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dolly-on-the-dotted-line · 3 years ago

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Laredo, Summer, Age 27: Cousin Stella’s Wedding

Javi's been AWOL for nearly twelve months. Coming home for a family wedding isn’t exactly fun for the town runaway.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: General Angst, Smut, Drinking

A/N: Series debut of Grumpy Javi and also Serious Adult Javi. There’s a big time jump between the last main chapter and this one, the important events of which (Javi and Lorraine's engagement, leaving her at the altar, etc) will be filled in throughout the Interludes for Changes. More of those coming up shortly. A lot can happen in three years, and it certainly has. The tone of this chapter is quite different to the rest so far, so I hope I hit it right.

Laredo, Summer, Age 27: Cousin Stella's Wedding

Chucho is full of nervous energy. It’s the best of him, this excitement, fed entirely by the warm potential of being around the people he loves and seeing them happy.

For that reason alone, a family wedding is his idea of Shangri-La, and he’s alight with the joy of it; having everyone in one place, celebrating something as simple as being in love and promising to stick with it for as long as you can manage.

It makes your heart ache, how much happiness he derives from that of others, how easily that selfless part of his nature comes to the fore and, in turn, has just become an extension of himself.

It’s for that very reason his energy is nervous at all.

Family or not, today’s ceremony is also the first since his son’s own ill-fated wedding day, or lack thereof. While Chucho Peña doesn’t care for canards or local chit-chat, he does care deeply for Javier. And it had been a rough twelve months for the prodigal son.

Javi’s full of nervous energy too, but a completely different kind. His is the self-destructive stuff, that starts a fight in a bar or a break-up if someone asks the wrong thing at the wrong time.

Where Chucho is on edge, Javi is indignant, and for every one of his Father’s concerned glances, gentle pats, and unanswered observations about the weather, Javi’s dishing from an unending stockpile of grunts, grumbles, and deafening silences.

Between the two of them, and with the addition of your own watchful eye, the house is practically thrumming with anticipation, all three of you sitting on the cusp of an explosion, patiently waiting for the pin to be pulled.

You and Pa had been amazed and concerned in equal measure when Javi announced he’d be coming back for the ceremony. You had mentioned it in passing during your monthly phone call, a toe in the water, a gentle reminder that the world was still turning back in Laredo, but intended as nothing more than that.

The speed of his turnaround had been astonishing, and to your complete surprise, he was crossing state lines for home not two days later. He’d rolled up, bag in hand and best suit in tow, and sat down for Saturday night dinner as if nothing had changed.

Except it had. No one had seen him for nearly a year.

The three of you knew he couldn’t stay away forever, but the timing of it all seemed like it was going to be a sink-or-swim situation - a prediction that had been making itself increasingly apparent since the morning began.

In lieu of his objectively pleasant homecoming last night, he’d been in a foul mood from the moment he woke up, flip-flopping between abject silence and resentful commentary, before eventually settling for a variety of murmurs and raised eyebrows in response to anyone that dared talk to him directly.

Breakfast had been a painful face-off as the three of you scratched forks, poured coffee, and made three-way eye contact that said everything any of you needed to.

By the time he stalked off to get ready, the tension in the room was unbearable.

Chucho let out a nervous laugh when he heard the bedroom door close upstairs, finally allowing himself to speak freely for the first time this morning without the fear of instigating nuclear warfare in his own kitchen.

“Ay, Niña, it’s going to be a long day.”

“These cursed wedding breakfasts are becoming a tradition of ours, eh Pa?”

“Apparently so.”

“I wondered when the bad mood would hit, I just didn’t expect it to be daybreak. I knew last night had gone too well.”

Chucho had revelled in having his little family back together again, if only for a few days.

You’d only been back for a day or two before Javi arrived, also making the trip especially for Stella’s big day, and not planning to stay longer than you needed to. But you’d been almost as absent as him this year, and having you back in Peña territory was the only excuse Chucho needed to make a fuss.

The food was en-masse, the ice tea cold, and the conversation golden as you spent two dutiful evenings catching your Pa up on every detail of your life in New York (with a notably discreet summary of your work there).

But as the two of you sat out on the porch watching the summer sun go down, you both felt the loss of your other favourite person.

Javier had always been the glue holding the constituent parts of your life together, and it was more than evident when he wasn’t there.

Especially in the one place you always expected to find him.

Come Sunday, with Javier’s jacket restored on the hook, having all three of you back around the table in the time-tested kitchen Javier’s grandfather had built was everything Chucho could have wished for. As you ate, drank, sat, and talked, the sense of normality was immense, rolling over all of you in waves of sincere affection and unavoidable familiarity. You clung to one another in the only way you knew how.

And, if a little sheepish, Javi had been good, great even.

The space for the unfamiliar diffidence you’d expect after such a long period of absence was ushered out at Chucho’s command, refused at the door. He’d hovered for a second, clearly considering bolting, but the moment he found himself clasped tightly in his father’s arms he gave it all up.

For one simple evening, everything was fine. The shock of seeing him didn't even register, the emotional no-mans-land of the past three years made irrelevant for just a moment as you sat in the incomparable aura of his company.

For Javi, it was like he had been caught off guard, as if he'd forgotten he was supposed to be hating it and didn't want to be here.

For five minutes he had forgotten why it was so hard to be home. But by this morning, having sobered distinctly in the cold light of day, he had certainly remembered.

“It’s too soon,” he coos, bringing you back to the moment as he clatters the dishes in the sink and stares out listlessly into the backyard.

“Far too soon. In this house, he’s safe. He knows that. That’s what we got last night. But out there… and a wedding, no less. I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Your father was right. It was too soon. You both knew it and, from the look of it, so did Javi.

The sliver of carefree enjoyment you’d seen of him last night had been folded up and packed away, likely the moment his head had hit the pillow and he had the chance to think. It was all too familiar; the process, the place, even the occasion itself. Too close to home in the most literal sense.

It had only been a year, give or take a few weeks, since he was standing here sweating about his own big day.

The sight of him storming into this kitchen, bleary-eyed and running riot - now that was a memory that still plagued you when you couldn’t sleep at night. And if you could remember it, clear as a bell, you could only imagine what the anamnesis is like for him.

If the last time you’d been home involved making the most devastating decision of your adult life, you likely wouldn’t be too keen on being back, either. Stepping out on your fiancée was one thing, but living the rest of your marriage knowing the whole thing was based on a half-truth was another challenge entirely.

You all know he chose right. By the time the midday ceremony had rolled around, there was no more talk of a shotgun than the one that would supposedly be pointed at Javi by Lorraine’s father if he ever came back to town.

Pellets in his backside or not, and knowing the other side of the story, the whole ordeal was enough to see Javi two feet into his future at the DEA, with Lorraine’s distaste for the profession no longer a factor.

He’d left for DC full-time the very next day, and hadn’t been back since as far as the rest of the town was concerned. Christmas had been quiet without him. Pa had been lonelier than usual this year.

But, despite it all, despite the fact that no one who knew the half of it would have thought anything less of him if he’d stayed right where he was, he was here instead. Shitty attitude aside, he was here.

“Do you think he has something to prove?” you can’t help but ask, joining Pop at the window to start drying the dishes.

“Doesn’t he always?” He laughs, unable to help the affection creeping through.

“By the end of tomorrow, he’ll either be homesick, or good as gone. He’s never been one for halves.”

“I don’t know which one I’m rooting for,” you sigh, addressing the statement more to yourself than to him.

When you head upstairs to finish getting ready you find Javi sitting on the edge of your bed, finally in his suit and tie.

If there was one thing he had going for him this year, it’s that he looks as good as ever. His hair is longer, rugged, but combed back into what you assume must be his usual style for work, miles away from his annual summertime curls. Even sitting as he is, he holds himself firmly, upright, with the air of someone who wants to be listened to and makes damn sure it happens.

Any sign of boyish charm has been replaced with handsome professionalism, three nightly double whiskeys, and something deeper and darker that's both bordering sexy and edging on dangerous.

Heartbreak didn’t suit him, but adulthood did, and while you feel the strong nostalgic pull for the boy you once knew, you were undeniably interested in the man sitting in front of you.

He’s different. It’s gorgeous.

You hover in the doorway and take in the sight of him, shirtsleeves rolled roughly to the elbow, suit trousers hitching up to reveal the pattern at the top of his socks. His favourite pair.

“I’m surprised those don’t have holes in, you know,” you say, risking the comedic lilt in your tone as you nod down to his feet.

“They do,” he huffs back, revealing the exposed skin at his heel. “I’m hoping they’re still lucky.”

Deciding the mood is better than expected, and that he’s had all morning to wallow, you cross the threshold into the room and decide business as usual is the best approach. Just because things are different now doesn’t mean the same methods won’t apply, and he'd always responded well to you refusing to give a shit.

You pull the dress you’d chosen from its place in your closet and, without even having to ask, hear the familiar sound of him turning around to avert his gaze as you get dressed. You smile softly at the gesture. He could have assumed, could have watched as you took one thing off and replaced it with another. You don’t think you’d have stopped him if he’d kept his eyes forward - at this point, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

But this, him watching his mark and respecting your space, was more familiar than anything; one of a hundred comforting rituals that had taken shape in this house and in this room. He hadn’t tried his luck then, and he certainly wasn’t going to now. That little fragment was still sacred.

Despite the familiarity of it, when you drop your bathrobe you wonder if the tension in the small space feels the same to him as it does for you: thick, almost syrupy, as if everything has slowed just a little.

Outside of the conversation over dinner last night, you hadn’t really said a word directly to one another. Usually, when you both came back here, there was a moment of reconciliation, a brief interaction where you ever-so-quickly got reacquainted and then proceeded to pick up exactly where you left off.

This time, in spite of being in the same place, that hadn’t happened yet. Everything was blurry around the edges, the usual intimacy of you falling into one another stunted, lacking.

But, despite the disruption, you still felt it; something like magnetism was trying to bring everything back into place, the same way it always did when the two of you were side by side. It wasn't something you could fight.

Knowing you’re finished, he swings his legs back around to resume his original position and runs his eyes over you with no discernible reaction. The only part that gives anything away is the speed at which they travel. He takes his time, and you feel the way his gaze drags over you, absorbing all the constituent parts. You’re different too, you suppose. It’s been a long time since he’s let himself look at you.

“Five minutes, kids!” yells Chucho from downstairs, and you see patently the way Javi snaps out of it, righting his state of mind, resolving to resume his original loathing for this day that he had already decided he would not enjoy at all.

If he’d been on the cusp of something, it was gone now.

Oh well, you think to yourself, and move to rummage under your bed for the shoebox containing your heels.

Bad attitude decidedly back in place after its brief hiatus, Javi returns to being no help at all, remaining in place on the edge of the mattress as you scoop your arm around the dead space on either side of his legs to no avail.

His mood swings back in the day had been few and far between, but when they came about, they were infamous. Today was no exception.

His lashing out had come in just about every form since morning coffee was served, and you knew he was currently settling on a sweet spot between ‘unhelpful’ and ‘difficult’.

Previous iterations today had included refusing to get dressed, taking over an hour in the shower, and pouring himself a neat whiskey at 7:30am.

As you reach further under the bed to finally grab hold of what you hope is the required box, you give up entirely when it’s kicked out of your grasp with the back of Javi’s foot, sending it sailing out of reach entirely, hand in hand with an unapologetically sour look from the rest of the man attached.

“Bastard,” you exhale under your breath, forfeiting the endeavour entirely as you sit back on your haunches and look up at him from your position on the floor.

Managing to catch the eye that’s reluctant to meet yours after his deliberately childish movements, you realise he’s entering the penultimate stage of his emotional process: surly. It’s the only word for when he’s like this.

Standing from the bed, he assumes the standard position, hands glued to his hips, stance wide, one palm to his forehead, the other patting aggressively for another cigarette that he knew he didn’t have.

“Just when I thought you were coming around,” you mutter to yourself.

“Frank’s here!” Chucho calls, again, this time from the stairs.

“Fuck,” grumbles Javi, rubbing the palms of his hands over his face for the umpteenth time that morning, as if he can erase himself from existence.

Seeing him like this, unsettled, out of touch, makes you aware of something so confounding that even you were struggling to get your head around it: home doesn't feel the same for him anymore.

This sacred place that could do no harm was suddenly an emotional death trap, teeming with beady-eyed acquaintances and a trail of tedious questions a mile long about where he’s been and why he left.

Deep down, he’s still the same person he always was, the golden boy with a heart to match, but it’s tarnished for him now, that title. The glue trap snags another unwitting victim, and you know he’s felt nothing less than a bug under a lens since he set foot on the tarmac.

“Babies, come on!” Chucho calls again, and Javi is pacing the small bedroom, taking off his suit jacket and swinging it under his arm, running his hands through his hair and then frustratedly fixing it.

“Fucking fuck.”

Standing in your childhood bedroom, he looks both too big and too small. Overgrown but malnourished. The place itself fits him just fine, but it’s like he’s not the same shape anymore. He’s harder, prickly, more of a man now than he’s ever been. It must sting, like coming to find your favourite clothes are no longer your size.

You all knew it was going to take some work to carve him right again, heal the wounds, rub the salt. But he won’t stay long enough for that, at least not right now, and in the meantime, the experience was akin to trapping a tiger.

Home would be there for him whenever he was ready for it, but that time wasn’t now.

Not only that, you contemplate, but he's tired. You can see it in the way he holds himself, as if he's permanently waiting for a quiet moment to turn his back and fold in half.

Work has been gearing up big time, and as much as he tries to keep things light over the phone, normally by saying nothing much as all, there's only so much you can read in the news and not let your mind wander. The DEA might be firm-footed, but anyone can see it's been shaken by the way things are escalating, and it was starting to show on their people, too.

“Babies,” Chucho announces, now standing at the top of the landing, framed by your doorway. “We need to go. The car’s running and Frank is waiting-”

“-Alright, Dad,” snaps Javi, voice roaring in contrast to his previous silence. “We heard you the first fucking time.”

Chucho’s head snaps up immediately, first with a look of shock, and then quickly replaced with a furrowed brow of concern. He’s not hurt, he knew this was coming today. You all did. Plus, Chucho Peña wasn’t one ruffled so easily by something so simple as a harsh word from his son.

Shooting Javi a scowl before you can catch it, one that says ‘you don’t speak for me’, you point him a finger of warning before turning to your father. “It’s okay, Pa. I’ll drive us. We’ll meet you at the church.”

Chucho looks at you deeply, reminding you of where Javi gets his ability to say a hundred things with a single glance. This one is pleading 'let’s just hold this together as best we can.' He gives one parting nod in Javi’s direction that goes entirely unnoticed and heads back down the stairs without another word.

When you hear the back door slam and the engine of Frank’s car start, the two of you are left alone, truly alone, for the first time in over a year.

“Well done,” you sigh, quickly making haste to finally gather your shoes from the other side of the room, and then reaching up to the top of your dresser to retrieve your purse from where you’d stashed it after last time.

The last wedding you’d been home for.

In the process Javi catches your hand in his, enveloping it, and easily reaches over you with the other to grab the clutch and pass it down to you, presenting it on a flat palm. His thumb runs along the crest of your knuckles, worrying the bruises and split skin that hadn't managed to heal in time for your trip back.

“What kind of business have they got you up to at that distillery then, hm?” he asks, his tone still sour, his concern riling it even further.

“Manual labouring, heavy lifting. You know the drill.”

You can barely look up at him, standing so close. You hadn’t seen this much of him for a long time. The knowledge that you haven’t had a sincere conversation since his wedding day suddenly feels incredibly relevant, weighing heavily on your ability to just speak to him. He was the last person on earth you expected to find yourself tongue-tied around, but you couldn’t get the words out now even if you wanted to.

Instead of trying to talk, you focus on needlessly smoothing out his tie, retying the already perfect knot in some kind of attempt to keep him in your space. In spite of his ruffled energy, he was always immaculately dressed when the moment called for it, and this occasion was no exception.

The facade went up in more ways than one, but if you stood just close enough, the cracks still shone through: the hole in his sock, the misplaced curl that would never lay flat.

This is the second most difficult thing he’s ever done, you recon, coming back to a place that had turned its back on him, and had forced him to do the same. Being here wasn’t quite an act of redemption, but you had a feeling it was the start of something not so far from it.

He didn’t know when to quit, but when it came to this place, neither did you.

He’s here for a reason, you can’t help but contemplate, refusing to finish the rest of the consideration. Refusing to question if the reason, for once, might just be you.

Using the smallest movement possible, he brings the back of his hand to brush up against you, catching the fabric of your dress between his knuckles and worrying the slinky fabric between them satisfyingly.

His movements are a natural conduit for everything he’s feeling, they always have been. While you might wear your emotions plain on your face with him, everything he wants to say comes from his movements: the way he lays his hands or taps his feet or keeps his distance.

The closeness of his frame is telling you just that. His inability to stay less than five feet away from you all day, despite his shit attitude, is everything you need to know. He’s at war in his own head, and you take comfort in the fact he’s struggling against his temper simply by standing so close to you.

He’s on the cusp of breaking through, teetering on the edge of the final stage of his process, and as he moves into your space for a second you think he might have tipped over, out the other side of his emotional grievance and back to being a normal, functioning human being.

Acceptance was always his final step. And then he’d talk.

But when he glances down at his watch and sees the time, it’s all for nought. Instead of letting you in, he huffs in frustration and pulls himself sternly from the viscid traction between the two of you.

“Let’s just go.”

While he stops briefly in the kitchen to check himself in the mirror at the door, you rest yourself on the back of the kitchen chair and just watch him. He might be all restless energy and pent-up emotions but, beneath all of that, it’s just deep, deep, sadness. A sadness he doesn’t know where to put when he’s in the one place that usually keeps it at bay.

“What are you staring at?” he grouses when he catches you looking, but his tone is softer than before.

His energy for conflict was burning out.

“You. You look hot as fuck, Javier,” you state plainly.

He hesitates but doesn’t laugh, instead throwing the keys to the truck at you across the kitchen, landing them square in your chest with a thump.

“Let’s just get this fucking over with,” he mutters as he stalks out of the kitchen.

You flip him off in return as you follow him out to start the engine.

Chucho was right, it was going to be a long day.

“So this partner of yours,” he asks eventually after a few moments of stagnant silence, “he’s not coming?”

“To the wedding? No,” you scoff, imagining the look on Jack Daniel’s face if you asked him to be your plus one for anything related to your personal life. “He’s on a date tonight, actually. Always on a date, the dirty dog.”

“And how often do you go on dates these days?”

Surprised by his chosen topic, you risk a steady glance at him in the passenger seat.

His body language is still all over the place, non-commital in his reluctance to stay any further away from you than he has to, but refusing to give in so easily.

“I haven’t exactly had time for dates lately. Work’s been very busy. I’ve been promoted, again.”

No reply.

He instinctively pats down his jacket to pull out a cigarette only to be reminded, once again, that there are none in his best suit.

To avoid any further conflict, you reach over to hit the glove compartment with your fist, and he lurches forward when it opens and reveals the pack of straights, immediately taking one in hand and putting it between his lips.

“In case you felt like asking how I’ve been doing,” you add, with a defined full-stop at the end.

He still doesn’t answer, this time for a different reason, instead opting for sliding his aviators up his nose and staring out of the open window, puffing away. You consider just how close the next ten minutes are going to feel to standing in wet concrete. You decide to stir the pot regardless.

“I can understand being angry at the world, but if you’re just going to be angry at me too, what was the point in coming?”

He looks across at you then, opening just a crack, taking half a step out of his unending misery. You knew that would hit the spot, playing the ‘come on, it’s me’ card. It’s not one you’d had the chance to use in a while, the exceptional nature of your friendship having lost its special touch in the wake of, well, everything.

“I’m not angry at you,” he grumbles, sincere in his delivery but lacking in enthusiasm.

“I’m never angry at you. I’m sorry. I know I’ve been-,”

“Horrible? Yeah, pretty much Jav.”

You can’t help but jump at the chance to fill in the gap, immediately regretting it when you see him close right back up, lean out of the window and attempt to disappear in the cloud of smoke.

Reaching the end of your patience with his up and down attitude, you risk the words that are on the tip of your tongue.

“I know it’s hard being here. I know, okay, more than anyone what it’s like to come back here and get looked at that way. But I’m not your enemy, especially not in this situation. And especially not when I got hurt too.”

That last sentence stings a little when you hear the emotion in your own voice. It’s the first time you’ve acknowledged yourself as part of the fallout, or as anything to do with Javi at all for the past year.

“At least do me the courtesy of acting like I’m on your side.”

Speaking to him like this feels foreign, alien even. You’ve never had to be so guarded with the way you talk, so aware of where the words are going to land and how he’s going to react.

Things hadn’t exactly been bad between the two of you. It would never be as simple as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ or ‘fine’. But there was a lot that had gone unsaid since last spring, and before that still.

He had, at times, made the effort to carry on as painlessly as possible after the engagement, but the rift had been there from the moment that phone call happened.

Eventually, you guessed, he took your silence as needing time to yourself, and he wasn’t entirely wrong. Never in your life had you found yourself in a situation where the one person you always turned to was exactly who you were trying to avoid.

But after the wedding day, you definitely felt like the roles had been reversed somehow. It was you walking on eggshells now, along with everyone else.

You understood he needed time to lick his wounds, but twelve months passed with the blink of an eye and you were still right where he left you. You weren’t the one that left that altar empty, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel as though you were punished for it just the same. You’d been there for him until the very end, even cleaned up the mess, and then he was just gone. And in no number of monthly phone calls had he ever even told you why you were on the outside with everyone else.

Admittedly you weren’t one to get lonely. Jack’s arms had been open, you’d stepped right in. But a few good times didn’t leave a mark on a love that’s lasted a lifetime. Losing him had hurt, and seeing him here, like this, reminded you that it still did.

“It’s hard for me too,” you continue, deciding to set the tone for an honest conversation that was long overdue, even if it was going to take all day to finish it.

“And it’s even harder seeing you like this. I hope you realise that.”

You hesitate, breathe, and resolve that now is the start of it, no matter what.

“But we’re going to have to talk about it eventually, whether you like it or not. And we’ll get through today, together, like we always do.”

Deciding that’s good enough for a head start, you wait to see where what his next move is. They’re your first honest words since he ran away. You breathe a sigh of relief when he gives you honesty right back.

“I really don’t want to be here,” he murmurs, pushing his hair back for the hundredth time and not bothering to right it as he finally relaxes back into the seat and crosses into the final stage of his grief.

He reaches across, places his hand over yours on the gearstick, and cradles it there.

“I know, Javi. I know.”

If there’s one benefit to Javi’s presence, it’s the fact you aren’t the only one who hates hometown weddings.

Sitting at the back of the church, heads down, sunglasses on, the two of you are a picture of veritable social disgrace; the ones that got away, and had supposedly been dragged back by the scruff of their necks. And you hadn’t even done anything wrong, this time.

You know the conversation in the car had pushed the mood forward a bit, but the moment he found himself in church, let alone surrounded by a crowd not dissimilar to the ones that likely showed up for his own nuptials, he was back to making a face like he’d just swallowed sour milk.

“Jav, if you sigh one more time before this thing kicks off I’m going to fucking lose my shi-,”

“Don’t you count as some kind of bad omen?” interrupts Maria, leaning over the back of the pew to kiss you and Javi on the cheek.

“I was at your wedding wasn’t I?” grumbles Javi, offering her a halfhearted wink as you both turn to talk to her.

“Touché, Peña. I suppose you’re hiding at the back on purpose then. Not that Bug’s done anything to disgrace the family name.”

“Yet,” you retort sweetly, smiling up at her lovingly.

Maria is a dream, your favourite cousin by miles, sharp as a tack and sweet as a nut. She had been the last one to get hitched, and you take a moment to consider that if it hadn’t been for the leftover supply from the open bar, your one-time fling with Javi might have remained exactly that.

You wonder if that solidifies her as your absolute favourite, or if she’s inadvertently caused you more trouble than it’s worth.

She snorts at you and affectionately rests her head on top of yours, cradling you into her with a tight squeeze.

“Well it’s nice that you’re both here, Stella will be very happy. I can’t imagine it was an easy decision, but I didn’t expect to find one without the other. We missed you, Javi.”

Javi hmphs for what must be the hundredth time today already, but offers her an affectionate squeeze before she makes her way to the front of the church to join her parents.

“And I won’t snitch if you’re already missing by 3pm!” she calls over her shoulder, shooting you both another wink.

“Sounds like a get out of jail free card if I ever heard one,” he smirks, almost following it up with a laugh.

It’s the first show of good humour you’ve heard from him, and you feel yourself latch onto it without hesitation. His rough edges are new, but they wouldn’t come without the smooth. He was in there somewhere.

“And from the sister of the bride no less,” you confirm.

“Maybe this won’t be such a long day after all.”

In contrast to local expectations, the ceremony goes off without a single hitch. The weighty silence that followed ‘speak now’ was a loaded gun followed by a knowing laugh from the congregation, teeming with exaggerated sighs and sharp laughter. It was the worst in-joke you’d ever been a part of; as if Javi and Lorraine had even got that far.

They kissed, you clapped, and everyone clambered out of the church and into the afternoon sun to make their way over to the reception. All things considered, it was turning out to be a pretty harmless affair.

They’d got a good deal on a function room at a local hotel, and with the money they’d saved it meant that the bar was stocked, the food was plentiful, and the band was at the very least bearable. You wonder if you could ever put yourself through the process of organising something like this, knowing full well how much it costs to feed at least twenty people you didn’t like alongside the forty that you actually did.

Weddings really weren’t your thing. Marriage, on the other hand, you weren’t so dramatically opposed to.

You watch the room, teeming with people, from your seat at the bar, having found yourself a quiet spot to retreat to as soon as you’d arrived. Small talk at a family event like this was your idea of purgatory. It wasn’t fun or seasonal like the Christmas party, it was just hard work, a perpetual stream of narky distant relatives and friends of friends that just wanted to know how and why you weren’t living up to their expectations. Everyone knows everyone, and you conclude that it must get tiring keeping up with the Jones’.

On the plus side, for all the foibles of the local attendance - gossip-hungry, waiting with bated breath for a slip-up to talk about hungrily at Sunday service - you couldn’t find a single bad word to say against your family.

Your family, the ones that had made you their own.

It had always surprised you how easily the Peña clan had welcomed you into their fold.

With the way talk flew in this place, you had always been on tenterhooks for the unspoken truth to come out; your position as an outsider, the less-than-happy circumstances of your unofficial adoption, the fact they only kept you around because they pitied you.

You’d run and re-run every scenario in your head, all of them ending with the quiet confession from the people who took you in that, in fact, the rumours were true, and they, too, didn’t really want you either.

You couldn’t have been more wrong. At the hands of the Peña family’s veritable influence, it was second-hand news. And the Peña’s came in large numbers.

Your situation had fallen on exactly the right side of consolation, and the way these people had pulled you into their lives head over haunches was something you could barely think of without your eyes feeling tight. There was no sympathy about it, it was a deep understanding and an obvious solution that came to them all as quickly as it had done Chucho.

You had needed a home, and they had one to give.

It was your own parents that had been on the other side of things, for once. You were no longer a ‘difficult’ child, complicated to raise and the direct cause of their frequent absences, extended work trips, and compensatory time off for what they’d given up to raise you.

Instead, you were sought after, cared for, knowingly in need of the simple things like a home-cooked meal, a cake on your birthday and a pat on the back every now and then. They wanted you there, everywhere they went, without exception. What the rest of the town said hadn’t mattered after that. They could think what they wanted, the reasons didn’t matter anymore. You were the Peña’s now, in everything but name, and you’d made peace with not being wanted by your own parents in the wake of being told it to your face, time and time again, by every single member of this family.

Being here had always been hard, but they’d done everything they could to make it better.

In that same vein, the scorn that followed Javi’s disappearance wasn’t familial, it was local. Not showing up at the altar wasn’t a generational scandal, it was a sign that something wasn’t right. Whatever story Lorraine’s family had spun didn’t matter to your family, because they knew, whatever it was, Javi had done the right thing.

The wound of that failed marriage wasn’t the family’s, it was Javi’s. Instead, what everyone else had felt was the loss of him. He just needed time to see that.

You can spot him starting to open up to the idea of that, the notion that he was missed. Even now, his cousins are clinging to him in droves. Despite his own lack of siblings, there was no shortage of people that loved him, looked up to him, and wanted to see him succeed. The fact he had put that into question was another reminder that the place was the same, but what had changed was him.

You know Chucho is right, the outcome will be one of two options.

Beginning to find the whole thing overwhelming, you turn in your seat to order another drink, only to find your cousin Danny behind the bar instead of the bartender.

“Hey, Love Bug,”

“Danny, are you old enough to be serving that stuff yourself?”

“Pshh, you know they got this place booked as a family favour. Management has been looking the other way since Stell’ signed the contract.”

You’re sure the confidence must be genetic, or there’s something in the water at the Peña BBQs. You hold your hands up in mock surrender, an impressed pout on your face.

“In that case, I’ll have another of… whatever you’re currently pouring. I’m done driving for the day.”

He serves you up what appears to be bourbon, and you squint when the sharp smell burns your eyes before your tongue. You forget how different drinking at home is from drinking at work. You resolve it’s more fun when it’s free. However, at the office, you do get to avoid the friendly interrogation.

“Is he okay?” asks Danny, to your surprise, gesturing over your shoulder to you-know-who.

“I don’t know, kid,” you reply slowly. “This is a big thing for him.”

“Mom said he wasn’t going to come back. That he thought we didn’t love him anymore.”

Your heart breaks at the description because you know, in a way, it’s accurate.

“He was always going to come back. I just didn’t think it would be this soon.”

You hope you’ve offered enough exposition without speaking on anyone’s behalf, but you see the way Danny is itching to ask, to know more.

“I’m glad he didn’t get married,” he pushes, “if it was going to make him miserable, I mean.”

He’s looking for an adult explanation, confirmation that his hunch is correct, something he clearly hasn’t gotten in the wake of being the baby brother. He knocks back the drink as if it’s a means to seek that approval, to show that he’s old enough to be part of the conversation.

“It was a big deal, I know that, but I don’t suppose it’s the kind of thing you do without thinking about it a lot, right?”

“Right,” you confirm, throwing your drink back alongside him in response.

“I know it might look like he’s ready to strangle someone right now, but it’s nothing personal. I think he’s just really missed his family.”

“Our family,” he corrects with emphasis.

“Right, kid. And how can we blame him? We’re fucking great.”

He comes to perch on the stool next to you, and you pull him under your arm to give him a tight squeeze and plant a firm kiss on the top of his head.

“Sometimes the one place you want to be is the last place you can bring yourself to go. And sometimes it’s the same with people, too.”

“I get that,” he replies simply, and you feel as though he’s satisfied with the answers he’s got.

“You’re a smart kid, Danny. Besides, you’ll probably be getting married next,” you tag on, winking at him before you can even finish the sentence.

He pushes away from you immediately, and despite his mature aura, sticks his tongue out at you without hesitation.

Spotting the solace of your gentle conversation, you see Javi make a B-line away from his aunties and over to the two of you. He claps Danny hard on the back before coming to stand at your side, sandwiched between the two of you, so close he’s nearly flush against the length of you. He’s coming around, you can feel it.

“Looks like you two are having way more fun than me,” he grouses, but his tone is definitely improved from this morning.

“It’s not hard,” you reply, reaching behind the bar to find the bottle Danny was pouring from to top up the glasses all round.

“Danny was actually just saying he was worried he wasn’t going to see you again,” you offer, earnestly, avoiding the look of embarrassed betrayal from your younger cousin.

Javi schools the ripple of emotion that passes over his face, immediately replacing it with a gentle smile.

“Come on kid, you think I’d leave for good without saying goodbye to you?”

“I don’t know.” he shrugs. “We’ve missed you, Jav. It’s not the same when you’re away, that’s all.”

“I just needed some time. The same way Bug did, remember? It just takes a while.”

You hold back the frown when he brings that up, your going away last year while the wedding was planned, and then unplanned. Part of you is surprised to hear him acknowledge that time at all, to admit that he knows you ran away, too, in a way.

“Yeah, I get that,” he repeats and nods solemnly at Javi. “I’m just really glad you’re back. We all are. I'll catch you guys later.”

Danny waves you both off as he’s summoned by his mother, and you see Javi let out the breath he was holding. You reckon he’s had a lot of that today, or at least a lot more than he was anticipating; affection, acceptance, the welcome home he didn’t think he required nor deserved.

He’s a melting pot of emotional conflict- add twenty or so members of your extended family and your own personal group of censurers, and it makes for an intense afternoon.

“How’s it going?”

“Better than I thought, but just as hard as I expected. Half the crowd are the best people I’ve ever met, the other hate my guts. It’s a weird one, on balance.”

“Well, you always were the star of the show.”

He goes to comment but hesitates. He’s going to have to break eventually, and he’s seconds away now, you can see it.

“I didn’t know what to expect. I just didn’t think the two options would be open arms or knives.”

“With you, it’s usually one or the other, Javi. You just haven’t taken any notice before.”

So close now, you can feel that he’s on the cusp of letting go, letting it all out and finally finding some peace. That’s why he’s here. You’ve worked it out now; to kickstart the process. But you don’t want to force it.

“Want to ditch?” You suggest instead, feeling the anxiety rolling off him.

“More than anything.”

He grabs his jacket from the back of a chair, makes brief eye contact with Chucho, and sidesteps out the door without a second guess. The fact he was seeking permission to leave is hilarious to you in a way, as if he’s not a full-grown man, but it's proof again that he’s here because he has a job to do. Bridges to build, foundations to re-lay.

As you both make your way nonchalantly through the hotel foyer, you’re pulled sharply to the side by Javi grabbing your hand and dragging you down a narrow corridor.

Breezing along until he reaches the alcove with the payphone, he pushes you gently inside, pulls the curtain across the doorframe, turns back to you, and without hesitation lifts you into his arms to place you on the small ledge that holds the pen and paper for taking messages down.

The action isn’t rushed or even overly physical, but precise and well-intended. He holds you there in the close space while you regain your breath, hands placed on either side of you before he can even bring himself to look up at you.

“Please,” he says plainly, “please don’t think badly of me for this, I don’t mean it like that at all. I’m just going to kiss you now, for five minutes, if you’ll let me.”

Still taken aback by the position you now find yourself in, you steady yourself by bringing your arms up and around his neck, and settle into the familiar position of his body around yours.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply quietly, after a moment of silent contemplation, “I’ll let you.”

When his lips meet yours, you feel the way he’s pushing himself into you: all his concerns, his anxieties, his emotions. All at once, he’s giving everything over, as humbly as he can. He hasn’t kissed you like this for - you realise he hasn’t kissed you at all for nearly three years.

And it hits you like a freight train.

The familiarity of the motion is immense. Three years? It was equally a lifetime and no time at all. It was nothing in the grand scheme of things, but also a very sore reminder of time lost, just when things had been on their way to something.

The way he presses his mouth against yours, calculated and precise and knowing, isn’t a flight of passion, it’s just the only way he can show you how, and what, and why.

It tells you everything he’s been unable to say since the moment he opened the back door and walked into the kitchen, strolling in as if he’d just been to the store. It’s time passing, and time lost, and time he’s trying to recapture in the way he references moments long gone with kisses that feel entirely the same.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he says eventually, transitioning from his deep, open, movements to small and gentle touches of his lips to yours, to your cheeks, your jaw, your neck.

“I’ve missed my family, I’ve missed this place, but it, fuck, it really-”

“Hurts?”

“Yeah. It hurts like a bitch. This is a life I could have had, and I don’t even know if it’s one I wanted. It’s like a bad trip. Maybe worse.”

Placing one final kiss, he releases his hold on you just a bit, enough to show you that he’s no longer wound so tight.

Just like Fairfax, you see him take a deep breath and resolve to wade his way through the vat of complex emotions and hard truths that he’s been holding on to for too long.

“No matter what I did, I was going to let someone down. Leaving, staying, saying yes or saying no. It was going to be myself, my family, her, or you. And somehow, I’ve still managed to disappoint all four.”

“Javi-”

“I thought leaving was the best thing. I still think it is. I don’t belong here anymore. And I don’t think I deserve to just come back. But then I see you, the way you breeze around this place in spite of everything it’s done to you and Jesus Christ, I feel the loss of you more than anything. Anything. More than I’ve lost myself.”

His hand finds yours the way it did in the truck, and he rubs his thumb hard and strong into the dip of your palm, steadying himself with the repeated motion.

“I don’t know how it ended up like this. Losing you, what we had built, was the last thing I wanted. It was the worst-case scenario, Ladybug. And I never even said sorry. But I am. You’ll never know how damn sorry I am.”

“You haven’t lost me,” is all you can muster, but your words are bouncing off him in the wake of his onslaught.

“Yes, I have. I know I have, and I should have. You should be furious at me, and I’m sure you are, you’re just too close to say it. But I want to find you again, in whatever shape you may be for me to find.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” you whisper, but it’s fraught and shallow.

“I did. I could have done things differently. I should have taken you with me. I shouldn’t have just left you there to clean up my mess. And I definitely shouldn’t have run away for so long. You deserved more than that. But I couldn’t, talk, for so long. Not even to you. Not even this morning. But you always called, no matter what. You called and listened to me just say nothing. How can you ever forgive me?”

“Javi, there’s nothing to forgive.”

“Yes, there is,” he insists, firmer this time, frustrated that you’re not hearing him the way he wants.

“There is and you know it. I know it. It’s shitty and it’s complicated. There is nothing simple about any of it and there is so much to forgive.”

You know he’s right, but nothing in the world could have convinced you to have it out with him right now. Nothing in the world could have convinced you to do anything other than sit here and listen to every word that comes out of this man’s mouth.

“You know,” he continues, pushing on hard and fast now the walls are down, three years' worth of honest conversation pouring out into the tiny space, “it hurts more when I see what I lost from my past over what I gained back for my future. I don’t know if it was worth it. I feel like I left that version of myself with you. I killed a version of our life together on that phone call the moment I told you what I was going to do.”

And, again, he’s right. How he can relay the truth to you in a way that you’ve been unable to for over a year makes you want to yell. Your way of processing has been to not process at all.

“You’re the same to me, Javi,” you whisper, “always. You've been as predictable as anything today. Did you honestly expect this wasn’t going to hurt?”

Ignoring your question, he kisses you once more, chastely, stopping himself from taking what he wants.

“I’ll never be the same, Bug. I can’t be.”

His words are teeming with the understanding that, while none of this had been his fault, it had happened regardless. It’s a privilege that he’s got this far in life without it happening sooner. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I’m glad,” you quip, finding a cathartic feeling of ease in his own revelation.

“I hope you’re never stupid enough to try and get married again.”

You both pause in the silence there and, eventually, he laughs. Really laughs. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s done that.

“I just had to tell you that. I should have told you that. I’m sorry. For everything.”

Pulling you from the ledge to help you to the floor, he presses a small kiss to your split knuckle and straightens his tie.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here. I need a drink.”

The bar is the same. Exactly the same.

You realise in your youth you’d never appreciated the atmosphere of the place. The red cast of the neon strip lights give the whole room a uniquely comfortable feeling, in a way that only half-light can manage.

The music is authentic, the clientele considerate, and even you weren’t opposed to the sight of a familiar face behind the bar. Not when the one thing you were both looking for is something that feels like home.

After settling your things in one of the wooden booths, Javi brings over two tumblers of god-knows-what and places them on the table, but stops you before you can take a seat.

“Come on,” he sighs, pulling you after him toward the worn wooden dancefloor.

The last time you had danced together must have been Christmastime, the final stint of your ‘together’ year. It was new years eve, you think. Everyone had left the small get together you’d thrown and instead of washing up glasses at 3am, you’d stood in the kitchen and swayed listlessly, bone-weary and half sober listening to Eric Carmen.

You don’t think you can recall ever being as happy as you were at that moment. It was the end of the best year of your life. That time seems like such a distinct thing to you now, clearly defined and, with that, so obviously a thing of the past. Over.

For a long moment, the two of you stand just like that, swaying back and forth, your feet barely leaving the ground as you just hold one another up. But you know he’s thinking of it, too, when you feel the way he pulls you closer. The conversation had been rolling around the topic since he first mentioned it in the truck. It seemed so menial by comparison to everything else he’d said since.

“So you haven’t met anyone?”

This time it’s you who sighs and rolls your eyes.

His more cantankerous nature had worn thin since you left the hotel, obviously feeling the relief of having it out. But, in that same vein, it could only be Javier who could be grumpy with you for dating off the back of him trying to marry someone else. You know the situation is complicated, to say the least, but as far as audacity went, he was certainly toeing the line.

“I’ve met plenty of people, Jav. If you mean ‘am I seeing anyone?’ No, not right now”

“Hmm,” he grunts, clearly unsatisfied with your response. “What about your partner?”

“That’s exactly what he is: my partner. We spend a lot of time together. He makes me feel nice, sometimes. But he’s not the man for me. A quiet indulgence on the side of a very good friendship.”

“That sounds all too familiar,” he grouses, letting you spin under his arm to avoid meeting your eye for a moment.

“You really think you have anything to compare? To us?”

“Never,” he replies plainly, his tone of surprise aimed more toward himself than at you.

“Well, then there’s your answer. What reunion are we on by now?”

“Hopefully whatever your definition of ‘one more’ was,” he quips, so quick to the joke it almost shocks you.

The simplicity of his thought process is endearing. The fact that, in spite of it all, he’s absolutely willing, without hesitation, to pick up where you left off. As if everything hadn’t changed all over again.

“Funnily enough, I think your own wedding was fair game for ‘interference’,” you snipe back, not one to be taken for a ride.

Still, despite his cheek, you can’t help but giggle at his spikey disposition.

The whole day had been a stark reminder of how damn soft you were for him. Of how you always would be. The gaping hole his engagement had left was still there, ragged and a little bit raw as you feel the way he pulls your body against his, moving you around him without a second thought, but you can’t ignore the feeling that’s blooming in your chest with so little encouragement.

He was right, you were angry, you are still, but you decide, for just one night, even, that you don’t have to be so valiant about it.

“It’s hard seeing you, Javi. I thought I would be able to just put the whole thing aside. First with you actually getting married, and then with the rest.”

“-not getting married, you mean.”

“In a way, it might have been easier to just let that part of you go. But now it’s just there. Waiting.”

He turns you around to face him and looks down at you then, knowing you’re on the verge of saying something important, and that you’ll only risk saying it once.

“I feel like I’m waiting. For something. I don’t know what anymore. Maybe an excuse to not be with someone else. That’s exactly what this always was, right? It was something until it wasn’t.”

You think he’s reading your tone for harsh, letting the validity of your frustrations take precedence. But he’s wrong. You are soft for him. You always are.

“But here we are again. Without even the slightest encouragement, on the cusp of being something. All you’ve done today is yell at me and here I am, ready to run away with you.”

“You said we’d try, before,” he says, quietly, barely a whisper under his breath. “That you wanted to try.”

“I’d like to try, if you want to.”

“Really?”

“Really. Does that surprise you, honestly?”

“Yes, in a way. I’m surprised by how calm you are. Isn’t this a big deal?”

“Picking up where we left off? We had an arrangement, didn't we? For this exact thing. Admittedly I didn’t expect you to get engaged, but the point still stands.”

You sound calmer than you really are, but if the last year has taught you anything, it’s that now is the time to be honest, while you can.

“One more reunion.”

“Bug, I-”

“I mean it. I’m due some time off. Next time, we’ll try. We can try. For real.”

His hands are gripping your hips now, thumbs digging in, catching at the overlay of your dress. He’s on the cusp of opening a present he’s been waiting a very long time for.

“We’re grown-ups. We can sort this out, right? Plus nothing can be worse than last time.”

Just as you’re leaning into it, feeling the weight of him, catching his familiar scent, you feel your pager beep in your purse. Reflexes kicking in immediately, you’re quickly drawn from the reverie of the moment, and reach to check who’s trying to contact you from work at this time.

To your utter surprise, it’s Jack Daniels.

You hear Javi grunt unceremoniously as you excuse yourself to head toward the payphone in the back. The phone rings once, and you hear his familiar greeting.

“What’s wrong?” you inquire, concern clear, a smile tugging at your cheek as you hear his familiar southern drawl.

Being away from him was strange, too. Like you said, you’d never really been lonely.

“Everything okay over there?”

“Everything’s… fine. What’s going on, Jack?”

“Ahh…” he croaks, “ I just miss you is all, got used to having you around on my birthday.”

“Are you drunk?” You can’t help the affectionate lilt of your voice, the laugh that follows ninety per cent of the words you say to him.

“A little.”

You hear him smirk back, and in a fraction of a second you can conjure up the image of him, rosy-cheeked, smirking like a bastard, leant against the console table that holds his landline.

“You with that boy?”

“Something like that. I thought you were on a date?”

“I was, she just left.”

“At this hour? That’s not like you at all.”

“Well, let’s just say it sounds like your night is going better than mine.”

“I don’t know about that,” you whisper quietly.

“Oh? Something happen?”

“It’s complicated, I suppose. Or maybe the fact that it’s not is what makes it so hard.”

“Just be happy, you stubborn girl. And come back soon. My record player’s getting dusty without you.”

“I’ll be back this weekend. Don’t stay up too late.”

Standing in the alcove of the payphone, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. If that wasn’t some kind of challenge, you don’t know what is. Placing the phone carefully into the receiver, you listen for the dime to drop, and make a surprisingly easy decision in your mind.

The two of you were here again, like you always were.

The difference was, for the first time in a long time, there wasn’t a single thing stopping it.

When you come back to the dancefloor, you find Javi in the booth, finishing off what looks like his drink and your own, before nursing a third.

You place yourself in the space next to him, immediately taking the glass from his hand, and downing the contents without letting it touch the sides. Then, you take his face in yours, running your thumb along the impeccable line of his jaw, brushing it over his sculpted cheek, and place your mouth on his with unapologetic simplicity.

For the first time today, you feel him let his mood completely sweeten. He looks bone-weary, eyes crinkling at the edges as he gives you a weak smile, the kind that says I’m sorry, let’s not fight.

“I love you. I’m tired. Let’s go home,” you say.

And you do.

That night, he lets barely an inch of space between you as he presses himself into you again and again. Like everything else about his movements with you today, he takes his time.

His lips don’t leave your skin, his fingertips are rooted to your hips, his crotch barely ever leaving the smooth swell of your backside against him. You’re tied to him, in some unspeakable way, physically or otherwise, and you’re reminded of it with blinding clarity as he makes love to you for the first time in too long.

You consider the different ways you’ve known him like this, in and out of bed. You would like to think you’ve had him in every way imaginable, but time and time again he shows you something new.

The way he’s fucking you now is immeasurably emotional and unspeakably adult. The juvenile fun of your yearly reunions is totally lost in the fervour of his movements against you, pressing into you with such seriousness that you’d ask him if he’s okay, if you had the room to come up for air.

“Want you so badly,” he groans sweetly over your shoulder, as he reaches to grab your thigh and pull your legs apart, placing his hand smoothly between them to slip against you without a single interruption to his thrusts.

“You don’t understand how much- how much.”

You always loved it when he ran his mouth, but even this was different. It wasn’t his usual filth. These were confessions, deep deep secrets he’s kept strapped down since the moment he let you go.

“There’s no one else I want like this. No one I have ever wanted like this. Fuck- you were the last thing I expected and the one thing I want more than anything. Anything.”

His fingers caress you so softly, totally unrushed in the way he wants to build you up and make you feel good. Combined with the heady pressure of his deep thrusts from behind, you find yourself in that space that feels akin to an out-of-body experience.

Where the building pleasure is the only thing you can focus on as your extremities feel increasingly irrelevant.

Where all you can focus on is you and him and the hot, wet, point where your bodies are meeting, again, and again, and again.

It’s such a contrast from the way you know he can fuck. You’ve seen him sweet, revelling in the repeated surprise of having access to the parts of yourself that you let only him see, but so infrequently, so much less than he’d like to see them. You’ve seen him sharp, too, taking you unrelentingly until you keen for him, pressing his thumb into the soft flesh of the inside of your cheek and pushing until you’re a garbled, withering mess. You’ve seen him tired, and angry, and even unrelenting, turning you over in his hands two, three, four times in a night.

But right now, he’s savouring you. He’s fucking you like you’re his wife.

The reverence of every movement is new and different and totally overwhelming. You compare it to the first time he ever touched you, to how grown up and alive it had made you feel, and you smile keenly at how far away this is from that. This is art. This is a fucking masterpiece.

You contemplate the way his form has changed, too. He’s so broad, so strong. His profession hangs on him in more ways than one, and the sun and sweat and physical demands of doing what he does display themselves in the firmness of his hands, the swell of his arms, and the irresistible stretch of his long, hot body. You could scream with the way you want to give yourself over to him.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do, fuck- nothing I wouldn’t say-”

“Javier-”

“Anything. I’d do anything you wanted me to.”

“Javi-”

“Turn over.”

It’s not really a request, it’s a warning as he grasps your hip and flips you onto your front.

He places a hand firmly on the small of your lower back to steady himself as he hovers over you and arranges himself with his legs on either side of your own, squeezing yours firmly together.

You feel the friction immediately as your thighs rub, but also the exposure as your sex is pushed clear to view, plush and ripe. Without hesitation Javi splits it tenderly with two fingers, pressing down, hard. It’s your favourite thing, being had this way. Everything feels so much more genuine when you know he’s pushing you as far as you can go.

“So good, too good for me,” he whispers, awestruck as he holds you entirely still between the points of his fingers inside you and the unyielding restriction of his thighs on either side of your own.

After pushing himself to the knuckle, and then some, he pulls his fingers all the way out to the tip and then begins his motion of thrusting back into you, achingly slow but devastatingly hard.

“Use it,” he commands when he feels you squirm against the mattress, directing the involuntary movement of your hips against the bedsheets, encouraging just the slightest motion that you can manage while pinned underneath him.

As you start to build momentum together, him pushing into you, you dragging against the cotton, he relaxes his grip on you and uses the hand on your hip to make your movements longer, harder, firmer.

In moments, you’re totally plaint and throwing yourself back into him, catching the most sensitive part of yourself on the sheet while he buries his knuckles in deep. The combination is immense, and as he holds you firm so you never stutter, you’re on the brink.

“Fuck,” you say simply as the feeling overtakes you, and you pour.

You feel it bubble over, wet, spilling over his hand, and you revel in how different it always feels to come like this. It’s something you reserve especially for him, because only he can get you to the place where you completely let go and unashamedly indulge in exactly what’s best for you.

And when you’re at your highest, riding the crest of it and revelling in the feeling of the warmth spreading down your legs, instead of bringing you down gently that’s when he pushes himself into you, hard and fast, resuming his earlier design to hold you so close, so tight, that you feel like the same person.

The oversensitivity, still throbbing, is set alight by the drag of him against you, so much more insistent than his fingers, and now so heightened after the way he just finished you off.

He pushes you over the edge again without hesitation, the ragged edge of the last one bleeding into another, and only then does he finally let himself follow, only when he knows he’s shown you exactly what he wants you to know.

As he collapses his body against your own, you pray that speaking the words aloud, confessing your love so directly, has solidified this unspoken thing between the two of you, a promise of something more that had never come to fruition, always just a touch outside of your collective grasp.

You sleep better than you have in months, your legs tangled in his, his breath only a fraction away from yours as you feel, for the first time in a while, whole again.

You’re forced to laugh when you discover just how wrong you are about everything.

Javi gets the call the next morning: Colombia, internal secondment, immediate promotion, indefinite timeframe.

It’s an order rather than a request. Things are heating up, and he’s one of the best they have. You don’t even discuss it.

You didn't know it then, but it would be six years before the two of you are home together again.

And just like that, everything had changed again.

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@furious-rogue-stuff

@athalien

@sara-alonso

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#narcos #pedro pascal #javier peña #young!javier peña #javi #pedrito #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #reader insert #female reader #javier peña x you #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #changes #javi x bug fanclub #bug x javi #javi peña #javi x bug #Spotify

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avintagekiss24 · 5 years ago

Text

SIGN ON THE LINE || STEVE ROGERS

PRETTY WOMAN AU

pairing: Escort!Steve Rogers x bisexual!black!reader ; minor pairing: escort! steve rogers x bisexual!black!reader x bisexual!natasha romanov || word count: 14,446 || warnings: smut, sex, rough sex, ass eating, butt stuff, oral sex (male & female receiving), rough oral sex (male receiving), vaginal fingering, face sitting/riding, 69, cockwarming, nipple play, consensual voyeurism, prostitution, daddy kink

authors note: right under the buzzer! this is for @allaboardthereadingrailroad marvel diversity challenge! my prompt was Pretty Woman AU. this is a pretty loose interpretation of the movie, but there are some similarities threaded throughout if you’re familiar with it. once again, a lot was inspired by @honeychicanawrites headcanons here, here, and here. there was also a black and white gif floating around of an animated woman, rubbing, sucking, and fucking her dude, but i lost the link! (i was gonna embed it, but i don’t want my post flagged). also, daily convos with @tropicalcap led to some of the filth. enjoy!

line divider by @firefly-graphics

The wine glass clinks against the porcelain of the bathroom counter as you set it down gently, backing up to eye yourself in the mirror. You push your box braids off your shoulders and twist your body, smoothing your manicured hands down your hips as you primp. Sliding your fingers underneath the thin band of your thong, you adjust it slightly, pulling them up on your hips before letting the material snap back to your body, cutting into your flesh. The Zodiac tights come next, wiggling your hips to pull the crystal embedded fishnets up your smooth legs and up over your behind.

You dig your hands into your bra, pushing your tits up so they sit a little higher in it and pucker your lips, adding a little more gloss. A deep buzz sounds throughout the bathroom, your phone illuminating as a text slides through.

In the lobby

A smile spreads across your face. You grab the fluffy, white hotel robe and shrug into it, tying a tight bow at your waist before arranging your hair again and bringing the glass of white wine to your lips to finish it off. The small bottle of Baccarat Rouge 540 is the last accessory you reach for— spritzing your neck and wrist, rubbing them together slowly to spread the sweet, floral aroma. Grabbing your phone, and the now empty wine glass, you move out of the bathroom and hit the light switch to cover the lavish room in darkness.

You’re wet already— tight muscles clamping around nothing as you pad back into your Presidential suite. Blood starts to race, skin heats up as your heart beat grows harder. You’re so fucking horny it hurts. Stomach is tight and knotted, your clit achy and sore— fingers not enough to quell the need. So you went out one night, found a sex shop, which isnt hard in the heart of L.A.; bought a pretty glass dildo and a diamond studed butt plug— even a pocket vibrator, but it wasn’t enough. You need the real thing, a big, hard, dripping, warm cock to put you out of your misery so you can focus on the reason you’re in L.A. in the first place.

“Oh girl,” Natasha winked, handing over an off white business card, “Having dick on retainer is a must.”

You flipped it over in your hand, your dark eyes skimming over the telephone number printed in the middle of the card, the initials S.G.R. scrawled out just underneath it, “Give him a call,” she winked, “He’ll keep you plenty occupied while you’re here.”

That was two days ago— over a business lunch when the VP of Operations and CEO of the company you’re trying to acquire stepped away from the table. You’d known Natasha Romanov for exactly one week at that point, but she knew the desperation of a woman going without— you're convinced she smelled it on you as soon as you walked into her office. It took her a few days to pry it out of you, but once she caught you discreetly making eyes at the waiter, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you in close.

You’re a woman of the world, you both realize and understand sex work is a valuable commodity, and champion it, for men and women alike. But you never honestly had to give it a second thought, you’ve always had options. A cute little black book that sits just inside of your nightstand, full of names that can satisfy your every mood.

Tony for a quickie when you’re buzzed and on the way to an event, Sam for a back breaking, fingers in your mouth, ‘call me daddy’ romp, sweet Bruce when you want it real nice and slow— somebody to love you just for the night. That little black book doesn’t help you in L.A., and you aren’t about to fly somebody out for a four hour layover.

There’s a rap at the door, three quick knocks, “Just one second.” you call sweetly, slipping into a pair of Giuseppe heels— your favorite Giuseppe heels.

You untie the belt around your waist and throw the robe over the back of the couch as you click towards the door, leaving you in your black, strapless bra, thin thong, and waist high tights. There’s really no need to be modest— you’re both adults. Turning the square, stainless steel door handle, you pull gently, throwing it open for the tall, blonde man leaning against the far wall. He stands up straight, blue eyes going wide as they drop down your body, pink lips quirking into a lopsided grin.

You spin on your heels and retreat back into the room slowly, hearing the door as it hitches when he catches it with his palm. Eyes are on your body as you switch your hips seductively, moving towards the minibar. You can’t help the smile that curls onto your lips.

“Would you like a drink, Mr. Rogers?” You purr, voice low and smooth.

“Steve’s fine,” his voice equally low, equally smooth, “What do you have?”

You hum, opening the small fridge and bending just slightly, poking out your ass, “Looks like Modelo, Vodka, Rum,” you point towards the ice bucket, a bottle of Dom Perignon resting in the chips, “Champagne. I also have some white wine.”

You glance back at him, your braids dangling over your shoulder, swinging gently with each little movement you make. Steven Grant Rogers is a sight for sore eyes— and a sore pussy. He’s tall and lean, chest and shoulders wide and broad, biceps thick. His waist is small, but it adds a little allure to his frame, giving him a little shape. He has a sense of style about him too, another tick in the ‘pro’ column for him. His suit is a simple one but it reeks of great expense. Black, slim fit, no tie. Crisp, white button down with the first couple of buttons undone. Black red bottoms, and a titanium, black faced Hublot watch.

Creed Aventus fills your nostrils as you breathe in and your muscles clench again. You like a man with lavish taste.

“Champagne, please. Not too much though, I don’t like to drink when I’m with a client.” Curious eyes follow you as you move towards the ice bucket, staying on you as you pour two flutes, “I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

“Misunderstandings?”

His thick fingers brush along yours as you step close, handing him the tall, thin flute. They’re soft, his fingers. He nods gently, clinking the rim of his glass with yours before he lifts it to his pink lips, licking them slowly, “Gotta keep a clear head.”

A sharp inhale of air fills your lungs; a sly smile tugs at your lips. Through hooded eyes, the two of you keep watch of the other as you both down the bubbly champagne. Your lips tingle as you rub the glass along your bottom lip, your eyes bouncing around his handsome, heavily bearded face. His eyes twinkle underneath the lights as they roam— down your chest and stomach, down your long legs— slowly. Drinking you in. Taking stock of each curve, each dip, each line.

His eyes snap back to yours suddenly, but they’re different. Hungry. Aggressive. You take another breath, holding it in your chest for a tick before you exhale and cross your legs, squeezing them tight.

He takes a step forward, closing the already small distance between the two of you to a mere inch, maybe even less than that. He drops his eyes again, his eyelids closing to slits, the dark, delicate, long eyelashes lining them splash out on his cheeks. He inhales deep, a small, thin hum vibrating in his throat as he’s filled with the sweetness of your perfume.

“Nervous?”

The word greets your ears softly, just as it left his pretty mouth. You lick your bottom lip and pull it between your teeth, chewing as your eyes bounce between his. He smiles, pushing his face closer so the tips of your noses touch. He rubs your noses together slowly, up along your bridge, and then the tips again, his smile growing.

“There’s no need to be nervous. We’ll take it real nice and slow, okay?” his voice steady and smooth, low and soft, “You’ve never done this before?”

Two mammoth hands push along your hips, slowly dragging up and down, up and down, up and down. You swallow, a pathetic tremble sounding in your throat that gets him to smile again, “It’s that obvious?”

He chuckles, “It’s okay, honey.” he answers, hands pushing over your ass, “I’ll get you warmed up.”

He squeezes your behind; you inhale again, your hands settling on his chest. Your body is moving, swaying gently back and forth at his insistence, his hands pushing up to the small of your back. Blue eyes stay on deep browns as his warm palm settles in the center of your back, holding you in his orbit. You start to rub his chest, feeling the bulk, the muscles of him— the thick. Your index finger drifts; drifts towards the open buttons of his shirt, playing with them; eyes settling on the sliver of skin and dark hair showing through.

A knuckle pushes just underneath your chin, pressing, pressing, pressing until your head, more importantly your mouth, is tilted up to his. Your eyelids instantly— instinctively— droop, lips part in wait, in want; in need. Hooded blue eyes gaze back at you, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“May I?”

Shudders ripple down your spine as reddened lips brush along yours, “Please.” It’s desperate— the way you ask.

Steve licks into you with his tongue, groaning a little when he sucks your top lip into his mouth. He pulls you in, right up against his hard body, your hands sliding over his shoulders and wrapping around his neck. This mouth is skilled— tongue slipping along your bottom lip and caressing your own. Not too rough, not too gentle, just enough to make you melt into him; to make you go a little limp in his arms.

He nibbles on your bottom lip, pulling softly until he lets go, letting it snap back to your face. A giggle bubbles up, filling the air surrounding you and you swear you feel his dick twitch.

“Feel better?”

You smile sweetly, pulling out of his grasp and sauntering towards your abandoned phone. Tapping into the short text stream with him, you snap your eyes back to him when his phone chimes seconds later. You watch as he digs it out of his pocket and another grin cracks his face as his cash app alerts him to the fifteen hundred deposited into his account.

“Does that answer your question?”

Those pretty white teeth of his dig into his bottom lip, trying and failing to hide the grin that’s been brought upon by your quick wit. He pulls his jacket off of his shoulders, tossing it over the back of the couch before ticking his head towards the bedroom, “Bed please.”

You do not hesitate. You pass by each other as you move towards the bedroom, him towards the ice bucket, plucking it from the table in the center of the room and turning on his heel to follow you. You toss your eyes over your shoulder as you flounce, hips switching again, heels clink, clink, clinking against the marble floor.

The lights of the bedroom rise automatically from the sudden motion in the room. You feel weightless as you fall onto the mattress hands first, crawling into the center of the king bed. His footsteps continue to sound as he enters behind you, setting the champagne bucket at the end of the bed as you prop against the headboard, drawing your legs up, swaying them back and forth slowly.

Steve keeps his eyes on you as he starts to pull on his cufflinks, unclipping the double knotted, sterling silver Tiffany & Co. accessories to free his arms. He rolls his sleeves up his forearms, revealing hair and thick veins— more flexing muscles. Blue eyes bounce between the task at hand and you, that soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips never wavering, never leaving. Foreplay at its best.

Once his forearms are free of the constricting material around them, he grabs the champagne bottle by the neck and plucks out a crystal flute, dropping his eyes from yours as he pours another glass. He moves around the side of the bed, champagne bottle in hand as he sits next to you, handing over the full glass. Lifting it to your lips, you snap your eyes to him when he tuts quickly, wagging that thick index finger back and forth.

Your mouth drops open, eyes go large as you watch him take a swig, right from the bottle. He then leans over you, pushing his index finger into your chin again, tilting your head up towards his. Warm, pink lips crowd your open mouth, his eyes closing gently, the cool, bubbly liquid slipping from his mouth right into yours. You sound— sweet, tiny, pitiful— as you swallow his offering, him kissing you quick after, not giving you time to reel from the intimacy of it.

He’s gone again, just as quickly as he came, heading back to the end of the bed. He knees onto the edge, large palms sliding over your bent knees, fingertips slipping down your calves, gripping and groping as they go. He drops one hand— right to his pants— sends his eyes back to yours as he pops the shiny button and unzips them at a snail's pace. Steve lets his pants hang open as he slides his hands down your thighs, all the way down to the juncture of your hips and legs, pushing his thumbs into the creases.

Steve pushes forward, forcing your legs open as he settles in, resting that hard, lean, strapping body on yours— kissing you again. Deep this time. Bruising. Tongue kneading yours, smacking and sucking your lips into his wet mouth. Moans, both his and yours, thrum and vibrate in your chests and throats. Your muscles clench again.

Lips and mouth are on the move— down your chin, nuzzling into the soft, sensitive crook of your neck. He licks, slow, before sucking the skin, finding that one little pesky spot that makes your hips jut up into his quick. He’s hard, and that makes you whimper again. You hold the champagne flute up high in your right hand, trying not to spill the contents as your hips start to roll, free hand wrapping around and digging into his thick bicep— but you aren’t so lucky. A few drops dribble from the glass and onto your chest, slipping down between your cleavage.

You shiver when his hot tongue slides between your tits to collect the cold droplets, his hands prying the silk material of your bra down. There’s a sound, a grunt, that cultivates deep in his throat at the sight of you, bare and wanton— nipples thick and perky. He slips his hands behind your back to unhook your bra, tossing it without a care to the floor once you’re free.

He inhales sharp, a hiss slipping through his teeth, “Fuck, these are beautiful.”

Your back arches up into his hands as he grabs your tits, squeezing gently, him moaning all the while. He thumbs your nipples before taking one into his warm mouth, tongue flicking and swirling, teeth grabbing. Your body jerks up into him, hips and chest, mouth falls open before your face twists in pleasure. He gives your other breast the same attention— kissing, licking, sucking before he ventures on, his fingers digging underneath the thin band of your tights and pulling gently.

Reddened lips follow his fingers, down your waist, down your hips, down your thighs, calves, ankles, toes until you’re free of the sheer garment. You sip on the bubbly champagne as his hot tongue pushes up the inside of your calf. Sweet kisses are pressed against the subtle curve of your knee, blue eyes through long, dark eyelashes on yours the whole while. Deep, stormy eyes— the kind of eyes that make you wanna think they’re only for you; aroused by you and you alone.

He draws that red bottom lip between his teeth, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, eyes twinkling with a bit of mischief as he nuzzles into your thigh. His fingers curl around the strings of your thong as his eyes dip quickly. You close your eyes and take another sip of your drink when he starts to pull, a soft smile of your own spreading on your face as he exposes you.

There’s fingers— suddenly. Softly. Rubbing. A low hum vibrating in his throat as he touches you. A soft moan slips from between your lips as your hips start to roll, meeting each pass of his digits. Your slick already; clit hypersensitive, almost pained from going so long without. His touch is experienced, slow and deliberate as he presses soft, warm kisses against your thigh, rubbing his bearded cheek against the delicate skin.

The tips of his fingers start to drift. Down, down, down, away from your nub and to your slit where he rubs— caresses— gently. Then they’re pushing, his fingers, index and middle, sinking into you deep, pulling a sharp gasp from you.

He smiles wide before pushing out a breath, “That’s a tight fit, honey baby.” he purrs before blowing softly onto your hot, wet cunt, “It’s been a while, huh?” his voice soft, fingers pumping slowly, “Yeah, it’s been a while. Look at you squeezing down on me, baby.”

Your body jerks when Steve presses his lips to your pussy. He hums as he kisses you again and again and again, before he flattens his tongue against your clit, rubbing gently. He sucks you into his mouth, his eyes closing, eyelashes spreading over his cheeks. Your thin fingers thread into his long, blonde hair, gripping and tugging as your hooded eyes watch his head bob left and right, up and down while he devours you.

Heat blooms in your chest and stomach as you take another sip of champagne and it settles in your belly. You rest your heavy head against the headboard, licking your lips as uncontrolled moans spill from your mouth. Another sharp gasp fills the room as a third finger slips into your eager body. You can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up in your chest, and the satisfied groan that follows.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?”

His voice is as smooth as silk, the deepness of it rattling your fragile bones, “This isn’t all that I wanted, but this is a good start, Mr. Rog—” you pant, words cut off as you lift your hips when he starts to hit that little spot, “Ah, fuck.”

“Mmmm,” he purrs again, “I know this isn’t all you wanted, greedy girl.” Greedy girl. Your cunt clenches at the words, “Oooh,” he smiles as sitting up a little when he feels you tighten, “You like that? Are you Daddy’s greedy girl?”

The champagne flute slips from your fingers, the liquid spilling over your chest and stomach, pooling in your belly button, “Uh oh,” he coos, slipping his tongue up your body, sucking up the spill with his lips as he goes, “Responsive little thing.”

He pulls his fingers from you, leaving you empty, causing a frustrated, childish grunt to rumble through your chest. Steve tuts at you again, although smiling all the while as he starts to work himself out of his shirt. You bite down into your bottom lip as you watch him, more and more of his buttery, tanned, smooth skin coming into view.

His chest is wide, thick with conditioned muscles. Dark hair is splashed across the pallet of his pecs, the little happy trail spreading out across his lower stomach. There’s a deep v carved into his hips— hard abs and biceps flex as he moves. His weight leaves the mattress as he stands and shoves his fingers into his pants, pushing them down sturdy, hairy thighs. Your eyes instantly fall to the dick print in his black Armani stretch boxer briefs. Fuck.

You slip your hand down your side, over your hip and right between your sticky folds, hissing gently as you start to rub yourself, impatient and needy.

“Good girl.” he praises, making your heart sing.

He drops his hand to his dick, squeezing himself as he smirks at you. What a fucking tease— but nonetheless, your pussy clenches around absolutely nothing from just the sight of him. Those fingers of his push underneath the stretchy band of his boxers and start to tug, slowly, slowly, slowly, exposing more and more of his wiry, dark hair and skin. You drag in a deep breath when his cock finally springs free, an impressive girth bouncing as the material pushes over it.

He steps out of his boxers and starts to stroke himself, long, slow drags of his hand up and down his shaft as he watches you dip your fingers into your pussy. You tilt your hips upward as you pump your fingers, the heel of your palm pressing against your clit. Your mouth falls open, your eyes flutter, air chokes up in your throat as you fuck yourself for him, enjoying his hungry eyes on all of you.

But when he’s had enough, he’s had enough. He falls onto his knees, his weight dipping into the mattress and inches towards you, pulling your hand away. His fingers replace yours, rubbing your clit, pushing through your folds, teasing your slit quickly before he slides his hands underneath your butt and pulls you down the bed. His fingers dance over your knees before he pushes them apart and your legs fall open, pussy on full display.

Steve falls over you, hands on either side of your head, as he leans downs and captures your lips again, kissing you sweetly. There’s a sharp taste on his lips and tongue— it's you. You lean into his kiss, deepening it with your tongue as you push your hips upward, shivering when the tip of his cock glances over your clit. Shivers wrack your body again, prompting him to laugh, “Okay greedy girl, okay.”

He pulls back, rolling his shoulders as he slips his fingers between your breasts. You reach for him too— raking your fingers down his chest and stomach as he starts to push at your opening. You grip his side, digging your nails into his thick skin as the head of his cock breaks into you. He slides, agonizingly slow, his long fingers wrapping around your throat as he disappears into you, his own mouth dropping open as you envelope him.

“Fuck,” he groans, letting his head fall as he pushes a breath out of his mouth, his grip around your neck tightening slightly, “You fit me like a glove, honey.”

You push your hips, urging him to move as you wrap your small hand around his wrist and push it up his long arm, stroking gently, “Come on, baby.” You murmur, using your head to push away from the mattress slightly.

“What’s that, honey?” he asks, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

You mewl, husky, hips still pushing up into his, “God— fuck me, Steve. Please.”

You push your hips down into the mattress, his dick drawing out of you just slightly. You thrust back up, pushing him back in, deep, before you pull back again— over and over and over. He watches the connection, watching himself disappear and then reappear as he squeezes your throat, a steady, gentle pressure. You keep a hold of his large wrist, gasping and whimpering as you fuck up onto him.

“That’s right, doll,” he whispers, “You fuck my dick, baby. I should be paying you, shouldn’t I?”

You roll your shoulders, moaning loud, “Please,” you beg— nearly cry, “Please, fuck me. Please!”

He thrusts into you hard— biting off the words in your throat. You squeak when he fucks into you again, your tits bouncing with the force.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, thrusting into you a third time, “Hmm? Is that what you want, honey?”

You nod quickly, your face breaking, a long, strangled noise spilling out of you as he pushes his hips into yours. He sets a bruising pace after the first teasing thrusts. Hard, fast pumps of his hips into yours, skin against skin, the sound bouncing off the walls. Wet, choked sounds squeak out from you as he keeps a hold of your throat, your small hands still wrapped around his wrist and forearm. You swallow hard, the pressure from his hand making it slightly difficult but the sheer power— or the restraint he shows despite his obvious strength— makes you want to melt into the mattress.

Steve leans down, licking into your mouth with his tongue as he fucks. He kisses you hard, releasing with a loud smack before he grabs your face and chin, squeezing your cheeks as he shakes your head back and forth gently, “Does that feel good, baby?” he taunts, his red, full lips brushing along yours, “Come on sweetness, don’t go all quiet on me now.”

“S’good,” you grunt, slamming your eyes closed, “Fu— ah! Fuck!”

“That’s right, girl. This is exactly what you needed.”

You’re hoisted up, right up into his lap, your legs curling around his sides. Not missing a beat, you start to bounce and rock freely, throwing your head back as you hang on to his broad shoulders. His large hand wraps around your throat again, but his fingers creep up over your chin, the tips pushing into your mouth. You hum as you suck on them, sucking the salt of your slick right off the pads of his fingers.

Your wet muscles squeak with each push of his cock. Quick, hot spurts of precum dribbling into you as his hips thrust to meet yours. His free hand grips your hips, hefty fingers pushing into your skin, helping you move. Your nipples brush along his chest, the gentle sensation sending flashes of heat and electricity through your body— shudders racing down your spine. The hand around your waist snakes up your back, his fingers playing with the ends of your braids.

He pulls gently, then backs off, mouth agape and eyes wide as they search your face, seemingly asking permission. He tugs again and you let him— your head falling back as your tongue pushes down the length of the index and middle fingers still shoved in your mouth. Your scalp prickles with pain as he pulls harder, craning your head back further, exposing your neck. A screech explodes from your lips when his pearly whites sink into the crook of your neck before he sucks hard, pulling blood to the surface.

Faltering hips, wet smacks, damp skin to damp skin— it’s all so filthy. So crude— but exactly what you’ve needed. His hands leave your hair, leave your mouth; one wraps around your throat and the other thumbs your nipple. He keeps his eyes on you as he hisses, his hips pushing, fingers tweaking, hand tightening to push you closer and closer towards a release. Your pitch heightens, your grunts and cries shaky and desperate as he eggs you on.

“You gonna come for me, sugar?” he asks sweetly, kissing you quick and hard, “It’s okay baby, you can let go. You’ve earned it, sweet girl. You’ve been such a good girl.”

A broken moan chokes in your throat. He ruts harder and faster, each thrust pushing deeper, touching that sweet, vulnerable spot until—

Red hot is the orgasm that ripples through you. You wail as it blooms across your flesh, your toes curling and fingers digging into his shoulders. He grabs your hips as you come, guiding you down onto his cock, and then helping you rock back and forth to drain every last drop of your release. His grip around your waist tightens, his own grunts growing louder before a burst of heat swells in your cunt.

Steve punctuates his spurts with deep, sharp thrusts, hissing and groaning with each one until he’s spent. He murmurs sweet nothings into your neck, hot breath sticking to your damp skin. Your limbs turn to liquid, your head fuzzy and warm as he guides you down to the mattress. He slips out of you, strings of silk following, trickling down your hot, trembly cunt. Sweet, soft lips press against your chest and stomach, over your hips and down your legs as large hands massage your thighs and calves.

A calm washes through you as your eyes grow heavy, your breaths getting deeper and longer as you melt into the soft mattress. You feel Steve moving around, crawling back up to where you are. A long arm slips over your stomach, pulls you close, right into his warm chest and stomach. His beard and lips brush over your temple and cheek, soft fingertips run up and down your arm, pretty epithets lulling you into a gentle sleep.

You’re just as sweet as sugar, honey baby. Such a good girl.

~~~

You roll your shoulders as you shift, eyes fluttering as you start to wake. It takes a few long seconds before your eyes adjust, the room lights having long since dimmed. The moon is high in the jet black sky as bright stars smatter across the canvas. You're still cocooned underneath a heavy arm and crushed against a burly chest, a soft smile spreading on your face as he snores gently.

3:12am flashes on the digital clock on the nightstand as you feel him roll away from you in his sleep, rolling over onto his side, exposing his wide back. Your fingers instantly glance over his smooth skin, skimming down his spine before they curl over his bicep. You should have been sated, but there’s another pull— deep in your belly; still eager, still wanting. Closing the distance between your bodies, you push your bare breasts into his back as you slide your hand underneath the sheets and down his chest and stomach.

You push up onto your elbow and thread your fingers into his dirty blonde hair as your other fingers brush over his soft cock. You wrap your small hand around him and stroke him gently, right from his stomach to the tip of his pretty dick, your palm sweeping over his cockhead and slit. Another smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as he stirs after a few minutes but doesn’t fully wake; just pushes his hips languidly into your hand.

His deep breathing soon turns shallow and choppy, soft moans scratching at the back of his throat but he never opens his eyes. Warm droplets of precum bubble from his slit and you brush the pads of your fingers over the wetness, dragging it back down his quickly hardening shaft. You rile him up, make his cock rigid and angry before you pull on his hip, rolling him over onto his back.

You throw your leg over his body and settle on top of him, ass up, lips mere inches from his hot sex. In one fell swoop, you follow your hand down his cock with your mouth, his hips jerking softly from the wet warmth surrounding him. Humming, you flatten your tongue along him, the tip tracing the thick vein that runs the length of his shaft. You bob your head up and down, sucking and swirling your tongue over his tip, teasing his slit as more drops of salt-sweet cum dribble on your tongue.

Steve’s hands slither up your thighs, grab your ass and squeeze as you suck him off, his hips jutting upward into your velvet mouth. Your mouth goes slack, your eyes fluttering when he slips two fingers into your wet cunt. He fingers you slow, his thumb pressing against your asshole as you start to writhe, rolling your hips against his hard abs to massage your clit.

You pull off of him, your hand still moving up and down, squeezing him as you pucker your lips— letting them gently brush against his cock. His hips rock up into your hand, his moans growing louder by the minute, deep gasps and sighs making his chest tighten underneath your body.

“Goddamn, baby,” his voice low and groggy from sleep.

Your muscles clench around his fingers as they delve and prod, his thumb pushing and circling your warm rim. A hot breath and a quick groan push out between your teeth, his dick jumping in your hand as the air tickles his skin. You swallow him again, taking every inch, relaxing your throat to accommodate him as you bury your face in the dark blonde hair at his groin.

Steve curls his fingers, lightly scratching at your insides, making you clamp down on them, squeezing them tight; holding them in.

Steve shifts underneath you, sucking in a sharp breath, “Get up here, baby. I wanna taste you.”

The sound of his voice rattles through you. His words still slurred with sleep, voice husky. You oblige, wanting his beard between your legs once more, sweeping along the inside of your thighs. You clamor up to him, straddling his face, your thighs closing in on either side of his head. Steve flattens his head on the pillow underneath him and opens his mouth, pushing his tongue out in anticipation of you.

You push your hips forward, rolling your cunt over his lips and tongue. Your head falls back, jaw goes slack as you start to ride his face, his tongue pushing through your sticky, puffy folds with ease. A wet noise fills the room— both his tongue and lips smacking and sucking on your messy flesh. Your hand finds his cock again, your fingers fondling his tip and that pulsing vein.

A chorus of whimpers and whines, quick gasps and deep growls roll through your chest as you grab his hair, pulling his face— if it’s possible— even closer to your cunt. Steve's face is flushed red in the moonlight. He balls the sheets in his hands as he flicks the tip of his tongue against you before he sucks your folds and clit into his mouth, his head shaking gently back and forth. He only releases you to drag in quick, wet breaths before closing back in on you, humming and moaning.

A soft burn spreads through your thighs as you canter your hips, using his chin and nose, along with his tongue and mouth to cop a feel. You’re close again, hips jerking with unexpectancy, your core also starting to burn as your body strains with its need.

Steve isn’t done with you yet. He rearranges you quickly, lifting you right off of him. Your knees sink into the mattress as he grabs your wrists and flattens your hands flat on the headboard.

He fucks into you from behind, not wasting a second in setting a brisk pace. He holds your hips in his hands, fingers digging into your skin as you drop your head, your braids swinging. Your tits bounce with his thrusts, your head knocking into the velvet headboard as you hold yourself up against it. Steve’s hips and balls slap against your ass as he gruffly pulls you back into him. A hand curls around your hip and travels up to your tits, grabbing your nipple between his index finger and thumb to tweak and pull and roll the thick nub.

You’re panting again, cursing and howling as your stomach tightens and your heart leaps, heat rippling through you. A quick sweat pops up on your brow, goosebumps prickle up along your body as your toes start to curl again. Steve’s hips are relentless, driving, driving, driving hard, his girth filling every inch that you have to offer. His fingers start to prod your asshole again, pushing gently against your rim as it constricts and relaxes.

It doesn’t take much. The soft pads of his fingers against your rim, and one, two, three more strokes of his hips and you’re gone. Your mind going blank as your orgasm rushes. Steve fucks you right through it, dropping a hand to your clit as it jumps with the contractions of your cunt. He teases it— your clit— slapping and rubbing quick circles as your walls squeeze around him, finally coaxing him to come again.

You decide that you like the way it feels when he comes inside of you. His silk ribbons coating your squeaky muscles. You collapse against the mattress after your release washes through you. Steve falls beside you, rolling over onto his back and flattening his hand in the middle of his chest as he catches his breath.

“Gettin’ your money’s worth, huh?”

You dissolve into laughter, pushing your face into the blankets as you lay on your stomach, “I am a shrewd businesswoman, Mr. Rogers.”

“You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

~~~

“It’s a financial risk, for sure,” you reiterate, hands shoved into the pockets of your slim fit pants, your suit jacket open, “But I assure you, we can turn this company around. Carter & Danvers hasn’t had an acquisition fail in over thirty years. I will personally oversee this transition through— until it’s turning a profit.”

All eyes are on you in the boardroom as Hank Prym, CEO and pain in the ass that just won’t sign the goddamn contract, of Lang & Prym Inc. stares back at you, fingers threaded over his lips. For whatever reason, he doesn’t trust you or anything that you have to say, despite the fact that within six months— or less— his company will have to file bankruptcy. Natasha Romanov, CFO of Lang & Prym, sits to his left, green eyes sliding between his and yours. Her delicate fingers play with the pen between them, rolling it slowly as she tosses her short, red hair.

“Mr. Prym,” she starts, “We have to do something. We aren’t going to last much longer without their help. I crunched the numbers for you multiple times.”

He shakes his head slowly, his dark eyes glancing off towards the windows, “We have time, right?”

“We do,” Natasha nods, “But—“

“I’m not ready to sign yet. Not yet,” he stands, and everyone else placed around the table follows his lead. He moves around the table and up to where you are, extending his hand and shaking yours gently, “You’re good, but I’m just not ready yet.”

You smile softly, tapping the back of his hand with your free one, “That’s alright, this is tough, I realize that.”

“I’m glad they sent you instead of that Wade Wilson,” he chuckles, “How long are you in town for?”

“Indefinitely. Until you sign with us, Mr. Prym, I’m a Los Angelean.”

“Well,” he starts, taking a step towards the door, “Have Natasha show you around town. She knows this little taco place that’s to die for.”

You toss your eyes towards Natasha as she approaches and wink, “I’ll take her up on that. She’s already given me a tip or two about the lays of the land.”

You shake hands with the rest of the board members as they exit the room, finally leaving you and the smirking redhead alone. There may be a little underlying tension between you and her, you aren’t entirely sure yet, but you know that her eyes tend to linger on your frame just a tad longer than they should— not that you mind the extra attention, especially from someone as effortlessly attractive as she is.

Her arms are crossed over her chest as she sits on the edge of the mahogany table. A tight, black pencil skirt accentuates her shapely hips and long legs. A red satin blouse, unbuttoned strategically to show off her soft, pretty, full breasts.

“You’re looking a little more lively today.” Her silk smooth voice floats towards you, making you smile, “You gave my pal a call, eh?”

A devilish smile curls on your lips as you push your hands back into your pockets, “He was worth every fucking cent.”

“Glad to hear it.” She winks, and pushes away from the table, her manicured fingers reaching for your tie. She steps in close as she drags her hand down the length of the skinny tie, her big eyes following, “Maybe the three of us can get dinner sometime, hmm?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, “You just name the time and place, Ms. Romanov.”

She hums approvingly before smoothing down your tie and turning on her heel, clicking out of the boardroom with her file folders in hand.

You plop down in the chair behind your open laptop, exiting out of your powerpoint and bringing up your email. You work for a while, but your mind drifts, back to the night before, back to one Steve Rogers. Broad shoulders, smooth skin, sweet, pretty mouth… soon, the thoughts keep you from working. Soon, you’re leaning back in your chair, your fingers playing with your bottom lip as you sway gently back and forth.

You slide your phone out of your pocket and thumb through your messages, landing on his number. Tapping the screen, you stand and bring it to your ear as you take a few steps towards the windows, your eyes scanning over the city as the phone rings.

“Back so soon?”

You can’t help the smile that spreads on your face as his warm voice fills your ears, “You make it hard to stay away, I must admit. How are you, I’m not disturbing you am I? I mean, you’re probably a busy man.”

He laughs, a warm, deep laugh and your body tightens “I do take breaks, you know.” You giggle, a sudden nervous energy filling you, which is strange. You usually have no problem asking for things you want, “Don’t get all shy on me now, girl.”

“God,” you scoff, tittering again, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Come on, I thought we were passed all this? Do I need to come over there and help you relax again?”

Muscles you weren’t even sure you had, clench tight, “Are you free tonight, Mr. Rogers?”

“You know, I like that. All that Mr. Rogers stuff,” You hear him moving around, then a deep exhale, “I wish I were, doll, but I’ve got a date. Dinner and a function.”

You click your tongue, your shoulders dropping as a quick flash of disappointment washes through you. It doesn’t last long, the disappointment— hell, you make deals for a living, “I’ll double whatever she’s paying you.”

“Oooh,” he purrs, “Jealous, baby?”

“Not jealous,” you point out, “I just don’t like to wait, and I don’t like to lose. It’s not in my nature.”

“That’s very flattering, but I can’t do that. I have a reputation in this city.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I’m sure you do.”

“I do! I can’t cancel on such short notice.”

“Then meet me for dessert.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” He laughs earnestly, “Listen, I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

You cover your face with your hand, laughing again, “Oh my god,” you sigh, “Well, fuck. I’ll get with Natasha and see if she can recommend another option for the evening...”

You hear him shuffle through the phone again, another deep sigh pushing out of his nose. He’s quiet for a beat as you tap your index finger against the edge of your phone, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Let me get back to you a little later tonight, alright? You and Ms. Romanov behave over there.”

“I told you I was shrewd.”

“You sure did. Wait up for me, babe.”

You smile big, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “Will do.”

~~~

His knock sounds through the hotel room, making you tear your eyes from your laptop. You finish your email before pushing away from the small table and padding towards the door, your lace, burgundy kimono flailing with the air. You pull open the door and step to the side instinctively as Steve traipses through the threshold. You let it close with a soft click before you lean against it, crossing your legs and tilting your head as you find two crystal blue eyes on you.

The two of you blink at each other, eyes traveling over one anothers frames. He shrugs out of his black velvet jacket and tosses it over the back of the couch before he starts on his cufflinks. You watch in silence as he rolls up his sleeves, one by one, exposing his forearms just how you like— all veins and hair. His biceps bulge in the white button down, chest rippling underneath his black vest. He keeps flipping his eyes towards you, peeking through those lashes as he smiles.

He beckons you with his index finger and without hesitation, you’re moving towards him, pushing away from the door with your hands. Once you’re within range, he reaches for you, wrapping his long arm around your waist to pull you into him. Laughter bubbles up in your chest as you crash against him, his lips capturing yours in a flurry of kisses.

His hands push over your ass, squeezing your flesh before his palms push up and down your hips, “You look beautiful.” He says softly, his eyes drifting down your matching burgundy and navy bra and panties

You toss your braids over your shoulder before placing your hands back on his chest, “Thank you. How was your dinner?”

“Filling,” he smiles, “But I left room for dessert.”

“Well,” you start, pulling out of his grasp and moving back towards the table, “Hopefully you like chocolate.”

You spin on the balls of your feet to face him again, holding up a small plate with a large piece of chocolate cake. You smile as he laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he steps up to you, leaning down just a tad to take a whiff of the freshly baked German chocolate cake. He opens his mouth, flicking those big blue eyes up to yours again, waiting patiently. You pluck the fork that’s dug into the spongy cake and cut off a small piece before placing it at his lips.

He takes it slowly, keeping his eyes on you as he slides his tongue along the bottom of the fork, sucking the cake into his mouth. He chews it carefully, closing his eyes as he hums in satisfaction, licking his lips, “That is good.”

You pop a piece into your mouth, agreeing with his sentiments, “Mmhmm, this is really good.”

Cutting off another piece, you slide it into your mouth, closing your eyes and moaning again. You feel his gaze, drifting down your chest and stomach, down your legs and then back up again. It feels nice— having his full attention. You don’t intend to go without it for the rest of your stay in L.A. While waiting for him, you came up with the perfect solution— your greatest deal yet.

With a gentle flutter, your eyes are open again, finding his staring back into yours. A flush of red seeps into his cheeks and lips, down his neck as his eyes drop to your chest quickly.

“Something the matter?” You ask coolly.

He shakes his head slowly, sucking his teeth, “Rethinking my decision to have dinner, that’s all.”

A smile quirks onto your lips, “A man has to eat, Mr. Rogers.”

“I can survive on chocolate cake and champagne.”

“Not for too long; unless…” your words drift away with ease as you step away from him again, grabbing your phone and heading towards the bedroom.

The soft click of his Christian Loubotin slip ons against the marble floor greets your ears as he follows. You point the fork towards your champagne glass still sitting on the table but keep walking, passing through the threshold of the sprawling bedroom and plopping onto the equally big bed. He enters moments later, hands full of a champagne glass and bottle. The mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge, right next to you, where he watches you chew on another piece of the rich cake intently, his gaze only leaving to top off the bubbly, golden liquid.

Steve waits until you pause to pass the square champagne flute your way, thick fingers brushing along your thin, manicured ones. That strong gaze stays on you as you sip, a lopsided grin pinching his cheek, slow blinks until you hand the flute back and cut into the cake once more.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

He clears his throat at your sudden aloof demeanor, “Don’t be coy, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

He laughs, “Maybe a spanking will help rejog your memory.”

You cut your eyes towards him, inhaling sharply at the notion, “Do you charge extra for that?”

“Only for naughty girls.”

“Let me grab my purse, then.”

You throw your legs over the side of the bed to stand playfully, but he catches your calf with his palm and gently rearranges you on the bed. He takes the fork from your fingers and digs it into the half eaten cake before bringing it to your lips.

“Answer me, please.”

You accept his offering slowly as your body constricts at the firm tone of his voice. You bat your eyes while you chew before slipping your hand down his wrist and forearm, stroking gently, “I was just thinking that you could possibly survive off of chocolate and champagne if that someone indulging you is also offering other vital nutrients.”

His eyes squint as he goes for another piece of cake, this time eating the bite himself, “Ah,” he says after a minute or two, his eyes towards the ceiling as he works it over in his mind, “You’re saying you’d also like to be my dinner.”

“Precisely. I mean, it doesn’t really make sense to leave one restaurant after the main course just to go to another for dessert.”

“It is timely; and, as you know, my time is extremely valuable.” He nods slowly, “My clients are a demanding bunch.”

You smile, “And don’t like to share.”

Steve pushes in close, brushing his lips against yours just to tease. He drops his face and nuzzles into you, the soft hair of his beard caressing the sensitive flesh of your neck before his lips start to nip and nibble.

“So you are jealous.”

The husky fullness of his voice sends a targeted missile to your core— your heart skipping a beat as the air freezes in your lungs. The feeling sinks right to your bones. A devilish hand slips along your bare stomach and around your hip to squeeze, before pulling you closer. A pink, velvet tongue presses against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, sliding up to your ear before he plants gentle, gentle kisses.

“How are we going to solve this problem?” He whispers, teeth nibbling at your earlobe.

“Mmm,” you hum, “Maybe we should talk when you aren’t so full. I’m a woman of class— I don’t eat leftovers.” Your sentence ends in a whisper as you lean up and get right next to his ear.

His chuckle is deep, vibrating through you. He takes a breath, his chest puffing up, straining his shirt and vest before he pushes it out slowly, “I still have two hands and a mouth.”

“I don’t know where those have been either.”

“Well then why don’t you give me a bath? That way you can be assured I’m clean.” He stands, extending his hand towards you, “Maybe I can work up a second appetite.”

Steve whisks you into the bathroom, only dropping your hand to start the bath. You lean against the long counter, crossing your legs as you watch him undress. He takes his time of course, flicking those eyes up at you every now and again as he sheds the rest of his Tom Ford suit, taking the time to fold it up and set it aside. Your eyes can’t help but drift, down that chest and hard stomach, over the smattering of coarse, dark blonde hair at his lower stomach, right to his thick, long cock.

“I usually make clients pay before letting them ogle me,” he winks, “You’re getting a freebie. Come.” He beckons again, curling his index finger towards you.

“Oh?” you purr, pushing away from the counter and sauntering to him, “Why am I so lucky to get such a perk?”

Steve inhales deep again as he slides his hands underneath your kimono at the shoulders, pushing it right off, “I like you.”

“You barely know me.”

He spins you around, fingers unhooking your bra before he crushes his chest to your back, “I have a feeling that’s going to change.” He whispers, pressing his cheek against yours as he stares at you through the mirror.

He pushes his hands over your hips, fingers curling around the strings of your thong, slipping it down your thighs. He bends to lift each leg, pulling the undergarment from you and tossing it atop his pile of clothes. A large hand encases yours and moves you to the edge of the tub, keeping a tight hold as you step into the hot water.

“My phone, please?” you ask sweetly as you settle down, resting your back against the porcelain.

Steve disappears momentarily only to return with your phone and another flute of champagne. He sits the items on the edge of the tub and slips into the opposite end, grabbing your feet and placing them against his chest. He lifts your right leg and starts pressing his thumbs into the bottom of your foot, rubbing firm circles, smiling slowly when you moan. Grabbing your phone, you thumb through your music before Prince fills the bathroom.

“I thought I was supposed to give you a bath?”

“We’ll get to that,” he says easily, lifting your toes to his lips, kissing them softly, “I want to hear this plan of yours.”

You pull your foot from his grasp and reach for your loofah and shower gel before pulling on his wrist to get him to move towards you. Steve slides between your legs as you separate them, wrapping them around his waist as he lays against your chest. You dip the loofah into the water, letting it soak it up before you squeeze it over his chest. A smile and a laugh bubble from you when you start to wash his chest as low groans rumble through his chest.

You push him up to sweep the soap over his shoulders and back, admiring the smooth canvas of tanned skin. He relaxes easy, muscles cooling and calming under your fingers, his breaths getting deep and long. The length of his body captivates you as you push the sudsy loofah over his bicep and down his arm, not able to reach his wrist without straining.

“You alright back there?”

“Shut up,” another giggle pushes through your lips, “You know, my legs are forty four inches from hip to toe, so that means you have eighty eight inches wrapped around you right now and you’re still longer than I am.” You kiss the tiny spot just underneath his ear, “Your mama fed you well.”

“She was a good woman, my mama. Hell of a cook.”

“Was?”

He sighs deeply as he runs his hands up and down your legs, “She died, a few years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, “That’s the meaning of life, right? You live, you love, you lose. I was lucky to have been able to take care of her until the end, some people don’t get that.” He tips his head up to yours, his eyes searching your face, “But that’s enough about me. How was your day?”

“Long,” you smile, anchoring your left hand in the middle of his chest as you continue to push the loofah around his body, “I couldn’t close my deal, so it looks like I’ll be in Los Angeles indefinitely.”

“We’re not that bad, you’ll fit right in.”

“You’re not a Los Angelean,” you tease, poking him gently, “I can hear that Brooklyn in you, no matter how hard you try to hide it.”

His laughter fills the bathroom, making you smile wide. It’s a nice sound, his laugh. It’s also nice knowing you can pull such a genuine response from him— the slight distance he’s worked so hard to build over the years slowly starting to slip away.

“I miss New York sometimes. I haven’t been back since—” he cuts the words off, but you know what he was going to say. He clears his throat, visibly catching himself slipping and tenses, trying to regain his control, “I’m sure this news has something to do with you wanting to be my dinner and dessert?”

“Yes, so,” you start, clearing your throat as well, “If it isn’t obvious, I quite enjoyed my night with you, and I’m sure you’ve picked up on the fact that I hate to share.”

“Only child, huh?”

“Shush,” you slap at him, “I don’t want to have to wait my turn for you, and I’m much too active, if you catch my drift, to go days between having you.”

He nods slowly, “I’m with you.”

“I’ll have business dinners and such, actually I’m attending a polo match on Saturday and I um, well, I’d like you to be… mine… while I’m here. Be at my every beck and call.” You click your tongue, “You know, like an employee of sorts.”

You peer at the side of his face as he sucks his teeth, nodding slowly, hands still dragging along and squeezing your legs, “That’s an idea, isn’t it?” he turns his head towards you, “You’re a very attractive woman, you could have anybody you want, for free. Ms. Romanov to start.”

“She talks about me?” you gasp, giggling a little, biting your lip, “But I can’t flaunt her around the way I want to, we’re technically working together, imagine if HR gets a whiff. No, I’d like a professional, although if you don’t mind, we could invite Ms. Romanov over to play every now and again.”

“Whew,” Steve chuckles, pecking your lips quickly, “I like the sound of that. Well, if you’re talking indefinitely, it’s gonna cost ya.”

You nod, “Of course. We’re both business people, we can work this out.”

He pulls in another breath, blinking towards the opposite walls, “That sounds lovely, and I’m flattered but,”

“Steve,” you whine, “Come on, you’re not even thinking about it.”

“I have dates lined up already.”

“Cancel them.”

“I can’t do that,” you scoff, “I can’t! Once you head back to New York, I’ll be the one dealing with a horde of angry women— if they’ll even want to see me again!”

“Okay,” you cut him off, “I’ll let you finish out your week. How’s that? Then, starting Saturday, you’re mine until my deal is closed.”

“That could be a month, or more.”

“It could be a day,” you shrug, “Name your price, I’ll pay it either way.” He grows silent, “The uncertainty makes you the real winner here.”

You walk your fingers up and down his chest, nuzzling against his cheek and wet beard as he thinks it over, “Let’s do some math,” you say after a while, grabbing your phone, “You charge fifteen hundred a night, right?”

“Yeah, but you want twenty four hours a day, and you want to show me off like some boy-toy,” he smiles, wiggling his eyebrows, “Price goes up.”

“Say it.”

He knocks his head around a few times, “Twelve thousand a week.”

“Fifteen hundred times seven is ten thousand and change, and even so, that alludes to you having a date every night of the week— which I doubt. Try again.”

“Fine, nine.”

“Five thousand a week,” you counter, “And I’ll pop for dinner on nights I don’t have a business engagement.”

“Eight thousand and I won’t charge you for threesomes with Ms. Romanov, which, I can easily talk her into.”

You laugh, “That’s not fair, we’ll both be enjoying those threesomes with Natasha. Six thousand, threesomes included,” you wink playfully, “You can stay here while I’m at work, and you can use up my thousand dollars a day per diem. The hotel has a spa, a gym, a world renowned five star chef in the twenty four hour restaurant— you can book a masseuse everyday for god sakes.”

Steve sucks his teeth, “Seventy five hundred.”

“Sixty five hundred.”

He smiles, “Seven thousand. You pay upfront, every Monday, and no refunds— no matter when your deal closes.”

You grab your phone, flipping over to your cash app. His phone vibrates in his pant pocket as you turn the face towards him, the seventy five hundred dollar transaction still lighting up the screen.

“A tip?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at the extra money.

“For humoring me. We got a deal, Mr. Rogers?”

He stands, water falling off his body as he steps out and grabs one of the fluffy, white towels, “Let’s fuck on it.”

You smile wide.

“You know,” he starts, wrapping your shoulders with the towel as you stand, “I would have stayed for five.”

You wiggle your eyebrows, “I would have paid twelve.”

~~~

It’s been a little over a week since your deal with Steve was struck, and the two of you have fallen into quite a lovely little routine. You’ve already gotten used to falling asleep on his chest, his long arms wrapped around your middle. Waking up at random times in the night to find him rutting into you softly, his warm breath on the back of your neck, hot lips pressed against your shoulder, fingers digging into your hips.

The two of you get along well— having dinner together every night, laughing and talking aimlessly whether it’s down in the restaurant or curled up on the couch, you in Steve’s lap as a random show plays in the distance (not that you’re ever paying attention to it). He’s a charmer, becoming an instant hit with the businessmen and women at the polo match and business dinner you were invited to. He looks good on your arm, and you like having him there.

Waking up with Steve is also fun. You currently stand in the bathroom, brushing your teeth as CNN plays in the embedded TV in the long mirror. There’s a shift in the reflection of the bed, Steve rolling over and letting out a deep sigh as he drifts back to sleep. Blinking back towards yourself, you glance down at your phone, tapping it to illuminate the time. You’ve got a few minutes to spare.

You rinse your mouth quickly and pad back into the bedroom, pulling the white sheets away from his naked body. The mattress dips under your knees as you climb onto it and place your hands on his thighs, raking your painted fingernails down his flesh. You knead the muscles, squeezing gently as you massage each thigh, working your way up from his knees. Within minutes, he’s growing, cock twitching before towering up, the light from the bathroom helping cast its shadow over his stomach.

There’s a quick sound from him, a half grunt, half moan, and you can’t help but smile— you’ve learned he’s a light sleeper. You sink your warm mouth over the head of his cock, your tongue swishing and teasing his slit. He gasps, and it sends a quick shiver down your spine, your pussy constricting as you push down his length, taking him all in.

You only bob your head a few times before his hips start to join in, pushing up into your mouth gently. Soft little moans choke up in his throat. Breaths hitching before he squeaks, his body twitching with each pass of your tongue. Hums vibrate through his throat and chest as he licks his lips and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip— a deep red flushing through his fair skin.

Each tiny sound from him, long hisses, desperate pants, quick, sharp whines as you work him over, sends jolts through your own body, your pussy wet and achy, stomach tight. But you have an early Zoom meeting, and time is slipping away. You reach for his hands and place them on your head as you slow down, giving him a clear signal.

He slips one of his hands down your cheek, rubbing his thumb gently against your skin to get you to peek up at him. You nod quickly, and not a second goes by before he grabs a handful of your braids and fucks hard up into your awaiting mouth. You moan with him as he forces your head down with his hands, his hard, long cock slipping down your throat.

Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks, spit and cum bubbling out of your mouth as he fucks your face. Steve leans up to watch you take him, his hips still grinding hard.

“Tha’s right, baby,” he slurs, pushing out heavy breaths, “You take my cock so good, baby. That’s s’good, sugar. That mouth is so fucking pretty around my cock.”

Your heart leaps in your chest at his praise, the stroking of your ego making your body clench. You keep your nails dug into his thighs as he fucks into your messy mouth, lips flushed red, swollen and slippery. Steve whines loud, his octave high, the sound bitten off and broken as he slams his head back on the pillow, his mouth falling open. His hips pulse as he nearly cries, your scalp burning as he grips your head and hair.

You fight the urge to touch yourself, wanting to keep the delicious ache with you throughout the day. Steve lifts his head to make eye contact with you again, his face strained and broken as he whimpers, “Fuck, I’m gonna co— ,” he groans, loud and drawn-out, “That mouth is perfect. Ugh, I’m gonna paint that pretty mouth with my cum, baby— ah!”

He freezes suddenly and then pushes his hips upward, pushing his rigid cock deep before he spills, your warm, rough, pink tongue helping to coax him. He slams his head back down on the pillow, chest and muscles tense hard as each pass of his orgasm grows stronger, his spurts long and hot.

When his hips stop thrusting, he softens into the mattress, his limbs damn near liquid. His eyes flutter as he drags in deep, ragged, audible breaths, each one shaky and wet. You clean him up with your tongue, bobbing your head again, gripping his hips as filthy little noises and sweet cries squeak out of his throat. His body jerking and jutting. Once you’re finished, you kiss his tummy and smile before pushing off the bed.

“Where you goin’?” he mumbles, reaching for you as move back into the bathroom, “Hey, come’re”

You spin around to wink at him before closing the door a little to finish getting ready for your day.

“That’s not fair,” he shouts, making you giggle, “Fuck.”

~~~

One Zoom meeting turns into two, turns into three and beyond. You jot down notes, shaking your head slightly in agreement as you grab your phone, calculating a few numbers before you recite them for the rest of the group. It’s kind of amazing how you all deal with millions of dollars like it’s absolutely nothing.

You’ve had your nose so stuck in your laptop and phone all morning, you haven’t had a chance to pay any attention to the tall blonde traipsing around the place, shooting you little looks and quick smiles as you work, in hopes to garner a glance. It hasn’t worked so far; until now that is, as he saunters out of the bedroom after his trip to the gym and a late shower, chest bare, grey sweats hanging low on his lips.

Water still beads on his shoulders, a few strays slipping down his pecs into the dark hair that covers his chest. You cut your eyes towards him and slide them with him as he moves into the dining area, watching as he bends over to pluck a bottle of water out of the mini fridge. He stands back tall, rolling his broad shoulders a bit before he tips his head and guzzles the cool liquid, Adam's apple bobbing.

“Hello? You still with us?”

You snap your eyes back towards your laptop, a smirking Natasha Romanov staring back at you, “Sorry, I think my, uh, connection got a little wonky,” you lie, sending your eyes quickly back towards the chuckling Steve, “What were you saying, Ms. Romanov?”

“Scott Lang, our other CEO is flying in next week from Chicago, he wants to set a meeting with you but was wondering if you could carve out sometime to call him beforehand. He just wants a run down of the numbers you’re proposing.”

“Sure, I’ll pencil him into my schedule later today, if that’s okay? Around three?”

Natasha taps on your phone, “Perfect, looks like he’s free. Mr. Prym also would like to see you and Mr. Parker again to go over the construction plans of the possible new building.”

“Okay,” you nod, turning your attention to your phone to text Peter, “I’ll get back to you whenever Peter shoots me his schedule. He’s kinda busy though, so it might not be until next week.”

“That’s alright.” she answers absentmindedly, “Clint? Do you have anything for her?”

“Nope, I’m good I think.” The short blonde says.

“Nick? Wanda?”

After a chorus of no’s, you all say your goodbyes before you end the call, returning to your notebook, forgetting all about the burly man stalking towards you. Your phone buzzes, and you grab it up, skimming over Peter’s text message before you respond quickly, setting up a quick call with him for the following day and asking him to share his calendar with you. A soft ding sounds from your computer and you’re immediately turning back towards it, bouncing slightly when a weight pushes into the couch next to you.

The taps of the keys on your keyboard are followed by the swoosh of your outbound email before you grab your pen and start scribbling again. A constantly buzzing phone, more taps, more swooshes, and your gentle, random hums are all sounds you’re used to; not so much your sudden roomie. He’s bored and slightly annoyed by your snubs all morning— also wanting a little payback for your shenanigans so early in the morning.

You haven’t even noticed that he’s now completely naked.

You lean up a little, squinting as you study the growth chart on your screen, your fingers playing with your bottom lip as your mind crunches the information. A gasp fills your chest as you’re lifted from your spot and settled right onto his lap. Before you can protest, he shimmies the short shorts covering your lower half down your thighs and over your knees, and pushes your white satin panties to the side.

Steve sweeps your box braids over your shoulder as the head of his cock pushes through your folds. You feel his eyes on the side of your face, that soft beard brushing against your jaw as he rocks his hips slowly, teasing your clit and opening with his dick. He grazes his fingers over your thighs before he cups your hot sex in his palm and uses his fingers to spread you open.

With a firm press, he slips inside of you, pushing until he bottoms out. He wiggles his hips, just so you can feel him moving inside of you before he grabs your laptop and places it back in your lap, “Don’t let me disturb you.”

You squirm on top of him, your hips rolling slightly as he starts to play with your clit, rubbing slow circles against your soft, wet skin. Your mind is blank as you stare at the computer screen, breath light and choppy, body tightening around his rigid cock. You want him to move, to thrust up into you real nice and slow while he thumbs and pulls at your nipple, breathing hot, hushed words into your ear. Trying to coax him, you wiggle again, pushing down onto him but he doesn’t relent— he just turns on the tv and settles back into the couch, throwing his arm over the back like you’re not even sitting on his dick right now.

He continues to rub your clit lazily, keeping his eyes on Sports Center as your body tenses every now and again, tiny, needy moans vibrating your vocal chords. You try to focus on the numbers and emails in front of you, but your mind is mush— a dull ache throbbing in the pit of your stomach, your teased clit starting to sting from his gentle pressure.

Natasha’s name flashes across your laptop, sending a sudden strike of fear through you, heart dropping to your feet, “Steve—”

“Answer it,” he says gently, “I’ll be quiet.”

“She’ll see you!” You hiss.

He just chuckles in return, “Not if you stay still, she won’t. Answer it.”

Your fingers tremble over the mouse pad, the arrow hovering over the accept button. Steve reaches around and taps the button before relaxing back into the couch, sinking lower into it as Natasha’s smiling face pops up on your screen.

“Hi,” she greets happily, her chin in her palm, a pair of red, thick rimmed glasses over her eyes, “Are you busy?”

“Um,” you start, clearing your throat as your voice quivers, “Not, um, not really. What’s, uh, what’s—” you grunt when Steve finally thrusts into you.

Natasha’s eyes squint as she tilts her head, “You okay?”

Smiling quickly, you nod, “Yeah, sorry. What’s up? Does Mr. Prym need something else from me?”

“Oh, no, this isn’t work related.” She laughs lightly, “We’ve missed each other in the office this past week, I was just wondering if you were doing okay, see how L.A. is treating you.”

Steve shifts underneath you, pushing his hips hard. You tense hard, muscles quivering around him as you dig your nails into his thigh, trying to muffle the squeak that rises in your throat.

“It’s great,” you strain— high pitched and shaky, “It’s um, I l-like it here.”

“Have you seen Steve lately?”

Your eyes widen when Steve snakes his free hand up to your chest, grabbing a handful of your left tit. You turn the laptop away from you quickly as Steve leans up, resting his chin on your shoulder, another deep rumble of laughter falling from his lips.

He centers the screen on the two of you again, kissing your shoulder as Natasha feins shock, “She’s seen quite a bit of me lately.”

Embarrassment flushes through you— heat rising in your cheeks, but Steve rolls his hips slowly and jossles you on his lap and you can’t help but sound, a wet little whimper as he thumbs your nipple underneath your shirt, “S-Steve.”

“It’s okay honey,” he whispers, kissing your jaw, his eyes cutting back towards the laptop as Natasha leans back in her chair, teeth dug into her bottom lip as a pretty pink blush blooms across her cheeks, “Little Natasha has a voyeur kink,” he pushes his mouth right next to your ear, his octave dropping, “She loves watching me fuck pretty girls like you,” he lifts your top up, exposing your see-through bra as he turns his attention back to the screen, “Don’t you, baby?”

“Are you fucking her right now?” Natasha breathes, her voice thick and deep, “I wanna see.”

Steve sets the laptop on the glass table in front of you, pushing it back until your lower halves are exposed— his cock rooted deep in your cunt. You hear Natasha groan, watch as she starts to drag the pads of her fingers across her chest as she sways gently back and forth in her swivel chair.

“Does she feel good, Steve?” She asks.

“Oh,” Steve purrs, lifting your bra slowly so your tits fall out one by one, bouncing softly, “She is so tight, Nat. So warm. You’d fall in love with this pussy.”

You fall back against his chest, turning your head slightly to nuzzle into the side of his face as he gropes your tits in his massive hands, squeezing hard as he pinches your nipples between his index fingers and thumbs. Languid thrusts start to push you up and down, the fingers on your pussy spreading you open for Natasha as she stands, wiggling her hips to hike her skirt up.

She sits back in her chair and lifts her left leg, resting her foot against the edge of her desk. Her thin fingers push through her slick, wet folds as she watches Steve fuck you slow, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth. You open your eyes just enough to watch her unbutton her blouse, slipping her hand in to pull her left breast out, exposing her pierced, pink nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan quick, before hissing as Steve pushes in and out, humming soft as he starts to let it go to his head, “You’ve been hiding those from me.”

“You can see them in person soon,” she purrs, her head falling back on the chair as she pushes two fingers into her cunt, “I can’t wait to feel your tongue on my tits.”

You tense at her words, Steve cursing as your muscles squeeze around him. He bites down on your shoulder as he starts to fuck into you faster. He rolls your nipples in his fingers as the sound of your skin slapping against his gets louder— sharper. Natasha blinks slowly through hooded eyes, her sweet mouth falling open as her hips buck, one hand slapping at her reddened clit and puffy, slick folds, the other pumping in her slit.

A shudder races up your spine— hips jerk unexpectedly, digging down into Steve’s, “Sugar’s getting close, Nat,” he breathes, sliding his hand back to your clit, “God, I wish you could feel how tight she’s squeezing me. Hear how wet she is?”

You should be embarrassed; how spread open you are, the wet, filthy squeaks and squishes of your cunt as he ruts into you. But watching Natasha as she fucks herself to you, hearing her mewl and curse, her fair, smooth skin blushing red while she loses herself. It’s all obscene. Sleazy; but that’s why you like it.

“Oh, make her come, Steve,” Natasha groans, her tongue slipping out to lick at her nipple, “I want to see that pussy quiver.”

Steve wraps his arm around your middle, holding you tight, breathing into your ear as his hips go into overdrive. He fucks into you fast and hard, bouncing you on his lap. He shoves his fingers into your mouth, hissing and groaning as you suck them. The sweet whimpers and whines of Natasha make you shiver, the sight of her hips thrashing and the sun glinting off of the diamond studded bar nipple rings accenting her perfect tits, send you right over the edge.

You throw your head back as your orgasm blooms, spreading through your veins like fire. You whail as you slam your eyes shut, Steve dropping his wet fingers to slap your cunt, teasing your clit as it jumps with contractions.

“Oh, God, yes,” Natasha pants, her fingers rubbing quick, hard circles against her clit, hips pulsing, “Yeah, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna... come, baby— you’re so fucking perfect, sweet girl.”

“You are perfect, honey,” Steve moans into your ear as wave after wave of your orgasm washes over you, “That tight pussy feels so good around me. So sweet— that’s why I call you honey.” He wraps his fingers around your neck, “You want me to come in her, Nat? Huh? You wanna see my hot cum spilling out of her?”

“Yes!” She cries, hunched over as she thrashes her hand back and forth, her mouth hanging, “Yes, Steve.”

As if on cue, he grunts deep, his cock jumping as he starts to spurt. He keeps a tight grip around your neck as he fucks hard with each spit, the hot ribbons coating your slick muscles. He pulls out of you unceremoniously, cantering your hips to give Natasha the full view of his silk dribbling out of you, your spasming, tight cunt pushing it out.

Natasha comes hard, her moans growing louder and higher as the coil finally snaps. Her tits tremble with the aftershocks, her hips jutting upward randomly as she creams. Her fingers slow as her eyes close, her head tilts back and resting against the back of her swivel chair as she licks her lips. Deep, smooth breathes swelling her chest as her hips come to rest.

Steve kisses you deep— tongue pushing into your wet warmth to massage the roof of your mouth. He sucks on your top lip, smacks on you loud as he palms your thighs before kneading gently. Smiling against his lips, you let your body go limp; melt right into his burly chest and stomach, his cock resting against your balmy, used, sticky cunt.

“Goodness, me,” Natasha purrs, a sated, soft smile on her lips, “That was sweet. We really need to get together now.” She laughs.

You giggle, pushing your fingers into Steve’s hair, “Steve let me work threesomes into his base price, so you’re welcome any time, babe.”

“Oh, he did, did he? That’s not fair Steven Grant, you nickel and dime the shit out of me.”

Steve shrugs, “What can I say, she’s a better business woman than you.”

“I can see that. I hate to come and run, but I need to freshen up. I have a meeting with Hank in a half hour. Maybe we can all have dinner Friday night?”

“I’ll make reservations. The restaurant in the hotel is fabulous.”

She winks, her lips curled in a smile, “Text me.”

The connection ends and you fall back into Steve’s chest, brushing your cheek against his, “Now that your debauchery has ended, can I get back to work now?” you laugh.

“Nope,” he answers quickly, slapping your laptop shut and lifting you with him as he stands, “It’s lunch time.”

“Steve,” you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you back into the bedroom, “I have so much to do. I’m waiting for the architect to call me back, I have a presentation I have to put together—”

“Numbers to crunch, businesses to buy, blah, blah, blah,” he drops you onto the mattress and grabs the menu from the nightstand before plopping down next to you, “They got sushi today, yummy.”

Work becomes an afterthought. You and Steve lay in your nakedness, eating slowly as you stare at each other, rogue fingers reaching out and sliding along hips and arms and tummies. Lingering blue eyes skip along your face and body, his deep laugh rattling every bone, every muscle, every vein you possess. He opens up a little more, talking aimlessly about he and Natasha’s friendship, how they met through his friend, and fellow escort Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky,” you lay on your back, leg bent at the knee as it sways back and forth slowly, Steve curled around you, “Even his name is kinky.”

He nuzzles into your neck, exhaling deep as he rests his eyes. His long arm is slung over your chest, legs tangled with yours, “He’s a good guy. I might let you meet him one day.”

“Might?”

“I don’t want him stealing you away from me.”

The words hang over you like a cloud. You blink slowly up at the ceiling as they, the words, swirl around you, filling your chest and head. Maybe you’re thinking too much into it, putting too much weight on them. He probably says this to all of his clients while in a post sex haze. You’re being silly, you don’t even know this man… but you want to.

That scares you.

After only a week, you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. What started out as just needing some company every now and again, has turned into looking forward to seeing him after work. Not being able to wait until you're across a dinner table from him, being squeezed against his body while in the tub, not wanting to pry yourself out of his arms in the morning. There was a time where you thought nothing of work— buying, selling, making money, climbing the corporate ladder— you ate and breathed your work.

Now?

All you want to do is eat sushi and nap the days away, with Steven Grant Rogers wrapped around you like a blanket.

~~~

Steve glances over his shoulder at your sleeping body as he sits on the edge of the bed. He stands slowly, running his hand through his hair as he moves towards the double doors and out onto the balcony. Night is falling over L.A., the sky dark as the moon and stars start to shine through. He leans over the concrete columns as he thumbs through his phone, casting his eyes out over the streets as he taps on a name.

“Steve,” a deep voice says, “Shit, I thought you died, man. Where have you been?”

“Sorry Buck, I’ve been with a client all week.”

“All week? Wow, big spender.”

“She’s from New York, in town on business.”

“That sounds fuckin’ awesome. Where are you?”

“The Waldorf Astoria, Presidential suite.” Steve turns, tilting his head as he watches you sleep.

“Oh, shit! You lucky bastard!”

Steve continues to stare at you, blinking slowly as you roll over onto your side, “You know, she hasn’t been out on the balcony once since she’s been here,” He says absentmindedly, nibbling on his bottom lip, “She’s afraid of heights.”

“O-kay?” Bucky chuckles as he draws out the word, slightly confused, “Why do you sound so sad? What’s going on?”

“I’m breaking rule number one.” Steve answers softly, dropping his head.

“Steve,” Bucky warns, his octave dropping.

“I don’t want her to go.” Steve answers softly, “I’m— fuck, I think I’m falling for her, Buck.”

~~~

Your phone vibrates softly against the couch, illuminating in the darkness as a text from Natasha slides in.

Good news! Hank’s ready to sign the deal first thing tomorrow morning!

#marveldiversitychallenge #steve rogers #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #you x steve rogers #reader x steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve x you #you x steve #avintagekiss24

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wedreamedlove · 4 years ago

Photo

Xu Mo vs. Mo Yi [Character Study]

I can never get over the aesthetic of these two pictures placed side by side LOL. But, anyway, the point of this post is to nip any undue comparisons in the bud and claims of copying organize my thoughts and compare these two characters to highlight their similarities, differences, and further explore each character through these contrasts.

Q) If you like Xu Mo, would you like Mo Yi?

Honestly, I think this depends on what you like most about Xu Mo. I already knew beforehand that I gravitate towards characters who think 5 steps ahead, are predominantly logical, and scholars/gentlemen, so it’s not surprising I bias both Xu Mo and Mo Yi.

However, as I got to know Mo Yi further (Themis is around 6 months old now), I find that he’s distinctively different from Xu Mo on three crucial points that’ll determine whether people from either camp will like the other character.

1) Stance on Others

In a post for Xu Mo, “Into Your World”, I argued that Xu Mo is an alienated genius who had troubles getting along with others, until he mastered the social game as an adult. However, you can still see glimpses of this as he tries to understand MC’s world and shares his own.

To be fair, Mo Yi’s past is still under wraps but I feel confident in saying that, while he was probably highly intelligent compared to his peers [SR Sculpted Heart], his isolation doesn’t seem to come from his innate nature but rather his social position (there’s heavy implications that he’s like some sort of noble or something) [SR Snowy Pine Fairytale].

IMO, these backgrounds really shaped the way these two men interact with the world.

Xu Mo has a detached and indifferent view towards other people. They simply exist and don’t bring anything positive or negative to him. His ambition to ensure the survival of humanity reflects this too because it’s pure utilitarianism; everyone (apart from MC) can be sacrificed equally for the greater good. If anything, he probably finds other people to be interesting subjects to study, no matter what kind of person they are. IIRC the only time he expressed dislike to people, or a group of people, was when he told Hades he enjoyed killing thieves LOL.

Meanwhile, Mo Yi has an elitist streak to the point where he and his MC actually clashed opinions and debated each other [SR Warm Fingertips]. It’s incredibly ironic because he’s a psychiatrist who treats his patients without judgment, but at the same time he looks down on so many things and people (PUAs, people who betray love, hypocrites who only seek power and fame) [Ch2; Personal Story Ch1-3; SSR Moonlit Ball].

One of the things I noticed early on is that Xu Mo draws from the Eastern scholar archetype, “Xu Mo Character Study”, while Mo Yi actually draws more from the Western gentleman archetype.

So, just to summarize this section, Xu Mo is detached from the world naturally and likes to observe people and try to blend in. Mo Yi deliberately draws a line between him and others and, at times, has the casual cruelty of someone born as nobility (arrogance is carved into his bones, even if he tends to keep it low-key because he generally has a “gentle and polite” attitude).

2) Stance on Love

Xu Mo didn’t understand love, or really even emotions. Love is grown between him and his MC (there’s multiple analogies throughout the game about how their love is like a seed). I think [Ch25] pretty much sums it up for Xu Mo, where he goes through that emotional rollercoaster and muses about how, at the end of human evolution, emotions should be discarded. He also admits that MC taught him the “fear” of a normal person, because now he has someone he cannot give up no matter what, which goes against his previous utilitarian beliefs.

Compared to this, Mo Yi fell in love at first sight. Yes, you read that right. The “scientist and logical” archetype fell in love at first sight LOL. Not only does he acknowledge it right off the bat, but he fully embraces it too and believes that real love makes people better versions of themselves [Personal Story]. Mo Yi is a through and through psychiatrist in that he never underestimates how primal emotions (and love) can be.

Heck, not only is this central to his personal story, but we also have hints that one of Mo Yi’s parents fell in love at first sight with the other person (and he inherited their predisposition for that). Unfortunately, their love had a tragic end and Mo Yi seems to have a huge grudge against his father for whatever happened to his mother (again, Mihoyo is keeping this a mystery LOL), but Mo Yi explicitly confirms that even if his love leads to a tragic end he will still walk down this road and attempt to change it [SR Cool Summer].

IMO one other difference between them re: love is this exchange that lives rent free in my head which I saw in a Xu Mo/Reader/Mo Yi fanfiction LOL. Bear with me here.

Mo Yi: Wearing a mask for a long time will tire you.

Xu Mo: It’s enough just to wear one in front of the necessary person.

Xu Mo and his MC make great efforts to understand each other’s worlds, but this understanding comes from the doors he chooses to open to her. He reveals himself as much as possible, but I think he’s an inherently private person (and there’s all that Ares stuff) so there are times where he hides things so that he doesn’t worry his MC. I think this is enough to count as a “mask”. Sometimes he pretends he’s okay when he’s not.

On the other hand, while I think Mo Yi shares the sentiment in not wanting his MC to worry unduly, he tries to reveal himself as much as possible. There’s an amazingly relatable conflict in him here where he wants her to know every side of him, but he’s also terrified of how she’ll react if he shows her his ugliest sides and imperfect sides (he has some sort of phobia or fear about imperfection, but Mihoyo has been keeping mum on the exact details of this so far) [Personal Story; SR Sculpted Heart].

It’s pretty ironic that Mo Yi wants to be perfect, but he realizes that the more perfect he is the more of a sense of distance there’ll be between him and his MC because of the subconscious pressure someone “perfect” brings LOL [SSR Border of Light and Darkness].

3) Stance on Growth

If you haven’t realized that one of Xu Mo’s greatest themes is the phrase “Take your time in growing”, then what have you been reading? Jkjk, but seriously this gets repeated in multiple places, although my brain always goes back to [Blossom Date] for this.

Even if he and his MC start off with fundamental differences (she believes all people have inherent worth and can’t be involuntarily sacrificed), he wants to personally watch the journey of her maturation. He also subtly guides and teaches her. Unfortunately, due to circumstances of the main story, he doesn’t get his wish and she grows up a lot out of his eyes, but their relationship still revolves around him wanting her to have as much time as possible to grow.

He’s, for a lack of better word, extremely gentle about this (setting aside as much of the Ares and story parts as we can, because LovePro’s story is tragedy on tragedy LOL). I think [Autumn Blaze Date] shows a good analogy for this, because he holds the bicycle steady for MC until she can get going on her own, and he also catches her the first time.

Meanwhile, Mo Yi... ha ha ha. I just came out of chapter 3 for his [Personal Story] and let’s just say his philosophy is tough love. It’s ironic because, in many of his other dates, he wrestles with an internal conflict to protect his MC but also to let her experience all sorts of things to both test and temper her.

This is going to touch on the previous topic about love for a moment, but a part of Mo Yi’s love at first sight experience is also “testing” the other person through all sorts of situations and, after seeing all their different sides, he can determine whether his love at first sight is one that’ll last for the rest of his life or if it’s just a fleeting moment of beauty and emotion.

He also extremely respects his MC’s sense of justice and pursuit of the truth in the world, no matter what she encounters, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this is what drew him to her in the first place. But MC’s occupation and beliefs will make her confront a lot of dark and dangerous things and so, whenever possible, Mo Yi lets her confront these in “controlled” situations to train her. If I had to make an analogy, IMO, he’d let his MC ride the bicycle and pick her up only after she falls, or when she’s like 0.1cm away from the ground LOL.

Mo Yi is (perhaps rightfully) called out on this by another character, who believes Mo Yi is too arrogant in believing everything is under his control and he can prevent MC from getting hurt whenever he lets her get into dangerous situations, and I’m interested to see if Mihoyo will let him experience failures with his philosophy so he can grow more, like the things Xu Mo went through re: his personal beliefs [Ch24].

Overall

I don’t know how well I explained myself, especially for people who don’t know anything about Mo Yi, and each section goes back and forth between the two characters LOL so here’s another section that attempts to describe their overall atmosphere.

If, like I said in my Headcanon Notes, Xu Mo makes me immediately think of all the words for soft, gentle, light, still, water, etc etc., then the words I constantly think about for Mo Yi is messily human. He’s like a bundle of contradictions, but coherent because it’s being intentionally done.

Mo Yi doesn’t discriminate against his patients, yet he can be elitist and looks down on others. He wants to let MC have dangerous experiences, but also wants to protect her. He wants to be perfect, but he also wants to reveal himself entirely to his MC because that’s real love.

In contrast, Xu Mo has a very clean and orderly personality LOL. You can draw clear cause and effect lines from his personality to his actions.

So, anyway, these are two interesting characters who start off with similar archetypes as scientific logical men of scholar/gentleman dispositions, but yet they’re also on opposite ends for a lot of things such as their approach to emotions and the world.

Oh wait, lastly, because I don’t have a good place to put this—but I think it’s funny—is that both characters are pretty possessive and greedy, but while Xu Mo does things in a sneaky, cunning and fox-like way Mo Yi gets ridiculously open about his jealousy and it’s hilariously cute but also almost childish? I often forget Mo Yi is older than Xu Mo by a year, because Xu Mo honestly feels a bit more mature than him LOL. If we count them actually aging by when their game came out though, then Mo Yi is 28 and Xu Mo is 29 now.

#mr love queen's choice #tears of themis #mlqc xu mo #mlqc lucien #wdsjb mo yi #love and producer #weiding shijian bu #mlqc #love and produc(ing) meta #tears of meta

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kuroosweakness · 4 years ago

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Lia, your Kuroo headcanon are literally the only thing keeping me sane right now. He’s such a comfort character of mine. Before I really got into Haikyuu and started it, I thought Kuroo was super cute. Then I saw his personality and he was the second character I fell in love with. Here’s some headcanons for your service :)

If you drink coffee or tea, he has the way you make it down to an art. He knows exactly how you like it, but somehow his is better. He’s doesn’t add or lessen anything, he claims it’s because it’s made with love (he’s so cheesy I swear)

I firmly believe he quotes pride and prejudice. He’ll recite the iconic love confession from the movie at the most random times. One time it was while you were in the bathroom, he has no shame

If he notices you’re listening to a certain song over and over, he’ll add it to his secret playlist named after you

I think he would coordinate outfits. Instead of matching, it’d be opposite. For example, you’re wearing green pants and a brown shirt, Kuroo has on brown pants and a green shirt (this also applies to attending parties post timeskip, he 100% subtly matches you)

He actually knows how to do laundry, and if you’re busy or out of your shared apartment he’ll clean, fold, and put away your clothes. It’s something simple that he enjoys doing, and he knows it’ll help

When you’re stressed over school/work, he always brings you hot tea (or your favorite drink, Kuroo prefers un-caffeinated drinks at night) and gives you a kiss on the temple. I’m talking, lips on your temple for a GOOD 5 seconds before he deems it good enough to step away. He’ll also drape a blanket across your shoulders, even if it isn’t cold

He steals your stuff, you steal his. It’s only fair.

Kenma bought Kuroo a rooster plushie as a joke, but it was actually super cute so he kept it. Kuroo then buys an animal plushie that reminded him of you. You keep the rooster, and he keeps your animal when you’re away. Yes, even as full grown married adults he brings the plushie to business trips

I feel like Kuroo would want to wear an engagement ring too, everyone would assume he’s married because men don’t typically wear them; he likes that it’s unconventional, but a good kind

Always touching you when you sleep. Canonly he sleeps with two pillows smooshing his head, but he’ll keep an arm extended that’s loosely around you. Or he’ll have your butts touching, or his leg against your leg etc. (personally, I like my sleeping headcanon of Kuroo because it incorporates how he legitimately sleeps. But if you need it, he’ll 100% hold you or cuddle you however you want)

I feel like he’d want to shower with you. After dating for a long time, he’ll be a little stiff but eventually he loves it. He’ll come up behind you, wraps his arms around you and put his chin on your shoulder. Sometimes he’ll play music, he’ll serenade you with the periodic table song and other love classics like “can’t take my eyes off you”

He reads to you, he’s sitting against the headboard with you laying between his legs. Back against his chest, lowly speaking into your ear. He also LOVES when you read to him. Depending on your sitting situation, the cuddling positions will differ. But he’s always in front of you

“Everybody talks” reminds me of him. This song was playing when I was in the car with my friend, windows down, sunny gorgeous day. You guys would dance and sing to this together, it’d play at your wedding

His love for you NEVER falters. No matter what age you started dating, his eyes are always filled to the brim and exploding with love and admiration

I WENT NUTS IM SO SORRY THEY JUST KEPT COMING. CAN YOU TELL IM IN LOVE WITH THIS MAN SO BADLY. ANWAYS HAVE A GREAT DAY/NIGHT I LOVE YOUR WRITING YOURE REALLY COOL :)

OMG !! LOOK AT ALL THESE HEADCANONS 😭 (i just know i’ll come back and reread while being all giddy :’D thank you so so much for sending and typing these out, ur my savior <33

ahhhh i thought kuroo was an okay side-character at first but now here i am, making my whole blog dedicated around him lmaoo

“made with love” HE WOULD BE THE CHEESIEST GUY EVER (not that anyone’s complaining, of course)

omgg him quoting pride and prejudice??? lemme collective my heart jdkslfkjdf “in the bathroom” he has zero shame lmaoo

him making a whole playlist dedicated to you :(( and when he hasn’t heard you listen to a song in a while, he’ll be like “remember when you used to listen to...”

COORDINATED OUTFITS >>>

YES YES YES

him helping you out with chores :’ he’s so genuine and sweet i swear-

make it more than 5 seconds pretty pls <33 (thanks for the scenario that’ll run in my head everytime i study now-)

equality. sharing is caring.

OMG THE PLUSHIE PART !!!!! 😫🥺 pls your headcanons are making me so happy yet sad at the same time- what are these strong emotions i’m feeling :’

him wearing his engagement ring >>>>>>>> (and so everytime he looks at his hand, it’s a small pleasant reminder of you)

showers with him would be so light-hearted and intimate :’ IMAGINE HIM SHAMPOOING YOUR HAIR bye-

yes, pls serenade us <3

touching when asleep next to each other!!!!! pls he would lay his whole leg on you and not claim to be responsible when you wake up half numb-

i love your headcanon too!!!! incorporating canon stuff into headcanons >>> you can link pinkies with him when sleeping <3

him reading to you while cuddling D: words can’t describe how jealous i am of y/n

OMG YES EVERYBODY TALKS DEFINITELY GIVES OFF KUROO VIBES pls he would dance and sing with you in front of the bathroom mirror for hours :’

IT’S YOUR HAPPY SONG!

and now my heart feels really warm and fuzzy :’ i want to hop straight to bed for these scenarios to pop up in my dream. again, thank you so much for sending all these in, I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM (and am jealous of every single one of them) if you have more, pls pls send them in at ANY TIME of the day !!

i hope you have the best day >:( and make sure to take care of yourself! <3

#lia misses kuroo #lia convos

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zodiyack · 5 years ago

Text

Hope

Requested by @writerdream22: Could I request an Ivar The Boneless drabble (or gif imagine, whichever you find the most comfortable writing) with the prompt #08“People can do worse things than kill you.”? In the scenario, the reader ( a shieldmaden/ healer) is betrothed to Ivar but her choice isn't seen as the right one by the people in Kattegat, and they make it clear for her to know. One day, the reader is clearly not feeling ok so Ivar asks her what's wrong, and she lets all her feelings out.

Pairing: Ivar ‘The Boneless’ Ragnarsson x Female!Shieldmaiden!Reader

Prompt(s): [8] “People can do worse things than kill you”

Warnings: Angst, fluff, swearing?

Words: 1,241

Summary: (See Request)

Note: I think it’s established that I’m cringe at writing threats n stuff

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @youbloodymadgenius, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow

Masterlist | Vikings Masterlist

Previously a shieldmaiden, Y/n knew the feeling of war, of loss, of hurt, but the feeling of safety was the one she knew how to decipher strongly. Constantly being aware of her surroundings was her life until now. She felt ready to die until now.

Betrothed to the love of their life, one could feel invincible. That’s how Y/n felt now. The battles faded from her dreams and the shield had been put on the wall to rest. Feeling highly aware of her company no longer, she felt safe. She felt she’d found a home for the first time in years. Kattegat was the town, Ivar was her home.

As a youngling, she’d pictured a happy family with a strong and loving man. Then, when she was introduced to shieldmaidens as a teen, her dreams changed. But as an adult who’d followed through with their dream, she was reminded of the one she’d tossed aside. And like that, she had two dreams.

Ivar was a hard person to miss, and his face was hard to forget. Not just for his disability, nor the words spoken of him, but for Y/n’s attraction to him. While others saw a cripple, she saw Ivar. While others saw a monster, she saw a king.

Soon, she confessed her attraction. “I’m interested in you...Ivar.”

“Why?”

She almost cackled at his innocent response. He’d probably asked that of her because of the townsfolk, yet she didn’t believe a single word they spoke. “I just am. I was taken away by your beauty and luckily my heart agreed with me.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you?” They shared a small chuckle and a gaze that wouldn’t be their last. Since then, secret glances and smirks were passed between the two, secret until the day he’d swore his heart to her and they were betrothed.

They announced their betrothal together, and although the people cheered, they looked about as interested as a child did in schooling. Deep in her heart, Y/n knew something was wrong. She leaned into Ivar’s side and clenched his hand that rested in her grip, smiling reassuringly when he looked to her with concern. But she wasn’t as calm as she seemed.

One day in the town, a man made his comment known to the future-queen. “I would not be so eager if I were you, miss. That man deserves no more love than his father. A laughing stock.” It made no sense. Sure the brothers spoke of their father with just as much negativity, Bjorn excused, but Kattegat was used to Ragnar as far as she knew. Frankly, she didn’t know much about him.

“But you’re not me.” The man nodded at her point then shrugged to show his lack of care. “I’m a shieldmaiden. I’ve seen gore and felt pain, believe me, I can handle myself.”

He chortled mockingly. “Not for long.”

“Just what exactly are you implying?”

“The cripple. He’ll mess up sooner or later, and you’ll be the proof.”

Her tone was stern yet her voice cracked on the verge of sorrow. “Ivar has never hurt me.” She tried to turn, walk away and ignore the rudeness of the stranger.

“Sure, he hasn’t. Yet.” She hurriedly paced away with anger and fear coursing through her body. The man’s cackles from behind her were unnerving. They sent goosebumps crawling over her skin. “He deserves no love! Especially not yours, queenie!”

As much as she’d hoped it was, that wasn’t only the time the people of Kattegat let her in on their disliking of their betrothal. It happened over and over again, always when Ivar was not present with her. Recognizing the pattern, she began to have Ivar go with her whenever she had places to be. She thought she’d successfully evaded the appalling run-ins. However, when Ivar left her for a split second, the heinous meetings she’d forgotten about had returned.

“Be warned, shieldmaiden. If you don’t call it off, we’ll spare you a life with the crippled freak ourselves.” And just as ominously as they’d appeared, they disappeared. No words were exchanged aside from their warning. A chill shivered down Y/n’s back and she swore she forgot how to breathe until Ivar was next to her, by her side once again.

Y/n was too nervous to tell Ivar, but then again, there was no need. He could see how nervous she was. The whole kingdom could. From the way she never seemed to be mentally present, to the how quick she was to jump at the littlest of things, as well as how concerned about her surroundings she became. It wasn’t until a week before their wedding that Ivar managed to get it out of her.

“You carry your weapon everywhere with you, despite me having my own. What is bothering you, my love?” He tried to gain her attention, but she continued to to avoid his tender eyes. “Do you not trust me?”

His genuine confusion startled her as she shook her head rapidly. Her distrust was announced in bold print, hence her sword being on her hip daily. She was not one to shy away from setting a boundary...apart from this one time. Ivar was one of the few she actually trusted, it hurt that he didn’t know that, that he thought the opposite.

She wept into his chest, wetting his clothes with her sorrow. His hand brushed up and down her back in a comforting manor but her sadness nipped at his curiosity. Y/n explained the events that always seemed follow her when she was in her lonesome. She ranted about the fear that overwhelmed her, carrying it like Atlas carries his burden, the weight of the world on his shoulders equal to the weight now resting on her own.

“Do you agree with them?” The soft tone of his voice held the same worry as it did when he inquired his place in her trust.

Her head snapped up, ensnaring his gaze with her own. “Of course not!”

“Then why listen? It is up to us whether we let their words hold power over us, and if you truly love me, if you truly want to be with me- ...Don’t let them put a gap between us.” His forehead rested against hers as he whispered.

“But...Ivar...they would do anything to stop us from being wed. Even kill me...or you.”

“People can do worse things than kill you.”

She knew he wasn’t talking about her, but simply stating a fact. After all, he was a cripple, and people talk. People talk the worst of things. Those words, the rumors, they all affected him much more than death ever could.

The situations clicked in her mind. The things that happened to him applied to her own life, how negatively the talk in Kattegat had affected her. At this point, killing would be a mercy. A mercy from the cruel whispers that were spoken about or too someone. A mercy from the harsh, judgmental, downgrading glares.

“Promise me you won’t back down.” His blue orbs flickered with hope.

Y/n lifted her head to take his face in fully. A matching glint was all Ivar could see in her own orbs before their lips collided. Her hands came to rest on his warm skin as her lips found his. Despite the chilling events that had followed their announcement, they wed with one feeling in mind...apart from love.

Hope.

#ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #alex høgh imagine #alex hogh andersen x reader #alex høgh andersen x reader #vikings x reader #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #alex hogh andersen #alex høgh andersen #vikings reader insert #vikings imagine #x reader #reader insert #all readers #zodiyack

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skamamoroma · 4 years ago

Note

I am attempting to put my finger on why ATOTS is grabbing people’s hearts like it is and why it’s so charming to use the word you used because same! Lol. What are your thoughts? [PS: I watched Skam Italia along with you And watched ITSAY on your rec and you’ve never let me down!]

Ahhh dude, that made me smile so much. Yey for you still being here ❤️

In answer to your question, I think it’s a lot of things. For me, I watched an interview with the director P’Oaf and I was really heartened that because he’s a gay man himself and felt a disconnect with the idea of creating LGBT+ content under a title other than LGBT+ content that he wanted to create a more adult love story that was for the LGBT+ community and didn’t cater for anything other than that. It was a really lovely interview and I think the finished product shows. The sexuality of Phupha or Tian is really not a thing, it’s not made a big deal of and their story isn’t centred around it at all. They’re just in love. End of. If you know me, you know I am wary of watching shows with LGBT+ themes unless I know they are handled respectfully and made for the right reasons so this is a huge one for me.

Another reason, for me, is the fact that we’re all so disconnected and lacking warmth and closeness and emotional connection because of this shit show of a year and a bit. The show is so kind and gentle and warm and lovely. The music even makes me feel cheered up. It’s full of the things we’re missing and the messages of self discovery, emotional development, community, love, friendship and connection... not to mention meaning in life are just so welcome right now.

The chemistry. This is a huge one for me. It’s not just between Phupha and Tian but the cast as a whole. Tian and the kids, Phu and the other rangers, Phu and Nam, Nam and Tian, Tian and Tul, Torfun and Phu etc. Every dynamic is so full of warmth and playfulness and this lovely sense of familiarity. But the biggie is always going to be between the love interests and JESUS their chemistry is a major selling point. I know Mix and Earth have known one another for many years and are v close friends (which shows) but that doesn’t always = good romantic chemistry. But these two have something that’s often very difficult to achieve and to think this is Mix’s first acting gig is genuinely ridiculous. It’s difficult for any romantic pairing to be SO COMPELLING at Episode 6 with barely touching. If you think about it, they’ve barely touched at all. Their chemistry is in their eyes, their words (“I just want to talk to you” being the most god damn beautiful), their actions, their dynamic, the way they challenge one another, the things they do when the other isn’t around and the way they improve the other. It means that when they DO share moments, the foundation in how you consider their feelings is so strong that the smallest thing is hugely meaningful and emotional. It’s very very well done and often hugely lacking in most dramas and love stories. Most love stories jump from 0-50 relatively quickly or the build up isn’t given time and space. The amount of time given to Tian and Phupha’s connection and gradual development is a huge part of why I think the show works so well. There are NO distractions other than the drama of their existence which all plays into their love story too. The entire show is focused on just these two with the other characters around them still forwarding both of their stories. It’s so refreshing. The fact their chemistry is electric and genuinely sometimes a little overwhelming means that they don’t even need to try too hard and include too much to achieve what they intend but they still do and you feel treated to such a genuine and carefully handled love story. Who doesn’t love that?!

Plus you have the stuff that isn’t directly related to the love story (but still all connects) like the tea seller arc, the truth about Tian’s heart and Torfun’s death and the knowledge that something about his dad will come out later on. All of it is compelling and all of it impacts the love story too... it gives a sense of there being stakes and challenge to overcome but the show is kind so I don’t feel too concerned about a happy ending. I’m so sure it’ll be wrapped up beautifully.

Also, the dynamic between Phupha and Tian is not necessarily new aka they have this push and pull relationship. Phu is technically an authority figure tasked with protection of the village, which includes Tian. But I like that there’s a real passing of the power dynamic between them. They tend to be my FAVOURITE types of relationship. I love characters who challenge each other and there have been real moments of strength and authority by Phupha but also such softness and vulnerability (so much actually) that I smile whenever people say he’s stern because DUDE IS A SOFTIE (and Tian knows it). It’s the same with Tian. He is adorable and endearing but also kinda bratty at times and really doesn’t let Phupha get away with anything. He’s a little more emotionally mature than the Chief in some ways but he still learns a lot from him. He also delights in knocking Phupha off kilter at times in the way he’ll push and push and test him... and insist on sharing or equality in their dynamic. It’s really really lovely. Also, they just like to tease the other ALL OF THE TIME and both of them just enjoy it too much... and then you’re like HOW ARE YOU BOTH SO STUPIDLY SHY TOO?!

But Tian alone is a really really loveable character and seeing as he’s the main, you root for him despite all of his misgivings and his past. You love him and cheer him on. Those moments the show beautifully includes where his old life is contrasted with his new and he recognises it himself are just so moving.

Then you have the setting and the scenery. The show was created in one constant struggle 😂 seeing the BTS is mental. They really really were against it and yet the finished product is so lovely. Some of the shots are just so ridiculously beautiful... some of the moments framed by the mountains or the trees or the way the sun shines, it’s just gorgeous.

And the music. Is it just me or does the score keep getting more beautiful? Some of the swelling music moments make me cry because of the music. I’m a HUGE fan and focused on music in movies and TV and I’ve been obsessed with scores since I was a teenager (it’s why I lost my shit at ITSAY last year). The title song is so beautiful and sweet that I remember when I first watched the trailer all those weeks back, it made me instantly feel something for the show.

All in all, it’s a real gift of a show. It’s just lovely. It’s very very very sweet and just such a comforting thing to watch. I genuinely have been cheered up by it for the past few weeks and I hear the theme song and see the adorable credit sequence and I’m smiling so easily. So I guess there are lots of reasons why it has resonated for people but I’m just glad it’s a show that exists. It’s just sweet and we need more of that!

#wow this is long #a tale of thousand stars #atots #1000 stars #ask #thoughts etc

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inlovewithhisblueeyes · 5 years ago

Text

Never Bet Your Clothes in a Game of Sevivon

Pairing: College AU Mike x Jewish Reader

Prompt: Dreidel/Sevivon from the 8 Days of Henry-kkah

Word Count: ~1.6K

Warnings: Betting, Striping Off Clothes, Mentions of Nudity

A/N: Yes I know Hanukkah is over but I wanted to finish the prompt list I made. This is my first time writing for Mike. I never had much interest in him until I started talking to @october505 so this one is for you love!

The sun had already been chased from the sky by the time you had made your way back to the dorms. Snowy footprints littered the campus grounds from when students had raced through the cold to their classes. You preferred the silence that came with this frozen tundra. It gave you the much needed time to reflect over the day's events as the icy breeze nipped at your exposed skin. It was hard to believe that the semester was almost over. Next week you would be busy taking your finals before flying back home for the winter break.

As you continue to trudge to the dorms, you watched as the next flurry of snowflakes began to fall. Some fell on your coat while others joined their brothers and sisters underneath your boots. The following current of air even made the snowflakes dance across the frosty ground before they were allowed to settle. When the wind started to bite at your heels, you were spurred on to pick up your pace. Finally, the distant lights of the dormitories came into your view. You could almost feel the warmth of their glow on your cold cheeks.

You broke off into a light jog, eager to have your warm bed chase away the chill that had settled in your bones. You hurried up the shoveled path and slipped your hand out from the warmth of your coat pocket. Your fingers gripped tightly around the front door key as you unlocked the door and slid into the sauna-like hallway. You walked over to the front staircase and quickly hopped up the steps two at a time. It was finally the weekend for you and you wanted nothing more than to take a load off. You deserved a night off before the stressful week that was ahead.

Reaching the third floor where your room was located, you carefully pulled the heavy door open before stepping out of the stairwell. You swiftly moved down the hallway, tossing your keys back and forth between your hands. It was abnormally quiet tonight in the halls; perhaps your peers had already headed out to the bar early. You shook your head as you made a left at the end of the hall. How ironic it was that the one night you wanted to party, everyone had disappeared.

Well not everyone it seemed as you noticed a figure waiting towards the middle of the hall. You continued your descent down the hall and as you got closer, you noticed it was none other than Mike. You were a bit confused as to why he waiting by your door until you glanced at his feet. Next to him was a package wrapped in brown paper. You quickly hurried to relieve him of standing guard by your door.

“Hey,” You said cheerfully.

“Hey yourself,” Mike teased with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Dork,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes at him.

“Hey! I prefer the term knight in shining armor but I suppose in this case you’ll have to settle for knight in comfy joggers.”

“To which I must remind you that you didn’t need to be. No one is going to be eager to steal my mail when everyone is out partying,” You retorted as you bent down to grab the box. You carefully balanced it on one hip as you unlocked your door with the other hand.

Mike leaned up against your doorframe as you puttered around the room. “Maybe I was hoping it was a spliff stash that you’d be willing to share with me so I can survive final exams.”

“I think it’s just a care package from my bubbe,” You sighed setting your package down on the bed.

“Bubbe? Is that some new slang for some boyfriend back home that I don’t know about?” The curly haired boy questioned.

“It’s Yiddish for grandma, you perv.”

“You truly wound me,” Mike exhaled dramatically.

You sat down at your desk and yanked your boots off your feet. You wiggle your sock-covered toes as the warmth of the building sinks in. You shuck off your coat and pad over to your cozy bed. You flop down next to the awaiting package.

“Good sir, I believe you have done your duty with the utmost care. I bid you adieu,” You declared.

“Wait a second. Can’t I see the bounty I was protecting?”

“It’s not a spliff stash but sure knock yourself out,” You chuckled as you scoot over to allow Mike to sit beside on the bed too.

The curly haired boy crossed the room and joined you on the bed. You got up to grab a pair of scissors from your desk before returning to your previous seat. Carefully you cut away the brown paper encompassing it before you cut away the tape sealing the box shut. You peel back the sides of the box to reveal the goodies your grandma sent. You received a container of Hanukkah cookies which were surprisingly still whole, a pair of socks with latkes on them, gelt, two dreidels, a sweater that said Come on Baby Light My Menorah, and a card from your bubbe and zaydee. You could feel the heat of embarrassment spread itself across your cheeks.

“What’s all this darling?” Mike asked.

“Just some Hanukkah stuff. I guess my bubbe felt the need to bring the family dinner to me,” You replied a bit bashfully,” The little tops are called dreidels or sevivon. You bet these gold coins or whatever else you want each round. It’s really a kids game, but it doesn’t stop the adults from joining in.”

“You bet whatever you said,” Mike joshed with a devilish smirk on his face.

“I think my zaydee used to play for actual money when he was growing up. Zaydee means grandpa,” You quickly added at the end.

“We could make it like strip monopoly. Instead of the chocolate you can bet your clothes,” the boy suggested.

“You really want to get me naked don’t you?”

“And you don’t want to see all this?” Mike teased, gesturing to himself,” Or maybe you’re just chicken?”

You could feel your face heat up again. “I’m not chicken. Just cautious,” You paused while you thought things over,” We can play strip dreidel but if I win all your clothes, you have to let me borrow your printer for the entirety of next semester.”

“Then if I win, I want to take you out on a date. A real one with dinner and everything.”

“Deal!” You chirped, eager to not let Mike take back what he offered.

You grabbed the dreidels and a pillow before making yourself comfy on the floor. He followed suit after you leaning up slightly against your desk chair.

“So the rules of the game are rather simple. At the beginning of each round, we’ll put a piece of gelt into the pot. Anytime the pot is empty or there’s only one piece, we have to add another. Each side of the dreidel has a different outcome. This is נ (nun). If you get this, you don’t get any of the pot or add any in. Next is ג (Gimmel). If you land on it, you take the whole pot. Followed by ה (hey) which means you get half of the pot. If there’s an odd number of pieces, you leave the odd piece in the pot. Finally, this is ש (shin) it means you have to add another piece to the pot,“ You explained before handing him a dreidel.

“Since we’ll be betting our clothes, once an item comes off it stays off,” Mike offered.

“That’s fair,” You admitted.

“Good. It’s settled then. After you my lady,” he uttered before taking off his shirt.

You gulped before shucking yours off to join his in the pile. You grabbed the other dreidel and gave it a spin. It landed on נ and you were thankful for that. The rest of the game passed in relative silence with the both of you eager to win. By the time you were down to your underwear, the game was tied. Each of you had an equal amount of clothing. You grabbed the dreidel to give it another spin and it soon fell on ש. You felt the blood rush from your face as you had to decide between loosing your bra or your panties.

As if Mike could sense your apprehension, he swiftly added,” We can stop if you want to. Maybe call it a tie, cuddle up under some blankets, and eat some of those cookies your grandma sent.”

Your wide eyes stared up at him, desperately trying to find your words. Sighing you nodded before standing up and offering him a hand. The boy gently pulled himself to his feet and handed you his shirt.

“Thanks Mike,” You murmured as you slipped it on.

You moved over to the bed and carefully removed everything but the box of cookies. You peeled back your blankets before sliding into your warm bed. Mike waited until you were settled before he came to lay beside you. He moved his arm so you could cuddle up next to him. You rested you head right above his heart and listened to the steady lub-dub it made. The two of you lay in comfortable silence, basking in each other’s warmth.

“I was serious about that date though. I want to take you out before the next semester,” Mike murmured into your hair.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

#henry cavill #mike #mike hellraiser #hellraiser hellworld #8 Days of Henrykkah #8DaysofHenrykkah #happy hanukkah #Hanukkah writing challenge #hanukkah #henry cavill fanfiction #mike x you #mike x reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #the cavillry #jewish reader #jewish writers

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lupinlongbottom · 5 years ago

Text

Practically a Weasley Epilogue

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Summary: Little Kayda has finally finished her seven years at Hogwarts, much to the cheer and delight of her parents, Charlie and (Y/N). Her future is crawling near, if only her parents knew what it could possibly hold.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: None

A/N: This is mostly centered around Charlie and his girls, I will make that clear. The reader is there, and she’s important, but I wanted to highlight their daughters, as this is an Epilogue. I hope you all enjoy their three tornadoes angels as much as I do. Enjoy!

Part 1 … Part 1.5 … Part 2 … Part 3

The end of the school year finally came, leaving many Hogwarts students to come home for the summer holiday. For some, this was their first year at the school for young witches and wizards, eager to share their stories with their families. For others, it was their final trip from the platform, until they choose to have kids of their own to see off. Regardless, the reunion of the various families on the platform at Kings Cross was a warm one.

“Dad…” Kayda moaned, trying to wriggle herself from Charlie’s grip. No luck.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” Charlie exclaimed, hugging his daughter tighter. “Missed your birthday, two weeks ago! Consider it a late birthday present.”

“I’m eighteen now, I don’t need to be coddled at the platform,” Kayda sighed, patting her dad’s back. After finally wriggling herself free, Kayda nodded at her friends passing by, snickering at her father’s bear hug. “You can hug me more at home.”

“I plan on it,” Charlie beamed. Coming from the other end of the platform, (Y/N) walked between two redheaded girls, identical in their freckled face, both pushing their respective carts. “I see your mum found your sisters. Why didn’t you sit with them?”

“I sat with them at the beginning of the year,” Kayda shrugged. “I offered for them to sit in my compartment, but they said they had their own friends now,” she looked up, noting the presence of her sisters and mother. “Hey, mum.”

“Kayda,” (Y/N) said, tears glistening her eyes. “I know you probably don’t want a hug right now,” Kayda gave her dad a pointed look. Charlie smirked, shrugging. “But know that I’m so proud of you.”

“What about us?” the twin wearing a Slytherin scarf retorted, eyes turned downward, almost sad.

“Yeah, aren’t you proud of me and Harper?” the other added.

“Ellie…” Charlie sighed. “You know we’re proud of you two, but Kay just finished her schooling. It’s a big deal.”

“Well we just finished our first year. Big deal all around!” Ellie exclaimed, crossing her arms. “Besides, Kayda didn’t get to do hardly any of the fun stuff we did.”

“Like what? Going into each other’s common rooms? Wearing the other’s uniforms?” Kayda laughed, mirroring her sister’s stance. “I know you two switched. Often, at that.”

“You two did what?” (Y/N) asked, glaring at her twin daughters. “Harper? Ellie?”

“Come on mum,” Ellie laughed. “You really think that we wouldn’t try it? Harper’s in Slytherin, I’m in Gryffindor. It was bound to happen.”

“Ellie!” Harper hissed. “I thought we weren’t going to tell mum and dad!”

“Did you ever get caught?” Charlie asked.

“No,” Harper admitted. “Well, I guess Kayda knew, but she’s our sister, so…”

“Nice,” Charlie said, lifting his hand up, ready to give his daughters high-fives. (Y/N) grabbed his wrist, bringing it down.

“Charlie!” (Y/N) said, glaring at her husband. “I guess it’s not the end of the world. I should’ve known the two of you would’ve pulled something like that the second we heard you two weren’t in the same House.”

“I’m sorry, mum,” Harper said, her hands gripping her cart a bit tighter. “But on the bright side, I grew to like my House a bit better, even after everyone made fun of me being a Weasley!”

“Yeah?” (Y/N) smiled, noting the way her daughter’s blue eyes lit up. She had been worried about this very thing. Not every day a Weasley gets put into Slytherin House, is it? “How so?”

“Conrad has been hanging out with me in the common room and helping me study,” Harper said, smiling lightly. “He’s been keeping the bullies away too!”

“Conrad Lee? Barnaby’s son?” Charlie asked, crossing his arms. Harper nodded. “He’s a nice kid, coming from his parents it was bound to happen,” Charlie laughed, recalling the Magizoologist and his Curse-Breaker wife, close friends of his from his time at Hogwarts. “I figured he’d look out for you.”

“He only did that because Kayda asked him to do it,” Ellie said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t know how, seeing as they snog more than talk—”

“Ellie!” Kayda exclaimed, slapping her sister’s arm. Ellie winced for just a moment, fully prepared for the slap she received. “Shut it!”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Kay,” (Y/N) laughed, the panic on Kayda’s face not fading. “Conrad’s a nice boy. His mum and dad raised him well,” she smiled, patting her daughter’s back. “You’ve always got off well with him whenever they’d come to visit. Playing around in the dirt and whatnot.”

“Isn’t he a year younger than you?” Charlie asked, eyes pointed at Kayda, crossing his arms.

“Don’t you and mum have like five years between the two of you?” Kayda retorted, mirroring his pose.

“She has a point, Charlie,” (Y/N) laughed. “Enough of this idle chatting! We have a portkey to make if we want to get back to the cottage in time,” She pushed the twin’s backs, pushing their carts forward.

“You just don’t want to be stuck chatting with the entire family,” Ellie yawned, slowing her pace.

“I talked with Harry and Ginny, James just got done with his second year,” (Y/N) scoffed. “Your father caught up with Bill and Percy with their girls, too. We’re seeing Fred and George for dinner, we’ll be chatting with them then.”

“I don’t buy it.”

The warm glow of the kitchen radiated throughout the cottage. After Charlie and (Y/N) received the news of their, rather unexpected twins, the two moved to the Romanian countryside. It was farther off from the sanctuary, so Charlie had to either Apparate or take his broom, usually he chose the latter, enjoying the quiet moments of the morning rolling through the valley from up high, wind in his hair.

“Dad, should I take the pie out of the oven?” Harper asked, staring at the light brown crust intently.

“No,” Charlie hummed, pushing his sleeves up. He continued chopping the onions. “Shut the oven door, Harpy.”

“Sorry,” Harper said, gently shutting the door. Her fingers traced over the handle for a brief moment. “Do you need any help?”

“Blimey, I thought you’d never ask,” Charlie laughed, tilting his head at the aprons hung on the wall. “Grab your apron, kiddo.”

“Mum’s soup recipe?” Harper asked, tying the red apron around her waist, enjoying the feeling. She always liked helping her father out in the kitchen, ever since she was young. Molly often noted how her knife skills outshone those of her father, bringing much pride to the girl.“I can cut the carrots—”

“No carrots,” Charlie said, sternly.

“Right, sorry dad,” Harper giggled. “I quite like the carrots in this soup though. Mum added them whenever you were out for work…”

“Well I’m here right now,” Charlie huffed, pushing the onions into the simmering pot on the stove. “You can chop the cabbage. Speaking of your mum, is she still helping your sister pack?”

“Yeah,” Harper nodded, eyes focused on her knife. She hadn’t had much practice at school, only using the skills in Potions class. “Why are you letting her move?”

“She’s an adult,” Charlie shrugged, stirring the burbling pot. “She said that she got a job and plans on moving this summer to start it. Still hasn’t told us the job… but she said she’ll tell us tonight.”

“Aren’t you going to miss her?”

“Of course I am,” Charlie said, washing his hands. “You, on the other hand, aren’t allowed to move out. Ever.”

“Dad!” Harper giggled. “I don’t want to move anyway. I missed the dragons terribly enough when I was at school.”

“The dragons missed you too. Well, I can only imagine. Can’t speak dragon. Harriet seemed rather glum, though,” Charlie clicked, drying his hands off with a towel. “Wait until third year,” Charlie mused, crossing his arms. “Care of Magical Creatures is going to blow your mind, kiddo.”

Charlie loved all of his daughters equally, so he said, but the connection he had with Harper was undeniable. While Kayda took much after her uncles—to Charlie’s dismay—and Ellie took after her mum—to an extent, the lip on that girl was unquestionably a Weasley trait—Harper took most after Charlie. She adored creatures, dragons especially. He would take her to the sanctuary whenever she asked, from a distance, per (Y/N)’s request. She was soft-spoken, hardly the one to lead her siblings, but her heart was bigger than her mouth.

“I can’t wait!”

“Can’t wait for what?” Ellie asked, throwing herself onto one of the kitchen chairs.

“To learn something I’m genuinely interested in,” Harper said, finishing her cabbage. She silently looked at Charlie, who nodded. “I mean, I like Charms and Potions, but I have a feeling Care of Magical Creatures is going to be a good one.”

“Well, I like Herbology—”

“You like Professor Longbottom’s face,” Harper snickered, pushing the cabbage into the pot.

“I never would’ve pegged you for the Herbology type, Eleanor,” Kayda smiled, walking into the kitchen. “Smells good, dad.”

“Shove it! Both of you!” Ellie exclaimed, her face growing pink. She tapped her nails against the counter. “I-I just think he’s a good teacher, that’s all.”

“He’s married you ninny,” Kayda said, flicking Ellie’s forehead. “Or did you not pay attention to the way he stares so sappily at the Potions Professor?”

“Wait, that’s his wife?” Ellie asked, rubbing her now red forehead. “They don’t have the same last name, though!”

“It’d be confusing to have two Professor Longbottom’s, wouldn’t it?” Kayda laughed. “She uses her maiden name for teaching at school. Her last name’s still Longbottom, though.”

“How do you know?” Ellie spat, voice dripping with venom.

“I took her N.E.W.Ts level class. Hardly a big class,” Kayda shrugged. “Always willing to chat with us, especially if we’ve done well in lesson. You never would’ve stood a chance, you’re nearly twelve.”

“I know,” Ellie huffed, the realization dawning upon her.

“Charlie,” (Y/N) said, stepping into the kitchen. “Oh, everyone’s here. It’s been a while since the kitchen was this full…”

“Flower, don’t start crying again,” Charlie said, wrapping his arms around his wife. “If you start crying, I’ll start crying.”

“You two are a bunch of saps,” Kayda laughed, noting her parent’s glistening eyes.

“Yet, you came from this bunch of saps,” Charlie laughed, kissing (Y/N)’s temple. “Think about that.”

“I try not to think too deeply about it,” Kayda said, rolling her eyes, fighting back a grin. She missed her parents, no matter how disgusting their lovey-dovey nature may be. “What time are Fred and George coming?”

“Any minute now,” (Y/N) said, glancing at the clock. “Fred said they’d Floo here by six—”

“Did someone say my name?” A voice bellowed from the living room.

Kayda’s eyes lit up, a grin spreading to her face. “Uncle Fred!”

“Hey there, partner,” Fred winked, pulling his niece into a side hug. “Hi (Y/N). Hi Charlie.”

“Glad to see you still don’t pick favorites,” Charlie smiled, nodding at his brother.

“We could never, Charlie. Just because we like our little Kay-Kay better than the two of you doesn’t mean we pick favorites,” George said, entering the conversation. “Honestly, you’d think our brother would know us better.”

“No, not at all,” (Y/N) laughed. “Where’s Angelina? Or the kids?”

“Get this,” Fred moved his voice to a small whisper. “Dragon pox, the both of them.”

“Fred’s lying,” George laughed. “Mine’s at his mum’s this week,” he shrugged.

“You’re right,” Fred sighed, taking off his bright orange jacket. “Angelina wanted to spend more time with our boy now that he’s home from his first year, much like Harper and Ellie. Nearly bit my head off when I told her I was coming here tonight instead.”

“They’ll all be sorely missed,” (Y/N) hummed, glancing at the large pot on the stove. “Though, had you two told me, I wouldn’t have made so much soup—”

“You didn’t make the soup, dad did!” Ellie pointed.

“And I helped!” Harper added, crossing her arms.

“You should’ve never had more kids, mum,” Kayda laughed. “Little snitches, the both of them.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying for years,” Fred agreed, placing his arm around Kayda’s shoulder. “One and done. Angelina and I listened to it. George had no choice, poor girl broke it off with him after their little one was born—”

“Honestly, Fred? Pipe down,” George said, growing annoyed. George never liked talking about his ex-girlfriend much. They had dated for a few years before she became pregnant, but they split a year after their son was born.

“Please,” (Y/N) scoffed, trying to diffuse the situation. “You two were beyond thrilled when you found out that Charlie and I were having twins!”

“We thought you’d name them after us!” George exclaimed, falling wistfully onto a dining chair. “But then you had more girls, what a waste of perfectly good names!”

“Technically they did,” Ellie said, groaning. “I’ve hated my middle name as long as I can remember.”

“I quite like mine…” Harper said, voice growing small.

“Your name isn’t ‘Eleanor Frederica’, Harper. All my friends have normal middle names, but no,” Ellie pointed at Charlie and (Y/N). “You had to make my life hard!”

“Ellie,” (Y/N) sighed. “Middle names aren’t the end of the world. Be happy you’re named after two of the coolest people on this planet.”

“Gross,” Ellie groaned again. “If you want to name me after someone cool, take a look at James! He has a cool name! James Sirius Potter, even the sound of it makes people sigh!”

“Ellie, we love your Aunt Gin,” Charlie said, glancing down, “but we’ve never been in real favor of their children’s names. A bit heavy handed, honestly.”

“When she told us the name of little Al, we nearly passed out,” George nodded. “Next year’s going to be a fun one for him, starting school with a namesake like that.”

“Having Frederica and Georgina is the least of your worries,” Fred laughed. “At least you,” he pointed at Ellie, “you got the better of the two.”

“I prefer Harper’s name,” George quipped, “sounds cooler, more hip.”

“Can we stop talking about my children’s names?” (Y/N) said, finally growing tired of the arguing. “Ellie, sweetheart, your name is fine. Fred, George, both of the twins names are equally sweet, be grateful that Charlie agreed with the idea.”

“It’s true,” Charlie hummed. “I wanted more dragon-related names…”

“I could’ve had a dragon name?!” Harper practically screamed, forcing her voice towards her parents. “Why does Kayda get one?”

“People don’t mispronounce your name,” Kayda retorted. “Never get ‘Kayla’ Weasley? Do you?”

“Oh my God,” (Y/N) groaned. “I wanted to have a normal family dinner, now my daughters are screaming bloody murder about their names—”

“Sounds like a normal Weasley dinner if I’ve ever seen one,” Charlie said, ignoring the bickering, the loudest coming from his three daughters. “Love, you knew full well what you got yourself into almost twenty years ago.”

“Hardly gave me a moment to think about it, didn’t you?” (Y/N) smiled, glancing up at her husband. “Pulled the rug out from beneath me that day.”

“Like you weren’t expecting it,” Charlie smirked. “I told you almost a year in that I wanted to marry you. Besides, you said yes.”

“I did. I don’t regret it,” (Y/N) sighed, glancing at her beautiful daughters, now arguing with their lively uncles. “How could I regret this?”

“The soup was great Charlie,” (Y/N) said, dabbing a napkin on her lip. “Harper, you did a great job helping.”

“Thanks, mum,” Harper smiled, feeling the pride well in her chest.

“Fred? George? You two have been awfully quiet,” Charlie said, noting his brother’s unlikely silence, “what’s up?”

“Well…”

“Actually…”

The twins looked to Kayda, who still had a spoon in her mouth. All of the Weasley’s eyes fell to her, watching as she fumbled with the silverware.

“Oh,” Kayda said, fumbling with her hands. “Do you think…?” She looked to her uncles, as if for permission. Fred nodded, George merely winking. “Well, I suppose,” she stood, seated at the foot of the table. “So, I’ve accepted a job—”

“We know,” Ellie sighed, twirling her spoon against the table. “You’ve only been talking about it the last month of school…”

“Eleanor,” Charlie hissed, eyeing his daughter. “Let your sister speak.

“Sorry,” Ellie lied. She hardly was sorry about anything.

“Anyway,” Kayda said, scowling at her younger sister for a moment. “So you know Zonko’s, in Hogsmeade? I’ve accepted a management position there—well, not at Zonko’s, I wouldn’t work there,” Kayda paused, flushing over her words. “I mean, I wouldn’t not work there, but I’ve been working at Fred and George’s place the last few summers and holiday breaks, a-and they’ve offered to buy out Zonko’s and—”

“Spit it out!” Ellie cut Kayda off again, growing more annoyed.

“Alright!” Kayda exclaimed, slamming her hands onto the table. “Fred and George are opening a branch of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in Hogsmeade, in the old Zonko’s shop, and they’ve asked me to be the manager, want me to run it.”

“Kayda, that’s wonderful!” (Y/N) said, clasping her hands together. She looked to her brother in-laws. “You’ve always wanted to buy out Zonko’s, why now?”

“Well, we finally have our little prodigy out of school,” Fred looked to (Y/N). “Seeing as you lot wouldn’t let her drop out early, much like her successful uncles—”

“Who turned out to be quite the entrepreneurs despite it all…” George added.

“I wasn’t going to drop out, mum,” Kayda said, assuring her mother. “It seemed like a good time, me fresh out of school, ready to take it on.”

“So you’re running it on your own?” Charlie asked, eyeing his daughter down, a bit of hesitation in his voice. “All by yourself?”

“We’re going to let her do as much as she wants on her own, but we’re always a call away,” George said, fiddling with his spoon. “She’s already come up with at least a hundred and ten new ideas for products and marketing—”

“All based on what a student is really looking for outta jokes and tricks these days,” Fred said, cracking his knuckles. “Gotta keep the products young and hip as we can, what better way than insight and perspective from a more recent former student? Considering the market is loads of Hogwarts students on their weekends off?”

“I suppose…” Charlie mumbled, looking in his hands. “Are you going to be living on your own?”

“Dad, I’m eighteen, I think I can manage on my own, especially in Hogsmeade. I found a little apartment to lease, it’s near the shop.”

“I’m sure Conrad’s going to be moving in after next year anyway…” Harper mumbled from her mother’s side, glancing at her half-full bowl of soup. She didn’t exactly have the appetite for it, all things considered.

“He’s thinking about it,” Kayda added. “We’ve talked about it.”

“Nope,” Charlie stood up from the table, pushing his chair back. “Nope, not happening. Absolutely not.”

“Charlie…” (Y/N) sighed, pressing her hand against her husband’s forearm, her fingers tracing a recent burn.

“Nope, not happening until I sit down with the Lee’s,” Charlie said, pacing lightly. “Maybe take Conrad down to the sanctuary…”

“Dad!” Kayda cried. “My boyfriend doesn’t need an interrogation!”

“Boyfriend?!”

“This is getting good,” Fred said, leaning into his brother’s good ear.

“Way better than what mum used to spout, Charlie’s a spittin’ image of her I reckon,” George added, leaning back in his chair, noting how red Charlie’s face was turning. The father and daughter continued to shout, much to (Y/N)’s dismay. Her head was in her hands, sighing loudly.

“See, mum? This is what happens when you let your daughter run wild with a Slytherin,” Ellie said, reaching over the long table to gain her mother’s attention. “Dad’s gone mental.”

“I’m a Slytherin!” Harper added, her cheeks growing pink. “What does that say about me?”

“You know I love you, Harper,” Ellie sighed, looking at her twin. “But Slytherin stinks. Your common room isn’t even all that neat, green is such a boring color and your Quidditch team sucks. Besides, a Weasley in Slytherin? How absurd! Half the Great Hall nearly lost their lunch at the sight!”

“Hey!”

It wasn’t long before the entire table was up in a roaring thunder, the youngest Weasley twins were bickering—like always— Kayda and Charlie were near a dueling stance over some boy, and the eldest twins just sat back and laughed at the continued horror. (Y/N) sat idly by, truly ignorant to her wishes of a functioning family unit. How long had she waited for a moment like this? Her family back together? Surely she didn’t expect her eldest and her husband going almost as far as a duel, she also didn’t expect her youngest daring to speak the few swears she picked up at school, either.

But, deep down, (Y/N) knew this was her ideal life, the one she had dreamed of years ago. A hearty family, filled with enough personality to go around thrice the time as normal. Her daughters were intelligent, bright and full of spunk, her in-laws were closer to her than blood would allow and her husband… Godric, her husband was more than she could’ve dreamed, attentive, loving and protective of their family—even if it was a sore subject in the moment, considering the environment. (Y/N) knew that the dream life she had planned was far from her reality, but she wouldn’t change it for the world. After all,

She was a Weasley.

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Note

Hello there, I see you're back on blue-line drabbles! I love them, I am obsessed with this universe. I don't know if I ever came back to say hi after I read all your big fics, but somehow I liked each even better than the last! I don't know how that's possible! But anyway, I think one of the best signs of a good writer/good story is when you're not ready to leave the world once you've finished, and Blue Line is one of the few fanfics I've read where even well after I've finished it, (cont)

(cont) I want to keep living in it and I end up writing my own fic of it in my head (strange, I know). Anyway, for whatever reason, I got really invested in Roland and Lizzie's relationship. Like, how did they end up dating after knowing each other for literally Lizzie's entire life? How did the adults react? Do you have any Lizzie/Roland stories up your sleeve? They would not go unread :)

————

Hello, yes, listen, this ask has lived rent free™ in my head since I first got it and I cannot properly convey how absolutely, goddamn wonderful it is. I am a broken record of outdated references , but it continues and will always amaze me that people are not only interested in Blue Line (more than three years!!! after I originally started posting) but are also interested in other characters in the story who are, for all intents and purposes, original characters at this point. Like the overall size my heart becomes when reading something like that could potentially cause a serious medical condition.

But, like, in a nice way.

So thank you, thank you, thank you. It genuinely warms the cockles of my entire soul. And, like, if you wanna share those fic ideas of the fic, you’ll never hear me say no. Just like I will never turn down the opportunity to write more stuff. Which is what’s under the cut. This stuff includes:

Roland and Lizzie’s first kiss, what I hope is some legitimate banter, more kissing, obvious flirting, and Roland being something of a sap.

Also, uh, it’s entirely possible that I have also already written: Roland and Lizzie’s first “I love you,” their wedding and some other stuff where their kid is involved. Seriously, guys, I am always down to write other relationships in this ‘verse.

————

It was, she figured, something almost passably close to, sort of resembling, definitely inching somewhere nearer to—

Assured.

Unavoidable.

Inexorable

Inevitable.

That was a bad word. That last word. The third one was pretty impressive, honestly. Vocabulary, wise. She’d have to remember that one later. The last one, though. Made teeth Lizzie wasn’t even aware she possessed ache as she ground them together, a pronounced tension in her jaw that was likely affecting her shoulders as well. That word. An awful word. Boasted less-than-positive connotations, letters practically dripping with lack of self-control and overtly aggressive infatuation, but if the world expected her not to be a little in love with Roland Locksley by the time she turned fourteen and noticed that slight indentation in his right cheek every time he smiled, well, then the world had another thing coming.

Dimple, that was the appropriate description. Another word. More words. Too many words. All of them bouncing off the slope of her skull and scratching at the back of her brain, nearly distracting her from what should have been the very pleasant buzz lingering beneath whatever biological thing made up her top and bottom lips.

Which were parted in an emotion very similar to overwhelming surprise.

That was stupid.

The whole thing was stupid. God, maybe she was stupid. No, that wasn’t true. She’d made Dean’s List last semester. Stupid was—

A stupid word, really. Despite the blush rising in her cheeks and the wide eyes practically boring into her soul, bated breath that didn’t make any noise because that was what bated entailed, and no one else glanced in their direction. Not once. No one else noticed.

That the whole world had flipped upside down.

Or right-side-up, maybe. Depending on how the next five minutes or so went.

Because the last two minutes and twelve seconds, give or take, had seen Roland Locksley tilt his head and let his eyes flutter closed before his mouth found hers for the very first time — at midnight for God’s sake. On New Year’s Eve. Or New Year’s Day, she supposed. His parents were standing on the other side of the room.

Suggesting that Lizzie had ever been just a little in love with Roland was a rather monumental lie.

As far as those things went.

“So, uh—” she started, only to find blood in her mouth. From her teeth. Wayward and unpredictable, as they were. Biting down on the side of her tongue and Lizzie hated going to the dentist. Doing irreparable damage to her teeth on what was now legitimately New Year’s Day, in the middle of an annual party, was not on her schedule.

Metaphorical as it might have been.

She liked schedules. Had plans. Focus, even. People always said that about her — how focused she was, liked to throw around the word drive with startling regularity, as if they were amazed she wasn’t simply willing to rest on her laurels or the pair of last names she proudly toted around with her. As if Lizzie expected doors to swing open on a glance.

Rather than consistently preparing herself to knock them down.

She liked the challenge of it all. Appreciated the way disbelief always spiked something in her blood, and that was likely equal parts genetic predisposition and a product of her childhood, but right now, Lizzie was simply prepared to fight for the schedule she’d never allowed herself to mention to anyone else before and it wasn’t like they weren’t friends.

Talked outside the group chat, even.

That meant something. Definitely meant something. Had to mean something. Her lips felt like they’d been doused in liquid nitrogen.

She didn’t know all the scientific properties of liquid nitrogen, but it always made that rather impressive cloud of steam-type stuff on cooking shows. So, it seemed very likely that it did something similar to cause whatever was happening in the region directly surrounding her mouth. Buzzing and tingling, and whatnot.

When had Roland last blinked? Lizzie couldn’t remember. That would have been impressive in any other situation. Right now, it was sort, kind of, totally— Pissing her off.

Color dotted his cheeks, no sign of the goddamn dimple because he wasn’t smiling, presumably couldn’t do that when it was clear he was so intent on pulling his lips into his mouth, and that felt a little insulting. Her tongue had just been in that mouth.

Lizzie was fairly confident in the abilities of her tongue, so she wasn’t all that pleased to be replaced by a pair of lips that could have been doing much better work against the side of her neck.

“If you sit here right now and tell me that you are,” Lizzie lifted a finger, “one, sorry,” another finger, “two, anything even remotely resembling regretful,” another finger, wiggling close enough to Roland’s nose to make him just a bit cross-eyed, “or, three, too old for me, I will throw my heel at that bruise I know exists on the back of your left calf.”

His lips twitched.

He really had impossible eyelashes. Seemingly made so he could glance up from underneath them, to meet Lizzie’s steely expression with what she refused to believe could be cautious hope. Passable optimism, maybe. She’d have to look up what liquid nitrogen did, later.

“I’m standing.” “I hate you.”

“You wanna go in order, or how do you want to work this?” “Where else are you bruised?” Roland laughed softly, a shift of his shoulders and tiny burst of air between barely parted lips. Feeling that tiny burst meant they were standing very close to each other. How they were standing remained another mystery.

One of those great ones, Lizzie figured. The kind referenced when people talked about the sweeping potential of life and love and— Ah, fuck.

“Please don’t threaten to attack me anywhere else,” he muttered, before quickly adding, “you gotta know this was not my end game, Liza.” Narrowing her eyes did nothing to temper the…tempest. Swirling in her gut. Threatening the back of her throat. Eating away at vocal cords and vocal boxes and the structural integrity of her entire goddamn larynx. Possibly her tongue, too, just to be especially efficient.

“Really? Might’a been mine, actually.”

She’d always liked his eyes.

How they could widen, and it wasn’t like...a normal brown. Nothing about the way he looked was ever dull. Drifted toward regularly excited, and the sparkles were probably a figment of her over-active teenage imagination, but Lizzie liked to think sometimes the sparkle came from her. Because of her, even. When she’d call because he always wanted to hear about her latest lecture and he’d call because sometimes Western swings were exhausting and loneliness-inducing and—

She knew.

He knew.

They knew each other.

Grand scheme, the sparkle-prone eyes still weren’t particularly close to the dimple. On the list of things Lizzie liked. What left butterflies fluttering in her stomach and her heart hammering against her chest. Sparkle was probably a solid fourth. Behind the precise way his curls fell toward his eyebrows when he didn’t have time to get his hair cut. Which rarely happened during the season. Right now, it was happening right now. Well-defined strands that Lizzie knew felt even smoother than she’d ever theorized between her fingers, and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with that information.

Obsess over it, probably.

For at least the next week, or so.

Still. Eyes. Eyelashes. Too long and too bright, and that was the wrong description order and she was starting to teeter. On the edge of a rather dramatic free-fall. Into feelings and possibility, and this was way too dramatic. For both of them.

“Don’t do that,” she mumbled, a scrunch of her nose that apparently demanded his thumb. Brushing against the bridge, and there wasn’t any caution there. No obvious fear or concern. For the way it left Lizzie’s lungs pinched, and there must have been a limit.

To everything her internal organs could cope with in a limited span of time.

“What was the last one on the list?” She swallowed. “Too old.” “Yuh-huh.” “Pretty flimsy as far as excuses go. You realize I’m not asking you to marry me right now, right?” He choked. On what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Only that it made her stomach heave and her teeth dig into her lower lip, and that was— “Because I know I said, end game,” Lizzie continued, giving in to the need to fill empty space with the sound of her own voice, “but that sounds like several pop culture references all at once, and you know how much I—”

“Hate to come across as disingenuous.” “Mattie’s the pop culture reference machine, anyway.” “Please don’t talk about Matt when I keep thinking about how much I want to kiss you again.” Her eyes, that time. Widened. Bugged. Did something unnatural. “Yeah?” “You’re kidding me, right?” “You’re not an old man.” Rolling his eyes, Roland’s tongue dragged across the front of his teeth. To torture her, apparently. “I was in college when you were a freshman in high school.” “Yuh-huh.” “Liza.” “Nah, nah,” Lizzie shook her head. Crossed her arms. Tried to stand up to her full height, but even the heels didn’t do much to add to the overall intimidation factor. Roland was doing an awful job of fighting off his smile. “Pulling out ancient nicknames is not—” “—It’s not a nickname; it’s literally letters in your name.” “Nick,” she leaned forward, “name. All personal-like.”

Making mistakes was not something she enjoyed very much. It was that Jones competitive streak. Plus, the Vankald stubborn streak. Created a monster of determination, who knew what she wanted, and feeling Roland’s fingers graze her cheek as a strand of hair hung limply in the minimal space between them was the result of Lizzie’s mistaken movement.

Even as much as she might have wanted it.

Goosebumps prickled her arms. Stole whatever oxygen she’d managed to get in the last forty-six seconds, or so. Her eyes fluttered. Head tilted. Towards the touch and the warmth, and for someone who spent so much time on the ice, he really was impossibly warm.

“This is your fault.”

He didn’t move his fingers. Cupped her cheek, instead. “You were doing that eyebrow thing.” “Expand on that for me.” “Lifting ‘em. Happens sometimes. When you’re listening intently. Like you’re a little amazed by new information. They’re these stupid little arches on your face. Drives me nuts.” “The compliment was in there somewhere, I’m sure of it.” “I am so much older than you, Liza.” “Shouldn’t’a played out a bunch of teenage daydreams at once, then.” She was legitimately worried about the state of his tongue. Barely biting back her laugh, Lizzie let her eyes lift. To find Roland gaping at her, drooped shoulders and puppy-dog eyes. And that goddamn dimple. “C’mon, this isn’t...do you think I haven’t made out with people before?” “Wouldn’t classify what we just did as a makeout.” “No?” His eyes darkened. Shivering was probably not a good move, right? Right. Definitely. She wasn’t shivering. It was just...January. And inside. With dozens of people around them. “I would not, no,” Roland said, and the drop in overall volume was some sort of trick. Or, something.

“How many people do you think you’ve made out with? Ballpark it for me.” “No.” “Is the issue a lack of appropriate numbers to tally that mark, or—” She bit her tongue, again. At the flash of amused frustration sweeping his face and polluting the molecules of whatever air was hovering between them. Permeating was a better word. Lizzie really needed to work on all of that. Words. Being slightly less jealous of potential make outs that didn’t have anything to do with her and definitely happened because there had to be other people out there in the world who simply could not cope with the existence of that dimple.

“How many people have you made out with, then?” “Scores,” Lizzie snarled, only to get immediately scoffed at. “I’m really, incredibly popular.” “Oh, I’ve got no doubt.” “Boatloads of guys. Lining up to,” she pointed an imperious finger at her mouth, “make out with this.” “Your well-defined chin?” “I’m going to take my shoe off.” “Draw attention with a move like that.” Whatever fight she had didn’t immediately die. It just, sort of, fell. At her feet, threatening all the bones there and there were too many. All of them far too fragile. For whatever metaphor she was running with at the moment. “And we’re not trying to do that, huh? Draw attention.” “Shouldn’t you be out sowing wild oats?” “Really know how to charm a girl,” she grumbled, and that got her a smile. No scoff. Not even the hint of a smile. The whiplash was hurting her neck. “Trust me, the oats have appropriately sowed. If I was ever particularly inclined to farm work.” “I’m starting to be vaguely embarrassed by all of this.” “Good.” Wasn’t quite a scoff. Was more like a half-hearted laugh, and a tinge of desire and that was better than the other emotions, but the decreasing level of Roland’s eyebrows gave her pause. “What about the status of your oats?”

“Well sowed, rookie season,” Roland said.

“You’re going to change the name on your jersey.” “Not sure that particular fact has a lot to do with anything else. Seven years, Liza.” “I’m perfectly capable of doing math, you know I took that stats class once.” “Because I double checked everything you turned in.” “Makes you slightly less of an idiot than the vibe you're giving off right now.” “A freeway or compliments.” Pulling in a deep inhale through her nose, Lizzie didn’t miss the way Roland’s gaze fell. To the neckline of her dress, lingering on the jut of her collarbones for a few seconds longer than a strictly platonic friendship should allow, and they were friends. Still. She knew that as well as she knew that he believed she thought he was simply being clever with nicknames.

And not making vaguely incorrect My Fair Lady references.

Because he’d always been a little annoyed that Eliza had gone back to Henry Higgins. Instead of Freddie.

It was really impossible not to be a little in love with him at all times.

“You’re really going to hyphenate?” Roland nodded. “Think of all the new jerseys they’ll sell.” “By the box-load, and Gina’s gonna buy the entire stock. She’s—that’s really nice, you know.” “Just a fact. Little late, but—” He shrugged. Lizzie’s smile threatened to split her face. In that same nice way, she’d been talking about. Her lips were still buzzing. She might have been buzzing. With adrenaline. Happiness. The near-desperate desire to find some type of closet and get her fingers back in Roland’s questionably long hair.

“Of naming conventions.” She couldn’t begin to guess what the record was for shoulder shifts in an emotionally charged conversation between two people who were simultaneously ignoring the point of the conversation, but Lizzie also knew her eyebrows had been halfway up her face as he’d detailed the reasons for making his jersey say Mills-Locksley. From here on out.

Maybe that was the top of the list, actually.

He was a good guy.

Had always been a good guy. The best guy, really.

Falling into that chasm wasn’t nearly as terrifying as Lizzie expected it to be.

“Why’d you do it?” Roland’s lips disappeared. His tongue moved, again. She was staring at the area around his tongue. So, like, his mouth. Directly at his mouth. “Because, I uh—have wanted to?” “Oh, don’t phrase that like a question.” “Wanted to,” he repeated, a statement of fact with a certain amount of conviction. Enough to make Lizzie’s pulse sputter. “Which is kind of freaking me out.” “Come back with more compliments.” “Your dress nearly made me fall over.” “Better, actually,” she laughed.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Made sense at the time.” “Be more specific.” “Kissing you,” Roland said, enough emphasis that he leaned forward half an inch as well. It was a miracle their noses didn’t collide. Not the most impressive miracle, but—counted. “If I tell you that you might be my best friend does that make the lamest professional hockey player alive?” “Yes, absolutely.” “Matt might challenge you to a duel if he hears me talking like this, you know.” “God, Locksley, didn’t we just talk about the Mattie rules? Also, that made it sound like Mattie wants to kiss you too, so...”

He chuckled. Fingers still tugging on the back of his hair, like he was trying to ground himself in the pull and the self-inflicted tension, Roland looked up. Back at her. And Lizzie didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Held her position and prepared herself to defend the schedule she’d only ever allowed herself to hope for in the silence of that one corner in her brain.

Filled, as it was, with memories. Of conversations that didn’t have anything to do with hockey. Others that did. Arguing over blue line placement in the brownstone and college rankings. Of movies watched on two different laptops in different corners of the country, bad jokes, and consistent updates, that deep-rooted understanding that came from a life full of expectations and the exact opposite. No overt pressure, but the need to prove yourself anyway, if only because of the name on the back of the jersey, and Lizzie was going to have to buy a new jersey.

“You like me? Yes, or no?” Roland smiled. Wide and honest, the kind that ensured the dimple was on prominent display. “Yes.” “I am a grown adult? Yes, or no?” Crinkles appeared around his eyes. From the smile.

“Yes.” “Meaning I get to make my own choices. Romantically, or otherwise. Yes, or no?” “Obviously.” “Wasn’t one of the options.” “Yes,” Roland corrected, fingers trailing over the bend of her elbow. Lizzie hadn’t uncrossed her arms. Or remembered when she’d crossed them in the first place.

“Ok, good. Same page, then.” “Liza.” “Locksley.” Lifting her eyebrows wasn’t a challenge, per se. Was closer to instinct, really. Specifics didn’t matter, honestly. She did that thing with her eyebrows, and he did that thing with his mouth, the same one she was staring at and hoping would move closer to her, and then—

Well, it did.

Hands found Lizzie’s hips, pulling her forward sharply enough that she let out a soft grunt. From the feel of hips bumping against hers, and she honestly wasn’t sure who hissed in their next inhale, only that it did something to the flutter-like state of her pulse and the erratic nature of her heart, and it was slow and fast and good and great and not a single person noticed.

Miracles were arriving en masse, apparently.

Pushing her fingers into Roland’s hair got Lizzie another hum of approval, the first brush of his tongue making her lips part and her head fall to the side, but then his hand was wrapped around the back of her neck, and she could not be expected to pay attention to anything except the semi-consistent swipe of his thumb against her skin. It left more goosebumps. Caused another chuckle, the kind that rumbled through her and resonated around her, a tiny bubble of that same cautious optimism from before.

Like a spark.

Fanning flames and threatening to burn everything because if this didn’t work, then Lizzie wasn’t sure what would, and that was scary and overwhelming and terrifying was a synonym, but she really was working with very limited word-based resources when Roland’s thumb kept moving. Tracing her. Committing the feel to memory, and she wasn’t sure when they’d established the rocking pattern they were moving in, but something deep in the center of her trusted it.

Someone who regularly strapped knives to his feet and raced around at top speed knew how to stay balanced. And she was a stubborn idiot. Who got what she wanted.

“Is part of liking me because I told you I didn’t think it was embarrassing that you still got a little emotional about Miracle on 34th Street?” Laughter pushed past her lips. Took root in the pit of her stomach and the spaces between her ribs. Laced through her heart. In the kind of way that cemented itself. Right in the middle of Lizzie. Right in the middle of this. Them.

There was a them, now.

“Was definitely a factor, yeah,” Roland said, not bothering to pull away. “You, uh—you snuck up on me a little, Liza.” “Peak romance.” “Want me to talk about your dress some more?” She shook her head. “Unnecessary. And you didn’t.” “That might be part of the problem.” “Nursing old crushes, you mean?” Her hair hit her cheek. And his hand. He couldn’t seem to let go of her. “Nah, this wasn’t like...there was no torch, not really. I—I wasn’t hanging posters of you on my wall if that’s the picture you’ve painted for yourself.” “Kinda disappointing, admittedly.” “Pick a lane, babe.” No sparkle, that time. Just flash and want and the very thin line Lizzie’s lips had become. “Be more specific,” Roland repeated softly. “You’re not standing on a pedestal. Just you, Rol, as is.” He waited. That was fair. There should have been more. Should have been a detailed list of all the reasons the grown-up version of her liked so many parts of the grown-up version of him, but that all felt a little extraneous when she was still thinking about closet-type possibilities and that stubborn streak was a mile wide, anyway.

Roland nodded once. “Good.”

Both of them jumped. At the pop of another champagne bottle and Lizzie never understood how Regina managed to order so much champagne every year, but she felt a bit like she was floating on the bubbles, and they didn’t decide. Explicitly. To keep the whole thing—

Secret.

Another bad word. With bad connotations and shadows that clung to the definition, but this was them and only them and, for right now, that was enough. And if no one noticed the way Roland’s hand drifted over the small of Lizzie’s back during David’s speech, then that was a miracle she was willing to accept.

#blue line rambles #blue line one shots #these really are just original characters at this point #i have also written:#matt and claire meeting for the first time #henry and ella meeting for the first time #stuff about peggy and jeremy humbert #and i've got a whole list of will x belle stuff #in case it wasn't ovbious people still aren't responding to my emails #oh! also roland and lizzie's engagement #i wrote that too #also if you are so inclined: wilder days by morgan wade played like four times while i wrote this #mylifeisalifestyle #laura rambles

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pluto-writes · 5 years ago

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Kunikida Doppo x Reader | Fluff Alphabet

A/n: Kunikida makes an appearance! To that one Kunikida anon, I hope you see this and I did him well. This is the most I’ve written so far for the fluff alphabets... He was just a fun character to write about. I have 2 more to go and maybe, maybe, if these get a good amount of love I’ll do a third one... I heard that the character starts with a C...

Words: 2,764

Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Kunikida loves to do typical romantic things with you. It’s all in his book of Ideals, of course. Whenever he is out on jobs or errands for the Agency, he keeps an eye out for date spots to take you to.

On his days off, he’ll take you out for a picnic date at the park. He thinks the park is the perfect place since its calming, and he believes the sun enhances your natural beauty.

He’ll pack your favorite snacks, and you’ll bring a blanket and things to do while you’re at the park. Whether it be reading or playing board games, he enjoys doing it all with you.

You guys also occasionally go fishing together. You had learned that it was a favorite hobby of his, and wanted to be able to do it together. So you had planned this fishing trip, and successfully managed to do so without him noticing.

When you took him to the beach, he became ecstatic when he found out it was to go fishing. And to his luck he managed to catch his favorite type of fish, bonito. You offered to cook it for him once you guys went home, and he thoroughly enjoyed his lightly roasted bonito.

Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He loves how much you understand him. You don’t make fun of him for his ideals or his need to stick to his schedule. You even help him keep track of what he has to do for the day, and offer a helping hand when needed.

He also admires your dedication towards your work. It was what initially drew him in, in the first place. He notices all the effort and time you put into your work, and seeing you encourages him to get through the day without letting Dazai distract him.

He thinks your hands are your most striking feature. They fit into his hands so comfortably and holding them soothes him instantly.

Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

He would take you away from the situation, as far as he can so he can get you somewhere quiet. Once he gets you to a quiet place, his next plan of action will get you to start talking about what’s bothering you.

To do that he’ll start talking to you to help calm you down, since you had mentioned before how much you liked his voice. After a while, he’ll manage to calm you down, and once he does, you’ll feel confident enough to confide in him about what has been bothering you.

Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He has it all written in his book of Ideals. He pictures getting married to you after you’ve been dating for two years. He prefers quiet afternoons with you, if days are uneventful that means that things are going according to his ideals.

He has his ideals, but he also understands that you have your own too. If there’s anything you don’t want to go through with, he would completely accept your choice and wouldn’t force you.

Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

The relationship the two of you share is rather balanced. He doesn’t want to be overbearing, or controlling. Plus, he loves it when you know what you want.

He wants someone that can make decisions for themselves, of course with that being said he doesn’t mind if you come to him for help sometimes. However, if it was a common trend he wouldn’t be able to put up with it.

Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Kunikida is quick to forgive, mostly since he doesn’t like conflict. At times he is quick to anger if you push the right buttons, but why would you? Though he knows to only apologize when he is in the wrong.

He’ll need time to cool off first before talking with you again, but after that you guys are fine. Fighting with Kunikida isn’t fun since he tends to raise his voice when he’s agitated, and the volume he talks in is a bit scary. It’ll be mostly verbal, since he knows that communication is valuable in a relationship. And while he may not agree with you, that doesn’t mean he can’t listen to your reasoning.

Gratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Kunikida overall is a very grateful man, but above all he’s thankful about your entire existence. And he makes sure to tell you so every chance he gets. He may not notice the small things you do for him, but when everything is going smoothly he figures you had something to do with it and will thank you accordingly.

Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

He believes in an open and honest relationship. And he’s aware that in order for it to work, there has to be a sense of trust between the two of you. Cause if he doesn’t open up to you how would you feel safe enough to confide in him?

There are moments he’d rather not mention, but he knows that talking about it will help him get through it, and he has complete faith in you. He’ll come to you when things start to get overwhelming for him. After talking to you, he’ll start to feel better about what’s been bothering him.

Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Since he began dating you, the others had noticed that he seemed calmer, even with Dazai around. There would be times where he would get annoyed, but not as much as he used to. Before, even Dazai’s mere presence would induce headaches, now however, he’s able to tolerate him more without blowing a fuse.

Ever since you met him, you had always admired his belief in his ideals and the lengths he’ll go to protect them. Seeing that gave you the idea to make a book similar to his. Yours might not have an entire list, but it helps you keep track of your day to day life and any important info. Having your stuff organized has helped you finish what you wanted and makes sure that you haven’t missed anything.

Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Jealousy doesn’t come easy to Kunikida since he’s an adult, and he’s able to spot the difference between a friendly conversation and one with flirty intentions -except when it’s towards him-. Plus, he isn’t territorial over you, he knows that you can stand up for yourself and when the situation calls for it you won’t hesitate to protect yourself.

Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

When he was about to have his first kiss with you, he was really nervous. He had just taken you on your first date and after a stroll under the moonlight he walked you home since it was the right thing to do. Once you reached your home he became fidgety, and his hands couldn’t stay still.

He could still remember how hard his heart was pounding, and how his palms got slightly warm despite the cold night. And you remember how cute it was seeing the usually composed Kunikida being so nervous around you, and the blush he had then.

He knew he had to go through with it, he wrote it in his book. To kiss you after your first date, but he couldn’t help overthinking about it. Seeing his nervousness, you took the initiative and pulled him into a kiss. Upon your lips meeting his he froze, and by the time you pulled away he was still in shock.

“What happened, Kunikida? Cat got your tongue?” You said teasingly, which only caused his cheeks to flare up more.

After his first kiss with you, he still got shy at times, especially in front of other people, but his kissing has gotten better. He doesn’t freeze up when you lean in for a kiss, and he has gained enough confidence to kiss you first.

Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

You have Dazai to thank for your relationship. He knew that the two of you liked each other, but neither of you did anything about it. So he took that problem into his own hands.

Kunikida was painfully aware he was in love with you, and at times being around you made him lose his composer. He even added to his list of an ‘Ideal Partner’ modeled after you. However, he managed to miss all your attempts at flirting with him, he took them as a friendly gesture.

After getting the same results over and over, you figured that Kunikida must not like you in the same way. Coming to terms with that was not easy, so instead of inviting Kunikida out with the intention of hopefully dating him, you would go out with him as friends, and somehow that was harder to do.

This is where Dazai came in, he was acutely aware of the situation at hand, and knew that it’ll take a big push from Kunikidas' side to confess to you. The day he executed his plan started as normal, that is until you walked into the office.

Cue the endless teasing from Dazai to Kunikida. His voice was somehow even more annoying than ever to Kunikida. But he held in strong, more focused in finishing his work. Which gave Dazai the chance to steal his book of Ideals.

“Oh (Y/n)-san ~! Would you like to see what Kunikida has written in his book?” He called out to you. “Especially this one section, ‘My Ideal Partner’. Sounds very interesting, don’t you think?” He smirked, holding the book out to you.

Kunikida never got up from his seat so fast. But before he could storm over there and give Dazai a piece of his mind, you spoke up.

“No thank you, Dazai-san. And you shouldn’t read it either. That’s not right of us.”

Kunikida couldn’t believe it! You respected his privacy and you scolded Dazai! That made him like you even more.

“You’re perfect,” Kunikida accidentally blurted out.

“What!?” You asked out of shock.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get out of it, he ended up confessing to you how he felt about you and his wish to further your relationship, which you happily accepted.

Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He would definitely want to marry you, he can’t imagine spending the rest of his life with anyone else. The way he’ll propose to you is well thought out.

First, he’ll take you to the place you guys had your first date. And while you guys are chatting he'll think about how much better his life has gotten with you around, and he can’t help but smile.

You caught him smiling and called him out on it, which only caused him to get slightly nervous, he wanted to surprise you and didn’t want to give anything away.

Once again, he’ll walk you home just like before, and with the moment finally about to happen he felt this sudden knot in his stomach. He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t.

You noticed his nervousness and offered him your hand. He seemed to calm down after that, but his heart felt like it was about to explode. When you reached your home, you could tell he was hesitating about something. It reminded you before of your first kiss.

“You know,” you started, gaining his attention, “I can’t help but feel like this scene happened before… What are you holding back?”

“O-oh! Uhm..” His hand flew into his pocket, feeling the box. Taking a deep breath he pulled out the box and got on one knee. “Will you marry me, (Y/n)?”

Being married to Kunikida wasn’t all that different than dating. The only thing that changed was that he seemed more confident when you were involved. And shortly after you guys moved in with each other, which gave you more time to spend with him.

Nicknames - What do they call their s/o?

He’ll call you things like ‘my love’, ‘darling’, and you even got you to call you ‘Honey’! At first he got extremely embarrassed calling you by those names, but it soon came naturally to him.

On Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

He was painfully obvious to everyone that wasn’t you. Those around him noticed the long glances he gave you, how he seemed to favor you over the others. And how his face got red after talking to you. Once Dazai knew the truth it was over for Kunikida.

PDA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He doesn’t flaunt around his relationship with you, he doesn’t see why it’s necessary since he doesn't wish to involve outsiders in your relationship. Kunikida has no problem complimenting you in front of others, and the way he says it states it as fact rather than his opinion.

However, if you try to show him affection in front of others he gets a little hot under the collar. He’ll cover his face with his hand and avert his eyes from yours.

Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

His organization is impeccable. You can count on him to keep track on everything, so that you never end up forgetting something important. And living with him is even better, he makes sure that there are no messes around and if he manages to get home before you, you can expect a dinner of some sort waiting for you.

Romance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Kunikida is a very romantic lover, whether it be intentional or not. Everything he does for you makes your heart flutter. When he plans dates out for the two of you, most of the time they are rather cliche, like going to the movies together.

He heard about scary movies being the perfect way to bond with your partner, so he took you to one expecting you to get scared and cling on to him. But of course it wasn’t that easy. The movie ended up being about ghosts, and he ended up being the one who got scared. You think it went pretty well considering that later that night he asked to sleep with you, and you were more than happy to obliged.

Support - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He has complete faith in you, and your abilities. If you ever feel down about not being good enough, Kunikida is there to remind you of how wonderful you are and the accomplishments you’ve made.

Thrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Kunikida is perfectly content with the relationship. As long as he has you by his side he doesn’t feel the need to spice up your relationship. Keeping a certain rhythm within it helps calm him down and lets him know that nothing wrong will happen.

When things are quiet it brings a smile to his face cause that means that his ideals are coming into reality.

Understanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Kunikida understands you well, any new piece of information he learns about you he makes sure to jot it down in his notebook so that he won’t forget about it.

When you feel happy, he feels happy for you, when you feel sad or upset because of someone he also feels the same way. He does his best to keep you happy because seeing you sad hurts him in a way he hasn’t felt before.

Value - How important is the relationship to them? What is it worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Your relationship with him is something Kunikida holds very dear to his heart. He’s a man of his ideals and he can’t picture a life without you. Being with you is now a part of his ideals and he doesn’t want to let that go.

Wild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Kunikida has always taken care of his hair, and it's so nice and long you couldn’t help eyeing it, wishing you could run your fingers through it and try to do different hairstyles.

He noticed your eyes on him, and when he brought it up to you, you had to explain what you wanted to do to it. And to your delight, he allowed it!

After that it became a regular thing between you two. Whenever you felt stressed out or bored, he would let you brush his hair and play with it. He doesn’t say it directly but he loves the feeling of you playing with his hair.

XOXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Kunikida is an affectionate lover in his own way. He shows that he cares for you by showing what he knows about you, or helping you out whenever you feel lost or stressed.

He loves to kiss and have you in his arms, but he gets embarrassed doing that in front of others, especially his friends. He thinks tender moments like these should only be between you and him.

Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He usually works himself to the bone. If he’s too invested in his work then he’s too busy to think about you. It would work for a while, but then he would remember that you always tell him to take breaks and make sure he doesn’t overwork himself.

If he’s really missing you and can’t wait, during his break he’ll call you just to hear your voice.

Zeal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Kunikida is a man of his ideals, and seeing as you’re now a part of them he’ll be willing to put his life on the line if it meant saving you or your relationship.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #kunikida doppo #kunikida x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #kunikida doppo x reader #doppo kunikida #plutowrites #i hope that tumblr doesn't banish this into the shadow realm #i hope this was entertaining! it was fun to write

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dc41896 · 5 years ago

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Fill Me In

Hey guys☺️! Just wanted to say this idea was inspired by the song “Fill Me In” by Craig David, which is one of my faves and I would definitely recommend if you guys want to look it up

Pairing: Colin SheaxBlack Reader

⚠️: None, all fluff!💕

Warm, soft lips peppering the back of your neck with gentle kisses, you giggle to yourself as you begin to stir under your covers lazily draped over you and your boyfriend’s bodies. Twisting your body around, you’re met with familiar calming blue eyes that now looked the lightest shade of green from the bit of sunlight peaking through the sheer curtains and hitting his face just right.

“Morning beautiful. Sleep well?,” he lazily smiles with groggy, morning voice still intact making your stomach flutter.

“Mhm,” you nod as he kisses your lips, already leaving you breathless and hoping you can stay like this all day.

“So what’s the plan for today?”

“Honestly, nothing besides getting breakfast and eventually lunch and dinner.”

“Oh good, which means we have all the time we want for this.” Leaning down to your neck, you feel lips making their way from your collarbone back up to your jaw leaving more sweet kisses and destined hickeys. Giggling even more from the sensation on your most ticklish spot, your hands make their way to the back of his neck and run through his short, dark brown hair while he holds you close making it impossible to escape.

Loudly vibrating the wood of the nightstand, your phone interrupts your giggle fit, however Colin could care less as he continued his antics.

“Babe cmon let me get the phone really quick.”

With a light huff, he groans into your neck taking a break from his love bites to let you lean over to your waiting phone.

“Hey mom.”

“Hey sweetie! From the sound of your voice I can tell you’re still in bed,” she chuckles.

“Yea I had a late night getting some things done for work.”

“As well as other things,” Colin quietly adds making you smack his chest.

“That’s my girl! Get that work done sweetie,” your dad shouts, smile being felt over the phone and making you laugh.

“Thanks dad, I’m trying.”

“Well hopefully you’ve gotten enough rest because we’re 15 minutes away.”

“Oh from Boston?”

“No, from the apartment!” Quickly sitting up and accidentally scaring Colin, you feel your heart race and stomach grow queasy. “We wanted to surprise you since we haven’t seen you in a while and I even brought all your favorites to cook for you.”

“Aww thanks mom, you guys really didn’t have to do that though.”

“We know but we wanted to, now go ahead and get dressed we’ll be there soon. Bye!”

“Bye,” you reply quickly hanging up your phone and clumsily leaping from the bed with the grey comforter wrapped around your body leaving your boyfriend confused as he sits up covering himself with the thin sheet left.

“So I’m guessing we’re not staying in bed all day?”

“No. My parents decided to pay me a surprise visit and will be here any minute so I have to get ready,” you answer rummaging through your closet like a tornado through a small town trying to pick something out.

“Oh ok, where are we going? I know this great place downtown that they’ll love,” he smiles picking his clothes from the floor and beginning to put them back on. Pausing as you finish securing your ankle length, slit skirt to your hips, that queasy feeling comes back in full force along with guilt from what you were about to say.

“Um actually they’re coming here since my mom’s gonna cook, but uh they’re expecting only the three of us to be there...,” you explain still facing the closet not wanting to see his reaction. Shaking his head, the bed squeaks from him sitting down looking at the carpet beneath his feet.

“You still haven’t told them about us.”

“Babe I’m sorry-,”

“We’ve been together almost a year Y/N. I’m starting to wonder if it’s really you being afraid to tell them or not wanting to because you’re ashamed.”

“What? No of course not!” Walking over to the bed, you crawl across the mattress to wrap your arms around his neck as you kiss his cheek from behind.

“I want to tell them it’s just I know how they get; especially my dad. That’s why I haven’t even mentioned me quitting my job.”

“Y/N you’re a grown adult, I get not wanting to potentially upset or disappoint them but you also have to live your life.”

“I know, and I promise I’ll stop being afraid...one day...eventually,” you reply making him chuckle. “Now I say this with all the love in my heart, but put on your clothes so you can get out please?”

“Yes ma’am,” he laughs before turning to peck your lips.

Following you down the wooden stairs of your loft apartment, he gives you one last kiss goodbye before opening your front door only to come face to face with your parents equally as surprised.

“Hey sweetie! Who is this?,” your mom smiles holding a couple bags of groceries.

“This is um-,”

“Colin. Colin Shea, nice to meet you Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“Ohh this is Colin! Y/N’s mentioned hanging out with you a couple times, it’s nice to meet you as well. And please call me Diane.”

“Funny he’s never been mentioned to me,” your dad, Simon, speaks seemingly analyzing Colin.

“Yes he has, remember a while back she was going to listen to a band and she said her friend Colin would be there?”

“Oh right uh nice to meet you,” Simon half smiles making his way between the two of you to place a kiss on your forehead before setting the bags down in the kitchen.

“If you don’t have any plans Colin, you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner.”

“Yea um about that-,”

“I’d love to!,” he smiles taking the bags from her as she walks in. “I can help out with cooking too if you want.”

“You’re so sweet, but that’s ok. Y/N and I have it, you just relax with Simon.”

“That’s Mr. Y/L/N,” he adds removing the various ingredients from the plastic bags.

Watching as your mom joins your father to start getting things prepared, you hold onto Colin’s arm halting him from the step he was about to take.

“What are you doing?,” you ask in a hushed tone not to be heard by your parents.

“Umm staying for dinner?”

“Colin I’m serious let me tell them when I’m ready. Do not try to ‘accidentally’ have it slip.”

“I know and I promise I won’t say anything. I’ll continue this night as your very close friend who has seen the oddly shaped birthmark at the top of your left buttcheek.”

“Colin!”

“Calm down you have nothing to worry about,” he winks moving to join your parents in the kitchen.

“This is definitely not how I imagined today going,” you thought as you took a deep breath and plastered the best smile you could muster on your face as if on the inside you weren’t screaming to the top of you lungs.

———

“And that was the day I learned that cats really don’t like water and officially became a dog person,” Colin finishes making you and your parents laugh. Taking a bite of the remaining dinner on your plate you were pleasantly surprised, and grateful, at how smoothly everything was going.

While you and your mom cooked, the men talked football on the couch and eventually sounded as if they had known each other longer than a couple hours from their back and forth of which team was better.

Colin being a Boston boy of course siding with the Patriots, while your dad adamantly argued the Falcons like the stan he is.

From football the conversation moved to other topics making you smile to yourself after every glance their way.

Seeing them get along so well, even over dinner, you were just hoping this was a good sign for things to come. Heck, you were so giddy you felt like telling your parents everything right then and there feeling as if nothing could damper the mood.

“So were you guys gonna tell us you’re seeing each other this trip or during the holidays when you also say you’ve eloped and I’m gonna be a grandpa?,” your dad asks sitting back in his chair with arms folded over his chest.

Andddd spoke too soon.

“W-What are you talking about? We’re just friends dad,” you nervously laugh looking at Colin doing the same as he drinks the water from his glass.

“So explain why you’re wearing his necklace then? And before you object, I know in fact it’s his because when he was showing me stats during our football debate I saw the picture on the screen was him and I’m guessing his friends and that same pendant was around his neck. So either you’re that close of friends that you having matching necklaces or something else is going on.”

Still drinking from his glass to avoid having to talk, you slightly shift in your seat unable to find any words to say.

“Or if that’s not enough for you, when we got up to come eat I could smell your perfume on his shirt,” he calmly explains leaning forward to take a bite of his mixed vegetables. “So tell us again how you’re ‘just friends’.”

“Dad I can explain-,”

“I don’t know who I’m more mad at, you my own daughter hiding stuff or you not being man enough to come tell me to my face, or even call, to say you’re seeing my daughter,” he replies directing his attention to a slightly offended Colin.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s me you should be the most upset at. Colin wanted to meet and talk to you guys but I told him no.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re overbearing and judgmental,” you blurt out before your brain could think of a nicer way to try to phrase it. Hand over his chest, he lightly gasps at your allegation while your mom avoids his eyes.

“I am not! But if I was it’s because I’m looking out for you.”

“And I appreciate that, but I’m a grown woman. At some point you’ve got to let me live my life and with the decisions I make whether you think they’re good or not.”

Sighing as his arms fold on the table, he looks over at your mom shaking his head while she busies herself folding the napkin in front of her.

“So you’re just gonna let our daughter talk to me like that?”

“You already know I’ve been telling you about easing up but nooo. Just like you’re daughter, you’re too stubborn.”

“Now that you mention it, she is really stubborn,” Colin adds.

“If you think she’s bad now you should’ve seen her as a child. Lord the tantrums,” your mom laughs along with Colin as if the prior events had never happened and they were still in the middle of a pleasant conversation.

“Okay I’m pretty sure we were talking about dad and not me.”

“Alright I may be a bit stubborn, but that still doesn’t make it right you sneaking around.”

“Simon please, you act like we never did the same thing,” she retorts making your dads eyes quickly fart in her direction trying to silence here while Colin wildly laughed as he leans his head back.

“I gotta have dinner with you guys more often.”

“You’re whole freshman year you’d beg me to come visit and send me bus tickets fully knowing my parents did not want me to be in your dorm.”

All eyes on him, your father sighs running a hand over his face looking defeated and embarrassed.

“Okay you caught me, I did the same things since I too wanted to live my life and do what I wanted. It’s actually funny because I remember telling myself whenever I had kids I’d never be like my parents, all trying to figure out your business and constantly breathing down your neck. But when I first held you and wanted to keep you untouched and protected, I realized that’s all our parents wanted from us too and slipped down that path,” he chuckles to himself shaking his head.

“I never wanted you to feel like you couldn’t come talk to me with any and everything on your mind and I’m sorry I have for all these years. It’s gonna take some time, but I promise to do better bun.” Giggle breaking through your hard expression at the use of your childhood nickname, you lean forward grabbing his hand with a small smile.

“I appreciate that dad.”

Softly squeezing your knee under the table, you turn to Colin tilting his head in your parents direction with a reassuring smile. Knowing what he was referring to, you take a breath mentally preparing yourself.

“And as part of me being more open, I think it’s a good time to tell you that I quit my job.” Blankly looking at you, your parents remain quiet as if they might not have caught what you just said.

“Did...did you just say you quit your job? The job that pays for this apartment as well as other things that aren’t free?!,” your dad asks.

“Yes but I have a new one though! I’m a writer for a local magazine here, and yea it’s a bit of a pay cut but I’m still gonna be fine and it’s something I really love.”

“I thought you loved what you did before?”

“It was nice, but it could never replace writing for me.”

“As long as you’re happy and know what you’re doing, then we support you a hundred percent. Right hunny?,” your mom smiles looking towards your father and nudging his arm.

“Right...if you’re happy, we’re happy.”

“Plus with the more flexible schedule, I’ll have more time to spend home with the baby.”

“BABY?!?!!,” your parents both shout while Colin chokes beside you.

“Baby?! When did that happen?!,” he asks looking at you with red tinted ears and heightened breathing visible through his shirt.

“Oh I’m sure you know when it happened!,” Simon glares in his direction quickly rising from his chair and making Colin hide behind you.

“GUYS! Guys relax I’m kidding! I’m not pregnant it was just a joke! I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

“Too soon bun,” your dad replies clutching his chest as your mom and Colin both breathe a sigh of relief while you laugh.

Taglist: @crushed-pink-petals-writes @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @renfrewscorner @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @secretmysteriousperson @plokyu23

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a-spectacle-in-the-morning · 5 years ago

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“Macallan Isn’t Cheap, You Know” -- Rafael Barba

Notes: I wanted to give writing for Rafael another go. He makes me so nervous though, man. Fingers crossed with this one.

Kind of Summary: You’re a detective with the SVU that gets a little too drunk and winds up at Barba’s place. Sarcasm and sweetness ensue. ALSO there’s some very brief mentions of sexual assault and murder below that goes along with a case, so just be cautious if that kind of stuff makes you uncomfortable.

Tomorrow you will probably wake with bruised knuckles, but tonight it seems worth it. That’s what your drunk brain keeps telling you. It’ll be worth it. It’ll be worth it. Don’t worry. This is a good idea. Ow.

You’ve been knocking on his door for at least several seconds. It’s only two in the morning; there’s no way he’s asleep. You hear the lock click and brace for impact.

“What are you doing here... and how did you get through the front door?”

Fair enough.

“I have a badge and I’m very convincing. And I need to talk to you,” you can’t seem to stop your mouth. “You own pajamas?”

Barba just stands in his doorframe looking at you. “Of course I own pajamas. Did you think I slept in dress pants?”

You look down to the floor as you ponder your own question. “I guess?”

When you look back up to Barba’s face you see a glint of laughter flash in his eyes. “So, back to my earlier question- what are you doing here?” And when you can’t form a rational answer he continues, “Are you okay?”

You reach over to his doorframe and run your fingers down the wood. “Can I come in?”

He sighs, but steps back holding the door open for you.

As you step inside your remaining functioning senses are overwhelmed. The living room is wide and minimalist. There’s a coffee table, a grey loveseat, and a wide window that opens the space up to the lights of the city. It all smells of dark roast coffee and oak. It’s beautiful and very, very Barba.

“Of course your apartment looks like this.” You can feel his gaze on your back as you slowly make your way across the wood floors.

“I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment.”

You start to meander in circles.

“How did you get my address, by the way?” You can tell Barba is trying to piece together what you’re doing at his place without bringing up the fact that you’re clearly inebriated. It’s kind of sweet. You turn to face him, a solid five feet between you two, and catch him taking a sip of coffee from a mug you didn’t notice him holding earlier. You aren’t surprised at all to discover he’d be brewing it so late.

“I asked Liv and she gave it to me right away. She must reeaallllyyyy want you to get laid.”

Barba chokes on his mouthful of coffee as you finish the last word . He sets his cup on the nearest surface and rubs a hand at his chest. “Is that so?” he croaks.

“Mhm.” You do a full 180 turn, extending your arms. The little semi-sober part of your brain begs you to stop. You’re in Barba’s apartment. He’s being kind and you’re acting like an idiot. But also, you feel like a helicopter.

When you stop you say, “Sorry. That’s not what I’m here for.”

“That’s good because that’s not going to happen tonight.”

You tilt your head and smile, pointing a finger at him. “Not tonight, huh? Maybe some other night, though?”

“Sit down. I’m going to get you some water.”

You follow his command and flop onto his expensive looking couch saying, “Yes sir.”

Barba stops in his path to the kitchen, shakes his head, and you’re pretty sure you catch him muttering something expletive as he starts moving again.

The lights out the window to your left are fuzzy and breathtaking. You pull your legs up and wrap your arms around them, still looking out to the city.

“Here.” Barba gently places his left hand on your shoulder and offers you the glass of water with his right.

You accept it with a quiet thank you. The couch is big enough that you can squish up into one corner as Barba sits on the other end without touching. An unknowable amount of time passes as you sit sipping your water. You fall in love with the cool feeling of it on your tongue and you fall in love with Barba and the way he patiently watches you. Then you fall out of love again. By the time the glass is empty your feelings for him are somewhere in the middle, and you know you’ll have to process that in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you set your glass on the coffee table. “Sorry for just barging in. It was unprofessional.”

You can’t make out his expression as the lights behind his head surround him in a dull sort of halo.

“Good thing we aren’t at work then,” he offers.

You untuck your legs and let them fall off of the couch. Best to be sitting like an adult for a serious conversation.

“I uh,” you try to choose the right words, but they keep slipping around in your head, “I waited for you.”

Barba’s countenance is still unreadable in the darkness, but what you just said makes his face scrunch so much you can see the lines on his forehead from your side of the sofa. “Did I miss something? I don’t remember making any plans.”

“No, we didn’t- there weren’t plans. I just went to Forlini’s tonight and I waited for you to show up. I wanted that drink that you promised me a couple weeks ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to text you. I kept typing it up and deleting it.”

“As you ordered drinks anyways?”

“Yes, jackass, as I ordered drinks anyways. We both had another shitty day so I hoped that you would be there. I waited for an hour.”

“I’m sorry. Today’s shitty day left me with lots of paperwork. I wanted to finish it as soon as possible, which meant no drinks for me.”

“You owe me fifty bucks.”

“Fifty bucks?”

“Yeah. Macallan isn’t cheap, you know.”

Barba lets out a huff and stands, picking up your glass as he makes his way back to the kitchen. “I do know.”

When he returns, but stops to stand near you as you bounce your feet, you ask, “Do you mind if I stay over? Couch of course. And I'll be gone before you wake up.”

The case you two just finished had involved a girl walking alone late at night. You were confident in your abilities to make it home, but sometimes things got to you anyways. With this case it was the image of the twenty-two year old girl thinking she could handle herself too, only to get raped and murdered on her way to a friend's house after dark.

“I can give you a ride home if you want,” Barba says, probably picking up on the source of your anxiety.

“Don’t want me to stay?”

“That’s not what I said. I want you to be comfortable. If that means a late night road trip, so be it.”

“Hm.” You stand to be equal with him. The tables have turned, and his face is now lit by the blues and yellows of the buildings behind you. You’re happy to think that he can’t see the tender and open look on your own. “I think I’ll be okay here, but thanks for the offer. You’re a real sweetheart under all that ego.”

“Alright, that’s it. Bed time.”

You laugh and instinctively follow him as he leads you further into his apartment. By the time you realize where he’s taking you he’s already flipped the lights to his bedroom on and started folding the covers down.

“I’m perfectly happy on the couch. Promise. Please don’t make me feel like even more of an asshole by taking your stupidly large and soft looking bed from you.”

He walks back to where you’re stuck by the entryway and stops in front of you. “I’m not going to get any sleep tonight anyways. One of us should get to enjoy it.”

“Not planning on joining me, Counselor?”

Oh my God. I’m never drinking again, you think.

But Barba just rolls his eyes and moves to return to his office. You catch his hand as he steps past you. Before he can say anything you press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks.”

You can’t read the look on his face and you aren’t sure if it’s because of the booze or the fact that five thousand emotions seem to be racing behind his eyes. You shrug and make your way over to his bed, flipping and falling into it so you’re laying on your back.

He switches the light off with the smallest “goodnight” you’ve ever heard.

“Goodnight Rafael.”

And you swear as you slip off to sleep that you see Barba fail to hold back a smile as he shuts the door.

Yes, this is another attempt at a follow up for this. I wasn’t happy with how my other follow up turned out and I wanted to give it another go. I feel like this fits the vibe of “Woeful Wins” a bit better. At this point I also feel like I have to admit that I actually hate whiskey. I really do. Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn and not in the nice, warming way I wrote about in the first part.

The things we do for Barba…

Would you guys be interested in some semi-smut in the near future? I think I might try to do something a little smutty the next time I write Barba. Not full-on smut, but perhaps smut adjacent.

Sorry for this excessively long note after the fic. As always, massive thank yous to those of you that read my stuff. Every single like, comment, and reblog fills my little pessimistic heart with love. See y’all soon.

#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fanfiction #rafael barba fanfic #law and order: svu #Law and Order: Special Victims Unit #law and order: svu imagine #law and order: special victims unit imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #rafael barba

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kanene-yaaay-o-retorno · 5 years ago

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The Colors of my Soul(mates) [1]

[Second oneshot]

[AO3 link]

Kanene’s Notes:

Nope, I do not regret the pun. Okay, okay! I’ve plaining this AU for almost an year so I’m pretty excited to post it!! dfghjsdfrtyucfvgbhjv yaaaay!! Thank you very very much @olliedollie1204 for such a positive feedback and awesome ideas. it helped me a lot!!

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Virgil, Logan, Patton and Roman (only a brief mention of Remy) in a platonic relationship (yet), but it can be viewed as romantic, if you wish.

* Warnings: A bit of swearing and depreciative thoughts. It’s mostly fluff and hurt/comfort, tho.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing Thomas Sanders in his series of Sanders Sides.

* Something around 4.500 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Say to someone important how much you love them, be safe, talk with the one that you love, drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

[~*~]

What can do a creature if not, between creatures, love? - Carlos Drummond de Andrade

- What the fu-

Virgil only discovered he had more than one Soulmate when he was twenty years old, more specifically the exact moment he took a wrong turn and kept going even knowing he was in the wrong way because one hour it would lead him to somewhere Virgil would recognize before his mortal being inevitably starved to death in the middle of nowhere and his eyes got dragged from the visions from thousands of futures created by his mind to a Teddy Bear Store - they seemed to replicate worse than bacteria during Valentine’s Day - and two bears from the crimson shelter suddenly dyed themselves in two milliseconds as he slightly glanced at them.

Two of them. Virgil felt his entire face burn in hot shades of embarrassment with drops of disbelief, almost as if all the people running, stumbling, locked in their own worlds and swearing while walked in the sideway because ‘some stupid teenager decided to just stop and block their way’ could, by only looking at him, stare deep into his soul and realize the one staring astonished the store already carried in his fate another one more Soulmate at home.

One completely different in shape and form, even if also blue, however in a light, sky blue completely opposite shade from the new navy one staring him down - Virgil knew plentily their link wasn’t bonded yet, albeit he was equally sure that the person behind those black glooming teddy bear’s eyes were already judging him, - wondering why, between all the people, he was their soulmate. The other red one was very much likely crackling in his face when an employee came and pointedly turn the adult’s attention to the sign in big, graphed words clued in front of their store:

“You dye, you buy.”

Virgil signed, pushing his hoodie down further, wondering how much time it would take of him hitting his head on the wall to finally pass out. This option sounded much more attractive when he realized that this new ‘discovery’ about himself would cost all his month’s saves.

He asked, to the Universe, the stars, the Earth and whoever was seeing him in that exact moment: why?

Was it a kind of prank? A punishment from fate when, years and tears ago, Virgil lifted his chin up and dared the Universe to give him more soulmates as he locked all his uncolored – although never really free of some weak drops of paint from what one day they came to be – simply stuffed animals, - and nothing more, anymore, - away and promised he would never, ever allow himself to go all through this shit again?

But… That had been… years ago. Almost a decade since that soft voice he got to know so well, the impulsive acts, long conversations and warm feelings.

But…

Time has passed, that is true. Nevertheless, deep down has he really changed?

Virgil stared at the bag carried so close to his chest since his bare hands were sweating and shaking way too much for this task. Yes, he knew his Soulmates won’t feel anything until both of them decided to ‘give the First Step’, accepting to link their souls and fates, for the longest as it lasts. However, he didn’t want to risk it, because what if they felt? What if he in some way broke the Soulmate System when got two at the same time and now everything was messed up and they could already feel his touches even through the bag and the first impression Virgil would gave to them was ‘That anxious, weird boy and his creepy, sweaty hands’ and-

A girl almost hit him as she passed running at his side, making his arms protectively hug further the teddy bears closer to him, arms protectively involving them, the soft touch somehow calming his tumulted thoughts. The lost man took a deep breath.

Clear your mind. Rational thoughts. Focus on the two sides of the coin. Three people wouldn’t be able to break a millennial, unknown system, don’t matter how good he was in screwin… No, a voice that sounded suspiciously a lot like his psychologist calmly pointed, not like that. Virgil huffed, trying again. He was a magnet of problems and bad…Okay, also wrong. Neutral thoughts, focus on neutral thoughts. Come on. Come on.

It was okay.

They wouldn’t feel him until they gave the first step. Right, that… sounded like a start. He didn’t do anything. Now, what Virgil needed to do was go to his house, clean his bed in order to find a good place where he could put and ignore them and then he would get his headphones, listen his playlists and wonder where the fuck his life was going.

It was okay. Everything would stay okay as long as he didn’t give the First Step.

Virgil unconsciously hugged tighter the teddy bears, his fingers finding way and drowning themselves in the soft, cozy fur, combing them in light, soothing touches as he continued his way.

Okay. Everything was okay.

[~*~]

Plurinfanto, or Multiple Souls, it’s the nomination used for the cases when a person has diverse soulmates at the same time and in a same period.

The first known case was with Pharaoh Cleopatra when multiples of her woolen fabric started to dye themselves in various colors and shades. In Ancient Roman, it was believed that the occurrences were blessings from Venus in a sign of prosperity and abundance. Grand, longstanding parties were executed through days nonstop in order to get together those intertwined souls. When the connection broke and the colors disappeared, it meant that days of pain and foreboding were waiting forward.

It is not known for certain the exact moment when the meaning changed, albeit researchers believe it was around the fall of the Roman Empire, when all the invasions resulted in a cultural reconstruction which led to the loss from much of their costumes.

CLICK HERE TO DISCOVER HOW TO HAVE THE SOULMATE OF YOUR DREAMS!!!!

[~*~]

The computer made a soft ‘click’ as Virgil closed it and sat on his bed, adjusting slightly his position to stare the three vivid, brilliant stuffed beings contrasting to the general dark theme of his room.

Virgil growled, resting his back on the cold wall, the shivers calming his flowing thoughts about all the variants this whole thing had. No to mention that people change with time, leading to the souls who they “relate” to change as well, meaning that you can have someone in your life for years and then, one month, or weeks or the next day, you can wake up only to discover you and the said person don’t “match” anymore.

And NO ONE talked about this just because it was a freak tabu to doesn’t have ‘an only one soulmate who will be with you until the end of your existence’. Oh, for fuck sake. Virgil ran his hand through his hair, wincing when he accidently pulled some tangled strands. That sounds like a line of commercial, does anyone believe that bullshit for real?

“Hello dear, newer fellow!!” The popping thought broke his line of reasoning, jumping excitedly in his mind and automatically pulling him out of his wanders. It has a strong and full of… about everything, tune demanding attention. Virgil felt a warm kiss on his forehead, meaning one soulmate – a deep part of him turned his attention to the red colored teddy bear, - had given the First Step. The one who in some moment changed his position so now he was sitting on the floor felt his face get hot again, heart thumping strongly in his chest as his arm moved, fingers stopping inches away from the fur, questioning if he was ready to retribute the gesture.

[~*~]

Many history icons have reports of being Pluriers, as shown in the book ‘The Romance in the History of Those Who Wrote It’, by historian Henry Senyura. The subject is also beginning to gain more visibility after the protest from the teacher Joan A. in 2010, who got touched towards the situation of some of her pupils being forced to choose only one among their Soulmates for the six-month annual exchange, by the end of that period most of them lost or weakened their bonding due lack of communication, small changes of personality and continuous absence. She held a protest at the front of the school, stating that no one had the right to interfere in ‘matters of the heart’.

A lot of fiction works are beginning to address the topic more frequently, as in I’m Not One, a movie directed by Devon Stan; The Seven Colors of Rainbow, a book written by Lílian Lee and the psychological analysis Life’s Watch, recently found between drafts by the famous writer Robin Green, published after their husband’s authorization, Josué Green.

[~*~]

Logan hummed. As it seems, this was a relatively common thing, since the concept of Soul Mates surpassed the barriers of unity and time, being ‘souls who in a way or other intertwined themselves in some part of their life. Sometimes it didn’t necessarily mean a romantic relationship, as the majority of society and media pointed, but it also didn’t hold any assurance that all of them were platonic.

He massaged the bridge of his nose. Remy wasn’t in the dorm so everything was silent enough for him to hear his own thoughts.

It has been a remarkable amount of years since he got his last soulmates, - except for Remy, however they both considered this occurrence as a separate incident - well, until, of course, this day. At least it was a good thing he always carried in his bag extra easy manageable stuffed animals or else maybe the System would dye one of clothes, what would be less than ideal for him in the middle of his philosophy debate. But things got even more interesting when, after his classes, as he arrived at the small, pleasantly well-organized store next to his university, one more stuffed animal colored itself right before him.

He didn’t exactly understand why. Logan considered himself an owner of a… quite strong, strict personality, this added with his difficulty in managing his and one another emotions usually tended to bring some complex tribulations in his rela-

Anyway, that is beside the important matter. The one laying his chin on his crossed fingers undid his pose for a bite of time in order to adjust his glasses, barely fixating his gaze on the two plushies in the desk before him, his third – Pat - resting a few centimeters away, closer to Logan’s fingers, who were barely touching. Mind running. Asking, reflecting, wondering what was the exact amount of time to be acceptable to give his First Step?

‘The First Step’.

Logan never really understood from where and how that expression emerged. It didn’t come from the words’ etymology nor some semantic detour. His most concrete hypothesis consisted of the phrase being derived from old romances.

“Did you know it used to be called the ‘First Kiss’?! But that confused a lot of people who really believed that, to be able to talk and interact with their soulmates they would have to kiss each other, like the Sleeping Beauty! I always got confused in this movie when I was a child, by the way! That ended up messing with a bunch of relationships before they even started, since a lot of peeps don’t feel comfortable enough with strangers kissing them. However, they also speeded up a bunch of them as well…” Logan blinked, his attention escaping from his previous thoughts to the light sky blue plushie of Baby Yoda, for a moment surprised with the sudden input. He felt fingers carefully holding his arms and a bit of ghost movements as Pat probably moved his representation to somewhere else, a hug and warmth engulfing the one yet absolving the new information moments later.

“That was… enlightening.” His voice danced across the room. Even though he was completely aware they could chat telepathically, the childish act of saying the words out loud still comforted him, in a way. “Thank you for your contribution.”

He took a deep breath and closed the tab of research on his cellphone, internally thanking from the escaping of his turmoil of thoughts, his free hand carefully combing the Baby Yoda’s head fur, almost methodic.

“Looo, no!” The other protested with no heat in his tune, leading a toothless smile to resurface in Logan’s features. “Stop doing this. You know I end up sleeping every time!”

“Oh no, what a tragedy.” He deadpanned, already plugging his phones and changing to a most relaxed position on his chair, his eyes traveling across the countless movies on the device before him. “In which episode did we stop?”

“I’m going to fight you.” Pat sounded like he was pouting.

“How so?” Logan asked, trying to hide his amusement.

Silence followed his words.

“Pat?”

“What is the skeleton’s favorite instrument?”

“Pat, don’t you fucking da-”

“Language! It’s a xiloBONE!”

Logan audible growled, fast in his final decision. “I’m going to drop you out the window.”

“I’m going to hug you!” And immediately the one rolling his eyes felt himself being squished in a strong bear hug, huffing only half annoyed.

“You are an incorrigible heathen, let me go in this exact instant.” His answer was a ‘butterfly kiss’ – as Pat was fond in calling them – on his forehead. “Urg, affection.” Yet he smiled and mirrored the act, lightly poking the other’s side.

“We’re on episode 19.”

[~*~]

Roman stared the paper, his pencil’s tip stopped in the middle of the biggest petal’s flower, his eyes narrowing in the hope of a clearest way of how to convert the vague idea he had in transforming the night full of stars in a flower. No to tell he also would need to choose a good pallet of colors indication for it, later, and probably re-do all the process over and over and over until got the best result as possible. A yawn found its way from his lips and the designer stretched, getting up to drink a bit of water and rubbing his eyes, wondering if it was really worth it to make a black tea to help him through the night.

A glimpse of color caught his attention. The navy blue teddy bear on his couch, the main inspiration of his newest tattoo. Roman wondered why it wasn’t resting in front of him while he drew. A corner of his brain, obscured by the tiredness, telling he had a previous good reason for this choice although his actual self carried absolutely no idea of why.

Well, if he couldn’t remember it, it means the reason wasn’t THAT good, right?

Roman held the stuffed animal, spinning with it across the room for a couple of minutes, imagining who would be the person behind it. A king, a queen, a non-binary royalty? Did they like Disney? Musicals? Sing? Would they chat for hours at first with a few words exchanged or would they take a bit to warm at each other? Was navy blue their favorite color or…

Or…

Navy blue.

Oh.

He fixed his glare on the plushie, his hands feeling and slowly drawing in the soft fur of it.

Navy blue, huh? A humorless chuckled flew in the air. It could have no significance, it could be a world of it. It probably didn’t mean what he, for a moment, a so silly, stupid moment, wished it meant. Of course, one day this would happen, right? It was something normal, something expected. Not the magical, right out of the story books or his old daydreams, occurrence.

This wasn’t a second chance. The Universe doesn’t give you second chances. He wasn’t the same boy from eleven years ago, holding his own costumed teddy bear crying his eyes out, hugging he – No, it – the closest as possible, wishing with all his heart and soul for the color, the voice, the thoughts, the rambling, their bickering, the forgiveness to come back again.

No, he grew up. He moved on. He got better.

Then why did a part of him still felt this way? Like he was about to hear the excited giggles, the soft reprimand, that lovely, deep and so truly -and sometimes boring, Roman had to admit – questions? Why would a part of him still say that he could have it all again if he just… waited long enough, hoped high enough, dreamed long enough…

…If he was enough.

There aren’t more than seven billion colors in the world. Roman would be stupid if he really believed there was a path where he wouldn’t stumble in that so (un)fortunate well-known shade of blue again.

Roman growled, his forehead making a loud, dry thumping sound as hit his desk. The one who should be asleep hours ago had absolutely no energy to battle against those thoughts, again. At least for now. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the teddy bear laid on the cold tabletop before him. Well, what a better way to get rid of your own means thoughts than put some stranger’s unpredictable thoughts in the middle of it? Roman slightly pushed the bunch of flowers and some warmup sketches he had out of the way, carefully carrying the representation next to him, nodding. Honestly, that was the best idea he had for a while, why did he even put the lovely thing away?

Awake Roman was so silly, thinking that… something he couldn’t quite recall right now would be a bad idea, he pointed as snorted softly, pressing his lips on the teddy’s forehead, the quote he knew by heart flying from them in a natural flow.

“It is not immortal, since it’s flame. But let it be infinite while it lasts.”

A warm sensation rested on his own forehead moments later, leading the sleepy form to hum happily.

“Is it… poetry?” Oh shit, Roman widened his eyes. His soulmate heard that?? Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Roman mentally facepalmed himself. So that was why he usually said it before the First Step!

“Uhh, yeah. Of course. Fidelity Sonnet by Vinícius Moraes.”

“I see. Classicism, I presume. A literature of very soundly pleasant rhymes, indeed. The first sonnet was probably created by the humanist Italian poet Francesco Petrarca, although it got even more known in the western literature after the works of Camões, who- ”

“He is from Modernism, actually.” Roman didn’t know why he suddenly sounded so defensive. Logan felt a cold feeling run his body when the other’s hands let go of him, for a piece of second wondering if it was supposed for him to do the same with the red narwhal plushie on his hold.

“A very common mistake to make due the lack of context.” He retorted, unable to formulate another answer. He had, of course, thought, balanced options and chosen the best topics to discuss with his new soulmates when they bonded. However, his fingers firmly gripped the pen, its tip tapping on the first topic written in the notebook partially forgotten in front of him, the poetry figuratively threw him out of his tracks, leading the decision to be the most impartial as possible due his… not so impartial past memories with that specific shade of red an even more difficult task than it already was.

“Yes. Sure. Sorry, I- I’m just… very tired right now.”

“You should go sleep, then.”

The other snorted with the direct, immediate response. “I should, shouldn’t I? Gotta work, though.”

Some part of Logan’s brain registered the new fact, separating and keeping it in a special place so he would remember to write it down in the new folder he bought, later.

“I see.” … poetry? That wasn’t a hard topic to talk about. The one now nervously cleaning the very clear lenses twisted his mouth. He could talk about this for hours. No, correction: he already had previously talked about this for hours non stop.

Logan strangely felt the urge to rub his face and scream. It has been years, - eleven years and 10 months to be precise – and exactly eight years since the one wearing glasses learned poetry because of him. Because of his constant habit of reciting Shakespeare before they would go to bed, until Logan brought himself to research and decorate all the poems he could muster, taking the task to now wake Prince – the name still carried a strong taste in his tongue – in the same way every single day. Before they realize, that becomes something between them. There were times when both didn’t talk, content in only reciting some verses and hear the other complete them. A part of Logan, that illogical and unfortunately full of feelings one wondered how their rap battles would be if they found each other right now.

Did Prince even maintain his liking the same things he one day did? Does he still recite poetry? Does he maintain the same dreams? The same habits? Does he even remember about him?

Highly improbable.

“You can call me Lo.”

Roman slowly blinked, getting out the fog surrounding his brain to realize he was mindless staring at the pan’s boiling water, surprised the other still there. Well, it seems like he hasn't screwed terribly everything yet.

“Lo? Like Lowrance?”

“Even though my name does contain ‘Lo’ in it, no. It’s ‘Lo’ like Logic. I came to believe it’s a good idea the nomination after a predominant characteristic, since we can’t actively exchange our real names through the Soulmate System.”

Roman’s breath hitched, a memory with yellow-ish edges and nostalgic smell unrolling in front of him.

…

‘I think we should choose you a name with more personality in it, ya know?’ He threw himself on his bed, kicking his legs on the air before immediately scoping the plushie and laying it on his stomach. ‘Like a characteristic!’

‘I don’t see what is wrong with the nickname I choose.’

‘No, no! There is nothing wrong with it! But that could be something just between us!’ Then he gasped, picturing that, if he was inside a movie there would be a lamp shining right above his hair in this moment. ‘We could call you Ro!! You wanted to be a robot, right?’

His soulmate growled and Roman felt a few pokes on his arm, the verbal protest doesn’t taking long before accompanying it. ‘I was three years old!’

‘And I’m never letting you live this down.’ He beamed, both knowing the annoyed scoff he got as response held no real heat. ‘Besides, we could even match our names!!’

‘That would be very counterproductive.’ Roman felt his hair being softly smoothed, a usual indication the other was losing himself in his thoughts. ‘Nicknames are supposed to help us. Having two equal names is not the most efficient thing.’

Roman dramatically scoffed, picking the stuffed animal and half hugging it, his free hand occupying itself in making a couple of gestures to no one, since his soulmate couldn’t exactly see them. ‘It’s not about being productive, Bear! It’s about feelings!!’

‘And since when,’ a light poke was delivered on his belly, making him squeak and mess with the teddy bear’s hair in revenge ‘Everything isn’t feelings for you, your highness?’

…

“Okay,” Roman and his self past disappearing with the fading memory said, in synchrony “You shall call me by Prince, then.”

Suddenly he felt himself falling, his hands quickly holding on the tabletop as the cold, nauseous feeling took over his stomach, more like a punch on it, his veins being filled with amounts of adrenaline for a glimpse of a second.

“Excuse me? Warn a guy next time you decide to just drop his representation, dude! Damn.” Roman shook himself, trying to bring his body to calm down.

“Sorry, I got… startled.” Logan gulped. The word ‘Prince’ echoing on his mind as a broken vinyl disc. What were the chances? That couldn’t be such a common nickname, right? Nor color. Nor interests. What were the chances? What could be the chances? Maybe he was just projecting, being played, tricked by a dangerous partnership between his own brain and emotions. Maybe he was just jumping to conclusions due the nostalgic feeling fogging his actions, his thoughts. Perhaps-

“Hey, Lo? Are you there?”

“Yes.” Logan answered, his fingertips colliding quickly with the fabric of his pants as he visualized his options. “Yes, I am.”

“Hm. Okay, then. I’m… glad to know.”

Silence. Logan took a wobbly breath.

“Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back; Wherein he puts alms for oblivion; A great-size monster of ingratitudes:”

“Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd; As fast as they are made, forgot as soon.” Roman continued without even noticing until the words danced in the air, just like the years haven’t passed.

Then he understood.

His heart stopped for a second, his eyes widening and his voice disappearing, as if his whole being was afraid to break the moment, the spell; as if this was a dream and a miscalculate step would make everything fade.

“Bear?” Roman felt a light poke on his cheek.

“Hello, Prince.”

Roman choked a laugh, quickly crawling the teddy bear next to his chest, hugging it both firmly and yet so caring, curling around its - no, him - feeling an equal warmth involve his form as he hided his face on the soft fur, giggling and hugging, feeling so happy, so alive and right and good and he would never, ever, ever again let him go.

“I missed you, bitch. Never scare me like this again.”

“I… missed you, as well.” Logan tried to not let the emotion take over his tune, his hand petting the narwhal plushie softly, the words had abandoning him, as it seems. “This reunion is a… good surprise.”

“Oh, shut up, I know you’re having a blast somewhere in that logic soul of yours, too.”

Logan huffed, grinning. “Stop crying on my hair, your troglodyte.”

“Make me, I dare you.”

“Always so dramatic.” They both rolled their eyes, letting the moment be bathed in the deep waters of a comfortable silence.

“Eleven years.”

“We have so, so much to talk about!! Oh, my goodness gracious, I’m going to get my tea. Do you remember about that play I wrote about zombie princes and a dragon witch? You will NOT fucking believe what happened with it!”

“Good thing I have you to explain to me then.” Roman stopped, a gigantic smile taking over his features as he closed his eyes to feel everything even more.

“Yeah, I agree.”

Somewhere in the world Patton and Virgil smiled during their sleep, unable to control themselves when a gigantic wave of pure joy and delight filled every corner of their hearts, coloring it on the most brilliant gleam, just like their stuffed animals resting peacefully on their grip.

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