#he looks like he came straight out of a romance novel

[bountydroid]

Darlin' pt 7

pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 / pt 4 / pt 5 / pt 6 / pt8

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (SMUT)

Description: After a close call Cooper gives in to his feelings for Reader.

Notes: This chapter is half smut. For those who don’t want that I don’t think you’d miss anything of importance in the story if you skip it.

TW: p in v, unprotected sex, irradiated cream pie, pretty vanilla (sorry pervs lol love you I'm just not good at smut).

His scarred lips were rough against mine, one of his hands on my hip the other tangled in my hair. This was a moment I dreamed about my entire life. Someone who cares about me was never something I thought I’d have. While having a couple of fleeting flings here and there with my brother's friends, I never had a true romance. This feeling? It was straight out of one of my novels. When he finally pulled away, I couldn't help but let out a breathy sound of dissatisfaction. He gave me a teasing smile before taking the vials from my hand and shoving them into his bag.

"Let's go find you some Radaway, Darlin'. We’ll have ya feelin' better in no time." He said as he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the building.

"Thank god Lucy left the door open." I thought to myself as we made our way inside. 

The place was huge and felt like a relic of the past. The rundown storefronts and flickering lights left much to be desired. I pushed my body against Cooper's back as an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Noticing my discomfort, he gave my hand a small reassuring squeeze. He was still in bad shape, clear as day, as he stumbled through the building.

After some exploration, we came across a room full of bodies. "Didn't know Lucy was capable of this." I gasped.

"I imagine these fellas did most of it." He said, kicking the boot of one of the men on the ground. He was holding a gun, but it didn't seem to have done him much good. While Cooper scanned the bodies, looking for anything of value, I started to wander over to some of the other rooms. One room in particular caught my eye, some of the things inside reminding me of the medical center we found Roger in.

"Don't go far," Cooper said as he huffed another vial before rummaging through the men's pockets.

"I won't," I mumbled as I looked back at him one more time before entering the room. I swallowed nervously as I looked around the room before setting my sights on some drawers in a cabinet. After some searching, I could some syringes with the word "Radaway" written on the side. 

"Found some!" I said happily as I made my way back to Cooper to find him shoving vials of Jet into his hat. “That's so much!" I yelled in shock.

The happiness radiating from the two of us could have probably lit up a city. He looked up at me with the biggest smile I have ever seen on him before his eyes flitted to the syringe in my hand. He dropped his hat on the ground as he held out his hand expectantly. 

"Let me help you with that." He stated.

I was perfectly capable of injecting myself, but I liked the idea of Cooper taking care of me, so after a moment of hesitation I passed it to him. While he was looking over the syringe, almost like he was making sure it wasn't fake, I took the time to look over his face. REALLY look it over. His leathery tan skin and his beautiful hazel eyes. I knew that many people looked at him with disgust, but I don't think that after getting to know him I could ever think of him as anything other than beautiful. I was so lost in thought I barely registered the needle going into my arm.

"There," He said with a satisfied tone. "All better."

"Thanks, Coop." I beamed up at him. I had some Radaway, Cooper had a lot of Jet, and he finally kissed me. Everything felt perfect. 

Cooper knelt down to pick back up his hat when something caught his eye. A rectangular black box with glass on the front. 

"What is that?" I asked curiously.

"That, darlin'." He responded, a look of shock on his face, "That is a television."

I ruminated on the word, trying to figure out if I knew it from anywhere as he grabbed something and inserted it into the television. He slowly made his way to the couch and plopped down. The expression on his face was something I couldn't recognize. Amazement? I sat down next to him as I looked at the television curiously, whatever it was it was affecting Cooper. The box sprang to life, lighting up as he pressed a button on the controller he was holding. The television played a video. "Of course!" I thought to myself as I remembered the stories of moving pictures. The man on the video reminded me a lot of Cooper. The western attire, the confidence, and of course the gun he was holding. 

"Reminds me of you," I said innocently, not realizing the weight of my words.

"Nah, He ain't nothin' like me." He said quietly before looking over at me to scan my face before looking back at the video.

The man in the video was talking and I was trying to pay attention, I really was, but It was so long since I had sat anywhere but the ground, and while under normal circumstances I would call the couch uncomfortable, it felt like the most comfortable thing in that moment. I put my head on Cooper's shoulder and yawned. 

"Tired already, sugar?" Cooper teased.

"Maybe a lil' bit," I admitted. "I could stay up a bit longer, though."

"For what?" He mused, almost like he knew what I was thinking. 

I giggled, blush coating my cheeks as I whispered, "Maybe some more kissing?"

He hummed happily before pulling me onto his lap. I yelped in surprise at his sudden movement, grasping at his shoulders. “Now why would you want to kiss lil’ old me?” He was mostly joking, but an undertone of seriousness hung in the air.

“A better question is why wouldn’t I want to kiss you, Cooper? You are strong, you take care of me, you are handsome-“ I started to explain.

He scoffed, interrupting me. “I ain’t handsome.”

“You are!” I try to explain, “You have pretty eyes.” I said like I did days ago, back when he barely tolerated me. “And the way ya hold yourself is very… sexy.”

His eyes snapped up to mine, they were darkening, hungry. The embarrassment coursed through me and I could hardly stand it, so I buried my face in his neck.

“Awww getting shy, sugar?” He mocked. Before I could respond I felt his lips on my cheek. He stayed there for a moment before he started trailing down my neck, leaving tiny kisses in his wake.

I sighed happily as I pushed myself closer to him. I could’ve stayed that way forever, but Cooper had other plans. His hands were still on my hips from when he pulled me onto him. He slowly started to massage them before pressing me harder down on his lap. I let out a sound that was a mixture between a yelp and a moan.

“You like that?” He whispered in my ear.

I shook my head yes, my face still hidden in his neck.

“I wanna see you, darlin’.” He stated, his southern drawl slurred. He wasn’t demanding it, the tone in his voice was soft and hesitant, like he was worried he was going to scare me off.

Holding my breath I slowly pushed myself up. I was sure my face was red as a tomato as I made eye contact with him. When our eyes met, it felt like a damn had been released, lust flowing through me. “Coop,” I whisper before I start moving my hips on my own.

He let out a growl as he squeezed at my plush hips. “So soft.” He said.

“All for you, I’m all for you,” I say before crashing my lips into his.

The kiss was heady and passionate, I felt like I was drowning in him.

“Too many clothes,” I mumble against his mouth. Before I started to tug at his tattered duster jacket.

“I agree,” he sighed. Instead of helping me with his jacket, he ripped my hands from him and quickly tugged off my shirt, almost tearing it in the process. He sucked in a breath as he took in my bare chest. It was a sight to behold. Hair messy, half naked, and pupils blown. There was no way he could question if I wanted him, not anymore.

“God damn.” He groaned before leaning forward to kiss my chest. It’s like he wanted to kiss every inch of my body and I was starting to get impatient.

“Stop your teasin’,” I grumbled out, tugging at his jacket again.

This time, he obliged, quickly shucking it off before his hands started fumbling at his vest buttons. I cursed at him for wearing so many layers. I took this time to slide off his lap to take off my boots and pants, leaving me in nothing but my underwear. His hands stuttered as he threw off his vest and pulled off his shirt, distracted by the view in front of him.

“You, sugar, are way too good for me.” He muttered, his hands reaching out to pull me back onto his lap.

I moaned at the feeling of his rough jeans rubbing against me through my underwear. I could feel myself getting wetter, smearing my arousal on his pants. I rubbed my hands down his scarred chest before finding myself fiddling with his buckle.

“You want me?” I asked as I bit my lip. “Then take me.”

This seemed to flip a switch in him as he quickly spun me around so my back was on the couch. He hovered over me before kissing me fervidly. I undid his belt before popping open the button on his pants. He briefly pulled away from me to pull on his pants completely before slotting himself back on top of me.

“Darlin’,” he moaned as he rubbed his erection against my core.

I was so lost in the feeling I could barely respond, “Yeah?” I moaned out.

“There was more Radaway, right?” He asked. It was sweet that even in his lustful state he was still worried about me.

“Yes, Coop.” I responded, “Now fuck me already.”

He chuckled before mocking me, “So eager.”

He continued to tease me as he slowly pulled down my underwear, kissing down my legs as he went. I started to get dizzy, the arousal was becoming too much to bear. Finally, he pulled my panties off completely, kissing his way back up my body. I widened my legs as far as they could go, silently beckoning him inside of me. I heard him curse under his breath before slowly pushing himself into me. We let out moans in tandem, reveling in the feeling.

I put my hand on the back of his head and pulled him down so our foreheads were knocking against each other. I looked deeply into his eyes before I started to plead, “Fuck me, Cooper. Make me feel good. Please!”

“I could never say no to you.” He whispered before sheathing himself completely, his head brushing against that sweet spot inside of me.

He gave me a peck on the lips before trailing down my neck again, sucking as he went. The idea of having marks on me that everyone would see made me moan loudly. He was claiming me as his. I started to wiggle, silently begging him to move. After a few moments, he gave in, starting slow. It was intimate, sweet even. He wasn’t fucking me he was making love to me. He had barely started but I was already a babbling mess. Repeating his name like a prayer I begged for him to go faster. It didn’t take long for him to oblige, picking up his pace. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room. The bodies on the floor were long forgotten as we got lost in each other.

“Y/n,” he groaned my name, causing me to squeeze around him. “Sugar, you keep feeling this good I’m not gonna last long.”

I was feeling too good to respond, letting out soft squeaks and moans as he pistoned in and out of me. He snaked his hand down my body to start rubbing at my clit, causing my body to tremble. I was close and he knew it, trying to get me to the edge before he arrived there himself.

“Cooper!” I cried out as I convulsed underneath him, succumbing to the pleasure. I could hear him swearing above me before he stilled, letting out one last moan as he came inside of me.

The both of us were breathing heavily. Saying we were exhausted would have been an understatement. He took a moment before starting to pull out of me. I let out a sad whimper at the lack of contact, grasping at his arms. He let out a breathy laugh at my actions. “I’ll be back.” He said, reassuring me. I watched him with half-lidded eyes as he went into the medical room for a moment before coming back to me with another syringe of Radaway.

I snorted, “That could have waited.”

He didn’t respond, instead opting to give me a smirk before sinking the needle into my arm. Once he was done he grabbed ahold of me, rolling us over so he was underneath me on the couch.

As he was rubbing reassuring circles on my back he told me, “Sleep, darlin’.”

I hummed happily into his chest before giving way to his request.

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[softiedingo]

neck + chest appreciation post ✨️

[unequivocallyreid]

Stay With Me Till Morning

hi guys! another fic for you :) i got a little carried away at the end, but you know how it goes. this is for any munch!spencer fans 🤗

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary:

Spencer and you are co-workers, strictly co-workers, despite your feelings for him. A few nights sharing a room won’t change that, right?

warnings: mentions of body-specific insecurity, fluff, smut, oral sex (fem receiving)

wc: 3.2k

if i missed anything let me know!

One of the worst things about being a newbie, at any job, is coming into a place where connections have already been made. Working at the FBI, more specifically the BAU, was no different.

Now don’t get the wrong idea, working there was a dream for you, but there was no doubt that you were severely lacking in personal relationships compared to others. Derek and Reid had a sort of brotherly bond, JJ and Emily’s like sisters, and Hotch and Rossi’s went unspoken but still glaringly obvious. You existed in their orbit, and while you had all grown to love each other, you still felt a bit like an outsider sometimes.

Unfortunately for you, this feeling intensified whenever the topic of room sharing came up. Sure there were benefits, like having a room to yourself on occasion, but usually it just served to worsen your imposter syndrome.

The case that you were working currently, sans Rossi (he was on a book tour following his latest release), pushed this feeling to surface even more.

You all were in Upstate New York investigating a series of homicides that seemed to mimic a string of murders that had occurred 20 years ago. The town you were in was on the smaller side, so the only place you could find accommodations was a small bed and breakfast.

Said BnB did not have enough rooms available for anyone to ride solo, and with Rossi gone, Hotch and Morgan were buddied up, leaving Emily and JJ and Reid and you. Naturally, Emily and JJ bunked up together, leaving you to share a room with the boy wonder.

It’s not that you didn’t like Reid, quite the opposite actually, you liked him too much. You’ve always had a propensity for falling incredibly deeply incredibly fast, and when you met Spencer for the first time you proved you reputation correct.

Your first impression probably put him off slightly, but he was gracious enough not to show it. When Hotch introduced you, the first thing you thought was how ridiculous attractive the man in front of you was. His high cheekbones and big, brown eyes drew you in immediately. To make matters worse, he was fucking adorable. After snapping back to reality, you offered Spencer your hand, which he declined citing the pathogens and it being safer to kiss.

In one of your more impressive displays of cluelessness you said, “I think we could make that happen.”

This caused Spencer to flush and a ghost of a smile to grace Hotch’s face. Thankfully, in the last few months you had redeemed yourself slightly, developed a rapport with the doctor, and stood by hopelessly as you crush developed into a nasty little monster.

So, no sharing a room with Spencer wasn’t really an issue, but still, might just be the thing that breaks you.

~

“There’s only one fucking bed?”

You’d spoke far too soon.

After assuring Spencer you were completely fine and not at all uncomfortable with sharing a room with him, you and him walked together to your room, only to find a scene straight out of a shitty romance novel.

When Spencer heard you and noticed that there was in fact, only one bed, he immediately said, “I can sleep on the couch.”

Maybe you should’ve just agreed and saved yourself from a week of sexual frustration, but you couldn’t.

“Spence, that couch is maybe five feet long. I don’t even think I could sleep on it.”

You looked at him then to muster up some courage, “We can share the bed. We’re both adults.”

He looked slightly pained, which panicked you a bit. God, how fucking embarrassing.

“Or I can take the couch. I wont let you, but if you’re uncomfortable I can. I’m a bit shorter.”

Spencer hurried to speak, “No!”

His outburst took you by surprise but he quickly went on.

“I mean, no. I’m not uncomfortable. I just don’t want you to be at all or feel like I’m forcing you to sleep with me. Fuck, or I mean next to me-“

You cut him off before he could fall into a tailspin.

“We’ll share then.”

~

Sharing the bed had actually not been that bad for you at first. You were on your third day in New York, and you were making steady progress on the case. Hopefully, it would be wrapped up in a day or two.

Aside from the fact that you barely spent any time in the room, you had managed to stay on your side bed. The only spot of trouble was the dreams you were having, dreams about the person next to you that would turn even the worst sinner’s cheeks red. Still, Reid was acting no different, so at least you were confident you weren’t talking, or, god-forbid, moaning, in your sleep.

It had been an incredibly hard day. Not only was it freezing, but you had been outside and away from temperature controlled environments for far too long. Immediately once you got back to the Inn you were staying at, you asked Spencer if he’d mind you taking the shower first.

“I’m freezing my ass of right now. You don’t mind do you?”

“No, of course not. You know it’s kind of a superstition, but there’s some actual evidence that being cold can make you sick. I just read a study which showed 10% of people exposed to-“

You cut him off before he could finish.

“Spence, I’d love to hear about all that, but please just wait till I’m out of the shower.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

You shook off his apology as it wasn’t needed. That was one thing you didn’t get about the rest of the team; you loved hearing all the little tid bits of information that Reid let out. Yeah, he was like a literal encyclopedia at times, but it was never annoying. If anything it made you like him more. You loved the way he lit up when he told you about something he’d just read about, or read about 15 years ago. It was cute.

Getting into the shower was like a blessing. The water rolled over your cold skin and helped to loosen the muscles you’d been stressing all day. If you were bolder, or clueless to Spencer’s aversion to touch, you’d ask him to give you a shoulder rub. Your mind wondered off to where else he might touch you, but that was just wishful thinking.

After spending a near gratuitous amount of time in the shower, you shut off the water and reached for a towel. Only once you’d started drying off did you realize in you haste to warm up you’d forgotten to bring your sleep clothes into the bathroom with you. Now, you had to walk out in a tiny, hotel towel right in front of Reid. Sure, it was the start of a few of your fantasies, but in real life the idea seemed mortifying.

As quietly as possible, to not draw attention to yourself, you opened the bathroom door. With one hand gripping the point where the towel connected with itself, you tried to tiptoe unnoticed to your suitcase.

“Y/n?”

You looked up to see Spencer watching your frame like a hawk. As he took in your damp, barely covered figure, you wished to yourself that the lights in the room weren’t so fucking bright.

“I, uh, forgot to bring my clothes in,” and with that, you raced back into the bathroom to change.

After taking a minute to collect yourself, you make your way out of the bathroom again. The room is, thankfully, much darker and you see Reid tucked into his side of the bed. You climb in next to him.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That was weird. I, I won’t forget my clothes again.”

“It didn’t, Y/n, don’t worry.”

With that, you both tried your best to fall asleep and put the day behind you.

~

When you wake up, it’s decidedly not light out and you are decidedly not alone on your side of the bed. One of Spencer’s arms is over your waist, holding you against his body. Still, you don’t know why you’ve woken up.

You tend to be a pretty heavy sleeper, and you know that some light spooning wasn’t enough to wake you up. As you lay awake, trying to figure out why you are up and what to do next you feel Spencer move behind you.

Now, you definitely know what woke you. Spencer, who could barely look you in the eye after seeing you in a towel, was grinding into while you slept. Obviously, he was asleep too, but that didn’t stop the shock of it all from hitting you like a fucking bus. He was silent aside from the occasional whimper, which sent shockwaves straight to your core each time he let one slip.

Despite this, again, being the start to a few of your own wet dreams, you were pretty literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. You felt like you’d be taking advantage of Reid if you didn’t wake him, but if you did you know he’d just about die from embarrassment. Or, worse, he’d think that you somehow executed all of this in a sick ploy. Not likely, but still a source of anxiety.

It took you a few minutes to get your head on straight, what with the burning feeling brewing in your abdomen, but eventually you realized that waking him up was pretty much the only thing you could do.

“Spence,” you said while gently shaking his shoulder.

“Spence, love, you gotta wake up.”

You were turned toward him now and saw his eyes open a crack, “Y/n? What’s wrong what’s goin-“

The realization of your situation also hit him like a truck, which was sort of comforting because at least you weren’t alone in the feeling.

“Oh my god, Y/n. Fuck, I’m so sorry. Jesus, I, I can’t- Fuck I’m so sorry.”

He went to spring out of bed, but your hand grabbed his arm before he could.

“Spence, it’s okay I promise. Honestly I’m surprised it didn’t happen earlier.”

“No, no it’s not. You don’t even like me that way and I was all over you-“

You cut him off when you heard this, “Spence, what do you mean I don’t like you like that?”

“You heard me right? I said your name?”

The world stops spinning, “What?”

“Oh, oh no. Look, I’m so sorry. I’ll go sleep in one of the cars. Fuck, I’m so-”

“Spencer stop. Please stop apologizing.”

It’s like an old Western showdown for a moment, the two of you staring at each other without making a move.

“Were you dreaming about me?”

He nodded, about to speak and likely offer more apologies. But, before he gets the chance you push your lips to meet his.

The kiss is soft and gentle. At first, his lips don’t move against yours, and you start to pull back, worried you read the situation wrong. Fortunately, before your lips could even part from his, he’s pulled you back in. His hands find the side of your face and his lips pressed into yours with a bruising intensity. Slowly, his hands moved to your waist, holding you in place.

The feeling rushing through you was unlike any you’d ever experienced. His lips molded to yours so perfectly it was almost unbelievable. If you’re hands weren’t so preoccupied by his hair, you’d pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. With a move you didn’t think he’d possibly pull, Spencer bit into your lip, making you gasp. He took the opportunity to press further into the kiss, tracing your tongue with his.

Before you could fall completely into the kiss you pulled away to ask, “Spence, are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’ve been thinking about it since the day we met, Y/n.”

With that, he pulled you back in. His hands moved more surely on you, dipping below your shirt. The feeling of his skin on yours sent shockwaves through your body. You moved to take off his shirt in turn, desperate to feel even more of him. He was relentless, breaking free from your lips to drag his mouth down your neck and over your exposed collar bone.

You felt needier than ever, and evidently so did he. In another move you didn’t expect (maybe you should throw your expectations out the window at this point) he grabbed your hips and pulled you into his lap. With you straddling him, he moved to take your shirt off. Insecurity grabbed hold of you before you could push it away.

You stilled his hands in yours, “I haven’t let anyone see me like this in a long time. Just, please don’t be disappointed by what you see.”

His face morphed into one so full of love that it made your teeth ache.

“You’re my dream, Y/n. You’ll never, ever disappoint me.”

You let go of his hands and they resumed their previous journey, pushing up your shirt and letting that part of you be bare to him. Admittedly, you had to fight the urge to cover yourself, but when you saw his face you knew it was pointless. He was ogling you, not offensively, but more like he couldn’t believe you were actually in front of him.

“You’re so, so beautiful.”

His words didn’t erase the thoughts you had, but they certainly made them easier to ignore. Moving up from your waist, he went to cup your breast, fingers playing with your nipple which made your back arch into him. He took the opportunity to flip you over so you were laying underneath him. The weight of his body over you was heavenly. You felt him press himself into your center through his sweatpants. There were just thin layers of clothes between you now.

“Will you let me taste you? I’ve been dying to.”

You’re stunned from words but you manage to nod your head. As he moved down your body, he took your shorts and panties with you, leaving you completely exposed. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel scared of the feeling or his reaction to you. With Spencer, you felt completely at home.

You felt him kiss down your things, teasing you in a way that made you feel completely crazy. His breath ghosted over your core, but he still hadn’t made contact with where you needed him most.

“Spencer, please.”

Hearing your voice must have broken his resolve. He dove in like a man starved. In the past, you hadn’t found yourself enjoying the presence on a man’s head between your legs. Not that you had much experience, but the men who had you in that way always seemed to treat it as a means to an end. One of the two boyfriends you’d had refused to go down on you at all, and the other wouldn’t unless you were completely shaved. Safe to say you didn’t feel like you were missing much.

Everything was different with Spencer. He licked into you there was no place he’d rather be. His tongue over traced over your cunt as he tried to find all the places that drove you wild, and god did he. The noises in the room were obscene, from the moans falling from your lips to the sound of his driving you to an orgasm.

You locked your hands in his hair, grinding into his face without even noticing that you were. You were so close, and you found the final push in his fingers. God, his beautiful fingers.

His mouth was on your clit as he pushed two digits into you, curling in before pulling out, over and over until your legs begin to shake. His unoccupied hand pressed on your lower stomach, building up the feeling until you burst.

You repeated a mantra of his name as you came harder than you can ever remember coming before. The sensation took you out for a minute, but when you came back down and looked down at Spencer, you saw him staring at you in awe and completely soaked.

“Fuck, Y/n. Have you, have you done that before? I think that was the sexist thing I’ve ever seen.”

You were confused for a moment, wondering why he’d think you hadn’t orgasmed before. That was before you felt the damp fabric of the bed beneath you.

“Oh! Oh god, uh, no I haven’t. I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“Don’t apologize for that, Y/n. Fuck, I’d spend the rest of my life between your legs if it meant I could see that again.”

The constat praise falling from him had you noticeably riled up, and you pulled him up, back on top of you.

“Spencer, please. I want you. I want you inside me.”

“Fuck, Y/n.”

He made incredibly quick work of his own pants, freeing himself. Your mouth dropped open as you took him in. He was big, the biggest you’d been with, and he was pretty. You would have drooled if it wasn’t for his lips pressing into yours. He ran his middle finger through your folds before grasping himself. He followed his own path and ran his member through your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect.”

The pet name made you even more desperate, “Please, Spence. Fuck, please.”

He put you out of your misery, sinking into you in one motion. You had to adjust to his size, but the feeling of him inside you, as close to you as possible had you reeling. You bucked your hips up, urging him to move.

He gave you exactly what you wanted, pushing into you at a perfect pace as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

You were overcome and all you could mutter was “thank you, thank you, thank you” in time with each of his thrusts. When he started to push into you harder, you couldn’t help but squeeze down on him.

His hips stalled, “You’re gonna make me come, Y/n. You’re so fucking tight”

You let your hands take down his back, “Please, Spence. Want you to, want to feel you come in me.”

His pace picked up, and you could feel how close he was. Still he wasn’t done. His fingers again found your clit and rubbed circles on it.

“Need to feel you come on me first baby. Need you to come.”

His words made your head spin. It only took a few more thrusts before you were coming again, just as intense as the first time. You pulsed around him and it pushed him over the edge. You felt him come inside you, filling you completely.

“I love you.”

You couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, but you froze immediately after saying them, worried that you had ruined everything. But, just as he had done before, Spencer quelled your worries.

“I love you too. God, I love you.”

~

The next morning was bliss. You woke in Spencer’s arms, and let him into you again. The sex was slow and you each let the three words spill uninhibited.

When you went downstairs, ready to finish the case, you were met with the sheepish faces of your team.

Derek spoke first, “I’d say congratulations if you both weren’t so loud last night.”

While you were mortified, watching the rest of the team hold back their chuckles, you couldn’t help but agree that this was all a moment to celebrate.

End

let me know what you think!!

[benisasoftboi]

I am so happy with the conclusion of BBC Ghosts.

There were so many things I loved about the final series that I can't even keep it all straight in my brain, I'll have to rewatch it all (and the Christmas special, of course! Must remember it's the not the true end yet!)

But something I can immediately say I loved was what they didn't do. See, that line in the trailer that turned out to be from episode 5 - about there being a pattern to when they move on - worried me. One of the best things about the show, to me, is how there truly is not any reason at all to why the ghosts are there, or when they go. It's something the creators have said over and over, and that the show has always backed up; we saw so many times that, unlike in most ghost media, addressing unfinished business or achieving emotional resolution changes absolutely nothing. Pat hit some sort of emotional resolution three times. And Julian realised the importance of family, and Robin saved someone’s life, and Thomas discovered the truth of his death, and so on and so on. Finding closure isn't the end, and equally, the end isn't predicated by a climatic conclusion. It just happens. And the same is true for why people become ghosts. It just happens. And you exist, and fill your days, and then you’re gone. And no one knows why.

It's kind of the most agnostic television show I've ever seen.

I love that. Every other afterlife show I've ever seen has some kind of reward and punishment system. Or at least says that there's a reason for things, some kind of higher power at play, not necessarily a god but something like it. Even the American adaptation felt the need to bring Hell into it, which is why I need to specify that I'm only talking about the British version here. And I feel like a lot of fans wanted there to be reasons too, or felt like there simply had to be, that it wasn't even a question. I get why - it's not just because it's the standard for ghost narratives. It's really uncomfortable to think about the randomness of life and death. But Mary didn't go because of anything that happened before that day, and Cap was never going to go because he came out, and one day, when they've all gone, there won't have been a reason for it.

Because the real point of BBC Ghosts is that there is no point. You’ve just got to make it through the days, surrounded by people that irritate you, trapped in a confusing world where you’re mostly powerless. And it sucks, and you're angry, and sad, and bored as hell. And you also find happiness in the mundane chaos, and you get really good at chess, and watch the ants in the garden, and write bad poetry, and read terrible romance novels, and gamble money you don't have, and go camping, and play games, and learn French, and watch reality TV, and have sex with a decapitated Tudor nobleman’s body, and dance to old music, and look at the stars, and find that you actually really love all those annoying people after all, and that’s the point.

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟓: 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐊.𝐇𝐉 ♡

God Isn't Here

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Bad Boy Hongjoong wanted to change for you. Be the better man you deserved, but what if you ended up changing more than him?

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 :  3.70k

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Slice of Life. Toxic family. Smut. ANGST. Sad Stuff.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: BadBoy!Hongjoong x Religious!GoodGirl!Reader

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Heavy religious background. Mention of a cult like life. Lots of trauma. Pet names. Swearing. Corruption and slight manipulation. Thigh riding. Dry humping. Oral. Crying turned to sobbing. (I'm sorry this is a shit show). Fingering. Sight sir kink (I can't help myself). When I say this is messy....this is MESSY, FILTHY, DIRTY. Breast play. Clothing is literally being ripped apart. Slight ass play and mention of anal. Hickies. Mention of sex toys. There is way too much dirty talk cause Hongjoong has a filthy mouth. Use of the name slut. So much sobbing please forgive me I was in a mood. Cowgirl. Unprotected sex. Loss of virginity. Spanking.

Thank you, @historyinmybed , for requesting Hongjoong. Also, thank you to my anony for requesting the plot ♡♡♡

Note: I want to point out that this fic this is no way hating on any type of religion. I came from a very religious household, so I get the idea of internal hatred to yourself and 'god'. But please take this fic with a grain of salt. Believe what you want to believe and practise what you wish to practise. No one should tell you what you can or can not worship. That's your life. Not there's.

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Perfection. That was what your family described you as. Their perfect little daughter. Naturally pretty, above-average smarts and a people person. Well, that was what your parents dressed you as. They weren't half wrong to be fair. You wanted nothing more than to be the sweet daughter that your parents wanted. But once your heart fell for the mysterious man that stumbled in the back of your bookshop one day. Perfect was no longer the description to view you as.

Rough, mysterious, heartbreaking bad boy. He looked like he jumped straight out of a dark romance novel. He was everything you were not and when he laid eyes on you, he knew he wanted to know you, have you, hold you. To fuck the innocence out of you. But he proceeded with caution. Not wanting to scare you away. He was known as a player, someone that fucked around and partied most weekends…

Yet he changed.

Changed for you. He dotted on you. Followed you around like a loving puppy that found his favourite thing in the world. Which he had. You were his everything and the love of his life and he would do anything for you. And he made sure you knew that every chance he could. Bringing you flowers to your work or gifting you with a home-cooked meal even though he wasn’t the greatest cook. He wanted you to know that he loves you. Forever and always. And when you were cuddling on the couch in your shared apartment―the apartment your parents didn’t know you had―one night, Hongjoong couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. He tried not to do something you didn’t want but fucking his fist to the thought of you was no longer working. He needed the real deal. And tonight he tried his luck. His touches were slow, sensual. You almost didn’t notice them while you were so focused on the new show Fionna and Cake in front of you. But when his fingertips grazed the end of your sleep shorts, your head snapped to him seeing he was completely focused on you, not even paying attention to the TV.

You gulped looking at him with such wide innocent eyes. The tingle in your gut made you confused but it also intrigued you, wanting to know what it was but you were also scared it might be considered unholy. You see, you were fighting an inner battle. Yes, you had left your family's practice and ran away with Hongjoong after he convinced you of your family's toxic lifestyle. You wouldn’t ever consider your life being involved around a cult-like community but yet it was all you knew. And when you opened a bookshop in your hometown your parents made sure to monitor the shop like hawks but neither of them would have thought someone like Hongjoong would stumble into the doors of the sweet establishment. Without even realizing, that day you starting losing your faith in god, if you even had any. It was just a way of life to you and you didn’t know any better back then but now you explore the world day by day with your sweet lover boy and god definitely didn’t have anything to do with that.

“W-what are you doing?”  As if you couldn’t sound any more cute than you did right this minute. His eyes darkened, sucking in a breath as he watched you squirm. Your doe eyes watched him intensely, your hand snaking down to grab his, holding him still. Did you really not know what teasing was? Then again you didn’t know most things until he came along. When he first kissed you, he still remembers the shocked expression you made and how you slapped his chest slightly saying ‘We aren’t supposed to do that.’ But now all you do is kiss him. Morning kisses, hello and goodbye kisses. If you walked into the room he would grab you for a smooch. He loved kissing you and even though you would not admit it, you craved them too.

“I’m just wanting to touch you, Darling.” His soft voice sent shivers down your spine. You gulped, not knowing what exactly he meant. You gave him a confused expression, and it finally clicked in his head that you didn’t know what was going on. “Can I touch you, baby?”

You smiled letting his hand slip into your own, tilting your head “But you are touching me Joongie.”

Oh fuck, you look so goddamn cute and it made him want to pin you to the couch and fuck you into next week. He wanted, needed to teach you this side of life you didn’t know about. Take it slow, Hongjoong repeated to himself, placing his hand free hand on top of yours. He closed the distance between your lips but just kept enough space to let you pick whether or not to actually kiss him. And when you gave him a simple smile before sealing your soft lips on his, he took it as a green light to push you further.

“I mean touch sensually...” He peaked your lips again. “Touch you where the ache it.” He kissed the corner of your mouth as both of his hands got free, letting his finger graze your top thigh before slowly slipping towards your inner thigh. Your eyes never left his, eyebrows knotting in anticipation. Your brain was screaming at you, saying what you were about to do was sinful and bad. But your body craved to see what he could do. Could he really help take that ache that pulses in your stomach? The idea of giving yourself to Hongjoong more than frightened you… it excited you.

“What are you gonna do to me?” You didn’t mean to sound so seductive but Hongjoong drank every word you spoke. And the way you said it would have any man eating out of your hand, yet you didn’t even notice. Merely thinking you were simply asking an innocent question.

“Oh, Darling.” He dipped his fingers further up your thigh helping you open your legs without a thought, too focused on what Hongjoong might say. And he thought, for maybe two point five seconds on what he might say. Does he ease in and take it slow like his brain has been repeating for the past month or does he just drop his filter and see how you react?

He chose to fuck around and find out….

“I want to put my fingers deep inside your pussy.” Your eyes widened at the lewd words that spilled off your lover's tongue. “I want to know what it feels like to fuck you, make love to you.” His fingertips graze your covered core and it makes you jump, whimpering out. You gripped his wrist trying to stop him but you didn’t move him away, too curious to see what he’d do. “Would you let me see what your cunt feels like angel?”

“Y-you can't make l-love to me yet. We aren't married.” That was what you took out of his whole confession, man has got his work cut out for him. He had to laugh a low deep grumble making you shiver. His fingers were still playing with your covered core, trying to pull at the buttons of your pants. “We haven't decided if we want kids yet.”

“Kids?” Okay, now he was the one confused, “Who said anything about kids, darling?”

“Y-you know…” damn now you feel stupid, of course, this was another thing your parents taught you wrong. You tried to learn things on your own, only just recently finding out what a male privates were called. You felt so small in this outside world and you tried your hardest not to let Hongjoong see just how closed off you were growing up but sometimes it slips out, just like now. And the only way to get out of this was to explain yourself. “You only mate to have bare children. No pleasure or love… it’s a ritual that a married couple preform to conceive kids.”

Hongjoong tried to not look shocked but then again he really wasn't. When he found out you were living in cult-like conditions he did everything in his power to get you out of that situation whether you liked him to or not. He couldn’t just leave such a sweet thing like you to be devoured by the jaws of a sick bastard who played a so-called god. “My sweet, sweet baby. There is so much more to love-making than bearing children. Do you want me to show you?”

He gave you one last slow kiss, holding your cheek with his free hand keeping you in place. You sigh in the kiss, feeling a kind of relief and safety. All he wanted to do was keep you comfortable and not do anything you were unsure of. But now you wanted to give back. Give back to his kindness and understanding. You wanted to know, to know what it felt like to be with someone completely. But your mind kept playing the idea that you were betraying your god. You were fighting an inner battle and you didn’t know what to do. “Y-You can s-show me Joongie.”

He shifted his weight, turning to look at you straight on. He placed both hands on either side of your face before asking again. “I need you to say yes baby. Do you want this? Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You might have said that a little too quickly for your liking but Joong. Oh, he’d been waiting for this moment and it couldn’t be any more perfect. Grabbing your hips he pulls you up onto his lap. Your face was flustered a bright red. Your hands instantly gripped onto his shoulders as his own snakes under your loose top, feeling your bare tummy. He kisses you on your lips, then a peck on your cheek, then jaw. Before moving down to your neck. His hot tongue licked a long strip against your skin making you shiver, digging your fingers into his shirt. He chuckled feeling your hips wiggle, trying to subconsciously relieve the ache.  He held your hip with his right hand, helping you move slowly, letting you take control, for the moment. He wanted to ease you in, let you find your rhythm. “J-joongie I f-feel.”

“Feel what baby? What do you feel?” He pulled away to look at you, using his free hand to slowly move down your navel before landing just above your core. Your eyes stayed closed, rocking your hips slowly. Your clit was brushing against your jeans just right and it was sending your head into a spin. You didn’t know how to describe the feeling but it felt, good. Right, almost. And then he cupped your pussy making you jump.

“I feel hot… I think I-I’m sweating d-down….” You looked down, seeing his hand holding your core. He looked down to, knowing exactly what you were saying. Chuckling against he rubbed his two middle fingers along your covered slit.

“It’s not sweat Darling. It’s called cum. It comes out of you when you’re feeling good.” he continued to rub you making your mouth fall agape slightly. He leaned towards your ear kissing the top of your neck before whispering. “and it tastes delicious too. Can you give me a taste baby?”

You hesitantly nodded, “Yes, but is…” He looks at you in your wide eyes. “ W-what about g-gods way…”

“Fuck god. He doesn’t know a good thing if it was staring at him in the face.” His voice was laced with aggression. But his lips against your neck were soft, gentle. “Forget god, baby. It’s just you and me.”

You and me…. Something he has said to you since you met. Sneaking out he always said it was you and him against the world and the day you had packed your bag―with what little you had―and left while your parents were out you knew he’d be there for you. You still wonder if your parents even read the note you left them. But then again they most likely would have thrown it away, not caring for a sinner like you anymore. “I don’t know if I c-can…Hongjoong…”

He stopped. For a moment. Anger was surging through him. Your family fucked you up so much and all he wanted to was find each and every one of those preachers and kill them where they stood. He wanted to protect you, hold you. Love you. “Yes you can angel. You can do anything you want. You are so strong.”

And with that you kiss him, taking in a big breath in through your nose. He pulled away first making you chase his lips but as his body sinks onto the floor, you watch with curiosity. He sat on his knees, never breaking eye contact with you. His hands find the buttons on your jean shorts, helping you loosen them before ultimately slipping them off. Everything was happening so fast yet so slowly as well. your body was shaking, feeling exposed without your pants but as his gaze switched from yours to your core between your legs, you couldn’t help but whimper. “Hongjoong…”

“It’s okay baby I’m going to make you feel good. I promise.” He lent in pushing your panties to the sides and finally getting a good view of your soaked cunt. “Fuck, you are so pretty baby.” he wasted no time in licking a long strip along your folds making you make a high-pitched noise that was music to Hongjoong’s ears. He got to work, suckling, biting and tending to your core. You had thrown your head back against the couch, grabbing your lover's thick dark hair and spreading your legs wider for him without realizing. A strange feeling was brewing in your lower tummy and you couldn’t find the words to explain it. You were feeling all types of emotions, happiness, guilt, hatred, lust and everything in between. And then Hongjoong took his fingers against your core making you jump.

“Hongjoong, w-wait…” But your lover didn’t listen cause he knew you’d just start talking about god again. He needed you to listen to him and if words weren't going to work. Maybe a demonstration would. His mouth cages your clit while his finger begins to sink into you slowly and you felt electricity surge through you. Everything you did for your parents. The little girl that “raised right” was slowly slipping away and it was terrifying you. Tears started prickling down your face, feeling so good but so guilty at the same time. Why did your parents have to do what they did to you? Why couldn’t they have raised you normally? Were you could make your own mistakes. You hated them. You hated everything. Everything except Hongjoong. “G-god…”

You didn’t know what you wanted to say but you knew he wasn’t going to listen, in fact, he snapped instead making a chill pool inside you. “God isn’t her baby, now let me have my meal. Got that?”

“Yes sir…” You cried, feeling him put another finger inside you.

“Fuck say that again…” He groan against your clit.

“S-Sir…” You obeyed, feeling his fingers thrusted in a harsh pace making you scream out, tears pouring out of you more and more with your mouth spilling out saliva onto your chin.

“That’s right baby. This is my pussy yeah? I get to play with her―Fuck her whenever I want. Do you understand?” He chuckled, nibbling on your puffy nub.

“Y-yes sir. Please, have me whenever you’d like. I’ll be good. I promise. Fffuuck!!” You’ve never sworn before but it felt like a word needed for this occasion. A band in you snapped, feeling yourself clench around Joong’s fingers. He slowed down until he came to a stop, but not pulling his fingers out just yet. He had to see your face, the way your nose scrunched up when his thumb pressed firmly on your clit and fingers slowly slipping from inside you helping your ride out. Hearing you swear was single-handedly the sexiest thing you could do. He stood up quickly, grabbing your wrist so he could pull you up making you stand. But your legs didn’t want to work so he hand to hold you up.

“Don’t worry baby. You’re always good baby. My sweet girl.” he pecked your nose making you smile. He rubbed away some of your tears with his left thumb. You both stood there for a moment letting you catch your breath. But without you noticing he undid his belt and jean buttons, shaking his jeans off. You only then noticed when a hard object poked your tummy. Looking down you see his appendage under his boxers. You had to gulp worried as to how it might fit inside you. He licked his lips watching you inspect him, he had no shame, slipping his thumb under the band of his boxer before pulling it down, letting his cock spring free.

You gasped seeing his dick whack his navel. Its red angry tip leaking out some pre-cum and twitching just at the thought you’d touch it. You looked back at his eyes with wide doe eyes, almost silently asking what was going to happen next. He swung you both around so his back was facing the couch before taking a seat on it. He pulled you along letting you take a seat on his lap. The feeling of his hot cock against your pussy made you clench around nothing. Your nerves were shot and you were shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement.

“Ready?” He simply asked, snaking his hands under your top tugging on the fabric slightly. You nodded, answering with a small yes before he took the end of your shirt and ripped it down the middle. You gasped, moaning without thinking. Your chest was suddenly exposed to him, leaving you completely bare for him. He had a sadistic smirk painting his features, leaning down he licked your left nipple making you whimper out his name. Your hands found his shoulders, letting him attack your chest with harsh red and purple marks. His hands that layed on your hips moved behind you. One grabbed a hand full of your ass while the other one glided toward your asshole. He put pressure against your hole and it made you wiggle in his grasp. He lived for your reaction.

“Sensitive Doll? I wonder what I would feel like to fuck this tight little ass too? Hmm.” His dirty words made you feel filthy in the best way. His thumb slipped into your puckered hole for a moment sending a new feeling through your system. Anything he did was pushing your buttons correctly. It was like he knew your body better than you did. “You’re just a dirty girl, aren’t you? Wanting to be fucking in the ass? Bet I could fuck this pussy while I have a pretty dildo up your ass. Hmm. Would you like that? You want to be my little slut?”

“I-I’m not dirty…I..I..” You didn’t know what to say feeling conflicted in his words. But he couldn’t care, your body was reacting perfectly to his words and that’s all he needed.

“Don’t worry baby. I’ll fuck you nice and full. And then we can go shopping. I plan on showing you all the pleasure you’d been missing out on.” his laugh was lewd, almost cruel sounding and you couldn’t help but moan in response. He lifted you up slowly without you taking much notice, only focusing on his finger thrusting in your asshole softly. It was only when a sharp pain started forming in your front you snapped your eyes open looking down.

“F-fuck…Hongjoong!!” he helped you sink down slowly until you had him completely nestled inside your aching cunt. You were crying again. But it was different this time. The pain was only slight, you actually didn’t mind the pain. But it was the value of what you had just done. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you sobbed. Crying from all the frustration. All the anger you had against your parents. Against your community. You had now completely turned your back on the god you once worshipped. All your life learning certain things was for nothing.

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” he rubbed your back, feeling a tingle in his gut. God, you felt so good, your pussy was clenching him perfectly but he felt sorry for you. You had lived only one way and he came in and changed your life in a blink of an eye and it wouldn't had been easy one bit for you.

He had made a promise to himself that night. While his hips started to move and your body started to stutter with him. While his lips were on yours or sucking sharply on your neck. While his hands smacked your plump ass helping you ride his cock at a desperate pace. And when he bent you over the edge of the couch so he could fuck you from behind while you creamed all over his cock for the fourth time. He was going to love you, now and forever. He was going to teach you new things every day and always make sure you were the best version of yourself. And he was going to also fuck you in every room of this house…

That last part might of just been more for his sake but it’s the thought that counts.

- ♥︎

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! CEO! Arranged! Ex-husand x AFAB! Ex-wife! Reader

Hold your horses, we're going to wattpad territory here.

I went back to reading the cliche runaway wife or stranger with them being pregnant from their one night stand with a CEO and I must say, it's making me really nostalgic.

As a small gift for myself, I'm using the name of my CEO protagonist on the novel I wrote, and his background... Actually, the whole story for this one will be just my novel's. Self plagiarism, if you will lol. There are quite the big alterations, but that's for me to know, and for you to skim over.

So, let's unlock a hidden memory especially for previous wattpad girlies, shall we?

Pause though, this is my 3rd pregnancy fic. I hate myself.

Yandere! CEO name: Iñigo Dragonov

"Father, I seriously do not need your input in my marriage!"

"You will marry the Smith's daughter and that's final!"

"But why?! I'm content with living by myself and flourishing the company! I do not need a wife!"

"How about a husband then?"

"No wives, no husbands, no spouses!"

Allastor frowned. He knew that his son is not one for romance, but he dated a handful of people, also slept around sometimes. But for the sake of his son, who is workaholic to the point he's forgetting about his health, he needs someone who would be there for him.

"Son, if you don't marry the Smith's daughter, i'm afraid I have to get back the company."

Iñigo clenched his teeth. His jaw ticking as he looked at his father with wide, feral eyes.

"You won't do that. You already gave the company to me!"

"Yes, but I will take the company back. And you know I can pull strings like no other."

That's how Iñigo married you, the Smith's daughter.

Dragonov group of Companies. Just the name itself sent shivers down the spines of aspiring and even well off businesses. They're ruthless, and dominated almost every possible market. Textile, food industry, hotels, even schools. Name it, and they'll have it.

So, with the Smith Corp being the leading company in the Fashion industry, and the Dragonov looking to integrate themselves in Fashion and not just textile, Allastor decided to have this arrangement. It's like killing two birds with one stone.

Inigo Dragonov. The perfect man and the perfect bachelor. Rich, handsome, reliable, he's someone who's a bonafide genius when it comes to business. Almost his every investment have such huge profits, and never a lost.

So why was he so adamant about marrying when it's a good strategy in order to get into fashion?

He has always thought of marriage as something so restraining. Something that weighs such a workaholic like him down. He never even thought of marrying unless his father and mother mentions it.

So when his eyes laid on you, he sneered in his heart.

He doesn't want you at all.

He's always finding faults in you.

"Why do you look so frumpy? I thought your company focuses on fashion?"

"Stand up straight. Your slouching is unsightly."

"Will you get out of my sight? Don't you have any work to do? Don't be lazy."

His words never, ever dripped of affection, only vile words of nitpicking came out.

You were tired of it. Sick and tired.

Yet you did your best to always serve your husband in all aspects. Affection, taking care of him, even intimacy. After all, he's still the one to put food on your plate. Not just any food also, but luxurious ones.

But the empty feeling on your heart persisted. You don't want this at all.

So with a heavy heart, you decided to divorce him.

As you predicted, he didn't care. He signed it, and you left the chateau.

But as Iñigo relished in the fact that he's now a single man once more and can focus on his work, you knew something he didn't.

You touched your womb.

"I'm going to take care of you myself, baby." You whispered to the unborn child on your stomach.

Iñigo clocked out of his office and sighed, feeling the tiredness cloak his body.

He felt empty. Really empty.

At first, he felt such a deep satisfaction that he can finish the job easier without you around.

Every time he comes home, nobody will pester him to eat, to take care of himself.

Nobody nosey to ask him about his day, nobody to annoy him by kissing him on the cheek...

Something invisible gripped his heart as he groaned and took off his suit jacket.

"Tedious."

He slowly walked towards the dining room and sat down at the head of the table. He started eating his dinner, feeling the emptiness reside the giant mansion.

Was his chateau always this big?

He looked over to the seat to his left where you usually sat down.

He can see the faint image of you in his memories, talking about your day and job, that he painfully ignored.

He remembered how your lips would always twitch as it fought back a frown from his lack of response.

He would watch you go silent and finish your meal quickly, before waiting for him to finish so that you could bring the plates back to the kitchen.

He would remember your tired sighs and fervent glances at him.

He went upstairs, wanting to take a shower.

The room you shared with him was now devoid of your personal touch, just leaving with a dark and modern aesthetic that looked like it was from a display in a furniture shop. It was professional, too professional.

He looked over where your vanity was once was. Now there's just an armchair and a lamp that he never really used.

He got to the bathroom and what was once filled with your bathroom essentials. Now, it was just his shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush and paste, and other basic needs tucked away.

And as he went under the shower, tears started to leak from his eyes, regret gnawing at his heart.

He never realized how much he loved you.

He never realized that the reason why he was so critical of you was that he was trying to distance himself from you.

He never realized that your presence was a constant peace in his fast paced life, and that you were a part of his routine.

And now that you're gone...

He gripped his wrist, a bruise forming.

And that was his daily routine a year after your divorce.

And now, two years later, he was still the same.

On the outside, he looked fine and dandy, but deep inside, he's only a broken husk of a man that he never dared to repair.

He thinks he deserved this as punishment.

But then, in those years, he felt that he needed you to come back.

Yes, he's punishing himself, but he needed you still.

He misses your touch,

Your warmth,

Your care.

Your... Love?

Did you love him?

Or is it out of responsibly?

Bah, he doesn't care.

He loves you, and that was enough.

A knock came from the door and his CFO, and his best friend, Oliver, got inside.

"Here you have it. This week's report of activities of Miss Smith--"

"Mrs. Dragonov."

Oliver sighed.

"yes, Mrs. Dragonov, this is the week's report of Mrs. Dragonov."

Iñigo nodded in satisfaction and waved Oliver goodbye.

He opened the enveloped and his eyes widened. You were back from New Zealand. This was great news! He could talk to you. Maybe coax you into coming back.

Iñigo grabbed his key and opened a door at the back of his office and smiled at the inside. Inside was a perfect replica of your old office when you were still married to him. The only difference is that wall to wall was plastered of your face, taken by his private investigators. On the vanity, which was once in his room, have a picture of you, and your twins with him.

He smirked lazily, sitting down on the chair as he kissed your face on the picture frame.

His stormy dark eyes were bent a bit, his gaze filled with so much longing and regret.

"I'll take back what's mine." He whispered.

"and I'll do everything and use everything at my disposal to get you back." Iñigo declared, looking at his children.

"And I mean everything."

"We need to do this."

"Tsk. Why would I? I'm perfectly capable of myself."

"We both can't deny the fact that they need me. You need me."

".... Okay."

" But in one condition."

"What is it?"

"You need to marry me."

You blinked, not getting this absurd situation at all. Marriage again? But why?

Seeing your confused face, Iñigo grabbed your hand gently and squeezed them.

"Sweetheart, you don't want our children to grow up ridiculed, right? What would the people say if they saw our children with no father?" Iñigo started to whisper, coaxing you into seeing his perspective. "I am willing to provide the support you need."

You shook your head.

"But I can provide that myself. I am rich also, so that support means nothing."

Iñigo gritted his teeth and held you tightly once more.

"What will an incomplete family do to our children? Won't they question my absence? Besides, a father is a crucial role one must be filled no matter what. And I'm fully intending to be present at all." He coaxed you, whispering words of promises he wants to fulfil. "There are studies out there that an incomplete family slows down children's development."

He continued to try and let you see his perspective.

"With my influence, nobody can touch you and the children. I promise, I won't be an asshole again and ridicule you. I am so sorry for saying those things." Iñigo whispered as tears filled his eyes. "I regretted all of those. Every single day since you left, I felt like a husk, I know something was wrong, and that I was that something. I hurt someone so precious to me."

Why would he need to dirty his hands when his words and acting skills were enough to persuade you?

Iñigo knelt down, hugging your waist, begging, groveling for you to come back.

And when he saw your resolve crack in front of him, he hid his smirk as he continued to sob in front of you.

His words were working.

Besides, he knows the children were your soft spot.

He was thankful for the existence of your children. If not, he'll probably resort to... Extreme ways just to get you back.

Maybe like, making your company bankrupt with him the only lifeline left.

But now, he held your waist tightly, listening to your words as you gave up trying to fight his logic.

You were his.

And you will continue to be his,

Until death do you part.

[topguncortez]

“i’m worried that if we go there, and things don't work out... things might never be the same.” with rooster! please and thank you! :)

prompts list:) thank you for the request!

All of Rooster’s life he was told that everyone gets one “great love” in their life. His mother’s great love was obviously his father and the one reason why she never remarried. Rooster could remember when he was about 13 or 14, asking his mother why she never remarried. It had been over 10 years since his father’s passing and Carole had never so much as looked at a male the way she did Goose.

“Because it wouldn’t be fair,” Carole told her son, a sad smile on her face, “It wouldn’t be fair to marry a man knowing I couldn’t love him the way I love your father. He was my great love… and I’ll never find another one like that.”

Bradley wondered if towards the end of her life, when she was alone in the house for those last couple of years when he was off at school, if maybe, just maybe she wished she had someone there. He asked her again, on one of the last good days she had, if she wished she had found someone to spend her life with.

Carole again, gave him a sad smile, “It wouldn’t be fair. There’s only one person I’ve been praying about seeing again.”

Bradley hadn’t realized it at the time, but the older he got, the more he envied what his parents had. “A Great Love” that was as if it came straight from a romance novel. “A Great Love” that held steady for years, despite his father being deceased for more than half of it. “A Great Love” that seemed to come so easy to them but for Bradley, was nearly impossible.

Except, it wasn’t impossible.

No, Bradley did have a “Great Love”, in the form of the neighbor girl who lived in the blue house next door. The girl who used to make mudpies with in the backyard. The girl who teased him relentlessly when he got braces only to end up with wires on her own teeth a couple of weeks later. The girl who is his best friend… and is currently crying on his couch over her now ex-boyfriend.

“A-And he was saying stuff and I-“ You sucked in a deep breath, trying to will the tears to stop falling down your cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Ducky," Rooster said, using the age-old nickname, even though he wasn't in the slightest sorry. Sure, he felt bad that you got your heartbroken, but he was celebrating the fact that Douchebag Dan was finally out of your life, "You deserve better."

"I thought he was the one!" You sobbed, "He had me sending him ring options!"

And suddenly Bradley hated Douchebag Dan even more than he did fifteen minutes ago when you showed up at his doorstep.

"Hey," Bradley said shifting closer to you, his thigh touching yours, "You know what this means though, right," You looked up at him with big sad eyes and the most adorable wobble of your bottom lip, "Your great love is still out there."

You rolled your eyes, "I'm starting to think that's a hock of shit," You flopped back on the couch defeated, "I've dated three guys in my lifetime all for over two years and none of them have put a ring on my finger," You held up your hand, wiggling your ring finger, "It's just not going to happen. I don't have a great love."

"Sure you do."

"Where!?" You looked over at Bradley, "Where is mine?"

"Maybe, you're looking too hard for it. Maybe they're closer than you think," Bradley simply shrugged, reaching for his beer bottle on the coffee table.

"Yeah?" You quipped, "What about you? Have you met your 'great love'."

Bradley sucked in a breath, knowing he couldn't lie to you about this or hell, about anything, "Yeah," He admitted, "But she doesn't feel the same."

You felt a pang in your heart, causing you to sit up, pulling your legs underneath you, "Does she know?"

Bradley shrugged, "I think so. I mean, I-I've known her forever."

"Oh," You were trying to rack your brain of the potential girls that Bradley had his heart set on, "Do I know her?"

"Mhm," Bradley pursed his lips, taking another sip of his beer for he stupidly gave himself and his stupid crush away. A stupid crush that could mean the end of the longest, greatest friendship he has ever had. You were the one thing from his childhood that had managed to stick around. You were there when his mother died, when his dreams of following his father's footsteps came crashing down, when he got his acceptance letter to UVA, when he graduated flight school and got his wings, when he graduated from TopGun.

All the major memories that Bradley had, you were always right there. He couldn't let a stupid crush end that. He couldn't let his heart and his feelings complicate things. He couldn't-

"It's Phoenix, isn't it?"

Bradley spat his beer out of his mouth, coating the coffee table in sticky alcohol. Your eyes widened as he coughed and wiped the beer from his lips.

"What?" He choked out.

"Your great love," You muttered, "Is it Phoenix?"

"Hell no," Bradley shook his head, "That-that's crazy."

"Not really, she's pretty and you're around her all the-"

"It's you," Bradley cut you off.

You felt your heart stop in your chest as you stared at your best friend, "W-What?"

He sighed, hanging his head in shame, "It's you, Y/N. It has always been you. You are my "great love"."

"Bradley, I-"

Bradley shook his head, "I didn't mean to do this. Not when you're upset over Douchebag Dan, but. . .fuck, I can't take it anymore," He stood up from his spot on the couch, beginning to pace, "Watching you go with guys who have no idea what it means for you to look at them like they hung the fucking stars. To have you love them and kiss them and be with them day after fucking day. I love you, Y/N. I have been in love with you."

Fresh tears were in your eyes as you looked at the man who is your best friend, "Why didn't you tell me?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

"Because I’m worried that if we go there, and things don't work out... things might never be the same," Bradley's big brown eyes shone with unshed tears, "And you're all I have left. I can't lose you."

"You won't lose me," You stood up from your spot on the couch, walking over to him, "Cause I love you too," You grabbed his face in your hands and placed a kiss on his lips.

[junkdrawerfics]

First Meeting

Jasper Hale X Reader

Series of Firsts

Summary: The first time you meet Jasper Hale is when you get lost in the woods. Is he your rescuer or the danger you should be looking out for, though?

Words: 1712

Note: New series wooh! Hope you guys enjoy!

---

Moving to Forks in the middle of summer had its pros and cons.

Pro: You have plenty of time to explore and get to know the area.

Pro: You can adjust to the new home before school starts.

Con: You haven’t been able to meet many people your age and therefore have no friends yet.

Con: You thought it would be nice to take a walk by the woods, but you swear you saw a hurt cat and you tried to help it but it ran away and you followed it and now you’re lost.

The last point may not have anything to do with it being summer, but still.

On the bright side, you did catch the little guy! Not without a few scratches, but you got him.

You perch yourself on a tree stump, a small tabby kitten nestled in your arms, completely tuckered out from running. Careful to not jostle him,  you give him a good once over. It looks like he was maybe clipped by a car, or maybe a bike, dried blood running down one of his legs which looks significantly out of place. 

Poor thing.

Sighing softly, you tuck him back into your lap and glance around. The trees all look the same, and you have no clue what direction you came from. There’s no way to tell what time it is either, since you left your phone at home and the sun is completely blocked out by the clouds. Not the best situation.

At least it’s still light out, you think to yourself. It could be a lot worse. For now, it’s light, you’re warm, and you told your mom you were going out before you did, so she should notice when you don’t come back in a few hours.

If you don’t make it back yourself, that is!

“I don’t suppose you know the way out?” You hum, scratching the small kitten’s head as he raises his head at the sound of your voice. He looks at you with dark amber eyes, barely open.

“Mew.”

“Hm, I thought so.” You shake your head with a fond smile. “That’s okay. Maybe if I just start walking, I’ll find someone.”

The kitten grumbles a little when you pop to your feet. Might as well go with your gut, right? That’s what people usually do in situations like this. So, you go to set off in the directions you think you came from. Hopefully. 

Until you hear a loud snap come from behind you.

Every muscle in your body goes still. The ball of fur in your arms bristles, suddenly far more alert, letting out a quiet, squeaking hiss. It makes your chest tighten, a spark of fear and realization traveling through your bones.

Are there predators in these woods?

“You’ll hit the coast before you find a soul if you go that way.”

The sound of a low, rumbling voice immediately puts you at ease, the tension dripping from your shoulders. Thank the heavens you don’t have to wander even deeper into the woods. There’s no telling how much more lost you could get. You turn to thank your savior, eyes going wide when they land on him.

Pretty. That’s your first thought.

He’s very pretty. For a moment, you could even convince yourself you are just looking at a sculpture abandoned in the woods. He’s tall, very tall, gold hair falling to his sharp jaw, skin shockingly pale in the dim light. His eyes, dark and narrowed, glint with curiosity and maybe a hint of concern as he looks you over.

Heat flares across your cheeks. This feels straight out of some teen romance novel. A handsome stranger comes to the rescue of the damsel in distress. Except, while he is a handsome stranger, you are dressed in an oversized, pastel hoodie with cat scratches all over your face and hands. Not to mention the mangy kitten in your arms who looks like he wants to kill the man.

What a sight this must be for him.

You offer your rescuer a wide, somewhat awkward smile, “Thanks for telling me. I definitely have no clue where I am, if you can’t tell.”

The man tilts his head, brows furrowing, “How’d you end up all the way out here?”

“Well-” You shrug, shifting back and forth on your feet. “-it was just supposed to be a walk, but then I saw this little guy and he looked like he needed help.”

His eyes dart down to the small kitten in your arms, lips twitching in amusement. The fluff ball glares back at him without hesitation. You shuffle him in your arms a little, trying to get him to calm down, but he stubbornly clings to your sleeve so he can see the blond.

“I chased him out here,” you continue, settling for just clutching him against your chest, just in case he tries to be rude. “His leg looks pretty bad and I just couldn’t leave him, you know? I’m pretty sure he needs a vet, but I don’t know how to get back to town. Could you maybe um…”

You trail off. You shouldn’t hesitate to ask for help, you know it’s silly, but you don’t want to bother this guy. What if he was on his way somewhere? Maybe he could just point you in the right direction. But what if it gets dark before you get home? The thought of walking through the woods at night is not one you’d like to live through.

After a hard second of him looking at you, as if trying to figure out whether you’re a threat or not - which feels kind of backwards if you’re being honest - the man seems to soften. His posture loosens and a small, charming smile slants his lips. 

Your heart stutters.

In a very old-school, gentlemanly way, he offers you his hand, “It’d be a privilege to escort you back, miss-?”

You stare at his extended hand, completely oblivious to his question until you glance up and see him watching you expectantly, lips pursed, dark eyes dancing with amusement. 

Oh!

“(Y/n),” you blurt quickly, face going impossibly redder. “My name’s (Y/n) (L/n)! I just moved here.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/n).” The smile comes back, wider, brighter, and you want to melt. “Name’s Jasper Hale, I’ve lived here quite some time.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, too, Jasper Hale,” you chime, finally taking his hand (much to the kitten’s displeasure). “Especially now. I would've been wandering out here for a long time if you hadn’t showed up. Who knows what’s out here.”

Something flashes through Jasper’s eyes, but he merely smiles and agrees, “You can never be too careful.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you sigh, following him as he starts in the opposite direction you were going to go, “It’s my fault for thinking I didn’t need my phone. It’s just my luck to not have it the one time I need it.”

“Bad luck finds you at the worst times,” he hums wistfully.

“This is your fault,” you whisper down at the kitten, who has settled down a little bit, “You’re not even black, how are you so unlucky?”

He blinks up at you, looking unimpressed. You laugh, scratching his chest softly.

“I think he’s mocking me,” you murmur, “He probably doesn’t even need my help based on the fight he put up.”

“He just doesn’t know what’s good for him,” Jasper chuckles, something fond starting to grow in his chest.

He had been hunting when the scent of fresh blood had drawn him further into the woods. He didn’t even remember moving, hunting it down, nothing until he came to a dead stop there at the edge of the small clearing. That’s where he found you, watched as you slowly, patiently coaxed the angry kitten into your arms.

He doesn’t know what made him stop. What overcame the burning thirst in his throat. But when he laid eyes on you, listened to you talk to the kitten as if it would talk back, felt the gentle positivity coming off of you like pure warmth, it just disappeared.

Replaced with a burning curiosity and something fiercely protective.

Who was this girl he’d never seen before? Why was she all the way out in the woods, at least thirty minutes from the town? Alone? What if something happened to her?

The moment you started walking in the wrong direction, he couldn’t stop himself. Against his better judgment, of course. He couldn’t just let you wander off alone, though. The others will probably be angry with him once he gets back, but at least he can make sure you get home safely.

Which he does.

You stop at the edge of your yard, turning to him with the softest, most genuine smile, brimming with gratitude.

“Thank you, Jasper. Really. I hope this isn’t the last time we meet?” Your eyes glow with so much hope, and he can’t bring himself to deny it.

He should. He should stay far away from you, because something tells him that as much as this new feeling in his chest could be something good, it could also be something horribly dangerous. For you. He should stop it here and now, cut all ties.

But he saw how well that worked for Edward.

So he nods, dares to lift your hand to his lips and press a ghost of a kiss to your knuckles. Jasper can feel your life under his fingers, hear your pulse race, and he expects the thirst to come roaring back, to feel some kind of temptation, but the only thing he feels is your overflowing, bashful joy. And he loves it.

“Until next time, miss (L/n),” he murmurs, and you giggle, “Try not to run after any more injured animals, alright?”

“I’ll try,” you promise, feeling high as a kite.

“Good.” Jasper grins.

He watches you go inside, just to be safe, making eye contact one last time with the furry, little creature still in your arms, right before the door falls shut. It glares at him, tiny tail thrashing.

Unlucky, you said.

Maybe.

You’ll both have to wait and see.

---

Next

I'm pretty excited about this new little series! It'll be super simple, just a series about different "firsts" you have with Jasper, ie first kiss, first date, etc. If you want anything specific, let me know!

Also, I know it might be a little unrealistic, but I don't care! That's not what this is about lol

[runnning-outof-time]

Hello! Can I request John with "Do you actually love me?"

Hi there @kpoploverxx-12 ! Thanks so much for sending this in! I’m sorry it took so long for me to write it! I hope you like what I did with it! This is my favorite John fic that I’ve written in a long time….it might even be my favorite fic of this celebration. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration — find more stories here!

Exactly Like That

John Shelby x Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 683

Summary: Two friends become a something a little more than that when John lets those three words slip.

John and (Y/N) were sitting on the bank of the Cut, like they usually do. They’d gone there nearly every Friday for the last ten years, spare the years when John was away at war. Whenever he’d come home though, they’d somehow find themselves sitting there.

In a way, it became like their therapy. The calming sound of the water flowing became the backdrop that the two would share their goings on to.

It was there that these two became closer to each other than anyone else in their lives.

John just finished telling (Y/N) what was happening in his family. She was the one person who would listen to everything and not tell a soul. She did so because she knew John would do the same for her. They were both thankful for each other in that regard.

“You’ll get through it, John. You always do,” she said to him, a smile forming as she turned to face him. “And hey, if you don’t, I know that I’ve got a handsome amount of money coming my way,” she joked then, cracking up at her own statement.

John couldn’t help but laugh. Her laughter was like music to his ears. It always instantly put him in a better mood. “I love you,” he admitted once his laughter died down and he’d been watching at her as she came down from her fit of giggles from a few moments ago.

“Yeah,” she agreed, not really hearing what he said at first. Silence fell over them as (Y/N) looked down to the water again. Then it clicked. “Do you actually love me?” she asked, a seriousness present in her voice that hadn’t been there seconds ago. This conversation had essentially changed tones on a dime.

“Yeah, course I do,” John responded without a second thought.

(Y/N) froze for a moment, her heart rate quickening. “Yeah, well not like that, right?” she scrambled to ask while mentally telling herself to calm down and not get ahead of herself.

John’s eyes danced over her face for a moment, taking her features in before the slightest smile graced his lips. “No, exactly like that,” he spoke with sincerity, like it was the most important thing he’d ever said.

(Y/N) let out a breath, her eyes going wide as she quickly looked straight again. She was freaking out now, and she didn’t want him to see it. In all their years of friendship, she never thought that things would get to this point…where she’d make her feelings for him known.

Nothing was said as John reached over and gently took hold of (Y/N)’s chin so that he could guide her eyes back to his. They held eye contact for a few moments, the air around them holding this weird tension that neither of them had experienced before.

John just had to break it. “I love you, (Y/N). Have since you and I was kids,” he told her, speaking softly due to their proximity, but she heard every word clear as day. She also didn’t miss his eyes as they flitted down to her lips. There was no hesitation in her moving the slightest bit closer to him, showing him that she wanted exactly what he wanted. He licked his lips before continuing, “…been wantin’ to do this for a long time too,” he breathed, giving her no time to respond - if she even wanted to - before he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss felt exactly like those kisses that are described in the romance novels…the ones that sweep people off of their feet. (Y/N) was thankful that they were sitting, because otherwise she wasn’t sure if she could trust her legs to hold her up.

“I love you too, John,” she breathed against his lips once they broke the kiss. Her eyes were closed, but she was able to feel his smile, and that alone made her smile. Nothing else was said as their lips met again…nothing more was needed to be said.

**tags in reblogs so that hopefully they get sent

MASTERLIST

[seineko]

diluc ragnvindr x reader

warnings: none, just fluff, diluc just raising my standards higher by the second.

happy birthday, mr husband. thank you for making me simp so hard that i can't even concentrate on studying for my semester exams tomorrow. WHAT IS THAT BIRTHDAY ART?! IT'S ILLEGAL.

the whole of mondstadt witnessed how their uncrowned king fell in love.

for them, it was like watching a romance movie, seeing how the main character slowly changed, bit by bit.

at first, the glance that was directed at you was of indifference, diluc just noting what drink you wanted as you stuttered it out from beside lisa, pushing your drink towards you before tending to another customer.

then was the look that showed acknowledgement when lisa introduced you as a junior from sumeru, who came to mondstadt to work under her. all he did was nod, sparing you a glance. nothing more, nothing less.

the next change in the way he looked towards you was something a lot of people noticed, but only one witnessed. the way he looked and acknowledged you with respect everytime you passed him, giving a small nod whenever your gazes met. the reason will always remain a mystery to the people of the city of freedom.

not to a certain cat allergic archon, though. he did not mean to pry, but who in their right mind would ignore a scene that played straight out of a novel when you happened to stumble upon it? not him, definitely.

so he watched, slowly sipping from his bottle as you patched the cat that diluc was holding, eyes blown wide with panic but hands as steady a mountain. he did not know what happened before, but it wasn't hard to guess.

though, even the bard wasn't so nosy as to look on when diluc's gaze shifted from the cat to you.

the change from respect to adoration was gradual, but not subtle by any means.

the more the time the two of you spent together, the stronger the gaze grew. it still held the respect from before, but the adoration just settled in alongside it, never to leave.

it was kaeya who got to witness the addition of absolute tenderness in his brother's eyes. he was heading back towards his quarters after a stroll with sister rosaria, that's when he noticed you both, lost in each other's embrace. so much so that even as a drunkard passed you, loudly singing, neither of you even showed a sign of breaking the hug.

the tenderness directed towards you when the hug finally broke sent kaeya back to his childhood, when his big brother had almost the same look but directed towards him. that was when he knew that the dark knight hero did not have any plans to let you go.

affection that made it's way into the eyes of the eldest son of ragnvindr was what adelinde noticed first.

the night was cold, strong winds and heavy rain hit mondstadt. she was waiting for the winery's master to come back, towel ready in hand.

soon enough, he did return but with his hand clutching onto a figure behind him, both panting heavily as their clothes dripped the water down onto the carpet.

ever the gentleman, diluc thanked her politely before grabbing the towel from her hands and leading you towards the fireplace, making you sit in front of it while drying your hair with the towel in his hands.

the head maid was about to leave but the look in her young master's eyes made her feet freeze to the ground, heart fluttering as she witnessed them shine after almost 4 years.

adelinde hoped with all her heart that you would never leave the red haired man behind before she strolled back to her bedroom.

the love that spread into his gaze was for only you to witness.

love that sent your head reeling as soon you your eyes fluttered open, still in his embrace as he slowly cupped your cheek. the small, soft smile that settled onto his face was enough to send your heart into a rampage, feeling both as if you're drowning but also as if the you took a breath of the most fresh air this world possibly had to offer, simultaneously.

the chuckle that left him when you cuddled into his embrace, hiding your face in his chest, did not make it any better.

your situation only worsened when he pressed a sweet kiss onto your head and pulled you closer, whispering;

'wish i could stay like this forever.'

this man was a hazard to your heart.

©2023 by seineko @ tumblr

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - One

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

This is my first original fic after The Pilot and his Girl and it will be a very different read (just in case you're totally traumatised by The Pilot...😬)

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve short stories, each set in the same bakery. The plan is to post one chapter every Sunday night so hold me to that schedule when my procrastination kicks in!

Warnings won't be very serious, just lots of fluff, lots of food, some mention of drugs because you know some of these Pedro boys are just like that.

Series Master List

@harriedandharassed tagging you in this because you said you wanted to read anything new ❤❤❤

The drawback of being a baker is that your working day starts when others are still tucked in bed with hours left to sleep. Or just coming home from a party. But you don’t mind all that much, there’s a certain tranquil peace to being awake and working in the bakery while the rest of the world sleeps. 

In the warmer months you prop open the back door so that you can hear the birds starting to sing as the sky slowly grows lighter outside, today is just one of those mornings. 

The early morning radio show is on low in the background as you prepare the day. Yesterday's loaves have proofed overnight in the cold storage and are ready for the oven, the pie doughs taken out and softening while you prepare the cookie doughs. 

People don’t often knock on the bakery's back door before you open for the day, but it happens, so when you suddenly hear someone shuffle and knock, you’re not surprised. Wiping your hands on your apron you turn the corner into the small back room. A man is leaning on the door frame, but not the sexy, romance novel leaning. No, this man is leaning in a ‘lean-or-fall-over’ kinda way. His eyes are covered by large black sunglasses that he pulls down as you spot him, a tired but cheeky smirk on his face. 

“Hey, baker girl,” he grins, his voice gravelly like he’s chain smoked all night, “got any sna- oh whoops!” he giggles madly as he loses his balance and tumbles sideways, catching the other door frame before he grabs onto your arms and almost manages to stand up straight. 

“You might need coffee, not snacks,” you say, holding onto him to stop him from falling face forward into your apron.  

“I’m fine,” he grins, pushing himself upright again but still holding on to the door frame, “I just came from this party, were you there?,” he asks, giving you another over the glasses look, this time clearly checking you out as his eyes drag up and down your form, lingering on your pink crocs. 

“Actually, I would’ve remembered if you were there, love the crocs,” he chuckles. 

“What’s wrong with my crocs?” you ask, slightly offended, “They’re great for people like me, you know, people who actually work on Thursdays.” 

“No, no, I mean it, I love your crocs!” the man says, wide eyed and shoving his glasses up in his wild curls, “I have like ten crocs, one pair is pink too.” 

He furrows his eyebrows, giving you a confused look, “Wait, it’s Thursday?” 

“Yeah, five am, Thursday morning,” you say, wondering how to get rid of this disheveled man so that you can get back to the cookie dough. 

“Fuck, oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck….” the man groans, bending double and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “I’m so fucked…I thought it was Wednesday.” 

He stands up again and you can’t help but feel sorry for him, he looks devastated. 

“I was meant to fly out to San Antonio yesterday and take my nice to Six Flags for her birthday, and I fucking missed it!” 

He slumps against the door frame and thumps the back of his head against it repeatedly, moaning, “I’m such a fuck up, I’m such a fuck up.” 

“Hey, take it easy, I’m sure it’ll be fine, just apologize and take her another day,” you say, putting your hand on the man’s arm to stop him from giving himself a concussion in your bakery, “I’m sure she’ll understand.” 

“You think?” he says, “I’m not the best at remembering birthdays, I may have missed a few in the past.” 

“Well, then she’ll be mad at you, but all you can do is apologize right? And try to make it up to her as best you can.” 

“Yeah…yeah…maybe you’re right, thanks baker girl.” He gives you a lopsided smile and you notice the smudges of dark eyeliner around his eyes, “How about those snacks? I’m fucking starving.” 

You can’t help but laugh, the man’s a mess but somehow adorable at the same time with his wild hair and stained t-shirt. 

“Sure, I’ll get you something, what do you like?”

“Do you have sausage rolls?” he asks, following you into the kitchen, “I fucking love sausage rolls.”

“What, like those things they made on the Great British Bake Off?” you reply, opening your walk in fridge to survey the snack options. 

“Yeah, I did this movie once, in England, and there was a bakery next to my apartment and whenever I got back from a party, early morning, I’d knock on their back door and they’d sell me these fat sausage rolls, fresh from the oven, fucking amazing.” 

“Sorry, no sausage rolls in this bakery,” you say, “but my cookies will be done soon, if you can wait.” 

You turn back to the man and realize he’s wandering around the kitchen, sticking his nose in your bowls, sniffing loudly. 

“Hey, don’t stick your finger in that,” you say, “Health and Safety are going to have my license if they catch you.”

“Sorry, I’ve just got the munchies, I’ve been high for like, two days,” he says, waving his arms around, “this place is torture for a high pers-OH! Do you know what I love?”

“No,” you sigh, exasperated, “I don’t know what you love.”  

He completely misses your tone as he spins in a circle around the kitchen and you realize that he’s wearing what looks like very expensive pajama pants and no shoes, just socks.

“I love those…what do you call them, like…millionaire’s something?” 

“Millionaire's shortbread?” you ask and he spins around to you with a big grin. 

“Yes! Those! With like the chocolate and the peanut butter and they’re like the best Reese’s ever, only even more fucking amazing. Can you make those?”  “I don’t know, maybe,” you begin and the man actually falls to his knees, shuffling over the floor to you. 

“Please, I’ll do anything, I’m dying here, beautiful baker girl, make me happy!”

“Are you asking me to bake for you or proposing?” you laugh, this man is too ridiculous as he grins up at you. 

“If you make them for me, I won’t marry you, but there are many other things I can do,” he says, pulling down his dark sunglasses from his head and winking at you from over the edge, his cheeky grin making it impossible to scowl at him. 

“Fine, I’ll make them for you, just get up from my floor, please,” you say, reaching for his hand. He takes yours with a bright smile, kissing the back of it, before he stumbles to his feet and follows you over to your big workbench.

“I’m Dieter, by the way. Can I sit here?” he asks, pointing to the stool that stands next to the bench. 

“Nice to meet you Dieter,” you say, “sure, go ahead, it’s got wheels on it though so be careful.” 

“Awesome,” Dieter says and sits down, immediately speeding across the floor with a kick of his socked feet. He stops himself from crashing into the fridge door by grabbing on to the handle before he shoots off again, rolling all the way over to the open back door. 

“Don’t fall out through the door please,” you call after him and you hear him giggle, a second later he comes spinning into the kitchen again. 

“This thing is awesome, I need to buy one for my house.” 

“Happy you’re enjoying yourself,” you laugh and walk to where yesterday’s bakes are stacked on trays. You’d made a layer of shortbread yesterday, you were planning on making lemon bars but Millionaire’s shortbread will work too. As you bring it over to your work station Dieter rolls past you and stops by the bench.  “Can I help?” he asks, looking up at you, his sunglasses back in his messy hair. He’s kinda cute when you think about it, gorgeous brown eyes, and the smile he’s giving you is open and curious with an adorable dimple. 

“Yeah, sure, you can be in charge of peanuts,” you say, walking over to the dry storage, “They need to be bashed into chunks with a rolling pin, something tells me that’s something you can probably handle.” 

“That sounds fun, please, direct me,” he says, kicking himself over to the storage cupboard on the stool. 

“Oops, sorry,” he giggles, grabbing hold of your hips to stop himself from crashing into the storage door, “I kicked too hard that time.” 

“Go easy there, Dieter,” you laugh as he untangles himself from the stool and stands up. You get on your tiptoes to grab the peanuts and suddenly realize he’s still holding on to your hips, standing close behind you. You swear you feel his nose brush the side of your head, a quick inhale from him, and then he steps back, letting go. 

“Peanuts?” he says, leaning past you and reaching up to grab the bag sitting just out of your reach. His arm brushes over yours and he’s suddenly very close again, his citrusy after shave, mingling with the heady sweet smoke of weed, fills your senses. 

“Uhh…y-yeah,” you stutter, “thanks. And the dark chocolate if you can reach it.” 

“Sure, this one?” he asks, grabbing the bag of Valrhona from the shelf. This time his chest is pressed against your back, you really should move out of his way, but he’s right behind you, almost pinning you in place, as he has to stretch to his full length to reach. And you find that you don’t mind at all, he’s warm and solid behind you, and this is more action than you’ve had in months. 

“That’s the one, thanks,” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral. 

Dieter brings it down to your level and you take it from him, expecting him to step back and give you room to go back to the work bench. But instead he stays right behind you, and this time you really do feel him bend down and brush his nose over your cheek, down to where your neck meets your shoulder. 

“You smell delicious, like a cookie,” he mumbles and your heart literally skips a beat. 

“Th-thanks,” you splutter and when Dieter steps back, letting you move, you avoid his eyes, feeling your cheeks burn. 

“S-so the…umm…rolling pin is on that shelf there,” you say, pointing down to your right, “and there’s a measuring cup too, just…umm…just get a cup of peanuts, and put them in a plastic bag and bash away. Just wash your hands first.” 

“Ok, I can do that,” he says with a grin and he walks behind you to the sink in the corner while you measure out the peanut butter into a sauce pan. 

Dieter gets to work on the peanuts with great enthusiasm until you tell him they’re broken up enough. 

“Just leave them there, you can come here and stir the peanut butter while I get the caramel ready,” you instruct him and he ambles over in just his socks. 

“What happened to your shoes? If you don’t mind me asking,” you point at his stripey, multicolored socks. 

“I’m not sure,” Dieter glances down at his feet, “I had shoes when I left home, I’m sure of it, but after that it gets a bit hazy.” 

“You’ve really been partying since Tuesday?” you ask and he nods. 

“Yeah, it was a good party so we just kinda kept going,” he grins, “there was a huge pool and we all went in. Actually, maybe that’s where I lost my shoes?” 

“Maybe, you could go back and look for them?” 

“And miss out on baking with a pretty baker girl? Never!” he chuckles and you’re not totally sure he’s being serious or not, but the grin he gives you makes you hope he is. 

“I think this is melted,” he says, draggin the spoon through the silky smooth peanut butter, showing you the bowl. 

“Yeah, that looks done. Just pass me that tray of shortbread and I’ll pour the caramel on top.” 

“Can I lick the bowl?” he asks, looking over your shoulder as you let the thick golden liquid pool on top of the shortbread. 

“I’m pretty good at scraping, there’s usually nothing left to lick,” you say, dragging the spatula around the edge. 

“Can’t you be a bit sloppy, just for me?” Dieter grins, standing entirely too close, “It smells so good, I wanna taste it.” 

This time he’s definitely flirting, the salacious smile on his face while he winks at you, makes you both roll your eyes and squash down butterflies on the inside. 

“Fine, I’ll leave some for you,” you smile, looking back at the shortbread again and scraping out caramel, leaving the last of it on the spatula. Putting the bowl to the side, you hold out the spatula for him. But instead of taking it, he grabs hold of your hand, and licks the caramel off the spatula with a long swipe of his tongue. His eyes don’t leave yours and the whole thing is so over the top you burst out laughing. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, tone it down maybe?” you snort, as he abruptly stops licking, letting go of your hand. 

“What?” he blushes, “I saw it in this movie, it looked sexy.” 

“Yeah, in a porno maybe!” you say, handing him the spatula, and only the spatula.

He takes it with a sheepish look, “Sorry, that usually works.” 

“Not in this bakery, I have to work with that spatula when you’re gone, I can’t have it being used as a porno prop, Dieter.” You grab a new spatula from the holder on the counter and start smoothing out the caramel. 

“You do smell good though,” Dieter says, still looking sheepish, “that wasn’t just a line.” 

“Thanks,” you shoot him a quick smile, working over the caramel, “you smell good too, underneath all that weed funk.” 

At this he grabs the front of his t-shirt and sniffs it, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, it’s kinda obvious, huh.” 

“Can’t believe you partied for forty-eight hours, I’d be dead on my feet,” you say, mixing the peanut butter into the caramel layer, sprinkling in some of the crushed peanuts, “Do you want coffee or something while we wait for this to set?” 

“Fuck yes, coffee sounds amazing!” Dieter exclaims, dropping the spatula from his mouth, “And this stuff is amazing too, I’d eat a bowl of just this.” 

“You’d die of a sugar rush if you did,” you laugh, sliding the tray into the large fridge and setting a timer on your phone, “C’mon, the coffee machine is out front.” 

One of the advantages of being the sole owner of the bakery was that you got to decide what to skimp on, and what to splurge on. And the espresso machine was something you’d really splurged on. For a shop that mainly sold take out baked goods, it was way over the top, but it meant you always had great coffee on hand for your early mornings. The machine was already up and running, humming quietly as you started preparing two shots. 

“How do you take it, Dieter?” you ask and he winks at you.  “Anyway you wanna give it to me, baker girl,” he grins and when you sigh loudly, he laughs and holds up his hands in defense. “C’mon! I had to! You set it up perfectly!” 

“How do you take your coffee?” you emphasis and glare at him, but your smile is breaking through and he gives you a playful poke as he comes up and stands next to the machine. 

“Extra everything, cream, sugar, any of those coffee syrups if you have ‘em.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” you smirk, “A guy who loves Millionaire’s Shortbread, of course he wants extra everything. I bet you’re lining up outside your local Starbucks the morning they start selling Pumpkin Spice.” 

“I would never drink Starbucks!” he protests, “Fucking vile coffee and the worst of corporate America. But you can’t beat a good pumpkin spice if you’ve got quality coffee.” 

“I’ve only got great coffee here, but no syrup, you want a latte? Double shot espresso?” 

“Please,” he says, leaning against the counter next to the espresso machine as he looks over the front of your little shop, crossing his arms. You can’t help the glance up at his arms, the t-shirt hanging on for dear life as it clings to his biceps and broad shoulders. The many rings on his fingers look tiny on his large hands as he grips the outside of his arms, and you’re temporarily distracted by them, and his close proximity. 

The hiss of the machine pulls you back to reality, coffee sputtering out of the spouts into the cup. You glance back up at Dieter and find him watching you with a crooked smile, a dimple in his cheek. 

“What?” you say, looking back at the machine and begin to steam the milk. 

“You really are beautiful,” he says, almost matter of factly, “especially when you zone out.” 

“It’s early, and I’ve been up since two am, but thanks, I guess,” you reply, handing him the latte and pointing to the sugar bowl on the counter next to the till. 

“I wasn’t trying to make a move or anything,” he says, sounding slightly hurt, “I just wanted to tell you I think you’re gorgeous.” 

“No, I’m sorry,” you say, immediately regretting your tone, “I’m just not used to compliments I guess, I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I should’ve just said thanks,” you look over at him and give him a smile, “Thanks Dieter.” 

“You’re welcome,” he replies, smiling back. 

You knock out the used coffee grounds and fill it up again to make your own coffee. Dieter reaches over and grabs four sugar cubes and drops them in the latte, stirring while he watches you work. He’s watching you closely again and it makes your cheeks heat up. He’s got a strange energy of childish mayhem and intense magnetism, chaos that’s either going to make you laugh until your sides hurt or fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week. And you’re not sure which one you want. 

Your coffee done, you add a splash of milk and lean against the counter opposite Dieter, taking a careful sip. He’s wrapped both his large hands around the thick glass and is delicately licking the foam, drawing a pattern in it with his tongue. You watch him for a few seconds until he notices you and gives you a sheepish grin. 

“What?” he asks, copying your tone from earlier. 

“You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, the question slipping out before you have a chance to stop it, immediately regretting your filterless mouth. 

But he gives you a disarming smile, “Gorgeous. Gorgeous baker girl that smells like cookies and caramel and chocolate.” 

“You’re just high,” you can’t help but scoff at him, but he just shakes his head. 

“No, not at all.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you, the silence stretching between you until you think something will have to snap and it’s probably going to be you. 

The phone saves you, the timer going off just as you don’t think you can stand another second of his chocolate brown eyes looking at you like you’re the snack he’s been asking for. 

“Thecaramelisset,” you rush out, breaking eye contact and hurrying back into the kitchen as if another second in the fridge would ruin the whole thing. Dieter comes in behind you at a slower pace, still drinking his coffee. 

You pull out the tray and set it down on the workbench before turning on the burner under a saucepan of water, setting up a water bath. 

“I’m just gonna melt this chocolate, and then I’ll spread it on top, it’ll set pretty quickly. And then it’s done.” You work quickly, too flustered to look at him and he hoovers just to your side, watching your movements. 

The chocolate melts fast, you only need a thin layer, and then you pour it over the caramel. You scrape the bowl clean but leave a generous amount of chocolate on the spatula, giving it to Dieter. 

“Don’t burn your mouth, it’s still warm”, you say when he takes it. He doesn’t grab your hand this time, but his fingertips brushes over yours as he nods, and it sends a sharp little jolt through you. 

You turn back to the almost finished shortbread but can’t help glancing over at him. His pink tongue comes out and licks the chocolate, this time it’s not over the top, nothing provocative about it, he’s not even looking at you. But you swear you can feel every stroke of his tongue on your own skin, burning hot and wet.

You swallow and tear your eyes away, blindly reaching for the crushed peanuts, taking a handful and scattering it across the chocolate. The Millionaire’s Shortbread is done and you slide the tray back into the fridge, it only needs a few minutes. Dieter remains by the counter, finishing off the chocolate on the spatula as you start to clean up the kitchen and bring out the cookie dough that still needs to be taken care of. You see Dieters eyes widen as he sees the first scoop of dough land on the baking tray. 

“Is that chocolate chip,” he almost whispers reverently, spatula forgotten, as he slowly comes over to stare down into the bowl. 

“You want to try it? It’s double chocolate chip with browned butter.” 

He makes a gurgling noise in the back of his throat, tilting his head back before he looks at you and nods, “Please, it smells so good.” 

You grab a tasting spoon, giving him a generous scoop and watch with a smile as he puts it in his mouth. His eyes close of their own volition as he moans, far too enticingly, around the spoon. 

“Oh my god…” he sighs, slowly chewing the dough, “This is like heaven, better than sex, better than fucking coke.” 

“Knock yourself out,” you chuckle, “it’s not healthy but it’s sure as hell better for you than coke.” 

“And sex?” he asks with a wink, still rolling the dough around his mouth. 

“They’re probably on par, but this is tastier than cum.” 

Dieter nearly chokes, coughing loudly as you giggle. Between repeated attempts at clearing his throat he points his finger at you accusingly, trying to grin between his coughing.

“You’re…” he coughs again, “You’re a dirty baker girl!” he finally manages, grinning widely as you go back to scooping dough, still giggling. 

“I can’t believe I said that, but you did serve it up perfectly.” 

“I did, but I never thought your mind was that filthy, I’m appalled” he laughs, placing a hand on his chest in a mock gesture of shock. “Better than cum huh? You have a lot of experience in that department?” 

Now he’s winking again, poking to get more details out of you. So instead you take another tasting spoon, scoop up more dough and put it straight into his mouth to shut him up. It works, he grins around the spoon and smacks his lips at the taste. 

“So fucking good, definitely better than cum,” he smirks, earning an eye roll from you. “Do you wanna taste it?” 

“I’m good, I’ve already tasted the dough many times,” you reply, careful to specify that you’re talking about dough. 

“Maybe not like this though,” Dieter says, suddenly bending down and pressing his lips against yours. It almost makes you jump, his soft lips against yours, his aftershave, it all envelops you in an instance. He’s not touching you anywhere else, just your lips, and you can’t taste him, his mouth is still closed. Maybe you should push him off, the thought flits through your mind for a split second. But you want to taste him, taste the cookie dough you know is delicious, mingled with him, so you part your lips, your tongue coming out. 

Dieter lets a quiet groan slip out as he part his lips, letting you in, opening his mouth and tilting his head to come closer. You hear the spoon clatter to the floor as his hand comes up and cups your cheek, his big hand reaching behind your neck, another stifled groan from him. He tastes of sugar, coffee and chocolate, all flavors mingling into something enticing that pulls you closer.

There’s nothing delicate about this kiss now, you lick into his mouth, and he offers you all the space you want, holding you close and moaning softly as your tongues tangle.

“Touch my hair,” he mumbles, breathing into your mouth, “I want to feel your hands in my hair.” 

“They’re all sticky, Dieter,” you protest but you feel him shake his head, his lips brushing over yours. 

“I don’t care, touch me, hold me, I want to smell like you when I leave,” his tongue slips between your lips, and you run your hands through his hair. You can feel it sticking, tugging at his wild locks but he just groans, his hands holding you tighter and, encouraged, you let your own hands run across his body, eliciting another loud groan from him. 

Tension is building between the two of you, he is growing hard against your belly, unmistakably turned on and doing nothing to hide it. You can feel heat radiating from your own core, so scorching he must feel it too through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. If this doesn’t stop soon he’ll have you bent over the workbench in a minute, and Health and Safety would definitely have something to say about that. 

With a groan and tremendous effort, you put your hands on his chest and push him away. His lips chase yours for a few seconds, eyes closed, a protest coming from him, before he looks down at you with a sigh. 

“You taste even better than you smell,” he says, not letting go of your cheek, his other hand still around your waist. 

“The cookie dough goes really well with the coffee,” you reply, your mouth quirking up in a smile and he matches it, a dopey look on his face. 

“Amazing,” he breathes, "you're amazing, baker girl.” 

His adoration makes you tremble, you feel the heat in your cheeks, and he sees it, leaning into your lips. He stops and looks at you for a beat, to ask for your permission, and when you don’t pull away he presses a soft kiss to your warm mouth, so different from the hasty, heated kiss you just shared. This one lasts only for a few seconds, gentle, before he pulls back, his hand slowly trailing along your check. 

“I should probably call for my ride,” he says softly, “it’ll take a while to get here.” 

“Ok,” you nod, “the shortbread should be done too.” 

“Ok,” he replies, but he doesn’t make a move to leave and you can’t seem to take your eyes off him. 

“I really should…” he sighs, tracing his fingertips over your cheek again, “call that ride.” 

“Go, do that, I’ll cut the shortbread, we can have some while we wait for your ride.” You lightly put your hand on his warm chest and push him away, smiling, but you really want to bunch your hand in the soft t-shirt and pull him closer. 

“Ok,” he says, louder this time, as if making up his mind. He shoves his hand in his pocket, miraculously finding his phone intact as you bring the tray out of the fridge. 

The whole thing has set into layers, so you take a sharp knife and start cutting rectangles, slipping them up and onto the tray that goes in your display case, some go into a take away box, two you put on a separate plate and then look around for Dieter, spotting his broad back out by the back door. Just as you come over to him he ends his call, turning around to you with a smile. 

“My ride will be here in about twenty minutes,” he says, following you to the doorstep and sitting down. You sink down next to him, maybe a little bit closer than necessary, but he’s wide and takes up almost the whole door frame. Your cookie dough is still waiting for you, you’ll be playing catch up with your baking for the rest of the morning, but it’ll be worth it. This chaotic, disheveled man has made your morning a lot more exciting than usual and you’re a little bit sad to see him go. 

“Here, what you came for,” you say, holding out the plate, and Dieter takes one of the Millionaire’s Shortbread. 

“I can’t believe you made these just for me,” he grins and bites into it. You watch his face, this is your favorite part of baking, watching people when they taste the finished thing. And Dieter doesn’t disappoint, he groans, loudly, grabbing onto your arm and leaning his forehead against your shoulder, his whole body reacting to the flavors in his mouth as he chews. 

“I Iive here now,” he moans, “I’m giving up my career, I’m going to live in your bakery and pay you to feed me for the rest of my life.” He lifts his head up and takes another big bite of the shortbread, groaning again as he looks at you, his eyebrows pulled together, big brown eyes pleading. “How is this so good?” he moans, his tongue coming out to catch an errant peanut crumb, “you’ve got to taste this.” 

He holds up the last bite of the shortbread to you, and you open your mouth, letting him place it between your lips. You feel his fingers brush over them as he pulls back, his thumb coming up to swipe over your bottom lip. 

“It’s really good, I’m pretty happy with this,” you say, trying to not chew with your mouth open as Dieter looks at you, his eyes on your lips.

“Do you want another one?” you ask, holding up the plate and Dieter nods fervently and groans again as he takes a bite. 

“I can’t decide, this or sex, which is better,” he chuckles, and you nod. You know the cake is good, but you can’t help but wonder if sex with Dieter might not be even better. 

You sit side by side in the early morning sunshine, eating the cakes. Dieter soon finishes his second one and cracks the lid on the take away box you’ve given him, sneaking a third one with a childish grin that makes you happy to see. 

“Seriously, I live here now, I’m moving in tomorrow,” he mumbles, moaning between bites, leaning on you, his head on your shoulder. 

“You do that Dieter, I might even let you lick the bowl once in a while,” you say, patting his messy hair. 

“Lick the bowl or lick your bowl, baker girl?” he giggles and you give him a light smack, shaking your head. 

“Enough with the porn jokes,” you scold him, no menace to your words, he can hear the smile in your voice and giggles again. 

“Can I put my head in your lap?” he asks, “Nothing weird, I promise, I’m just really tired suddenly.” 

“Ok, sure, but your ride should be here soon.” 

“Yeah, I just wanna relax my eyes for a while….” Dieter yawns and slips down the stairs to sit on the last step, hooking his arm around your hips and putting his head on your lap. The warm weight of him on your legs is actually comforting, his arm a steady hold behind you. Without thinking about it you start carding your fingers through his hair, adding to the sticky mess, making it stand on end, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It takes him minutes to fall asleep, a low rumbling snore coming from him. 

You keep stroking his head for a few more minutes before you carefully lift his head up and slip out from under him, letting his arm be his pillow. You need to go back to baking, your first customers will be arriving soon and you haven’t even put the cookies in the oven, you want them fresh and warm when the early morning commuters arrive. 

Back in the kitchen you quickly scoop the rest of the dough on the trays and get them in the oven and start stocking the display case out front with what’s already done. You’re just sliding the last croissants into the tray when the opening hour strikes and you flip the sign on the front door. You’ve been listening out back for a car to pull up but you haven’t heard anything and once the morning rush starts, you’re swamped and a couple of hours pass before you even realize. When it finally calms down you wipe down the counter and clean your hands before checking out by the back door. It’s still open, but Dieter is gone, as is the take away box, not a trace of your chaotic, magnetic early morning visitor. 

Hours later, as you’re about to close up for the day, a delivery van pulls up in front of the shop. A man in a uniform jumps out and comes rushing in with a box and an extravagant bouquet of flowers with a vase.  “Delivery for you, miss,” he says, handing you a device to sign your name on, and then the flowers and the box. 

“Thanks,” you say but the man is already halfway out the door. 

The flowers fill the small shop with their scent, and you place them on the counter, next to the till, stopping to stick your nose into the white lilac and breathing deeply before getting the shop closed up.

You flip the sign and take the box into the kitchen, the back door is still open to let the warm spring air in. Sinking down on the stairs where you sat with Dieter just this morning, you open the box. It contains another box and inside that, a note. But there’s also a mouth watering, rich, smell of pastry and meat coming from the box. Intrigued, you open the lid, only to find a thermal container inside, like a small version of the ones used to keep delivery pizza warm. Inside are six fat, delicious looking sausages rolls. Your stomach gives a hungry grumble and you immediately grab one, laughing as you remember Dieter’s first request this morning; sausage rolls, like the ones he bought in England after party nights. 

The sausage roll really is as delicious as it looks and you grab a second one before you pick up the note that came with them. 

It's a double folded piece of paper, so thick it almost looks like part of a canvas. On the inside a note is scribbled in a looped, flowing handwriting. 

“Next time I’m asking you on a date, baker girl /D” 

Part Two

If you want to make Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread, here's the recipe I used.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— LIVIN IN YOU

SUMMARY : dean actually loves reading. it should have been obvious what he’d enjoy reading the most. he doesn’t hate all books. he likes fun ones, ones with spice and romance.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS : nsfw(18+), smut, smutty thoughts, fluff, sub!dean, dom!reader

WORD COUNT : 4.9k

A/N : title from a song by radio company. I was doing research on erotic novels for this and Bared to You by Silvia Day was the first book that popped up so I started reading it as research and planned to read only one chapter. It was all I was gonna include but I ended up liking it, and finished it lmaooo X

Dean couldn’t sleep. His bed was too empty, too cold. He moved around trying to find a comfortable position to finally fall asleep in, before he groaned and stared up at the ceiling thinking of what to do to put himself to sleep.

Y/N was out really late with Cas and Jack getting dinner since Cas and Jack went out on a hunt together and succeeded. Dean had just showered and eaten when they came back and Jack was starving so Y/N kissed Dean goodnight and went to take Jack and Cas for a late night dinner.

He chuckled shyly to himself as his brain suggested something. He looked around for his headphones and then searched in his box where he had his porn. Y/N didn’t look inside because she wasn’t interested in it—having him and all that was her reasoning. He hasn’t looked at his porn in years but he still liked collecting it anyway and Y/N didn’t mind that he did.

He finally found what he was looking for at the bottom of the box, beneath the Busty Asian Beauties magazines he had. He was paranoid and embarrassed about the thought of Y/N finding this out. It was a book he hadn’t read when he first got it. He and Cas had gone to the library years back and he was looking for something to teach Cas about sex while Y/N and Sam stayed back at the Bunker, cooking.

Dean led Cas to the erotic novels sections at the bookstore in town and he started to pick random books for him to read, from LGBTQ+ to heterosexual couples, monogamy to polyamory, BDSM, and more. Even Dean learned a few new things and they made him realise how right Rowena was when she said he was “sheltered”.

Dean sat, cross-legged, in the middle of his bed and kept his sheets on his lap to keep him warm. He plugged his headphones into his phone and let Led Zeppelin play quietly as he tried to focus on the words of the book. He was shy about reading it, so he was barely on chapter six of the book titled Bared to You. It was intense and straight to the point while all at once being a slow burn.

The main character, Eva, reminded him a little of Y/N with her wit and stubbornness, while the love interest, Gideon Cross, reminded him of himself if he were rich and more intense.

He wanted to skip straight to the sex scenes, but since it was surprisingly good, he decided against it. Once he’d started reading it—thinking he’d fall asleep quickly a few days ago, he found himself enthralled and captivated page after page as if he hadn’t had much more intense and creative sex with Y/N at least every night and morning.

He enjoyed the book more by imagining it was him and Y/N as Gideon and Eva. It could at least explain the blush that flared up his neck to his ears and cheeks, and the way his cock stiffened and swelled inside his black boxers.

He never touched himself, he just kept reading the fucked up relationship between Eva and Gideon, grateful that—as fucked up as he and Y/N were, they didn’t have something as complicated or toxic as them.

He wasn’t very good at talking about his feelings or his troubles, but he got there eventually as he processed events. Y/N didn’t push, she was just there—waiting for him, and never complained. She trusted him and she was kind, which helped to make her trust him. It was easier since she knew how to handle her own emotions despite how powerfully she felt them. So much about her made him feel safe enough to feel whatever he was feeling without being judged, invalidated, or forced to talk about it.

He didn’t always tell her he loved her in the traditional sense—through words, but he hoped—when he kissed her, when he made love to her, when he cooked for her, when he held her hand, when he smiled at her, and everything else he did—that she knew it was his way of saying it when it was too much to say out loud.

The book wasn’t very long and it was occasionally real to him. He sometimes related to Gideon and Eva, to their trauma, the feeling of being undeserving of love, the fear of vulnerability and intimacy, the inadequate feeling self-hate caused, disgust, and using sex as a coping mechanism. Now, when he had sex, it was because of surges of love and lust from how kind and tender Y/N was with him.

He didn’t feel used or objectified by her, he didn’t feel good about himself only during sex. He felt loved, worshipped, beautiful, and worthy with every press of her lips on his freckled skin, with every movement of her hands on his body, with the adoring words whispered into his mouth, against his skin. He felt it outside of the bedroom when she gazed at him lovingly when he talked about anything at all—and there was a special little glint when he gushed about cowboys. He felt it when he ate and caught her looking at him already with warm and amused eyes, when she cooked and fed him, praising him and complimenting him for looking cute as he ate. He felt it when she listened and kept her eyes on him like he was the only one in the room worth looking at, the way she hung on his every word, and how she was kind to him despite all the hurt she’s felt. She was everything. There wasn’t a single moment he’s spent with her where he hasn’t felt it.

So, even though the story did stress him out sometimes, he liked comparing Gideon and Eva to himself and Y/N. It made him feel proud of their relationship and good about himself because Gideon was really frustrating to him—and yes, Dean was aware how he keeps stuff to himself as well. However, he had never inflicted such anguish on Y/N by doing so, and he can’t keep it inside very long when Y/N makes him open up like a flower when it’s kissed by the sunrise. It’s not forced, he’s not pressured, it's just natural that he does so, bending to her tender will.

He already knew, years ago, when he started to love her. But the moment he actually let it take him over was when he was fresh out of hell, when they stood by his car in the cold, outside that barn where they hid Anna from Uriel and Cas. And he knew he was done for when she looked at him like he was everything, even as she confessed to knowing what he’d done in hell, when he realised that it didn’t alter or affect her feelings for him.

His walls were obliterated as if they were hit by a meteor when she kissed him, when she stole his breath for the first time, when she touched him so tenderly. When he felt her naked skin against his for the first time, and she quietly chanted his name over and over when he claimed her inside the backseat of his car. He was devastated by the gentle caress of her touch, by her soft panting breaths as he teased her, by the taste of her, by the way she tasted him. He felt beautiful—like a star after its death—when he was inside her that night for the first time, when he’d made love to her like he’d never loved anyone else.

He’d always known she was the only person he’d truly love after that Djinn made her his girlfriend in the wish-dream many years ago. When he told her he loved her in that dream-state and as he said them, he thought to himself that those words were only for her, he swore to himself that he’d never say them to anyone.

He’d gotten to chapter thirteen in a breeze and he was still invested in the story. There was so much drama going on between the characters and he was blushing—not just from how hot the sex was, but because he was embarrassed that he actually liked the book.

Just as he got to another sex scene he shuddered when he felt a little draught and he jumped when he looked up and saw Y/N standing with the door open. She looked like she’d been caught, she was frozen and blinked at him with confusion and surprise.

Immediately, he closed the book and turned it onto its back to hide the cover, then removed his headphones. She relaxed and smiled softly at him, “I thought you’d be asleep.” She stepped forward, her eyes filled with love as she reached out for his face. He stared up at her with a deep blush on his face, he was anxious to be discovered by her, but he closed his eyes when her fingertips gently brushed across his cheeks.

“Couldn’t sleep without you,” he murmured and opened his eyes, glancing up at her through his thick lashes. Her smile widened slightly and she cupped the side of his jaw, letting him rest his breathtaking face in her soft palm.

“I’m here now,” she whispered. He smiled softly, lifting his hand to hold her wrist and moved it to his mouth so he could kiss her pulse. “Let me get cleaned up, I’ll be right back.” He nodded gently, closing his eyes when she leaned down to kiss his forehead. He leaned into her with a content smile, then offered his lips to her when she pulled away. A single press of her warm mouth on his made his lips tingle, but he let her walk away, and licked his lips as he watched her leave his room. He let himself bask in the aftermath of her tenderness for a few seconds. He just stared at the door she exited from, his eyes drifting away little by little as he bit his lip, deep in thought. Thinking of her—naked, mostly.

Shortly after, he made quick work of hiding his book where it had been and returned his headphones to where they were before as well. He sighed and threw his phone on the wooden bedside table carelessly. He felt a bit of adrenaline at the thought of being discovered and arousal from having been fantasising sexual encounters with Y/N.

Still, he innocently returned to his spot on the bed. He moved beneath the warm sheets of his bed—sitting, and rubbed his eyes when he heard his bedroom door opening again. Y/N was standing there for a while, smiling at the way he rubbed his eyes before she entered. She quietly closed the door behind her and walked towards him, “what were you doing before I interrupted you?”

He stared at the black shirt she wore. It was his Led Zeppelin shirt with a grainy black and white image of a zeppelin and orange coloured words. He smiled at how big it fit her—like a minidress. His adoring, honeydew eyes fell to her bare legs and her blue ankle socks with white clouds, to the grey slippers on her feet.

She climbed onto the bed and he bit his lip, shyly looking at his hands, “listening to music and reading some book about wraiths. It was interesting, so, uh, I couldn’t fall asleep after all,” he lied and she chuckled. She still raised a brow as she inspected his flushed state, and moved the sheets to straddle him, unaware that he was hard. He exhaled shakily when she sat back on his thighs and his hands flexed on her legs as she rested her arms on his shoulders. “How’d it go with Jack and Cas?” He cleared his throat and held her hips, hoping to change the subject even though he only wanted to pull her onto his cock.

“Good,” she murmured, “Jack wanted a burger, milkshake, and some fries.” She smiled down at him, then kissed his lips softly oblivious to the way it only fueled his lust. His eyes fluttered shut and he hummed softly. “Cas was just sitting there all stiff, but he relaxed a little when Jack started to ask questions about how all of the food they served was made.” She cupped his face in both of her hands, feeling his ticklish stubble on her palms and the heat of his blush. “You’re warm, are you okay?”

She sounded concerned and she brushed her lips against his forehead to see if he was sick. He only nodded to reassure her he was fine and captured her lips with his in a needy kiss. He brought her hips forward, finally letting her know what was going on down south. She gasped against his mouth at the friction against her clit and he groaned softly at the sound of it, tightening his grip.

“A book on wraiths made you hard?” She teased breathlessly, her eyes fluttering shut when he kissed the corner of her mouth. Her heart rate picked up with excitement and her skin started to get warm with the rush of blood through her body.

“Shut up,” he murmured, kissing across her jaw, nibbling gently on her jawline. He trailed his opened mouth down her neck, his tongue sliding against her soft skin, tasting her and breathing in the fruity scent mixed with the aroma of flowers in her soft hair. “I was thinking of you,” he told her, his voice deep and husky, it made her pussy quiver.

“What about me?” She whispered, her fingers buried in his short hair. He slowly moved his hands up her back beneath the shirt she wore and brought his mouth up to her lips, but he didn’t kiss her.

“The first time I was inside your tight, hot, wet little cunt,” he growled, taking a moment to see her reaction.

“Dean,” she gasped, her stomach fluttering with excitement. Pleased with her response, he pressed his lips against hers, passionate and thrilled with a newfound confidence. He pulled the shirt up and off her body quickly. Her hands returned to his hair to tug at the short strands, drawing out little grunts from him that went straight to her clit. He didn’t give her much time to catch her breath, instantly returning to her lips once he removed the shirt, not that she needed air as she robbed him of his own oxygen with the depth and passion of her returned kiss.

He gently prodded at the seam of her lips with his tongue and she opened up to him swiftly, a sudden neediness controlling their actions. He could taste chocolate on her tongue when he licked into her mouth, savouring the flavour of the milkshake she must have ordered as his fingers toyed with the hem of her panties. He felt his skin electrify when she moaned at the gentle strokes of his hot tongue.

“I wanna make you come,” he whispered against her lips. He pulled her closer, her breasts squeezed against his broad chest which was covered in a black Henley. The cotton rubbed against her breasts deliciously and made her nipples tighten. He turned her over onto her back with his arms around her waist and he watched her chest rise and fall with each breath she took.

He looked down at her, seeing her shiver now that she wasn’t warmed by his body heat and took a moment to admire as she laid naked beneath him. His eyes drifted away from her pink cheeks to look at her full breasts, down her slightly concaving stomach, and finally her pink underwear. His hands flexed on her thighs, slowly rising to her hip bones where her underwear was resting.

“Take me,” she whispered, reaching over to lift his shirt up off him as well, “however you want,” she told him quietly. He groaned softly at her words, quickly taking his shirt off to do as she clearly wanted him to. She stared up at him with wide eyes that swallowed him whole like beautiful, hungry black holes.

“Whatever you say, angel,” he murmured, looking away from her blushing face fro a few seconds just to remove his boxers. Like him, she’d looked away from his face to watch him strip completely, her little tongue dipping out to moisten her dry lips at the sight of his stiff cock. He looked up at the right moment, caught her quite literally salivating at the sight of his dick leaking at the tip. “Wanna taste?”

That was usually her line, when he’d stare at her glistening folds debating on whether to fuck her already or eat her out. Unlike him, she’d say it bashfully. She’d move his attention away from between her legs because she was just like that sometimes. He adored her to pieces with every fibre in his body.

As she crawled over to him, he sat back on his legs, his hands stretched out behind him as his cock bobbed with excitement. His eyes were on her, right where they belonged, watching her lower herself slightly and very teasingly dipped her tongue into his slit, tonguing away his precum. His breath hitched and his hands fisted the sheets, his hips instinctively moving upwards.

“Yummy,” she said playfully, moving up his body. He stared at her with parted lips, panting as his cock ached for attention, but her hands slid up his thighs and stayed there.

“Please,” he moaned impatiently. She blinked at him once, a little smile on her face making her even more irresistible. She shifted slightly, but his eyes were glued on her as she slowly trailed her fingertips up his cock. She became flustered and averted her gaze to his lips, leaning forward just a bit when he became a little too intense to stare at. Dean felt his lips tingle as they brushed against hers, but he let her have control, let her tease him by refusing to just kiss him senseless.

Her touch was teasing, light and slow as she moved her hand up and down at last. Her thumb swiped over the slit, spreading the warm precum that had started to bead out, her mouth watering at the sight. But instead of continuing to tease him, she moved onto his lap, pulled away from his face to guide his cock to her soaked entrance. And just with the sensation of her warmth around the tip, he whined.

The sound made her insides quiver and she cursed under her breath, a little smirk tugging at her lips. His hands clasped her thighs painfully, the tortuous way she slid down the length of him made him roll his hips up impatiently. The breath she took had caught in her chest at how good it felt to be this close to him once again.

Her lips were on his again, at last, swiftly aiding the passion that made her tummy warm, that made his body burn with so much heat he felt like a sun had started to burn inside of him. He loved it. Being loud on purpose. Losing himself in her completely and giving in, letting her take control and please him the way only she knew how to do.

A loud moan slipped past his lips, into her loving mouth when she sat fully on his lap. The way she tightened around him after each sound spurred him on. His hands moved up her sides, grasping tightly at her hips, hoping to mark her skin as he tugged her forward, fervently giving himself pleasure.

“Just wait,” she murmured against his lips, pulling away to push his shoulders until he was lying down on his back. He whined in response, bratty—cutely refusing to stop. His head tipped back, letting his body relax into the bed while he lifted his hips up, his lips parting to vocalise more of his pleasure. “You’re so fucking pretty,” she chuckled breathlessly, staring down at him—utterly enraptured by his impatience and his determination to make himself feel good.

“Need to cum so ba-Fuck!” He screwed his eyes shut when she lifted herself up and roughly slammed back down. She smiled and laughed, slightly amused and then leaned forward to kiss him, his eyes barely starting to open, only to flutter shut again when he got lost in her kiss.

“You’re so fucking desperate, D,” she teased, her lips brushing against his hairline. A whine from him at her words showed her that he liked it and she moaned in response, continuing to ride him as eagerly as he wanted her to.

His eyes were fixated on hers, heavy with lust, pupils dilated with both love and desire. The way she lifted herself with such agility tore more sounds of pleasure from his throat, deep and rumbling groans that came from within his chest and made her smirk smugly at him. It was so hot, it drew so much arousal from her that lifting herself up and down was embarrassingly smooth, the squelching sound of her pussy being filled by his cock echoed around his room and made his moans get louder.

His grip on her hips tightened, blunt nails digging into her flesh, his back arching from how rough she was fucking him, giving him so much pleasure he thought he’d explode. “Fuck, baby, ‘m so close,” he moaned. His mind was hazy, his skin burning hot and sensitive so that even the way she dug her nails into his chest added to his pleasure. He loved being on the bottom, more than he’d like to admit.

“I could cum just listening to you, Dean,” she panted, leaning over him slightly, one of her hands clutching the pillow his head rested on. She changed the angle of her hips, her clit rubbing against his pelvis, her other hand slid up his chest, wrapping around his throat and squeezing gently.

“Shit,” he gasped, his hips bucking upwards.

“You’re so kinky,” she chuckled, “how about you just cum already, D?” She clenched around him, a gasp slipping past his lips. He shook his head, his teeth digging into his plump bottom lip to hold back another moan, his stomach tightening as he tried holding back his orgasm. “Fine,” she chuckled, grinding down on him to stimulate her clit until he was whining, bringing herself closer to the edge as he squirmed beneath her.

“Oh… fuck,” he moaned loudly, his orgasm washing over him before he could even stop it. An arousing look contorted his face as he came, quick curses and whispers of her name puffing past his parted lips that left his mouth and lips dry, making him look so beautiful.

“That’s right, D,” she chuckled, biting her lip to muffle a moan when she felt the warmth of his cum inside her. She started to lift herself up and down again, hard and fast until she reached her own orgasm, her velvety walls squeezing him tightly, and he took it despite how sensitive he was starting to get.

He let her finish, his fingers bruising the flesh of her hips until she stopped shuddering completely. Her entire body turned to jelly, a little smile growing on her lips, gazing at each other in the slight darkness of his room. Only one lamp allowed him to see the state she was in, flushed and a little sweaty like him.

Her gentle eyes swept over his face, watching neutrally as he sat up tiredly, a languid smile on his face when their breaths became normal again, “I didn’t expect that,” he murmured hoarsely, brushing her hair to the side and kissing her cheek. She relaxed in his arms, placing a little kiss on his lips before resting her cheek on his shoulders.

“Y’know I don’t believe you, right?” She mumbled against his shoulder, smirking when his hands stilled on her back. He recovered quickly, his hands continuing to venture up and down her spine, ignoring the feeling of their cum oozing out of her.

“What do you mean?” he chuckled deeply, “I didn’t plan on us having sex tonight.” He knew he sounded unconvincing, but mostly he knew that she wasn’t talking about that at all.

“What were you reading?” She asked, pulling away to analyse him. He swallowed nervously, licking his dry lips as he thought about what to say, but he still felt dazed from his orgasm that no lie to get himself out of the situation came to his mind to rescue him. “Tell me, if it gets you this worked up, I might have to give it a read,” she teased, lifting herself off him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, smacking her ass when he saw she was purposely lifting herself up slowly. She plopped down next to him, rubbing her thighs together as her pussy continued to throb with. He bit his lip gently and admired her, dragging his hand up her soft and warm thighs to reach between her legs where she was completely soaked. “I’m too embarrassed to tell you,” he chuckled, gently massaging her sensitive clit.

“That’s okay because I already know,” she whispered, moving his hand away from between her legs so she could return to his lap. His lips parted, a look of confusion and embarrassment turned his face red, his lips parting with no words being formed. “I clean your room, D, it’s not just magically without dust all the time.. Plus I’m curious about your porn, okay? Some of those ladies are crazy fine,” she chuckled, kissing him passionately.

He pulled away from the kiss, giving her a dirty look that made her laugh. “I’m going to throw them out if you say that again,” he pouted, his fingers mindlessly caressing her thighs.

“Don’t be jealous of them, you know you're my only girl, Dean,” she teased, burying her fingers into his hair and tugging him forward to give him one of the best kisses of his life. He moaned softly, his hands flexing on her thighs, instinctively bringing her closer so her body was pressed against his. He whined against her mouth, pouting at again. Her teeth dug into his plump lower lip, seductively pulling it before she let it go and smiled down at him.

She snickered when she saw the confused look on his face. “I don’t even know what that means,” he mumbled cutely, tracing a few freckles on her legs. She sighed dramatically and grinned at him, getting up to clean herself with a random hand towel he had in his drawer.

He watched her naked body move itself away from him with another pout on his face, waiting for her to look back at him. She did eventually, smirking and shaking her head. He blushed, becoming a little shy, he turned over onto his side to watch her but also to stop himself from doing things to get her attention.

She turned the water on in the sink and leaned against it to clean herself up, letting him see his work. He held his breath, heat spreading over his face like a fire in the forest, his hands clutching his pillow. His eyes were fixated on her every movement, inspecting the way she spread her folds open to clean herself thoroughly despite the sleepiness that made his eyes heavy.

“Enjoying the show?” She smirked, glancing up at him. His eyes snapped up to her face and he shrugged with a little laugh.

“Always.” She stood normally and walked towards him again, into his soft bed until she was right next to him. The towel was slightly wet, and she folded it to use a clean part on him, carefully taking his soft cock to clean him. He hissed quietly, watching her face at first, and then watching how gentle she was with her hands, reaching down to his balls to clean where their cum and her arousal had dripped down. “Round two?” He whimpered and she smirked, pulling her hands away from his dick.

“As horny as I still am, you need to sleep, baby.” Her shoulders shook with silent laughter and he nodded, a lazy smile growing on his lips. He loved this. She moved out of bed to place the dirty towel somewhere to remind herself to wash it tomorrow, and then to wash her hands before she made her way to his drawers to pick a clean pair of boxers for him and clean panties for herself.

She slipped the Led Zeppelin shirt on again and handed him the Henley he’d been wearing, but he childishly put it on the nightstand, “no, I want easy access in the morning,” he whined, stopping her from taking his boxers to him. She laughed softly, then returned their underwear to the drawer neatly.

“Does that mean I’m the little spoon tonight?” She asked, amused, taking his shirt to fold it neatly and placed it back in place. He nodded, fixing the blanket so she could join him beneath them. “Okay, pretty boy,” she murmured, smiling as she made her way to him beneath the sheets, kissing him softly and mumbling goodnight against his lips before turning around. His arm slung over her waist, a happy smile growing on his lips, snuggling closer to her warm body as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

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[agentmarvel]

Pairing: John Price/Reader

AU - Professor!Price & TA!Reader

MDNI - 18+ (minors and ageless blogs will be blocked)

Part 1 of 2

Summary: in which professor john price is head-over-heels for his teaching assistant but cannot reconcile the risks until he's faced with the thought of losing you entirely

Read on ao3

♡

“Would you mind handing these back, please?” John asks softly, handing you the stack of essays due for return. You give him a sweet little smile and nod, taking them from his hands and brushing against his fingers in the process. His flesh is alight with want, and he can’t help but curl his hands into fists beneath the desk in an effort to stop himself from reaching out and touching you again.

“Yes, sir.”

This is wrong. This is so wrong, and John knows it.

He never meant for this to happen; the plot of his plight is typically reserved for bored housewife fantasies, a semi-interesting arc for a television series, or the shit romance novels that Kate reads and tries to hide (poorly, might he add) whenever someone walks into her office. It’s not something that happens in real life, and it’s not something that happens to men like him.

When it was suggested he take on a teaching assistant this semester, John was skeptical. He wasn’t quite so sure that his courses would benefit from having someone else pouring over every facet of his work, and frankly, he was a bit incensed by the notion that he’d even need help; but in casually surveying the department in passing conversation, he realized that he was the only educator in the English department without a TA.

Enter: you. Your application was impeccable, and you came to the department with such glowing endorsements from your undergraduate instructors. Pack that in with the essay you wrote and the accolades decorating your previous work study, it was a no-brainer. John tossed every other application he received without a second thought.

The two of you began to exchange emails shortly after he agreed to taking you on. He quickly found you to be whip-smart, wicked funny, and absolutely wonderful. Looking forward to your replies became a new hobby of his as he jumped to check his phone every time it buzzed. He looked forward to putting a face to the name every day until that day finally came. Then, he knew he was doomed.

You strolled into his office the day before classes began and introduced yourself with a scintillating smile, holding a hand out to shake his. He swallowed hard and accepted your greeting in kind, a bit taken aback by how goddamn gorgeous you are. The image his mind constructed through the internet didn’t hold a candle to what stood before him, what with your doe eyes and pretty smile and the shape of your hips and… wait, what’s that? The smell of your perfume made his brain stutter; something akin to cedar and coconut milk with a smokey vanilla note like a cherry on top. It still has the same effect on him, honestly.

Over the first few weeks of the new semester, he grew to adore you in your entirety, learning all the subtle nuances that previous exchanges didn’t convey properly. He digs every shade of your personality (especially when you’re being snarky and teasing him, even if you don’t know how much of that teasing goes straight to his dick). You engage him in conversation and listen intently to what he has to say, usually with that red pen of yours tucked between your teeth. Drives him crazy when you do that, but there’s something so inherently innocent about the way you look at him; boulders of shame pile on his chest until his ribs cave in with an airy exhale, and he’s crushed beneath the weight of the reality that you’re untouchable.

He’s the professor; you are the student. It’s far too risky, even if he didn’t already know you’d reject him on the spot.

Entranced, he watches from the corner of his eye as you lean over another student’s table, pointing out something on the graded tests you were handing back. The edge of your cute little skirt rides up your thighs just enough that he swears he can see the gentle curve of your ass beneath the hem. How he wishes he could bend you over further, pull those barely-there panties to the side, and fuck you to within an inch of your life.

But this certainly isn’t the most opportune time for him to think about that. No, not with a classroom full of students that could, at any moment, point out the flush creeping high across his cheeks or notice the massive tent he’s sporting in his slacks as he strategically moves to the podium to begin his lecture.

He isn’t sure how he makes it through, truthfully, not when he’s stealing glances at you in between parts of his notes. You’re sitting at your own table on the far side of the room, legs crossed demurely with your laptop open in front of you. Those pretty, manicured fingertips click and clack away at the keyboard, making detailed notes of your own, and he struggles to keep the image out of his mind of those same nails gripping his shoulders while he’s buried inside you.

It doesn’t help that you’re looking back at him every single time his eyes flit over to you, focused so raptly like you’re hanging on his every word. You seem so enthralled by the most minute details, watching him with that darling doe-eyed stare. Your eyelashes kiss your cheeks with every blink, and god, he just wants to know what it feels like to touch any part of you.

You’re the kind of woman Shakespeare wrote sonnets about; a beauty so overwhelming that it’s hard to decipher in ordinary thought. It requires prose, grandeur, and sophistication. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for him to find an eloquent way to speak when he’s sharing space with you.

It’s embarrassing, the way he keeps almost losing his place and fumbling his words like an absolute moron. He can’t help it, though. Not when his heart skips a beat every time you catch his wistful gaze and give him that gentle, supportive smile that reassures him he’s doing well, even when you can hear as clearly as everyone else how much he’s fucking up. He swears he keeps hearing snickers sprinkled across the classroom, but maybe his mind is playing tricks. Not a single student presents anything other than a straight face, save for the brunette in the front row that’s always making eyes at him.

He wonders if you’d be the jealous type, if another girl looking at him would spur you into a fit of marking him up and reminding him who he belongs to, something that could take all night if he played his cards right. The thought of finding all the bruises and love bites and claw marks on his body (and the subsequent downward rush of blood again) further serves to remind him: you’re not his, but he is yours.

♡

John sighs as he digs a bottle of Tylenol out of his desk drawer. He takes three and chases them down with his cold tea, ignoring the bitter bite on his tongue.

Office hours can be absolute hell with the wrong students, and boy, did he pick a list of winners today (sarcasm, full sarcasm). After hours of students passing the buck and making excuses for missing work or seeking extra credit because of said buck passing, he finds himself corralled by Abigail Briarton, the bright but conniving brunette from 20th Century Lit. Another odd scenario, given the feedback he’s gotten from you on her work. You’ve told him more than once that she shows immense capability in her writing, and yet, she always seeks John out, presenting concerns that she doesn’t quite understand the material.

He’s not stupid; he knows why she schedules office hours. She has a little crush on him - daddy issues, no doubt. It’s clear in how she approaches him, wearing low cut tops, short skirts, subtle (and not so subtle) hints that she’s of legal age and unattached. Their interactions are strictly professional on his end, and after today, he’s remanded her to seeking further clarification on lectures from you.

“If you’re struggling to connect with my lectures or our discussions here, I think it would be best for you to start seeing my TA instead. She’s got a different way of explaining that may be more relatable to you.”

You’re going to hate him for saying that, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take if it keeps him from being unbearably uncomfortable in his own office twice a week.

Speaking of, he wonders how you’re faring until he hears an exaggerated sigh in the silence that befalls both rooms. That seems to be a sign that he should really check in on you, especially since Victor Denley was your last meeting. The kid can’t put his phone down long enough to pay attention in class, so he imagines the scheduled session don’t go much better.

He tugs open the door separating your offices, hinges squealing in protest. Leaning against the frame, he folds his arms across his chest and lets his ankles cross, balancing his weight between the frame and floor. A sympathetic frown tugs at his lips as his gaze falls on you.

The bridge of your nose is pinched between your fingers, and your eyes are squeezed shut. He’s pretty sure you’re using whatever willpower you have left to stave off one hell of a migraine.

“You look bloody miserable, love. Everything okay?”

One eye cracks open, and the grimace on your face tilts into an adorable little half smile.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you answer, moving your fingers to rub at an achy spot on your temple. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

“You’re not a good liar,” he laughs. “If you need anything for your head, I’ve got half a pharmacy in my desk.”

“Save it. You’ll need it more than I do.” He raises an eyebrow, imploring you silently to continue. “Mr. Denley is more focused on his phone than his grades, so I suggested he start scheduling his visits with you instead. Maybe you can get through to him.”

“Suppose it’s a fair exchange then.” John shoots you a haughty smirk, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands in the pockets of his slack. You return his cocked eyebrow questioningly. “Oh, I’ve asked Ms. Abigail to start scheduling with you since she’s having so much difficulty grasping my explanations.”

“You’re violating my eighth amendment rights, Professor,” you groan.

“There’s nothing cruel or unusual about this, and you’re definitely not being punished.”

That’s only a half-truth. It is both cruel and unusual, given the fact that he’s awfully sweet on you and that girl is borderline insufferable, but it’s most definitely not meant to be any sort of punishment. You’ve done nothing to deserve that. He just knows that if he insists on her meeting with you instead, she simply won’t show up. Win win.

If you do want to be punished, though, he can think of dozens of more pleasurable ways to do that. Needn’t but ask, really.

“And for the last time,” he adds. “Please just call me John.”

“That just feels too informal.” You shrug. “You’re my boss.”

John scoffs playfully, rolling his eyes with a growing grin.

“We’re alone, right? No students?” 

You nod. He abandons the doorway and places his palms against your desk. He leans forward, arms bearing his weight, and he’s less than a foot away when he says, “Then there’s no need to keep it so formal, is there, love?”

“I guess not.” He can almost feel the warmth creeping up your neck, and he’s relishing the fact that he’s practically witnessing you getting all hot under the collar before you cheekily add, “John.”

John ducks his head, moving just a little bit closer to you, saying, “See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Oh, it was awful,” you reply right away, pulling a facetious face of disgust. John chuckles, standing up straight. He scrubs a hand across his jaw, shaking his head at you.

“You’re impossible.”

“No, I’m professional.”

♡

“Professor Price?” You poke your head through the doorway to his office, voice sweeter than honey. He hears you, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He won’t until you call him by his name.

His fingertips plod away at his keyboard, the rhythmic tapping counting out the seconds until you let out an exaggerated sigh.

“John?”

“Yes?” he hums, hands stalling as he looks up, heart leaping into his throat. Your outfit is simple, nothing that should be getting him worked up; and yet, it is.

You’ve got on those pants that he loves, a hunter green, high-waisted number with large buttons up the front and a built in pair of suspenders that curve around the swells of your breasts. It accentuates your waist in a way that makes his palms itch with the want to hold you there while wide, flowing pant legs give way for your shapely hips. When you turn away, it gives him a full view of the fabric that pulls tight around your pert ass. The fact that you wear heels with them every time is just a bonus, but he likes to consider what you’d look like in just those heels; patent black leather stilettos with a pointed toe that just barely peek out beneath the hem. Neatly tucked into the waist is a plain, white button down with a lightly frilled collar and a black ribbon tied into a bow beneath the lapels, the perfect knot balancing the loops as to keep from looking lopsided.

You have no right to look that fucking good.

“Can you help me really quick?” He raises an eyebrow, not entirely sure if he’d even be able to stand with the way his knees are knocking together. “I’m having a little trouble deciphering this paragraph; it makes sense, but not in the context of the paper.”

“Yeah, bring it here, love.”

You move into his office, heels clicking against the hardwood floor as you approach him. Instead of sitting across from him in the vacant chair, you perch on the corner of his desk, crossing your legs as you set the stapled stack in front of him. Your finger finds the section in question, but John can’t focus with you sitting so close to him.

In his head, he reaches out and puts a hand on your thigh, slowly kneading its expanse from the curve of your hip to the outside of your knee and back, talking sweet to you about how pretty you are and how badly he wants to ruin you; in reality, your perfume is too overwhelming for him to make heads or tails of what he’s reading, so he passes it over three or four times before shrugging.

Looking back up at you proves to be a mistake. Your pillowy lower lip, coated in a neutral shade of lipstick, is trapped between your teeth as you eye him closely, anticipating a clearer explanation than what you could conjure yourself. It crosses his mind what it would feel like to have your lip between his teeth instead, the erotic noises you’d make when he tugs on it. He was halfway hard just looking up at you for once, but the thoughts have him at full mast. He scoots a little tighter to his desk, hoping to hide it.

“I see what you mean,” he finally says, eyes jetting back down to the essay before him. “Right thought, wrong context. Have you checked it in the system for plagiarism?”

You shake your head.

“No, but that’s a good idea. There’s another section - “ You lean down, moving closer to him as you flip ahead to the next page. It’s too much, and his resolve is crumbling by the second. “ - right here. It sounds very similar to a paper I graded this morning.”

You’d think he’d learn his lesson the first time, but not John. Never John. He glances back to you, and the two of you lock in a heated stare, faces only a few inches apart. Your eyes dart down to his mouth and back up. He wants to kiss you right now, so fucking bad, and it looks to him like you want to kiss him, too. Your head tilts just in the slightest; it seems like you’re leaning in…

A knock at his door yanks you away from him as you scramble off his desk, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in your slacks before moving to open the door. He can’t see who’s on the other side just yet, but he doesn’t care. He can’t move, frozen in place with shock and dismay.

“Professor Riley,” you greet politely. “How are you?”

Simon gives you a wary once over, addressing you by name in a stern but polite tone, and that’s enough to start flagging John’s erection right away. It’s the saving grace he needed in that moment to stop him from acting on an impulse you’d surely both regret.

Still, he wonders what would’ve happened if Simon had waited just thirty seconds more.

♡

Being sick by itself is fucking miserable, but being sick, alone, and having to stay sequestered in the house all day? That’s pure torture.

John hates taking sick days. Sure, the students appreciate an extra day of not having to listen to him prattle on about John Wyndham this week; there’s only so much they can take of discussing the underlying themes in the Day of the Triffids before they’re ready to pull their hair out. But it throws a comically large wrench in all of John’s plans, both for the day and for slightly longer-term, especially when he forgets his laptop in his office.

It’s only with a slew of curses, grunts, and grumbles that he manages to convince himself to go get it, crawling out of bed begrudgingly to throw on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt. There’s no way he’ll get through the weekend without his computer, so he knows he has no other choice but to drag his tired ass onto campus to get it. If he’s going to take an unintentional long weekend, the least he can do is finish grading the previous unit. He doesn’t want to in the slightest, but the consideration that he may run into you puts a little spark in his step.

He’d texted you when he awoke with a sore throat and a nasty sinus headache, asking you to put a sign on both his office and lecture hall doors to let students know class is canceled (a group email was sent from his phone around 7 this morning, but he knows a vast majority of his pupils don’t check their damn emails). You texted him back shortly after with a simple affirmation and a sweet get well soon message. There was a pause, and then you texted him again, asking if he needed anything. He was sorely tempted to take you up on it, just because he wanted to see you before the weekend, but there’s no need now if he has to come in anyways.

It’s a quick jaunt, since John lives less than five miles away. He parks in the staff lot and sneaks in the back door of the building, cautiously optimistic that no students will see him. How he’s dressed falls far from the guidelines of professionalism, and the fact that he’s sick wouldn’t bode well for any sort of interaction, lest he spread whatever foul virus has crawled into his body this time.

He’s surprised to see an ‘Out of the Office’ sign hanging on your door, too. He thought for sure that you’d still keep your office hours as scheduled, even without him being around. It occurs to him that maybe you don’t want to hang around the office without him, but that thought, while very sweet, is certainly just wishful thinking. You definitely don’t share his vested interest, even if it did seem like you were about to kiss him yesterday.

As he pushes his key into the lock on his office door, he picks up the faint thrumming of a heavy bassline. He’s surprised he didn’t notice it before, considering it seems to be coming from his office. The light is on, odd since he’s obviously been out all day. Curiosity forces his hand to move faster, and what he finds awaiting him is far better than he could’ve ever imagined.

You’re in his office, standing on a chair, deftly dusting the old birch bookshelf behind his desk. All his books and knick-knacks are stacked neatly on a lower shelf as you wipe the top one. The music he heard is twice as loud as he would have guessed, and you’re rocking to the beat, hips swaying in time. It’s equally as amusing as it is downright sexy. The way you move is tantalizing, and John has to take a moment to catch his breath, swallowing a harsh cough before he speaks.

“Really? This is what you listen to when I’m not around?” he laughs as he closes the door behind him. You don’t seem startled as you throw a hazardous glance over your shoulder, your movements never once faltering, even with the sudden audience. You’re not embarrassed about being caught, and that impresses him. Shameless thing, you are.

“Please, Professor, Backstreet’s a classic.”

“Didn’t take you for the boy band type,” he counters, barely suppressing another cough behind a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. You set down the can of Pinesol and your rag and climb off the chair, leaning across his desk to turn the volume down on your phone.

“Good to know I can still surprise you then.”

“I was really hoping superior taste would prevail if you hung around me long enough.” The way your lips curve up at that feels like a match into gasoline. John isn’t certain if it’s you or the fever that’s starting to bead sweat along his hairline.

“You saying I have bad taste?” you laugh, arguably his favorite sound.

“I’m saying I thought you’d enjoy something a bit harder or faster than those bubblegum muppet boy types.”

“Faster doesn’t mean better, John.” The way you say his name (unprompted, might he add) sends a chill up his spine in the best way. Innuendo hangs on every syllable, and he considers how correct you are. He wouldn’t want to be fast with you, not in any sense of the word. He’d take his time, making damn sure that you’d remember every second for the rest of your life.

In conversation, however, he ignores the comment.

“What do you have against 90’s boy bands, sir?”

“Nothing, I just don’t quite get the fascination. Didn’t get it in the 90’s, either.“

“Can’t handle infectious melodies, huh?”

You’re so comfortable with him; he can tell. Much snarkier than usual in a less professional setting, dressed down, and he can’t help but think that this feels a bit more domestic. You’d act like this far more often in the privacy of his own home, wearing his t-shirt while you shuffle his things off the desk for a quick wipe down, calling for him when you can’t reach something. He loves the thought, honestly.

His pause is noticed and mistaken for hesitancy.

“Oh, I get it.” Your expression moves towards something of agreement as you nod, but it quickly falls right back into the same snarky little simper. “You can’t dance, can you?”

His mouth falls open in a silent objection, then closes, then opens again, like a fish out of water. He wants to argue that he’s a great dancer, but that wouldn’t be accurate. Sure, theoretically, he is, but he’s never really tried. He’s never really done more than a simple stand-and-sway at the odd wedding here and there. There’s nothing to it, though, right?

But that’s clearly the reaction you wanted, isn’t it?

You look at him so expectantly, rapt and ready.

He shrugs, “What, like it’s difficult? Of course, I can.”

“Right, because the hand jive totally counts,” you snicker, narrowing the chasm that separates you. “I almost forgot how old you are, Professor Price.”

Again, his mouth opens, this time in feigned offense.

“I’m not that old.”

“Oh, please! You’re practically geriatric! You’re, what, 58?”

“I’m 42,” he barks with a laugh. “We’re barely over a decade apart!”

“Then you’re still young enough to learn,” you answer with finality, putting your hands firmly on your hips. Your fingers dig into the soft cotton of your apparent cleaning day shorts as you pause, though he’s unsure if it’s due to nerves over what comes next or simply for dramatic effect. “Do you want to? You’ll be able to take it to the clubs.” Your voice gets sing-songy on the last sentence, and John can’t help but chuckle. As if you’d ever see him in a club, as if he’d ever be caught dead in a nightclub.

He contemplates it for a moment, the line between a professional and personal relationship blurring further with each passing second. It’s an interesting opportunity, one that he really should pass up, but he won’t. He gives you a noncommittal shrug with a fairly neutral expression, sighing, “If it’ll get you to stop listening to the bloody Backstreet Boys in my office, I’ll do whatever you want, love.”

You do this adorable little clap, showing off that sweet little smile he loves so much. It’s cute that you’d get so excited about something as simple as showing him some silly little dance he’ll have no need to remember (though he knows he’ll never forget the way your body moves; it’s already on a loop in his head that doesn’t end).

Grabbing your phone off the desk, you scroll a few times before your face lights up again. The volume is pushed to full as you hit play and set it down.

John is ashamed of the fact that he recognizes the song from its first line.

“If you want it to be good, girl, get yourself a bad boy.”

He stands stock-still, eyeing the way you’re already getting into it. You’re dancing your way over to him, and the air in his lungs freezes when you stop close enough for him to smell the remnants of the morning’s perfume spritz. His head spins when you reach out and grab his hands, encouraging him to feel the beat and just let loose. It’s a little step-touch-sway at first, but you spin yourself under his arm, turning your back to him as you maintain your hold over your shoulder. It forces him to take a step closer, and a primal part of him urges him to bury his face in your neck, smother it with kisses and love bites, mark you up and make you beg for him to give you more. 

He ignores it. He ignores it very, very well… Until you bring his hands to your hips. The same place your palms once occupied are now covered by his, his fingers twitching against the barrier separating him from your soft skin. It’s taking every ounce of effort he possesses to stop himself from allowing his fingertips to dig into the fat around your hips hard enough to leave bruises, a small memento of how badly he wants you that will only ever exist in his mind.

“If you wanna make it last, gotta know just who to ask. Babe, it's gotta be the best, and that's me, my lady. If you want it to be good, girl, get yourself a bad boy.”

John has no trouble keeping with the music as your body’s sway guides him. The twist and swing of the hips beneath his splayed fingers dictate where to follow, and he does so mindlessly, focused entirely on keeping a gap between the curve of your perfect ass and his ever-hardening erection. He’s cursing himself profusely for opting to go commando under the sweats, but in his defense, he never would’ve imagined in his wildest dreams that this was something his day would hold.

“See? Not that hard,” you murmur, keeping your hands on top of his. Oh yes, it is, he thinks. You give him a gentle squeeze, and it catches him entirely off guard when you take a step back, pressing up against him. His brain starts screaming about how wrong this is, but when you tip your head back against his shoulder, everything goes silent. He can’t hear the music now, he can’t hear his thoughts, he can’t hear his own breathing anymore. It all slows down, feeling like delayed motion as you look up at him, still with that stunning smile painted across your mouth. You say something, but the words don’t reach his ears. His gaze locks on your mouth, and he’s itching to kiss you. That’s all he’s focused on until he sees the smile fade, and you gently pull away, turning in his hold.

“Price? Are you okay?”

He hums in question, narcostic. You repeat, and he processes it with a few blinks. His arms are still wrapped around you, and he can’t stop himself from meeting you in the middle. His forehead presses against yours, noses brushing. There are mere centimeters between his lips and yours, and he knows he can’t take much more of this. He needs to know if you want him as bad as he wants you.

“I need an answer,” you whisper, heated breaths washing over his skin. He nods almost imperceptibly, giving you a soft ‘yeah’. You close the gap just a little more, lower lip grazing his so lightly. It’s so tempting to chase after you, get what he’s so desperately been craving for the last three months, but the logical part of his brain finally catches up, redirecting him to the safest path; the one that protects you.

“You know we can’t do this, right?” he sighs, already regretting the words as they’ve formed. There’s a hope that you’ll tell him it’s okay, that you want this just as bad as he does and will keep this dirty little secret between the two of you. Reality, though, tips the scales, and John has to steel his resolve.

“Even if I really, really want to? Just once, and it’ll never happen again, I promise.” Your tone is pained, and he feels his heart clench. He doesn’t need to question how you feel about him anymore; he does, however, need to protect you.

“There’s no going back once we cross that line.” It fucking kills him to say that. He’s functionally just ripping out his own heart and throwing it on the tracks before an oncoming train, but it needs to be said.

You close your eyes as you let out a sigh matching his, and he feels your eyelashes crest across the apples of his cheeks. His grip on you tightens just briefly, fingertips digging in to show you he means it.

“John - “

He shakes his head. He can’t take that chance. If he kisses you, even just once, he’ll only want to keep doing it. That would be his undoing. It’s a gamble he can’t afford to take on your behalf.

“No, love. I’m not risking your education, your future, over one little kiss.”

You nod understandingly, creating a new space between the two of you. John can hear a shudder in your breathing as he lets his arms fall to his sides, and it leaves an ache in that hole in his chest, one that’s only furthered by the dejected look on your face. He wishes things were different so he could kiss that look away. 

He briefly wonders if it’s too late to change his mind, but you make it clear for him when you grab your phone from his desk, shut off the music, and climb back up on the chair, intent on continuing to clean like nothing just happened.

“Just so you know, I am sorry,” he says in a hushed tone as he grabs his laptop off his desk.

You smile at him softly over your shoulder, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He can still see that hint of hurt in your expression.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Professor Price.”

♡

He can’t focus. Try as John might, he can’t draw his brain away from you.

The cursor on his laptop blinks impatiently at him as the blank document on his screen awaits its transformation into the following unit’s lecture notes. A white blanket does no favors in occupying his mind with things that are of dire need. His section on 1960s literature begins tomorrow, he’s feeling far better physically than the days prior, and yet he’s still wrapped up in the feeling of his hands on your hips, your touch on his heated skin, the look in your eyes when you said, “even if I really, really want to?”.

It’s not a question anymore, if you want him as badly as he wants you. He knows you do. And there’s something about the fact that he can’t have you that just makes him crave you more.

He’s not sure what about you is making it so difficult for him to keep his head straight. Obviously, you’re stunning. It’s impossible not to see that - even half the students that come in for your office hours are just stopping by to try their hand at flirting with you (he can hear it from his office; drives him up the fucking walls). But he had a more intimate connection with you before he knew how goddamn gorgeous you are, which also somehow doesn’t seem to be the solidifier for his borderline obsession.

He pushes himself away from his kitchen table, deciding a shower and some food might push you out of his mind long enough to get his notes prepared. Anything that can provide some sort  of distraction from feeling like such a colossal jackass, both for turning you down and for falling for you in the first place.

Stripping off his clothes, Price throws them in the hamper. He mindlessly guides himself into his en suite bathroom. The sunlight peeking through the window gives him more than enough light to abandon any consideration for the switch by the doorway. He cranks the handle on the faucet over, continually checking the temperature until it’s just right before pulling the lever and letting the showerhead spit to life.

Water just this side of scalding pelts his skin, and he feels his entire body relax, tension melting from his knotted shoulders. It feels good. It allows him to let go of everything in his brain and just feel. But that empty head doesn’t last.

John starts washing his hair, scrubbing at his scalp with the tip of his fingers, and a wave of warmth, warmer than the water, ghosts across his skin. He swears he can smell your perfume, and he imagines the hands in his hair are yours. He can practically hear your little giggle as he tilts his head back to rinse, whispering sweet nothings at a volume only perceptible to him.

It’s a constant struggle to block out the thought of you, even for just a few minutes. As he rakes a hand through his hair again, phantom hands follow behind. He imagines your fingers threading through, grabbing a fistful and giving it a rough tug. It’s enough to get him half hard, and he has to swallow the pleased noise in the back of his throat as he pictures those tugs while his face is buried between your thighs.

His hands map the contours of his body, lathering them up with the scent of leather, vanilla, and pine. He takes his time, picturing your hands running across his skin instead. His fingertips brushing across his hips sends a jolt through him, the image becoming far too vivid all at once. He can’t stop the harsh sigh he lets out, and he’s done pretending that he isn’t going to get off on this.

Not that he hasn’t been jacking it all weekend thinking about you. Honestly, if his math is correct, this puts him in double-digits since Friday night; it’s the third time today, even.

Wrapping a soapy fist around his cock, he allows himself a few short, quick strokes before squeezing around the base and slowing himself down. He’s going to savor this one because he is not going to be doing it again (that’s total bullshit, but let him believe it).

He imagines how pretty your mouth would look wrapped around him, those sweet doe eyes looking up at him as he nudges the back of your throat, making you gag on him.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he sighs, picking up his pace a little. “Take it for me.”

His grip tightens around the tip as he twists his wrist, letting out a long, low moan. He likes to think you’d be making all sorts of saccharine little noises for him, sweet like your mouth is full of honey. There’s no way he’d finish like that, though. He’d reserve that for being so deep inside you, you could feel it in your stomach.

He throws his head back, wet hair falling away from his forehead, as he pictures having you bent over before him, bracing yourself on the edge of the tub as he runs his cock through your folds a few times. He’d relish how fucking soaked sucking him off would get you.

“Fuck, sweet little thing, is all that for me?” He thinks you’d nod, biting your lower lip as you look at him over your shoulder, wiggling that cute ass as if you’re asking for more. He’d give it to you. Fuck, he’d give you anything you want.

Again, his fist tightens around his dick. Even with as much as he’d work you up, Price still believes firmly that it’d be a decent stretch for you to take all of him (he’s not bragging; he just knows that he’s well above average). That pretty little pussy would be squeezing him so good, so he does his best to make his grip match.

“Your cunt feels so good, love,” he grunts, fucking his hand hard and fast. “Made for me, huh?”

You’d agree, wouldn’t you?

He licks his lips, adding, “Yeah, that’s my girl. Sweet little hole made just for me.”

He’d grab you by the throat, pulling you back against him for a sloppy, awkwardly-angled kiss while he fucks into you, on the verge of cumming purely due to the way you’re looking up at him. He’d be a gentleman, of course, offering to pull out, but he thinks you’d decline. He thinks you’d beg him to cum inside you. That’s what does him in.

“Want it inside me… Please, John… Inside… Fuck, don’t stop.”

With a stutter to his rhythm, Price feels the knot in his stomach burst, and he spills over his knuckles, hot, white streaks painting his fingers.

He doesn’t feel bad about it, touching himself, thinking of you; not when he knows without question that you want him just as bad.

♡

The changing of seasons comes far too soon, in more ways than one. As fall gives way to the bitter temperatures of the ever impatient winter, you, too, grow colder. 

You don't call him by his name anymore. No longer do you inquire after his weekend or surprise him with his favorite tea in the mornings or recommend books you'd just finished. You don’t smile at him through lectures, nor do you greet him in the hall with your standard enthusiasm. You're still you with everyone else, but only the picture-perfect persona of professionalism with him, and that hurts.

It stings. Thousands of yellow jackets prick the inside of his chest at all hours of the day, driving their thorny needles in as deep as they'll go. He gets no reprieve, awake or asleep. Every icy interaction is another pang of regret, and how curious, he thinks, that those pesky wasps have managed to hold out so long with the changing weather. 

As much as he'd like to, John can't blame anyone but himself. By all accounts, he did the right thing. If he would've kissed you, he wouldn't have been able to stop. It would become compulsive, habitual. Someone would find out sooner or later, and there's no doubt it would be cemented as part of your reputation. There's no telling what degree of damage that would do to your career. You've worked too damn hard to get this far; it wouldn't be right of him to take that all away for you over one moment of selfishness.

But is this not selfishness? The devil on his shoulder scolds him. It tells him it was never his place to make decisions for you, that you’re a grown woman capable of doing as you please, that you wouldn’t have practically begged him to kiss you if you didn’t want it just as badly as he did.

It isn’t until he overhears you talking with Johnny MacTavish, a TA from the science department, that he considers that little devil may have a valid point.

“I just feel so stupid, Johnny. One minute, I think he’s just about to kiss me, and the next, he’s turning me down. Did I do something wrong? Do you think I misread the situation? Or am I just gullible enough to think that someone like him would ever want me?”

“Oh, pish. I’ve seen the way that mook stares at you. Nothin’ wrong with you, bonnie; you’re the whole damn package. Seems to be him with the problem, aye?”

It breaks his heart that you’d think so lowly of him to diminish yourself in any way on his behalf. He has half a mind to intrude, to burst into your office and tell you the facts as they stand - that you’re the only thing he ever thinks about anymore, his only vice, that you are perfect to him, for him, that it is him who feels the need to address the issue at hand, that, as much as John may loathe to admit, MacTavish is spot-on (it’s nothing personal; he’s a good kid. Price just isn’t big on being called out for acting like a complete fool).

However, where Price hangs himself for this is the dichotomy of his apparent staring problem.

On one hand, he knows he chances a glance far too often for his own posterity. He catches himself looking in your direction time and time again during his lectures, hoping to catch you staring back, and has to remind himself how inappropriate that is under any circumstance. On the other, though, how is he supposed to just ignore the way you’ve been dressing as of late? It’s like you’re actively trying to kill him. His palms itch with a need to touch, fingers twitching with a want to squeeze, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel like you were doing it intentionally. What better revenge than showing him what he’s missing out on?

It eats at him daily, knowing his own indecisiveness is the root of anguish for both of you.

Just this once, he tells himself he should've been selfish.

[ladybellissima]

Finding Love Katakuri x Reader Part 1

"as you wish Mama."

"Great Katakuri. I expected that you will do as I say without any complain.", Big mom looked down to her son, who was also one of the sweet commanders, with an evil grin.

"I already prepared everything for the ceremony. It won't be too fancy like we used to celebrate, because of our other preparations still going on. You just have to come looking decent for the event. One of your sisters will help you with that.", she added bored and shoved her face with desserts, ignoring her son completely.

Katakuri nodded and turned around to leave his mother alone. His look was frozen, strong like always. No expression was shown to his surroundings, but deep down under his facade his blood boiled of anger and frustration.

Out of all his siblings it has to be him.

Why?

Because he was admired by his family of his loyalty and heroic thinking? Because he always was on the front if something was going on?

Maybe that was the reason.

"Big Brother Katakuri!", a voice let him stop and look down to his sister Brulee. Smiling brightly she hugged the emotioneless man excited.

"I heard the news. Congratulation you will get married! Now you have always someone by your side!", she spoke happily, but her excitement was replaced by confusion after noticing the ice cold glare from her brother.

"Isn't that great?", she asked uneasy and got a deep sigh from Katakuri.

"How should that be great to get married to someone you didn't know?", he explained straight and was interrupted by a laughing Oven who entered their conversation.

"Yeah you are right brother. If I were you I also would be pissed. What if she is terrifying ugly? And then you are stuck with her in one bed for a lifetime.", he spoke mockingly and got punched in the gut by Brulee.

"Shut your filthy mouth Oven. You don't know that and I don't believe it. I wish Katakuri all the best.", she growled angered.

Katakuri watched the two and thought about their words. In a way Oven was right. He would never betray his mother and that means he would marry this woman, just to fulfill his duty, but he was also a man. Katakuri often thought how it would be to meet someone and care for someone other than with his siblings. Flambe and mostly Lola and Chiffon often talked about getting married with a man of their dreams. Find the true love and share their life with someone. Katakuri would never admit it, but he tried to find answers in books. Mostly romance novels where someone rescued his beloved. How ridiculous he thought, but honestly he was kind of jealous too. Most of his time he was working. Fulfilling his mother's wishes, but everything comes to an end and Katakuri came home to an empty room with no one to talk to. It would be nice to have someone by his side who was asking how he was doing, what was on his mind, but his life wouldn't allow that. Beside that, he also had a secret, which didn't allow him to just speak to someone freely. Hiding most of his face under a scarf, he swore to never show anyone his face. It only brought fear and pain. He knew how people would see him after looking at his monstrous mouth. Sharp teeth and an cold expression, let them run away scared or bullying him. Since he was a child he always had trouble after showing his image. Only hiding it let his self-doubts weaken. Nowadays as an adult, he was a feared pirate and one of the best fighters of Big moms crew. No one would dare to ask what is behind his scarf, but showing his image a woman? A girl he would like to be with?

No way, she would run away and break his heart.

Sighing deeply Katakuri pinched his nose annoyed and felt an headache starting. Oven and Brulee stopped their fight and gave their brother a sympathetic look.

"I just made a joke. But sorry if it becomes reality.", Oven spoke uneasy, while Brulee gave him an evil glare.

"I don't care who this person is or how she looks. I just fulfill my order and nothing more. This arranged marriage is only to get mothers favorite fruits. So quit this shit and go to bed or something.", he spoke annoyed and left them to get home.

"Big brother..Katakuri…", Brulee whispered sadly and got a friendly clap from Oven.

"Don't worry. He will manage this. We are speaking of Katakuri Charlotte. He wouldn't fail this task and get used to it. Damn if it's that bad he didn't have to see her either. His island is big enough to hide.",Oven joked once again, but Brulee wished that it would be different.

Because he should too experience happiness to the fullest.

Xxx

The next day Katakuri got up early and made his usual routine, but was interrupted by a more than happy Brulee, who brought him an elegant suit and helped him with the shirt.

"You look great Big brother. Your wife will be happy to get such an elegant and noble man.", she tried to light the mood. She knew how difficult this situation was, but it could also be a chance. "Yeah she will be happy to get a man with a face like this. On top of that a man she just met.", he spoke coldly while pointing to his scarf. Sighing she gave him a saddened look, which let him feel guilty. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, he let things happen and left to whole cake chateau to get over with this ceremony.

He felt nervous after entering the hall. It was his wedding after all. A seal, which no one should break and how loyal he was, Katakuri would stay strong to endure it if it would get difficult. His siblings were annoying him about this wedding, but he sure was kind of curious too.

Would she be a monster like Oven joked? An arrogant woman who throws with money? Who knows.

Feeling bad of thinking of someone like that, he pushed these thoughts away. Katakuri would never judge someone by his look, because of his face. He knew all too well how bad it is to be born with such features. But to be stuck with someone you fear or don't like wouldn't be better either.

"Get here. It will start now.", her sister pushed him forward and take a seat by her other siblings. Only his relatives were attending this show. Big mom was greeting his son with a smirk and gave the pastor a knowing look to get things as she wished. Katakuri stood alone at the end of a red carpet and looked to the big double doors. He felt relieved that this wedding wasn't so spectacular like his mother used to celebrate. For him it was already enough to have all the looks of his siblings on him. Slowly the doors opened and an old couple with royal clothes entered the hall.

"This have to be her parents.",he thought and could see how sad they were.

Katakuri knew that his mother gave them no chance to escape. Their empire was located on an island with all kinds of rare fruits. Mostly sweet fruits. And Big mom wanted to prevent others to make business with their kingdom. She threatened the king to attack his island and destroy everything if he would sell his goods to others. On top of that to have a longtime pressure medium, she arranged this wedding to never let them forget about their deal.

"(Y/N) (L/N) princess of Exotica.", a servant called out. Katakuri looked back to the door and was met with his bride. The sound of gasping was heard from the others while they got up to show their respect. Katakuri could feel how his heart was racing. He was expecting everything. From annoying, angry, ugly…or whatever, but before him was a breathtaking beautiful woman stepping uneasy forward, clothed in pure white underlining her innocent self. He had to calm his nerves to avoid showing any emotions. But damn was this really his wife? How should he deal with her? She was just standing beside him and making his body a sweating mess. How could a woman have such an impact on his strong and intimitating body?

Her look wandered up to his face. Now he was able to see her beautiful face clearly. It showed so many emotions, mostly nervousness and sadness of this whole situation. He realized how hard this have to be for her, like it was for him. She was meeting him for the first time and to be honest, he knew how scary he must look with his big scarf and tall, strong appearance. The ceremony was going to an end and (Y/N) didn't show any signs of emotions like her husband. Her heart was breaking with every step she made, because of losing the chance to see her home ever again. Over and over again she prepared herself for this event, but to be thrown into a new life so suddenly was too much to handle. Her look fell onto her husband and it gave her goosebumps.

He looked strong. He was tall and his eyes were piercing her small form like a predator. She couldn't tell what man he was. Only that he was a pirate. A strong merciless pirate. All in one, it frightened her. He didn't look like a man who would treat a woman nicely. He looked more like the rough and demanding type of guy.

Would she be able to handle such a relationship?

Her parents cried on her knees. Praying to her to make it up to her for their sins, but they would never be able to give her the life back she had. For (Y/N) it seemed that she was going to jail. They were shocked after hearing that she was going to marry Katakuri Charlotte. They were pale like ghosts. This made her more scared than she already was. Nevertheless she tried her best to be tough and endure it. To be a strong woman who would do anything for her home. Sacrificing her personal life for the life of others. So she landed here and accepted her fate to become Katakuri's wife.

Giving her signature next to his she noticed how elegant his handwriting was. In a way it seemed calm and collected. Completely different than his look. Still his expression was cold and emotionless.

After their ceremony she had to say goodbye to her parents which were crying hopelessly to give their daughter away. Giving them a kind smile she hugged them dearly and tried to help them as much as she could. She knew there was no other option.

"Don't be sad. I will give my best to help my land and become hopefully the wife which his family and Katakuri expect from me..",the last part was a bit uneasy, because she didn't knew exactly how this all would work. From one day to another she was a wife. So quickly, (Y/N) felt helpless and unprepared. On top of that she didn't know how she would be treated here.

On the other side, Brulee found this woman perfect and symphatic and she could see the sparkle in her brother's eyes. Never was someone able to get such an expression out of his strained look, but she knew how difficult her life with Katakuri would be. Slowly she came to (Y/N)'s side to help her.

"She will be in good hands.", she spoke and surprised the young girl by taking her hand and leading her to the dining hall. Silently she let herself get seated by Katakuri who avoid looking down to her. The feast started and (Y/N) was met with a ton of sweets and Big mom who was stuffing dessert after dessert into her mouth. It was loud and hectic. She couldn't follow the conversations between the guests and felt hopeless lost. Sighing she took a bite of her wedding cake and felt amazed by its taste. "wow…", she spoke fascinated, but quickly fell silent again to avoid any commotion. Glancing to the side she looked up to her husband. He just looked straight ahead doing nothing. Maybe waiting to go home.

"For him it's hard either. He was forced to marry me. Sure he hates me and just wants to run away.", she thought and endured the loud party.

Katakuri was depressed. Was this a joke? He was married to this beautiful woman, which he should be relieved and happy about it, but at the same time it felt terrible. A man like him would never be able to love. A man with his face would never be able to kiss or to experience a soft touch from a girl like her. It was like a torture to be with her. Getting up, the other guests fell silent of his sudden movement.

"I will leave now.", he spoke coldly and let (Y/N) shiver of fear. Without another word he left and let his dumbfounded wife behind. Looking after him she thought about what to do.

"(Y/N) did you enjoy your marriage? I have to say you are very beautiful dear. I am surprised that you weren't already taken. ", Big mom asked out of the blue and everyone fell silent to listen. Nervously she looked to Big mom which she knew from her parents that she was powerful and dangerous. She had to admit that his whole family looked quite dangerously with their weapons or evil looks. "Yes thank you. My parents didn't allow me to travel and at home there aren't many people at my age. I think that could be a reason. And I didn't find the right one for that step.", (Y/N) spoke uneasy and hoped to be as respectful as possible. Smiling evily Big mom chuckled." Locking their breathtaking daughter away to avoid getting her in wrong hands….Luckily you find the right one now. Hopefully you make my son happy. Be a good wife (Y/N).", she spoke and started to eat again. (Y/N) nodded and looked to the door where Katakuri had left.

"Don't worry. Out brother is always speaking in such a way. Short and to the point. We will bring you to his mansion on flour Island.", Brulee spoke kindly and ordered Oven to help her. Feeling nervous and scared of the unknown before her she followed them and trying to trust their words. On the way (Y/N) was relieved that Brulee was very friendly towards her, while Oven gave her the creeps of staring. Soon she was standing before her big luxurious home on a beautiful island.

"Just take your time and get to know each other. He looks scary I know, but deep inside he has a heart. Believe me…", Brulee spoke and (Y/N) found it sweet how she praised her brother. In a way it let herself calm down. Saying goodbye to the others she walked to the entrance and knocked. Waiting paitently a servant opened her door and bowed respectfully.

"Thank you…", she whispered and looked around her home in awe. Completely caught by the amazing pictures and decorations she didn't notice her husband attending her form and bumped into him. Looking up she was met with his cold gaze and quickly stepped back to apologize.

"I am terribly sorry. I didn't look where I was going.", she spoke nervously and got nothing back. Turning around he started to leave.

"Follow me."

Quickly she catched up to avoid making this mysterious man angry.

"Where is this going…."

Both thought about that.

[kingdoms-and-empires]

Dance of Wolf and Raven: Prologue

Hi guys, this is the new Romance serial novel I've started featuring our mother, Adelina!

There'll be new chapters every Friday on Patreon, that are already scheduled and primed to release using Patreon's scheduler thingy every Mountain Standard Time 4pm.

There's currently 11k words written to give me a head start, of which 2 chapters are released.

A lot of it came about due to the worldbuilding spree I went on last year, and since I didn't want any of it to go to waste nor include it in the main game cause of bloat or fatigue, thought this was a good idea to do it!

So without further ado, here's the prologue!

Dance of Wolf and Raven: Prologue

It is the winter of 599 A.L.

Almost 600 hundred years have passed since the Belthean people landed upon these shores.

600 years After Landfall.

600 years of blood and conquest.

Today, just weeks before the turning of a new century, the continent of Nareth is unified by way of the spear.

And her father is to blame.

"Princess?" A familiar voice whispers worriedly.

Adelina, youngest princess of the Belthean Empire turns to her lady-in-waiting, Lady Valerie. She waits for her to continue.

Lady Valerie fidgets, her eyes looking everywhere within the carriage except the princess, who offers the nervous girl a hand on her knee. "Speak Valerie, there's no one else in here but us two."

The words and gesture seems to calm her down, though she still gulps before asking, "Was the empress able to…?"

Princess Adelina rolls her eyes as she crumbles back into her seat, a heavy and long sigh escaping her lips. She slumps further and further into her seat before Lady Valerie giggles and helps her sit straight again. But the worried look remains on her face.

Hesitantly, she places her hand upon that of the princess's. Gripping softly, she whispers, "Wrinkling the dress would only serve to anger your father, my lady," she says this sadly, her expression that of defeat.

And defeat it may have well been.

Her mother had tried protesting her daughter's marriage to the Butcher's son, both in public and in private. But her father wanted this alliance badly enough that her mother was ignored and overruled.

Thus, she was betrothed to the prince of a kingdom who had betrayed their allies and sided with her father in his invasion of the western territories.

If that wasn't bad enough, the father of the prince she was to marry had become infamous for massacring entire noble families in a single bloody night. He was known as a cold and emotionless man, ruthless in his decision making. And she was to marry that man's son.

Princess Adelina grips her dress in anger, causing Lady Valerie who notices to bring her close for an embrace.

Again, the princess stifles a sob, refusing to let tears come out. She made a promise to herself that she wouldn't cry.

She had been alone for too long. Abandoned by even her dear brothers who'd always protected her in the imperial palace.

Her eldest brother, Gareth, had fought alongside her betrothed in the war against Lymark, and she had waited for any letter of his to reassure her. Or perhaps express his support in canceling this arranged marriage.

Anything.

But none had arrived.

She didn't know what to make of it, even Daerin her second eldest brother hadn't been able to communicate with her. No one had.

Alone in the capital she had waited.

Her brothers off to wage the war started by her father, later followed by her mother once rumors of a marriage were being whispered at court.

Those shrews for sisters had already married before the invasion to stabilize the empire.

It wasn't long after that she was ordered to ready herself for marriage, but not with a high lord from the empire, or someone she at least liked or knew how to handle.

But with a foreign prince from a kingdom that had betrayed its ally.

She was to be an offering of peace sent by her father, like something that could be given.

Like an object.

The iron inside her heats again.

She straightens herself, gently pushing Lady Valerie off her. She nods thanks to her lady-in-waiting.

'That's right…' she thinks to herself. 'That man pretends I don't exist until he needs a daughter to marry off.'

Her eyes narrow as she focuses on controlling the growing storm within her.

Her mind is set.

The emperor of the greatest nation ever forged, calling for the forgotten and unwanted princess to arrange her marriage without an honor guard. Without scores of retainers. With only one lady-in-waiting, who volunteered.

Only a temporary escort was given.

A single carriage, with a single cart loaded with whatever she could fit inside it.

Lady Valerie had tried defending her father when the journey started.

"Who would dare?" She said.

The princess knew deep within that it made sense. That the lands were now pacified, now moreso than in any other time period.

Who would dare face against the emperor of all Nareth? The king of kings, the Goddess' representative on the mortal plane, and most important of all… the wielder of one of two most powerful weapons in all creation, A'luthean Armor. Handed down throughout the generations by her family, it has impacted the world in numerous ways.

Depending on who is asked, it is either a curse or blessing that only a single member of the imperial bloodline could possess that artifact at a time, as it bonds with that person for life. No other, even with the Ravenea bloodline running through their veins, can use the holy relic crafted by the Goddess Herself for Her Champions during the A'lethic Era.

Her ancestor, Garland the Conqueror, founded the Belthean Empire with it.

Her great-great-grandfather, Emperor Saldwin, used it to bring a nation to its knees, and forced another to become "Imperial Friend and Ally".

These and other such acts forced the Archpriestess to ban the use of such relics in wars, or to proclaim excommunication upon those who broke the decree.

'But how could the Archpriestess force an imperial dynasty to not use its most powerful weapon?' was a question she had asked her tutors when learning of this proclamation.

Excommunication meant losing the accounts, support, legitimacy, and administration provided by the church, but was it enough to stop her family from imposing its will?

She knew it wasn't.

Princess Adelina feels her mind racing once more as she pictures executing her plan, and a small smile sneaks its way across her face.

"Valerie," she rests her left elbow the side of the carriage as she gets her lady-in-waiting's attention, "what can you tell me about the kingdom, or more specifically, my husband-to-be?"

Lady Valerie smiles at the informal use of her name, though she quickly regains her professional demeanor, "Why, you should kno-"

The princess cuts her off, "I'm only refreshing what I know, don't worry," she responds quickly waving a hand dismissively, "Please, think of it as an exercise or an escape from the daily boredom."

Her counterpart rubs her thighs as she knew all too well how uncomfortable it was to travel via carriage for so long a distance.

"Okay…" she replies, a bit absentmindedly as she begins to recount all that she'd learned over the journey to aid the princess.

With smile still in place, the princess innocently presses on, "What's so special about my betrothed?"

Lady Valerie, either ignoring or not catching the tone, answers immediately, "Why, that'd be either his eyes and hair, his status as the future king of Argent, or the fact he belongs to the only other A'luthean bloodline in Nareth."

Princess Adelina excitedly claps her hands, only to lean forward towards her friend, "And what exactly does that mean?"

A knot of worry forms on Lady Valerie's eyebrows as she carefully answers, "… it means he will be given his family's complete set of Blessed Armor, given to their line by the Goddess Herself, the A'luthean Armor of Argent?"

The princess laughs at her friend's textbook answer, "Oh Val! How long did you practice memorizing all that?"

Lady Valerie however saw the change in the princess' face when she gave her answer. "Lina… what exactly are you planning?"

Princess Adelina slowly sits back into her seat, making herself comfortable. "Nothing… just happy to hear my match is of such a Blessed bloodline!"

The smile on her face however, doesn't reach her eyes.

'The Archpriestess could only stop the imperial family from using their A'luthean Armor with the threat of another,' she thinks to herself as she leans back on her seat, her head on the puffed headrest. 'The other belonging to a royal family on the other side of the continent, in the Kingdom of Argent.'

She was to be the wife and queen of the one who would inherit such power, power enough to equal her father.

Princess Adelina was to become Queen Adelina. Here in this foreign kingdom she would be treated with respect. She would ensure it. Never again will she have to be under her father's control, never again will she be discarded and used in the negotiations of men.

And all she had to do was seduce her soon-to-be husband.

The plan going forward is this. For the sfw thread, at the end of the month ill be posting the Patreon version of the revised demo.

The NSFW KaE Thread will receive the Silverhill Martial Route four weeks after the Patreons receive it.

No deadlines will be publicly given.

I'll be posting and releasing more things as time goes on, thank you!

[tokkias]

never requested before, hope im doing it right, but can i request one where lucy loves hand holding and is a bit shy of it and its basically just random occasions of her trying to hold natsus hand rather it be in the middle of the guild or at home just for a sense of comfort? much love 🫶🏼

thank you for the request! and sorry it took me 8 months. i went in a little bit of a silly direction with this one but i hope you like it nonetheless!

summary: Lucy is no stranger to affection when it comes to Natsu, especially not as they walk into a relationship together. Despite having his hands on her at almost all times, there's still one small affection that she's just a little shy to ask for. ao3

Lucy was no stranger to affection when it came to Natsu. He had always been handsy and affectionate with her long before their relationship stepped out of the bounds of platonic; their newfound romantic relationship was now just an excuse to show even more affection.

Lucy found herself fond of this new type of affection he shared with her. Though he still maintained his casual touches, like the way he slung his arm around her shoulder or the way his hand would rest on her thigh when they sat near each other, now they were interwoven with new touches that held a more romantic intent to them. Their once handsy relationship had grown even handsier, now littered with cuddles and tender kisses.

The way he touched her made her whole body tingle and set her heart alight. It felt like it could have come straight out of a romance novel. Lucy loved each and every one of her newfound affections, though perhaps her favourite was the way his fingers felt intertwined with hers. His hands were always so warm, his grip always so secure around her own. The feeling was synonymous with love, safety, and assurance to her.

Her only problem was that, for some reason, she always got just a little bit nervous when it came to initiating.

It was a silly, stupid problem that she had—it was only Natsu, after all, but she had just become so used to him being the one to instigate that she had all but forgotten how to do it herself. He wasn’t one to instigate handholding often. More often, it was an arm tossed around her shoulder or his hand resting on her waist, and though she certainly wasn’t about to complain about either, sometimes she wished that he would lock their hands together more.

For some reason, the idea of asking or being the one to initiate made her nervous. There was no real reason, no rationale. Before he was her lover, Natsu was her best friend, the one person she could confide in, share anything and everything with. They had faced countless dangers together; she had looked death in the eye and escaped from its clutches, so why was it this that made her hands shake and her heart race faster?

She glanced down at his hand, resting atop her thigh as they sat across from their teammates. She had long tuned out of the conversation, her mind wandering elsewhere. It was comforting, warm, his thumb mindlessly rubbing circles against her skin. The sight of his hand made her own feel… empty. It was right there and yet not in her own. That wasn’t to say she didn’t like the feeling of it resting there, but she just wondered why he would never hold her hand under the table.

She looked up at Natsu, his attention elsewhere, as he and Gray prattled on, then back down at his hand. She couldn’t interrupt their conversation for the sake of holding hands, but she wondered if he would mind if she tried to slip her hand into his own. Surely he wouldn’t. Surely he would let their fingers entangle quietly and without fuss. She considered it for a moment and then another, but it seemed like it was a moment too long.

She moved to let her hand rest on his, but in that same moment, his own was whipped away as he stood up, provoked by something Gray said on the other side of the table. It wasn’t long before he was out of his seat completely, his fist flying towards him, and the moment stolen from her.

Lucy let out a soft, dejected sigh, her upper body dramatically falling against the table, where her forehead landed with a thunk against the wood—not an uncommon reaction to this sort of thing. Mira shot her a sympathetic look, as she did every time this happened.

If only she knew just what Lucy had to lose this time.

.☆.

The ambient sound of the river rushing from besides them and the sweet serenade of birdsong had long since become familiar to Lucy since moving to her apartment on Strawberry Street. It wouldn’t take long for it to also become little more than white noise to Natsu, too.

More and more often, he found himself at her apartment overnight, the duo making their trek to the guild hall together the next morning. It was a routine that Lucy had come to enjoy, even if it meant Natsu smacking her as he sprawled out in bed at night. It had, of course, predated their romantic relationship, but it had grown more common after it, and there were little things that had changed about their routine. The men on the boats now knew to greet the both of them, one coffee order turned into two, and over time they inched closer and closer together, no longer a comfortable and platonic distance away from one another.

With each step they took, the backs of their hands brushed up against one another, his fingers grazing her knuckles. It would be so easy to grab his, to hold it, squeeze it in her own—it was right there, after all. She imagined their arms swinging between them as they walked, him keeping hold of her as she balanced on the edge of the river. The moment was innocuous enough that she could have slipped her hand in his without much question.

Each brush of his skin against hers sent sparks throughout her body and a warmth that went straight to her soul. She had wondered if it would ever fade, but now, even months into their relationship, as she got even the slightest touch of him, she still felt it in the very fibre of her being. Right now, she wanted more of that feeling; she wanted to feel his strong, warm grip around her hand.

She looked over at Natsu, a look of yearning hidden behind her eyes as they trailed down to his hands. Natsu hadn’t noticed her looking, his gaze fixed firmly in front of them on their trek—something Lucy should have followed suit in. Unfortunately, that would be her downfall, quite literally, when her foot caught in a crack on the pavement, causing her ankle to wobble. Had she not been wearing her stupid heeled boots, she may have been able to catch herself, but it seemed as though her choice of footwear was not on her side today as the small wobble turned into a larger one, and in an attempt to catch herself, she instead went plunging into the water beside her.

Her terrified scream alerted Natsu of her situation a moment too late, and even as he reached out to grab her, he was already much too late.

Stupid Natsu and his stupid, pretty hands for distracting her like that.

She coughed and sputtered up water as she broke the surface, treading water in an attempt to stay afloat. Looking up at the sidewalk, Natsu had given up on any attempt to rescue her and was now doubled over in laughter.

“What are you doing, idiot?” Lucy cried out. “Help me!”

Obliging with her request (though not without wiping a stray tear of laughter from his eye), Natsu got to his knees, reached his arm out to her, and helped lift her out of the water, not caring that she was dripping all over his feet. He took her into his arms, and she chose to ignore his cackles in favour of snuggling closer to his body to warm herself up.

Sure, she had wanted affection from Natsu, but this wasn’t exactly the context she had hoped it would be in.

.☆.

The crowded and busy streets of the Sunday Magnolia market were something that Lucy had long gotten used to. Whether she was shopping or not, if Lucy ever found herself leaving her apartment on a Sunday, she would inevitably be caught up in the hubbub of it all, and today was no exception. She wove between foot traffic with an expert step she had developed over time as she and Natsu made their way through the crowd to their favourite stall, lined with fresh bread and pastries.

Though she was used to busy Sundays, today seemed like a bit much. Maybe there was a special event or Magnolia had been featured on some list of desirable holiday destinations, but it felt like there were more tourists in town than usual. It had always been busy, but not this busy. For every agile step she made, she was still met with shoves against her shoulder as she was squished between the bodies of people desperately trying to make it from point a to point b.

Glancing over, she checked that she was still close to Natsu. She feared that if they were trapped in this crowd much longer, they would be separated, and based on the way someone shoved between them, that fear was not unwarranted.

“Natsu!” she called out the moment she saw him slipping from her field of sight.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” he affirmed.

Their steps moved in tandem for the time being, a fragile pace so easily prone to rupturing in these conditions. This would be the perfect time to grab hold of his hand—a small romantic gesture under the guise of keeping them from being separated in the busy streets. As if by instinct, she reached out for him, searching for his hand within the sea of people. She wanted to lock their hands together, to hold onto him as they navigated the busy streets, but instead she was met with nothing but strangers passing by.

Looking up, she saw that in the brief moments that had passed since he called out to her, he had been swept away in the ocean of people. Only a flash of pink hair could be seen from her spot in the sea.

Lucy let her shoulders slump and allowed the frustrated groan to slip past her lips. If that wasn’t bad enough on its own, she found herself shoved around and stumbling backwards, forced to do nothing but watch as Natsu got further and further away.

.☆.

The soft glow of the television illuminated the dark of Lucy’s apartment long after sundown. She was huddled up into Natsu’s side, bundled under blankets to protect her from the coolness of the night creeping in. Some horror movie was playing on the screen at Natsu’s insistence. It wasn’t something Lucy would have chosen for herself, but it was his turn to pick, so she conceded.

It was strange how they had been through scarier things than even fiction could conceive, and yet these silly films with bad special effects could still frighten and shake them to their core. Even when she knew they were coming, she couldn’t help the way she flinched at every jump scare. Though Natsu would insist it didn’t faze him, she could see the truth in the way he clutched at her arm.

Though she had failed every time before now, this seemed like the perfect time to slip her hand in his, veiled under the guise of much-needed comfort for the both of them. Her hand came to rest on top of his in a gentle attempt to coax his grip off of her, but before she could manage that, they were met with another one of those stupid screamers on the screen.

“Shit!” He cried out in panic.

Lucy could hardly register what was going on before she was practically tackled by Natsu, who was using his entire body to shield her from the threat on the screen. She let out a scream of fright, from either the sudden jump scare or the aggression of Natsu’s protection; she couldn’t quite tell. Both of their bodies were quivering like leaves in an autumnal breeze. Her hands were shaking much too much to even consider holding Natsu’s—after all, right now she thought the both of them needed a little bit more comfort than hand holding alone could provide.

Instead, she made better use of her hands by reaching out for the remote and flicking the TV off for both of their sakes.

.☆.

A gentle spring breeze ruffled Lucy’s hair as it passed them by. She was sitting on a picnic blanket spread out across the green grass, taking advantage of this easy spring day for a cute lunch date in the park, just her and Natsu.

It seemed as though they weren’t the only couple to have taken the nice weather as a chance for an outing. Various couples roamed the park, admiring the scenery and taking in the sun. Many walked together, hand in hand, and the sight of it sent a pang of jealousy straight to Lucy’s chest.

It was like fate didn’t want that for her.

What a stupid thing for fate to get in the way of.

Even though she tried to hide it, the sudden drop in her demeanour did not go unnoticed by Natsu beside her. He paused his indulgence in the lunch that they had packed, his attention shifting to her as he met her eyes.

“Lucy?” He asked, careful voice and concern in his eyes. “Everythin’ okay?”

His hand came to rest on her thigh in a display of comfort, but the feeling of his warm hand against her skin only had her feeling more agitated over the whole thing.

“I just-” The words seemed to catch in her throat as she tried to form some sort of excuse, but before she could stop herself, the word came tumbling out of her lips. “I want us to hold hands!” She squeaked.

“What?”

The concerned expression he had once regarded her with quickly turned into one of confusion, as if he wasn’t certain that he had heard her right. She was certain he had. Nothing could slip past those ears of his.

Her cheeks grew a deep red, her face feeling incredibly warm as what she said just sank in. She hadn’t meant to say that, but it seemed as though all the frustration had simply boiled over until she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"Well, why didn’t you just ask?” Natsu replied, head tilted in confusion.

“Because, I-” She paused, her mouth slack, as she tried to come up with a reasonable excuse. “Because it’s embarrassing.”

Though it was the truth, it wasn’t exactly reasonable. It was only Natsu, and the worst thing he could do was say no. Even still, she couldn’t seem to give herself the push to say it until she had practically snapped. She averted her gaze, fully expecting the inevitable teasing that was to come, but instead she felt Natsu’s hand slip into her own, her eyes flicking up to meet his.

“There, that better?”

He looked down at her with a grin plastered across his face—a smile of true, genuine love. Lucy's expression softened, and all of the worries she might have had melted away in that moment. He squeezed her hand, and her heart practically jumped in time with it.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

She squeezed his hand back, and he met her with a laugh that turned the flush of embarrassment on her face into one of soft love and adoration.

For a moment, the two stayed like that, hand in hand as they sat in adoring gaze, until the light-hearted teasing did ensue. Lucy rolled her eyes as Natsu began to poke fun of her irrational nervousness, though not letting go of her hand the whole time.

Still, it was well worth the price if it meant holding his hand like this.

If she had known it would be this easy, she would have done it ages ago.