#heart bursts aflame

[euesworld]

"Why would I put out the fire in my heart? Each sweet beat softly aflame with your name.."

Imagine.. just hearing your name arises passion within me, imagine what seeing you smile does - eUë

[loisfreakinglane]

thinking about the version of reality where zoe saldana was cast as dceu lois lane

[bruisedboys]

can I request remus and anxious!reader where he asks her to be his, but she is worried that remus will think that she is too much to take care of?

thank you for your request angel!! this was fun to write <3

remus lupin x fem!anxious!reader, 1.3k words

Remus turns up unannounced at your door with a huge bouquet of flowers. You think you know where this is going.

“Hey,” he says, smiling a brilliant smile that sets your heart aflame. “You look nice. Can I come in?”

You don’t look nice, at least not in your opinion. You’re in your pyjamas, a loose tank and a pair of flannel pants, fresh out of the shower with your damp hair hanging limp over your shoulders. But you can’t not let him in. You like him too much.

“Uh— sure. Yeah, come in. Sorry about the mess.” You kick a stray shoe to the side to prevent him tripping in your doorway, embarrassed.

“Don’t start,” he tells you, fondly exasperated as he toes off his shoes. He closes the door behind him and then turns back to you, holding the bouquet out. “These are for you, by the way.”

You’d guessed. Still, you’re very very happy to get them. He’s given you flowers before, ones he’s picked on the way to your place or a rose, once, on your last birthday, but never a bouquet. You take it from him, fingers brushing his at the stalks.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You can’t imagine how much they cost him. It’s the fullest bouquet you’ve ever seen, petals bursting out of the tissue paper in pretty pinks and whites and creams. You don’t try to fight the smile working it’s way onto your lips. “They’re really pretty.”

Remus grins and raises one shoulder in a shrug. “Pretty flowers for a pretty girl.”

“Remus,” you whine, heat building in your cheeks at an alarming rate.

Remus laughs, surprised. “What?”

You glare, fierce as you can when you’re so infatuated with him. He’s making this hard for you and he knows it. “Nothing. Come on, come through, I’ll find a vase.”

You lead the way through your entryway and into the kitchen. Remus sits at your kitchen island and watches while you find a vase for your flowers and fill it with water from the tap. You feel his gaze like laser beams and try not to think about how much skin your pyjama top is showing right now, how much you don’t actually care because you want him to look at you.

“Stop looking at me,” you say anyway, though you know he won’t listen.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Typical.

“You’re awful.”

“Thanks, gorgeous.”

You sigh and finish setting up your flowers, setting them on the kitchen island. Remus smiles at you like a fool when you meet his eyes.

“Do you want a drink?” You ask, desperate to do something other than be under his gaze.

“No. I want to ask you something.”

Your heart stutters. This could go a million ways and you’re not sure which way you’d prefer. You sit down across from him and try not to fall right off your chair.

“Okay,” you say quietly, playing with your hands, pulling at your fingers. “Ask away, then.”

Remus doesn’t say anything right away. He slides his hands across the counter and pushes them over yours, stopping your mindless fiddling. You let him take your hands in his. They’re warm, rough but soft in the places that count. His fingers thread through yours and your heart does a backflip.

“Look at me?” He asks, voice soft as silk. You’re glad he’s stopped joking around but somehow his sweet patience is worse.

You look up, meeting his eyes. Remus beams.

“Hi,” he says, grinning.

You huff a laugh through your nose. “Hi,” you say back.

Remus strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “Look, I’m not gonna beat around the bush,” he says, words measured as if he’s being careful to not worry you. You both despise and adore how patient he is with you. “I want to ask you something, and if you don’t like it, please feel free to kick me out of your house. Okay?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, wondering if the hammering of your heart is for a good reason or a bad. “I’m not gonna kick you out of my house, Remus.”

“You might.”

You shake your head firmly. “I won’t.”

Remus takes a deep breath, and you watch his chest rise and fall.

“I really like you,” he says. “And as much as I enjoy being friends, I think I’d like to be more.”

You blink. You can barely open your mouth, feeling like your lips have been glued shut. “More?” You manage.

Remus nods. “Yeah.”

You don’t know why but you suddenly feel like crying. You’re not oblivious, you’d known Remus liked you at least a little bit more than just a friend. You’ve gone over this moment countless times in your head, content with it happening in your head but never in real life. You’re a fish out of water. You swallow.

“Remus,” you say, trying not to sound like you’re rejecting him. “I … I don’t know.”

Remus blinks.

“Not— I mean, it’s not because of you,” you say in a desperate rush. You untangle your hands from his and wrap your fingers around his wrists instead. “I like you, Remus. You know I do. It’s just— I don’t think you’d … I’m a lot of work,” you finish dejectedly.

Remus gives you a looks like a kicked puppy. “What? Y/N, that doesn’t—“

“No, listen, Remus,” you say, desperate for him to understand. “I’m not— I wouldn’t be a good girlfriend. You already do so much for me, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do more.” Remus knows about your anxiety. It’s one of the reasons you like him so much, because he knows and doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t treat you any differently for it. Still, “You’d get tired of me.”

Remus genuinely looks like he might cry. He releases your hands and gets up, and for one terrifying second you think he’s leaving you, that he’s already sick of you and your worries, that he doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore. But he only rounds the kitchen island and gets so close to you you can smell his cologne.

“Can I give you a hug?” He asks in a soft murmur. “Please?”

You nod. Remus only hesitates for a half a second before wrapping his arms around you, pulling your head to his stomach, a hand in your damp hair. He’s warm and firm, tall, all-encompassing. He’s hugged you before but never like this. Never like he wants to hold all the pieces of you together in case you fall apart. You might just.

You weasel your arms around his tummy and try not to squeeze too hard. Remus strokes the back of your head, once, twice, three times. He doesn’t seem to mind your wet hair, the dampness slowly soaking into his soft t-shirt.

“Sweetheart,” he says gently. “I want you to know that none of that matters to me. Only you matter. I don’t care if I have to look after you, I wouldn’t care if I had to carry you around like a log everywhere we went. I want to look after you.”

You squeeze him harder.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you say into his t-shirt.

Remus makes a sad noise and pulls back, hands climbing to your neck. He encourages your face from his stomach gently, fingers pushing your hair out of the way so he can cup your jaw.

“You won’t be a burden,” he says. “You’re not. I like you just the way you are. I could never get tired of you, honey. Every time I see you it’s like I’m seeing you for the first time all over again.”

There’s a pause in which you look at each other, a lot of big, beautiful feelings in the way you study each other’s faces. Your heart pounds in your chest. You know your decision has already been made, was probably made the second he appeared at your door, maybe the moment you met him however long ago. He’s lovely, the best person you’ve ever met. You like him enough to put aside your worries and be with him, if that’s what he wants.

And it is what he wants. Suddenly you feel so happy you could burst.

“Okay,” you say hoarsely, emotion thick in your throat. You nod, not caring how desperate you look. “Yes.”

Remus’ answering smile is bruising. “Yeah?” He says, pleased and almost as giddy as you. His eyes light up like stars and you know you could’ve never said no to him. “You’ll be mine? Let me look after you for ever and ever?”

A giggle bubbles out of you before you can stop it. You beam up at him. “Only if you let me look after you, too.”

Remus thumbs the hollow under your eye slowly, his touch like fireworks along your skin, leaning close like he’s gonna kiss you. You’re surprised to realise you really, really want him to.

“I think that can be arranged.”

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if u enjoyed 🤍

[elioslover]

Baby Fever- Harry blurb in honour of him becoming an uncle!

More Dadrry / Other Writing

Harry just got back from spending the day meeting his new, teeny tiny niece, and he'd hardly been able to look away- absolutely besotted by her wide and curious eyes, soft hair, and total newness to the world. His heart feels so full it could burst and all he wants is to sprinkle this overwhelming love with those most important to him.

Even on the drive home and for a good hour after arriving home, Harry can't shake the stirring of paternal possibility- especially in the presence of his wife, so lovingly and endearingly sharing supper with him. He's so infatuated with the wholesomeness swelling within, fascinated with these sudden fantasies of bringing home his own baby- a teeny, breathing product of a love so strong- being blessed by the gift of his wife, whom herself, was enough of a gift as it was.

She notices Harry's struggle to focus long before he- chalking it up to the overwhelming excitement of the day, certain that her husband was just as giddy at the arrival of his niece as she always predicted he would be. It was hard enough walking past a cute toddler without his desire to stop and coo taking over.

When asked about it, Harry sighs out contently and simply reassures, "'M just thinkin'..."

Oh, but this type of thinking isn't so easy to shake and follows Harry all the way to bed, burying itself beneath the covers beside him, tugging at his heartstrings with sweet scenarios where he cradles a sleepy infant to his chest, soothed by the softest of snores, watching his wife giggle along to incoherent baby babbles, celebrating milestones, watching them grow, and growing alongside.

Even as the next three days drone on, Harry feels like the universe had 100% overheard his secret daydreams- taunting him with anything and everything resembling children- every where he goes, every thing he does is sidelined by the aching feeling of starting a family.

After what must have been the fourth stroller rolls past, Harry cuts his run short. Realisation that this stirring within will not be going anywhere, solidifying into the desire to say it out loud, to announce and welcome this want- need- to start the next chapter of his life.

He practically bounds through the front door, sneakers squeaking along the hardwood as he urgently calls out in search of his wife., though by the time she sings back a greeting and says "In the nook" Harry has already found her- the same place she usually hides- a book balanced between her fingers, wedding ring flickering from the rays of sunset, luring him closer until he's standing right before her.

Harry drops to his knees before she has the chance to give him a proper greeting, his palms splaying out atop her thighs, and though his eyes are aflame with desperation, a hopeful smile continues to creep up and spread along his lips until his cute dimples are on full display.

Discarding her book to the side, his wife's hands find a home in his curls, gently kneading stray tufts of his silky curls, and Harry's head dips on instinct, forehead resting against her exposed leg, pressing his cheek into her fleshy skin- this only evokes a soft chuckle that slips past her lip as she smiles at him with enamoured curiosity, "What's gotten into you, huh?"

He mumbles against her skin, breath tickling and pricking goosebumps along her thighs, his hand reaching on and wrapping loosely around her calf- thumb stroking circles into her skin.

"Speak up, sweet boy," she coaxes and even after he projects, his words are still muttered into incoherence, her legs bouncing along with her chuckling chest, waiting for him to find the words.

Harry wallows in her patience for as long as it takes to just build up the confidence to match his certainty, unable to soothe all of his nerves, even by the time the rest of him has conjured up enough bravery, his statement is so soft, so vulnerable,

"Wanna have a baby." He still can't muster the courage to look her in the eye.

"Is that so?" The giddiness coursing through her is present in her tone, hiccupping her sentence, hands continuing to play with his curls, "You wanna be a daddy?"

His face feels flush with bashful excitement at the mere sound of 'you' and 'dad' in the same sentence. Harry enthusiastically nods once more against the expanse of her thigh before his face finally tilts back up to meet her fond gaze, she's beaming down at him with newfound hopefulness.

"I wanna be a dad," he finally admits aloud, and it feels so fucking good to say it, "really really wanna have a baby with you."

The sweetest smile creeps well past his wife's lips and crinkles the corner of her eyes as they twinkle back at his own with wonderment. Her nails massage along the nape of his neck before her palm gently cradles his blushy cheek and she hums contently, "Well, that's the best idea you've ever had."

[faerygrant]

Ultraviolence - Carmy x Reader

Summary : An interaction between Claire and Carmen leaves you questioning his loyalty to your relationship.

Carmy was a complicated man, that went without saying. He was a man riddled with untreated trauma that stemmed from an absent father and an alcoholic and unstable mother. Not to mention the complicated and for a very long time, codependent relationship between he and his brother. The only constant and non-toxic person Carmen Berzatto had in his life was his sister Natalie, well that was before he met you at-least.

While he had become a changed man and confronted his demons from the past, there was no denying that Carmen still had lots of issues he still hadn’t addressed in therapy. The sleep walking had stopped almost a year ago, which you were thankful for, especially after a night in which he accidentally woke up and nearly lit the house aflame. The anger issues however still persisted, as well as the avoidant personality and constant feelings of angst.

You could tell Carmen was happier, he now kissed you goodbye in the mornings and goodnight before bed, he smiled more, he cooled off on the self deprecating remarks and most of all, he let you in. The old Carmen was hard as rock, made of brick wall, refusing to allowing anyone into those walls he’d spent all those years building up in self defence. Yet now he was willing to talk things through, slowly but surely.

Like most winter nights when the city got dark by 5, you’d walk over to the bear from work so Carmy could drive the two of you back to your place. It made the both of you feel safer and you weren’t opposed to any extra time you could spend with you partner. It also didn’t hurt to see his coworkers, who you’d come to see as friends of your own.

Tonight however when you’d come into the restaurant it seemed the only people here were Natalie and Sydney who were out back doing stock count. They both greeted you, however their odd attitudes weren’t lost on you. The two of them were usually so happy to see you, friendly. Yet upon your entry into the restaurant they had both gone frigid.

“Where’s Carm?” You’d asked, pulling the slipping straps of your tote back onto your shoulder.

“T-the office.” Sydney motions awkwardly to the office and your brows furrow. Why were they both acting so off?

“You probably should wait-“ Natalie tries to say but you’re already bursting into the office, curious as to why they were being strange.

-

“You know I just missed you Bear.”

You’re not prepared for the site of what you walk into, Carmy’s “ex” who’s not his “ex” but is his “ex” stood with her arms wrapped around his neck trying to kiss him. Your heart all but sinks into your ass as you watch her lips meet his.

“What the fuck” you scream, and immediately the brunette is clambering away from your man. She innocently tucks a piece of hair behind her ears and then looks at Carmen before she pushed past you. Not even an ounce of guilt on her face.

“It’s not what it looked like, I promise.” Carmen says walking over to you, trying to grab hold of your hand.

“Then what the fuck was that, she kissed you Carmen!” You yell at him and both Sydney and Natalie are now stood in the doorway watching everything go down.

“It was nothing, she just…” He holds his hands in his hair as he paces back and forth between the office. Refusing to complete his sentence.

“Are you going to finish the sentence Carmen, man up and tell me why the fuck your ex girlfriend was in here just now, kissing you” Your shouting has Carmen exasperated, he wants to tell you but can’t even figure out how to start the conversation.

“Carmy just talk to her.” Natalie tries intervening but is met with Carmen throwing a staple gun against the wall.

“Sugar get the fuck out of here and give us some privacy”

“Carm!” You yell at him all at once Sydney screams “Carmy what the fuck” Both of you appalled at his childish display of violence.

“Can I have five fuckin minutes alone with my girl now?” They both roll their eyes and walk out of the office. “Asshole” Natalie mumbles before slamming the office door shut.

“So she calls you Bear, is there something you’re hiding?” You question as you walk closer to him, tears falling from your eyes.

“No baby, she just came here trynna sweet talk me about all this fuckin shut but I didn’t wanna hear it.” He tries taking you into his arms but you push him away, not fully ready to give into him.

“Don’t fuckin pull away from me baby, you know it drives me insane” he sighs defeatedly, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Carmen just tell me why that girl was here, why she was kissing you.” The head from his head against yours somewhat calms you down, so does his smell and gentle touch.

“I told you, she wanted to talk and because of all that shit Dr. Murphy said in therapy about confronting your past not running from it, I thought I’d give her a chance to say her piece but she just took it as a chance to make a move.” He looks into your eyes, searching, no- hoping you’d believe him, he hated the feeling of losing your trust especially when he’d never lie to you.

“I just hated seeing that, her hands all over you and her mouth on yours, it hurt me Carm.” You finally allow yourself to fully give into his touch and he pressed a kiss to your lips, your manicured hand cupping his face, relishing in it.

“I know and I’m sorry, I only want you okay, you’re the only girl for me.” He whispers, causing you to whimper.

“Promise?”

“Hand on the fucking bible, I promise”

[solomoniscriminallyunderrated]

Lucifer is suspicious of you.

Of those butterflies you tell him you get when Mammon is next to you, of the smile that your face melts into when you realize that he's watching you.

He has seen it before, he thinks. You looking at Mammon like you look at him. He knows what that look is, and the idea that he might have misread you makes him sick.

And then, of course, the thought that you could ever have the ability to deceive him in the first place is preposterous. You would not dare.

And he is right. You would not dare. The way Lucifer has you hooked around his fingers is enough to make anyone with any common sense wary.

But you? You have no common sense. And your sense of self-preservation has been warped since you fell through the portal and ended up here, in Devildom. You don't understand what he's capable of, not really, and you find yourself wanting to test it.

The fact that the demon who is always on your mind is Mammon? The brother he is the closest to? The brother he is the most protective over? That doesn't make the idea any less alluring.

That is why, one night, after a day of hanging out with the Avatar of Greed, you are back in your room, and you text Lucifer.

'Can I come over?'

You know that he will let you in.

'What is it, MC?' he asks. He sounds tired. But he lets you in nonetheless, and you're sure he's got an idea of what's going on.

"I have to confess something," you say, sitting down on his bed. He takes a seat next to you, and the way his eyes shine in the light makes your breath catch in your throat.

"Oh?"

"I think," you say, voice barely above a whisper, "that I have a crush on Mammon."

You hear the sound of his hands clenching into fists, and a dark chuckle from his mouth.

"A crush, hm?"

"I feel awful for it," you continue, leaning in, your hands gripping the sheets.

"Oh, but you do?" He moves closer as well, and the heat between your bodies is palpable.

"It's like my heart belongs to you, but my head belongs to him." You look away, feeling your face heat up. "And it's not fair."

"You're a selfish human, aren't you, MC?"

He lifts your chin with his gloved hand, and your eyes meet. His expression is a mixture of disgust and amusement, and it's making your insides stir.

"I... I guess I am," you murmur. "Is it wrong to want to be happy?"

"Oh, you poor little thing," he snarls. "Did you really think it was the right choice to confess this to me?"

You should have known he would react like that. After all, he's the Avatar of Pride. The last thing he would want to do is to share you.

"No," you say, biting your lip. "I didn't. I just wanted to see how you would react."

He chuckles again, and the sound makes your hairs stand on end.

"Oh, my dear. You do not want to play these games with me."

"What if I want to, though?"

"You wouldn't."

"Maybe I will."

Lucifer laughs, and it's a low, deep, dark sound that echoes throughout the room.

"You don't know what you're getting into, little human. Are you sure this is what you want?"

His eyes glow, and a smirk is present on his lips.

"Yes."

"Then you're an even bigger fool than I thought you were."

Your heartbeat quickens. You don't know why, but the threat in his voice is making you feel things you can't explain.

"I'm willing to take the risk."

Lucifer's hands are on your face, and he's looking at you with an intensity that's hard to describe.

"You'll regret this."

"I won't."

You're not sure where this sudden burst of confidence has come from, but you're thankful for it. It's the only thing that keeps you from running out of the room screaming.

He leans in closer, and your lips are almost touching.

"Let me be the one to teach you a lesson, then," he whispers.

And the kiss is a mix of fire and ice. His lips are cold against yours, but his hands are burning as they roam across your body, setting every part of you aflame.

"You are mine," he growls.

He's got you pinned against the bed, his hands gripping your wrists tightly. His claws are digging into your skin, and his eyes are glowing.

"Say it."

"I'm yours."

You're panting, and you can't tell whether it's because of his kisses or because of his possessiveness.

"Do you love him?"

The question catches you off guard. You've never heard him ask a question like that.

"No," you say, voice trembling. "Not in the same way I love you."

You see his lips curl into a smile.

"Good."

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You don't remember much, only his hands all over you, his kisses leaving marks all over your skin, his words whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

You wake up the next morning with him still sleeping beside you, and you can't help but smile.

[zapreportsblog]

OH MY LORD I LOVE EVERYTHING YOU WRITE FOR ME ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Now imma bother u again lol.

I need more angst and fluff hahah sorryyy.

So another argument between the poly!volturi kings x reader where they say something like “You are my greatest regret to ever have come into my life.”

And reader burst ot in tears and she is already suicidal so yknow she just gives up, they stop her and so on. And then she Apologises or something and they say some like this.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t you dare try and apologize for something you haven’t done or anything to do with!”

Pleaseee🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈 Love ya byeee❤️❤️❤️

↱ ending things ↰

➘ summary : remember words can hurt so best be careful with what you say

➘ the volturi x reader , aro x reader x marcus x caius

➘ a/n : I did as asked….though you didn’t say anything about there needing to be a happy ending hehehehe though I gave you the closure of an apology that was the fluff part; cheers!

Within the hallowed halls of the Volturi castle, tension hung heavy in the air, an unspoken weight that seemed to seep into every corner. The kings of the vampire world, Aro, Marcus, and Caius, stood in a circle, their expressions marred by frustration and anger. In their midst stood (y/n), the human mate of these immortal beings, her eyes brimming with a mixture of defiance and hurt.

Arguing had become an unsettling pattern, each disagreement intensifying the fractures within their relationship. Tonight, the culmination of unresolved issues reached a breaking point.

"Why can't you see reason, (y/n)?!" Aro's voice rose with exasperation, his eyes aflame with frustration.

"Because this isn't just about what you want, Aro!" (Y/n)'s voice trembled with emotion, her own frustration taking its toll.

Caius, his usual calm veneer shattered, couldn't contain his anger any longer. "You are my greatest regret to ever have come into my life," he spat, his words laced with venom.

The words hung in the air like a poison, the silence that followed suffocating. (Y/n)'s eyes widened in shock, her heart clenched with a pain she had never anticipated. She felt as if the ground beneath her feet had crumbled, her world shattered by the weight of Caius' words.

Tears welled in her eyes, a mixture of anger and heartbreak roiling within her chest. Without another word, she turned on her heel and fled, her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she sought refuge from the pain that seemed to grip her soul.

As she ran through the twisting passages of the castle, her thoughts were a tumultuous storm. How had it come to this? The love that had once bound them felt distant and fractured, replaced by hurtful words and unspoken resentments.

Reaching a secluded chamber, (y/n) collapsed onto a stone bench, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if seeking to shield her heart from the agony that seemed to seep into every fiber of her being.

The door creaked open, and she looked up to see Marcus standing in the doorway. His expression was a mixture of regret and sadness, a reflection of the turmoil that had torn their bond asunder.

"(Y/n)," he began softly, his voice a gentle murmur, "I know things have been difficult."

She met his gaze, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and confusion. "Marcus, what has happened to us?"

His footsteps were soft as he approached her, sitting beside her on the bench. "We let our differences and frustrations build up, and we forgot the strength of our connection."

Tears flowed freely down (y/n)'s cheeks, her emotions raw and exposed. "Caius... his words..."

Marcus sighed, his gaze distant as if lost in his own thoughts. "Caius is burdened by his past, (y/n). It wasn't an excuse for what he said, but it's important to understand that his emotions are complex."

The echoes of the argument still reverberated in (y/n)'s mind as she stepped out of the castle, a tumultuous mix of emotions threatening to engulf her. The cold night air stung against her skin, a stark contrast to the heated tension she had left behind. Seeking respite, she wandered through the quiet streets until she found herself on a bridge that spanned a calm river.

Perching on the ledge, her feet hanging over the water, (y/n) let out a deep sigh. The night sky stretched above her, stars flickering like distant beacons. Her thoughts were a storm of conflicting emotions – anger, hurt, confusion – and they mingled with the ever-present shadow of her mental health struggles.

Gazing down at the water, (y/n) traced the ripples with her eyes, lost in the rhythm of their gentle dance. Her relationship with the Volturi kings had been a source of joy and turmoil, an intricate dance between love and frustration. But tonight, their argument had unleashed a torrent of emotions she struggled to contain.

Tears welled up in her eyes, her heart heavy with the weight of it all. She had always battled her own inner demons, the darkness that threatened to consume her. Her mental health had been a constant companion, sometimes a gentle whisper and at other times a deafening roar.

As she stared at the water, the tranquility of the scene before her offered a fleeting sense of solace. It was a reminder that even amidst the chaos, there were moments of stillness and beauty. But the struggle within her heart was far from over.

With a heavy sigh, (y/n) leaned back, resting her weight on her hands. Her thoughts drifted to the times of laughter and connection she had shared with the Volturi kings. But they were now overshadowed by the hurtful words and the fractures in their once strong bond. She felt lost in a sea of emotions, uncertain of how to navigate her feelings.

Her mental health struggles, too, gnawed at the edges of her thoughts. The battles fought within her own mind often left her feeling exhausted, and tonight was no exception. It was as if her inner turmoil had found its way into her external world, amplifying the pain she felt.

As the moonlight cast its silvery glow over the Volturi castle, a sense of unease settled within its halls. The lower guard had just informed the kings that (y/n) had left the castle, setting their hearts racing with worry. Without a moment's hesitation, Aro, Marcus, and Caius followed the scent that led them through the winding paths of the castle grounds and out into the night.

The scent was a trail of uncertainty, a reflection of the turmoil that had led her to leave. Each step carried them closer to the bridge that spanned the quiet river, and the kings felt their anxiety rise with every passing second.

Approaching the bridge, they saw her figure seated on the edge, her silhouette framed against the moonlit waters below. The wind rustled her hair, and her shoulders seemed weighed down by the burden of her thoughts.

"(Y/n)!" Aro's voice was a mixture of relief and concern as he called out to her, his footsteps slowing.

Hearing their voices, (y/n) turned to face them, her expression a mix of surprise and sadness. The sight of the three kings standing before her felt surreal, a reminder of the complexities of their bond.

Marcus stepped forward, his voice gentle. "We were worried about you, (y/n)."

Caius' gaze was piercing, his eyes reflecting his inner turmoil. "Why did you leave?"

Tears welled up in (y/n)'s eyes as she met Caius' gaze. His voice held a note of desperation that struck a chord deep within her. She had caused them to worry, to fear the worst, and the guilt gnawed at her heart.

"I needed some space," she admitted, her voice wavering with emotion.

Caius' expression softened, his concern evident as he took a step closer. "You scared us, (y/n)."

The bridge seemed to hang in a delicate balance, the emotions of the moment swirling like a storm. And then, with a desperation that seemed to pierce the very air, Caius pleaded, "Please, don't do anything rash."

His words hung heavy, the weight of his concern palpable. (Y/n) could see the fear in his eyes, the raw vulnerability he rarely revealed. It was a reminder that their bond, as fractured as it was, still held a deep connection.

"I sorry, Caius," she chocked, her voice trembling. "I sorry, I’m so sorry,” she cried like a broken record.

The air seemed to thicken with tension as (y/n) and the three kings stood on the bridge, their emotions swirling in the night. Caius' plea had pierced the silence, his concern palpable, and the weight of his words hung in the air like a heavy shroud.

Caius took a tentative step forward, his gaze unwavering as he locked eyes with (y/n). His voice was a mixture of remorse and desperation as he spoke, his words cutting through the charged atmosphere.

"Don't you dare apologize. You haven't done anything wrong. This is my fault."

Tears welled up in (y/n)'s eyes as she met Caius' gaze. She felt the truth in his words, the raw sincerity of his regret. But the turmoil within her heart couldn't be silenced by reason alone, and a choked apology escaped her lips.

"I'm sorry, Caius. I'm so sorry."

Caius' frustration seemed to deepen as he closed the distance between them, his movements deliberate and careful. His voice softened, a mixture of tenderness and self-blame.

"Stop apologizing. You don't have to carry this burden."

But (y/n) could only shake her head, the weight of her own emotions bearing down on her. "I'm sorry, Caius. I'm tired."

The words were a whisper, a reflection of her weariness. The constant battles within her own mind, the complexities of their relationship – it all felt like too much to bear.

And then, before anyone could react, a shocking moment unfolded. (Y/n) stepped back, her gaze still locked on Caius, her voice trembling as she whispered, "I'm sorry," one last time.

And then she jumped.

Time seemed to freeze in that agonizing instant, the sound of her body hitting the water echoing in their ears. A primal surge of panic coursed through them, their hearts racing as they stared at the spot where she had been.

Aro, Marcus, and Caius were paralyzed, the shock of the moment rendering them immobile. The bridge that had once represented a moment of reflection had now become the stage for a heart-wrenching tragedy.

As reality settled in, Caius' expression twisted with a mixture of grief and disbelief. He felt as though his very soul had been torn asunder, his voice frozen in his throat.

"(Y/n)?" Aro's voice was a whisper, his eyes wide with shock.

The ripples on the water were the only answer, their gentle dance a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions that roiled within them.

[tsireyasyawntu]

your lips, my lips

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- clarisse la rue x daughter of eros! reader

synopsis: valentine’s day- something that everyone truly disliked. until one moment, something changed.

authors note: this is not apart of fault is false (sorry!) but i’m sick with a really bad cold today and i wanted to write something special for clarisse on valentines! so.. Happy valentine’s day, everyone!

Valentine’s day.

Something humans found to be dear to them, coupled people exchanging gifts to one another on the fourteenth of February; the holiday of love.

in camp half blood, valentine’s day was celebrated to the fullest extent of its potential— it was so dear to humans as they had a rather short life span, hence a day to express your love to someone was so precious to the weak minded people. at camp, the holiday was acknowledged by the campers to recognize the importance of being half human, and half god, as well as the lovey dovey atmosphere that followed after. The same was done with other important holidays, such as Halloween and Christmas.

Clarisse la rue did not find the holiday to be particularly pleasant- or pleasant at all, for that matter. Valentine’s day was stupid in her mind. two people smuggling each other in both emotional and physical affection? openly displaying affection? i front of people? such thoughts made the daughter of Ares want to gag.

but than there was you— daughter of Eros, your charm was an automatic reminder of your heritage, and a stark figure of your character.

clarisse felt like a child by how hard she fell for you, stealing the breath from her lungs at every glance she caught of you.

your pretty smile, your wonderful eyes, your sweet face. Clarisse la rue was pissed at herself when she finally realized exactly what her feelings meant, shoving them down like lava to a volcano.

But like all creatures of nature, it was ought to burst out somehow.

and for the young daughter of Ares, her volcano ruptured on valentine’s day- to her fury.

it was a sunny day, but it had never felt so dark to clarisse. Her footsteps shook the earth as she angrily marched through camp, shoving heart shaped balloons from her path and kicking roses she saw on the floor.

The curly haired girl had caught wind that you’d received numerous valentine gifts- chocolates, flowers, posters and even jewelry. knowing people other that clarisse had been eyeing you down for a while made the flickering flame inside her chest burn down towers with her rage.

She stormed through camp with fire following her trail, each step was quaking those around her.

She stormed to cabin 39, where the children of Eros lay.

everyone knew the children of the Greek god of carnal love’s children rivaled those of ancient Greek goddess of love and beauty, Aphrodite. You were point of that accusation, the most beautiful girl Clarisse had ever laid her eyes on.

and even now she as she had a torch lighting aflame her chest, she still yearned for your touch— even as she was heading in your direction to explode in a way she wasn’t sure of.

She took a sharp turn around capin 56, for the children of eris— their dark aura usually affecting clarisse now deflected off her skin like a bow to raw metal, the children watching in discord as she stormed to the door of cabin 39.

Clarisse slammed her cinnamon skinned hand against the polished wood harshly, waiting with furrowed brows for someone to answer the door. When she saw the handle move, her back subconsciously straightened.

The wood was pulled back and you were revealed— in all your nauseating, grueling, pure beauty, smile growing wide upon the sight of the curly haired girl outside your door.

“Clarisse!” your voice was smooth like honey, sticky like maple syrup and sweet like sugar. Clarisse ignored the warmth that flushed her body at the soft call of her name you expressed in joy, stupidly gorgeous smile widening at her presence.

in honest, clarisse wanted to bathe in your touch- your voice, your gaze and your heart. She yearned for you in a way she’s never felt, her defensive and rough external force disintegrating pathetic into nothing when you traced your honey soft skin along her arm, pushing hair from her face as the only scent she cpould smell was the sweetness of your person.

Clarisse was scared of her feelings in fact, and the idea that you might like someone other than her had her at the edge of her seat. She knew that it was likely, and if she truly did want you— today would be the day to make the claim.

She huffed, squinting her eyes as you moved from the doorway to welcome her inside. she reluctantly agreed, tucking her chin upward as she took steps forward. Instantly, the smell of sweets and tea attacked her senses with not a single warning— sugar and honey the only smell she could register.

Her face scrunched, overwhelmed by the smell— you laughed, covering your smile with your fingers as you usually did, a cute habit clarisse admired.

“sorry, glykó korítsi. Cole went all out for tou Agíou Valentínou.” Clarisse tucked her face away from your view, scolding herself for faltering under the stupid greek nickname you’ve given her; “pretty girl.”

She took a moment to gather herself, huffing in an upset expression when she examined your cabin.

god, there was no place Clarisse hated more that the Eros Chilren’s Cabin.

the cabin has an intense aura that can drive other demigods insane with arousal— unless that demigod is the child of a love god or goddess once activated by a child of Eros. Clarisse was lucky enough to know you to the point you spared her the torture of the curse on your cabin, and was beyond grateful the so called ‘blessing’ can also be deactivated at will.

clarisss recalled when you first exposed her to your cabin- On the northern part of the first floor, it has a room that can bring to life any sexual and or romantic desire, as well as an exact copy of the person they desire. clarisse found it odd, disgusting even. Nasty fantasies coming to life? how alone and sad does your life have to be you have to imagine yourself with someone you love? she could laugh in their face and ridicule them until they run away crying.

In the living room, there are several shelves with books containing all kinds of unknown and known love stories recorded throughout the ages. It has a large TV in the center, and a rather nice leather couch, may the daughter of ares be so kind to say.

In the east wing lies the kitchen, and on the west wing lies the public bathrooms. There is romantic music playing softly in the background through the means of a record player. That is another reason clarisse despised your cabin; the music.

There is a chandelier hanging from the ceiling with artwork of all kinds of people procreating with one another. On the second floor lies the bedrooms of the children of Eros. Clarisse only knows that because…

Her face turned a subtle shade of pink, barely noticeable on her skin, but the warmth was all the same.

“so, why are you here?” your sticky sweet voice tore clarisse from her thoughts— thoughts she tries her best to… forget.

she cleared her throat— “I wanted to escape this holiday but obviously i came to the wrong cabin,” she lied through her teeth, gesturing to the many heart and love balloons and decorations littering your cabin.

You smile, “You definitely did. This is the last place you should come to on Valentines. Why not go to Eris cabin?” you question, obviously not catching the not-so-obvious hint clarisse thought dropped for you.

“Clearly. and those kids are lame.” she crossed her arms, scanning the area. Your cabin was something else. She felt her cheeks warm once more at the people making out along the stairs of your home, rushing upstairs to the soundproof bedrooms.

Her gaze flickered away, catching yours. Your eyes were red, same as your fathers. They were filled with so many things clarisse could only put her finger on, but all she knew is that her words always died in her throat at their gaze.

“Well, you are welcome to stay, anyway.” you hum, tucking some hair behind your ear as you shifted your weight to a different leg.

Clarisse stood standing with many various of feelings— her knees were uncharacteristically weak, tummy doing summersalts inside her belly, hands shaky as all she wanted to do was—

“come on,” you motioned her over, a strange smile on your face. Clarisse felt herself become uncharacteristically excited as you led her up the stairway to your bedroom, her steps close behind yours as you waved to your siblings in the halls as they sent you a teasing smile before retreating back into their own rooms, with someone who bore little clothes.

Clarisse would never forget the first time she sat foot in your room— a cold winter night, a heated moment— something she would never forget, even though she tried.

as you lead her down the familiar hall, music played lightly from the stairways entrance, echoing throughout the cabin. The sight of your door came to her view, your hand twisting the handle and revealing your room.

Clarisse got immediate flashbacks to the last time she was here, knees once more weakened by the remembrance.

You gently slid your hand down her arm, pulling her into your room and closing the door. Clarisse looked around nervously— your room wasn’t very decorated, only a few things representative of love here and there- most likely gifts from your father. You sat on your bed, eyes pulling clarisse in by the throat as she sat beside you.

It was an awkward silence— at least on her behalf, valentine’s day was always an opportunity to seem unhappy. but as she sat with you, the tension in the room was chewing her skin and muscles off her bones.

the bed shifted for a second, and Clarisse looked over to you— your red eyes staring daggers into hers.

They were so beautiful, a blood like red— so many emotions swarming in them— so many things to represent who you truly where— they held passion, desire, sexuality, lust, danger, action, drama, joy, stress, radiance.

Clarisse could barely hold herself back as your smile encased her in a cage, trapping her, tormenting her— The cinnamon skinned girl was about to make a daring move- but you did first.

You slammed your lips to Clarisses, bed creaking slightly from the fast, sudden movement of your action— but clarisse waisted no time kissing you back. Your lips fell into sync together, dancing in a rhythm that was so perfect you wanted to melt into her.

Her hands landed on your hips, and yours in her soft curly hair— she shoved you down, back meeting the soft pink sheets of your bed, the sound of you two devouring each other the only sound in your room other than the faint valentines music bouncing through the walls.

You pulled her hair, a soft groan leaving the girls lips as she trailed her kisses down to your neck. You hummed, completely emersrd- the feeling of her lips on you was so sweet— you wanted to faint.

But you quickly realized that it wasn’t nearly as cute as you thought, as a sharp pain ate at your skin where she was feeling on your neck. You gasp, the warm feeling of blood barely falling from your neck. She’d bit you.

“clarisse-“ she silenced you with her own lips, the taste of your blood swarming between your mouth and hers, and you melted into the kiss once more.

the kiss was harsh, filled with desperation from both parties, hands touching every possible part of each others body as you lay on your bed.

You weren’t sure, but you guessed this was her way of asking you to be her valentine.

and being the daughter of Eros, there was no better way to ask.

[moni-logues]

Kintsugi 14

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, non-idol!au, angst, smut, tiny bit of eventual fluff

Summary: In a fit of spiteful, post-break-up self-improvement, you sign up to a baking class. Yoongi, in a bid to appease his demanding girlfriend, signs up, too. Determined to make him your friend, you end up with more than you ever imagined.

Word count: 6k

Content: SMUT WARNINGS!!! (hoooorayyy!!!) oral sex (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, nipple play

A/N: unbeta'd!! literally just finished writing it!!! hooray for these two finally getting it on!!!

Chapter Thirteen | Masterlist | Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fourteen - Me, too

Part of you couldn’t believe it was happening. Another part of you couldn’t believe that it hadn’t been happening all along. You kept your hands on Yoongi’s face, not breaking the kiss, as you moved, straddling him and sitting down into his lap. It wasn’t close enough. You were filled with an intense longing, that expanded in your chest like a balloon waiting to burst.  

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered to Yoongi, your lips barely leaving his to say the words before you pressed them together again.  

“What?” 

You kissed him twice more before you could answer. 

“I don’t know; I just feel like I’ve missed you. We haven’t spoken for a week and I...”  

Your heart hiccupped and you took a breath, your face still close enough to his to smell the tang of whiskey in his mouth. 

“I thought it was all over,” you whispered.  

“I’m so-” 

You put a hand over his mouth; you didn’t need him to keep saying it. You didn’t want him to be sorry. That didn’t matter anymore. Not now. Not now you were right where you wanted to be.  

“You don’t have to keep saying it. It’s ok. I understand. It’s ok.” 

Yoongi was starting to shake his head, to argue with you even while you still had your hand over his mouth, but you wouldn’t have that either. You replaced your hand with your mouth, wove your fingers in his hair, and sucked on his bottom lip, grazing your teeth against it lightly. Yoongi’s hands were on your legs, just resting, and you had to move them for him, picking them up and placing one on your hip, one on your waist, your T-shirt lifting just enough to bring his palm in contact with your skin. His hands were cold—they always were—and goosebumps skittered across your skin. You moaned, encouraging, when he squeezed, his grip tightening on you.  

You wanted him to want this as much as you did; you were burning up with it. You wanted every inch of him, every ounce. You knew that it wasn’t exactly true, but it felt like it had been a year; it felt like you had been waiting for this since you met. Something unlocked inside you, unleashing things that had been bottled up so tightly, it took you months to realise they were there. But you knew now and you wouldn’t be forgetting. You were all in and your desire, your greed, for Yoongi was enormous.  

He wanted it. You. His skin felt aflame with it. His stomach flipped when you moaned into his mouth, when you rolled your tongue over his, when you shifted slightly on his lap. It was difficult not to fight it because he had been fighting these feelings for such a long time. Denying them, at first, refusing to accept them; trying to convince himself they were something else, something different. And then a different kind of denial: a denial that said he was fine with it, a denial that said he was happy being your friend, kept at that distance as you held others closer, a denial so sure that he hadn’t even recognised it was there. Finally, a gut-wrenching battle every time you smiled, every time you laughed, every time you so casually crossed into his space, inserted yourself there, your legs resting over him on the sofa, your head on his shoulder, your hand in his as you skipped down the road. He knew he was weak; he knew he was powerless in the face of your brightness. Shadows disappear under the light of the sun and so did his. You made him feel happy in a way that hurt because he wasn’t whole. Because there was always a gulf of two or three inches between him and you, whom he loved, without admitting that he loved.  

But now you were in his arms, your skin warm under his palms, your mouth sweet, your tiny little moans like arrows straight into his heart. And he wanted all of you. Every inch. Every ounce. Every drop of you that he could get. He wanted to melt right into you like sugar into water.  

Then you lowered one hand from his hair and ran it down his chest, your fingers toying with the hem of his shirt and the butterflies in his stomach turned to snakes.  

He wanted all of you. That much was indisputable. But there were things he didn’t want you to see. Not yet anyway. Not now. He had barely made it over here with his life and sanity intact. He couldn’t do more. He put his hand on yours, gently, not moving, just stilling. You pulled back and the space between you felt cold. 

“Are you ok?” you asked, your hand tangled in his where he had stopped you. 

He nodded and tried to think of what to say, of how to say it, of how to get out of saying it. You touched your nose to his.  

“What is it?”  

He cleared his throat. 

“Um, can we maybe get off the floor? My legs are going numb.” 

You giggled and stood, taking his hands in yours to pull him to his feet, too, leading him to the sofa. Yoongi grinned, relieved for a second to have dodged the bullet, his mind still working furiously to think of how to put you off a second time without having to reveal even more brokenness to you. 

As you walked the few paces to the sofa, there was so much more distance between you than there had been before and it almost felt like fresh air, like you had been drowning in Yoongi. Drowning happily. You felt dizzy, a little giddy, like laughing until your stomach hurt. It fizzed in you like a shaken can of coke.  

You made Yoongi sit, then pushed him backwards so he was lying, and took your place on top of him. You were happy kissing him. Just being this close to him. The feeling of his hands on your skin and the taste of his tongue and him being yours, you would take it.  

You twisted your hands into Yoongi’s hair and he sighed a breath of relief. Figuratively. Literally, he felt breathless, heart pounding and chest heaving, as it had been when he was standing outside your door, but better this time. All good. All you. All the breathless anticipation that had led to this, all the lovesick sighs and hitched breaths he’d tried to hide, all the days and weeks and months that he’d believed this would never happen evaporating into nothingness, filling the air with sweetness. He was terrified of being seen by you–literally–but he wanted to see you, touch you, taste you, all of you. He wondered if he could have it both ways. If you would let him just give to you, if you would let him hide for tonight even as he asked you to bare yourself.  

It ached in him, like a deep stretch, yearning for you, for your body, for the feel of it beneath his hands, for the sounds you might make, for showing you that he could be good to you. He slipped beneath your top once more, higher and higher, up your waist and past your ribs, until he could squeeze your breasts, rub a thumb over a nipple and feel it harden, until your lips opened and out fell a sigh of contentment, your hips slightly shifting over his.  

You bit down on Yoongi’s earlobe to try to stop the whine escaping you. You’d always been sensitive and he was being tantalisingly gentle with you, in a way that felt teasing, felt like breadcrumbs, felt like anticipation building in your gut and dripping in your underwear. You felt him shift beneath you, rising so you were both sitting and then pushing you back further, turning the tables so now you were on your back. You complied willingly, happy to be wherever he would put you, as long as he kept kissing you, as long as he kept touching you.  

When he dipped his head, you thought he was going to kiss your mouth, but he planted his lips against your neck, trailing down onto your chest.  

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered as he licked over your T-shirt, soaking the cotton and sucking at your nipple beneath it. “Yoongi...”  

He pulled back and looked at you with eyes as bright and clear as you’d ever seen them. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked with the hem of your top in his hands.  

You nodded and lifted yourself up so he could pull it over your head and discard it onto the floor. And then your back arched as Yoongi’s hot mouth met your skin, as his tongue made a wet stripe across your chest, as he closed his lips around the tight, hard bud of your nipple and grazed his teeth gently over it.  

“Fuck,” you whispered, reaching down for Yoongi’s T-shirt, its hem out of reach but you grabbed at it anyway, pulling it up.  

He stopped immediately, his hands flying to yours, holding them still, stopping you.  

“But-” you began, confused now because you were just following his lead. 

He shook his head and you could see the reluctance in his face as his mouth chewed around words he didn’t want to say. Because saying there’s something you don’t want to say is, in some ways, as bad as saying the thing itself. By saying you don’t want something to be seen, you acknowledge that there is something to see. And Yoongi didn’t even want to think about that. He was cursing himself for stopping you but he was itching with the discomfort of disclosure, having to strip back even more of himself. Even though you wanted him. Even though you were right there, so close he could almost feel your heart beating. It still felt contingent. Contingent on him not being worse than you thought. Contingent on him being everything he wanted to be for you. He didn’t want to be letting you down, disappointing you so soon, not when he was so close to being so happy. 

“I don’t want,” he started, slowly, “I don’t want to take it off. I don’t-” 

He paused to clear his throat and you were already nodding, your hand flat on his back now, no longer grasping but soothing.  

“I don’t want you to touch me,” he said, his voice quiet, strained with the embarrassment of saying it.  

Your stomach flipped and you felt too many things at once: sad, disappointed, angry on top of your heady desire and longing for him. Sad because Yoongi, who was the most beautiful person in the world to you, no matter what you had or hadn’t seen of him, did not want to be seen or touched by you. You could barely stand not being touched by him, regardless of your body, regardless of what it looked like or how you felt about it; sometimes friend and sometimes foe, it was nevertheless the conduit by which you could transmit yourself to others, to him. It was up against the barrier of your skin that your heart pressed, trying to reach the rest of the world. It was your fingertips that traced his face; your skin that shivered with goosebumps when he touched you; your stomach that swirled, nervous and excited, when you saw him; it was your body that allowed you to experience all this, and you wanted him to feel it, too.  

You were also greedy. In the back of your mind, there was a distantly ringing bell that said you had decided it would be a good idea to move slowly, to pace yourself, to not gorge on this all at once, but it was one that you had stopped attending to. And you were disappointed because you wanted to see Yoongi, because you wanted to touch him, because you wanted the heat and sweat of your body against his. Not even everything would be enough – there was no such thing, not for you, not when it was Yoongi.  

And you were angry. Not with Yoongi, but with whoever and whatever made him feel like he couldn’t show himself to you. For spoiling this for him, for not allowing him to let go, for taking up space in his brain that they didn’t deserve.  

“At all?” you asked, trying not to sound put out; you would do whatever he wanted, whatever he needed; you wanted to do that.  

He shook his head.  

“Ok.” 

You sat up then, pushing Yoongi onto his knees above you, and you took his hand. 

“Just so you know, though, I do want to. I won’t. It's ok, I promise I won’t, but I want to say that I do want to. I want to see you and I want to touch you, ok? I want you, totally. And I’ll wait.”  

He nodded and avoided your gaze and squeezed your hand hard. You wanted him to look at you, to look in your eyes and see that you meant it, all of it: that you wanted him and that you would wait and that everything was ok, everything would be ok.  

“Yeah, I just...” He cleared his throat again. “Not now. Not forever, but it’s too much. I ca-” 

“It’s ok. We can do whatever you want.” 

When he did finally meet your gaze, his eyes were bright again, a glint in them that held wicked promise. He leant down and kissed you, eyes never leaving yours. He spoke with his lips against yours. 

“I want to taste you.” 

Yoongi didn’t believe he was good at much, but he knew he was good at this. He could make up for all his failings with his tongue lapping at your core, lips sucking at your clit; he would show you he was worth something. He had to. He had disappointed you enough.  

He took your face in his hands and kissed you, deep and slow and soft, a quiet, rumbling moan in his chest as he lay you down again, as he palmed at your breasts, as he sucked a trail of wet kisses down your neck, as he swirled his tongue around your nipple and lower, as a breathy whine escaped you when he pressed his fingers against your clothed core, as your hips lifted and tilted and rocked against his hand.  

You whimpered when he manhandled you, pulling you around, pulling your leggings down to your ankles and off, your underwear, too, so you were sitting, naked, at the edge of your sofa, skin shimmering with hot-blooded anticipation. When he kissed the inside of your thigh, you gasped, his mouth so warm on your goose-pimpled skin. You couldn’t even have spared a second to think about your legs, what they looked like, how embarrassed you’d been by them in times past because Yoongi was squeezing you with his hands and looking at you with naked desire. His tongue poked out and he licked his bottom lip before sucking it between his teeth and taking a sharp inhale.  

“Fuck,” he gasped on the exhale. “I’m going to enjoy this.” 

You were waiting for it, his lips, his tongue, the wet heat of them mingling with the wet heat of your arousal, the slickness of your lips and cunt, but it was his hands first, his thumbs pressing against you, spreading you open, still with that hungry focus in his eyes, drinking you in. But you couldn’t stand it; you needed him now. He had said he wanted to taste you so why wasn’t he tasting already? 

“Babe,” you whined, drawn out and high-pitched. 

When Yoongi responded, it was with a low chuckle, deep in his chest, that sent a thrill right through you.  

“Ok,” he replied, gentle, and he pressed his lips to your thigh again, then the crease in your hip, and then all over, but just the lightest of kisses, barely there, barely felt, barely registering a tingle against the searing need already screaming in you.  

But he was just getting himself acquainted. He was trying to slow himself down because he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. He wanted this to be right; he wanted to put his best foot (mouth, hand, fingers, whatever) forward and he needed to start light. He wanted to take his time, devour you slowly, unravel you carefully like the finest silk, all tangled. He could feel you getting restless beneath his hands, hear the way you huffed, impatient with him, and he took one final second to remind himself not to eat you all at once. Then he pressed his tongue to your slick, dripping slit and felt you shudder. 

He gathered your arousal and pushed it up, swirling around your clit, once, twice, over and over and you were losing yourself to it, the world receding, fading to black. You tried not to lose control, not to rush through this – though you were close, so close already, so easy for him: did he know? Could he tell? Did he know you were like putty in his hands, that everything he was doing to you was setting you alight? That you had been waiting for this for months and you wanted to savour every second, even though he was pushing you closer to the edge with every lap of his tongue, every squeeze of your thighs, every moan vibrating through his lips.  

You were panting, breathlessly chanting his name, just Yoongi, Yoongi, no one else, because it was him, and you could call anyone ‘babe’ (you did, in fact, call anyone ‘babe’, any pet name you liked), but there was only one Yoongi, only one man doing this to you right then and right there.  

And right then, right there, he sealed his lips around your clit, his tongue alternately soft and hard, lapping and flicking. Right then, right there, he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them hard and insistent against you, and you couldn’t stop the low, deep moan that tumbled from you, nor the rocking of your hips. You couldn’t help the trembling and tensing of your thighs, the way they tried to close on Yoongi’s head, as you burst with pleasure, gushed with it, tingling all over as Yoongi drank you in. You came with his name on your lips and were seeing stars on the ceiling as you lifted your head, with heavy eyes and a heaving chest, to see Yoongi looking straight out you, putting his fingers in his mouth and licking you off them. 

“Oh my god,” you gasped, your head falling back onto the sofa. “You’re so fucking hot.” 

With bones that still felt like rubber, you slid from the sofa and into Yoongi’s lap. You could feel that he was hard and you were relieved, hopeful that it meant he wanted it, wanted you, even if he didn’t want to be touched. Yet. You clasped his face between your hands and kissed him, hard, shifting when he wrapped his arms around you and shuffled you into just the right place, just the place where he could feel your wetness meet his own through the fabric of his joggers.  

He pulled away to kiss your cheek, your jaw, your neck, and asked, with a voice gruff and strained,  

“Can I fuck you?” 

The sigh of relief came out of you like a whimper and you kissed him again. 

“Yes,” you muttered, your lips barely leaving his. “Yes. Please.”  

You scrambled off him and stumbled to the bathroom, crossing your fingers that you had condoms somewhere in there. Luck was on your side.  

You fell to your knees and Yoongi took the little foil packet from you and nodded for you to climb onto the sofa. You lay back and he knelt over you, eyes roving, lip caught between his teeth. You tentatively reached out a hand and palmed at him over his clothes; his eyes fluttered shut and you watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He placed his hand over yours and moved it away, so he could push his trousers and his boxers down, and you watched with rapt attention. 

Yoongi didn’t look at you; he chose not to see you seeing him, even just this much of him. A blush he wished he could hide crept onto his cheeks because he realised that this was the first time, that last time, he had been behind you, your back to him, face down against a sideboard, but now, your eyes were on him. Your eyes were wide and open and shining and he could feel the heat of them as he tore open the packet and put on the condom. He didn’t have the wherewithal to think about your reaction to him; he still had something to prove.  

He shifted you again and you loved the way he did it, that he grabbed you and moved you, that he knew what he wanted and took it. You wanted him to take you. He stuffed a cushion beneath your hips and pressed your thighs apart.  

“Please.” 

You had intended it as a whisper but it came out a whine. The ache in your cunt was sharp and strong and your body trembled with need. You were barely touching, your legs resting over his, one of his hands on his thighs, the other on his cock, and you wanted more. You wanted to be smothered, overwhelmed, suffocated by him.  

“Please,” you said again and he finally flicked his eyes to yours.  

You gasped as he smirked and pressed his tip against your entrance; you were nodding fervently, panting ‘yes’ as he pushed inside.  

Yoongi had to close his eyes, had to focus on going slowly; he wanted this to be good for you, far more than he cared what he got.  

“Are you ok?” he asked, risking a quick glance at your face.  

Your affirmative reply was barely breathed, high and tremulous, and Yoongi might have mistaken it for a lie, for you saying what he wanted to hear, for uncertainty, but your hands were clawing at him, pulling him down by the shoulders, bringing his face to yours so you could kiss him; your legs were lifting, wrapping around his back as he bottomed out. You moaned into his mouth as he pulled back and tipped your hips so that when he pressed in again, he hit you exactly right, and you clenched around him. 

It would have been a lie for Yoongi to say that he hadn’t thought about this at all over the last eleven months. But it wasn’t a lie to say he’d tried not to. He’d tried not to think of you like this: wet and naked and kissing him, warm and pliant and squeezing him tight as he fucked you slowly. He’d tried not to fantasise about this even though he thought he’d never have it because it didn’t feel right. It hadn’t felt right to think about you like this when you were only friends, when it wasn’t what you wanted; there was a boundary there and he didn’t want to cross it. But now that you were, now that you really were bare and blushing and breathing heavy beneath him, everything he’d tried not to think came at him.  

In a grossly not safe for work kaleidoscope, he saw this, you, him, the two of you, everywhere. He was fucking you on this sofa and he’d fuck you in your bed, and his bed, and on the floor of every room of his apartment; he’d eat you out in the barely private toilet stall of a club and you’d suck him off in the shower; you’d wake him with your small, warm hands wrapped around his dick; he’d leave work early to come home to you and fuck you on the dining table while dinner got cold; he’d finally make use of the back seat of his car... Every minute drop of desire he’d felt for you came raging forth and he gasped when he realised how close he was, how he could come that very second.  

That wasn’t what he wanted. He tangled his fingers in your hair and kissed you hard, looking into your eyes that looked back at him with a kind of open vulnerability that made him want to cry. He closed his eyes and kissed you again, grateful for you, desperately grateful that you were there, for everything you had ever done, for making the first move, for giving him a second chance.  

He had to slow down. He hadn’t intended to fuck you this fast. He pushed himself up on his hands and looked down your body to where you and he connected and he groaned.  

“Fuck,” he whispered, more to himself than anything. “Fuck, you feel good. Shit.” 

You hummed your agreement and tightened your legs around him. He had to bite his tongue when you said his name, breathy and deep and almost slurred. No one had ever said his name like that before, like you were drunk on him, drunk with desire.  

Because you were. You were full, everywhere. His cock stretched out your cunt and your feelings for him stretched out your heart; your smile stretched your face when you looked at him, sweaty at his hairline, fucked out, mouth hanging open. You hoped this was as good for him as it was for you, because it was really fucking good for you.  

Then he shifted his weight onto one arm and his other hand found your clit. Your head tipped back and your eyes rolled with it as you thundered towards another climax, your breath catching in your chest, a half-uttered exclamation trapped in your throat. Yoongi grunted, his eyebrows knitted together as you came, the sick squelch of him moving through your flooding core making him clench his jaw. If he let himself, he’d come too, but he wanted to fuck you through it, wanted to make sure you were all done, out for the count, before he did.  

Spent, your limbs flopped, an arm falling off the sofa and your legs falling from Yoongi’s back. As if reading your mind, he leant down again, on his elbows now, closer to you, so you could kiss him, so you could taste him and sink your teeth into his bottom lip, so you could feel him groan as he picked up his pace.  

He surrendered to it, let himself into his body to feel it, you. Taut like a tightrope, he was trembling as he slammed his hips against yours a final once, twice, and three times before he came, his face pressed into your neck, your lips next to his ear, calling him ‘baby’.  

He stilled, getting his breath back, careful not to fall onto you, and you both lay quiet for a moment, the rush of your breath the only sound between you.  

You whined, pouting, when he moved first. When he carefully pulled himself out and climbed off the sofa, discarding the used condom and tucking himself back into his clothes.  

“Hey!” you called, when he didn’t come immediately back to you.  

You heard his footsteps grow more distant and you were just waiting for your body to come around so you could turn over, look for him. He was back before that, with a damp towel that he cleaned you up with. The tenderness built a lump in your throat and you swallowed thickly, promising yourself that you weren’t going to cry. You were done with crying.  

Yoongi moved away again and he looked at the towel in his hands, not sure what to do with it. He didn’t know where you put your dirty laundry, wasn’t sure if he should put it there even if he knew because it was damp and damp things would fester if they weren’t dried. He stood in your kitchen, looking left and right, still a little dazed, and he suddenly felt so stupid. Because it had been going so well. And- 

“Hey!” 

He turned around when you called him again and he could see your head over the arm of the sofa, looking at him, frowning and pouting. 

“What are you doing?” 

He held the towel aloft and then shrugged. 

“Where should I, wha-” 

“Throw it on the floor for all I care! Get back here!” 

You were about to feel self-conscious of your neediness, self-conscious of your nakedness next to Yoongi, fully-clothed, but he grinned and it seemed so genuine, so unguarded, his smile so wide that you forgot to. You shuffled over on the sofa so he could lie on his back and you could drape yourself over him. You had to turn his face with your hand so you could kiss him, had to hold it there so you could look at him some more. You saw the pink at the tips of his ears reach his cheeks, noticed that he didn’t hold your gaze. You giggled and kissed his cheek. 

“You’re so funny,” you said. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re being all shy and cute but five minutes ago, you were so confident, even smug about getting me off.” 

Yoongi’s mouth twisted and you rushed to make sure he didn’t take it the wrong way. 

“I liked it. The confidence is well-deserved, trust me-” and you pressed another kiss to his cheek, “it’s just funny seeing you like that, and now like this.”  

Yoongi cleared his throat and nodded but still didn’t look at you when he spoke. 

“I’m good in bed; I know I’m good in bed-” 

“-I’ll say-” 

“It��s not-… It’s actually not that hard to be good if you pay attention. I know I- I can give you what I want to give you-” 

“Like two orgasms?” 

Yoongi pinched his lips together as he tried not to laugh and the blush on his cheeks deepened. 

“Something like that... It’s just... This part, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what you want.” 

You shrugged. 

“I want this.” 

He looked at you, his face an open question. 

“Yeah,” you affirmed. “Don’t you? Are you not a cuddler? Do you not like cuddling?” 

Yoongi shrugged. 

“I do-” 

“Oh, well, thank god, because you may have noticed, I’m kind of a cuddly person. I need them to live.” 

He didn’t fight his smile this time. 

“I had noticed.” 

He turned to you voluntarily then and you took the opportunity to kiss him. You kissed him lightly at first, but you couldn’t help yourself going in for another, for more this time, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth, gliding your tongue over it, rolling it over his when he opened up. You could have lain for hours doing just this, just this much.  

“I’m happy you’re here,” you whispered against his lips. 

“Me, too.” 

You dragged yourself back, knowing you were wandering so close to the edge of being truly drunk on him, too giddy and loved-up to ask the questions that were hovering at the edges of your brain. 

“Um,” you began, and it was your turn to not want to look at him. “Where do we go from here?” 

“Bed?” 

You snorted and playfully slapped at his chest. 

“No, I mean, like... us. Are we- like, we, are we together now?” 

You tried not to be nervous because he said he felt it, had feelings, wanted you. And he had fucked you like he meant it—it had felt like he meant it, hadn’t it? -- so you shouldn’t be nervous. But you were.  

“Do you want to be?” he asked back. 

“Yes.” 

“Me, too.” 

And you were going to respond, to say more, to kiss him one more time, but he spoke first. 

“I want to take you on a date.” 

“A date?” 

“Yes, a date. If you want.” 

Yoongi was already anxious about it. About what to do and where to take you and whether or not you’ll like it, whether or not you’ll have a good time, will it change things or will he do the wrong thing—but he wanted to do it. He had talked himself into this (with a little help from Namjoon and Suri) with the truth: he trusted you and you never ran away from him. You still hadn’t run yet; you were still naked in his arms, telling him you needed cuddles to live and it hit him again: you’d always been like this. You had always been coming towards him, even when there were other people, or when things went wrong or things were bad, you were always coming to him; you never walked away from him, never left him. Even after last week when he had let you down, broken your heart, you still let him come back to you. So he was going to do this. He wanted to be everything he could for you; he wanted to be everything or at least die trying, so yes, he would take you on a fucking date. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest. Of course you wanted to go on a date. And it filled your heart with a soaring relief, that he had thought about it, that he was thinking about it. That there was something beyond the edge of this sofa, the end of this night. He had kissed you and fucked you and he was still holding you now and he was looking at tomorrow or tomorrow’s tomorrow and making plans for it. There was a future and you weren’t the only one looking at it.  

But you still had to check. Because you couldn’t be wrong again. Not with Yoongi. You had to make sure you were on the same page, completely, that this was it, that he was yours, that you were his. And if he uttered the word ‘casual’ or said you’d ‘see how things go’ or anything that implied he wasn’t both feet in, you thought you would burst into flames, spontaneously combust and never come back to this realm again. So you had to ask.  

“Babe?” 

He hummed his response. 

“Are we... Is-” You paused, cleared your throat, and took a sharp, decisive breath. “Are you my boyfriend now? Do you want to be?” 

“You want that?” 

You were frustrated that he couldn’t just answer, that you had to be the one to say it first again. You knew why, you understood, but your guts still twisted that he fired it back at you, that he didn’t just say it, that he couldn’t tell you what he wanted, that he wanted you. You knew he’d say it if you did, but it somehow didn’t make it easier to say. 

“Yes, I do.” 

You heard Yoongi’s sigh of relief as you let out your own. 

“Me, too,” he said. 

“I don’t want to see anyone else,” you clarified further, needing this to be absolutely explicit. “This is it for me. You.” 

Yoongi’s arms reached around you and he squeezed as he kissed your hair. He sighed lightly, breath washing over you. 

“Me, too. I haven’t wanted anyone else since the day we met.” 

Chapter Thirteen | Masterlist | Chapter Fifteen

tags: @chimmisbae, @idkjustlovingbts @miriamxsworld, @quarter-life-crisis2, @tarahardcore, @simp47koreancrackheads, @xyahrinx, @olyd, @diorh0seokie, @thelilbutifulthings, @acquiescence804

[argisthebulwark]

Like Real People Do

summary: Whether it's for protection or social necessity you need a husband. He's your first choice, but falling in love was not part of the plan. (marriage of convenience trope) gn reader, no pronouns or yn used feat: Farkas, Vilkas, Brynjolf, Teldryn warnings: very brief mention of blood/injury, brief nightmare scene

"Of course." Farkas agrees without a second thought. The friend who laughs off all your worries - he's never failed you before and he won't now. "Just don't expect a fancy proposal on such short notice." Marrying Farkas isn't too hard. You practically choke on butterflies when he stands before a Priest of Mara and pledges himself to you, words dripping with sentimentality. You'll get to keep the family property and he gains a home away from Jorrvaskr - it's a win for you both. It's terribly easy to fall for him. The little crush you've harbored since childhood becomes harder to ignore. It isn't helped by the sickeningly domestic habits Farkas adopts; a kiss on your cheek when he's leaving for an assignment, late nights spent in front of a crackling fire, his hand on your back when you're both in the kitchen. You bite your tongue but gods, it gets difficult. It's hard to laugh it off when he jokes about finding you a proper husband, heart aching when he bids you goodnight and shuffles off to another bedroom down the hall. No sense in ruining a good thing, you tell yourself, gazing at the broad expanse of his back. Your comfortable life comes crashing down when Vilkas returns alone. He tells you that something wrong, that nothing went to plan, but you cannot hear him over the waves of terror. Days of promises and apologies fall on deaf ears. They can strategize all they want - your heart cannot bear another moment without him. You should have told him. Guilt threatens to choke you - would he be safe if you'd told him how desperately you love him? Would he be a bit less reckless if he'd known? Boots crashing against wooden floors. Doors flung open. Vilkas barks orders and your heart is in your throat. His armor is shredded and old blood is dried across his chest but he's here. Farkas is tripping across Jorrvaskr and hands you know so well clasp your face, a quick kiss enough to leave you faint. "Sorry I worried you." Farkas mumbles against your lips and you cannot hold it back any longer. "I'm in love with you." You blurt the words out, terror chilling your blood. A short burst of laughter is all you hear before he's kissing you again, thick arms dragging you entirely against his body.

Vilkas seems constantly prepared for you to admit that it's all been one long joke. Even when his hands clasp yours in the temple of Mara there's an odd reservation in his expression you've never witnessed, a shyness he'd never exhibited. "It's not like it has to mean anything." You explain, though the twist in your gut says others. "It's these damned inheritance laws! I couldn't let the family farm be sold off -" "Stop talking before I reconsider." Sharing a home with him is odd. Not bad in any sense, it is just strange to see Vilkas so dressed down. You're allowed a view of him you're fairly certain no one else has gotten before - hair tied back and face scrubbed of war paint, armor tucked away and wearing a loose sweater. It's difficult to look at him - your husband - and not fall a bit more in love with him each time. "You're staring." Vilkas frequently interrupts your train of thought. It sets your cheeks aflame and you quickly whirl back to whatever task you'd been ignoring in favor of gazing at him. His presence is quiet but Vilkas continues to surprise you. Over the months your worries are quelled as his belongings are slowly shifted from Jorrvaskr to your home. A coat rack near the door overflows with cloaks and sheaths he's collected and his books are squashed next to yours on every shelf. Days off are spent lounging on your couch or following along through all of your duties, his hand hovering near your arm on rainy days. Teeth the size of your forearm growing closer with each second. You try to run but your legs move too slow, arms pumping as if you're moving through mud. You try to scream but choke on the thick layer of smoke. Talons close around your middle, scales scraping along your bare skin and god it hurts so bad, the beast's hide is burning - Gentle hands shake you back to reality. Orange light spills in you struggle to breathe but he is here, brown eyes flooded with worry. Sweat coats your back when Vilkas wrenches you across the bed, shaky fingers combing messy hair away from your face. "You're alright." Vilkas grumbles, tucking you close to his chest. The horrible memories felt so awfully real but Vilkas' presence forces them into the past, the cool metal of his ring a comfort while he rubs calming circles over your back. "Just a nightmare." He doesn't spend another night in the guest room. You tell yourself that it's for his peace of mind, surely he'll mutter something about losing sleep due to your nightmares any moment. The air is thick with tension when you slip into bed with Vilkas, expecting a lecture and finding nothing but soft hands drawing your head onto his chest.

You should've known better than asking him. Brynjolf's grin makes you consider rescinding the desperate plea and trying to find some other way out of your predicament. There's got to be a better option, right? "'Course I'll be your fake husband. We can head to the temple right now if you're ready." Too easy. You've prepared talking points in anticipation of his arguments - never did you expect him to simply agree. "Nevermind, I'll figure something else out -" "Too late, love." Nimble fingers raise your hand to his lips, a dramatic kiss placed along your knuckles. "Best wear something nice if we're gettin' hitched." There had to be a better option, right? Sure, your parents have been on your ass about your future and you'd rather die than admit to being a leader in the Thieves Guild, but is a husband truly the best distraction you could offer them? And is he the best choice? It's annoying how good he looks in fine clothing. Brynjolf's voice overflows with false adoration when he stands before your family and vows his life to yours, green eyes so intense you don't dare break eye contact. Goosebumps appear over your skin when he cups your hands. He's selling it too well, for a brief moment even you believe he's madly in love. Even more obnoxious is how good he is all of this. Regaling your family with carefully edited tales of your exploits together as adventurers, an affectionate hand on your lower back or a stray kiss on your cheek. You aren't sure why your blood is heating so much but you're desperately regretting your choice in fake husband. "You're too good at this." You mumble, teeth grinding against the urge to lean into his touch. "You asked for this, love." There's something unreadable in his eyes when he stares back at you, the low pitch of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. "You wanted a distraction, right?" Luckily, your family doesn't visit too often. Brynjolf's teasing comments are easy to handle around the Flagon but each time a holiday approaches your gut tightens. Soon, parents and siblings will descent upon your home, leaving you with no choice but to seek your husband once more. "It doesn't have to be this way, y'know." Brynjolf murmurs late one night. Sharing your bed with him feels dangerous - the rest of your family slumbers down the hall and without their overbearing presence you're alone with the annoying man who makes your heart do backflips. "What do you mean?" You mumble, trying and failing to sound bothered. "We could be - I dunno," from across the bed his fingers find yours, sending little sparks of excitement up your arm. "We could be somethin', right?" Against your better judgment, you cannot deny his words - you could be something great.

"Seems like too good of a deal." Teldryn leans back in his chair, arms crossed and drink ignored. You can't see his eyes behind that damned helmet but can feel the way he assesses you, trying to sus out whatever you're hiding from him. "What do you get out of this?" "Hopefully a discount on your fees." For a beat you're terrified he'll reject you. He studies you a moment longer before letting out a sharp bark of laughter and one ungloved hand smacking at yours. "You've got a deal." Over time, your trips to Skyrim become more manageable. Your chest no longer tightens with anxiety when Gjalund leads the ship into Windhelm's docks. Teldryn's arm loops easily around your shoulders and and carries your pack from shop to shop without a single complaint. You still hear the whispers your title always brings but thank the gods, folks are no longer prying into your personal life. No meddling parents join you mid meal to pitch their child as the rightful spouse to the Last Dragonborn nor do Jarls hint at available property in their Holds. With your husband at your side you get a taste of what's evaded you since that awful day at Helgen - a normal life. "Speak plainly - why did you ask this favor of me?" Teldryn's dry voice sends your heart into your throat. "You're the Dragonborn, I'm sure you could have anyone you want." "That's the problem." Your voice wobbles but you owe him honesty. Dark eyes watch you without judgment, the low orange light of sunset illuminating the tattoos curling over his cheeks. "I can hardly breathe anywhere I go. People want my help or offer their sons and daughters up to be the Dragonborn's spouse. Lords and Jarls want the bragging rights of the Dragonborn choosing their town to settle down in. None of them seem to realize I am a person." "Ah, spoiled for choice." Teldryn chuckles, falling onto your bunk. The ship pitches and send him rolling into your side, a flush in your cheeks when he doesn't move away. "You know what would solve all those issues?" "Hm?" Teldryn's chest is pressed to yours and his hand curves around your jaw, thumb tracing along your lips. You cannot help but stare at him, fully anticipating some awful joke. "If you got yourself a husband." He smirks and your fingers twist into his tunic ready to shove him to the floor. "Tel." "A real husband." "You offering?" "Could be." He's so close it hardly takes any work. Just one little shift and your lips brush, noses bumping briefly before his hand guides your mouth against his. You know that you are falling all over again when his little chuckle against your lips sends your heart ramming against your ribs. "Still seem like too good of a deal?" You mumble, elated by his body pressing impossibly closer to yours. "Kiss me again and we'll talk."

[euesworld]

"My heart bursts aflame at the sound of your name and sparks so hard that it rivals the stars.."

I rise from the ashes, hair on fire and a phoenix gripped steady in fist with lips puckered for a kiss - eUë

[yandere-writer-momo]

12 days for baki Christmas (more like 13 days ahhhh). So I decided to post the first of the fanfics/ headcanons for my beloved moots!

Merry Christmas @thepastelspace 💕💕 I hope your exams go well 🥰

Baki Short Stories: A Gift

Chiharu Shiba x Afab Reader (fluff)

“What is this?” Chiharu held up the neatly wrapped gift (your name) handed him in confusion. The violet wrapping paper and white bow on the gift even matched his signature outfit. Chiharu didn’t think his girlfriend would be so thoughtful…

“I know it’s a bit early before Christmas but I really wanted to get you something.” (Your name) gave him a smile so warm, Chiharu swore he melted. (Your name) was always so sweet… god she made his head spin and his heart flutter. Chiharu felt like a school boy with a crush every single time they interacted. “It isn’t much…”

Chiharu opened the small gift a smiled, the man melted at the contents. A little white teddy bear sat inside with a violet jacket on and a blond pompadour. Did (your name) make him a bear of himself? That was so sweet. How could anyone be so sweet?

Chiharu carefully took the bear out of the gift box and held it in the crook of his arm. He’s never received a gift like this before… one that was made specifically for him. He was so touched…

(Your name)’s dainty fingers wiped away his tears with a smile. He hadn’t even noticed the dampness on his cheeks since his heart was so full. His girlfriend’s action made Chiharu’s cheeks burst aflame. How embarrassing…

Chiharu turned his head off to the side to try to hide the furious blush on his face but she had already seen it. He was seriously the cutest…

“Are you crying?”

“No… there’s just something in my eye is all.” Chiharu grumbled while you giggled. (Your name) wrapped her arms around him and poked his red cheeks.

“You’re so cute, Chichi.” The pet name only made his cheeks turn redder and for him to stutter.

“H-hey! Stop teasing me, woman!”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself from teasing my cute man.” Chiharu scooped her hand up in his and gave it a kiss, the bear still tucked into his arm.

“Thank you, my love.” Chiharu smirked at the blush on (your name)‘s cheeks. Oh how the turn tables have turned. “How about I take you somewhere as a thank you?”

“Okay, Chichi.” (Your name) gave his hand a tender squeeze. “Merry Christmas.”

Chiharu laughed as he lead her away to a restaurant. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

[onebigbroccoli]

More cringy shit I did in my first relationship but every-time they team up - Miles, Gwen, Hobie, Pavitr - Miles cant quite seem to sit still, hes constantly fidgeting and making some sort of sound, more often than not singing aloud while in ear shot of Hobie. This goes on for some time and his volume and confidence begin to go up but he never notices it, he thinks this sudden burst elation and bubbly feelings is just that random.

However Gwen notices this and asks Hobie if he’s noticed and he’s no dunce, of course he’s noticed and finds it incredibly adorable but hasn’t said anything in fears that it might stop. Gwen then poses the question that maybe its because of him, this surprisingly makes Hobie warm and prickly inside his gut, he feels his cheeks aflame with blush.

That night he writes Miles a letter that asks whats with the wonderful singing he’s been hearing lately, asking if he’d consider making him a sample for a song - then Hobie slowly begins to write another question - “Are you singing because of me?” Hesitating to lift the pen off the paper, a brief feeling of hesitation flooded his mind and he thought to scratch it out but couldn’t even bring himself to do it then with his heart a flutter wrote “Do you like me or something, mate?” The weight of a concrete slab rolled off his shoulders and he let out a sigh of relief.

He later handed Miles the note in-between patrols in each others universes.

Miles reading it was spiraled in a panic, unaware his entire demeanor would change each time he was around Hobie, sure he was ecstatic to be around his friends but there was something inside him pining for Hobie’s approval but he couldn’t place why. Now with his stomach a stir of butterflies and lingering doubts of just infatuation or genuine love - the answer obviously being the latter. He began to write Hobie a response but each time he’d get a few words in he’d become flustered and gitty with anticipation. So much so he never finished the letter and accidentally kept losing it over the course of the next couple weeks and was forced to restart it each time.

Edit: also feel free to use this in your fanfic or whatever couple you wish - just becoz it didnt work for me doesnt mean it cant work for someone else! Peace n Love baby!

[theold-ultraviolence]

This Dance

Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: "He’s always watching. From dark corners and stretched out hallways. From his place at the King’s table –  eye like a piercing dagger, or like his sword, forever at the ready, strapped to his hip. His eye, perpetually stuck to your form, moving along with you, wherever you went." // Words: 1k. // warnings: suggestive language but no explicit content.

A/N: Listen. I know I said I was gonna take a break from writing but Aemond has taken over my brain. I'm a newbie to the GOT universe but I literally JUST binged HOTD like in 3 days and I just HAD to run to explore Aemond's voice. Apologies in advance if I'm a bit off with the lore. This is just a little something to explore this character!

He’s always watching. 

From dark corners and stretched out hallways. 

From his place at the King’s table –  eye like a piercing dagger, or like his sword, forever at the ready, strapped to his hip. His eye, perpetually stuck to your form, moving along with you, wherever you went. 

Each time you catch his gaze, it feels like its cut has dug deeper into you, rearranging an emptiness therein your heart, within core. There’s an ember right inside of you, teetering and unstable and ready to burst aflame if only you’d be able to get closer to him. 

Because he’s never touched, or said a thing. 

Because he’s a Prince of House Targaryen, closer to Gods than men. And you’re nothing but a companion.      

Even still, it doesn’t deter him –  always watching, with an intensity you’d never before been a witness to. Always watching, regardless of the horrors he’s lived, of what he’s been robbed off. One would think he’d lose all potency, but the lack of an eye didn’t meddle with Aemond being an observant man. 

Sometimes, you wonder if you’re dreaming it all. Wonder if your time spent inside Princess Helaena’s chambers have driven you to hallucinations where you’re desired by royalty. But it cannot be, as each time your own sight passes his, it is never unmatched.

It’s like a dance, performed at a distance. Two dancers, like magnets, drawn to one another from opposite sides of the ballroom. 

Surely there were some far more experienced in life than you, those that had seen miracles beyond your own little realm here, inside these walls of stone, always by the Princess’ side like the worthy help that you were made to be. But by Gods, you’re sure, that Aemond’s quiet yet fierce beauty should be deemed a wonder of the Seven Kingdoms. 

He’s even watching, as soon as his feet touch the ground after hopping from his mighty Vhagar, and lifting an eye towards the pillar that’s hiding your form, as you’d sneak away from Helaena’s attention the moment you’d heard the roar of his dragon approaching. How he’d been able to sense your presence is beyond you, though you reason he’s just that receptive of his surroundings, as a great assassin should be. 

Tonight, it goes a little differently. 

Tonight, change is in the air. 

You’re wandering the corridors, hiding within the shadows that stretch along the castle for sleep had never come, and like a phantom in the night, sleek and silent, he manifests before you – silver hair a beacon in the darkness, and one uncovered eye glistening like the sapphire that took the place of the other. 

“Evening, my lady.” His voice is grave, yet calm in its cadence. 

You timidly bow, gulping down with surprise, before whispering, “My Prince.” 

His lips twitch in a faint smirk, as they never really curved into a full smile, but you take it gladly. “What is a proper lady like yourself doing up and alone at this time of the night?” 

Emboldened by forces unknown to you, you reply, “I could ask the same thing” and nearly wince at the sudden spike of courage, hoping you hadn’t upset the Prince. 

Yet the effect is the opposite, to your relief and doom, because the way in which his eye darkens does nothing but empower the flames burning at the pit of your belly. 

“My lady, don’t you hold back. I think it’s time we take the next step in this dance we’ve got going between us. Don’t you think so?” 

He steps closer to you, until every intricate ridge of his scar is made visible to you, by the way in which he holds a candle to illuminate yourselves. 

“Your grace, I – I can’t. What you imply…I’m not worthy. It wouldn’t be right, I’m but a –” 

“ – Not worthy?” he cuts your diatribe with that reserved but deadly manner of his, “Have I given you such an impression? Haven’t you noticed the way I admire you, so? Shall I say it explicitly, my lady?”  

The sly man that he is, he mumbles something in High Valyrian that you cannot understand but it must be something truly sinful – must be a spell of some kind, working its magic– for you feel yourself dripping in between your legs, with every roll of his tongue. 

He reaches a callused hand to your cheek and your intake of breath betrays your hesitation. “Shall I…show you?” His nose is but a whisker away from touching yours, his lips are a breath away from kissing you. 

“My lord…” One more time, you meet his gaze, willing your eyes to project all that pent up desire, all that ardent want, all the feelings that you’re just not brave enough to articulate with spoken word for fear of exile, of beheading, of all the punishment that someone like you could be subjected to if an affair with a prince should unfold.

“Do as you wish,” You hoarsely plead. 

“As I wish?” he raises one eyebrow and his chuckle is but a mere puff of air against your mouth. “Careful, my sweet. I just might.” 

His eye scans your body from head to toe as he subtly licks his lips.  “Is the color of your gown a symbol of your virtue?” 

You swear you could combust at any moment, if one of Aemond’s hands hadn’t settled at your waist, if his grip weren’t tightening, bunching up your white nightgown and keeping you on your feet. 

You’re all flushed and speechless, but sane of mind enough to keep the bite in your retort and watch his pupil turn into a wide obsidian, the second you say, “Why don’t you find out, my lord?”

[cvlutos]

Unoriginal but a goody; Riddle finding rough drafts of your love letter to him. Or catching you chanting his name while touching yourself and his feelings on someone actually wanting him closer instead of wanting to run away from him.

♡ R.R | LOVE | FLUFF

He could literally turn into a pile of ash.

Face aflame as his hands shakily hold the crumbled papers, his name in ruined ink and your handwriting, you were confessing your love. He feels dizzy and the longer he stared at the multitude of papers, the closer he felt to falling unconscious on your hardwood floors.

It's not like he purposely ment to spy nor invade your privacy, but he needed your opinion on something rather important. But your weren't answering your phone and he isn't the biggest fan of texting important issues so face to face was the best option. Yet it didn't occur to him your wouldn't be home, he merely assumed you were over sleeping, like always.

So he of course let himself inside, which wasn't uncommon, only to tsk at the pile of crumbled papers across your floor from your desk. It was against the Queens rules to have a messy room Tuesday nights, so he decided to help you. Only to find that these papers weren't in fact notes, but letters and curiosity got the better of him.

The door opens with a soft click, and he feels the ends of his hair stand as he spins around clutching the paper behind his back. You stand, head slightly tilted, as he says hello. But his voice cracks at the end and he coughs nervously.

"Good Evening. I was—well. I am here to speak to you. Apologies for simply walking in—but um, I assumed—"

You wave him off with a small, telling him it's alright. Slipping your bag off your shoulders with an exasperated sigh. The House warden visibly relaxes, crumbling the papers behind he back and dropping them to the floor when you weren't looking. He pulls at his collar and clears his throat. "So—How was your day, dear Perfect."

"Long," you laugh and sigh at the same time, plopping down on your plush bed, "but good. How was yours?"

His eyes flicker to the pile as he sits on your bed, back straight and hands in his lap, "uh, productive... Yes... One could say, I learned quite a lot..."

"Like?" You inquire, undoing the buttons of your vest, having slipped off your blazer and tossed to the side, which Riddle would usually scold you for.

"I—That assertiveness is a admirable quality—" There's a certain firmness and you look at him, brows furrowing, yet he seems deep within his thoughts, clenching his together.

"I also learned... I'm not assertive enough...." He looks at you, before his gaze flickers to your lips. As if releasing his actions, he explodes into another fit of red, snapping his head away.

"Riddle?" The call of his name, sends a hot shiver down his spine and he can't help but scrunch his nose. It isn't a bad feeling, but its—

"Riddle." He looks at you, hands nearly shaking as he lunges for yours. Watching your emotions flicker visibly, before resting on confused, yet intrigued. There's no words exchange, none to be spoken as the gap that once seemed so wide, slowly closes.

Eyes slowly closing, hearts slowly syncing, as passion, inexperience, love danced between pressed lips. His lips tremble and his body is stiff, following only instinct to kiss you. Yet his mind wants to retreat, to pull away, yet his hands finds your waist, fingers sinking into covered flesh, a muffled gasp resounding in your throat, burst whatever magical hold you placed over him. He nearly jumps away, his gloves hands slapping over his arms, eyes wide.

You fall into awkward silence.

"So... Um.... Uh.... I forgot what I was suppose to speak to you about....." He struggles to gather his thoughts, mind spinning. His tongue subconsciously running over his lips, he stills a peek at you and you're staring away.

"... At.. at a better time.... I would like—If you would like also—" He can't finish his words as your agree, and he clears his throat, standing up from your bed, and letting out a cough.

"Your room. It's a mess. And quite against the Queen's Rules. So, you should clean it. Yes." He attempts to save face, slowly backing out of your room, dusting off the imaginary dirt, before giving a short nervous bow or sorts and darting out your room. He fingers graze over his lips, a small smile forming.

He'd like to kiss you again.

[nahoney22]

Outcast (part 2/2)

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Ebenezer Scrooge X F!Reader

word count: 4.5k

•gif is mine, please credit if used•

With you never seeming to leave his mind, what happens when his irritable nephew comes by and offers company for a dinner party this Christmas. Will he accept and will he pick you as a date?

Masterlist

Warnings: none, fluff. Scrooge still a little bit of an arse but we love that for him. Quite a heated 😚, not really happy how it turned out ngl I was rushing towards the end. Not proofread.

Part one | Part two

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Never had Scrooge been so perplexed about his own feelings before.

The ounce of kindness he had shown last week was playing on his mind both for the good and bad. Good in the sense that it made him feel positive to do something for another yet, the outcome was not at all what he expected.

As you kissed his cheek, clearly overcome with joy in that moment, Scrooge felt sickened soon after. He let his guard down so quickly, something he had never done before in many years. Though, he did replay the moment you had leaned into him and placed your soft lips to his cheek. It sent waves of butterflies in his stomach whenever he thought about it or glanced in your direction.

He simply refused to let something or someone like that get to him again. He’s adamant about that, so certain never to feel that weakness… until you walked into his office.

“Sir?”

As he was scribbling furiously, just thinking about you and the little peck on his cheek, the point of his quill almost pierced the parchment on his desk as he gazed up at you - heart aflame.

“Y-yes?” He clears his throat, sitting up straight and pushing his messy work to the side. “What is it?”

You enter, closing the door behind you. “There is an issue with one of these logs you filled out last week.” You say, a little nervous as correcting your boss was something you never wanted to do and even felt a little out of turn in doing so.

His eyes narrow and holds out his hand, gesturing for the book to which you hand over. A small shuddering breath escapes him however as the touch of your fingers briefly touches his own but you don’t seem to have noticed. Good.

As he checks everything over, he’s almost horrified to see that indeed, there was a mistake. It was only a minor error, a simple misplacement of a decimal point but that is besides the point. He never made mistakes.

Eyes glancing down at the date, he cringes mentally to see it was the exact date he had succumbed to some good in his life. “Ah,” he tenses, fingers flexing against his desk as he suddenly finds it hard to look up at you, “I see.”

You nod slowly, feeling quite a little tense yourself. You wouldn’t particularly say that Ebenezer went back to his old ways, but he had been fairly distant with you. Perhaps you hugging him and giving a small kiss on the cheek was out of line. Though, you believed he would have addressed it, surely? So for now, you kept quiet just as he had been.

“It has been corrected.” He notes, making the necessary changes to the book before sliding it towards you, finally glancing up in your direction. Had your skin always glowed that certain way? Subconsciously he swallows the saliva that built in his throat, wiping his sweaty palms on his suit pants under the desk. “Is there… is there anything else I should be aware of?”

You shake your head. “No. That will be all.” Swiping up the book, you turn to leave but stop as an abrupt noise of a chair scraping across the wooden floor caught your attention. Looking over your shoulder, you raise a brow to see Scrooge standing straight, looking at you but his face reads confusion and nervousness. “Is everything the matter?”

“Yes, I uh,” he struggles to find a reason for his sudden burst of bizzare behaviour, “I saw a spider on my desk.”

“Oh,” you begin to walk back towards his desk to deal with the pesky critter but he quickly moves round the front of his desk and holds his hands up.

“That is quite alright. I can deal with it.” His arm extends, a gesture for you to head towards the door and get back to work.

You’re quick to notice his tone seemed different. There was no anger, no snarky comments he just seemed… peculiar. “Well if you insist.” He walks with you to the door, his hand grasping the handle.

“Indeed I do.” He nods firmly but when you smile at him, his knees go weak and he finds himself smiling too. A rare but handsome sight.

You’re both staring at each other, breaths both a little shaky as clearly you both think about the elephant in the room. If you took one step closer to him, you’re bound to be chest to chest and although you find yourself tempted, you know in your mind that it would be foolish. However, you were unaware that he was thinking the same. He could cloud your senses in a matter of moments, he could take you in his arms and tell you that you’re special for making him feel this way. Subtly, his eyes flicker to your lips…He could perhaps kiss you too if you would allow him.

But, before he could open his mouth (if anything was going to be said anyway) the door bursts wide open sending you tumbling onto the ground upon impact.

“UNCLE EBENEZ- oh dear, are you quite alright?”

You’re rubbing the back of your neck as you sit up to see what could have possibly made you fall so much. Vision blurred briefly, you squinted to see two men looking down at you, seemingly worried glances on their faces.

“What do you think you are doing? Barging in here without invitation?” Your boss snaps at the younger gentleman who has now crouched down in front of you, extending his hand to you.

A look of apology plasters the man’s face, once you sit up and get your bearings. “I was just so excited to see you Uncle and to share my exciting news! Now help me first with this pretty creature I clumsily sent flying.”

Scrooge was shooting flames through his eyes at the back of his nephew's head and a wave of jealousy overpowered him just for a brief second. He thought you were pretty? Bah! Only he can express those secret feelings.

Oh, so he knew you were pretty. Dare he say he also thought you were positively enchanting too. He sighs mentally, that simply did not help his case in trying to get this feeble feeling inside him about you to fade.

Both gentlemen take a hold of your arms and in a matter of seconds, you’re hoisted straight onto your feet. One of the men lets you go and you lose your footing just slightly as you didn’t prepare yourself for such a quick helping. Something wraps around your waist and you’re pulled into something tall and slender. Oh yes, your boss.

Eyes widening, you glance up towards Scrooge and are surprised to see how red his face had gotten. You suspected it could be one of three things. One, there’s a window open and a very cold draft has blistered in. Two, the clear anger he had towards this other gentleman or three, the proximity between the two of you. Oddly enough, you wish it to be the third.

Your face cringes a little at your thoughts and you could almost slap the back of your hand for thinking that way about your boss. But dare you admit he had been on your mind an awful lot?

“There! No harm done. Apologies Miss….?” The young man politely asks for your name to which you give it, standing straighter but for some reason, Scrooge’s arm still held you rather close in case you were going to slip if he let go.

“A very beautiful name may I say.” He charmed with a beaming and rather infectious smile. He then looked between the two of you and a curious brow was raised. “Now then Uncle, I was not aware you were courting someone?”

Both of your bodies stiffen and you’re blushing ridiculously. So doing what you think is the right thing, you step out of his grasp and give him a small nod and then turn to his supposed nephew. “N-no it is not like that. I am merely just one of his workers.” You gush quickly, self-consciously straightening out the skirt to your dress.

Harry’s mouth falls into a small ‘o’ shape and then looks to his Uncle again. “Oh that’s a shame as I was wondering if you and my loving Uncle here,” he grins at Scrooge whose face shows nothing but irritance, “would like to come to a Christmas party I am hosting tonight! Well, I say me but it is really Hela.”

“Hela? Who is that?”

“My wife. I suppose you would know that if you had shown up to my wedding last spring.” The tension was a little too thick for your liking. So quietly, you excused yourself and swiftly left Ebenezer’s office.

The pair of them watch you leave and once Scrooge has closed the door behind you, he is already practically growling at his ‘foolish’ nephew.

“She seems nice, Uncle.” He hints a little too playfully for his liking, making the man scoff and move back to his desk and sit back down.

“What is it you want?” He sighed miserably, picking up his quill and getting back to business.

Harry places his hands on the desk, leaning a little down towards his Uncle as if to get his full attention. “I already stated. You, maybe that rather attractive lady you have working for you, my home for a Christmas party tonight!”

Ebenezer pauses for a second and checks a small Callander to his left before returning his gaze back to his work. “Christmas is not for another seven days.”

“It’s an early party! Oh come on, Uncle please? I never see you and Hela is more than thrilled at the thought of you finally making your acquaintance with her.

The older man lets out an obvious heavy sigh and places his quill down. “I think you and I are both aware that my presence is not tolerable, Harry.” He leans back, folds his hands together over his chest and ever so slightly gazes to the window where he saw you. “Besides I also do not think that she will appreciate my company either for the evening.”

There was a doubtful glance on Harry’s face as he looked towards you and then to his Uncle. “I would not be too sure about that…”

Scrooge was quick to pick up on his meaning and merely scoffed once more but it did pique his curiosity. “How so?”

Harry smirks just a tad. “Well, before I interrupted you both I did see the way you were looking at one another.”

He narrows his eyes. “Which is how?”

“You will see.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

He did not how he managed to lure Scrooge into his plan for the evening but he did. And how Scrooge even managed to convince you to come with him was a miracle all by itself.

Alas however, he stood in front of his old and badly cared for mirror as he straightened out his old dresswear and dusted off his shoulders. It was a little looser than he remembered from around twenty years back when he had a more muscular build to him but, he had nothing else. Although critical of others, he’s surprisingly a critical of himself.

He found himself once more, as usual nowadays, scoffing to himself at the thought of trying to impress another but as he grabs his cane and hat, he takes a steady breath and makes way towards your home.

One step, then another and another he feels nerves tingle in his belly as he tries to think of any good conversation starters or anything that isn’t remotely work related too.

Perhaps he could make a comment about the music that will be played. No doubt it will be joyful and full of cheer that already seemed to be giving him a headache before even stepping foot into his nephews home. Or maybe he could compliment her appearance? His eyes widen at the thought, would he even dare? Would it be out of turn for him to do so? As he walked up the cobbled path to your little humble home, he clears his mind, takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

There is some silent cursing from behind the door as you hurried to get your shoes on and wrap a scarf round your neck for the winter season. With everything you needed, you yourself inhaled a deep breath and opened the door to see a pink-cheeked Ebenezer.

“Good evening,” you say softly, steppping out and locking the door behind you before you turn to ace him once more, “you look… very smart, Sir.”

He’s truly blown away by what he sees. Your hair is styled to almost perfection aside from the stray piece of hair that dangled down the side of your cheek. You’re sporting a simple yet elegant looking gown that made you look effortlessly beautiful and there was only a simple slither of makeup on your cheeks. You looked beautiful before in his eyes but now he was a little breath taken.

Your shy yet awkward smile was enough to signal that he had just been stood gawping at you rather than address you so he quickly clears his throat, gives a little stomp of his cane and raises his head. “Thank you ma’am, you too look, uh, quite devine.”

He extends his arm to you, knowing this was probably an okay move to make and his throw was correct once you link your arm though his and make haste.

The walk there is silent, a little awkward at first until Harry’s house came into view. “I was not aware you had a nephew, Sir.”

The topic is a little sensitive for him as it would be for most but your curiosity was not at all one of malice. “I thought I told you that you’re allowed to call me by my name and not Sir.” He replies to you with a pointed expression yet there was flicker of a smile hindering on his face somewhere. “But to answer your question, he is the son of my late sister.”

Your face drops but you do slowly start to remember that there is a picture on hiw desk of him as a young boy with a young girl. There is an ache in your heart and as you begin to apologise he holds up his hand to stop you.

“No need for that. Although I found him barely tolerable, he is still my nephew if that did mean the loss of my sister. Alas, we move forward.” He grumbles the last part. Gods, he really is getting a little soft if he now thinks of Harry as ‘barely tolerbale’ rather than intolerable.

When you both entered Harry’s home, you both had never felt so much like outcasts in your lives. Although your dress was nice it was nothing compared to the gowns that the other ladies were wearing and Scrooge, obviously, stuck out like a sore thumb and folk seemed to avoid him like the plague.

Your coat is removed by one of the servers that Harry must have hired for the evening and even though you protest a little, it was still taken from your shoulders as did your scarf, Scrooge’s hat, coat and cane as well.

“Uncle, Ma’am! How lovely it is to see you both here. Thank you for coming.” Harry yells over the crowd, some odd glances being tossed in your direction. You grow a little self conscious, wrapping your arms around yourself whilst trying to show somewhat dignity. With many prying eyes, looking you up and down the company you’re keeping is not the most favorable. Which is a shame since you did not seem to mind that part.

“This is a lovely… home you have.” Scrooge says through slightly gritted teeth, well out of his comfort zone as he gazed up to the large sparkling chandelier above the pair of you. As expected, the music was terribly cheerful for his taste but from the corner of his eye he sees you humming gently to the music. Maybe the difference in music tastes was enough for him to try and dislike you less which was seemingly starting to feel impossible. Especially when he sees how calm and talkative you are with Hela who comes over.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet the man who likes to hide away from us.” Hela had teased playfully, earning a hearty laugh from her husband and even a small one from you.

Scrooge releases a strained breath, trying to hold in any rude comment he had the desire to make. “Pleasure’s all mine though please, do not get used to it…”

He felt a small nudge to his side and he glanced down at you, a dubious look on his face as you gave him a stern glance. “You have a lovely home.” You beam at Hela, turning your attention back to her. “I’d be glad to come and visit again and I’m sure Ebenezer would too.”

Hela leans into her husband, smiling fondly at the two of you as she swirls the contents in her glass around. “Say, how long have you two been married?”

It was a good job you weren’t drinking tonight because otherwise whatever you had consumed would have been spluttered all over the floor. With a deep inhale of a sharp breath, you felt rather confound. This is the second time this has happened in the space of very few hours and if it were to happen a third, you would feel compelled to say just under a year.

“Not married. She is,” Scrooge clears the thick tension, clearing his throat and holding his chin high, “too good for me.”

Your heart swells a little at his words though there is a small pang of empathy in your mind. Behind the tough exterior, you had definitely seen his soft side and therefore you knew there was good in him. Good enough for you at least.

Before Hela could speak up, seeing the abashed look on your face, the music swells into a more slow-tempered melody. “This song is my favorite.” Harry chimes, taking his wife’s hand in his and leading her to the open floor.

The two of you stand back, watching couple join together in a dance and if you didn’t feel out of place before, you certainly did now.

For some reason, your mouth decides to speak for you before your mind could process. “Do you dance, Ebenezer?”

“Not if I can help it.” He quips without a second thought but when he does think, he looks down to you. “D-do you?”

You don’t meet his gaze, instead smile a little at his stutter. “No.”

As you turn your head, you’re almost breath taken as his eyes bore into your own. They’re intense but not ones that will make you shake in fear - instead - they were ones that caused a bonfire in your heart. “Would you like to go somewhere quieter? The music is a little too loud for me.” You suggest, giving a little white lie in the process.

His heartbeat quickens and although this mind was screaming no, his heart was saying yes. He nods and the two of you quietly leave the room and decide to slip into an unoccupied drawing-room.

When the door closes, you're both alone. The sound of music from the other room does resound off the walls but it was quite nice. Though, you could hear your heartbeat strumming in your ear.

You walk towards the center, hands clasped together at your front as he takes in the architecture. “Your nephew's home really is lovely. He must have done well for himself.”

“Yes, well I would like to imagine that my brother-in-law had sought him in the right direction after mine and my sister's upbringing.” There was a bitterness in his tone, taking a walk round the room and subtly admiring the large pairings and portraits along the walls.

“Life was rough for you?” You question, watching him as he traced a delicate finger along the mantle above the fireplace, expecting dirt but nothing to show.

“Quite. My father was not a kind man and was not a good role model to have.” His shoulders slump slightly as he heads towards one of the many large windows, eyes casting out towards the downward snow. “I had to provide mostly for my sister and mother because although he was a rich man he spent his way into debtor’s prison.” He seethed, closing his eyes tightly as a wave of memories flashed before his eyes.

You watched him and there was a temptation tingling in your fingers to reach out and place a comforting arm to his shoulder but you held back as something didn't seem quite right with you. “Ebenezer, forgive me if I am out of turn to speak this way but you speak ill of your father and his debts. Yet, many people owe you debts.”

Slowly, he turns his head to look at you. As you stand there, twiddling your fingers he understands what you are getting at but was certainly not ready to have his pride shot down by your truthful words. “That is the career path I chose and if people choose to ask for money, I will loan it. If they can not pay me back then I either double it or they themselves can be sent straight to debtors prison too. And owe me debts you say? I like to believe that you are also part of this job are you not? As well as Bob?”

His words were rather high strung, wanting to catch you out as if he should argue with you, as if it would break the mold forming between you two. Though, you raised a brow and gave him an almost disappointed look. “I am merely someone who checks the logs and stacks shelves. I do not communicate with your clients as that is your role. I chose this job as I wanted to do just something no matter how undignified it may seem to others. To do something that was not expected of me.” You speak proud and true, not falling for whatever it was he was trying to insinuate.

“I saw kindness in you Ebenezer. I know deep down you do not want these poor folk we have to end up just like your father did.”

There’s a sting in your words but so painfully true. And that sealed it for him, it was impossible to dislike you. You spoke freely and were not hesitant in your words with him. There was no shying away and the fact you saw the good in him rather than the blackness of his heart meant that he too could believe he was good.

So, he chuckles. A true hearty one at that.

“What is so funny?” You quiz, unsure whether to be offended or not as he approaches you.

When he stops in front of you, he is merely inches away from his chest pressing to yours. “I am amused as to how a lady like you can see so much positivity in someone so cold.” Words just above a whisper, you’re entranced by your boss and you audibly gasped as his hands take hold of your own and he slowly brings them up. “Your hands are rather cold too.”

Jittering breaths, you look down at the hands that held your own and bravely close the gap between you two with just a step closer. “Perhaps you could keep them warm for me?” There’s teasing in your voice and he falters just for a second. His mouth instantly waters and you see his Adam’s apple bop up and down at your proposition.

“I would be g-glad to.” He nods, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and before you know it, your hands are being raised towards his lips and a warm blow of his breath cascades over your knuckles.

His eyes flicker up at you as he does this, seeing your eyelids flutter close as you bask in the warmth of his breath warms your soft hands. Daringly, damned to hell with how inappropriate it was being intimate with his colleague, his lips graze over one knuckle. Then the next. And then the rest.

“S-Sir, what if someone sees us?”

There’s a low chuckle from him that sends vibrations over your body. “I told you not to call me that.”

You hum in slight amusement though you were a little light-headed at the current events. “That did not answer my question.”

“Then,” he pulls his lips away from your last knuckle on your right hand and moves his gaze to the door and then to you, “they will pity you for being seen with a man like me.” For a second there’s a glimmer of sadness in his eyes and so you release one of your hands from his embrace and carefully place it on his cheek.

“Do you know what else is cold?” You say quietly, trying to keep your breath as steady and not unwavered as possible.

“I am unaware. What is?”

In for a shilling, in for a pound.

“My lips.”

His eyes widened at your indirect proposal but your face showed nothing but sincerity. So, he did the thing that he tried so hard not to even think about doing and leans into your touch, arm snaking around your waist until you’re flushed against him. “Is this what you desire? I… I am not a good man.”

With a wry smile you softly nod your head. “Yes, and you are a good man even if you do not see it yet.”

Overcome with the emotion of being wanted, his free hand moves to the back of your head and nestles in your hair as he captures your lips in a somewhat desperate and needy kiss.

You’re almost knocked off your feet as his lips descended on yours, his eyes tightly shut as if he were to open them for it all to be a dream. When you reciprocate, even beginning to move his lips along his, he relaxes.

You could feel your heartbeat speeding up, your other hand placing it to his chest to see if you could feel his; and you can. His head tips, welcoming the feeling of warm and soft lips but he almost faints as your tongue brushes against his lips yet he welcomes the foreign yet exciting new sensation.

Both of your breathing gets a little heavy, fingers tightening on your waist and you gasp as you’re moved back, back pressing to the wall.

Nothing could have expected you for this moment, nothing at all. Although as your tongues probe at one another, swallowing each other’s soft and welcoming moans, you’re completely blown away at how assertive and dominant he became. Especially when one of his hands travels up the bodice of your dress and presses to the side of your neck. His lips leave your now slightly plump ones and you’re shivering in ecstasy as his lips instead caress at your cheek, then your jaw and soon found home on your neck.

Maybe, you both should take this back to his place before you could spoil both of your reputations.

tags for those who wanted a part 2: @8e-h-e8 @simp123321 @jazz-53 @xxsapphire14 @chocotacobread

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