, all the time. And like, asking for Genya’s favorite flower didn’t mean anything, as her friends kept insisting. They were having a conversation. Customer and shop owner.

Why does she miss her? God, Genya needs to get a grip. It’s just a bit annoying, because she doesn’t feel bubbly and light anymore without Alina Starkov, and she still loves her job, of course , but maybe she does find herself a little bit jealous when the wedding season kicks in and the boutique is full of couples day in and day out, young and old, all looking at each other like no flower can compare to their love. It’s making her a little nauseous, not that she’ll ever admit it out loud.

Strangely enough, she does get a visit from a couple, a grumpy fellow and a woman with a soft smile, who never let go of each other’s hands while Genya sketched out ideas for the flower arrangement. They wanted geraniums. She somehow recalled her name: Inej Ghafa. And Kaz Brekker. Huh.

Matthias’ birthday passes, where Nina gets him cornflowers (of course), and a month later yet, a familiar face returns when Jesper stumbles in the door in excitement, eagerly purchasing a bouquet of irises for his boyfriend.

Even her mom’s in love, she tells her over the phone, and God, she’s happy for them all. Maybe Genya’s just been lonely too long.

She hadn’t even thought of dating in forever. Hadn’t thought of being single could possibly bore her, or tire her. Until, you know. Alina.

Whatever, whatever!

She’ll get over her stupid infatuation, eventually, she just needs to focus on her work, it was just a string of coindences, and once wedding season is over she’ll forget all about her favorite client who got away. Hopefully.

The universe has way, way different plans for her, though, apparently, because as she and Nina lock up for the evening, Matthias helping them carry the last load of a busy day even though this is technically his off-day (probably an excuse to be with his girlfriend even more, she suspects, but hey), Genya stops in her tracks in the parking lot.

The couple a few steps in front of her appear totally unfazed. They must know what’s going on.

And her suspicion is right, because Nina’s grinning from ear to ear when she looks back at her, “You okay, Gen?”

Genya blinks in disbelief.

Her car. It’s completely covered in… in magnolias. She can barely see any trace of her car, in fact, if it wasn’t for the lights blinking when she unlocked it.

What the hell is going on?

She’d had a rather normal day, busy but normal, and scheduled to drive back home to her mom for her birthday early tomorrow. But this is strange. Unreal. Not necessarily in a bad way, the flowers’ smell reaches her all the way over here, but just strange.

Matthias cocks his head and grabs Nina’s hand, “Aren’t you gonna look at your gift?”

“My… my gift?” she asks him, not sure what to say anymore. They definitely had a hand in this. “You already gave me gifts yesterday,” she tells them, dumbfounded.

Her best friend rolls her eyes, “It’s not from us, dummy.” “Who’s it from, then?”

“Shh! That’s a surprise.”

“Nina,” she warns, feeling the exhaustion take over her ever so quickly.

The brunette kisses her cheek and then tugs at her boyfriend’s arm towards her own car. Matthias winks. Screw them.

“Take a look!” they yell to her.

Well… okay then. Genya approaches her car slowly, only a little scared someone’ll jump out from the mountain of pink flowers and scare her half to death. Of course, this isn’t a prank, because her friends are bad at pranks, and the magnolias are so gorgeous she may be getting a little teary eyed.

These little ones reminded her to keep going, when she was at her lowest. It’s stupid, but she felt like she could overcome anything, learning the flower’s meaning and finding a blossom outside of her window back then, like a little reminder from the universe. That’s why they're her favorite. Perseverance.

Bugger, she should probably get started on digging her vehicle out from somewhere in there. Except… her eyes fall upon a little pink card, secured on the wiper. And on it, her name is written, in cursive, gold letters.

Her curiosity takes over, of course it bloody does, and she picks up the card immediately, and when she flips it over…

Is this a fever dream?

Happy early birthday, Genya Safin. Call me? Sincerest wishes (and apologies for the car, grand gesture), Alina Starkov.

This is most definitely a fever dream. Except the card is very real in her hands, and the smell of the magnolias embrace her like a warm hug, and her friends honk as they leave the lot, laughing audible even with the windows all the way up.

Alina’s phone number is written at the bottom, underlined and everything, with a tiny heart next to it.

A grand gesture. A grand romantic gesture, at that. Genya cannot for the life of her stop smiling, big and in shock and flushed and excitement flowing through her veins.

They remembered.

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hifargoweek · 1 year

Text

Highly Irregular Fargo Week 2023

Highly Irregular Fargo Week is a weeklong fanworks event celebrating rare characters in both the FX series Fargo and the 1996 Coen Brothers movie which inspired it.

The event will run from Sunday, July 9, to Saturday, July 15, 2023.

OPTIONAL SCHEDULE:

SUNDAY: Backstories MONDAY: Characters with Zero AO3 Works TUESDAY: Rarepairs* WEDNESDAY: Movie/TV Crossovers* THURSDAY: Female Characters FRIDAY: Never Met in Canon SATURDAY: “The future is…”

*see below for more information on rarepairs and crossovers

What counts as a highly irregular character?

Highly irregular characters are rare characters. For the purposes of this event, characters with under 50 works in the Fargo (TV) and Fargo (1996) tags on Archive of Our Own (AO3) as of this posting are considered rare.

For reference, the currently ineligible characters are: Mr. Wrench, Mr. Numbers, Lorne Malvo, and Lester Nygaard.

Can my work include a non-rare character?

Non-rare characters may be mentioned or appear briefly, but the major focus of the work should be on at least one rare character. Basically, if the non-rare character’s appearance would warrant them being tagged on AO3, they feature too prominently.

What if my work focuses on a rarepair?

This is a rare character event, not a rarepair event. However, rarepair works are welcome as long as the pairing doesn’t include any non-rare characters.

So, for example, Nikki Swango/Mr. Wrench would be ineligible, because while the pairing itself has under 50 works on AO3, Mr. Wrench as a character has over 50 works.

Are crossovers allowed?

Crossovers between the Fargo TV series and the Fargo movie are allowed. Crossovers with non-Fargo fandoms are not.

Are original characters allowed?

Yes, as long as the work also prominently features at least one rare canon character.

Does it have to be fanfiction? Can I post art or other types of fanwork?

All types of fanwork are welcome, as long as they focus on at least one rare Fargo character. That includes art, GIFs, graphics, fanmixes, fanvids, meta, etc.

Do I have to follow the schedule?

The schedule is completely optional, and is only there to provide inspiration for those who might need it. Feel free to ignore it entirely, or switch around the days.

Where and when should I post my work?

You can add your fanworks to the AO3 collection, and/or post them on Tumblr. For Tumblr posts, be sure to use the tag #hifargoweek2023 and/or mention @hifargoweek in the post.

The collection will open at approximately 12 am EDT on July 9 and close at approximately 11:59 pm EDT on July 15. Eligible works posted on Tumblr during the same period will be reblogged to this account.

Why do you hate [insert popular character here]?

I don’t! The purpose of this event is simply to give more attention to the less popular characters in the fandom, and to challenge fans to stretch their creative muscles.

Are there any other requirements?

Nope! Works of any length, rating, category, and archive warning are eligible. Feel free to post as many works as you’d like, as long as they meet the requirements for rare characters.

If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to send an ask. Reminders and updates will be posted to this blog, so give it a follow if you’d like to stay up to date.

Please reblog this post to spread the word!

#hifargoweek2023 #fargo #fargo tv #fargo fx #fx fargo

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

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Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 4 | I don’t think you are supposed to giggle at Tolstoy.

A/N: This will update every Thursday. There are 13 chapters. There are all sorts of kinds of D/s relationships. This is the one I choose to write this time.

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship. When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian. Which is the one thing he never knew he needed. Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship. But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open! Let me know if you want to be added. Thank you for reading!

Tom slept like a rock that night. The best night’s sleep in a long time. He dreamed of Vivian, kneeling on his chest, kissing him, teasing him, biting him. And he woke that morning with his cock hard and leaking. He stroked himself as he thought about Vivian. But not in the way he usually did. Instead of fantasizing of her touching him, sucking his cock, jerking him off, Tom closed his eyes and imagined his lips on Vivian’s folds and clit. Her hands in his hair tugging his head where she wants it. Vivian moaning in response to his touch, his tongue. As her pleasure increases, Tom’s motions in real life increased. Tom came with a soft gasp, spurting along his torso. He panted, trying to catch his breath. Once he regained his composure, he headed to the shower to clean himself up and go for a jog.

Vivian rapped her nails on the desk in her flat. Her email open on the screen. She was drafting the proposed protocols for Saturday to Tom, and she contemplated on how far to push him. So far, Tom exceeded all Vivian’s expectations. Which worried her. In the past, all men have been eager to please, at first. But once the shiny new wore off, and the men realized the relationship wasn’t about her fulfilling their fantasies of kinky sex and it was about surrendering to her authority, they ran. Sometimes without further word. It wasn’t the incompatibility that bothered Vivian, but the coldness in which they communicated it. As though she was without feeling or emotion. This caused her to assign the reading at the beginning, to move more cautiously. And she wasn’t sure if her heart could handle a rejection from Tom.

With a sigh, she typed out to Tom:

This is a date for the sole purpose of kissing. No food, no drink, no chitchat, no reading, no hanging out.

In short: Kissing, petting, stroking and all the things come along with that- yes. Talking, sex, orgasms- no.

Here is a list of what may happen, not what will happen. If anything bothers you or off limits, let me know.

- Kissing, obviously. Let me know of any spots that are off limits.

- Shirt off

- Pants off (underwear on)

-Nudity (you, not me)

- Kneeling

- Blindfold

- Light bondage (cuffs- both wrists and ankles, tied to the bed)

- Biting

-Bruises on your body (both in places normally covered by clothing and places it would be visible such as the neck)

- All over body touching (let me know of body parts off limits)

- All over body licking (same as above)

- Roles reversed (you touching/licking me)

- Hands around your throat (gentle not choking)

- Hair pulling

- Fingers in your mouth (not gagging)

- Body-slapping

- Pinching

And I think I covered everything. Wear a button-down (I like when you undo the top few buttons) and jeans or slacks. Send me a photo of what your current underwear options are. I will send you your address that morning. I expect you at 7.

Vivian

She smiled as she re-read the email. She buzzed with anticipation at the possibilities of Saturday night. Vivian was certain she would cuff and restrain Tom, and not just because he had the tendency to squirm underneath her. She suspected it would push a button and was eager to test her theory. She hit click and headed off to work.

Tom was eating breakfast, having finished his morning run when his phone dinged with a new email from Vivian. He read through her email and swallowed hard. The list was extensive. He re-read before finishing up breakfast and heading upstairs and digging through his underwear drawer. Tom had three options laid out on the bed. He snapped a photo of them laid out on the bed. He examined the photo, unhappy.

“Might as well.” he commented to himself as he stripped down and pulled on the first pair, navy boxers.

Tom stood in front of the full-length mirror in the closet and snapped a photo. He hated to admit he may have flexed a bit in the photo. He repeated the process with the white underwear briefs, and the black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Pleased with the photos, Tom typed back to Vivian.

Wow, that is quite the comprehensive list. I appreciate the thoroughness and the bullet points. I am not scheduled for any meetings until Wednesday, so any marks will have faded by then. My feet are ticklish. Probably shouldn’t tell you that. ;) And I would rather not have my armpits or the inside of my ears licked. Otherwise, I am game for whatever you want.

I have attached photos of the underwear, per your request. And if there is anything else I can do to be of service, please let me know, ma’am.

Your sunshine boy,

Tom

He attached the photos and sent the email and then returned to dressing for the day, flopping on the bed to return the last two books on his list before starting his essay.

Vivian was pleased Tom modeled the underwear rather than just lay them out of the bed. She probably would have directed him to model them. She wrinkled her nose at the first pic and flicking through the rest.

Black boxer briefs. Burn or throw away the tighty whities. If I find a pair in your home, I will punish you. Let’s change our night time call to 9:00 p.m. from now on. I hate keeping you up so late.

She placed the phone down on her desk. It buzzed almost immediately.

Consider them burned. 9 p.m. works for me, although I don’t mind waiting up if it means I get to hear your voice. :) I shall wait with bated breath until Saturday.

The rest of the day seemed to fly by for both of them and before long, Tom was settled into bed with both his books of collected poetry and Anna Karenina. He called on time and Vivian asked for him to read more of Tolstoy. He started doing voices of the characters, in particular an exaggerated Russian accent for Levin and Vronsky.

“I don’t think you are supposed to giggle at Tolstoy.” Vivian commented after one particularly dramatic passage.

“I’m a full service entertainer. Comedy, drama, action, romance.” Tom teased back.

“What about erotica?” she teased right back, her voice low.

Tom paused. “For you? Without question.” She could hear the hesitation, fear, and excitement in his voice. She hoped it would remain.

Vivian sighed. “I think it is enough reading for tonight. I want you to get a good night’s rest for tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am.” he responded.

“Goodnight, Tom, my sunshine.”

“Goodnight, Vivian.”

They ended the call, and both drifted off to sleep.

Vivian attended her weekly blowout appointment, not realizing Tom spent the day as a bundle of nerves. He ran ten miles hoping to burn off excess energy. It didn’t work. The only thing he did was finish the last of the books from Vivian’s list. The fastest ever read through anything in some time. He was too distracted to write his essay, thought swirling in his brain. Tom wants it to be perfect. He wants everything to be perfect for Vivian.

Tom must have tried on at least six different shirts, each discarded on the bed as unsuitable. He settles on a soft, well worn light blue shirt. One of his favorites. The collar is fraying at the corners, which is why he doesn’t wear out as much anymore, favoring instead newer but less comfortable shirts. He grabbed a pair of jeans only to notice a hole on the inside of the thigh and discarded them also on the bed, grabbing a different pair. Tom left the top two buttons undone, a calculated air of casual. A quick dab of cologne and then he waited, not wanting to arrive too early.

After her morning errands, Vivian ate a light lunch and set about preparing her flat for Tom. She made up the bed with fresh linens and double checked the restraint points on the posts. She hadn’t decided on a leg position, so Vivian placed straps on all the corners as well as the point in the middle. Vivian opened the nightstand and retrieved the cuffs, adjusting them and placing them prominently in the foyer on a table. Cuffing Tom would be among the first things she did that night. In addition, she laid out a blindfold on the nightstand and put a bottle of water there too. After bathing, she slipped into a simple silk tank and striped shorts. She wore the same wedges as before. Vivian enjoyed looking Tom in the eye while standing and kissing. A quick dab of perfume behind the ears and settled on the couch, watching some TV waiting for Tom.

He knocked on her door, ten minutes early. Acceptably early without fear of being so early that he disturbed preparations.

“I couldn’t wait any longer.” Tom commented.

Vivian giggled. His eagerness was endearing. “I’ll allow it. Come in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped into her flat, looking around in wonder. Vivian grabbed him by the chin and kissed him hard.

“Do you still remember your word, sunshine?”

“Yes.” Tom is already breathing hard. “Sushi.”

She smiled and slid her hand down around Tom’s neck. His Adam’s apple moving underneath her palm. His eyes widened in fear. Vivian kissed him again. He leaned forward when she stepped back. She walked around him, fingers tracing the planes of his body, his broad shoulders, defined pecs and abs. Vivian gave his ass a playful swat. Tom yelped and staggered forward.

“Such a nice ass, sunshine.” She growled in his ear, grabbing it with her nails.

“Thank you, ma’am.” his voice shook. He wasn’t used to being manhandled, and his cock appreciated the rough touch.

“Shirt and pants off.” She stepped back to watch him undressed.

Tom’s cheeks blushed. He had been nearly nude in a room of strangers before, but under Vivian’s glare, he never felt so exposed. Tom tugged his shirt over his head, not bothering to undo the buttons this time. He folded the shirt, placing it on the nearby table while he slipped his shoes and socks off, and slipping his jeans down his lean legs. Vivian licked her lips at Tom in his underwear. While the man appeared fit clothed, he was something carved from marble without the clothes. He flashed a lopsided smile as he placed his jeans on top of his shirt and folding his hands in front of him, obscuring his crotch.

“God, you are beautiful.” Vivian hissed as she stepped forward to kiss him again. Tom hummed back at the praise, his body growing warm. She nipped at his lower lip, nibbling rather than biting, sending shocks through his body. “Wrists, please.”

Vivian moved to the table. Tom’s arms shot out. She grabbed the leather cuffs and put them on. Tom jerked back his arms.

“What are those?” His brows furrowed.

“Cuffs. Wrists.” Her tone sharp. Tom hesitated, his mouth opening to protest. “Sunshine, wrists.” she snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.” He reluctantly held out his wrists. She tightened the cuffs, making sure they wouldn’t chafe.

Tom twisted his wrists back and forth, testing out the weight and listening to the rings thudding against the thick leather. Vivian kissed him again, hands sliding down his torso. His cock jumped. She grabbed the back of his neck and led him towards the bedroom. Tom gulped at the blindfold and straps.

“Ah…” he started before being cut off by Vivian’s lips on his neck. “Oh!” he moaned. She laved and sucked hard, removing her lips with a pop, satisfied at the dark mark already formed.

“On the bed, sunshine. On your back.” Tom scrambled onto the bed, lying flat on his back. As Vivian slipped the cuffs on Tom’s ankles, he jerked back. She raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

She slipped her shoes off and then hooked his ankle cuffs to the straps in the middle of the bed. As Vivian strolled to the head of the bed, she ran a nail up Tom’s leg. He jerked against the restraints. She grabbed his arm and clipped it onto the strap before crawling onto the bed, reaching over to clip in the other side, her breasts grazing Tom’s body. His hips bucked.

“So squirmy, sunshine. Best I did tie you up.” Vivian straddled his chest, pushing him into the mattress. “I can’t let you get away just yet.” She pressed against his lips softly, earning a sigh. Her teeth worried his lower lip.

“Ow.” he mock protested.

Nevertheless, Vivian let go of his lip and trailed down his neck. She licked the bruise from earlier before moving down to his collarbone. Vivian sucked and nipped, leaving the twin to the neck’s bruise there. She smiled at her handiwork. Tom struggled against the restraints.

“They have held stronger men than you, sunshine.” Vivian dragged her nails down his sides, leaving faint lines. As she settled by his hips, Tom’s cock pressed against her. Tom huffed and puffed as she kissed his Adonis belt, scraping her teeth along his skin from time to time. Her hands stroked along his thighs and he flexed under her touch.

She slid off of Tom’s body, and he whined at the lack of contact. Vivian rolled back on top of Tom, lying along his full body like a blanket. Tom sighed at the weight and contact. She pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to his heart race. She snaked a hand to the back of his head and jerked his head sideways before kissing him. Tom met her lips with hunger and he whimpered each time she pulled away, only to tug him towards her again. He strained against the restraints, desperate to touch her, to pull her tight against him and rut against her. His tongue slipped into her mouth, needy, exploring every inch. He moaned as Vivian’s grip tightened on his hair, hurting, but he wanted more.

Vivian could sense Tom coming close to overheating, making a mess and complicating the hell out of this. His cock strained, hard and weeping. She pulled away, holding his lower lip between her teeth as long as possible, stretching it.

“Ow.” Tom muttered.

Vivian slid down to press against Tom’s side. She cupped her cheek before gently kissing behind Tom’s ear. Tom moaned softly from the back of his throat. Her fingers twisted into his hair and she massaged his scalp. Tom’s shoulders relaxed and his hands loosened from the fists. As she scratched and petted him, he leaned into her touch, his breath slowing to a deep and even pace. He closed his eyes, enjoying the soft touch.

“You are so beautiful, my sunshine.” She cooed at him. Her other finger tracing his jaw and cheekbone. “So pretty.” She kissed his cheek and stroked his chest.

“Thank you, ma’am.” His voice breathy and floaty.

Vivian reached over and unhooked Tom’s wrist. She turned and unhooked his other wrist. Tom didn’t move. She stood to unhook his ankles.

“Legs up, please.” Tom lifted his legs into the air. Vivian undid the cuffs, rubbing the skin and massaging it. She kissed the top of his feet and Tom giggled and squirmed. “You weren’t joking about being ticklish.”

“No, ma’am.” He slowly floated back to reality.

“Sit up, please.” Tom rocked up, his hair a rumpled mess, and held out his wrists. Vivian smoothed out his hair and held the back of his neck while she kissed his cheek and lips a few more times. She released him and unbuckled the wrist cuffs, rubbing his wrists and kissing each one and placed them on the nightstand and grabbed the water bottle, handing it to Tom.

“Thank you.” He opened the bottle and took a large swig. Vivian smoothed his hair back one more time.

“Let’s go get dressed, sunshine.” He sighed, taking another swig of water before standing. Vivian slipped her wedges back on and walked beside Tom, rubbing his neck the entire time. “I was a bit rough on you. Are you okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice quiet while he grabbed his jeans and tugged them on before pulling on his shirt, tucking it and zipping up.

“How did it feel? I imagine you are used to being treated with kid gloves.”

Tom pulled on his socks and shoes, working on finding the right words.

“I don’t quite know how it felt.” Tom replied, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “But I know I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t mind the pain. I wanted to touch you and make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

Vivian smiled and pulled him into a hug, squeezing him tight. “Sunshine, I feel good. I received great pleasure at teasing you.” She kissed him. “With my mouth. And watching you squirm and hearing you purr.” She petted the back of his head. “But I appreciate your desire to please me physically. And you will when the time comes.”

Tom stared at her with his endless blue eyes. “When will that be, ma’am?”

“When you’re ready, Sunshine.” She kissed his cheek. “You still haven’t finished your homework first.”

Tom’s hands fidgeted, twisting in front of him. “I finished all the books. I plan on starting the essay tomorrow.” He stared at the floor. “I want it to be perfect.”

“As long as it is from your heart it will be, my sunshine boy.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I don’t ask for perfection, just effort.”

Tom nodded and squeezed her hand back. “Yes, ma’am.”

She walked him to the door, kissing him one more time. “Call me in the morning when you wake up.”

Tom nodded. “Thank you for tonight.”

“You are welcome. The pleasure was mine.”

Tom smiled and kissed Vivian’s cheek and headed out. She clicked the door shut and set about cleaning up the place. Tom came home and ate a sandwich before turning in early that evening, his brain still fuzzy.

As requested, Tom called in the morning, still in bed, to check in with Vivian. It pleased her that outside of the marks on his neck and collarbone, Tom was no worse for wear. Tom left out the part of the dreams he had or the fact he woke up with a raging hard on which Tom took care of in the shower, skipping his run for thirty minutes on his long neglected rowing machine.

Tom lazed about for most of the morning, having something akin to a hangover without the benefit of being drunk beforehand. As he sat down at this computer to start his essay for Vivian, there was a knock on the door. He groaned as he trudged to see who would dare disturb his lazy Sunday.

A smiling Benedict greeted him at the door. When he saw Tom in workout gear, he frowned.

“You’re not dressed!” he complained.

“For what?” Tom blinked back at him. He didn’t recall making plans.

“Lunch!” Benedict stepped in the foyer. “We made plans weeks ago. I’ll wait for you to change.”

Tom was ready to protest, but Ben crossed his arms and it was clear he wasn’t leaving without Tom. With a huff, Tom discarded his clothes into the bedroom which now had a small pile of discarded and dirty clothes, and grabbed an old gray v neck t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Shoving his feet into a pair of boots, Tom stomped back to Ben, pushing past him.

“Let’s go.” Tom grumbled.

Tom’s mood improved once he ordered some food and got half a pint into his system. Benedict stared at him, squinting.

“What?” Tom asked, still irritated.

“What is that on your neck?” He pointed at Tom’s neck. Tom twisted it, and then Ben spied the second mark on his collarbone. “And your chest? Were you attacked?”

Tom touched his collarbone and remembered. He blushed. “It’s nothing. Forget it.” He gulped down the other half of his pint and stood. “Let me go get another round.”

Benedict held out his arm to stop Tom. “It’s like you were bitten by someth… Oh… OH!” The lightbulb went off. “Things going well with Vivian?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Yes.” He sidestepped Ben’s arm and grabbed another pint before returning to the table.

“Care to share?” He prodded.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Moving on.” Tom grew more homicidal by the second.

Benedict clapped his hands together. “Remember how Sophie wrangled me into serving on the children’s hospital charity board?”

“Yes.” Tom saw the Cheshire Cat grin on Ben’s face. “No. No! I went last year and got cornered by that old lady who kept calling me ‘Henry’.”

“It was endearing.”

“It was ridiculous.”

“There’s an open bar.”

“Hard pass.”

“I have two tickets. You can bring Vivian.”

Tom stared at his friend. “I am not introducing you to Vivian.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like her and I’m afraid you will scare her off.”

Benedict scoffed. “I have never…” He clutched his chest in dramatic fashion. “… never scared anyone off.”

“Alice, Catherine, Eva…” Tom counted off on his fingers. “… I can go on.”

“None of them met my high standards. Please come.” he begged. “Sophie will kill me if you don’t come.”

“The thought of your death is tempting.”

The waiter set the food down.

“Tom…” Benedict dropped all pretense. “… please come. I promise I will be on my best behavior.”

Tom’s head dropped. “Give me the details. I will check with Vivian tonight when I call her.”

Benedict’s lips pursed. “Really? I can’t wait to meet her. Especially someone who leaves marks like that on you. Sounds like she is yours for the taking.”

“Yeah.” Tom mumbled as he took a bite of his food.

Tom called her at 9 p.m. like always.

“Sunshine, how was your Sunday?” she asked.

“Speaking of that…” Tom started, and she noticed the nerves in his voice. “What are you doing next Friday evening?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I believe I’m free. Do you have any ideas?”

Tom exhaled sharply. “I’ve been invited to a charity event by Benedict and I have two tickets, and I was wondering if you would like to come with me.” He blurted it all out in one big run-on sentence.

Vivian paused before laughing. “Wow, you were really nervous about that, weren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Everything is still so new and I don’t… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You are just the sweetest, sunshine. You know that right? Beautiful and sweet. Yes, I will go with you.”

Tom beamed. “How would everything work?”

“Like any date would. We go, we drink, we dance and mingle.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, darling. We can set some rules that work for both of us. okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, read to me please.”

Tom grabbed the book.

Tom and Vivian agreed he would pick out three outfit options, but Vivian would come over ahead of time and make the final choice. They would not use pet names and instead would do what is natural. Tom asked that she still rub the back of his neck.

“It calms me down.” he commented.

“Of course, sunshine. I like when you are calm. You are more attentive that way.”

It was now the day of the event and Vivian sat on Tom’s bed, noticing the clutter. Tom was modeling the second outfit.

“I don’t like the tie. Let’s see the last one.”

Tom undid the tie and shirt and grabbed the last option. It was a double-breasted blue pinstripe suit with a blue shirt and navy tie. He did a little spin.

“That one.” Vivian stood and straightened his tie and petted his neck before squeezing his ass. “Your ass looks amazing in those trousers.”

Tom blushed again. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She kissed his cheek, wiping away her gloss. “Remember, no names, now let’s go.”

Tom was more at ease with Vivian by his side. Her reassuring touch at the back of his neck or even his shoulder grounded him. Not to mention, she dazzled everyone she met. Now for the big test.

“Benedict, Sophie, meet Vivian Swann. Vivian meet Benedict Cumberbatch, notorious troublemaker, and his queen of a wife, Sophie Hunter.”

Vivian shook each of their hands, holding tight to Tom’s but leaning in for a kiss on the cheek by Ben. Tom tightened his grip. She suppressed a giggle.

“Charmed. Thank you so much for inviting me. I have been looking into getting the firm involved in more charity work and the children’s ward is an enticing option.”

“Firm?” Sophie questioned.

“Watkins, Price, and Forbes. I work in their corporate law division.”

Benedict let loose a low whistle.

“Tom, you didn’t tell me you were dating a pit bull.” Sophie commented. “Impressive.”

Vivian smiled. “I prefer the term ‘velvet hammer’ but pit bull works. “

“How did you and Tom meet?” Ben interjected.

Tom paled, but Vivian didn’t miss a beat.

“The Bloomsbury Club. We bonded over a shared loved for Macallan 18-year-old aged whisky.”

Tom cleared his throat. “Right. Why don’t we take a seat?” He gestured at their reserved table.

“Your feet must be killing you in those shoes, Vivian. After having kids, I just can’t stand wearing them, but if I want to see eye to eye with this one.” She gestured at Benedict.

“Guilty.” He shrugged. “Although not as tall as the Frost Giant over there.”

Tom paused as he pulled out Vivian’s chair for her.

“I don’t mind the heels.” Vivian responded. “It is all what you get used to. Besides, I enjoy towering over people.” she giggled.

“Champagne?” the waiter offered.

“No, it makes her sneeze.” Tom commented.

“Get me a glass of white wine, please?” Vivian gazed up at him.

Tom smiled down and kissed her cheek. “Yes, of course, darling.”

“Sophie?��

Benedict and Sophie blinked at the two of them.

“Uh… yes a white wine sounds fantastic. Thank you, Tom.”

Tom nodded and headed off to the bar. Sophie elbowed Benedict in the ribs. He shuffled to his feet.

“Tom, let me help you with that!” He called after his friend.

Sophie waited until both men were out of earshot.

“How did you… I don’t want to know. You’re not like Tom’s other girlfriends, Miss Vivian Swann.”

She smiled. “I’m not sure if that is a compliment or an insult. So I will say thank you.”

“Definitely a compliment. There is something different about Tom when he is around you. He seems…”

“… happy?”

“Yes, but the word is content.” Sophie added. “Content, at peace. After that last nasty breakup, the man could use a little peace and quiet.”

“Hopefully not too quiet.” Vivian smirked.

“Are you two gossiping about us?” Benedict teased.

“I was just telling Vivian how happy and content our dear Thomas looks with her.” Sophie quipped.

Tom blushed as Vivian smiled and reached out to rub his neck. “I am. Thank you for noticing Sophie.”

The evening wound down. Tom for once enjoyed the event. Vivian won over Benedict and Sophie, so much so that Sophie invited her to go shopping tomorrow afternoon while she wrangled Benedict and Tom in tearing down a shed in Ben’s yard.

“Leave them to grunt work while we shop.”

“I would love to.” Vivian sipped at her wine.

The two couples said goodbye while waiting for the valet. Benedict hugged Vivian tight and kissed her cheek. While Sophie and her exchanged numbers. Benedict pulled Tom to the side.

“There’s something different about you, man.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m still me.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“No,” Ben folded his hands in front of his face. “there is definitely a change. And I think it has something to do with that enchanting woman over there, who I am sure is being tortured with baby pictures by my wife.”

“Perhaps.” Tom replied cryptically.

“Don’t fuck it up man. You will never find another girl…”

“Woman.” he corrected his friend.

“… Woman like her. You deserved a little happiness.”

“Tom?” Vivian placed her hand on his back. “The car’s here.”

“Of course. Ben.” He shook his friend’s hand and then hugged Sophie before opening the door for Vivian and then getting in and driving off.

“I’m going to head home.” Vivian stated when they got back to Tom’s home.

“Okay. I had a lot of fun tonight. It wasn’t nearly as dreadful with you there.”

“Your friends are a delight. They really do want the best for you, sunshine.”

Tom smiled at the name. “Yes, ma’am.” He fell back into the old pattern.

She grabbed the back of his head and tugged him into a kiss. Tom wrapped his arms around her and did his best to hold her tight. She pulled away, and he whined.

“I’m ready to take this to the next step, Vivian. I want to please you.” His hands ghosted over his shoulders. “In all ways.”

She smiled. “Send me the essay and we will talk. How about lunch tomorrow?”

“I will send it as soon as I step inside. I could cook you lunch here.”

“I would like that, sunshine.” She kissed him one more time. “Sleep well.”

“Yes, ma’am. You too.”

She smiled and walked to her car to head home. Tom stepped inside and rushed to his computer. He did a quick spell check on the essay he had been tweaking over the last week and clicked send.

“There.”

Vivian laughed as her phone beeped before she even left Tom’s driveway, knowing it was Tom’s homework.

“So eager. I like that.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston smut #hiddlesfic #tom hiddleston series #follow my lead

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Text

Wip Wednesday

Untitled fic (Correspondence)

Summary/Story so far: HotchReid, slow burn, AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. We are now months into this... tentative thing that is beyond friendship, beyond flirtatious, they still don't know much about each other on paper... but this feels a lot like dating. And then one day, Hotch abruptly stops answering his phone.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

(Set in season 6, unbeta'd, still the first draft, text/email templates are temporary)

((Notes: Spencer's POV this time, he is 29 and working at CalTech, Hotch still doesn't know how old he is though he does know that he's at least younger than 45 now. Hotch has been MIA now for about 18 hours.))

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch is working. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be apart of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking.

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

[]You're going to get me in trouble.

[][]Did I make you smile?

[]I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[][]Then why are you checking your phone?

[]You know why.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague.

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules.

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is.

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, and Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath.

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes realize he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call.

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it.

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

Please let me know of his well-being.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s.

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

His morning routine progresses as usual, to start. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well.

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling.

He becomes even more distracted when his email pings, a response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen, right in the middle of his department announcements. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is hurt, he’s in surgery, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt.

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a faction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted.

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

The reply is almost immediate.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. But then his mind sticks on something from the email.

Boy Wonder.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch?

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or lables as official.

It’s easy to see, now why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean.

Except, every victim has elevated potassium rates.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?”

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “... Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.”

tbc...

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #I s2g it is but it is also long af #legit this ended up being 1900 words i just didn't feel like stopping you know?#so yall get like... 25% of the entire chapter basically #sorry not sorry #expect a wip every week now #wip wednesday #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting #don't ask about the dots tumblr and I are in a formatting fight and aren't on speaking terms rn

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girlmeetsliv3 · 4 years

Text

Violent Delights: One

Violent Delights

(In collaboration with @jooniescupcakes)

Genre: Horror, Suspense, & Psychological Thriller

Pairings: Gang!Jimin x reader ; BTS x Reader

Sypnosis:“These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume.”

Release Date: Sept 29, 2020 @ 8 p.m. (GMT-4)

Word Count: 9.2k

Author's Note: It's finally here! Almost a year in the works, but Violent Delights The Series is finally kicking off. Thank you for all the love, support, as well as critiques the one-shot received. I hope this re-telling can both capture and surpass the twisted charm of the original. I would like to thank Min (@jooniescupcakes) for helping me outline and plot the story and for contributing. I greatly appreciate it. This story will be darker, gore-y, and a lot more twisted than the original. So strap in & happy early Halloween! Trigger Warning: This story contains subject matter not appropriate for all ages. This story contains mental illness, emotional, physical, and mental abuse; as well as abuse of power, manipulation, and toxic relationships. All of which play a big part in this story. It is never my intention to sensationalize or spread misinformation about mental disorders, please take the "medicine" used in this story with a grain of salt. Links to helplines can be found in the navigation of my blog. Lastly, this is a work of fiction and does not portray the character of Bangtan Sonyeondan.

The door slammed shut harshly as Hanbin rushed to bolt it locked, by his side, he tugged an inconsolable YN through the small house. There was very little time until she arrived. He maneuvered his way through the piles of old dirty clothes, the children had long become accustomed to the stench coming from the kitchen, the dust, and grime that covered their home. It’s why no one came over. Not that anyone was allowed over. In the center of the room framed on the wall shined a family portrait mockingly. Hanbin was short for his age, just eight years old, but it allowed him to navigate through small openings and hide in tight spaces. It was a survival tactic.

“Shh, YN. You need to calm down. She’ll be here soon.”

“i-I wuh-wanted to help, Binnie. She was hurt -”

Hanbin pulled on his sister a little too harshly trying to draw her attention, it caused her lower lip to quiver as she tried to hold the tears back. That wouldn’t do she didn’t like it when they cried. “Helping people only gets you into trouble.” Outside, the slamming of a car door could be heard. Quickly Hanbin located the small broom closet and helped YN inside. The jiggling of the doorknob was barely above a whisper, but it rang as loud as the fire alarm in the children’s heads. YN began to hyperventilate knowing what was coming even if she didn’t truly understand why.

“It’s okay,” Hanbin rubs her cheek affectionately. “Just stay inside, be quiet, and don’t try to help.” Just like that he closed the door and locked it. He silently hoped YN hadn’t skipped lunch that day. YN cowered under the old headboards, her only company the dusty cleaning products and cobwebs, the second the screaming started she covered her ears and closed her eyes.

“Miss YN?” The nurse’s bright pink scrubs served as a strong contrast to the muted tones of the rest of the building. YN cast a glance around she was likely the youngest person there, but everyone around her shared a similar air of ennui that YN had long grown to associate with doctor’s offices. Slowly she stood up following the nurse as she guided her through what appeared to be an endless labyrinth of doors. After stopping abruptly the nurse turns around and smiles though it’s evidently rehearsed. “Don’t be nervous, Dr. Kang is one of the best doctors here.” How many times hadn’t she heard that before? YN offers the nurse a smile making sure it is wide enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes. That seems to suffice the woman enough for her to finally knock on the door.

Dr. Kang Daniel was certainly young for his profession, but that provided some relief for YN. It would be nice not to spend almost an hour with someone that looked to have been around when Freud was. “Please take a seat.” He gestures over to a chair in front of the desk and YN notices there is little decoration around the room. It’s also missing a clock, but thankfully she sees Kang is wearing one. YN notes the time: 5:36 pm. Forty-three more minutes to go.

“I apologize that we’re going to have to go through all of this, but its procedure.” He lightly shakes the file in his hand. Most doctors operated digitally now, so that stood out.

“It’s fine.”

“Let’s get to it then. Why are you here YN?”

They went over the usual things and YN was quickly growing a bit bored, her eyes danced around the room as she did find it very strange that it seemed so vacant for a personal office. “Bored?” Her eyes snapped back to his, Kang wearing an unreadable expression. “I apologize for the lack of decor. I recently moved offices, so this will be my last day here.” YN frowned, “I thought I was to be your new patient.” Kang nods, “Yes, but our sessions will be held in my consultation. It’s closer to downtown so you might save yourself the trip.” How does he know I live closer to downtown? Perhaps seeing the further furrowing of her brow Kang speaks once more. “Unless you live far from downtown?” YN shakes her head feeling the tension leave her body just a bit.

Slowly he closes the file and leans forward, resting on his elbows. “I know this isn’t the most comfortable environment. I also know how jarring transfers can be and that they can halt any sort of process…” YN zones out of the conversation having heard it a thousand times since she was eleven years old. The rambling tends to have the same conclusion every single time.

‘I want us to be friends.’

“I want us to be friends or something similar. I know there are some barriers and guidelines in our relationship, but don’t think they aren’t malleable. I’m here if you need me.”

YN mulls over what might serve as an appropriate response, aware that taking too long might ruin the pseudo-friendly atmosphere and she doesn’t want to have any more problems with psychiatrists. “Thank you, Dr. Kang. I’m sorry I’m just a bit nervous.” The sheepish smile that follows afterward is enough to convince Kang. Perhaps he isn’t a bad man but YN has encountered his type far too often: those striving to make a difference. Always trying to make things better. Always trying to help.

“No one will help us, YN. No one cares about us.”

“So let’s move onto your family YN -”

“Actually I wanted to ask you about my medication.” Kang seemed surprised at her interruption but encouraged her to continue. “Dr. Lee only gave me enough medication to last the transfer, so I’m almost out.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll be taking you off the medication for a short time anyway.” What? Kang’s attention was now on his computer, not bothering to look at YN in the eye. “I need to run some tests and in order to do that your system has to be clean.”

YN hadn’t been off her medication for a long time. Sure the dosage varied depending on the treatment, but going completely off was unheard of. Especially so soon. “Don’t worry,” Kang smiled. “There shouldn’t be any potential side effects and if there is I’ll give you my private number. In case of emergencies.” What was supposed to be a soothing smile only unnerved YN even more. YN nodded once more though she felt her anxiety begin to swell up in her stomach. Her heart rate speeding up, but YN knew a panic attack wouldn’t do her any favors. It would make her look like an addict and they would lock her up for sure. It’s only a matter of time. Now that the issue had been cleared Kang cleared his throat, “Now what I was saying about your family -”

YN stood up abruptly thankful the minute hand had finally landed one above the four. “It’s 6:19 our time is up.” She gestures towards his wristwatch and an annoyed look masks his face before it went just as quickly as it came. “It appears so.” His hand covers the watch in a motion that could hardly be described as casual. Kang waves her off, “It was a pleasure meeting you, YN. I’ll schedule the tests for Friday and I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“In other news….updates...gang violence…”

YN wandered through the aisles looking for inspiration or something to satisfy her cravings. In her hand lay open her phone just so she wouldn’t have to keep making eye contact with the older woman behind the cash register. The employee peered at her as if YN was one of the dangerous criminals the news anchors droned on about. YN keeps looking over the message her social worker sent her: you have to be there at least a month before I could put in a transfer request. When YN bent down to read the label, she felt the woman lean over the counter. YN rolled her eyes and picked up the packaged bulgogi before grabbing a sports drink and a small fruit salad.

Once she saw YN was an actual paying customer, not a shoplifter, the woman’s expression changed. Her smile far too gleeful for this time of night. “Will that be all, dear?” Her voice too high to be sincere. Nonetheless, YN nods and forces a polite smile on her face. Even wishes the woman a safe night for extra measure. Before YN could walk out of the store, the woman responds with her own form of goodnight. “I would be careful walking home tonight. There’s been a lot of crime recently.”

It is a bit cruel that the second YN exits the store and turns a corner someone begins to follow her. She becomes aware of it instantly, her senses having been trained from a young age to pick up on the small imperceptible changes. Instinct was not to be ignored. The wind became thicker and the streets a little too quiet. YN wouldn’t look up, but if she did, surely there would be storm clouds looming. Don’t acknowledge him. Just keep walking. People like that enjoyed prey. The game. No one wanted to face off against a predator being one. Unless this was a different kind of predator then YN really ought to call the police. For once she was thankful for the pocketknife stored in the inner pocket of her jacket but disappointed that her pepper spray remained stashed in her bag.

Her groceries hung heavy on her arm, but YN was too far from home to attempt to sprint. So she would have to wait it out, YN could take a few punches. Surely whoever it was would become tired after following her for too long. By the time YN had walked ten blocks, she realized that was not the case. The person was still behind her, though there wasn’t much that she could tell much about the person. They were likely taller and considering their persistence they were a threat.

YN could pick up distantly on the booming bass that likely came from one of the many clubs scattered downtown. It meant she was near her house, that she could likely get home. The houses looked familiar she was probably not too far from home. Hope began to swell in her chest until another idea dawned on her. That’s exactly what they want. If the person had followed her this far they wanted to see where she lived. Abruptly YN turned left towards the direction of the main street, she was likely in a back alley of some sort but the bass only got louder so that helped propel her forward.

Towards the center of the alley, YN saw three figures huddled over on the ground. She was too far off to hear what they were saying, but based on their movements it seemed mocking in nature. YN wasn’t able to decipher what was occurring until it was far too late. A man is wriggling on the ground while bleeding profusely from the side of his head while two men stand above him. Blood is spattered on both walls and their clothes are covered in it. There no longer was a presence behind her the real danger now lay in front. In the form of a tall raven-haired man and a slightly shorter blonde - the latter of which YN made eye contact with.

YN bolts down the alleyway in the opposite direction aware that the blonde is hot on her tails. As she rounds a corner she feels him catching up to her right on her before he abruptly slows down. He doesn’t want the chase to end.

56...57...58…

YN counts the streets aware she’s nearing her apartment but isn’t about to lead him straight to her doorstep. In her peripheral, she sees one of the neighboring buildings which contains a doorman stationed there twenty-four hours. YN uses the last bit of her strength to push through the glass doors tumbling at the steps, but the doorman is there to catch her. “Miss, is everything alright?” YN turns around to catch a glimpse, but there’s no one behind her. Though she does note something disappointing: her groceries are gone.

When YN unlocked her apartment door she felt this immediate wave of tranquility hit her. It had taken a while to convince the doorman not to contact the police, she didn't want to be in bigger trouble, but the man had finally agreed after stating he would walk her back home. Once in the lobby, she took the stairs just to be safe. Quickly, she turned around securing all three locks, and headed straight for the bathroom. YN never understood the sentiment behind showers helping unwind, then again she never spent enough time under the water to allow for that. Baths weren't a treat - they were a utility. Like most utilities YN didn't have a lot of available growing up, so she learned to adapt.

Still, it was long enough to let her mind wander to everything that had occurred today. YN wasn't quite sure about how she felt about Dr. Kang, he unnerved her in a way other doctor's hadn't before. Then there was the issue regarding her medication: YN hadn't been unmedicated since she was eleven and that was a time she didn't want to go back to. Then there was the person that may have followed her and the man that definitely did. My head hurts. She rinsed herself and shut the water off, drying herself quickly with her towel. The chase had been real, too real, everything in YN's body had reacted instinctively once she met his eyes. Those dark eyes that had pierced into hers. The blonde man wasn't just chasing YN - he was hunting her down.

But what about the other person? YN hadn’t seen them, but she had felt them trailing after her. However, why would someone do that and especially for so long? The blonde man had only really tracked YN down for two blocks, but even then it felt shorter. The other person simply observed her. Didn’t do anything. Was there even someone there? YN glanced up, catching her reflection in the foggy mirror. The mist had dispersed in some sections, but not others so the only thing she could see were parts of her face. Faltering in her step, she walked forward and pulled the mirror open. Grabbing the white-labeled bottle with her name printed on it.

Habin sits atop the bathroom sink balancing himself. One of his hands gripping tightly to the side to not slip. This has to be done quickly before she gets back from the store. YN holds his legs or attempts to, while Habin finally manages to grab the bottle. “Is it this one?” He sticks his hand out for YN to see. The young girl squints her eyes, “Are they blue and little?” Hanbin looks through the orange tint of the bottle before nodding. “I think so.”

“Do they smell like fruits?”

“I can’t open the bottle YN. I don’t know if they smell like fruit.”

YN nods and Habin notes how hollowed out her face has become. Once round and plump, full of life, now looks as frail as his. “I think those are the ones.” Habin closes the medicine cabinet and cautiously jumps off, the medicine bottle still tight in his hands. “Why does she give them to you?” YN can note the confusion in her brother’s face, she was confused before too. “She says I need them to go to sleep. They help me sleep.” Habin stays quiet before in the blink of an eye he throws the pill bottle against the wall, breaking the seal causing all the pills to spill all over the floor.

“Bin why did you do that?! I need -”

“No! You don’t need anything YN. You aren’t sick, she's just lying to you!” Habin screamed in frustration. He could see the tears starting to well up in YN’s eyes and he felt regret pool in his stomach. “Please YN. You aren’t sick. We aren’t sick. Okay?”

YN took a deep breath, the way her brother had shown her would help stop the tears, the inside of her cheek was bitten harshly until her throat cleared up. “Okay.”

YN looks at the white bottle in her hand considering taking the medicine despite what Kang said. It would just be one more. Just to calm her down. To make sure that what happened tonight wasn't a side effect of going off so quickly. Her hand twisted the bottle cap, but instead of grabbing one and placing it in her mouth, she headed towards the toilet flushing them all away. Though she might not agree with his treatment plans Dr.Kang was a professional and surely knew more than she did. Plus, YN couldn't afford to be transferred again; her social worker might drop her altogether. It’s just until the blood work is completed.

“Unfortunately Miss YN, we won’t be able to conduct any tests until your insurance approves it.”

YN paces around her apartment, phone in hand. “I understand but my doctor ordered it. It’s necessary in order for him to treat me.”

“It appears that the necessary paperwork hasn’t been sent over to the insurance company. At least not enough to justify the exams. You can go through with them, but it will have to be out of pocket.”

YN sighs, running her hand through her hair as the nurse lists off the prices for each exam. A knock disrupts her causing YN to glance at the door questioningly, no one in her building would ever knock on her door. Looking through the peephole, she sees the manager and doesn't know if that makes her relieved or tenser. "I'm sorry can you just give me a minute?" YN speaks to the phone and mutes it, just to be safe. Upon opening the door, a brown bag is shoved in her face.

“Sorry to interrupt dear, some boy left this for you downstairs.”

Just as quickly as he came, the manager leaves. YN quickly shuts the door and locks it, before hanging up the call. The bag looks simple enough though YN hadn’t ordered anything in the past couple of days. Cautiously she opens it and the horror that spreads through her body is instantaneous. In the bag are her groceries from last night, but with minor changes: The red energy drink is now blue, the fruit salad is replaced with regular salad, and instead of bulgogi it is kimchi now. Though it isn’t the food that upsets YN, but rather the pink sticky note placed on top.

To replace everything you lost ;)

Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. Staying locked inside her apartment for the following days seemed like a smart choice. There was someone out there who knew where she lived. What she looked like. YN was used to being preyed upon, but this was a different game. Not one she was accustomed to. There were enough faded white lines and healed over bones to evidence that she was a survivor. That time and time again YN had faced against monsters and gotten out alive. The thing that terrified her about this monster - was how different he was. She kept waiting for the tall blonde man to show up one night: looming over her whilst she slept, crouching in a dark corner of the room. Lurking behind the shower curtain.

YN wasn’t able to sleep, didn’t bathe, and had thrice rearranged the room so there was no furniture to hide behind. Her paranoia was through the roof and it didn’t help that it had been the first time YN was off her medication for an extended amount of time. Which was bound to be causing more problems than she was aware of, or would like to acknowledge. The cycle continued until on her fourth day, sick of the grime, YN picked up the phone and dialed Dr.Kang’s office. Hoping to resolve the issue and be back on medication as soon as possible.

“Unfortunately, Dr. Kang isn’t in the office today. However, I can schedule a house call”

She hung up, not even bothering to respond to the secretary on the other line. If YN would have allowed herself a moment to feel anything except for fear - sympathy would've been felt for the probably nice young woman she had just hung up on. Maybe I can just sleep until my next appointment. Sleep it all away. So YN crawled into her bed, the covers lie somewhere on the floor. Exhaustion taking over as she drifted off to sleep.

It should've been easier to tell her childhood room apart from all the ones she had before. It had the most personality; if stickers on the wall, old pencil marks, and deteriorating plaster counted. Most of them hadn't even been done by her, but rather Habin in time before her. It created a sense of normalcy in YN's life that didn't exist elsewhere. Of course, her safe haven didn't last long, the hole in the wall right near the bed frame was proof enough. YN couldn't remember the last time she had dreamt, the medication helped with the nightmares, now she stood curled in a ball in the center of the room. The way she would always get once she heard the heavy footsteps approach the hallway.

YN had long learned to tell the different patter of the weathered old sneakers. Heavy stomps that scraped against the wood meant she was going to be screamed at. Rhythmic ones that were heavier on the heel, than the toes meant they might get dinner. While footsteps that dragged meant YN would be getting ignored. It was the ones she didn't hear. When the hallway was so quiet that all YN could hear was the sound of her breathing and the fear rushing through her tiny body - those were the steps she feared. Those were typically followed by the gentle, yet suspenseful pushing of her bedroom door. It didn't have a knob. There was no escape.

YN expected to peer up and see the tall large figure that always tormented her. The thick thighs, rounded hips, a bulbous stomach that spoke of all the meals she'd had - all the ones her children hadn't - and her face. It was much like YN's though much more feminine, older, and eyes devoid of life. It had always stood out to YN when she was a child, though she was certain that if she were to look in a mirror now YN would be the spitting image of her mother. Instead of her birth giver stood a man.

His face was angular, rounded cheeks, and sharp eyes highlighted by thick brows. His lips appeared full as if they were meant for bright large smiles, but it was obvious from the man’s expression he rarely did. There was something strangely familiar about him. An amalgamation of someone she knew and her own imagination, filling in the blank spaces. He looked like her, yet not at all. Tears welled in her eyes, “Bin?” Then he morphed. Now slightly taller, more weight to his frame. A rounded face with hooded eyes, the corner of his lips were tilted upwards in a way that was full of mirth. Dr. Kang faded as quickly as he came.

Now all she saw was a silhouette. Despite being mostly obscured, she could at least tell it was a man. He was lean yet muscular. His body was sharply defined in a way that seemed deliberate. Facial features were obscured, but YN was certain he was glaring at her in a way that caused goosebumps to rise all over her body. Plump pink lips parted moving slowly, tauntingly, but no sound exited them. Only by the smirk formed afterward could she tell their salacious nature. He stepped forward drawing closer to her, but the way he moved was inhumane. It wasn't a walk. But a predator's crawl towards her. Now he was finally in the light, entirely visible but all YN could focus on was the blonde mop of hair atop his head. When he pounced, she screamed.

YN awoke covered in sweat, her hair matted against her forehead and neck. She could still taste the saltiness of her tears and when she finally managed to breathe a sob tore out. Get out! Get out! Get out! If she remained locked inside her apartment for one more second, YN was going to reach her breaking point. Quickly she hopped in the shower before throwing on the first thing she saw and grabbing her wallet. YN didn’t know where she was headed, but her body acted on its own. Locking the apartment door before racing towards the stairs, dashing down all seven floors with little care if she tripped. Perhaps a silent part of her wished she did, it would put her out of her misery.

The lobby of her apartment building, if it could even be called that, was always empty. Never a soul in sight to guard the door, even though YN was sure part of her rent went towards security. Not to mention the intercom system, which allowed people to be buzzed in, hadn't worked for several weeks. It was something she was always acutely aware of but pushed towards the back of her mind. Wouldn't do her any favors to obsess over something she had no control over. Now walking through the desolate lobby out into the night - it was all she could think about. He was all she could think about.

YN took a deep breath and opened the glass doors sneakily peeking towards the sides and being thankful when she noted nothing great. Now where to? She wouldn't go very far nor somewhere unknown. It was reckless to be out so late and would be a death wish to try and enter city life. Gang violence was on the rise and YN didn't fancy herself prepared to face off against someone. So, YN went to the one place that felt familiar no matter what. The convenience store was a fifteen-minute walk, but she took the bus. The original plan was to sit towards the back, where she could see everything, but it wasn't empty. An elderly woman, far too frail-looking to be out this late, sat in the center. Whilst three boys huddled over sat in the back, they must have felt her eyes on them. As one of them - the one in the black beanie - stopped his conversation and turned slightly. Before they could make eye contact YN looked away and sat down.

“Which one do you want?” Habin asked as they stared at the ice cream truck. He had counted the cents twice making sure they had enough. “Hm,” YN eye’s glanced all over the various images glued onto the truck. She already knew what she wanted but had long learned that taking your time was important - not too much though. “Mint choco.” Habin grimaced, disgust evident on his face. “Come on YN. We have to share it. Why can’t we get something I like for a change?” He whined, it was only ice cream but it was the only food Habin was likely to have all day. “Okay, let’s get chocolate then.” YN didn’t really care, she wasn’t planning on eating. Habin had sacrificed enough meals to feed her, an ice cream was the least she could do.

As she steps into the cold building, a small bell chimed to signal her entrance, alerting a young employee near the cashier.

“Welcome!” The boy smiles, wide and welcoming, handing her a basket,

YN didn’t respond. She walks towards the back, looking for some of her usual snacks, and before long, her basket was filled to the brim with all sorts of colorful foods, and she headed towards the till to pay, grimacing under the weight pulling at her arm. As she pulls out her purse, a soft chime catches her attention, making her glance at the door quickly, before trailing her eyes back. A familiar head of blonde flashes in her mind immediately, and despite herself, she found herself clenching her purse tightly, feeling her palms become clammy with sweat. What were the odds..?

“Is that all?” the cheery voice of the employee breaks her out of her trance as she nods back firmly, unable to push aside the nervous feeling from seeing the person walk in. Quickly weighing the options as she sees him bag all her groceries, she forces the question out before she can stop herself.

“Could you...walk me to the bus station?” Her voice was awkward and tight from keeping quiet most of the day, and she internally winced at the confused expression the other gave her.

“Are you..” he pauses, eyeing her carefully, “is someone trying to hurt you?”

YN doesn’t know what to say. Could she tell him what she saw? Fortunately, she didn’t have to reply. The boy - Kai, as it said on his tag - seemed to assume her pause was a yes. Excusing himself, he disappears behind the counter, and within a moment, hushed voices coming from there. Something was unnerving about standing there alone with the blonde, chilling her to the bone, knowing she was faced away and he could pounce at any moment. As soon as the terrifying thoughts crept in, Kai stepped back out. He takes her bag and silently leads her out the glass doors, warm, still air hitting her face the minute she left the building. They walk side by side silently, and YN could only count her steps as she got closer and closer to the station.

Her steps quicken when she sees the familiar structure, tall gray pillars, and a few large buses waiting. Kai keeps up with her as well, not bothered by the bag that seemed to drag her down, looking around carefully.

“Thank you.”

He smiles, what she initially assumed to be his practiced ‘customer service’ smile seemed a little more genuine now. Or maybe he was just very good at it - she wasn’t sure. She takes back the plastic bag, letting herself get used to the additional weight before turning to board the bus.

“Have a safe trip home!” The boy calls out, making her look back.

YN was expecting to see him with his blinding smile, but something eerier catches her eye. The young employee was standing a few steps away from her, and behind him, dangerously close, was the blonde man from before. Her mouth goes dry as she notices his dark gaze fixated on her hand that held the railing inside, something else in them as he cocked an eyebrow. He almost looked as if he was questioning her, asking what she would do now that he was close, much closer, and positioned to attack the boy. Realizing he must have followed her all the way, she felt her heart rate pick up as she found herself rapidly staring between Kai and the perpetrator, the choices dawning on her. She had to choose to leave Kai behind, or possibly die with him.

She felt her heart drop at the calm expression on the boy's face, not noticing the danger he was in, she knew he was young, but watching him now, she only just realized how young. He was so young, so innocent, with a whole life ahead of him - but because of some unfortunate circumstance, an unforeseeable future, he would have to throw everything away.

But if she stayed for him, so would she. She would have to give up everything she had struggled for, while in any circumstance, the blonde would kill Kai, regardless of whether she chose to stay or not. However, she could spare her own life. She couldn’t convince Kai to get on with her without alarming the man, but she could save her own life. After everything she had gone through, trouble was the last thing YN needed. Even if it meant someone else had to suffer alone, she had to stay safe. She found herself holding back hot tears as she quickly ducked into a lonely seat, refusing to look back, still clenching the cheap plastic in one hand and forcing herself not to look back as the tears freely slid down her cheeks.

‘Helping people only gets you into trouble. You do whatever it takes to survive.’

“They tell me you’ve missed the appointment I had set up.”

YN is noticeably tense as she sits in the blue velvet mid-century, her nails digging into the denim fabric of her jeans. “The insurance wasn’t notified,” her tone was clipped. Lower with a slight tremble to it as if it were about to break, but never really did. “I also needed a referral.” Dr. Kang frowned, glancing back down at the file before looking at YN questioningly. “That’s strange. I told my secretary to handle all the paperwork. I even told Joy to hand you the referral.” Seeing the confused expression on his patient’s face, he shrugged. “My apologies, Joy must have forgotten.” The smile he shoots her is sincere, or at least looks so, YN has no reason to doubt him any further on this matter.

Her posture slackens somewhat but given everything that has happened these past few days she finds it difficult to truly relax. YN feels that she is tethering at the edge of a breakdown, but that if she were to fall it would only make her circumstances worsen. There is something that has been bothering her though, how pacified everything has been as of late. The blonde man knew where she lived, he'd likely overheard her name as well, yet nothing had happened. Even Kang, with his cold calculating eyes, had not commented on her odd behavior the last session or how worse she had seemed to get after only being off her medication for a week. Why can’t I figure them out?

“Unfortunately, I won’t be able to assign you any new medication until I have the results from the bloodwork. However, I do want to know how you’ve been feeling lately.” Kang crossed his legs, leaning forward in his seat. “Have you been experiencing any side effects or withdrawals? Anything I should know about?”

There was a glint in his eyes as he spoke, one that warned YN that he may know more than he lets on. As if the man sitting in front of her was single-handedly responsible for everything that had occurred to her recently. "Normal things…" I am being stalked by a homicidal maniac. “Migraines, low blood pressure…” I keep having vivid flashbacks that only serve to increase my paranoia. “Sometimes I dissociate a bit.” Most importantly, doctor, I had a nightmare where you were about to kill me. “And trouble sleeping.” YN looked towards the ceiling, feigning as if she were in deep thought. “I think that’s it.”

Kang Daniel looked affronted as if she had not given a sufficient enough answer. Hadn't given him the answers he wanted. "I see." His eyes darted towards her hands, which had been tightly intertwined on her lap - immediately she relaxes them. When their eyes meet once more she levels with him. YN knows there is no point in engaging with Kang, that is exactly what he wants. To pry. Dig deep. Learn of all her secrets and who knows what else. He won’t win. I’m safe here. YN had suffered too great a loss yesterday, she was determined to win this game.

“I had time to go over your file YN. There’s a lot to discuss, but I would prefer to dive right in if you don’t mind.”

“I-”

“Very well,” She’d upset him. YN wasn’t even truly aware of what she’d specifically done, but it seemed to matter very little. “It states here you’ve been diagnosed with a personality disorder - at quite a young age too.

“I was ten.” YN’s voice is muted. Her mind blank.

“Do you agree with this diagnosis?” YN shrugs, her eyes move down to the file. She knows what he’s going to say next. Or she can at least predict it: it typically doesn’t vary. No matter how many times she goes through the same process the words and intentions are the same. It isn’t sincere sentiments, but rather rehearsed lies spewed to make her feel better - as if she ever could. No, YN is broken. No fixing her up.

“I don’t. I think you were misdiagnosed.” YN’s eyes widen as they shoot back up to meet Kang’s. “The main reasoning behind this is because of your apparent lack of empathy, but that isn’t true either is it, YN?” Her mouth felt dry, she struggled to swallow the saliva building up. There was a build-up of breath in her lungs which was starting to become painful and she felt her throat tighten. “It’s a survival tactic. An effective one at that - if I may be honest.” So many thoughts were rushing to the forefront of YN’s head. So many memories. Stop. She wanted to scream. Please stop! She felt like she was going to throw up. Kang bent over, his face so close to YN's that she could see how dilated his pupil was: only leaving a sliver of his iris shines through.

Why is he doing this?!

“You feel something YN. It’s okay to feel things. You aren’t with your mother anymore anymore. You aren’t with your brother anymore. You’re safe and I know the next time something happens you’ll do the right thing.”

YN’s eyes were red, brimming with unshed tears as Kang’s words bounced around her head. “Dr. Kang -” She chokes, a sob threatening to escape, but the man doesn’t allow her to finish. “Our time is up. Pick up your referral at Joy’s desk. I will see you on our next appointment.” The smile given is full of sadistic glee.

YN didn’t know how long she had spent wandering around the city. Last she knew she had passed the bus stop and convenience store from last night. If she were smart YN would’ve gone back to her apartment. She didn’t want to though, not trusting herself to be alone. It had been mid-afternoon when she had left Kang’s office. Now it was pitch black with only a few people walking down the streets and cars passing by. Her phone was tucked away in her bag, YN couldn’t muster up enough energy to reach for it to know her location. The tears she shed had long ago dried, though their evidence remained clear to see on her face due to the streak marks and reddened nose.

Several voices were speaking to her, memories, all pulling her in different directions. One by one, YN blocked them out until only three remained. Her brother’s: “You’re not sick.” Dr. Kang’s: “You’ll do the right thing.” Lastly, the faintest one of all - hers: "What do I do?" She had muttered it without realizing it. A cry for help that traveled through the wind, searching for an answer or a sign. She would be granted one.

The scream was so loud, it tore straight through the foggy haze that had settled in her mind and YN found herself frozen in place. Glancing upwards, she noted that a few feet away to the left was an alleyway. That was it, wasn’t it? Yet her feet wouldn’t move. Her brother’s voice echoed so loudly that it barely allowed her to breathe much less move. Until, a stronger, much more powerful one broke through - “It’s okay to feel things...I know you’ll do the right thing.” Her feet were moving before YN had even a second to dwell on her decision. The alleyway was, deceptively long, but YN could see several silhouettes just from the entrance. Quickly she dug her hand into her bag and pulled out her phone, dialing emergency services but hovering over the call button. YN didn't even know where exactly she was - nor did she know what was going on either. It wouldn't do well to just rush in, thankfully about ten feet inlay a giant dumpster which YN crouched behind.

Another scream echoed off the brick walls, a cacophony of laughter followed it. There’s more than one. YN had hoped it was a robbery or something simple, now she realized just how in over her head she may be. You can still walk away YN. Just walk away. Cautiously YN moved to sneak a glance. There was a singular lamp attached to one of the buildings that illuminated most of the alley. The faint light didn't allow her to make out specific features, but it was enough for her to bear witness to the disturbing scene. Seven men were standing all loosely crowded around a young couple: a man and woman whose bodies were severely bruised and beaten. The man's skull was cracked open with blood profusely leaking from the side of his head. Several teeth were scattered on the ground and his hand was tightened around his abdomen which seemed to have been cut as well. The woman beside him had most of her clothing ripped and large bruises on her side, an indicator of broken ribs. Her eyes moved deliriously as she muttered to herself.

YN’s attention lay entirely on the victims until she witnessed a crowbar fly through the air and land on the man’s leg, with a sickening ‘crack’ that had YN feeling nauseous. The man was too out of it to do anything but let out a small howl of pain. Her previous assumption had been right, there were seven men: all standing there with blood-stained clothes and mocking the man. There was something familiar about them, but YN couldn’t pinpoint what. All of them cheered as the man’s now dead body slumped to the side. Her phone had been long forgotten, YN observed everything now with a morbid fascination. Taking advantage of the perpetrator’s lack of attention the woman stood up slowly and bolted, her heels clicking loudly on the pavement and alerting them their prey had gotten away.

None of them moved - they simply observed her and YN watched in shock. Why aren’t they chasing her? Would they actually… By now the woman was only a few feet away from the entrance, she passed by YN and must've caught sight of YN's hunched over the figure for the woman's head snapped towards her. Causing both women to miss the figure dashing in their direction until it was too late. The woman was harshly tackled to the ground, her head bouncing off the pavement in sickening motion. There is a glint of something in his hand before a dagger plunges into the young girl's body multiple times. In a desperate move, she extends her hand reaching out towards YN begging for help but YN remains frozen. Eyes wide and teary as she cowers as close as she can to the wall, shaking her head she begs the woman not to speak. Begs her not to draw the perps attention. Please don’t!

“Please help me.”

The perpetrators head snaps towards YN and she finally sees him. He's tall, lean figure, plump lips, cat eyes, and ruffled blonde hair. The blood splattered across his face revealed the dark truth behind his angelic features. His dark hooded eyes trail across YN's body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. The blonde man looks like a predator savoring its next meal. Before he can pounce YN takes off running, unfortunately, he captures her with ease. Caging her body against his own, pillowy lips part and it dawns on YN she has never heard him speak before.

“Caught you.”

Just like that their game has come to an end, surely YN’s life will too. The two of them are so enraptured in each other, they don’t notice the figure slowly standing up and grabbing the abandoned knife on the floor. Not until the blonde man’s body sags slightly and YN notices the woman standing behind them. Don’t. She wants to say, furious that the woman wouldn’t have run away - escaped when she had the chance. For YN couldn’t bear another dead body on her subconscious. The blonde man turned around with pure rage steaming off his body, upset that his prey would dare to fight back. His arms gripped her head and with the slightest flick of his wrist, he broke the girl’s neck. When he turned back around to face his prize, he was shocked to find her expressionless staring at the corpse right in front of her.

YN came to a disturbing conclusion: She wouldn’t have died if she hadn’t helped me. As she once again made eye contact with the monster before her, all YN could see was her reflection in his eyes. Hanbin was right.

The man stepped forward and YN stepped back, crashing into the wall. His hands gripped at her sides, nails digging into her flesh harshly. He was formulating a plan, thinking about how best to kill her - YN could see it. It seems the universe had decided to take pity on her, or further condemn her, for just as his eyes were beginning to light up, the rest of the group made their presence known. “Jimin let’s go. The fun’s over.” Jimin? There was something familiar about that name.

“Funs not over yet, boys.” As if she weighed nothing, Jimin grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. YN struggled against him, aware that if she couldn’t handle one man, there was no way she could survive seven. “I finally found my pet.” What? When Jimin finally put her down, his arms encased her again showing her off to his friends as if she was some shiny new toy, they could look at but not touch. As YN glanced at them she found she recognized some of them, they’re from the bus. At that moment she realized that death had been following YN for a long time and even if she hadn't stepped into the alleyway tonight, their paths would have crossed eventually.

“Ah, so you’re the girl Jimin’s been obsessed with.” The tall tan one with curly dark hair spoke, his low baritone voice was mocking in nature.

“She’s not that pretty.” muttered another one, with rounded eyes and a tall nose.

“Now, come on kookie. Don’t be mean, she’s a lot prettier than what we’re used to.” The third man’s tone was higher pitched, lips stretched into a heart-shaped smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“What do you think we should do, Namjoon?” spoke the light-haired one dawned in all black. His eyes darting over to the tallest member, his platinum hair shining brightly in the dark alleyway.

When Namjoon spoke it was deliberate and calculated, his eyes boring into YN’s, his words dripping with implication. “We should take this one to go.”

Distantly YN could hear the wailing of sirens rushing towards them before Kookie stepped forward and delivered a right hook to her face, making her lose consciousness.

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream VII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 034

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave; They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Brave

Broken hearts are made for two

One for me and one for you

Tell me have you heard the news

We are now in love

Fall break from school is scheduled during the last three days of the last week of October. Before she can take some time off, Iris has midterm articles to write and grade. Barry is busy testing DNA samples or whatever it is CSIs do so they don’t see each other for several days after he leaves her house the morning after Wally’s party.

On the Wednesday of Fall Break, the first day off, Iris lets herself sleep in until almost 10, and then she packs up her bag, stuffing a notebook, a couple of pens, and her laptop in, before dressing comfortably in a pair of dark leggings, and a white oversized CCU hoodie she stole from her brother. Throwing on a pair of white low-top Chuck Taylors, Iris heads out to Jitters. It’s a rainy day, and other than workers who’ve no choice, not many people are out. A storm is brewing for later in the night, the sky dark and cloudy, but for the moment, it’s just a steady rain that has Iris walking carefully to her car and driving a lot slower, thanking her lucky stars that she finds a parking spot right in front of the coffee shop.

Back in high school, especially once her dad had gotten her a used car during the beginning of senior year, Iris and Linda would come to Jitters to do homework or stare at the college boys who would come in. The coffee shop has expanded since then, buying the small antique store that had been next door and adding more seating and a bar that specializes in alcoholic coffee brews. It’s still one of Iris’s favorite places to work because now the manager is a young Black woman with wild curly hair always dyed in one bright color or another and a soft spot for mid to late 90s R & B female singers. The shop is comfortable, with couches and overstuffed chairs in mismatched browns and beiges and blues set up near the walls and windows and several tables, two- and four-tops, taking up the space in the middle. Two of the walls are exposed brick and the others are painted stark white and feature framed prints in wild colors. It’s changed since she was a child, but Iris likes to think that she’s changed with it, that as this integral part of Central City has grown and added light and color and comfort, so too has Iris.

Today, her plan is to outline at least two entire stories from interviews she’s completed over the last couple of weeks before she even thinks about leaving the coffee shop. She settles into one of her favorite spots, a soft navy armchair behind a small circular table. She sets up her laptop, her notebook with her notes, her pens, and once a waiter drops off her brown sugar latte and a chocolate muffin, she lets the sound of the rain, and the Erykah Badu playing on the speakers, get her into her work.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Iris looks up just as Barry stops beside her. She’s been at Jitters for just over three hours now, and her shoulders are cramped and she’s coffee high and hungry. The rain is still pounding down, so hard that it looks like it’s raining sideways, and Iris curses her inability to get any work done in her own home. Besides all that, she’s reeling. She’s just outlined a story of a man explaining the story of the woman he’d loved his entire life: from growing up together in a small city in North Carolina, to becoming best friends and de facto siblings when his parents died and her dad agreed to foster him; from not dating but seeming like it in high school, to falling for other people in college; from having other spouses and children to one night of passion before they found their way back to each other when she decided to leave her husband after his wife died. It was a ride from start to finish, such a roller coaster of feelings—of love and pain and joy and heartbreak—that make Iris feel a bit heavy with them, a little loopy with them.

Barry stands to the side of her, towering above her, in as simple an outfit as what she’s wearing, a pair of black joggers and a white sweatshirt. She’s startled that he's there because she figures that he should be at work, but her heart does tick up at the sight of him. That is, until she lets her eyes rake over his lean frame. He looks a little...down, like a physical manifestation of the story she’s just outlined. His hair is messier than usual and his eyes aren’t carrying their usual sparkle, in addition to the darkening bags that frame them. He’s also a little stubbly, his jaw covered in a fine layer of coarse hair, his pallor a bit ashen.

(Iris will also admit that she thinks he looks sort of, well, good, like this; but that’s neither here nor there and she feels terrible—and maybe a bit perverted—that she’s lusting after him when he’s obviously going through something.)

“Hey,” she responds softly, and she stands up to assess him further. He seems so much taller than her like this, when they’re both in sneakers. She hasn’t seen him since the morning after Wally’s party a week ago when he dropped her back off at her car after spending the night at her place. They’ve talked a bunch and FaceTimed once, but she’s missed him. She reaches up into his hair, rubbing at his scalp a little until his eyes close and he lets out a soft little moan. She keeps at it and then touches gingerly at his face, at some of the moles dotting his cheeks, at the stubble he’s grown. He reaches up to stop her, eyes still closed, and it startles her a little bit. She goes to pull her hand back, but then he holds on to her wrist to bring her hand down and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

She’s never seen him like this. He’s always so open and, maybe not happy, but never so melancholy. There is always a pep to his step, as her grandma used to say, a smile on his face that always said that he feels some sort of contentment in his life. And obviously, people are allowed to have days like this. But it does something to Iris, to see him this way. She wants to lash out at whoever has made him look like this, like he’s drowning in emotions that he can’t easily pull himself out of.

“Bear, you okay?”

He nods, a little woefully, and he catches her eyes again. She bites at her lip as she stares back at him and, on impulse, she leans up to kiss him. It’s just a little more than a peck, something to tell him that she’s there with him; but he takes it a step further, kissing her harder, biting at her lip enough that there’s more pain than she’s expecting. She moans at him and he pulls back, breathing labored.

“I’m sorry,” he speaks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “You didn’t hurt me. Well, a little, but I didn’t hate it.”

That gets a more real smile out of him, and he thumbs at her bottom lip. “Hmm, I guess my good girl is a little bad.”

Iris rolls her eyes and gives him a look, sobering for a minute. “Bear, what’s up? You okay?”

He doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he nods at her table and asks, “you get a lot of work done?”

She eyes him, wanting to ask again. But she knows how she is when she doesn’t want to talk about something and so she lets it go. For the moment.

“Yeah. Or, at least, I’ve done most of what I set out to do.”

He nods, casts his eyes out of the glass, looking at the rain for a moment, watching it fall in heavy sheets. Normally, Iris likes the rain. It’s soothing and she enjoys how it makes the world take a moment to slow down. When she was a little girl, her grandma (her dad’s mother who grew up somewhere at the bottom of Georgia) used to say that when it was raining, and particularly when it was storming, that the Lord was doing His work and that it was the time to be still. They’d have to sit quietly, usually with the TV and the lights off, and just be. And while life doesn’t allow her to drop everything because it’s started raining, there is always a hushed feeling that comes over her when it rains, something tranquil, but also a little turbulent, a little uncontrollable, quite like the very rain she’s reveling in.

“Wanna come over?” he wonders, voice unsure.

She nods readily. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”

He goes to return her mug and plate while she packs her bag back up. He meets her at the door, opening up a large umbrella and throwing an arm over her shoulder to lead her out into the rain. She walks with him past her own car as he takes her a short black away to where his Jeep is parked. He helps her into the Jeep first, watches as she tucks her bag under the seat, and then closes the door before walking around to the other side.

They ride to his house in silence. He lives far on the south side of town, a good twenty or so minutes from downtown if they hit the highway. Instead, he takes the streets, adding another ten minutes to their drive. Iris doesn’t mind; as she said, she likes the rain, and in this big Jeep, tires sluicing easily through the flooding roads in a way her car definitely can’t, she’s enjoying the ride. He had silently connected her phone to his car’s Bluetooth, so she took it to mean that the music choices were hers. She contemplates finding something that he might like, but she figures he likely wouldn’t even be paying much attention. So she decides on one of her slower playlists, ones with songs that dip and fade, that take listeners on a journey of highs and lows, and she lets it play. The lyrics tell too much, so i guess that i should mention; that i am in no condition; to put you in this position; i might fuck this up, although with the heavy weight on Barry’s shoulders right now, she can’t tell if she’s talking to him or vice versa.

He takes them past one of the major shopping districts in the city, past the Apple store and the Michael Kors shop and the one restaurant her dad took her to when she graduated college where pasta dishes run nearer to forty dollars. These shops, and the nicer mall and a couple business buildings that rise as tall as those downtown, lead into longer stretches of road where trees interspersed with beige or cream apartments begin to take up where businesses once stood. He turns into the familiar subdivision that she remembers; it’s a little older than some, which makes sense if his parents were able to buy and pay it off before they were gone. That also means that none of the houses are the same cookie-cutter versions that tend to make up most subdivisions these days, where houses are identical save for the color and the trim and what children’s toys litter the front yard.

He presses a button on his visor and the garage opens as he maneuvers the car so that he can back up into the driveway. He stays in the driveway, though, the music cutting out—but whatever the case, you're my favorite mistake; more than happy to make you—when he turns the ignition off. She waits for him to come around with his umbrella and he half picks her up to pull her out, holding on to her as he walks her through the garage.

She’s as quiet as he is, taking in her surroundings, trying to get a better sense of who he is by what he’s got going on in his house. There isn’t much in the garage; there are a bunch of boxes neatly stacked on one wall, a couple bicycles in another corner. There is a wall full of tools and a couple tables that have science looking tools on them, like a microscope and several bunsen burners and petri dishes, though nothing looks as if they’re currently being used.

He leads her through a door that opens up into the kitchen as he presses another button to close the garage. His house is as cute on the outside as it is on the inside, although she wonders how he might feel if she were to call it cute. The kitchen is large, done in white, gray, and green, with steel appliances, gray marble countertops, and the look of a place that doesn’t get a lot of use. They both stop to toe their shoes off right outside of the kitchen where a couple other pairs of Barry’s shoes lie. His living room is pretty big: a wide space that features a real stone fireplace as the focal point and a large screen television situated above it; a huge sectional in a slate gray with a few throw pillows; and a big square wooden coffee table. It’s masculine and clean without being gaudy or too bro and Iris wonders if he did this himself because even if she never knew her, she doubts a woman who loved flowers as much as his mother would decorate her living room this way.

The dark curtains on the windows are open wide and Iris can see the backyard but the rain coming down in sheets keep her from being able to make out much besides the patio with what looks like a grill and wicker furniture. Iris remembers being told that his dad had been a doctor and his mom some sort of university researcher and the house matches that.

Barry lets her hand go to tug his sweatshirt off, revealing a plain white t-shirt that rises up over his taut belly. She doesn’t avert her eyes, giving herself permission to track how the sweatpants hang off his slim hips and how he isn’t so much sculpted as he’s hard and tight, with just the beginnings of abs. He catches her staring and he smirks at her before dropping down in the corner of the couch, one leg spread out along the seats of the chair.

“Come here,” he tells her, and she moves toward him, sitting so that her back is pressed against that hard chest and his arms are wrapped around her. She grabs a hold of his forearm with both her hands and settles her head in the crook of his elbow. She’s surrounded by his scent, lemongrass and clean cotton, and for a while, the only sounds are his breathing and the pounding of the rain. He touches her, the hand she’s not holding on to stroking up and down her thigh. Her leggings are pretty thin and she feels his touch fully; if she concentrates enough, she can feel those beloved calluses on his hands. He rubs his hand towards the juncture of her thighs and then over her hip and then back again, and like always, his touch ignites something in her, even as she’s wondering how she might be able to help him out of whatever funk he’s found himself in.

“You ready to tell me what’s up?” she wonders a while later.

“Hmm,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Not yet. Tell me about your day.”

She shifts so that she can look back at him, noting the way his eyes have darkened a touch, become grayer like the sky outside, and it’s different from the bright blue-green she remembers from the day of the festival or the wicked blue-gray they always are right before he pushes hard into her.

He blinks down at her and licks his lips slowly. It’s not an explicitly sexual act, even if her body thinks it looks that way, and Iris finds herself lost in it, in whatever he’s emanating. It’s erotic in that it’s intimate, a whirlwind of whatever hurt made him seek her out at Jitters, of whatever still lies unexplored between them, of the attraction that doesn’t ever seem to dissipate.

When she pulls herself out, she tells him, “I was working on a story today. One that made me feel a little bit like how you might be right now.”

“Yeah?”

Wanting to look at him more comfortably, she uses his pause so that she can turn around fully and seat herself on his lap, straddling him. His hands automatically go to her hips, one sliding inside the waist of her leggings so that he can touch her skin.

“Tell me about this story,” he requests. She knows that he’s asking so that he can think about something other than what’s on his mind, so she does, giving a little more than she would originally, working out how she might want to tell the story in her blog.

“It was a couple,” she starts, “that grew up together, in the country. They bonded by playing together in the lake, climbing trees, and playing pranks on each other. And then they start to grow up. Their swimming becomes fraught with tension, the bathing suits showing the same skin, but more, ya know, both of them recognizing the differences, cataloging them, thinking about them, remembering them. They don’t act on it, because they’re friends, and he doesn’t actually understand what it means, that he’s 13 and he keeps dreaming about her at night, waking up with a wet bed and a pounding heart. And then his parents die and her dad, who’s a do-gooder in the community and had been his parents’ best friend, takes him in. Now they’re siblings, but of course not. Regardless, it makes it all harder and odder because she sleeps right down the hall from him, their shared bathroom always smells like her, and he understands now, that he likes her smile and the way she speaks and the curves she seems to develop out of nowhere.”

Barry squeezes at her and she pauses as he asks, “And what about her? How does she feel about him?”

“Well he doesn’t know it, but she’s there too. At first she thinks that she’s just conflating it, confusing their friendship. Because she doesn’t laugh with anyone else like she does with him and she never has as much fun with anyone else as she does him and she never feels as comfortable with anyone else as she does him. He’s her best friend. But she sees him, one night, in his room where the door hasn’t fully closed and he’s, well, he’s masturbating, touching himself, eyes closed and moaning, and for the first time outside of the books she’s read, she feels something. And she knows it’s not just because she’s seen him naked because she’s kissed boys before, she’s felt them hard under her before, but something about this feels different for her.

“But she doesn’t act on it. And he doesn’t either, because remember, he only thinks this is one-sided. They graduate. They go to the same college. But their majors are different and their friends are different. She joins a sorority; he gets into a couple of clubs. Their paths separate, even if they still laugh and talk and be when they’re home for the holidays. Then she gets a boyfriend.”

“She never had a boyfriend before this?” Barry questions.

Iris shrugs. “Sure. But it was high school and the beginning of college. They were mostly hookups that didn’t last. This guy is serious. He’s a couple years older, got his own place, and eventually she moves in with him. Heartbroken, he gets a girlfriend too, one of her friends. That doesn’t last long because she figures out that he’s a little bit in love with the main girl, and then he moves on, to someone sweet, someone who’s been not so subtly hinting that she wants to go out with him.”

Barry seems to be engrossed now. She can’t say that the dark look he was sporting is completely gone, but she can see that he’s not as deep in it, interested in the story she’s weaving.

“They go on to marry these people, even if their hearts are not fully in it. His wife has a kid first, her baby comes next. And meanwhile, they’re still friends. Her dad is still his guardian, so to speak; they are together for whatever holidays they don’t spend with their spouses’ families. They still laugh and talk and be. They still look a little too long and want a little too much.

It comes to a head one Christmas. The gods or fate or just some movement on their parts mean that they both go home to her dad’s house with their spouses and children coming in the next day. But her dad is called in to work so they order take out and watch movies in front of a fire. And they laugh and they talk...and they hug and they kiss and they…

“Be?” Barry tries, a tiny little smile on his face.

She matches it. “Yeah. And it’s beautiful, transcendent. But they’re married. To other people. With kids. So they vow to forget it, to never bring it up again. A couple of years pass. They don’t laugh as much, don’t talk as much. She’s having troubles in her marriage. He is too. He actually consults a divorce attorney because he thinks that it’s unfair to both him and his wife, to live like this. And then the wife dies in a car accident.”

“Oh damn,” he mutters.

“Right,” she agrees. “He’s wracked with grief and more than a little guilt, because he loved her but was never in love with her and she had no idea he was going to leave her.”

“What about her? The one he loves?”

“She’s there for him. She consoles him, cares for him, takes his kid when it gets too hard. Her husband doesn’t like it though. Thinks she’s doing too much, thinks that there’s another reason she’s over at his so much. Later, he learns that this wasn’t a new accusation, that even before she and her husband got married, the husband would question their closeness, would wonder what, if anything, had ever happened between them.

“Eventually she gets tired of it. Her kid is older, in their teens now, and she leaves her husband, packing her things and her kid’s too and moving back in with her dad for a while.”

“And what happens between them?” Barry wants to know.

“He and his son come over more. They hang out more, the four of them, going to dinner and to the movies and to the arcade together. And when their kids are gone, at sleepovers or game nights with their friends, they laugh again, talk again. Fall in love again.”

The ending is implied. Iris closes her eyes when she’s done, letting Barry continue to rub at her back, his fingers so so warm on her skin.

“It's a happy ending,” he says, eventually. “But getting there was a little...depressing.”

Iris chuckles softly, lightheaded again at having gone through that again. It likely didn’t make Barry feel any better, but she’ll take the win that it took his mind away from his own problems, if only for a little while.

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees. “But it reminds me that just because it’s not easy and just because it takes some time, it doesn’t mean that things aren’t worth it.”

He nods, slowly, thinking.

“What about things that are...easy? That come like breathing? That start as a simple dance and just, just keep going?”

She stares down at him and she knows that this is rhetorical. She can see the question in the depths of his eyes, feel it in his hands still kneading her flesh. It would be easy to retreat, to tell him that nothing is ever easy, even if the reality is that it is because they are, because they fall into each other so effortlessly, that she’s terrified. There are always hiccups, obstacles, and the fact that she can’t find any keeps her on edge, waiting, anticipating trouble she knows must be coming. She doesn’t want to believe it, wants to stand firm in them—stand firm in the lyrics she keeps hearing, if you decide to stay, know that there is no escape; there's no one here to save you—and she holds onto that as he asks,

“Don’t you think it’s worth it, Iris? Even if it’s this easy?”

She can’t speak, but his eyes are imploring her to answer. Pleading with her for a response. And however terrified Iris is, or however much Iris tells stories, she is not a liar. So she nods and whispers to him, “yes.”

Without waiting for her to say anything more, he kisses her. He squeezes at her waist and leans up to capture her mouth. She meets him with his same fervor and it’s different, this kiss. She knows the passion of his mouth when he’s high, the boldness when he’s teasing her. But this is new, this is fervor, warmth and agony and doubt and pleasure, all wrapped up together.

(Something also tells Iris that there is another word for this, that this is the part of the story where feelings would be laid on the table, where hearts would be splayed open and she’d say it, or he would, and the other would respond in kind, with declarations of adoration, of infatuation, yearning, of any other word that means what she can’t say yet.

But she feels it, what she’s wanting to say, what she thinks he is saying, in this kiss. It is slow and nasty, all tongue and mouth. Her eyes flutter closed at the feeling, at how he licks into her mouth and then sucks on her bottom lip, at how he licks against her tongue and then holds her face to bring her closer to him. She feels it, she feels it, she feels him��)

He stands, holding on to her, and she wraps her legs around his waist, tightening her arms around his neck as he carries her through the house. The kisses don’t stop, though they become shorter, more mouth now, and he takes her down a long hallway past several doors until he turns into one at the end of the hall. She makes a quick note of the light gray and burnt orange decor, the side tables holding books and knickknacks, the one window that spans nearly the entire wall, but she focuses most heavily on the king-sized bed on which he throws on her, the soft comforter half hanging off the bed.

Her clothes come off first, Barry pulling her sweatshirt over her head and yanking her pants over her hips. He comes out of his own clothes as she discards her underwear, and then he’s between her thighs again. But she wants something else first so she taps his shoulder to flip them and then she’s hovering above him.

She gives him a kiss, slow and sweet, and then she makes her way down his chest, kissing as she goes. She loves the feel of his skin against her lips, likes how his skin tastes as she presses tongue kisses on him. His belly clenches and unclenches under her ministrations, and by the time she’s looking back up at him from her position near his crotch, she can see the way his chest rises and falls with his heavy breathing.

She reaches for him, wrapping her fingers around his dick. It’s long like the rest of him, and thicker than she would have expected just looking at him. It’s a pretty dick, the base the same color as him, the head slightly pinker. It’s a little veiny, but the skin is smooth, and already he’s starting to leak. She lifts her eyes to find him watching her, his own gaze hooded. In her peripheral, she sees his hands grip the bed sheets and she revels in how she hasn’t even done anything and his control is starting to slip.

“Tell me what you want, Bear.”

She says the words softly, but Barry doesn’t miss the cheek that lies under it, if the slight smirk he gives her is any indication.

“Your mouth,” he says. “I’ve been dreaming about that pretty mouth wrapped around my dick.”

She shudders at the tone of his voice, at the vision of her on her knees for him. She likes it.

“I bet you have too,” he guesses.

Without a response, she licks him, holding him at the base and running her tongue up one side of him. She does it again, and then one more time, acquainting herself with the taste of him and the satiny feel of him on her tongue, and then she adjusts and covers the whole of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

She hums around him and she sucks him down, taking him until he hits her throat. Then she pulls back until just the tip remains. She licks around his head and sucks him there, letting the spit pool in her mouth, letting it mix with his own wet. She opens her mouth and lets it slide out, dripping down onto him, and her own body starts to drip at his wrecked whisper, “god, baby, look at you.”

She adds her hands, palming his testicles in one and rubbing her spit down the length of him with the other. She finds a rhythm, sucking him down, inch by inch, hollowing her cheeks as she goes, and then stroking his back up. Barry keeps his hand clenched in the sheets, but he cants himself into her mouth, rocking his hips lightly. She’s getting into it, loving the way he responds to her.

“Come here,” he says, suddenly, reaching for her, and she pulls back with a soft pop.

“Barry?” she furrows her eyebrows in question.

He gives her a gentle smile and grabs at her arm; Iris moves at his request, crawling up his body.

“But you didn’t finish,” she says, pouting a little.

“I know. I want to come when I’m inside you.”

She’s mollified by that, and he settles her on his lap.

“You were so good though, baby,” he says, kissing her. “My good, good girl.”

He reaches down to touch her, slipping his fingers easily into her sex. He groans into her mouth at the feel and he pulls back to ask,

“Is this all for me? Did you get wet sucking me off, good girl?”

She nods, rocking her hips against his hand, against his sex still hard beneath her. “Can, can you…?”

He tilts his head at her, fingers still caressing inside of her. “Can I?”

She huffs out a small laugh because he’s always fucking with her. “You said you wanted to come inside of me,” she reminds him.

“I did, didn’t?” He takes his time removing his fingers, eyes on her as he does. Even with the window curtains wide open, the dark sky has the room dark

(and she doesn’t dismiss the fact that the window faces the side of someone else’s house, where they could be seen if the neighbors were so inclined to watch)

and his eyes look a little like molten lead in the faint rainy light like this. He goes to reach over to his bedside table but Iris stops him.

“I want to feel you,” she says.

He licks his lips and she doesn’t mistake the twitch of his dick she feels under her. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m on birth control. And I trust you.”

He nods once and again, and then he takes her by her hips and slides her down his cock.

After, Iris decides that this time is the single most erotic experience of her life.

They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way.

She rides him, and he’s so full in her like this, so deep in her like this. His back is against his fabric headboard and she’s so close to him, her knees jutting into the headboard, her thighs holding around his hips, her breasts rubbing against his chest, nipples pebbling with each brush on those hard planes.

She holds on to him with her hands holding the back of his neck, softly scratching at the nape. But he’s touching her, always touching her, his hands caressing her spine, and then holding her waist, and then squeezing her hips. He guides her: keeps his favorite pace, smooth and languid; bring her up to the tip and fucks her back down; shows her how he wants her to roll her body when he’s full in her, so her clit is brushing the soft hairs on his pelvis, the sensation incredible.

He uses his mouth too: to kiss her throat, deep tongue kisses that’ll leave marks she knows she’ll have to cover up; to whisper against her mouth, “see how easy this is; see how good, baby; fuck, see how good this is; yes, yes, yes, my good girl.”

And Iris feels so caught up in it. She can’t stop looking at him, loving when the lightning slashes across the room and illuminates those eyes, the constellation of moles on his skin, his wet, pink mouth. Her body hums with pleasure, soaking her thighs and his, tightening around his dick as if it never, never wants to let him go. She voices her satisfaction, in soft sighs and heavy pleas, and his name on her tongue like a chant, or better, a song, “Bear, Bear, Barrryyy.” They’re so close, her skin sticking to his wherever they’re touching, chest to chest and ass to thigh. She feels full and whole and filled...with him and with desire and with, and with love, the thought of it making her shudder and close her eyes.

“No,” Barry whispers. “Don’t. Just let it, just let it...stay here with me. Can you do that for me? Be brave for me?”

She nods, head heavy as her body starts to reach its climax, as her body loosens at the same time that it tightens and she has to fight to hold on to him. “Yes,” she moans again, holding his gaze again.

He touches at her face, holding her cheek and staring back. “Good girl.”

She doesn’t know whose climax triggers the other. She just knows that at the same time that her body explodes, fluttering wildly around him, he comes too, so hard that she feels him throbbing against her walls, that she feels him filling her up with his cum.

He doesn’t let go of her right away. He just holds her, hands at her hip and her face, and then he kisses her, cementing what they’ve just done, cementing what Iris feels for him.

“It’s the anniversary of my mom’s death,” he says, out of the blue. “And when I went to visit my dad earlier, I found out that he’s sick, something with his heart, and I’m-I’m reeling.”

It’s been a long while since they separated and Iris climbed off of him to pad into his bathroom and warm a hand towel under warm water to clean them both. They’ve been lying in his bed, only half under the covers as they let their bodies cool. It’s quiet now, so quiet that Iris has thought he’d fallen asleep; she’d almost fallen asleep. But when he speaks, she blinks wide and then turns her head to face him.

“14 years today,” he adds. He’s looking up at the ceiling as he talks, but Iris feels the hand that’s settled at her waist tighten, the move bringing her closer to him. She understands that he just needs the contact, so she turns so that she’s all the way curled on him, one of her legs thrown across him, her arm tossed over him too, hand settled on his heart. It’s beating slow, steady, and so she strokes his bare chest, right it.

“How’d you find out?”

“I was still at school,” he tells her. “It was a Friday and some of my friends had convinced me to go to a football game, so we were there pretty late. Games could run until 11. I was 17 so I had my own car. It was an old car; we’d bought it from a guy she worked with. By this time, my dad had been gone for a couple years, and my mom was always working late at the lab, so when I got home around 10:30 that night and the lights were out, I wasn’t surprised.”

He shifts a little and continues. “I took a shower, put some leftover pizza in the microwave, and just as I was sitting down to eat, the doorbell rang. It was the police looking for her next of kin to tell them what had happened.” He sighs heavily. “I got lucky. The courts let one of my friend’s parents take me in until I graduated a few months later. I was able to get a work study job in college to pay my bills since the mortgage was already paid off.”

He says it all like he was lucky, but there is nothing lucky about losing both of your parents in that matter, even if one of them was still physically alive. Iris knows from experience that he doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for his story. But she can’t help the way she wants to comfort him, and so she lets herself do that, tightening herself around him, snuggling even more into his chest.

“How are you feeling about your dad?” she asks, mumbling against his skin.

“Devastated. He looked like, like, I don’t know, like he’s giving up. I don’t get to go see him too often, every couple of months, really. And he looked so different from when I saw him last: smaller, frailer. I think there might be something he’s not telling me. Like he’s been sick longer than he says he has.”

“Is he supposed to get out soon?”

“Another couple years. But I don’t know if he wants to hold on that long.”

She feels them first, the tears. She tries to hold him even tighter, tries to crawl into his skin almost, trying to stem his pain. He doesn’t cry for long, just a few sobs, and then he’s inhaling deeply and wiping at his eyes. But it must be enough because he sounds a little hollow when he says,

“And truthfully, I’m not so much sad as I am mad, that he seems to be giving up. On getting out. On me.”

She hums, not dismissively, but because she understands. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes, I hate my mom.”

He sort of jerks up at that. Not fully, he looks down at her, eyes widened in shock. However inappropriate it might be, she finds herself laughing a little at his expression. Then she explains.

“I know that addiction is not a moral failing. I know that she struggled right up til the end. I know both of those things as completely as I know anything else. But sometimes I wonder why my dad wasn’t enough, why me and Wally weren't enough. I wonder what she was trying to find in those pills that she couldn’t find in us, and I get so pissed that she let it take her away from us.”

She’s startled when he moves. He pulls himself from under her, letting her fall onto her back, and then he’s hovering above her, holding himself up on his elbows. He falls into the spread of her thighs, his sex nuzzling comfortably against her still warm center.

“I’ve seen some of the worst effects of addiction,” he says, “when their bodies end up on a slab of metal and it’s my job to dissect the things around them, to even sometimes help detectives dissect their lives to figure out what happened. And something I’ve learned is that it’s always, always about them. Never about the people they love.”

He searches her face, brushing a piece of hair back from her forehead. “And whatever your mom was or wasn’t thinking, you are enough. You are more than enough, Iris.” He leans down and gives her a kiss, deep and dirty, and she moans in frustration as he pulls back from her. He gives her a grin, one more reminiscent of the Barry she’s used to.

“Repeat after me,” he commands. “I, Iris West…”

“Really, Barry?”

“Yes, come on. I, Iris West…

She sighs, but says it. “I, Iris West…”

“Am more than enough.”

She licks her lips then, blinks, works to not let the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corner of her eyes escape.

“Am more than enough,” she whispers, finally.

Barry’s smile turns fond. “Good girl.”

She shakes her head because she doesn’t know what else to do besides kiss him. Which she does, deeply, reaching down to grip him in her palm. She pauses, just for a moment, to tell him “you know that you are enough too, right?” and she kisses the look of awe off of his face. It’s a long while before she stops kissing him, and then it’s only to moan into his mouth, to let him whisper his dirty somethings into her ear.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

They’ve just shared a shower. Barry is throwing on another pair of sweats and a hoodie and Iris puts her own leggings back on, sans underwear, and thumbs through Barry’s closet for another sweatshirt to put on.

(There’s no reason that she can’t put hers back on, but she’s feeling particularly sentimental and she wants to take something of Barry’s with her, something that smells like him, that feels like him.)

“None, really.” She pulls out a red sweater that reads Central City University Track & Field and throws it on over her bra. “Why? You kicking me out.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Of course not.” He glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Wanna get dinner? And then go with me to my tattoo appointment? It’s at 8 tonight.”

She smiles at that. “Sure.”

They take the highway back downtown. The rain is still beating steadily and there is still the occasional rumble of thunder, the sporadic flash of lightning. He parks a bit further in the arts district, in front of a restaurant specializing in wood-fire pizzas and craft beers. This time, she knows to wait for him to come around and open the door for her so that she can walk under his umbrella. Once he locks his jeep, he grabs her hand, and they walk the couple doors down and into the restaurant.

The place is brightly lit, in direct contrast to the dark sky and even the faint light that had been on at Barry’s place. The weather assures that it isn’t densely packed, just a couple booths of families and what looks like a couple, so they’re seated quickly and easily. They eat fast since they’ve only got an hour before his appointment. In the meantime, they both keep the conversation light. It’s been a day, for the both of them really, and Iris doesn’t think that she can cry twice in a day.

After he pays, she goes to the bathroom and he tells her he’ll wait at the door for her. She goes in and it’s as brightly lit as the rest of the place and she quickly does her business and washes her hands before heading back out to where he knows Barry is waiting in the little space between the outer door and the door to the restaurant.

She walks through the place and out of the restaurant door, likely too quickly and without really looking. She takes several steps, straightening out Barry’s sweatshirt again, and then she’s bumping into what feels like a solid wall, almost falling backward. A quick hand reaches out to catch her, the hand large, easily wrapping around her forearm.

“Shit,” she says, shaking her head to clear it as she looks up. “I’m sorr..Scott?”

He doesn’t move back right away and so she has to look up, up at the man holding on to her. Scott Evans is the literal definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He’d been her editor when she’d work at CCPN right out of college, and she’d had the biggest crush on him. Tall with dark caramel skin and a neatly trimmed beard, he’d been the one to help guide her in the ways of mass story-telling. They’d gone on one date and Iris is not actually sure why they’d never gone on another.

“Iris West.” He says her name slowly, his grin widening at the same pace. He gives her a once-over, slow and heated. “How’ve you been?”

“R-really good,” she says, stumbling a little at that grin. Even if she doesn’t actually regret never seeing him again, Iris can admit that a man this good looking makes her a little tongue-tied.

“Yeah? I’ve been catching your blog when I can. It’s some good shit, West. I can see why you left our little paper.”

“Please,” Iris rolls her eyes with a little laugh. “There’s nothing little about Picture News.”

He shrugs, humble all the way. “Still, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Scott. I appreciate that.”

“It’s the truth.” He looks down at her, swiping at his lips with his tongue, and she suddenly realizes that they’re still too close. She steps back fully from him, glancing over Scott’s shoulders to see Barry watching them, his expression unreadable.

“Um,” she speaks, catching his attention. “I gotta go Scott.”

“Oh yeah; of course. We should get together soon. Maybe do dinner.” Scott looks back out of the window where rain steadily pours. “It’s still raining out. Can I walk you to your car?”

Her eyes don’t leave Barry’s and he tilts his head, waiting for her answer. “Scott, I’m not alone.”

He turns as if he’s just realizing that Barry is standing there. Barry is still quiet and only lifts his eyes to look at Scott when he mutters, “oh, hey man.”

Barry nods. “What’s up?” Then he looks at Iris. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I am.” Her voice is soft, cautious, and she throws one more glance at Scott. “It was good to see you.”

He graces her with that smile again. “Yeah. I’ll see you around.”

Barry takes her hand and they walk back to the truck. They’re on the road again, driving to a neighborhood near her own. For a second, she thinks he’s going to take her home, but he passes the road to her apartment and goes on to a neighborhood featuring several bars and little shops that cater to the college crowd. He pulls into the parking lot of a place called Black Gold, the lights inside near as bright as those in the pizza place.

Again, she waits until he comes around and turns as if to get out. He stops her though, holding the umbrella high, standing in front of her open legs. He does his thing, his stare like he's trying, and succeeding, to get inside her mind.

“That your ex-boyfriend?” he wonders.

She shakes her head. “Ex-boss.”

His expression doesn’t change. “All your bosses look at you like that?”

She swallows at the sudden feel of his hand on her thigh. The rain is pounding and drops fall on them, but she’s not noticing it. Instead, she’s caught in the storm that’s returned to his eyes, in the feel of his hands inching steadily toward her center.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” she says, instead of responding to him.

One corner of his mouth lifts, and the confident, bordering on cocky, Barry is looking at her now, even if that sparkle hasn’t returned quite yet.

“Nah,” he says. “Not jealous. You’re here right now. And you were with me earlier, moaning for me, coming for me.”

He slides his hand between her thighs and because she is, almost literally, always thirsty for him, wet for him, her legs spread easily. He fingers at the crotch of her leggings, and she knows that he can feel her warmth through the thin material. He thumbs at her until she gasps against him, finding her clit in a way that reminds him that he knows her body better than she knows it herself.

“He ever touch you like this?” Barry asks, voice a whisper above the rain. “Make you whimper even without getting your clothes off?”

She is whimpering, as he keeps his thumb on her clit, rubbing on her in slow circles. That’s all he’s doing: touching her with one hand, looking at her with those eyes that tell as much as they conceal, with his voice a deep rumble that rivals the thunder. He might be turned on, but he’s proving a point, naming himself as someone who, well, who owns her, even if she recognizes that no man should claim any power over her.

Heat spreads through her, a low, simmering sort of heat, but it’s enough that her folds grow slicker, start opening like the flowers of a petal waiting to be plucked. He keeps rubbing at her, staying on her clit, staring in her face, so much that she can’t hold his gaze. Because it feels better than it should, and her wet is soaking through these too thin leggings, and her breaths are coming in longer, coming in heavier.

“Tell me he hasn’t, Iris,” he says, commands, and Iris throws her head back, legs widening at their own volition, hips canting against his hand. “Tell me.”

“No,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed. “He never even touched me at all.”

“Tell me it’s just me,” he adds and she’s too far gone to note the pleading in his voice. “Tell me no one has ever touched you like this.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Just you, Barry, shit, just you.”

“Good,” he groans. “Good, good girl.”

Even if touch is the word he’s using, Iris understands that it’s more. She understands that they’re both wrapped up in uncertainty, never too sure of where they lie in others’ affections, never too sure of where they lie in life at all. She understands that he’s asking her if she feels it too, if she’s there with him, if this too easy, this too natural, feeling is a first for her too.

He’s asking if she’s brave enough to tell him the truth, if she undertands is meaning-understands that I'm no walk in the park; all these scars on my heart; it’s so dark here-even as she’s wondering the same, as she’s feeling the same, wondering if the churning feelings of abandonment make her unworthy somehow. Wondering if he’ll come to see that unworthiness.

Barry leans forward, just a touch away from her mouth, eyes blazing.

“There’s only you too, Iris,” he says, unprompted. “I swear I’ve just been waiting for you.”

He closes the distance to kiss her and that’s enough to take her over. It’s not a powerful orgasm, not like usual, but it does make her shut her eyes tight, make her limbs seize up as she rocks her hips through it. She breathes out, and she can’t stop the little laugh that comes out.

“You really are a dick,” she muses, opening her eyes slowly.

“A polite one, though,” he says, as he stands straighter and holds his hand out to help her down from the car. He holds the umbrella high over her. “See how I’m making sure you don’t get wet.”

“You didn't think of that earlier.”

His grin is devastating but it doesn’t hide the plethora of emotions in his eyes: the simmering lust, the faint traces of insecurity, the grief that’s been hovering all day...the love she doesn’t think he wants to hide anymore.

She hikes up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek, and then she walks beside him into the parlor, words flashing in her head like a sign, but if you’re a warrior, there’s nothing to fear; nothing to fear.

And later that night, as she cuddles up next to Barry is his large comfortable bed, she listens to his soft breathing, the sound a melody to the rain still pattering against his windows. She listens and she stares at him, taking in his features, softer than they were before, the stress of today easing away with every second he’s lost to sleep. A flash of lightning lights the room, and it catches her eyes again, the new tattoo, the purple ink bright on his skin, covering the space from a lily on his shoulder to just over his heart. It goes dark again, his room blanketed once more, but in her mind’s eyes, she can still see the vibrant ink on his skin, the pretty drooping petals of an iris.

Cause you're so brave

Stone cold crazy for loving me

Yeah, I'm amazed

I hope you make it out alive

#westallen fanfiction #westallen #barry x iris #iris west #strangers to lovers

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