#its alri

[jack-owo-valentine]

.

[n4talia-chaparro]

so um

I asked mika_kit if we could be friends via DeviantART

And now I'm feeling so ashamed that I'm about to block her and pretend that nothing happened

BUT I CAN'T

SHE SEEMS TO BE A COOL PERSON 😭😭😭😭

Her?! 💀 I mean I would block her ass and never interact with someone like her if I were you--

After all, she was called out for sending her underage fanbase to harass someone over a troll account, and..."interesting" accusations idk. Some were true, some may be misunderstanding

[watchmegetobsessed]

MISTAKEN HATRED

A/N: okay im veeery nervous about this one bc its the longest story i've written in probably months and it took me sooo long to finish it so im just praying its not utter shit 🙃 anywaysss, happy holidays guys! it's not overly festive, but it has some vibes so im labeling it as my xmas fic haha feedback is always appreciated! 🎄

WORD COUNT: 6.3k

SUMMARY: Things don't go as smooth as you planned with your bakery's opening, but you're doing your best to overcome the struggles. However there is one person who is hating on your business as if it was his job: Harry Styles. You just wish you knew what you did to earn his hatred...

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

This is not how you imagined the last weeks before your official opening. 

You imagined the interrior to be fully done by now so you can focus on the last touches, ordering the right ingredients and promoting the opening.

Instead, you’re staring at what’s supposed to be your eight tables, intact and put together but it’s all in pieces. You specifically remember the website said they would deliver them done and you wouldn’t have to play puzzles. But they arrived six days late and very much not the way they promised. 

Taking a deep breath you stare up at the ceiling and decide to take the trash out before turning your bakery into Ikea.

“It’s alright. I can do this. I can do anything,” you keep telling yourself as you drag out the trash bags that are almost the size of you. 

You knew opening your own business would be tough. Especially in Eroda, the little town you have some of your earliest memories from, where your grandma used to live, the place that was closest to her heart and it breaks yours to know she couldn’t spend her last years here because she was too sick to live on her own. 

She never asked you to come back here, but the moment you found her recipe books the summer after she passed, you just knew what you had to do. Now it’s been three years and you’re finally opening Nana’s that will bring her warmth and love back to Eroda, or you hope so. 

Pushing the door open with your shoulder, you keep dragging the bags to the containers behind the small shop and you’re so deep in your thoughts you don’t even notice the two people just a couple of feet away.

“Hi, Love!”

You recognize Anne’s sweet, chirpy voice and a smile spreads across your face even before you look up, but the moment you see the person standing next to her, all joy just drains from your body. 

Harry Styles is standing as grouchy and arrogant as always next to his mother, hands hidden in the pockets of his fleece jacket, his unruly curls are tucked underneath his beanie and any normal woman would be into the man, but you. Not after he very clearly let you know you don’t belong here and you should take your business back to the city where you came from. 

You expected some resistance, not much has changed in town in the past decades and you had a feeling some might want to keep it that way, but you guessed older people would riot against your bakery, not a thirty years old grown man. 

“Hi Anne,” you smile back and mustering up all your strength you throw one of the bags into the bin, but you overestimated your muscle work, because it only falls to the edge and almost topples right out. Luckily, you grab it just in time and push it in.

“Oh, dear, those bags are bigger than you! Harry, help her!” 

“No, it’s alri–” 

Before you get to protest, Harry strides over to you and grabs the remaining two bags as if they weighed nothing and throws them into the bin without breaking a sweat. 

Of course he is fit, the man probably runs up the hill carrying twice his weight every morning, because that’s how you can imagine him working out. 

Though you shouldn’t be imagining anything about him.

“Thanks,” you purse your lips and square your shoulders as you face the two of them.

“How is everything coming together?”

Anne has been so enthusiastic about your bakery, she comes around probably every other day, checks in on your progress and always offers her help. 

“Um, it is… okay, I guess,” you let out a tired chuckle. Glancing over at Harry you see him looking to the side, as if he wasn’t even listening, but something is telling you he is very much focused on the conversation.

Yeah, that’s right, I’m still here! Not even your arrogance can chase me away!

Anne cranes her neck, peeking into the shop and she spots the pile in the middle.

“Oh, are you planning to put those together by yourself? Harry, why don’t you help her?”

The moment she suggests, you both protest.

“No, there’s no need.”

“Mum, I don’t really have the time,” he says at the same time, but it doesn’t seem to go through. Anne’s phone starts ringing and she excuses herself, leaving the two of you there. 

Great, this is all you were missing today, an awkward, forced situation with the man who wants to see you gone. Perfect.

“Should’ve ordered them done, don’t you think?” he speaks up, nodding towards the shop.

At first, you just blink at him, then close your eyes and when you open them, you have the fakest smile on your twitching face.

“What a wonderful idea! I totally did not think of that!”

“Then send them back and ask them to bring what you ordered.” He rolls his eyes and it’s irking you so much. You definitely don’t need his stupid advices, not when you’re terribly behind your schedule.

“They arrived almost a week later than they should have, if I send them back there’s now ay they will send me the new ones in time for the opening.”

Harry stands there, staring at the pile of furniture pieces inside and for a moment you think he might actually offer his help, which you’re not sure you’d have accepted, but it remains a mystery, because that’s not what he says when he speaks up.

“I’m busy for real. Mum likes to offer my help around without asking me.”

It takes you a couple of moments to figure out what you feel about what he just said. And when you finally do, you see red.

“As I said, I don’t need help. I did everything by myself and I will get this done as well. I don’t need your unwanted, half-assed effort to pretend like you’re helping me.”

You come off rougher than you probably should have, but he’s been bugging you ever since you moved to Eroda. The man knows nothing about you or your business, yet every time he comes near your shop he acts like it physically pains him to even look at it. He’d be the last person you’d ask for help, he doesn’t have to act like he has so much to do and doesn’t have the time to help when he doesn’t actually want to help. 

Harry stares at you with such intensity you almost break and stutter a sorry out, but that’s when Anne returns.

“Ah, we have to run. But I will come by tomorrow, Darling. And Harry can hel–”

“No need for help,” you smile at her as gratefully as you can force yourself to be in this moment. 

“Alright, then see you later,” she waves and you nod at her before your eyes meet Harry’s one last time before they walk away and you return to your shop. 

It takes you six hours to assemble the tables later that day, but you do it.

With no help. 

Moving to Eroda, it hasn’t been your only goal to have your business become part of the town but you also knew you’d have to become one of the locals as well. Only a handful of people know who your grandmother was and you don’t plan to reveal it until the opening. You want them to taste all the baked goods and think of her first and then put the picture together. But this means you’re a total newbie for most people around. Last time you spent more than just a day here was when you were sixteen and you’ve changed a lot since then, so it’s natural people don’t recognize you. 

Anne has been your biggest help in breaking the ice and involving you in as many things as possible so you get to meet the people of Eroda. The weeks leading up to Christmas are usually filled with all kinds of winter activities locals enjoy wholeheartedly. Concert by the town hall, decorating the trees at the main square, collecting donations and cooking for those in need for example. You’ve been to all of these and very much enjoyed being part of the community. This weekend however, you can’t say you’re looking forward to the new festive activity.

Ice-skating on the frozen lake.

It sounds nice and fun, but you’ve ice-skated only once in your life and ended up breaking your wrist. Not your favorite childhood memory for sure and you don’t exactly want to relive it as an adult. 

You arrive with the intention of just sipping some hot tea and watch everyone else skate around until your fingers are falling off and you can go back to the shop to finish putting up the tinker lights at the back. 

Anne however had different ideas about today. Because as soon as you arrive at the lake, she is waving at you, holding up a pair of skates and you know they are not hers, because she’s already wearing those. 

“Kick those boots off, Love, I brought you my old skates! Come join us!” She smiles brightly at you from next to the pier where people get on and off the ice. 

“Oh, no, I don’t skate, Anne, but thank you!”

“Don’t be silly, even Bernie is on the ice!” She nods towards the old man who must be at least eighty, sliding on the ice as if he did this all his life. He might have, you have no idea.

“It’s really not for me, I–”

“Just try it! Come on!” 

She drops the skates by your feet and then slides away, leaving you no chance to protest.

Staring down at the skates, you can feel your stomach churning, but as you look up you see that literally everyone is on the ice, you’d look weird standing on the pier on your own. 

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you give in and sitting down you start peeling your boots off your feet. 

“You’ll break your ankle if you leave it that loose.”

You know the voice and it just adds to your stress even more. You see his black skates in front of you as you’re trying to lace your own up.

“Hi Harry, so good to see you again,” you hiss through your teeth. 

“Tighten it or you’ll fall.”

“I’ll fall either way,” you mumble as you go back and pull the laces tighter. When you’re done you straighten up, but remain sitting on the end of the pier, anxiously string down at your feet. Harry doesn’t speak, but you know he is still there, probably watching you, trying to figure out what’s wrong with you, why you’re not just standing up and going at it like everyone else. 

Your hands are holding onto the wood underneath you for dear life as you picture yourself finally moving, but you never get to actually acting. 

“Do you need help standing up?” Harry speaks up at last and his voice is different this time. It’s not as arrogant, maybe even concerned. Do you look that awful right now?

“N-No.” Your voice cracks and you hate that it’s him who sees you like this. 

“Doesn’t seem like–”

“Would you stop being an asshole for a moment?” you snap at him and finally look up, eyes meeting his examining gaze. You have no idea what he sees in yours, but a few seconds later he breaks eye-contact, looks around as if he is hesitating before he sits beside you at last.

“You don’t have to skate if you don’t want to.”

“Tell that to your mother,” you mumble under your breath and it makes him laugh.

The sound of it is actually nice, surprising, but nice to hear something other than insults coming from his mouth.

“She can be a bit too much, but she’s just too enthusiastic.” You sit in silence for a bit before Harry turns to you. “You really don’t have to skate.”

“I want to take part, I just… I broke my wrist on the ice once when I was a kid and I haven’t tried skating since then.”

You didn’t plan on telling him much, but you felt like you had to explain why you’re being so dramatic. Part of you is expecting him to make fun of you for being scared of skating because of something that happened ages ago, but the arrogant comments never come.

Instead he stands up and when you look up at him he is holding a hand out to you.

“I’ll help you. You won’t fall.”

Any other day you’d think he is plotting against you, that he would get you to trust him and the trip you the first chance he got, but not this time. He looks and sounds genuine and as you take his hand, you put way too much trust into them than you would have ever allowed yourself to. 

You hold onto him with both hands and he keeps you steady as you finally attempt to push yourself up from the edge of the pier. Your knees wobble the moment your weight is on the blades and you instantly feel yourself losing balance, but Harry’s hands wrap around your arms and keep you from falling.

“It’s okay. Relax a bit, you’ll find your balance.” He encourages you and it’s almost strange to hear him so supportive of anything you’re doing, but not breaking your neck keeps you too busy to care about his random act of kindness. 

“Try to move forward.”

“I can’t,” you protest without even trying.

“You can, just relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax, it’s not gonna help me relax!”

“Y/N, you’re gonna have a panic attack if you don’t relax,” he warns you and you realize how fast you’re breathing and all your blood is being pumped into your head. 

“I-I can’t, I can’t do this, I–”

“Y/N, look at me!” His hands snap to your shoulders and you grab onto his biceps as you look him in the eyes while your chest is still heaving. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re not going to fall. I’m holding you, I promise.”

Focusing on his words you finally forget about your fears and instead, you’re now trying to figure out where this version of Harry came from and why he hid from you all along. 

You’re not one to trust people that easily, but just from this one promise he made, you let go of all your doubts and hesitation. 

“Okay,” you breathe out. Harry nods and his hands slowly slide lower until they rest on your waist. 

“You knew how to skate, right? Before you broke your wrist.” You nod. “Alright, then it will all come back quickly.”

There’s a tiny smile hiding in the corners of his lips and your heart pitter-patters in your chest, but not because of the skating this time. His hands on you are not helping either, because for some reason, you feel heat radiating through the millions of layers you’re wearing where his hands are touching you. 

What is happening?

“Okay, I’ll hold your hand and you just focus on moving forward, yeah?”

You nod and panic rises in your gut for a moment when his hands leave your shoulders, but then they instantly take your hands and you feel safe again. 

Slowly you start moving, inching forward, your hands gripping Harry’s so tight, you’re afraid you might hurt him, but you’d never let go of him, not when you’re getting farther away from the pier. 

“That’s it, you are doing great,” he encourages. “Try to move a bit less rigidly.”

“Easy to say that,” you breathe out shakily. 

It takes time to loosen up even the tiniest bit and not grip Harry’s hand as if you wanted to crush his bones. But as you slowly move around the ice, led by him, you finally get more and more familiar with the feeling of sliding on the ice. 

“See? It’s not that bad,” he smiles when you stop for a short break after circling back to the pier. 

“I still fear for my life, but it’s bearable now,” you nod and he just chuckles.

It looks good on him. His smile is warm and welcoming, it’s a shame it took you so long to see it. You definitely prefer this version of him. 

“Honey, it’s so lovely to see you on the ice!” Anne slides over to you with ease, holding a cup of something warm, probably hot chocolate. 

“Well, it’s not quite my element,” you let out an awkward chuckle.

“You’re doing just fine. Besides, you just snatched up the best skater in town.” Winking, she bumps her hip against Harry’s. Your puzzled look urges her to elaborate. “Harry took over coaching the boys’ hockey team last year, the kids adore him!”

Instantly, you imagine Harry dealing with a bunch of cute kids, cheering on them, teaching them, making them laugh… The image is actually moving something inside you that’s been buried somewhere deep for a while now.

“Y/N, how are things coming together? Everyone is buzzing for the big opening!” Anne does a little dance that makes you laugh, but at the same time, something changes in Harry. 

“Um, it’s going okay. Not how I planned, but I’ll manage.”

“I’m sure everything will fall into place perfectly. And if you need any help just let us know!” She turns to Harry, looking for validation that he is open to lending you a helping hand as well, but his reaction is not quite what she was expecting, probably. 

“Sorry, I gotta go now,” Harry mumbles quickly, his gaze obviously avoiding you or his mother and he skates away so fast you just blink after him. 

“What’s gotten into this boy?” Anne huffs, but she lets go of it fast, starts chatting about something you don’t quite catch, because you just stare after Harry, watching him slalom between the skaters so fast it’s almost aggressive. 

And once again, you feel like you’re back where you began. He hates you and you have no idea what you did against him. 

Theoretically, opening Nana’s two weeks before Christmas was a great idea, because you imagined all the baked goods people would order for the holidays, you knew it would be a great kick start.

Realistically, it means that now you have to do the last touch ups in the harsh winter that’s as cold as the North Pole. Or at least that’s how you imagine the North Pole.

It’s been non stop snowing for the past three days, the fresh, soft looking snow is now covering every bit of Eroda’s breathtaking view and though it’s very festive and nice to look at it from a warm room with something hot to drink, it’s not as relaxing when you’re still working on the bakery, doing the last bits of decorating and starting the first batches of baked goods, because in 24 hours, Nana’s is officially opening its front door to the public. 

You’ve been here since five in the morning, now it’s four in the afternoon but it’s almost entirely pitch dark outside so it feels like it’s nearing ten. The place is not a mess anymore, but the kitchen is, there’s all kinds of dough everywhere, you’re doing everything you can now so there’s less tomorrow, but even with all the work tonight you’ll be here at five in the morning again tomorrow. 

It’s been hours since the last time you looked out the window, so it fully goes over your head how heavy the snowfall has gotten lately, chasing home every soul from the streets. While you’re covered in flour and keep muttering Nana’s recipes to make sure everything is measured right, there is one more person out there who is still not home, battling the weather. 

Harry has been going around town all day, helping out the elderly with either delivering groceries, or repairing the heating, whatever they needed a helping hand with. He’s usually the person one calls in Eroda when something needs to be fixed.

The roads are now not quite safe to be driving around, but with his jeep he’ll be able to get home just before it gets too bad. Or so the thought, but that is until he drives by the bakery and sees the lights on.

At first he keeps driving, telling himself it’s not his business. But the farther he gets the guiltier he feels and then he turns the car around.

You’re too busy to hear the knocking at first, but then you hear it again and know it wasn’t just in your head. Rushing out of the kitchen you stop in front of the door, because through the glass you make out Harry standing there, the snow already covering the top of his head as if he’s been out there for hours. 

“It’s freezing out here, Y/N! Would be nice if you let me in!” he shouts through the glass and you finally snap out of your surprise, unlock the door and Harry practically runs inside. 

“What are you doing here?” You watch him shake the snow off of him and finally turn towards you. For a moment you forget about how you parted ways at the skating, how cold he turned out of the blue after helping you. 

“Funny, I wanted to ask you the same thing. There’s a snowstorm out there, you won’t be able to get home if you stay here!”

“Are you kidding me? I’m opening tomorrow, I have a million things to finish!”

“So you’re risking getting snowed in? Were you planning to sleep here or something?”

“Maybe! Yeah! I need to get a ton of dough ready and I still haven’t put up the tinker lights and I need to clean up…”

Harry stares at you with such a vivid look, you expect him to start screaming at you or something. But he just keeps staring until he finally breaks.

“Okay, where are the lights and where do you want them?”

“What?”

“You’ll spend the night here if you do everything alone. I’ll help and hopefully we’ll be able to leave when it’s all done.”

Now it’s your turn to stare at him as he is looking around, searching for the lights to start working, but you can’t really believe he is about to help you out when he could be home by now. On the other hand, you could really use the help and maybe finish earlier than midnight, so after pushing your surprise to the side you start instructing him. While Harry works on the lights, you return to the kitchen. 

To test out the dough for the croissants, the one thing you’re the most nervous about because it used to be Nana’s specialty, you decide to make a few and pop them in the oven while you do everything else. 

It’s hard to believe you’re finally at this point, so close to the opening, turning your biggest dream into reality. You wish Nana would be here with you today.

“Lights are done.”

Harry interrupts your thoughts and you wipe your floury hands into your apron before following him out of the kitchen to see the work he did.

“Oh my God, this looks perfect!” you gasp, seeing all the tinker lights run along the ceiling and walls, lighting up the place like magic. 

Harry just nods, pressing his lips together, as if it was nothing. 

“Anything else?” he asks.

“Yeah, I have a few pictures I want to hang up and then it’s all done–” The timer in the kitchen goes off, letting you know the croissants are done. “Let me take them out and then I’ll show you where I want them.”

You rush back to the kitchen and take the fresh, steaming croissants out of the oven, completely missing that Harry has followed you and he is now watching you curiously as you take the baked goods off the tray one by one.

“That smells like…” he speaks up, but the words die on his tongue and you just smile, placing one onto a plate, holding it out for him.

“Here, try it.”

He hesitates, but takes the plate at last. Though it’s still hot and he should definitely wait a bit, it’s hard to resist, you know that. You watch him take a tentative bite and wait for his reaction as if he is about to tell you your future. 

“So? How is it?”

“It’s… it’s really… good. Really good.”

It’s obvious he is having a hard time admitting you did something right, but his face says it all. You just don’t understand why he looks kind of puzzled, but you think it’s just because he didn’t expect it to be this good. 

“I bet the croissants will be the bestsellers,” you chuckle as Harry takes bite after bite until it’s all gone. He devoured it so fast it’s incredible. You couldn’t help but focus on his pink lips while he ate and those tiny sounds he let slip… they surely planted some thoughts into your head, thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking of when it comes to Harry.

“Come on, I’ll show you the pictures.” It’s your attempt to clear your mind.

You walk out and grab the box that holds all the framed pictures you want to hang on the walls, of course, all of them feature Nana. 

“Okay, so I thought a few could go over here, and then on that wall as well, and these, I want them behind the counter…” You start explaining your vision, but when you turn around you see that he is staring at a photo in shock. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

You step closer and see that it’s the photo that was taken on your tenth birthday. You’re holding up one of the cupcakes Nana made just for you and she is standing behind you, with her hands on your shoulders. It’s a fond memory, one of your favorite birthdays you ever had. 

“Oh, is it the dungarees?” you ask, pointing at your outfit. “I wasn’t quite the fashion icon back then,” you chuckle.

“No, it’s– who’s this?” he asks, pointing at Nana. You give him a puzzled look, because it’s not rocket science to figure out who the woman in the picture is.

“That’s Nana, obviously.”

“But as in… your grandma?” He finally looks up at you and his face is frantic, as if he is solving a lifelong mystery. 

“Of course, Harry, what is goin–”

“Y/N, Nana was your grandma?”

“Yes!” you laugh in confusion. “Of course she was, that’s why I’m opening a bakery under her name with all her recipes she taught me!”

You can’t read the look on Harry’s face as he puts the photo back into the box and then starts walking around with his hands on his hips. 

“Why do you look like you just learned you were adopted or something?”

“Y/N, I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“That you’re… Nana’s granddaughter. I had no clue.” He runs a hand through his hair and you try your best not to stare at how his bicep flexes in the movement. 

“What? Harry, why else would I be opening a bakery, named Nana’s right here, out of every possible place on Earth?”

“I don’t know!” he admits, throwing his hands into the air. “That’s why I… Okay, this is why I hated the idea so much. Because I knew Nana, I loved her! She was like… my grandma too! And I thought you just chose this name for fun!”

“Are you kidding me?” you huff in disbelief.

“I felt like you were ruining her memory, that’s why I was so against this place. I had zero clue that you are actually… related to her.”

“Oh my God, Harry!” There’s nothing else you can do other than just… laughing. This whole situation feels oddly comical, like something that only happens in movies. 

“I know, I’m sorry!” He exhales sharply and you truly see the regret on his face. “I was such a dick.”

“Yes you were!” you laugh in agreement. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Well, now at least I know why you were my biggest hater all along.”

“Not anymore!” He holds up his hands and finally breaks a smile that looks so fucking handsome, it makes you forget about everything in a second. 

Turning to the side he stares out the window for a moment before looking back at you.

“The snowing has stopped, let’s wrap things up and go home, alright? Big day tomorrow.”

You both go back to work, Harry finishes quite fast with the pictures so then he helps you clean up in the kitchen and you notice how obviously different the vibes are now. There’s no trace of his usual hostile behavior, in fact he is so open as he asks you about Nana and how the idea of the bakery came. Then he tells you about her as well, how he has known him for so long and after the passing of his stepdad Nana helped him through the toughest time of his life. You’re surprised the two of you never met when you were visiting, but you believe in faith and it must be because it wasn’t the right time. 

It’s almost ten by the time you’re locking up while Harry is scraping the snow off his jeep. It’s rather eerie to see the town so empty, but it’s also pretty, the untouched snow covering every inch of the scenery. 

“Thanks for the help. And the drive home,” you say when he has parked in front of your house. 

“I’ll pick you up in the morning as well.”

“What? There’s no need, Harry–”

“Just accept the help,” he flashes you a crooked smile. “I have a lot to make up for.”

“What if I say you’re forgiven?”

“Then I’ll do it because I want to spend time with you.”

His answer comes so fast and honest, you can’t mask the surprise on your face as you stare at each other in the dark car.

“Um, alright then. See you in the morning.”

“Good night. Y/N.”

You fumble with the belt and then climb out of the car, still feeling kind of giddy from his words. He waits for you to get to the front door and you wave at him before walking in. Through the closed door you hear the engine roar and he drives away, leaving you with quite a lot to digest.

Never in a million years did you imagine the opening of Nana’s to be like this. The small bakery is full to the brim, there are people everywhere, you haven’t stopped thanking everyone for the love and support and your heart leaps in your chest every time you hear someone talk about your beloved grandma. All the pastries are selling well, but as expected, the croissants are the biggest hit. 

But it’s not just the opening that has you smiling ear to ear.

Harry did show up early in the morning and he’s been helping you out all day as if he was getting paid for his work. In the kitchen, at the counter or by the tables, he’s been a one person army and your hero. You couldn’t have done it without him. 

You have just a couple of seconds to breathe between two customers and you peek over the crowd, spotting him right away by the table his mom and her friends occupy. He just made them laugh and he’s basking in their attention as he rolls the sleeves of his shirt up, revealing his tattooed arms. 

Fuck, he looks so good, it’s criminal. 

Now that he is not an asshole to you anymore, it’s pretty hard not to notice everything you’ve been trying to ignore about him. His charming dimples, his bouncy curls, the way he throws his head back when he laughs, how his nose moves when he talks, they was his hips sway when he’s walking… there is not one inch on the man you can critique.

The situation would be a lot worse if it was one-sided, but it appears that Harry is just as keen on being around you, always touching your lower back when he walks behind you, or brushing your arm to get your attention. 

“I’m seriously writing you a paycheck when it’s over,” you tell him when he returns behind the counter grabbing some cinnamon rolls to bring to the ladies by the window.

“I thought that we were already over this, Y/N,” he smirks and you bite into your bottom lip as you turn back to the customer in front of you. 

It kind of goes by in a blur, there’s so much happening, you’re always on the move and before you could even process the events, the day is over and Nana’s is closing for the first time. After the constant crowd, it’s weird to see the place empty again, but seeing that everything has sold, it finally settles in your mind: you did it.

As you turn the sign on the door your eyes slide over to the picture on the right. It was taken in Nana’s kitchen, you were about six or seven, the two of you are photographed from behind as you stand on a stool, next to Nana at the counter while she is teaching you how to make bread. The memory still lives vividly in your mind even though it’s been over two decades.

“She would be so proud of you.”

Turning around you find Harry behind you with a soft smile on his lips, his eyes on the photo at first, then they move to you and your heart skips a beat.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” he chuckles.

“So, I was serious. I owe you a paycheck after today.”

He rolls his eyes before arching an eyebrow at you.

“And I was serious when I said I don’t want anything in return.”

“You’ve been here since six, Harry!” you huff out a laugh. “I would feel so bad if you just went home without anything.”

He stares at you for long moments and you start to think he’ll just let you suffer with your guilt, but then he speaks up.

“Go on a date with me then.”

You suck on your breath as your eyes lock with his.

“What?” you whisper.

“Go on a date with me, Y/N. Will you?”

“I-If you’re still trying to make up for–” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not. I told you, I want to spend time with you.”

You blink at him once, twice, as if you’re waiting for him to say it was just a joke, but he stands his ground with a serious look.

“Are you gonna leave me hanging?” he smirks, snapping you out of your haze.

“Yes–I mean, yes to the date!” you shake your head, clearing up your answer.

“I was afraid you hated me too much to give me a chance,” he breathes out a shaky laugh.

“I never hated you, I was just confused. You were the one who hated me.”

“I couldn’t hate you, Y/N. And believe me, I tried.” You both laugh at his words. “I was frustrated, because I wanted to hate you and this place so badly, but still… I was drawn to you.”

“You were?” you ask, your voice barely more than just a whisper.

“You have no idea how much,” he admits with a soft smile, stepping closer to you. “When we were skating, I totally forgot about everything and just wanted to hold your hand and help you. It was like a slap across my face when mum brought the opening up and I remembered I was supposed to hate you,” he admits with a chuckle and e inches even closer. “I’m glad I don’t have to try to hate you anymore.”

“I’m glad too.”

He is right in front of you, his face only inches away from yours and you suck on your breath when he reaches up and takes your chin between his index finger and thumb, angling your head further up so your lips are now perfectly lined up with his.

His eyes move down to your mouth, then up to meet your gaze and even without words you know he is asking for your permission to kiss you. You push closer and he is quick to close the distance and press his lips against yours.

You’d be lying if you said you never imagined what it would be like to kiss Harry. Because you did, several times. But nothing compares to having him wrapped around you, his lips so soft yet rough against yours at the same time as he kisses you over and over again while you’re fisting the collar of his shirt so tight your fingers are turning white. 

Maybe you kiss for hours, or maybe it’s just minutes, you have no clue, but when he finally pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, you just know your life is about to turn upside down.

“Changed my mind,” he speaks up at last.

“Huh?”

“About the payment.”

His words sink in slowly and your eyebrows rise.

“Oh.” Harry laughs at your reaction.

“I want my payment in kisses,” he then says with the cheesiest smile you’ve ever seen on his handsome face.

“That could be arranged,” you breathe out when you finally get what he was talking about and grabbing the back of his neck you pull him in for another one. 

And another one.

And some more.

And just like that Nana somehow brought another wonderful thing into your life, even though she is not here anymore.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[imtryingbuck]

Pebbles

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Summary: you tell Nat something (great at summaries I know)

Word count: 842

Warnings: angst with fluff. mentions of cheating (readers ex) Nat being in love with reader. pregnancy. protective avengers. heavy use of pet names 

Translation: любит - loves (if wrong let me know please)

Masterlist

Running all the way to Nat’s room, managing to slip past everyone who tries to get a hold of you, concern filling their eyes.

All you need is Nat. Nat will make everything better, you was sure of it.

Knocking on the door to her room you bounce on your heels for her to hurry up and answer.

You was about to knock again when her door answered.

“Y-Y/n, what’s happened? Come here”

“I need to tell you something”

“Anything baby you know this”. She says as she moves the hair away from your face.

 "I know I could trust you so I came here." You say with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart you can, please finish what you were saying”. Nat’s heart breaks at the sight of your tears, wishing she could stop them from falling.

“Adam’s-“ Nat’s jaw clenched at the name of your ex who stupidly let go of the best thing he was ever going to have in his worthless life “new girlfriend messaged me saying that her and him were sleeping together for two months before I walked in on them, an-and she said its my fault that they keep arguing. Natty I’ve n-not done anythi-anything wr-wr-wr-“

“Baby breathe, oh Y/n breathe with me” Even with her green eyes focused on your trembling body she could see your twos friends at the door. She could feel the anger coming from them.

They’ve known you for as long as they’ve known Pepper, her being your auntie who’s raised you since you were a kid, introduced you to everyone. Straight away after Nat met you she had a crush and everyone knew it, even Pepper. She was devastated when she found out you had a boyfriend. 

“I-I’m so-sorry Natty”

“No printsessa don’t apologise, its not your fault”

“Sh-she said he knows about Pebbles b-but Natty she called Pebble a bast-“

“It’s okay baby, it’s going to be alri-“

“What if he tries to take Pebble away from us?”

She smirked, silently daring him to take their Pebbles away from them. Just so she could finally do what she promised you she wouldn’t do.

Natasha had found you crying in your room that Tony had given you for whenever you wanted to stay at the tower. You told her that you had walked in on Adam having sex with a woman in your bed, and then you dropped another bomb on her. You was pregnant. You had found out a week before, you hadn’t gotten around to tell him as you was still working on the gift you was going to give him.

Angry Nat scared a lot of people, Nat on a war path? terrified everyone including the Avengers.

Her heart and mind were at loggerheads with what you had just told her. Her heart told her hold you tight and reassure you everything was going to be okay. Her mind went straight to murder.

Reluctantly she listened to her heart, holding you long after you pasted out. Whispering promises that she’ll help you raise the baby.

It had been two months since she gained the courage to ask you out, and as the weeks go by during your pregnancy she reminds you that she’s here and she’s never leaving her любит. 

Everyone closest to you didn’t bat an eye or care that she was willing to help you raise a baby that wasn’t biologically hers because to them Pebbles - the name given by Morgan - was Natasha’s, no matter what.

And if your ex wanted to try and take the baby it would be the most dumbest thing he would ever do. They will protect their family at all cost.

“He’s not going to angel I promise!” Nat says as she holds you tighter.

“He’ll have to get through all of us first sweet girl” Tony says as he comes in to the room, followed by the rest.

“When did she send you the messages Y/n/n?” Wanda questions.

Pulling away from Nat you looked down at your small bump “two weeks ago-I’m so sorry Natty”

“It’s okay, but why didn’t you tell me love?”

“I thought I could handle it myself, i didn’t reply to anything she said thinking she would just leave me alone but she won’t” You rub your eyes with the back of your hand, causing Nat to pull your hand away.

“You’re so tired aren’t you?” She watches as you nod, yawing at the same time “come, let’s get you into bed okay baby?”

“B-but his girlf-“

“I’ll deal with it, I promise. Now please sleep. I love you”.

“I love you too Natty” you mumble and as soon as your head hits the pillow, you’re in dreamland.

Nat kept her promise by dealing with your exes girlfriend, no more messages were sent to you and Adam didn’t try and take Pebbles away.

Giving birth to a healthy baby girl, Nat continued to keep her promise by sticking by you.

Alisa Pebbles Romanoff was truly spoilt by both of her mamas.

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[indecisivekitty]

“I’m home, love!” Price calls out, taking his shoes off before cracking his neck. Long day at base. Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get out of his uniform. Setting his bag down, he frowns when he notices you haven’t replied or came to greet him. Were you sick?

With worry beginning to cloud his brain, he hastily walks to the bedroom, silently praying you didn’t have a fever and were too weak to get up. Opening the door slowly, he softly spoke, “Love, are you alri-”

Ah, and there you were, his pretty little wife, with half of your face buried in a pillow as your ass was the air, fingers stuffed deeply in that wet cunt of yours. So lost in trying to pump your fingers faster that you didn’t notice Price slowly walking up to the bed.

“You sweet girl,” he cooed, crouching beside the bed to make eye contact with you, one hand reaching out to push some hair out your sweaty face. He tsked, “What are we gonna do with you, ay?”

You whined as he stroked your face. “You want me to fuck that slick cunt of yours, huh? Is that it?”

Tears started to prick at your eyes, you were exhausted from trying to cum on your own. So needy but you couldn’t fuck yourself right without your husband. “John,” you spoke, your voice all wobbly. He face softened as he rubs your cheek, humming in reply to his name. “Need you inside me so bad.”

“That so, birdie? Need my cock to fill you up, hm? Gotta stuff that poor pussy with my thick cock.” His words were soft and comforting. Don’t worry, he was going to take good care of you, pretty bird. A small smile danced on his lips at the sight of you. “I’ll fuck you good and deep, love. It’s alright, I’m here now.”

Price leaned in to give your forehead a kiss before standing up to fully undress. Not fast, not slow. There wasn’t any rush but he didn’t want to torture you any longer. Stepping out of his boxers, he climbs on the bed and gently guides you to your back. Stealing a kiss before grabbing his cock to slowly ease into you. Forehead on yours as his hand finds its way to your hand, intertwining your fingers.

“Christ, you always take me so well,” he rasped, already picking up the pace after a few thrusts to pound deep into your needy cunt. He cursed, burying his head into your neck, sucking and biting at the skin. “Gonna breed you so nice, yeah? You’d like that wouldn’t you? Me filling you up with all my cum.”

You cried out as he started to fuck you harder, your hands reaching to claw at his neck and back, tangling themselves into his hair after. “J-John!”

He leaned up on his elbows, taking in your cock drunk face. You looked so pretty with your mouth open, broken moans leaving your hickey ridden throat. “Squeeze that cunt while you take my dick- shit you take it so nicely. That’s it, love. Fuckkk, that’s it.” Sitting up, Price grabbed your hips to thrust into you faster, his grip tightening. Only the slapping from your bodies and moans echoed in the room along with the slick, wetness dripping from your pussy. “Sloppy fucking cunt feels so good wrapped around me. Jesus Christ. Wait, wait-”

Pulling out, he quickly flips you over to your stomach, grabbing a pillow to place under your hips before he slams back into your pussy. You moaned out loudly, bending one knee and immediately feeling John sink deeper into your pussy. He exhaled harshly, groaning out, “Fucking hell, love.”

You clawed at the sheets, mewling as you feel him hit that one spot. Sweat dripped down your face while you let out a gasp from John slapping your ass, the sting burning you. “Please, please, come inside me, John.”

He slapped your ass again, massaging it after the smack. “Want my cum, birdie? Need me to cum in this pussy, hm?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babbled. Too high off the feeling of Price fucking his cock into you. You can’t even think straight, babbling for Price to cum in your pussy. Throwing his head back, John groans as he feels himself start to cum inside you.

Just looking down at himself thrusting into you was enough for him to start shooting his load into your cunt. Cum started to leak out, soaking the sheets and his cock every time he pushed back in. His voice was rough, “Have to fuck my cum back into you, can’t let you waste a drop.” Taking a finger to wipe his dripping cum, he holds it to your mouth for you to happily suck it clean, swallowing his cum like a good girl.

Slow thrusts as he spreads your ass to watch himself fuck into you. Fuck, he should send a video of you both doing this again to the guys.

Rubbing his hands all over you, he sighs contentedly. “Did so well for me, love.”

You hummed sleepily, murmuring a sweet, “I love you, John.”

Leaving kisses on your back, he says back, “I love you, birdie.”

John doesn’t know how long he spent slowly thrusting in and out of your cunt. He does remember grabbing his phone to record him stuffing his cum back into you, though.

To: TF141

Thought you lads would enjoy this. The missus says hello.

> IMG_0625.mov

| Video 56.9 MB |

a/n: no not edited can’t be bothered wasn’t suppose to be this long tho idk

if something is wrong or doesn’t make sense pls tell me so i can fix it bc i’m exhausted and i don’t think i wrote this while fully awake

[valsdelulucorner]

Tears too holy for thou

Lucifer ---> Mammon - Leviathan - Satan - Asmodeus - Beelzebub - Belphegor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was so frustrated, why was he always getting blamed for everything that happened in this damn house! First Levi looses one of his mangas and snitches on lucifer when it was under his sheets the entire time, then someone eats the lunch he had made for you and himself, now hes being accused of stealing money from someone when he was just trying to get something from the other room! He is entirely sick of it! Why was he the only one that gets yelled at when he falls into his sin when everyone else gets away with falling for theirs?!

Storming into his room, he didn't realize the tears streaming down his cheeks while he just wanted to scream. He didn't know what to do once inside his room, just standing there while he simmered in his own anger. You were waiting on his sofa for him to continue movie night when he stormed in, expecting a happy mammon with snacks, not a mammon with burns all down his face.

It didn't take long before you came over to him, being careful around him as you didn't know what exactly happened for him to be pushed into this state. "Mammon? Are you alri-" You couldn't even finish your sentence when he grabbed you and held you close to his body, letting out silence sobs into your neck while his face ached and burned, his tears feeling funny against your skin. ".... 's not fair...." It was then when you got a basic idea of what had just went down.

You both moved this to the bed, him hiding his face against your chest while he basically coiled his arms around your waist, legs entangled with eachother while your fingers played with his hair. You didn't push him to explain what had went down with his family and you could tell he appreciated it, having someone to just lay with him instead of pushing him to talk was something he needed right now.

After maybe an hour or so just laying with eachother, he could feel your hand carefully cupping his cheek, whincing slightly as your thumb gently ran over the sensitive skin. "Mammon.... oh, your poor cheeks" He could see the worry in your face as your eyes locked onto the sensitive skin of his cheeks, glued to the red, angry marks that burnt away at his skin.

He didn't respond, instead, taking your wrist in his hand and pulling it away from his face, interlocking your fingers before kissing your knuckles. "Don't worry about it, 's nothing the great mammon can't get over", his comment making you chuckle slightly, smiling himself as your voice sounded like music to him.

When tears are too holy for thou, its nice to have someone who will just hold you, letting you know they care through actions instead of words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Haha, fingers go brrrrr

Im really not good at adding speach into fics, bro you do you do it.

This fic is based off of my headcannon that angels have holy water tears and fallen angels keep that gift when they fall, their tears burning their skin and eyes whenever they cry.

Close to midnight, its and im still stalling my college work lmao. Please mind the spelling and grammer

[pacifymebby]

Peaky Blinders Headcannons

Your Ex Returns To Start Trouble

So this was originally an anon request in my inbox, but then it disappeared from my inbox before i could answer it. I hope this is what you wanted anon, i couldnt remember exactly how u worded the request.

Swear the little pictures i use for these get stupider every time.

Tommy

🌿Isnt worried about you going back to them but he is pissed off at the audacity of the young man whose just walked up to you as if hes expecting you to fall straight at his feet

🌿Holds himself back at first, for your sake. He doesnt want to embarrass you by causing a scene at this party. Not when you're dressed up so beautifully, you look classy, like a real sophisticated young lady...

🌿He was watching the encounter from the other side of the room but when he sees your ex approach you, he cuts across the room to your side as if its a race to you.

🌿 "Everything alright angel?" he comes to stand behind you, one hand taking yours. The other holding his drink. He keeps your back pressed against his chest. Holding you very close, very possessive.

🌿You can't see the look hes giving your ex but your ex has just paled. Its the "This is my girl and you're lucky i havent taken your eyes just for looking at her..." look

🌿 You like how possesive Tommys being, you lean back against him, enjoying how safe you feel with him standing with you.

🌿He won't say anything to warn the lad away, the look in his eyes and the fact that hes Tommy Fucking Shelby, should be enough.

🌿"Everythings fine Tommy, i was just telling (your ex's name) about the donation we're making to the local school..." youve given Tommy the name on purpose, letting him know that its your ex... As if he didnt already know. Because your ex isn't the nicest lad and he makes you unconfortable.

🌿"Oh aye, we're going to build them a new gym..." hes making polite conversation but he can't wait to cut in and take you away from him, "now if you don't mind i need to borrow my wife for a moment, dont worry she won't be long..." but youre not his wife and hes going to keep you away from your ex for the rest of the evening. Lets the rest of the peaky boys so know who he is and instructs them to make sure youre not left on your own for the rest of the night.

🌿For the most psrt he'll be the one standing with you, dancing with you, keeping his hands on you at all time so that you know hes there, that youre safe, that youre his.

🌿If that look wasn't enough to deter the prick whose got his eyes on you Tommy will probably approach him later, after the party, they'll have a "quiet word" man to man and well, honestly, I'd be surprised if you ever see your ex again

🌿He wouldnt kill him... Just scare him away, for good.... Unless the stupid bastards feeling brave

🌿If the stupid bastards feeling brave he might end up dead.

🌿Also, if Tommy knows your ex didn't treat you good, if he knows he hurt you in any way at all, he won't be so civil. From the get go there will be threats. The second he sees the man enter the room.

🌿Your ex won't get a chance to speak to you, before he can even get close to you Tommy will have cut in, made no attempt to hide his hatred.

🌿"No, fuckin no..." He'll have grabbed him by the collar, dragged your ex out into the corridor, or maybe even outside into the street, shoved him up against the wall, completely merciless.

🌿"You think I'm a generous man mr (your ex's last name), is that what you've heard? You think I'm generous eh?" "If you can give me one single reason why i shouldn't cut you just for setting foot in the same fuckin city as my girl, i might consider letting you go..."

🌿 His brothers will have come outside to see what the fuss is and if they know who your ex is and what hes done in the past they'll all delight in fucking with him, messing him up.

🌿If they dont kill him, you certainly won't be hearing from him again.

🌿Tommy will be gentle with you inside the party, he'll come back to check that you're alright and reassure you that your ex won't be back.

🌿 "Never have to worry about him again angel, thats a promise..."

🌿Then later, riled up and feeling extra territorial and possesive he'll take you kind of rough, it'll be loving and intense, but rough.

🌿"Whose girl are you y/n?" "Yours Tommy, only yours," "only mine, good girl,"

Alfie

🐻 You being somewhat younger and him being well, an old, injured man with less stamina than he would once have had in his youth, Alfie might feel a little threatened by the sudden presence of your ex boyfriend.

🐻 You haven't been with many men and actually Alfie is the only one you've ever slept with, so hes concerned you might find yourself wondering what ifs...

🐻 But lets face it, hes got eyes and ears all over Camden Town and he probably knows about your ex being back before you do.

🐻 So what he does is this... He invites your ex boyfriend to visit him in his office, he offers him some bread, is overly hospitable... Your ex doesnt really know who he is or what hes walking into, but he gets a drunk with Alfie in his office and then after a little while of Alfie doing small talk and telling him stories Alfie stops.

🐻 He puts his glass down and the atmosphere changes immediately...

🐻 "Lets get down to business then, enough small talk right, cause somethin ive heard about you yeah treacle... Is that you..." pointing at him across the table with a mean glint in his eyes, "you, are a bit of a cunt..."

🐻 Alfie knows this boy didnt treat you good in the past and actually hes always wished he could teach the selfish bastard a lesson... One about respecting women.

🐻 "See me and you yeah we have somethin in common? Me and you, yeah, we have a mutual... Lets call her a friend yeah, me and you we have a mutual friend, pretty funny that aint it... An old man like me, and a little fuckin boy like you having a mutual friend, yeah i think thats pretty fuckin funny treacle, dont you?"

🐻 Your ex is getting more and more nervous by the second, hes starting to worry hes gotten himself in trouble here, what once appeared to be a friendly business man trying to sell his bread on the street, now appears to be a slightly unhinged, angry potentially violent man...

🐻 "You remember y/n do you? And be careful right treacle be very fuckin careful yeah because if I hear you say her name... If i even think youre about to say her fuckin name... Ive got a gun in my drawer right and i will fuckin kill you yeah, i will, I'll shoot you in the head and all your brains or what little of them youve got anyway, will go splattering up that wall and you know what, it'll make an absolutely horrible mess right... And the smell... The fuckin smell... Course treacle you wont need to worry about the smell will you, you wont have a fuckin nose... "

🐻Alfies going to give him one big speech about how you ought to treat women and then what hes going to do, is reach into his drawer and offer your ex a deal or death.

🐻" My offer to you treacle, and i think its a generous one right, you tell me if you dont think it is but i think you'll probably agree with me yeah cause i really am being very generous," "my offer is this right, you can keep your brains and your nose and your pretty blue eyes treacle and you can fuck off yeah, out of this city, maybe i dont know, maybe go to fuckin wales or somethin i dont know, go join the sheepshaggers in the valleys yeah? But you don't ever set foot in this city ever again... Thats it thats the deal alright? Fuck off, or you die, pretty simple pretty generous i reckon you'll agree..."

🐻 Your ex takes the deal, alfie thinks hes a fucking coward, but your ex takes the deal.

🐻"Oh and one more thing right treacle," just as your ex is about to leave, "if my little girl ever fancies holidaying in Wales yeah, taking a little stroll through those green, green fucking valleys... Well, you'll have to pull your knob out them fuckin sheep and find some other shithole to hide in alright,"

🐻Your ex is trembling, clearly petrified and utterly convinced he's about to die...

🐻 But Alfie isnt a generous man. Hes a jealous one and before he lets your ex go he shoots him in the leg three times.

🐻 Just in case he ever thinks about trying to fuck other pretty girls like you.

🐻"Oh sorry mate sorry, i must have slipped musnt i,"

🐻 When he goes home to you that evening hes brought you flowers and hes feeling extra romantic and soft. "Come here ziskeit, come sit in your old mans lap and tell him how much you love him... Promise you'll never leave him yeah, ever..."

Arthur

🍂 Idk bestie you might want to try holding your man back

🍂 He's going to be jealous, full of hatred, violent...

🍂 Doesnt really matter whether your ex was a bad guy or not... Only really matters that hes your ex and hes back and arthur fucking hates him.

🍂 Makes it worse that your ex has walked right into the betting shop about to place his bets when he sees you and shoots you a wink.

🍂 "y/n love its been awhile, what're you doin in here? Surely a pretty girl like you can do a bit better than a shithole like this?" neither of you had noticed Arthur until he speaks, one hand on your ex's shoulder. He seems calm for a brief second.

🍂 "watch where youre callin a shithole mate?"

🍂 Your ex turns around slowly to come face to face with a man he wishes he didny recognise. He knows Arthur, everyone in small heath knows arthur.

🍂 "S... Sorry mr Shelby..." he starts but the problem is Arthur had been looking for a reason to smack him since he first saw him walk in...

🍂 "Arthur love he aint worth it, just kick him out of the and be done with it?" you ask knowing that's not whats going to happen... Maybe you are a little scared for your ex?

🍂 When your ex puts two and two together and realises that Arthur is your new man, well he knows he's fucked. He turns to you, tries to plead but that just gives you the ick?

🍂 "Oh grow up (your ex's name), youre a man arent ye?" you turn your back on him then, ignore his cries for help as Arthur and John drag him out of the shop.

🍂 Arthur doesnt kill him but only because his brothers manage to stop him. Hes all fired up though and he wont be calming down any time soon...

🍂 Unless you go to him that is...

🍂 You slip away from your desk and go to him in the street. You see the blood left by your ex and you see the blood on Arthur...

🍂 "Arthur my love come now, lets take you home and get you washed yeah?" you say as you run your hands through his hair.

🍂Hes doing that heavy breathing and when you hug him, combing your fingers through his hair you can hear his heart beat going a million miles an hour.

🍂 So you take him home and you run him a bath and you strip slowly before climbing in with him. You massage him, wrap your legs around him from behind and let your hands soap his body intimately. Then you take his cock in your hand and begin to jerk him slowly, teasing him, kissing all over his neck, humming to him

🍂 Youre calming him down but youre getting him all worked up too.

🍂 You're talking to him in a low, soft voice, telling him how much you love him, how you only have eyes for you, how youre his girl, his woman, telling him you want to make him feel good.

🍂 "good girl, fuckin my girl y/n my fuckin girl," "I'm all yours arthur shelby, all yours..."

🍂 Riding his cock in the bath, splashing water everywhere, him taking all his anger, jealousy and adrenaline out on you.

🍂 And yeah, you don't hear from your ex again but you find out through a friend that he packed up and left town... Once he got out of hospital that is.

John

🌼 Too confident that you love him and that there isnt anyone better than him, to ever feel jealous or to worry that you might go back to your ex

🌼 "If he wants to humiliate himself let him humiliate himself,"

🌼 Enjoys watching you reject your ex in public, at the Garrisson when he tries to make a pass at you.

🌼 "I've moved on, got myself a real man..." "Oh yeah who?"

🌼 Thats when John will make an appearance, he'll probably walk right up to you and kiss you deeply, hands on your arse squeezing you close to him right in front of your ex. Who just has to stand there and accept it... They're embarrassed thats for sure...

🌼 "Oh sorry mate are you a friend of y/n's, I'm John, John Shelby..." Johns grinning like a teenage boy, delighting in humiliating this poor lad.

🌼 But this poor lad cheated on you once and thats why you ended things with him, so you dont feel bad for it and John isnt going to feel guilty.

🌼 He will steer you away from the lad without letting you say goodbye, probably lifting you up off your feet and carrying you away, taking you to a back room for a quickie...

🌼 Just because he can, and because he wants that lad to know exactly whats going on. Hes going to mess you up, your hair will be a mess, your lipstick a little smudged, he might even leave a love bite and then hes gonna pat you on the bum and send you back out into the bar so that your ex can see youre freshly fucked.

🌼 Hes more interested in showering you with love and affection than he is fucking up your ex. But if your ex was particularly horrible to you then John might send Isaiah after him to give him a scare.

🌼 He'll be too busy with you though to be wanting to waste time kicking the lads head in. He'll be feeling possessive, wont be able to keep his hands off you all night.

🌼 But if your ex doesnt take the hint and clear off, if john happens to see him lingering around a few days later, he might just snap

🌼 Because he doesnt like him and he'll be pissed to see that your ex hasn't taken the fucking hint.

🌼 "Do you really need telling twice eh? You gonna keep your fuckin distance or am i gonna have to take your fuckin eyes?"

🌼 He hadn't seen the point in getting violent, completely confident that there was no greater pain he could cause your ex than the pain of knowing that you had moved on, that you were fucking a Peaky Blinder and you were being completely satisfied...

🌼 But if your ex isn't careful he's going to find out that John Shelby can live up to his violent reputation. That he also has a tendency to outdo himself every time too.

🌼If he finds out after the fact from you that your ex was much worse than he first realised, if you open up to him about how your ex hit you or hurt you in anyway... A switch will flip in his head

🌼 He'll hunt the lad back down. "Realised i wasn't actually fuckin finished with you mate," if your ex hurt you John will kill him no questions asked. No one gets away with hurting his flower.

🌼 When he comes back to you he'll be sweet and loving and well, still possesive.

🌼 "Y/N flower come here, come here right now..." he'll hokd your face in his hands, have you standing as close to him as he can get you, "i fuckin love you alright, i love you so fuckin much and i promise you... No slimy fuckin bastard like that, is ever getting his hands on you again alright, no ones gonna hurt you,"

🌼 He'll be more territorial around you i public too, he'll make sure everyone knows that youre his. He'll hold your hand, have his arm around you. He struggles to keep his hands off you at the best of times anyway but it will be much worse (better) after this whole affair.

🌼 Will come home with flowers and expensive gifts for you...

🌼 "Whats the matter john, he remind you you might still have competition or somet?"

🌼 "Nah love, not worried about that, know youre my flower... Just wanted to make sure you know it..." "I treasure you just as much today as i did the first day i met you and every day since..."

Bonnie

🍀 Bonnie doesn't have any exes. Youre the only person he's ever had eyes for, ever since you were both wee and so

🍀 When another family joins yours and his travelling through the midland countryside... And that family happens to be your ex's family... Which puts you and your ex in close proximity again

🍀Bonnie is a little unhappy with that.

🍀He's not insecure, he knows youre his girl and honestly, he knows hes a better catch than your ex...

🍀Hes going to be the most famous boxer in the world... Hes going to give you the whole world one day... Obviously hes a better catch than some Buckland lad you never even slept with..

🍀But he still feels possessive of you, still feels protective. Especially when your ex is being a little bit too familiar with you at the camp. When Bonnie sees your ex putting a blanket around your shoulder and sitting next to you by the fire, bringing your bowl of stew to you so you dont habe to get up... It pisses Bonnie off because he feels like the lads crossing some kind of line.

🍀 But he tries to keep the peace for your sake. His dad reminds him that they may only be around a week or so... But Bonnies getting more annoyed by the day.

🍀 He does stuff to mark his territory, slips under your blanket with you when youre sitting by the fire, kisses you on the cheek on the forehead whenever he sees you.

☘️ Holds your hand at every opportunity. Lets you fall asleep on him by the fire, takes you away from the camp on long long walks so he can get you alone.

🍀 "Know you don't like him Bon... And just so you know i don't like him either... Wish he was gone twice as mucn as you do believe me..." one night you feel guilty, feel like youre keeping secrets from him so you decide to open up and tell him about why you really broke up with your ex.

🍀 "Not a nice lad really Bon, used to get dead jealous like, said me and you were too close but that was when me and you were just friends right... This one time, and it really was just one time i promise... This one time he got so mad when we were arguing about it that he..." Bonnies listening to you carefully, trying to control his emotions cause he doesn't want to upset you when he can already see youre getting upset. When you trail off he swallows a lump in his throat, he actually think he knows what youre going to say before you say it...

🍀 "You remember when i fell out of that tree?" "You came back to us with that great big bruise on your cheek and blood in your hair..." "Didnt fall out of no tree Bon..." you say with a sad smile.

🍀 Before he does anything else he throws his arms around you and pulls you into the tightest bear hug, holds your head to his chest and closes his whole embrace around you protectively, hes veru quiet, concentrating on his breathing, his hearts racing but he knows he can't get angry now... Not when his dove needs comforting.

🍀"Dove you shoulda told me sweetheart, wouldn't have let him anywhere near you if I'd known," "Wish you'd told us when it was had happened, little cunt would have..."

🍀"Bonnie please don't, it was only once, he never did it again..." "Once is once too many little dove, men don't hit women, it ain't right..."

🍀 But when he can see youre getting upset he forces himself to calm down, kisses your temple, your hair, your forehead, kisses your nose and your eyes, is so soft and gentle with you.

🍀"If you don't want me to hit him i won't hit him alright, promise..." "thanks Bonnie," "but I'm also promising you this alright, youre not gonna have to talk to him ever again, not gonna let him anywhere near you, you stay close to me for the rest of the week an i won't leave you alone at all..."

🍀And he doesnt, he stays by your side the whole time, holding your hand, holding your waist, flirting with you whenever he can, doing his best to make you laugh and smile. When youre trying to hang washing up or get on with work he's trying to distract you.

🍀And your ex is frustrated to see it. He never liked Bonnie Gold, probably because he always knew deep down that it was Bonnie your heart belonged to, even if back then you didnt know it. He's getting jealous and maybe even a little angry.

🍀But he doesnt do anything cause he knows Bonnies the best fighter, probably in the whole country? And hes a bit of a coward.

🍀So instead of challenging Bonnie, he starts making snide comments about you. Just little things, cruel things. "So i was right then was I... You and Bonnie, always fuckin said it would happen..." youre doing your best to ignore him, and you dont tell bonnie about whats been said because you know it would only cause trouble.

🍀But then this lad gets himself into trouble, calls you "whore" and Bonnie overhears him.

🍀 "What did you fuckin say?" Bonnie stands up immediately, he knows he promised he wouldnt hit the lad for what was in the past but he's not going to let him get away with bullying you now.

🍀Theres tension, the lad debates whether or not to repeat himself. He backs down but Bonnie isnt about to let him get away with being a coward and a bully... So he grabs him by his braces, lifts him a little off his feet and gets right in his face.. He is a peaky boy after all..

🍀 "You're lucky i made a promise not to fuckin hit you dinlow, but if you ever speak to my girl ever again i wont just fuckin hit you alright?"

🍀He keeps his promise to you, doesnt hurt the lad. And when he returns to your side hes so loving and kind. "Come here little dove, are you alright, don't let him upset you eh, youre my girl now flower, youre so fucking loved."

Isaiah

🐀 First things fucking first, if this ex happens to be someone who hurt you in the past, Isaiah will take his eyes, he shouldnt, but he will. He'll do it without even thinking about it, right there in the street.

🐀For all that hes cocky and over confident on the outside he is a little threatened when your ex turns up.

🐀The guys pretty good looking and Isaiah knows that the two of you were fucking.

🐀When he sees you talking to your ex at the bar he gets mad, he comes over to you immediately but he doesnt say anything. Just presses his body against yours and slips his fingers into the waistband of your skirt.

🐀The actions subtle enough that no one else notices but you do. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and tugs them up just a little causing them to rub against you.

🐀The action shocks you enough that you start to choke on your drink... Which was Isaiahs intention all along. The minute you start to cough he tucks you away under his arm.

🐀"Alright sweetheart, looks like someones had too much, its alright I've got you girl, ive got you..." patting your back making a scene of stealing you away from your ex and taking you home.

🐀"What was all that about?" you ask innocently, you genuinely dont understand what he was doing... But Isaiah just holds your hand tight and drags you home.

🐀"You playing games with me girl? You forget who you belong to eh?" "Ohhh," you realise giggling when you understand what's going on, "and did you bring me home to remind me who i belong to yeah? You jealous?"

🐀"No, im not fuckin jealous, you just seemed pretty fuckin forgetful is all... Thought id do you a favour, bring you home before you could get yourself in trouble..." "And am i in trouble?" You're being provocative, trying to get yourself into trouble because Isaiah is even better at fucking you when he's a little angry.

🐀Youre in the mood for it rough and posessive and so you push his buttons taking little digs at his ego until he bends you over the dresser, makes you look at yourself in the mirror...

🐀Makes you watch him fucking you from behind, holds you by the hair so he can keep your head up.

🐀"Look at that pretty girl there eh, who does she belong to y/n? Tell me who she fucking belongs to?" you shake your head and refuse trying to tip him over the edge so that he'll fuck you really animalistic and hard.

🐀By the time hes done with you youre exhausted but hes all fired up. He leaves you in bed, tells you to wait there until he comes back, maybe even ties you to the bed frame if he feels its safe to leave you alone like that.

🐀He goes out to hunt your ex man down, he's feeling riled up and in the mood for a fight. Can't believe the cunt had the audacity to flirt with you... He gets the lads involved, Finn and Michael, and they find the lad back at the bar.

🐀Hes drunk now, hes already forgotten who Isaiah is and when he reminds him the stupid boy laughs and shakes his head.

🐀"Nah, no way y/n would go with you mate you must be having a laugh..."

🐀"Oh yeah, whys that mate?"

🐀"Fuckin look at you eh, ugly fuckin bastard..."

🐀But thats as far as he gets before Isaiah starts kicking into him, one boot to the groin has the lad keeled over and choking, but the boys arent going to show him any mercy. They kick and punch and beat him right against the bar.

🐀The other punters clear out, knowing how this fights going to end... They know these Peaky Boys won't stand for being insulted in their own bar...

🐀Doesn't kill him, shoots him in the cock.

🐀"Doin you a favour really, world doesnt need an ugly bastard like you brining babies into the world... Doing the whole world a favour stopping you fuckin..."

🐀When he returns to you hes fired up and high with the adrenaline that hes ready to go with you again, but this time hes more intense about it, not so rough and fast. This time hes going to take the time to make you cum for him over and over again.

🐀Makes you watch yourself in the mirror as he fingers you and makes you cum, tells you to keep your eyes open.

🐀"See love, see how fuckin good i am to you, see how much you fuckin love the things i do for you... No one else is gonna treat you this good, fuckin no one..."

🐀Won't let you rest until youre totally out of your mind with pleasure barely able to get your words out when he asks you who loves you, who makes you feel good, who do you belong to?

🐀Will buy you an expensive locket with his initials engraved into it that he tells you to wear all the time. Just in case you forget who you belong to again.

Michael

☘️When John Lennon wrote jealous guy... Just kidding but no really...

☘️Michaels so jealous, he actually tries to pretend that you were a virgin before you met him, that youd never been with another man before him

☘️So when your ex turns up and starts ruining his little fantasy, his presence in town remindkng Michael every day that you had a life before you met him... He can't stand it.

☘️When he realises your ex is in town he basically keeps you shut up inside. He doesnt want that man to see you or get the opportunity to speak to you

☘️This pisses you off, naturally, so you sneak out, youre being reckless, and you know what could happen if you get caught, but you do it anyway just to show Michael he cant control you...

☘️You go to visit your ex, you do it publicly so that people can see, so that peaky men see you go into your ex's house.

☘️You don't do anything with him, you just make a 10 minute call, long enough for tea and a quick catch up or long enough for a quick catch up

☘️ When you leave you go out to a bar which is where Michael eventually finds you. Youre in trouble but not as much trouble as your ex.

☘️Before Michael came to pick you up from the bar he made a quick house call. He didnt make it a long one. Long enough to shoot a man dead or scare him out of town...

☘️He didnt want to labour over it, better to just get rid of the bastard and then return to you.

☘️Hes takes you straight home but your telling off begins the second he gets you in the back of that cab.

☘️"The fuck do you think youre playing at love?" hes going to teach you a thing or two about defying your man.

☘️When he gets you home he makes you strip, makes you lie over his lap, arse in the air so that he can spank you until youve tears in your eyes and youre saying sorry over and over again.

☘️But after that hes going to lift you up, take you up to bed, be ever so tender and sweet to you...

☘️ "I know its sore sweetheart, Im sorry love but i had to teach you a lesson eh? You disobey me, you have to learn don't you, you know the rules..." "But its alright now love, Michael forgives you eh, know youre my sweet girl, wouldnt dream of going off with other men..."

☘️ "Im yours and only yours Michael," "Im your girl no one elses, im sorry, we never did nothing..." "I know sweetheart, know youre a good girl really..."

☘️ Hes going to be gentle with you, touching you, kissing you, smothering you with love, he'll tease you and edge you for the rest of the evening, showing you hes the best man for you, that only he knows how to bring you this much pleasure.

☘️ If you want to cum hes going to make you recite your wedding vows to him, no mistakes... Thats the only way he'll let you cum.

☘️Alternatively...

☘️ Say your ex was a lying, cheating, abusive cunt who had abandoned you, hurt you, left you up shit creek without a paddle and fucked you over...

☘️ Then Michaels a bitter man with a very strong moral code (one he applies liberally to say the least)

☘️ Hes been waiting for the day your ex dares show his face around town again...

☘️ He takes Isaiah, Bonnie and Finn with him, tells them all the ways in which your ex was a good for nothing, not worth the air he breathes, piece of shit, about all the horrid things he did to you, and they are all in agreement that he needs justice served to him.

☘️ Michael does all the talking when they find him, hes been drinking in a bar, flirting or harrassing local women. Some of them women that the lads are friends with...

☘️ Isaiah and Finn grab the lad by the arms, drag him out the bar into the street, Bonnie is behind him, pressing his knife to the lads throat, and Michael does all the talking.

☘️ "Heard you used to date my lovely y/n... Heard you used to hurt her, is that right? Don't bother lying to me lad, y/n's a good girl aint she, shes honest... Wouldnt lie about somet like that..."

☘️ "Make you feel like a man does it? Hittin women? Make you feel good?"

☘️ He'll hurt him, he'll really lay into him, show him no mercy. The boys will make him beg for his life but in the end Bonnie will slit his throat all the same and then they'll leave him for dead.

☘️"Evil bastards like that don't deserve to walk the same earth as girls like y/n"

☘️ He'll be so loving and gentle to you when he comes home. He won't tell you what hes done because he wont want to upset you, and he knows it will upset you.

☘️But he'll sleep easier knowing the bastard will never get to hurt his girl ever again

☘️And youll enjoy all the pretty new dresses and jewelery thst Michael will buy you because he feels lucky to have you and wants to treasure you.

[starb3rrys]

i would like a scenario with tecchou when he’s tired and ends up crying with his s/o comforting him please ㅠㅠ

Angst with comfort. My beloved subject, Interesting request, usually its the other way around ~(>_<~)

Nonetheless, I love the switched roles <3

☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆

Tired Nights

Tecchou x Reader

Slight angst, Fluff/Comfort

Scenario: The pressure is on for the hunting dogs to find and capture potential terrorist in Yokohama, with the public breathing down the hunting dogs neck, Tecchou was bound to crack due to the pressure…

☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆

It’s around 2:34 am, You were laying on the living room couch of your apartment watching some random show to keep yourself awake as you wait for your boyfriend Tecchou to come home, recently you noticed he had been working long hours and would come home around 2-4am, you found this behavior strange but you brushed it off as part of his job as a hunting dog and even if you asked him, you doubt he would tell you the full reason he’s coming home late since his job details are confidential (government shit ~(>_<~)).

After a while, you hear keys jiggling and the front door open, soft slow footsteps approach you, as you look up you see a familiar tall figure wearing a long red cape, Tetcchou is home!.

“Hey Tecchou, how was work?”, you ask with a slight tired tone as you got up off the couch to greet him with your usual hug and kiss.

“It was fine…could you make me some tea?...”, Tecchou said in a rather low exhausted tone.

“Of course, want me to add some hot sauce in it?” You joke with a small smile.

“No, just normal chamomile tea, is fine...” he said, it was obvious he was tired; his shoulder’s hanged low as he placed his hat on the coffee table and sat on the couch, he rubbed his eyes with his right thumb and index finger…little did you know that he wasn’t just tired physically, but mentally as well…

After a short while, you came back holding a tea cup full of chamomile tea, “Here you go, I hope I made it to your liking”, you say sweetly.

Tecchou doesn’t respond, he slouches on the couch…silent. His right elbow sits on his leg as he covers his eyes with his hand, he doesn’t utter a single word.

“Tecchou? Are you alri-“ your eyes widen as you see small yet clear tears silently roll down his cheek from his covered eyes. You quickly place the tea cup down and sit next to him, “What’s wr-“ you’re cut off guard as he suddenly hugs you tightly, you can feel your shoulder grow wet from his tears.

“I’m tired. I’m so tired…” you hear Tecchou say with a shaky voice, you rub his back as an attempt to soothe him.

“Let it all out…I’m here” you reassure him with a soft comforting tone, you wait patiently until he’s ready talk, to be honest you were taken aback by Tecchou’s sudden vulnerable behavior, sure you two shared your moments but nothing like this…he’s crying into your shoulder as he clings on to you, he’s shaking slightly as he admits his true feelings.

“Long hours, sleepless nights it’s all too much…” he says with a shaky voice as he clings on to you for comfort.

“This new terrorist threat is causing world wide panic and it’s my duty as a hunting dog to capture these criminals and keep these civilians safe, I can’t falter, if I fail…the world as we know it can crumble in an instant”, the anxiety and stress can be heard through Tecchou’s words.

“I’m supposed to be strong for this country, for all the people, their safety relies on me! But I-“ “But you’re only human.”, you say cutting Tecchou off.

Human. When everyone else sees Tecchou as just a powerful weapon of Japan. You.. see him as he truly is, your lover, a simple man. A human.

“You’re a human with feelings, feelings that for months you have been suppressing, a human that is now feeling vulnerable…a human who simply needs comfort at this moment” you say with a warm tone as you hold him.

Tecchou’s eyes widen at your words, he pulls away slowly and looks at you with wide eyes, his eyes fill with more tears as his feelings are all jumbled up; he feels relief, anxiety, sadness, joy, and even peace by your words…

He leans back into your warm embrace as he nuzzles his face back into your shoulder, tears continue to run down his cheeks as he quietly closes his eyes.

“I’ve got you…” you say quietly.

You both doze off on the couch, holding each other as your shared warmth serves as a blanket, finally…Tecchou can sleep soundly in your comforting arms, recovering from all those Tired Nights.

☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆★ ☆

Love my boy Tecchou, he deserves all the love Istg.

The tea got cold ;(

As always feel free to request anything you’d like, Love y’all! <3

[noridoorman]

"Dissasembly Dad Instincts" Scrapped First Chapter

This was meant to be the first chapter of "Dissasembly Dad Instincts" (previously: Tiny Little Bat/Under my wings) but it didn't focus enough on the N becoming feral part so I decided to scrap it. However, it's still really cute so I'm uploading it here for everyone (It's not proof-read tho!!)

“The tiny little bat woke up, opened its eyes, and saw mom.”

From all the things N ever expected to happen in his life, the grim future of having to put down the drone he recently discovered he loved or letting the entire universe succumb to his selfish wish as his little sister (or something else) destroyed everything and anything in her wake…

Laying on the couch, his wings and arms wrapped securely around Uzi as she read their newly made baby a story out of a children's book was far away from N’s future bingo card. Hell, even before meeting Uzi he thought all his life would be spent killing worker drones and chasing a love that has long been extinguished, leaving nothing but bitter coldness. 

Yet here he is, Uzi's voice softer than usual as she caressed their baby with one hand whilst the other held the book. 

“With tiny little claws it clings, laying in mother’s chest, wrapped in her wings” N’s eyes softened as she looked down at their baby with love and adoration in her gaze. He subconsciously tightened the hug, his hand moving down to stroke the side next to their baby’s visor. 

“And its tiny little body is enveloped in warmth as the father holds them all in one” Uzi's voice progressively gets softer as their baby’s eyes begin blinking slowly. Seeing Uzi so calm and content served as a strong contrast to her earlier freak out when she realized that, 

Yes

They just made a baby. 

-

“We have a baby…” Uzi whispered as she, N and Khan walked out of the nursery, holding her baby tight with both her arms securely to her chest. The once serene and content expression contorted into one of fear and surprise as the weight of their decision finally settled in her. “Oh my god, we have a baby!”

“Uzi, is everything alri-”

“We. Made. A. Baby!” Uzi turned fully to N, clutching the baby tight to her stomach. N instinctively reached out, pulling her into his embrace as he wrapped his wings around them. “What am I meant to do? How do I mother?! Heck, I never grew up with one, who should I take as an example, I-”

Uzi’s words were cut off as restless noises emitted from the little pill drone, its expression contorting into one of exhaustion and displeasure. N’s hold on Uzi tightened as Uzi’s own eyes began to widen, a terrified expression in her face.

“Uzi, look at me,” Khan taps her shoulder after N let his wings a little loosen around them yet his grip stayed as tight as ever. “It’s alright, you’ll get the hang of it very soon,”

“I already made him upset!” Uzi’s gaze lingers on the baby as she attempts to bounce him in her arms. 

“Uzi, you didn’t make him upset. He’s tired, see!” Khan points at the baby, its eyes threatening to close completely several times. Khan chuckles at the sight. “It’s normal for them to get this tired after activation!”

“Oh…” Uzi’s shoulder tense, grimacing as she looked at the floor. “And how do I make him… sleep?”

“Bounce him a bit, or sing a lullaby, your mom used to do that for you!” The images of Uzi singing their baby to sleep, bouncing him up and down near his nursery made N feel all fuzzy and warm inside. “Or maybe read him out of a book,”

“A book?” Uzi raises a brow. “Like… that one children’s book mom used to read to me?”

“Yeah, that for example!” Khan smiled. “In fact, I could go back and retrieve it if you want!”

-

“And its tiny little heart was wrapped in so much love,” Both Uzi and N became aware of the visor of their son displaying “SLEEP MODE”. With a smile, Uzi closed the book, placing it down somewhere on her leg, holding the baby tighter.

“You guys are so adorable,” N whispers, sneaking a kiss on Uzi’s cheek, making her blush up a storm. 

“Pfff, says you!” Uzi whisper-yells. “You’ve been staring at Colt the whole time!”

“I can’t help myself!” N wraps his wings tighter around them two. “He looks like an adorable little pill!”

“N!” Uzi suppressed a chuckle, leaning her head on N’s chest. She sighed, closing her eyes. “We should probably go recharge soon,” She tries to wiggle out of N’s embrace but he tightens it instead.

“We can sleep like that!” 

“N, our charging cables don’t reach all the way to the couch!” Uzi moves around further, finally standing up after N broke the embrace. 

“Awe, you’re no fun,” N pouts, earning a laugh from Uzi.

“At least one of us has to be the responsible one,” Uzi grins. “Especially since we’re now parents,”

“It still sounds so surreal” N stands up from his spot on the couch, standing close in front of Uzi and seeing Colt sleeping in her arms.

“I don’t think it will ever sound less surreal” Uzi sways Colt carefully in her arms, making N feel butterflies in his stomach at the sight. “Even after months of prep…”

“I just know that as long as it's with you we can deal with everything,” N cups Uzi’s face with his hands, feeling the urge to kiss her on her lips as she begins to blush up a storm. He chuckles, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles. “How often did I say that before and how often do you still blush at that?”

“Bite me!” Uzi pouts. “I’m just not used to this much affection yet!”

“I think we should be quieter” N points at Colt which has the Sleep Mode interface glitch as if he was about to wake up. Uzi grimaces, holding Colt tighter as to lull him back into sleep.

“You’re right,” Uzi whispers. “Let’s go,” Uzi nudges her head towards the direction of their bedroom.

[palmofafreezinghand]

ships passing

Carlisle and Esme briefly share their grief over the life they will only ever witness from afar. on ao3 here.

January 2007. 

“Good morning, love,” Carlisle said to his wife who was turning into the upstairs hall. He closed their bedroom door behind him as he began walking to meet her. 

“Hello.” 

They paused in the middle of the hall. “Where are you heading?” He asked. 

“My studio,” she answered. The clipped answers were unusual for the woman who he often teased for her incessant chatter.

“Are you alri—” She put her finger over his lips to tell him to stop talking. He raised a brow in question and she motioned to the floor with her head. Below them, he could hear their family loudly talking and laughing, even the quiet sound of a page being moved. Which meant their family could also hear the conversation occurring above them. 

He nodded in understanding and she pulled her hand back to her body. They had learned American Sign Language decades ago after Alice and Jasper moved in and the new roommates meant there was very little space for private conversations. 

“Are you okay?” He signed, eyebrows raised. 

She blinked once, twice, three times before shaking her head ever so slightly it could have been misinterpreted by anyone else as a flinch. He moved to say something but was cut off by her arms wrapping around his waist, her head hitting his chest with a force that threatened to knock him over. His arm instinctively cradled around her head, fingers threading through her hair, the other around her shoulders. 

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, quiet enough that it would be no more than a buzz to the other people in the house. 

They stood in the hall like that for a long while. When their granddaughter’s muffled childish laughter drifted up from downstairs her grasp around him tightened. He was thankful for the unspoken explanation of the embrace. 

It was difficult for him too. Their granddaughter’s presence was a miracle that served as a stark reminder of the life he would never have. His wife had taken the situation in stride, mostly, she built a nursery and defended the child to its father, and grandfather. It was yet another example of her strength he admired but failed to completely understand. He could not fathom how she was able to operate with such grace when a painful symbol of the life stolen from her ran through her house, as she had to watch their ‘son’ — who had not wanted the child — get an opportunity to parent, a life she was only able to experience for three short days. 

The couple had only discussed the topic a handful of times and very briefly. They had not indulged in the what-ifs they used to dream of, thinking it was impossible. She had not spoken about the nuance of the situation, only how heart-aching happy she was for Edward. He did know this conversation had occurred in some form with Emmett of all people. 

He presumed the current embrace and rare show of emotion was due to January being a historically difficult month for her, the anniversary of her son’s birth and death. 

Heavy footsteps started up the stairs, keeping one arm around her Carlisle walked them backward, opening their bedroom door without looking. He shut the door behind them. 

She pulled away after another minute behind closed doors. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Carlisle signed.

She shook her head, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand as if wiping away tears. “I’m fine,” she eventually signed, lacking any of the facial grammar that would make the statement believable or true. 

“You’re lying,” he signed with a slight smile. 

She nodded with a shrug and half-hearted lopsided smile. 

“How can I help?” 

She shrugged once again. 

“Maybe take a shower, the warm water might help?” His proclivity to offering solutions had been a sore spot throughout their marriage but this was not a solution, a shower would not erase decades-long grief but had helped her feel more in tune with her body and feelings on prior occasions.  

“Want to join?” Her eyebrows raised with a sly smile. 

Before he could enthusiastically accept he was cut off by a shout in the hall. “Carlisle, let’s go!” Emmett’s voice boomed. 

Carlisle’s face fell, remembering the reason he was upstairs, to change his clothes to accompany Emmett on one of his ‘vampire sport’ experiments. “I’ll be right there!” He called. 

“What are you two doing now?” 

“He wants to try a new experiment,” he signed exasperatedly. 

“Have fun,” she signed, beginning to walk towards their bathroom. 

He caught her arm, causing her to glance back at him. “We will be talking about this, later.” 

“Later,” she signed with an intensifier, meaning she would attempt to delay their conversation for a long while. 

He shook his head fondly. “I love you,” he said aloud, opening their bedroom door. 

“I love you too.”

[jack-owo-valentine]

.

[hikari3601]

Adore You

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Pairing | Kaeya x Reader

Author’s Note | Is this tiny bit melodramatic? Yes, yes it is.

CW/TW | Self hate, insecurities, gossip mongers(?) and maybe a sprinkle of depression if you squint.

His whisper carried a promise of love and he watched as you looked straight into his gaze -his still searching for your surety. "I would never, in all my lives, leave your side unless you want me to."

It was seldom at first; the way your smile would fall quicker than it had risen, but as time went on the dullness in your eyes became more prominent until Kaeya struggled to even find a semblance of the light that once shone within their depths.

He would ask you about it in his drunken stupor, wondering if he was the reason behind your forced laughs and now-quiet dinners, yet your response was always the same; you’d offer him a light peck to his forehead and a shake of your head, accompanied by a slight smile that never reached the curve of your cheeks.

Yes, he was intoxicated, but anyone could have easily noticed. The contrast between what was and what is was just too prominent. So he did everything in his power to restore your smile, leaving for work later after remembering that conversation some months ago about how you never really see him in the morning. Archons, he even reduced his drinking just to get home earlier, but nothing genuinely removed the shadows from your gaze.

He returned home much earlier than the new usual, hands filled with goods -ingredients for your favourite meal. Ready to surprise you with a day filled with the joy you so deserved, but when a distant sob followed the sound of the shutting door behind him, Kaeya was quick to find its source —you.

Staring into the listless reflection of yourself, the tears you so desperately endeavoured to wipe away replaced one another with a speed you just couldn’t comprehend.

In the next moment, you felt arms gingerly circling your waist —set on pulling you closer towards their body.

“I’m alri—”

A cool breath began to fan the length of your neck as he spoke.“Please don’t hide your suffering any more.”

Your voice was thick with tears and sorrow when you muttered a quiet apology.

“Tell me what I should do to make you happy again.” He pleaded, turning your body to face him.

Refusing to meet his begging eyes, your response was nothing more than a slight shake of your head.

“C’mon Starlight. I’m sure we can get through this together. I hate seeing you hurt.”

The hands that once rested on your hips moved to cup your chin, his thumbs gently wiping away the last of your tears as you leaned into his touch, your own hands moving to hold his own.

You felt the light pressure of his forehead against yours before he moved to kiss the lines beneath your eyes. “If you truly don’t want to tell me that’s ok, but please, let me do something to help you, Y/N.”

With a slow breath of air filling your lungs, you finally caved into his soft caresses. Your lips splitting as you prepared to speak, and Archons when you did, Kaeya felt his heart ache.

“I can’t stand myself anymore,” You admitted, tears welling in your eyes once more.

The captain wasn’t a fool, oh he was well aware of the rumours floating between the gossip mongers of Mondstadt: how he had left his last lover for being too insecure.

It was a complete lie spun by a spiteful ex and no one ever cared enough to verify the stories, as a result, the rumour changed with every mouth it came into contact with until Kaeya was shocked to find out that he had left all eight -a completely false number as you were his third lover- of his exes because he couldn’t tolerate their insecurities.

“You heard the rumours?” He asked, taking a step back to get a good look at your face, but your silence was all he needed to confirm his suspicion.

“Tell me Starlight,” He whispered as he rotated you again. Eye set on your downcast one, “What don’t you like about yourself?”

“I swear I won’t leave you for not loving yourself.” he added when he saw the way your eyes flickered between his and your reflection.

You studied yourself with a hardness that was chillingly similar to the way Kaeya used to scrutinise himself; rooting a deep sadness within his chest at the sight. He waited for you to speak, allowing you to take your time.

When you eventually spoke, telling him of all the features you now disliked about yourself he was quick to list their beauties and perfections, why he adored your so-called flaws and just to prove his points he made sure to tell you of his fondest memories related to the things that caused your self-loathing until you were left flustered.

You finished breathlessly. Silently listening as Kaeya asked you to point out at least three things you liked about yourself as he allowed his fingers to run across the surface of every feature you named.

Your list grew -only to feel the blissful sensation of his skin against yours and when you were done he turned you around with a soft smile and lowered his head again until you were a mere breath apart.

"Should I continue?"

His whisper carried a promise of love and he watched as you looked straight into his gaze -his still searching for your surety. "I would never, in all my lives, leave your side unless you want me to."

[supersecretsaga]

A little Astarion x Tav/Reader snippet cause I couldn’t sleep lmao

It happens when he’s inside you.

Lost in your pleasure filled haze, the humid summer night air, the tightness of his hands on your hips.

You look up, about to cry out your ecstasies, and your tongue freezes in your mouth.

There’s a strange look on his face.

It’s there for only a brief second, but thats all it takes to snap you out of your reverie-he’s struggling, you realize.

“Astarion, stop.”

Lost in his own routine as he is, he doesn’t actually stop until you repeat yourself, a little more firmly.

“Hmm? Oh! I-“ and suddenly he’s somewhere else entirely, ripping himself from you and shuffling away. You sit up, intending to try and diffuse with a joke until you catch barely audible apologies, falling from his pale lips like snow in the dead of night.

He’s sat back on his haunches, shrinking away from some unseen punishment, and your blood runs ice cold. Your mind (gloriously quiet of any intruders currently) stumbles over itself for a moment, trying to figure out how to broach the topic at hand.

“Hey, it’s alri-“ Reaching out to try and soothe him, but retreating quickly as he flinches.

You both sit in naked silence, before he seemingly gathers himself and clears his throat.

“Apologies, Darling. I…I must be feeling a little under the weather, you um, you understand yes? I can do better next time-“

“Astarion.”

You try to look into his eyes, and he purposely avoids it until you continue on. “You’re not in trouble.”

He stares at you, flabbergasted almost, until you see that his gaze has gone a little watery.

You smile softly, and reach beside you to offer clothes that had been hastily tossed aside earlier. “Let’s get dressed and then we can talk, ok?”

After making yourselves decent, he follows you through the small glen, and down to the edge of the water. Together you sit in silence once again, though you can feel each other’s turbulence, even without the need for your uninvited guests.

Your thoughts come together first, and you murmur quietly, as if not to disturb the stillness of the water.

“They hurt you.”

It’s not a question.

A statement.

One that hangs heavy in the air, pressing down on his shoulders.

His mouth opens, then closes a few times as he tries to articulate the tangled mess in his mind, before giving up.

“He did.”

You look at him, sitting there in the gloom of the early morning. There’s dew in his hair.

He is so beautiful.

You blink at the sudden rush of emotions, but chose to stay silent, thats something for another time.

Slowly, obviously, as if you’re trying not to startle a wary animal you reach out to him.

His eyes flicker from yours to your hand making its way to his.

He freezes for the briefest of moments, before answering your wordless question by opening his hand to you.

Your thumb brushes over the back of his hand.

The sun begins to rise.

He squeezes your hand in return.

He tries to sneak a glance at you and is caught, his face flushing prettily at your wide crooked smile. He huffs and turns away, but not before you catch the soft smile on his lips.

His hand is still tangled up in yours.

[pennyserenade]

three's company

pairing: dieter bravo x ex-wife!reader x dustin mulray rating: e (explicit) tags/warnings: smut, pinv, protected sex, oral (female receiving) *inserts good for her meme*, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, light voyeurism, talk and use of drugs and alcohol (weed & wine), the weirdest situationship you ever did see, a bit of angst, jealousy, fingering, dubious consent (but like, only a tiny bit dubious. the tiniest bit) word count: 16.k+ (don't ask me what happened there) summary: The world is slowly descending into madness all around you, so you decide to give in and go with Dieter to his latest poor decision: a franchise movie filming in England. One night while there, you both sweep another into this odd half-hearted, life-long tryst you've got. a/n: i don't know how i got here but i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i could dedicate this to a lot of things but mostly i'm going to dedicate it the red shoe diaries. thanks to david and the horny '90s. also to maria (@sweetly-yours-and-mine) who has spent countless nights working through this with me. you are a gem

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Facetime isn’t the same as real people.”

“Those are bad movies, Bravo. I’m not sure I want to be around those who make them for that long.”

“I know.”

“Actors have never been my favorite company.”

“I know.”

“And I just don’t want to go.”

“I know.”

“I’ll learn to stop answering your calls one day, you know? And then you’ll do everything alone, even a global disaster.”

“I knew you’d give in. That's my girl.”

——

The hotel is a converted English Manor - the very stuff of childhood fairytales and honeymoon daydreams with its Italianate architecture and technicolor green grass. It is warm, inviting, with high ceilings and the soft, consistent hum of human activity as workers scurry around to greet the incoming guests. They filter you in through white plastic tents and stick cotton swabs up your nose before giving you the WIFI password and a room with a stunning view of their expansive, manicured grounds. You don’t have any grounds to look in America, and your studio apartment has been eerily quiet as of late. The pulse of life has stopped in Los Angeles, but here it comes back with an unvarying rhythm.

You don’t like to admit it, but Dieter was right: you are not above loneliness.

The room they give you feels anachronistic, too modern and beige, but cozy in the way all four star hotels aim to be. You’ve got a television, a pristine bathroom that hosts a bathtub and a shower, and enough floor space to move around without stubbing any toes. There’s ample furniture too: a reading chair by the large window, the queen bed, and another chair by the door, which looks like it’s meant only for bags and the stray suit jacket. They’ve given you decorative pillows and instructions not to leave for two weeks - not for any reason.

You lay out on the queen bed and Facetime Dieter. The irony of the situation is too good not to tease him for.

“I know,” he gruffs, picking up your call immediately.

You can’t help but laugh at the misery that drips from his voice. “I’ve always been better at being alone. I think it was you who didn’t want to be alone.”

He runs a hand through his unruly hair and frowns. Even if you won’t take it, you like the idea that he’s only a long walk away now. You give in and shuck off your winner’s ego. “It’s only two weeks,” you assure kindly.

“If I’m good, do you think I can earn a sleepover?” There’s mischief in his eyes, flirtation thick on his tongue. You look askance at him and the dimple in his cheek deepens. “I’m only kidding of course.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan.

“It’ll be nice after two weeks,” he promises. You know that tone, far off and introspective. It’s not good.

“Just Facetime me when you’re losing your mind.”

“You don’t want that. I’ll be on the phone with you all the time.”

You stare down at the phone, frowning. He smiles, coming back to his body. “I’ll be alright, kid. I always am.”

“Two weeks is not so long.”

“No,” he agrees quietly.

——

Two weeks is a prison sentence.

The room they put you in, while spacious, is merely a cell block now, reduced down to its most basic elements: the bathroom with the shower and the tub, which you’ve used so much it's a miracle your skin hasn’t fallen right off; the bedroom area, with the reading chair by the window; the queen bed, which you stopped making after day four and try your damndest not to fall in before 3pm. You’ve paced the floor so many times, feeling the angry itch of loneliness coupled with a newfound, perpetually lurking anxiety.

“One more day,” he reminds you over the telephone, trying to allay your fears. You hear the sound of his tub running in the background, over the static of his voice, and you wonder what he looks like right now. You picture two week’s more worth of beard growth, the slouch of his back as he sits on the edge of the tub, the pudge of his stomach, and the inciting trail of hair below his belly button. And his naked self. At home he was perpetually nude, and you imagine it’s no different now.

You find your own reflection in the mirror over the sink: sunken eyes, with bags underneath and your flesh taking on a slightly gray cast, the color of isolation.The window sun doesn’t seem to be helping much. You frown self consciously, but try to remind yourself he must be in a state himself; he stopped Facetiming you a week ago, opting for the good ol’ telephone call at least once or twice a day since.

“I’m going out of my mind,” you say as you continue to look at yourself. You lower your voice, vulnerability shared in a hushed, confessional tone. You imagine Dieter again: with that soft concentrated look that pulls his eyebrows together, the one that enhances the lines between them. They called him a curious child and now he’s got the lines to show for it. He told you that. The thought makes you smile at yourself, but you still look so tired.

“Just one day,” he supplies again. He sounds vaguely apologetic.

“I know,” you tell him simply.

“What have you been up to today?” he asks. You hear water come to a stop and a gentle splash follows it. He’s gotten in. “Anything fun?”

“I read, watched a movie. You?”

“I got high and jerked off. So, you know, nothing different than the past thirteen days that you’ve called.”

You scan your reflection in the mirror, contemplating your next words. It isn’t a good idea, but nothing is. “What did you think about?” you ask.

“Lots of things.”

He tells you this as casually as if you’ve asked him his name. You are so achingly lonely and this is so embarrassing, but you can’t help it. You know he’ll let you. Hell, he’s probably been waiting weeks for this. Years.

“Do you ever think about me?”

There’s a short, considerate pause. “Do you want the truth or a lie?”

“A lie.” You worry your lip between your teeth.

“Oh, never.”

You laugh, relieved. “I thought you were going to say something different.”

“Hm,” he hums, “I don’t think that’s the truth. I think you worried about what the real truth would be. We’ve got something here and it’s worrisome.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Mine too. She thinks inviting you was a terrible idea but she wants you to know she’s thinking of you.”

“Mine hates you.”

He grunts. “Suppose I deserve that, don't I?”

“I think this is the first time in history that you diverted phone sex with talk like that.”

“I’m getting older, wiser,” he jokes. Then, “Do you think of me?”

“Do you want a lie or the truth?”

He considers it for a moment. “The truth. Hit me with it hard, baby.”

“Oh, a lot more than I should.”

——

The rapt sound of knuckles against your door incites an excitement in you that you haven’t felt since childhood. You jump from the bed, uncaring of the state of yourself, hungry for the news that awaits on the other side.

A kindly British man tells you that the quarantine has been lifted and that there will be a party and dinner for the cast and crew in a couple of hours. Formal wear is encouraged but not required.mYou spend the next few hours undoing what’s been done by isolation: the bags under your eyes; the unkempt room, with the fetid smell of loneliness wafting over everything; the living out of your suitcase and the wrinkles on your best clothes. You find an iron in the closet and shave your entire body.

Dieter stops by your room while you’re in the middle of getting ready. He sits quietly at the edge of your bed, watching you in the mirror with that dazed look in his eyes. He wears the ugliest goddamn housecoat you’ve ever seen, but he’d smiled so wide at the door that you’ve forgiven him for it.

“You’re excited,” he observes. His fingers fiddle with the sunglasses in his hands. “I thought you hate actors.”

You try to steady your hand as you bring the eyeliner up to your eyelid. “I don’t care what they are, as long as they can hold a conversation,” you mumble.

“I can hold a conversation. Maybe we ought to stay here and celebrate with each other.”

You look at him in the mirror, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. You can’t tell. “You’re kidding.”

He shrugs. There’s a distant look in his eyes, as if he’s thinking too hard about something.

“Are you high?” you ask him.

“No, but I’m thinking maybe I should be.”

“Cheer up, boy scout. You’re the one who wanted to do this goddamn movie.”

He lets out a defeated sigh and falls back into the mattress with a groan. “I’m going to kill myself.”

———

He doesn’t kill himself, but he looks like he’s still weighing the prospect of it as you take your drink from the bartender.

Dieter suffers no one lightly, and you have a feeling the personable strawberry blonde in front of him isn’t exactly his crowd. You smile over the rim of your drink, enjoying seeing him squirm for once. Everything seems to come easy to him–except this. He’s never been very good at socializing when he doesn’t want to.

“That your boyfriend?”

You turn your head and find Dustin Mulray. You feel a hint of your teenage self come back to you as you look at him, struck wordless. It’s nothing as strong as the love that had you tacking up posters with his face on it to bedroom walls, but something vaguely akin to it. You’re happy to find it manifests itself as a friendly smile instead of love confessions. Perhaps it’s helped by his appearance: In his infinity scarf and beige knitted sweater, he reminds you more of a homely professor than a Hollywood movie star. You think: Movie stars! They’re just like us! while shaking your head in answer.

“No,” you tell him, “He’s my ex-husband.”

“Ah. That’s my ex-wife with him. Marriage is tricky, isn’t it?”

He takes a seat next to you and orders a drink. The bartender sits it on a napkin for him and he turns to you, his blue-green eyes awaiting an answer. You hadn’t thought he would want to talk to you, not really. You’re used to being invisible at events.

“I guess you could say that,” you reply.

“Are you working on the movie?”

You remember what Dieter told you to say if anyone asked: “For legal purposes, yes. Art coordinator #3.”

This amuses him, drawing out a smile. “That title come with pay or would you say it's just an internship?”

“I guess you could call it an internship.” You smile back at him. “Why? You think you could pull some strings and get me a paycheck?”

“I think I’d do you one better and get you a better place of employment. Have you read the script?” This makes you let out a genuine laugh. He brightens, smiling a little wider. “What? It’s the truth! Everyone thinks us Hollywood actors just commit to this shit knowing it’s shit but we don’t! I mean—“ He looks over the crowd, lowering his head closer to yours conspiratorially. “—Not those of us who started at the beginning. We thought it’d be good. Like Jurassic Park, but yanno, we didn’t get Steven Spielberg. We keep getting arthouse fucks. And I like arthouse fucks–don’t get me wrong–but what’s a man with an IPhone know about blockbusters?”

“Ah, I feel you but I can’t quite reach you from here.”

“No, I bet not.”

There’s something simmering in that line. If you didn’t know better, you’d figure it was a light flirtation. Surely not.

“I liked your early stuff better,” you confess.

“Me too. But those were the glory days and now I have alimony and child support to pay. How about him?” he nods in the direction of Dieter. “You get half his ass in court?”

You shake your head. His candor, although surprising, is refreshing. “No, no big payout. We’re amicable.”

He clicks his tongue in awe. “I envy the bastard but I can’t say I didn’t deserve my lot.”

“You haven’t even finished your first drink and you’re already gonna confess your sins?” You raise a curious, teasing eyebrow. He hangs his head and laughs.

“You married an actor. Don’t we all wear our hearts on our sleeves?”

“Mm, not mine,” you shake your head. “It seems he saved his emotions for the silver screen.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to raise his own curious eyebrow.

“How cozy.” You look over your shoulder to see Dieter standing in front of your chair, his fingers reaching out to the back of your chair. He looks…jealous.

“Dustin, this is Dieter,” you introduce them. Dustin sticks his hand out and Dieter plays nice, shaking it with a passing grin.

“Nice to meet you,” Dustin mutters. Dieter nods his head. “Yeah, you too. I was actually coming over here to steal her away for a moment. If she doesn’t mind.” He looks over at you, expectant. There’s a bite to his words you don’t like at all. How fucking rich, you think bitterly, remembering all the times you had to sit by while he shamelessly flirted with half the fucking world.

“She does mind,” you respond. The sharp finality of it makes even Dustin cough awkwardly.

Dieter looks taken aback. “Okay,” he mutters, looking between the two of you. He nods again, as though he’s drawn some conclusion. “Alright.”

You watch as he walks away to the other side of the room. Looking back at Dustin, you give him a rueful grin. “Sorry. And here I was, talking about how amicable we are. Exes of the year.”

He raises his glass. “To us pitiful people and our pitiful crash and burn marriages.”

You clink your glass against his, fighting the urge to cry or kill Dieter. “To us.”

—

The dinner table arrangement is unforgiving for Dieter. He’s sat next to Dustin at the far end of the table, with yet another red headed actress to his left. Unlike the talkative one, this one is in a state of brooding and continually huffing at everything he says. You’re slightly more lucky, sat at the other end, sandwiched between Dustin's ex-wife and the director.

He watches woefully as you chat with the ex-wife, nodding your head along politely. You were always such a good listener, even with the worst people. He frowns. He had changed his outfit between the party and the dinner, opting for a classier open dress shirt. He had seen the look in your eye when you had opened the door for him earlier, and figured he could use all the help he could get now that he’s undoubtedly pissed you off. He had hoped that they would’ve sat him next to you so you could talk. He’s even wearing that cologne you like. Or used to like. He doesn’t know anymore.

“So, like what—you usually get along with her or…?” Dustin asks him, following his eyeline right to you. Dustin brings the cool champagne they’ve served to his lips, his eyes too burningly curious as he gazes at you.

Dieter tries not to be possessive. He saw it in your eyes, heard it in your tone: that sharp, angry disappointment that you’re so used to delivering him. You don’t like when he gets like that. Not that he has much. This is a relatively new side effect he’s required since the divorce. He shrugs lazily, pushing the sunglasses up his nose. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

This earns him an even laugh. He looks over at the older man, frowning. “What?”

“I see magazines with your face all over it, man. C’mon, we all kiss and tell, even if we don’t want to.”

Dieter bites at the side of his cheek and considers him for a moment. “Look you and your wife-“

“Ex-wife-“

Dieter nods, uncaring. “Sure, your ex wife — you both like to talk a lot.”

“I’m just trying to figure out if I can make a pass at her or not. Make it easy for me. I don’t want to have to suffer this entire shoot because you’ve got some weird shitty thing going on between you. I don’t step on kept grounds….Well, not anymore,” he adds.

“How noble,” Dieter says wryly, “She’s not mine to answer for. Besides, it seems like you were already doing a good job at making a pass earlier.”

He fights down the petulant child inside of him, biting at his lip instead of wearing an all out pout. Through the concealed tint of his sunglasses, his eyes soften at the sight of you across the room. He can almost feel the crack in his heart as he considers the fact that you might have actually liked talking to this man.

Dieter knows one day it’ll come, the moment when you find yourself in a serious relationship with someone else. Most of the time he thinks he’ll be okay — that it will affect him like it must but it won’t ruin him entirely — but sometimes, like right now, he worries he’ll get on his knees and beg you not to do it. You don’t deserve that. He hates himself for the greed he feels, how he can’t ever just let you be happy. He doesn’t want to be like this dick, taking and taking from his ex-wife, all while he noses around and wets his dick in anything that will let him. He never wants to embarrass you like that. Not again. Never again.

Chugging the last bits of his drink, Dieter looks over at the man. Dustin looks back at him, nonplussed. It takes herculean strength to say the next words.

“She doesn’t like men who are crude or too direct, but to be frank, I think you can’t really fuck up with her. She likes you and always has.” Dieter casts a glance in your direction again, feeling mischievous. He smirks, letting himself have this one. “Well, since you were last relevant, that is.”

Dustin laughs the burn off, shaking his head. He touches Dieter’s shoulder in a show of faux friendliness. “We’re in the same shitty franchise now, bud, so welcome to the club,” he whispers, just low enough for him to hear.

Dieter raises his empty glass to Dustin with a forced grin. Feeling defeated but comforted by the fact that he’s now got something to separate him from that asshole, he raises his hand to the pretty waitress for another drink. To celebrate.

But he truthfully doubts there will be much to celebrate.

He fucking hates Hollywood.

—-

Truth be told, Dieter didn’t plan on doing this tonight. Getting high. He planned, if he was being honest with himself - and he is trying, at his most introspective more now than ever - to be doing you. Had he invited you on the vacation just to fuck you? No, but ignobility inevitably follows in the tracks of his nobility. It was written between the lines, something you both had hinted at over the past two weeks. But now you’re somewhere else. There's a lot of rooms in this hotel. Maybe you’re in your own. Maybe not. Dustin had looked like he was going to devour you at the bar earlier tonight, so probably, you’re doing him in his room.

Or do you bring men back to your own place now? He doesn’t know.

Dieter would blanch if he wasn’t so high. He sits in the middle of the decorative couch, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes, and he tries to imagine a different version of your last phone conversation.

When you asked if he ever thought of you when he touched himself, he’d tell you the truth. Because you like the truth. He’d say: all the time. More than he should. Really a sickening, depressing amount because he misses you, especially lately. New York is a terrible place to be these days; death permeates everything and nothing seems as right as it used to. Even loneliness feels worse, no longer poetic or artistic but just lonely. It's less like Al Pacino on the set of the Godfather and more like Michael Corleone, sitting alone at the empty dining room table. Days stretch on and on, and he’s hungry for life that has halted so he paints terribly, insecure of even hobbies. What else is he supposed to do but play with himself and remember poignantly that he had once been married to a lovely sort of woman who would’ve made it all better, if only he hadn’t fucked it up?

Well, he doesn’t think about that last part so much. It doesn’t really make for good masturbating material.

He wasn’t sure he was going to survive the pandemic before they asked him to do this movie. And of course he asked you along when they had. It’s the only way in the world he could ask for your help: through omission of truths and beating around the bush. He wonders if you might take pity on his soul again and let him crash with you for a while, just to wait the rest of this out together after the movie wraps. If you really are fucking Dustin, it might make things tense but not impossible. He’ll learn to live with it. He’ll have to. What else is he going to do? Go back to this moment in time and stop you?

Perversely he wonders if Dustin is not the first man you’ve fucked since the divorce. You’re not his last but he wishes you were a lot. It’s been nearly two years and he’s forgotten what you feel like, what you taste like. It’s miserable. When he touches himself and thinks of you, you’re like an apparition, some Franksteinian woman built of fragmented, hazy memories. All he remembers was that the last time wasn’t nice and that you didn’t cum. He couldn’t make you, something about you being too sad or too angry. It was a shame, because he’d always imagined the two of you would’ve gone out with a bang.

This thought makes him smile, but it doesn’t last for long. There's nothing funny about your divorce, not really. He broke your heart tediously, and now you’ve got to tell people that it wasn’t just one thing but many things. He knows that. An unanswered phone call. That waitress in Vegas who he flirted with so unabashedly your mother thought he was cheating on you - along with half the internet and for a brief moment, yourself too. The apartment in New York he bought and moved into without asking you. That art house opening he missed, the one you’d asked him continually throughout the week to set time aside for. So many things—the seven sins and just a few more to top it off.

He wasn’t really surprised when you had asked him for a divorce over lunch one day. You didn’t even live together at the time - the New York apartment became more permanent than he had originally planned for - and you looked so tired, like you were drained of life, overwrought and quiet. What surprised him was the fact that you hadn’t done it sooner. The knowing that you had tried against hope was not an easy one for him to reconcile with for a long time after that. Even in that moment you had developed a sort of halting lisp as you pushed the statement out, as though your own body protested it. He remembers that better than the sex.

You had waited for him to get better and he never did, so you both took your chicken salads with a side of failed marriage that day, and now here you are. Dieter sighs, feeling the familiar pangs of remorse.

“Whatever drugs you’re on must not be very good because you look miserable.”

Dieter lifts his head off the back of the loveseat, straining his eyes to make out the shape that’s hovering in his doorway. His brain catches up with him before his eyes do, and the distinct mumbling voice of the figure comes to him. Dustin.

Shaking his head, Dieter laughs, relieved. “I was thinking.”

Dustin takes this as an invitation to cross the corridor. As he comes closer, Dieter finds he’s in more casual clothes - perhaps even sleepwear - clutching a bottle of wine in his hand. If this is a peace offering, Dieter will take the olive branch. He’s so goddamn pleased you’re not fucking this guy, he might even kiss him.

“You want a joint?” he asks him, straightening on the couch. Suddenly it’s not so hard to be magnanimous, not with the sheer euphoria of you not having betrayed him (is he allowed to call it that? Probably not, but there’s no word quite so apt). He feels he might even be smiling, but he can’t be sure. He hopes so.

“God, please,” Dustin groans. He sits the bottle of wine on the table and rubs his hands together eagerly as Dieter lights the one he’s been puffing away at.

“I figured you were the one with the goods,” Dustin says around a cloud of smoke. He looks over at the open door, nodding at it. “We should close that, huh?”

Dieter shrugs. He thought he had closed the door, truthfully. “Probably should. I think I saw a kid here,” he says. Neither of them get up.

Dustin passes the joint to Dieter. He takes another hit when he gets it because fuck it, this is a celebration. “What, she didn’t want you?” he can’t help but ask.

Dustin laughs mutedly. “I don’t know. I figured by the way you reacted at dinner that I better not try. And there's that thing with my wife.” He shrugs. “I’m always fucking that one up. I thought I should just wander around and see where the night takes me.”

Dieter rests his head back against the couch again, nodding sympathetically. “Mm, I understand. Me too.”

“What’d you do?”

“The better question would be what didn’t I do.”

“Did you cheat?”

Dieter turns his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t fuck anyone else while we were together but she said I might as well as have. And I guess she’s whose opinion really matters, isn’t it?”

Dustin mumbles an agreement. “I fucked a lot of people,” he confesses. “Even the divorce lawyer.”

“And she still talks to you?” Dieter asks.

“We’ve got a kid.”

“That’s right. She told me that, because she likes to talk.”

“Hey don’t be a dick. Yours does too, you know? That’s what women like to do—talk. And they like to be listened to.”

Dieter narrows his eyes. “Is that what you were doing at the bar? Talking?”

Dustin nods. “Yeah. Listening, too.”

“I listened.”

“But you didn’t like what you heard.”

Dustin says this more as a statement than a question. Dieter looks back to the ceiling and pinches his eyes closed, too high. “Mm,” he mumbles. “I’m just so happy she isn’t fucking you right now. I really thought she would be there for a second and it was making me sick.”

Dustin huffs out a laugh. “I take it you never shared?”

“What do you mean ‘shared’?” Dieter asks. “Like wife swapping? No. We seemed to have left the practice in the sixties.”

“Not necessarily. Threesomes?”

“Have you done that?”

Dustin shrugs, smiling unashamedly. “Before we got married, of course,” he tells Dieter. Then, “And a little after too.”

Even with the high, Dieter can’t help but feel curious about the arrangement. “With men?”

“Sure. It wouldn’t have been fair with just women. That was the rules, anyway. Why? You’ve never been with a man?”

“A few. That’s not what strikes me as odd. You just didn’t strike me as the type.”

“I wouldn’t say I was, but fair is fair. And it can be nice. Interesting.”

Dieter rolls his eyes. “Gay sex is gay sex, no matter how you cut it. If you’re about to tell me it doesn’t count, I’m gonna laugh.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just like there to be a girl there too.”

The information weighs heavily on Dieter’s drug induced state of mind. He finds himself beginning to laugh. “Wait a minute, are you trying to talk me into a threesome? Is that what this is? Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson? That’s what the wine is about, isn’t it?” He points to the bottle in question, and everything suddenly seems much too funny.

Dustin begins laughing too. “No! The wine was for something. I just couldn’t figure out what”

Dieter ignores him. “Your…your wife hates me,” he manages to hiccup out, “And mine? She—“ She hates me too. This thought makes the laughing come to a slow halt. That’s right. She hates him too.

“I bet she’d do it,” Dustin supplies, soft chuckles still emitting from him. “They can surprise you like that sometimes.”

Dieter shakes his head, his smile more soft, almost sad. “Not with me. I pissed her off. I was thinking I’d try with that waitress downstairs but she’s young and I’ll for sure hate myself for that later.”

“Don’t do that. Your wife really will hate you for that,” Dustin advises. “Take it from an expert. Just call her. Apologize.”

Dieter shakes his head. “That won’t work. It’ll just make her more mad when she realizes I’m high.”

Dustin considers this. “Maybe. I don’t know. Let’s go to her room. Do it in person.”

“You can’t go,” Dieter tells him evenly. It’s not often he’s the voice of reason — even less so when he’s high — and this dynamic is beginning to make him feel out of sorts. He wants to shut his eyes and sleep this off, but naturally — because he is who he is — he will follow this train of thought through with Dustin.

“Why not?” Dustin smiles widely, catching his stride in the conversation. He speaks more animatedly, bringing his hands into the mix for emphasis. “She doesn’t want to fight with you in front of me! And she can see we’ve made friends. That’s progress! She’ll like that.”

Dieter considers this. He does want to show you he’s sorry — really.

“You just want to fuck her,” he says to Dustin. He’s too high to be angry, even if he really wanted to be, but he is suspicious.

When Dustin doesn’t respond to that, Dieter narrows his eyes. “You do!” he accuses, acutely horrified by the idea.

Dustin looks at him, a smile playing across his lips. “C’mon, aren’t you a little curious to see what it’d be like?”

“No. And besides, even if I was, I don’t think she would. She’s not…I don’t know, I don't know how to explain it.” Dieter pinches up his face, stuck for the right words. “She’s not a prude by any means, but I don’t think she would.”

“Would you? If she did?”

Dieter doesn’t consider the question, only beats around it. “She wouldn’t. I know her.”

He watches as Dustin rises from the couch. “Let’s just go ask her.”

Dieter jumps up, feeling sobriety sneak up on him. “No!” he says, horrified.

But Dustin has snatched up his bottle of wine and began to make his way out into the corridor before Dieter can stop him.

So crumbles the olive branch.

—-

When you see Dustin standing at your door, holding up a bottle of wine with a goofy grin, you think it's a sign from the Heavens above. No more Dieter, that’s what it tells you. He’s ruined your life for a decade now and it’s a cause you’ve got to accept is a lost one. A new man is here and you’re lonely, and you didn’t even have to go search this one out. You smile, open the door a little wider.

But then you see Dieter shuffling down the corridor, brown eyes blown wide. Dustin looks over at him with a grin and you realize with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t what you imagined it was. You don’t know what it is, to be exact, but you’re sure it’s not right.

They look up to no good, with glazed eyes and Dustin’s too wide grin. You close your door just a smidge when Dieter shoulders to the front. He smiles apologetically, and you instinctively hold out a hand to keep him steady. But he’s steady, in no risk of tumbling forward. He puts his hands over yours before you quickly take it away. He looks stung but you don’t care.

“Hey kid,” he says sheepishly. His eyes seem to be asking you something - saying something - but you’ve long lost that way of communicating. You frown, slumping against the doorway.

“Make friends?” you ask, nodding back to Dustin.

Dustin nods his head, unaware or — more likely — too high to be aware. “He’s being a good boy,” he vouches.

“I’ve been good,” Dieter echoes. He tries another grin and that easy charm of his, but none of it works. You fold your arms over your chest.

“Listen, I’m a little tired and—“

“I’m sorry. I know what I did earlier was shitty. I don’t know why I do things like that. Don’t shut me out. Please.” Dieter pouts. The sincerity of his words punches you in the gut, and makes you angrier somehow. Like it’s mocking, even though you know it’s not. He seems to sense this and he continues talking. “I know I don’t own you like that. I had no right. None at all. And I’ve been meaning to say it to you all night. And I know you’re thinking ‘this prick is high.’ I am. I’m really high, and I can’t deny it, but I’m sorry too. I was sorry even before I got high. That’s why I got high.”

Dustin giggles behind Dieter. You look over, feeling pangs of annoyance for him too. Now that he’s not your knight in shining armor he’s just some asshole in kahoots with this asshole. “That’s terrible,” he huffs out. Dieter glares at him over his shoulder before you’ve got the chance.

“I’m sorry,” Dieter tells you again, pleadingly. You shake your head.

“You’re always sorry. That was always the problem.”

“I know! God, I know.”

“Ask her if she wants some weed,” Dustin whispers.

“And I suppose you smuggled that in?” you ask, straightening yourself up. You feel motherly, glowering at him like this. You want to wring his neck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed fuck you, make you feel eternal and sexy. But no. Now you’re so matronly, standing there in your PJs, frowning so hard wrinkles are mapping their permanent home in the places your face creases.

He nods guiltily. “But you knew that! I’ve talked about it all week.”

“Yeah but—“ you wave your hands in the air. “It all adds up with you. It’s..”

“The little things,” he finishes sadly. “I know.”

“Why do you know so little if you know so much?”

Dustin coughs suggestively behind Dieter and Dieter turns around swiftly. “No,” he tells him sharply.

You furrow your eyebrows. “No, what?”

Dieter shakes his head dismissively and Dustin shrugs, looking around aimlessly. He’s trying hard to contain a laugh or a grin, you can tell. You hate that Dieter is making you a bitch in front of him. You could be fucking him for God’s sake, but you’re just annoyed.

“Go to bed,” you tell them.

“Well that’s the idea,” Dustin counters, his lips drawing upwards. Dieter looks pallid.

“It wasn’t,” he tells you. “I swear. I came here to stop him from asking!”

“Asking what?” you say, exasperated.

“For a threesome,” Dustin says simply, like it’s nothing at all. “Though I can see now that’s probably not in the cards. And it wasn’t really asking for one, just a hypothetical.”

You look over to Dieter. He looks down at the floor, like a kid in trouble. “Dieter,” you scold.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t want him to ask. I told him—I said you wouldn’t. I didn’t even want to suggest it,” he mumbles helplessly. “That’s not what this was supposed to be at all, kid. I swear. I just wanted to say sorry and…I don’t know.”

You don’t know whether to believe him or not. “But you talked about it?”

“Hm?” Dieter raises an eyebrow.

“The threesome? You were talking about having one?”

“Yeah, but not like—it wasn’t locker room talk. Not really. He just started talking about it and asked if you would and I said no—“

“How do you know I would say no?” you huff. “You don’t know. You don’t know me.”

Dieter frowns. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah it is,” you nod. “I’m different now. I’m not the woman you dragged around all those years.”

“I never thought of you like that.”

“Well, still, yes,” you say, feeling angry and stung and in a desperate need to prove him wrong and spite him all in one go. It’s such an ugly feeling and it’s not right, but you can tell the words take him by surprise.

“Yes?…” he asks. “Listen, I get that you’re angry, but you don’t have to do this.”

“No I want to,” you say. “If that’s what you want, what he wants, I want it too. If that’s what you’ve come for, then you’ll get it.”

He shakes his head. “You’re angry and you’re not thinking straight. You’re…being mean. And you’re only going to piss yourself off more, I think, and then you’re going to be mad at me because I drove you to it.”

You shake your head. “No. I think I’m being quite nice. I’m standing here telling you I want you to fuck me. I want him to watch. I want him to fuck me and you to watch. Whatever perverse things you cooked up together, let’s do them. If you’re going to make me mad, then I’m asking that you have the decency to fuck me too.”

Dieter struggles to compute the information. You do too. You hate him. You love him. You are so high strung and pissed and you’d do anything to be touched. Let him prove himself, goddamnit, or let him be damned jealous. Either way, you get fucked. Everyone's a winner or only you are. You don’t give a shit.

Dustin seems altogether pleased by this, clapping a hand onto Dieter’s shoulder. “I told him you might surprise him.”

“Mm hm,” you hum. You do not break eye contact with Dieter. He nods his head, resolving to trust you—or to go along with it. It doesn’t matter, just so long as he doesn’t question it.

When he steps forward, you put your hand up, blocking him. “First the weed.”

He lets out a soft sigh and stays put for a second, looking as though he wants to say something more. He’s wise enough not to in the end.

As he rounds the corner, heading back to his room, you finally glance back up at Dustin. He smiles softly. “You don’t have to do this,” he tells you. “I really was just to get some fire under his ass. I mean, I’m not against it, but if you’re just doing it because you’re pissed—“

You cut him off with a hard look. “I want to,” you say resolutely. “And I am pissed. So be it. Men start wars for less.” You shrug. He looks amused and you feel something arise in you, up alongside the anger — arousal. Desire. Something. He smiles handsomely. The grayish scruff on his cheeks bodes well with his aged features.

You do want to fuck him. That’s freeing information. Propping the door open wider with the kick of your foot, you nod him in. “C’mon. Get in here before I change my mind.”

The dichotomy between his laughter and the intensity of the fight you just had with Dieter makes you smile despite yourself.

“Wouldn’t want that,” he responds with a wink.

He brushes past you with his body and you fight the urge to suck in a shallow breath at the sudden casual contact. As he moves into the room, he pulls you away from the door with him, gripping at your shoulders. He doesn’t let you stay back and wait for Dieter like some lost puppy.

You look at him, eyes wide, and he hands you the wine in his hand. He is so unserious that it’d be plain endearing if it hadn’t been a source of annoyance a moment before. You watch as he wets his lips and looks down at yours. There seems to be a pregnant pause, eyes searching yours for an answer to an invisible question. You think of Dieter, of all the sex you’ve not had since the divorce, and how hurt he seemed when you pulled back from his touch. You love him so much. It isn’t fair. You will love him your whole life if you don’t stop this. You heed your mother’s warning too late and you kiss Dustin hard on the mouth. He takes some of your grief with a practiced tongue, kissing you deeply until you’re interrupted by a cough in the corner a few blurry moments later.

Dustin smiles, holding your face between his hands. “The weed,” he remarks. Dieter nods. He looks a little hurt, a little angry, a little betrayed—looks like he’s always made you feel, and you are not surprised it doesn’t make you feel any better.

You love him. You fool.

You shake Dustin off and Dieter hands you the joint with a forced grin. “It’s strong,” he warns softly as he lights the end. As you inhale, Dustin comes to stand behind you. Dieter’s eyes watch as his arms snake around you. He plants wet kisses alongside your neck and Dieter worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

Dieter reaches out to you, touches the wrist you’ve risen to put the joint in your mouth. His calloused fingers try to reach across burned bridges and you aid him, handing the joint back and reaching out to him too. His baggy sleep shirt is easy to take between your fingers. He takes a hit and then comes closer to you, pressing into you.

When he kisses you for the first time, you think of an ouroboros. Whole and eternal, destruction and rebirth. Your mother hates him when she once loved him. He knows your birthday and the way you like your coffee in the morning. You don’t know what he did yesterday. He doesn’t know your friend’s old cat died and that you’d been to two weddings before COVID hit. He tastes familiar and feels strange against you, unreal and vivid. You open your mouth and he slides in his tongue. The kiss isn’t like the one with Dustin; he does not explore you as much as he remembers you.

Dustin and Dieter pass the joint between them. When you feel the loss of warmth behind you, you turn curiously, detaching from Dieter’s lips. Dustin goes to abandon the joint on the table by the bed and Dieter’s hot mouth presses kisses alongside your neck. You wrap your fingers in his hair and you can't help but moan when he tongues alongside your jaw. Dustin’s eyes spark with delight at the sound.

You look down at the wine bottle still in your hand and hold it up. Dustin takes it from you, grinning. “I forgot to tell you it was my gift. I’ll open it. It’s good, aged to perfection,” he comments.

He searches your bedside for a glass and finds a crystal one beside the water vase that they gave you earlier that week. He looks down at the bottle in his hand and frowns. “Fuck, I forgot the wine opener.”

“Call the desk,” Dieter says against your skin.

You turn your head back and begin kissing him again, humming an agreement against his lips. Dustin shuffles behind you as you return completely to Dieter, your lips ghosting over his. He licks into your mouth and grasps at the back of your neck, keeping you attached to him as you begin the dance backwards to the bed.

The weed gives you a cloudy feeling, enhancing the warmth of his fingers and lips on your skin, but erasing any inhibition that would make you embarrassed to be doing it in front of another man. You like the idea of it, actually, that there’s some stranger - albeit a familiar one - standing somewhere in the room as Dieter’s fingers lift up your sleep shirt and dip beneath the hem of your underwear. Your ass presses against the edge of the bed and you feel his erection against your thigh. You moan carelessly, tugging at his hair, and he exhales into you, the line between pleasure and pain thin and delicate as he rushes to do what he’s afraid Dustin will get to first if he doesn’t.

Dustin hangs up the phone and looks at the two of you on the bed, a surge of desire filling him as he watches. You’ve got your legs open and Dieter’s got his hands down your underwear and he can see it all from this angle. You’re making delicious, breathy moans and Dieter’s arm muscles flex as he works them out of you. There’s a wet spot on your underwear and he wants nothing more than for Dieter to take them off so he can see more of you.

He watches a while longer, captivated by what makes you tick and what kind of a lover Dieter is. It's kinda like hotel porn that he’s had on repeat the past few days, but live. Before he can get out the request for Dieter to take your underwear off, or wait for the inevitability of it, there’s a knock on the door. He rushes to answer it, holding the door open only enough to take the glasses and the bottle opener. He mumbles a quick thanks before shutting the door on the confused worker.

Dieter enters you with a thick finger and you let out a loud uninhibited moan around his kiss. As Dustin attempts to open the wine he smiles, thinking of the young man who was just outside the door. He likes that you aren’t afraid; he’s always found that attractive in women.

“Here,” he says, pouring the pinkish liquid into three separate glasses. Neither of you look at him, so he repeats it again, this time with more command in his tone. You look so thoroughly kissed when you look up, red lipped and swollen, that it makes him ache, and Dieter’s wild haired annoyance is charming in its own way. He hands you both a glass and you take it with a shy smile. Dieter is less pleased, but takes it anyway with a soft ‘Thanks.’

Dustin watches as Dieter wipes your slick from his fingers with a pang of envy, swallowing down the wine. This isn’t something he’s made a habit of doing often— watching people fuck, threesomes — but he had felt that it wouldn’t have been right to do without Dieter. Truthfully, he had had every intention of going to your room by himself before he had peered into Dieter’s open door. The sight of him sitting there, staring up at the ceiling like he had been doing, inspired sympathy. He hadn’t been entirely truthful about that with Dieter, but what he’s learned over the years about sex is that some little white lies must be told sometimes.

A part of him feels guilty, knowing his own ex-wife lies somewhere in this hotel, probably brewing in her own anger. But he’s leaving her alone. That’s what she asked of him, isn’t it?

“So, any rules?” he asks, abandoning this train of thought before it crashes.

Dieter unwraps himself from you, sitting on the edge of the bed like you are, and shrugs his shoulders. You both look at each other. Dustin feels like an outsider, intruding on something too big and personal, but he doesn’t mind. A bit of self-flagellation mixed in with pleasure was always how he did his sex best, and there’s nothing quite like sleeping with two people very much in love during a pandemic.

“Dieter said you’ve never done this before,” he says, looking at you. “Is that true?”

You nod your head. “What do you mean by ‘rules?’”

“Well, I guess it’s a bit different because no one is with anyone here, but sometimes there will be requests people make to ensure no one gets their feelings hurt. For instance, you might not want me to cum inside of you or enter you at all. They’re for safety too—consent, boundaries.”

“I see.” You look down at your glass of wine, thinking. “I don’t really have any rules. Maybe just use condoms.”

“Are you sure?” Dieter whispers, tugging at your shirt sleeve. He leans in closer, says something Dustin can’t hear. You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t care if you do that,” you tell him. He seems surprised by your answer.

Dustin can’t help himself. “What’d you ask?”

Dieter shrugs his shoulders. “Just about how she feels about us.”

“Do you have any rules?” he asks.

“Don’t cum in her first.”

You look at Dieter quizzically and all he provides is a shrug that says nothing. Dustin nods his head. “That seems easy enough: condoms, don’t cum first.” He swallows down the rest of his wine and sets the glass aside.

You twirl the liquid around in your own glass, smiling faintly. “I can’t believe I’m gonna do this,” you say.

“Me either,” Dieter replies. He sits his glass, half finished, on the nightstand.

“I’m feeling high,” is your next sentence. Dieter seems to grimace.

“You’re in the wrong state of mind,” he tells you.

You shake your head. “No. I made up my mind before I got high. I want to be fucked,” you tell him, voice plain and even. “If you don’t want to fuck me, I’m sure I’ll be okay with just him.”

Dieter shakes his head adamantly, cheeks beginning to red. “I—I do want to. I always want to. I just want to make sure you’re not doing something you’re going to regret later.”

With a smile, you tell him teasingly, “I won’t regret it later. Not if you do it right.” You offer him a teasing wink that draws out his dimple. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss on your lips, too romantic and sweet to be good for your soul.

You decide then that this will have to be less Dieter focused if you want to last. “Lay on the bed,” you say to him. He nods his head, prying off his house shoes. You look over to Dustin, who stands awkwardly at the head of the bed. He smiles again with that charming Hollywood grin that age hasn’t dimmed in the slightest, and you grin back. “I want to kiss you again,” you tell him directly.

“That can be arranged,” he says, dipping onto the bed.

Dieter lies back against the heap of pillows at the headboard, his knees spread apart to make a spot for you. Dustin guides you there slowly, his body pressing into yours until there’s nowhere left to go but into Dieter. He kisses you deeply, hands strong and warm and unfamiliar in an entirely exciting way as they bunch up the fabric of your sleep shirt and expand over your skin.

Dieter doesn’t touch you, even though he badly wants to. Part of it is heartbreak and disbelief, and the other part is erotic fascination—watching you come apart like this, at another angle, is undeniably doing something to him. You are so pliable under Dustin, so easy for him, like you’ve waited your entire life to be like this. Maybe you have. Maybe he never paid enough attention—maybe in all your thousand little, subtle ways you had once alluded that you’d like to be this way. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a prick, he could’ve made more rules, one like ‘Don’t enter her at all’ and ‘Don’t kiss him like that because I know once upon a time you kissed me like that and I screwed it up, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better husband. I’ll be a better friend, just don’t kiss him like that.’

But then again maybe not. That’s a mouthful and you’re high and he’s high. Maybe it would be just like this. It’s just that he loves you. It’s an odd kind of love, but it’s real. Dustin has his tongue down your throat, his exploratory fingers beneath the fabric of a sleep shirt, but Dieter loves you. The fool.

Blissfully you are unaware of the pity party Dieter throws for himself behind you. He is a body, a springboard for desire and heat, as you surrender yourself to lust the way you never really have before. You do draw up some comparisons, unable to help yourself.

Dustin is grittier, all command and surrender. He is an electric taste of the illicit, some faraway fantasy made palpable. Dieter is your ground zero, vivid and stormy. He is what yesterday was. You read somewhere once that when you have a child with a man, their genes have the ability to change your own. Though you and Dieter have no children, you feel like something irrevocable like that happened — that you carry a part of him in your genetic makeup. It doesn’t make Dustin worse for it. In fact, it makes him better, an exotic vaccine into your very tired bloodstream. You deserve it. You deserve it so much, and you practically beg for it, mewling as Dustin kisses his way down.

“I bet you taste like heaven,” he mumbles warmly into your skin, licking a teasing strip over your midriff. You watch, mouth agape, heart beating wildly in your chest. Dieter tilts your chin up, directing your attention towards him, feeling impossibly greedy now. He kisses you languidly, tonguing lolling gently against yours, making it lasts forever. Your mind is in a haze, the slow, sensual turn of your tongues lighting a fire in your belly as Dustin uses his own on you. He trails lower and lower, warm and wet, fingers drawing down your underwear and then—

“Fuck,” you say, gasping out the word. You surprise yourself. Dieter captures the word in his mouth and groans in soft appreciation. You glance down your body, your knees hanging loosely over Dustin’s shoulders, watching his warm tongue pressing against your clit. It’s a sight to behold, the way his pink tongue flattens over you. His large hands grip onto your legs, holding you apart as your back presses into Dieter’s front. You feel his semi-erection nudge into your back.

Dustin spends his time with you, teasing you lightly with his tongue at first, learning the careful intricacies of your body. As you run your hands through his unruly bed hair, the tip of his tongue dips into your opening experimentally. He looks up to you, blue-green eyes searching for approval. You buck against his face, desperate, full of want and drugs and something indescribable but undeniably exciting. Ambition. Want. Joy. You used to masturbate to this man. His nose grazes against your clit and he laughs as you struggle. It is warm and bubbly, and you feel it all the way down to your bones.

You tug his hair so hard that he sends another noise vibrating through you: a low, half pained, half aroused groan.

Dustin brings his mouth back to your clit, grazes it gently with his teeth. “Oh,” you say, your head drawing backward, falling into Dieter’s shoulder. He watches you, his dark eyes fixed. He presses his lips onto yours like time hasn’t changed anything. You bask in it, give yourself over to the fantasy with the ease he’s offering it—you kiss like lovers, familiar and intimate, an unformidable duo in sex where you weren’t in marriage.

Dieter doesn’t leave your lips as he says, “I never got to see this sort of thing from this point of view. You’re so goddamn pretty.”

His hands tease up your sides, fingers drawing closer to your chest. “Is he making you soaked? Just like I used to?” he asks, his voice a low drawl. You arch up, bringing your lips up to his. He slots his mouth over yours, pressing into you roughly as his fingers find a pebbled nipple through the cloth of your night shirt. As he scraps over the top of it with the pad of his thumb, you draw your eyes closed. The heady scent of Dieter surrounding you mixed with the intoxicating feel of Dustin pressed against your cunt is almost too much to bear. Almost. You moan against Dieter’s lips again as Dustin’s tongue works you, and Dieter smiles, nodding. “Oh baby, he’s gonna be like me. A pitiful, helpless fool for you. Aren’t you?” he says, looking down the valley of your body to the other man.

Dustin grunts wordlessly against you and your hips fail you again, pressing up into the vibration. Sensing this isn’t the end of lack of control, Dustin presses a hand against them, pinning you down. As he licks you open, spreads your folds with the warmth of his eager tongue, you feel on fire, the sensation reaching every part of your body. He’s good at that. He’s lapping and lapping, his strong nose meeting your clit at just the right time each time he comes up.

“He’s so fucking good,” you say helplessly, uncaring of who hears. The drugs make you uninhibited, looser. You meet Dustin’s eyes as he takes your clit into his mouth again. He is sucking lightly and you try to roll your hips into him, but he presses down, a silent no. “Fuck, you’re so—good at that. Oh my god.”

Dieter pinches your nipple between his fingers, humming softly at the sight before him. “You’re gonna make me jealous, baby.”

Dustin’s mouth grows more focused, intent. You feel your orgasm drawing up, coming closer and closer. You open your eyes, blown wide with desire, and focus on Dieter. He kisses you softly again, bringing his hand up to your other breast. Dustin sucks your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, and your hardened nipple scraps against the warmth of Dieter’s palm. It's all so right. You cum then, toes curling into the sheets, body going rigid beneath the touch of them both. Dustin doesn’t stop; he laps up your want greedily and Dieter draws up his head to watch. His eyes darken, full of desire and what you assume is a begrudging respect.

After you’ve ridden out your orgasm on Dustin, Dieter huffs out a soft laugh. “He wants to fuck you,” he tells you, thumb swiping affectionately across your cheek. Dustin, unable to let that one go, presses a kiss to your inner thigh and muffles a laugh against your skin.

“Bravo, you’re so jealous it’s making you stupid. She knows that,” he says, nuzzling his face against your inner thigh. “Of course she knows that.”

“M’not jealous,” Dieter denies evenly. When he looks down at you, brown eyes too kind, you half believe him.

You break the eye contact and smile appreciatively down at the man between your legs. A finger you’d locked in his hair now swipes across the bottom of his shiny lips. He takes it into his mouth, wetting the pad, and you say, “You aren’t a very good team. I think it’s important to be a good team.”

Dieter places a hand on your arm, more of a phantom touch than a grip, but you know it’s a stroke of possessiveness. You glance back up at him, cupping his cheek in your palm. “Dieter likes men,” you tell Dustin, not looking away from Dieter. “He’s not playing nice now and I think it’s a shame because I bet you taste just like me right now. And I know—“ your gaze drops down to Dustin, your voice velvet “—how much this dearest ex-husband of mine likes the taste of me. Have you ever kissed another man, Dustin?”

Dustin bites at your bait, smirk growing wide as his body stalking up yours. “Of course. I looked like a God in the ‘90s. Everyone wanted me and I wanted everyone,” he jokes, his warm hands flattening against your torso. His legs rest behind your thighs as he sits upwards, and you can see the tent of his erection against his sleep shorts. The black of them does little to conceal the full outline, and you thrill at the idea that he’s probably not wearing any underwear beneath the fabric.

You’re not one for getting starstruck - not anymore, anyway, a Los Angeles resident for years and the ex-wife of a star - but the fact that you used to masturbate to this man in front of you is something you still can’t shake. It occupies your mind, the way you had rewinded scenes from his raunchy, made for tv erotica over and over. Even now, many years later, you can still picture it: his younger frame pressed behind a blond woman, fucking into her in haste, his hands all over her and his thrusts rough. It was incredible to you back then, placed in some seedy location like an alley. Public and animalistic—the stuff of paperback romance novels. You remember the way he tugged her shirt upwards, how in the heat of the moment he grasped at any part of her he could get. A black bra and a long skirt, the bra pushed askew, going higher and higher with each thrust, and the skirt gripped onto, used for leverage as he pushed into her from behind. The VHS that hosted the scene had been passed from friend to friend in your college days, until someone’s VCR had eaten it. You feel a bit excited to know you’ve got the real thing right here. You think about telling him.

But it’s not about you, not now; it’s about Dieter. You widen your legs, make room for the ‘90s heart throb to slip between your body and come closer to the man you’ve dedicated your life to. In this moment you can admit as much. Dieter’s got his cock pressed against your back, and you know he would do anything - anything - for you if you’d just ask. His love burns like a million suns and you’ll be Icarus in every lifetime. You fool. Kiss another man hard and seek penance in his presence behind you.

Dieter stiffens as Dustin presses closer and closer to him. You shift to accommodate them, moving your body up, guiding Dieter along. He holds you close like a shield but doesn’t protest when Dustin’s lips press into his.

Dustin tastes of earthy vineyards and you—like sweetened strawberry wine and the familiar palette of tangy and acidic that’s blessed Dieter’s tongue many times over. That’s it, he thinks with a smile against Dustin’s generous lips. That’s how you taste. He savors it like a wine connoisseur does his wine, running it over his tongue and thinking too long about how to describe it. It is so utterly you, it makes him yearn for another life.

He plunges his tongue so deeply into Dustin’s mouth, it threatens to gag them both. But it doesn’t. They’ve both got their party tricks, after all. Dieter’s kiss grows hungry and suddenly there’s no space between any of you. You are a perfectly molded puzzle, fingers on skin, in hair, tongues swiping against lips and chests, and there are deep guttural moans exposing what the erections do well to show.

You know Dieter wants this, can feel his evident excitement press into your back. You happily welcome the warmth of Dustin’s firm body pressing impossibly close to yours. Dieter wets his bottom lip and squeezes you reassuringly, a habit from other life slipping into this new one.

You alternate kissing one another, creating a new taste on your warm, eager tongues. It is perfect. Dustin’s hands gingerly fumble over your chest, not focused or intent but curious, and Dieter’s allow it. The possessiveness has translated into something entirely more agreeable, and these men work together like lovers.

Your fingers grip at Dustin’s muscular shoulders, trail lower and lower over the slope of his chest down to the dip above his shorts. The path is slow and arduous to your lust riddled brain. He grunts against your collarbone, his hot breath fanning over you, and you go lower still, taking the shorts with you.

Dieter’s eyes trail the same place yours do, his chin tucked into your neck; you share the same view of Dustin: the red weeping head of his cock as it bops against his toned stomach, eager to be touched and licked and surrounded. Dustin sighs hotly against you as you press against him - against it - and Dieter swipes his tongue behind your ear. It is heaven, the way Dieter and Dustin feel against you, combined like this. You want them both. You need them.

You wrap your hands in Dieter’s curls, let him support your body as it rubs frantically over Dustin’s. Dieter peppers kisses alongside your neck and whispers, “God, you’re so fucking hot. God, I was so fucking lucky—“

The rest of it is lost against the shell of your earlobe. Some things - even the kindest, most genuine things - are better left unsaid.

Dustin emits soft, urgent moans as his cock catches between your bodies. The tempo of your shared thrusts grows quick, more focused, and he is close, on the very brink of letting go. You knit your brows, watch curiously and excitedly as he draws closer. You think of it: A hot spurt, just for you. Dieter holds up your sleep shirt, seeming to expect the same.

But then Dustin stops, his thick fingers rough and tight against your skin as he stills your movements. In the morning you’ll be bruised, a thought that thrills you. “Not yet,” is what he says in explanation, leaning his forehead against yours.

Dieter laughs softly, some terrible joke about bad endurance dying before it rises to be heard. He’s on his best behavior. Dustin tastes of you, of him, and you’re all naked and you’re so happy, so pliant. You lean against him like he’s someone you can lean on, and he swallows the serenity of that thought silently. Dieter is a half guilt, a perpetual bleeding heart, and you are his salvation. He knows it doesn’t work like that, can’t, but sex is not about what is real and logical. That’s why you were always so fucking good at it; it was beyond the both of you, and somehow a language you spoke best together.

He should feel worse about Dustin. Perhaps it’s because you want it so bad, or maybe it’s because he’s so horny, but the inclusion of him feels less intrusive than before. This is not your marriage bed - it’s been lost to the cruel seas of time - but it feels like a union, and Dustin plays a curious part. Not the voyeuristic onlooker, but the active participant, his glistening cock hot and heavy against your beautiful stomach. It should make Dieter sick. It did, thirty minutes ago. But now it makes him hard, wets his mouth. The bastard is good looking.

What can he say - you have always had good taste.

You turn your head and lick into Dieter’s mouth, redirecting your attention. He turns you between their bodies, pressing you into him as he kisses you feverishly. Dustin assists him, holding you against his body like Dieter had been doing before, only upwards. Dieter draws back and lifts the cotton sleep shirt over your head. He takes advantage like Dustin hadn’t been smart enough to, wetting your nipple with his warm mouth and tweaking the other between his fingers. You squirm, pressing your hot cunt against his stomach. He feels too clothed suddenly, having been denied contact because layers. You help him take off his shirt and Dustin helps you take off his pants. You waste no time wrapping your hot hand around him and tugging loosely.

His mouth finds your nipple again and you wrap your fingers into his unruly hair, jerking him off slowly as he kisses and sucks at your bare chest. He knows you’re already dripping, seen it on Dustin’s glossy lips when he got done with you, but this is his body remembering you and he can't stop. He remembers the way you got when he licked at you like you were the last scraps of his final meal on earth. How desperate and needy you became, just as desperate and needy as him. His hand travels down your stomach, straight down to your cunt, and he palms the wet heat of you into his hand. Dieter relishes the way you gasp into his mouth as the heel of his hand finds your clit, a smirk on his lips and a sentence like, “That’s it, baby,” coming out against you.

He fingers your entrance teasingly and finds you devastatingly wet. This is heaven, he thinks, the wet stickiness of you on the pad of his finger and your hot breath on his lips. You dig your nails into his shoulder, shut your eyes against the sensation of one of his fingers entering you. Dieter is ground zero. In your Garden of Eden, Dieter was there, at once Adam and the serpent. This is the apple. How delicious it is to be fucked, how perfectly human. Of course they’d turn on God for this. Cover up with leaves and be terrified of the whole earth later. Bleed and cry. Divorce. Whatever. This is worth turning back on perfection for. Poor Eve. Poor you.

You rub yourself against his hand and Dustin takes one of your breasts into his hand, watching. Dieter is so focused on the squelch of your juices and the way his finger - fingers now, two, and you stretch so perfectly for him - enters you that he doesn’t even mind. You’re no pissing contest, he sees that now—you're the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He swallows your moans and tries his best not to cum. Your grasp on his cock is so loose and it’d be so embarrassing to cum on your stomach when the tugs are nothing, and besides this is about you. So he focuses on trying not to.

“Condom,” you mutter, your lips landing on the side of Dieter’s mouth. Dieter nods his head but doesn’t pull back from you. He watches, enchanted, as your hips move against his hand. He can feel your orgasm build in the way you clench around his fingers, the penultimate pressure too much to bear. When you come, its with a shudder, your body tight and rigid above his as you ride it out. Dieter is so high and so in love with you, and he’s so sick about it that all he can do is laugh earnestly, even though what he wants is to ask you to marry him again.

Dustin is touching you all over with his hands, palming your perfect breasts, and you’re arching farther and farther back. Dieter can hardly bear the sight—not because of the jealousy—but because he’s deathly afraid this is it for him. You’re the best thing he’s ever had, and he knows he can’t think that way. You had a good run—you’re great friends now—but God, you married him in Vegas and you used to sketch his nose with careful affection onto canvases you kept for yourself. Who’s gonna sit in your studio now? Who’s gonna take up space in your heart, make you smile over the canvas as you work? He would weep if you didn’t look so pretty and sated, leaning into Dustin the way you are.

He kisses you hard on the mouth just to get rid of the thoughts, and then he kisses Dustin too, grabbing roughly at the back of his hair the way he hasn’t ever with you. It’s not kind, but Dustin doesn’t seem to mind; he moans gruffly, absorbing nothing but the desire behind it.

Your hands explore Dieter’s exposed skin as they kiss, warm and gentle, unconsciously fingering the scar he got as a child. You know the map of this body. When his hard cock bops against his stomach you take it in your hand again. Before he has time to think, you put him in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against Dustin’s lips. They stop kissing, looking between them at the sight of you. Dustin is so considerate, so much better than Dieter has ever been. He moves aside your hair, kisses against the curve of your spine. All Dieter can do is think about not cumming. He feels bad about this, wishes he could gather enough strength to think about your hair and things like that. But your mouth is warm and you take him in with expertise, bobbing in a rhythm he wouldn't dare break. Up, down, the tip of your tongue running alongside a vein, back up again. He’ll cum like this. You look up at him through your eyelashes and he touches the top of your head with unspeakable tenderness. Cum, you beckon, but he won’t. Can’t.

Where is that goddamn condom? How can he make this last forever?

He pulls back from your lips smiling an apologetic grin when you at him, surprised. You seem to understand, a devilish little smirk playing across your glossy lips. He wants to kiss you, but even that feels dangerous right now. He thumbs your lips instead.

“Condoms,” he tells you softly. You nod your head.

“In my bag.” You point over to the corner of the room. Dieter pads off to get them.

Dustin’s hands sneak between your thighs and you sigh when he finds your entrance, the tip of a finger rubbing the spot Dieter abandoned. You’re so wet and you want it so badly. He presses his lips against your shoulder and you feel the heat of his breath against your goose pimpled flesh. As you loll your head against him, he slides a finger in. You scratch the back of his head and nod frantically.

“You’re so tight.” He nips your skin and then licks at you with a desperation you’ve only experienced in Dieter. You like being wanted this badly. You lift your hips and ride his finger, squeezing around him. So tight, right. He laughs and you feel that too. “You like being talked dirty to, don’t you? You’re being so good, riding my finger like this. I can’t wait to fuck you. To feel you around my cock like this. And I bet he’s thinking that too.”

You both look over to Dieter as he unwraps a found foil and takes out the condom. You sigh; Dustin’s thumb finds your swollen clit. “We’ve got to make him cum in you, but I don’t think you’ll find that hard. He wants you so bad. Look—“ You feel Dustin’s grin already across your back. “He’s so fucking hard for you. Just as hard as me.”

Dieter strokes himself through the protective sleeve as he watches the two of you. You feel the familiar sensation of heat spreading low in your belly. When Dustin dares to enter another finger into you, you gasp, feeling full and stretched and yet not full enough. He spreads his fingers inside you, preparing you. You tug at his hair and make eye contact with Dieter.

He smiles lopsidedly, suddenly boyish and more handsome than he’s ever been. You think he looks happy for you—so pleased that you’re pleased, with a glint in his eye. Maybe it’s the drugs. You don’t know. Maybe he is happy that you’re happy. He was always better at saying he loved you than he was at showing it, but you suspect that this is his showing you. Love. Maybe it spills over in divorce, just another cruel thing you’ve got to cope with.

When Dieter comes back, he presses a condom into Dustin’s thigh. You are at the edge of another orgasm, everything perfectly in place — the sensation of Dustin’s thumb, the way his breath hits your skin, the idea that Dieter is watching you—but he denies you it, interrupting. You go to protest, whine, but he doesn’t give you a chance.

Dustin’s fingers are still in you, on you, when Dieter leans down and presses his tongue flat against your clit, greedy with lust. He licks at you around Dustin’s fingers and it feels like too much. They seem to make an agreement, working you at the same time. You cum quickly and this one seems to go on for eternity. You squeeze Dieter’s shoulder. The other condom package falls loosely onto the bed as Dustin uses his hand to keep you steady, your knees weak from the pleasure.

You tug at Dieter’s hair to make him stop. Dustin seems to know instinctively, leaving you feeling empty when he takes his fingers away. His slick covered fingers rest on your hips as you tell them both, breathlessly, “I can’t do another one. It’s too much.”

Dieter shakes his head in protest but Dustin takes the information in stride. He’s too good at this, moves through the motions with ease, improvising quickly. He extends his slicked fingers to Dieter. Dieter, who has been so focused on you, looks at them quizzically, unsure of what they mean. Then he seems to get it, hard features smoothing out in realization.

He looks at Dustin, and it’s not like with you. He's focused, not icy or angry but so intent. It’s not a loveless gaze, per se, but it is devoid of love; filled not with something warm but something hot.

Dustin’s cock presses into the small of your back. As Dieter’s mouth wraps around his fingers, you feel a warm bead of pre-cum drip onto your skin. You bite at your lip. You’ve never seen Dieter with men before, and this new side of him excites you—like unlocking a new door in a house you’ve had for ages. He puts on a show for you, bobbing like you did on him. Dustin’s fingers seem to be an extension of yourself. You shudder as Dieter tongues along them, and Dustin rubs himself helplessly against your backside.

“I want to see what you’re like with men,” you say to Dieter, your voice barely a whisper. But Dieter hears you and his eyebrows perk in interest. This is a long unanswered question to something you’ve never been brave enough to ask. You’ve always known that he’s been interested in men — that he’s had sex with them — but you’ve never really questioned outright about what it was like. It felt equal parts too personal and hurtful; you didn’t want to know what it was like with other people before you. But everything seems different tonight. You want to know badly, like he’s got secrets that could be your salvation hidden in him.

You slip from between them, lying against the pillows. Before filling the space, Dieter looks over at you. His brown eyes implore you for a sign and you nod your head.

He’d asked you earlier, when Dustin asked about rules, if you’d be alright with them touching each other, maybe even entering one another. You hadn’t expected it to get to that, so it had been easy to say you didn’t mind. In fact, you had figured Dieter only said it as a means to scare you away from the idea. And now that the notion is not only on the horizon, but a reality, it comes just as easy to say yes—maybe even more so.

He stalls, hesitating, so you nod again, laughing. He smiles. Your ex-husband is a startlingly beautiful man like this, looking so openly vulnerable. He’s physically and emotionally naked and you’ve waited decades for it.

Dieter and Dustin kiss each other like men do, aggressive and dominating, neither willing to lose the good fight just yet. You feel your interest piqued, watching the way their fingers touch each other. How they tug and grip, search for purchase all over. Dieter is much rougher with Dustin than he’s ever chanced to be with you, with bruising kisses and bruising touches. When he grabs the man’s cock, it is with an ugly dedication, fast dry and quick tugs. Dustin hisses the first time but doesn’t protest. In fact, he thrusts his hips unashamedly into Dieter’s closed fist, licking into his mouth with a degree of delight. They tug at the back of each other’s heads of hair and eventually Dieter gives way, falling back to allow Dustin to mount him.

Dustin searches for the condom on the bed, his chest rising and falling heavily in an attempt to grasp at long denied air. You watch through heavy lids as he slides the latex onto himself. He’s circumcised, pink and swollen at the tip. Drips of pre-cum have made him all glossy and you bite your lip watching him struggle to line himself up. When he gets the latex down to his base, he smiles a satisfied smirk. He doesn’t look at you. If he notices you staring, he doesn’t mind at all. This is his favorite play, and he’s an actor after all.

Dieter’s knees knock apart to accommodate his frame—a body you’ve begun to notice with quiet admiration in your desire. He’s broad, much broader than he’d been in his youth, and he’s got muscle all over now, whereas before he’d been lean and lanky. He’s hard and tight and as he begins to rub himself against Dieter, you’re taken with the way his skin stretches over the plains of his back, his arms, his stomach. Dustin is in impeccable shape, perhaps one of the only men who can claim he’s doing better now than he was in his youth. Gone is the boyishness, replaced with a heady, sure masculinity.

Dieter seems to relinquish his fight happily now, soft growls emitting from his lips. Dustin presses down into him, and while most of what they’re doing is obscured by Dieter’s legs, you can imagine it well enough: the steady, erratic thrusts of Dustin’s cock rubbing against Dieter’s. There’s a sheen of sweat on them both and Dustin buries his head in Dieter’s neck. He licks at the places you had once, and it is nothing but erotic little huffs from them both.

“You’re…” Dustin begins, but falters off. He lifts himself up, repositions, bracketing Dieter’s head between his strong arms. Dieter’s eyes are pressed closed, his dark features etched with pleasure. All they do for a while is rub against each other. You feel like an intruder, like something stopping them from getting where they need to be. Maybe you are.

You dare to speak: “Aren’t you going to touch each other?”

Dieter looks startled. He’s red in the cheeks, the exertion of their movements and the heat of his desire making him flush. He taps Dustin on the arm, making the steady roll of his hips slow until suddenly it’s nothing. It’s all quiet for the first time in minutes.

They both look at you with intent eyes. But Dieter is the first to take charge. “You should fuck her,” he tells Dustin. Dieter looks at you, questioning.

“But—“ you protest. Dieter shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Later.”

Dustin has no qualms about the interchanging of you and Dieter. You notice that he's notably gentler with you than he was with him, though. He crawls to you, kisses you chastely—as if testing the waters. There’s nothing necessarily erratic or rough about what he does to you. He looks between your spread legs and fingers at your entrance once more, circling the area teasingly. You groan in anticipation and his head falls to your chest. He takes a taut nipple into his mouth as he plunges his fingers inside of you, pushing them against your front wall. As you sigh heavily, he moves his wet mouth to the other nipple.

You turn your head, catch Dieter’s fixed gaze. He reaches out his hand and you lace your fingers together. He’s touching himself through his condom, stroking softly. You want to devour him.

Dustin takes his fingers from you, and you look back at him. Before you can plead for more he says, “I’m gonna enter you now.” You nod, wordless.

He gathers the slick from his fingers and coats his latex covered cock with it. As you squeeze Dieter’s hand, Dustin lines himself to your entrance. His kiss is soft, barely a kiss at all, and he enters you, inch by careful inch. He feels so overwhelmingly right, snug, puncturing something decidedly primal inside of you when he bottoms out.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan hotly against his shoulder. He manages a small laugh, running his lips against your cheek. “Go hard,” you ask. He hasn’t moved yet, stays still inside of you. You think of the way he was with Dieter.

“I don’t know if I can. I think I’ll…” He swallows. “I know I’ll cum.”

“Please,” you beg. You dig crescent shaped nail marks into ass and he smiles teasingly, running his warm tongue against your sensitive skin. He presses so intimately into you, your nipples scrap against his chest. It feels so good. Everything does.

“He said no,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes.

“He’ll give me anything I want,” you say. Dieter’s fingers leave yours then, and you look over. You think you’ve made him mad but he’s only repositioning himself, coming closer to your bodies. He doesn’t say anything.

Some things are so true they don’t need to be confirmed. They just are. The sky is blue and people die, and Dieter is a man who will give you everything because he was once a man who gave you nothing.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Dustin mumbles, finally drawing back. You nod your head, encouraging, but he doesn’t go harder. He moves in the same way he did before, experimental and slow. When you look at him, imploring silently, he shakes his head. “But a rule is a rule, baby. ‘Sides, I think he’s making me get you ready. Your husband is a bit of a pervert. He’s touching himself, watching me stretch you open with my cock.” Dustin presses his lips into yours. Against you, he mumbles, “Did ya know he likes to watch? Bet he likes to hear too. You—“ Dustin pushes back into you, stopping himself, and the squelch of your juices adds to the effect. He smirks. “—You’ll get fucked. Just not by me. Not yet. Maybe I’ll fuck him while he fucks you. Maybe we’ll do it..” he grunts, bottoming out again, “We’ll do you together. You’re tight as hell, but I know we can get you wide. Couldn’t we?”

You feel Dieter’s fingers but can’t move your eyes away from Dustin’s. They’re greener like this, up close. Dieter trails a line over your body, and then up to Dustin’s, with a lone finger. Dustin turns to look at him and he smiles, nodding. They seem to work without words.

Dustin reaches down to grip the condom as he pulls out of you. You look over at Dieter, half angry and half amused that he could interrupt. You realize what they’re doing almost immediately. Dieter holds open your legs by pressing his palm against one of your knees, and Dustin shuffles, moving back to let Dieter take his place.

His cock probes against your entrance and he smiles down at you like a fool. “Hey,” he tells you evenly, half sober. You ache for him. You clench around nothing as he licks into your mouth.

“Hey,” you respond, overcome. Your fingers wrap around his arms and you notice that he’s got more muscle than before too.

“You want to be fucked?” Although he attempts to make this a question, it is more of a statement. You nod along anyway. He kisses you hard, rough like with Dustin, and he nearly enters you as he rubs himself greedily against your naked warmth, wetting himself with your slick.

“Yes. Hard, like you do with him,” you tell him. He smiles against your lips. You take his cock in your hand, so much more sure with him than anyone, and he slides into you. It feels like homecoming, wet and warm and familiar, your fingers digging into his skin and the smell of sex in the air. He does what you ask, his thrusts sharp, his hips snapping against your hips.

“Dieter,” you pant out, nodding your head. He kisses the side of your mouth sloppily and you smile the best you can. Where Dustin felt right, Dieter feels perfect. You feel like you touch the hem of eternity as he plunges into you with the intensity you requested, uninhibited and giving in the roughness.

He repositions you both in one expert movement, moving to his knees, pushing your hips farther up. This makes you let out a startled gasp; he hits you far deeper like this, his thumbs digging into the flesh on your hips with bruising intensity. You can’t kiss from this position, but it doesn’t matter. He fucks you. Really fucks you.

You see Dustin in the hazy peripheral. Lolling your head to the side, you focus on him. He stands at the side of the bed, smiles at you when you catch his eyes. With his cock standing out in front of him like that, he looks a bit unserious. If you weren’t so full of Dieter, perhaps you’d be amused by this. He doesn’t even touch himself. This makes you frown.

“D—Dieter,” you stammer out.

“Huh?” he grunts.

“Dustin.”

“Mm, what—what about him?”

“Let him fuck me too. Please.”

Dieter shakes his head. “No, you’re mine right now. You’re—“ he snaps into you roughly, the bed creaking. “I’ll suck him off. Or maybe—“ Dieter grunts again, “Maybe he’ll be smart and he’ll get behind me. And maybe he’ll—“ his head drops to your neck, and your head the next part through mumbles. “Maybe he’ll rub against me like he was doing before. But it doesn’t matter right now. Just think about you. It’s all for you.”

You close your eyes, nodding. That sounds fine. Great. Dieter’s finger gazes at your clit and you nod, your hand reaching out to hold his wrist. You always liked to feel the way his forearm moved as he did this to you.

“Cum for me and I’ll cum for you,” he says, and you feel it begin, the stirrings of another orgasm. You think of him, of the way he punctures his thrusts with grunts, how good he feels inside of you, bottoming out like this with measured fury. You like how rough he’s being, like never before. You like this side of Dieter. You like that there is more of Dieter to know.

When you cum, you call out his name. He swallows it, pressing his lips to yours. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me. You’ve always been.” He fucks faster into you, his own release on the horizon. You squeeze around him once, twice, and that’s it; he’s filling the condom up and he’s gasping earnestly, amazed and so goddamn in love. He kisses you on the mouth and it’s so genuine. You kiss him back, smiling like a newlywed.

“Dustin,” you say against Dieter’s lips, after a moment. Your chests are both heaving and you're drenched in a thin layer of sweat. He presses his forehead against yours and you smile. “Let me take care of him,” you tell him.

Dieter rolls off of you, collapsing into bed with a soft groan and saying nothing. You take a moment to recuperate, breathing in and out, letting the bliss of this moment wash over you.

“Come here,” you say to Dustin, patting the open space of the bed beside you. He listens, the bed dipping beneath his weight. It takes a lot of effort on your part, but you rise to your knees. You guide him onto his back and he helps you straddle him. For a moment, you just sit there on top of him, looking at him.

“I used to masturbate to you,” you finally admit. This makes him grin. Beneath your cunt, his erection jumps a little.

“Thanks,” he says. His hand palms one of your breasts again. “You don’t have to do anything to me. I can finish myself off if you want.”

You shake your head, grinning. “Didn’t you hear me? I used to masturbate to you. This is a dream.”

Another hand comes up to cup your other breasts. “Are you sure you don't feel too sore? He fucked you pretty good.” You begin to glide your cunt alongside his prominent erection. He sucks in a swallow breath. “Guess that’s a no.”

“That’s a no,” you confirm.

“Just let her fuck you,” Dieter tells him quietly. You smile over at him but he doesn’t see it; he’s too busy watching the way you move your hips over Dustin. Even with a flaccid penis and in a state of post-coital peace, you manage to get to him.

You ride Dustin quickly, grabbing onto his strong shoulders as he tongues your alongside chest, finding your nipples. He groans, the sensation vibrating throughout your body as you follow the motion his hands set for you. A fast up and down, your back arching, taking him in completely and then pushing back so far he nearly falls out.

Admittedly he does most of the work, your legs wobbly and your body tired. But it feels good. God, does it feel good. You like this, being with two men back to back, each of them taking turns. Dustin generously tries to get you to cum again, his fingers sliding between your bodies, but you stop him.

“It’s too much. Just this,” you tell him. You grind down on him to make him feel better about it, and he hums sympathetically around a mouthful of your breast.

You ride him less enthusiastically the closer he gets, both of you too tired and worn. He stops aiding you so much, kissing anywhere he can access: your jaw, your neck, the side of your mouth. He lets your body fall forward into his. It’s a sort of lazy fucking that you do, meeting halfway to create the sharp thrusts that push him closer to climax.

“Cum in me,” you tell him, voice silky against his ear. He knows how tired you are, feels it too. He gathers up the last of both of your strengths, rutting up into you with intent. As he cums, you ride him, curious, taking all he can give. Dieter is too sensitive, can’t stand to move when he cums, but Dustin nods, moaning against you. When it’s over, you collapse into him, hugging his sweaty body. He laughs against your warm skin.

“Thank you,” he tells you softly, so only you can hear. You nod. You lie on him like that for a moment, listening to the beat of his heart. Dieter watches you, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t look faraway.

You reach out to him with your fingers and he smiles, coming to.

Dustin helps you off of him and you fall between them, sated and spent. He slides off his condom and reaches across your body. “You want me to take yours?” he asks Dieter. Dieter, no longer feeling jealous but merely tired, nods. He hands the man his condom and Dustin pads off to the bathroom. Dieter and you watch this, amused.

“I kinda understand what you see in him now,” he confesses, smiling. He interlocks your fingers and you let him.

“Thank you,” you say, ignoring his comment. You look over at him.

He nods, sincere. “Of course. I assume I did it right?”

“You did it right.”

“And you don’t regret it?”

You shake your head. “I don’t seem to regret you. Even though sometimes it’d be better if I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

You kiss him chastely, even though you know you shouldn’t. “I know,” you tell him softly. “I love you too.”

“Like a friend?”

“No.”

“Like a husband?” he asks, testing the waters. You laugh. Dustin comes back from the bathroom.

“No. Something more than all of that.”

“I can handle that.”

You nod your head. “Me too,” you tell him.

The bed dips from the weight of Dustin once more, and you roll over to your side, cuddling into him. He passes a warm rag to Dieter and he accepts it, cleaning himself. He goes to hand it to you, but you shake your head.

“I’ll take a shower in a little. When I can walk.”

This earns a laugh from them both. Dustin reaches an arm around you, drawing you closer to his body. Dieter, surprisingly, doesn’t mind this; he curls up behind you, too, wrapping an arm around your waist. You’re all so close, and it’s nice. He thinks maybe they might be something to this sharing after all.

“I liked that,” you say to no one in particular.

Dustin hums, fingering trailing over your arm. “Enough to do it again?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I think the opportunity for this kind of thing only happens once in a lifetime, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know about that. This is Hollywood, and they love sequels,” Dieter adds, smiling.

“Yeah,” Dustin nods, “That’s true.”

You close your eyes, smiling faintly. “A sequel, then, maybe,” you say tiredly.

In the morning, you do not regret any of it.

—-

A YEAR LATER.

SUBJECT: THREE’S COMPANY, BUT ONLY SOMETIMES from: dustin.mulray@gmail.com

I was at an art show the other day and I saw a painting with your name on it. The guy in it looked a little familiar (they told me it was an old painting, from nearly a decade ago, before you were both famous. Cute). I bought it, of course. Not that I’m in the habit of buying paintings from people I’ve slept with, but it was for charity and it looked good and I’ve got a new apartment that I’ve got to fill, so I thought why not? It cost a lot (good for you!) and because of that they let me wrangle an email address from them to tell you what a brilliant job you did. You did great. Very Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton of you. Anyway, to the point: You weren’t at the premiere of the documentary with Dieter last month. He told me that it's because you don’t like that scene, and I don’t blame you. Neither do I. But I was wondering how you feel about commissioned paintings? And do you think that Dieter would like to come with you to deliver it if your opinion is positive? (He told me I had to ask you that myself, so I think he’d be happy to accompany you if the canvas is too big to carry by yourself). P.S. I’m asking you for sex–a sequel, as it were–but I really would like a painting, too. I’ll spend a lot (not for the sex, but the art. I guess for the sex too, if you’re into that). Love, D. Mulray.

—-

SUBJECT: HOPEFULLY NOT ROSEMARY’S BABY SITUATION to: david.bravo@gmail.com, dustin.mulray@gmail.com

Sometimes I commission art work for people I like and sometimes I make an exception for those I don’t if they pay enough. I’m sure you fall somewhere in those categories, Dustin. But I must warn you: I won’t do dick drawings. I might do a vagina one if the inspiration strikes. I must admit I’ve never had a man ask me for sex over email. Kind of thrilling, like a retro sext but without any of the sexy parts. I’ve attached Dieter to this email for obvious transparency reasons. He says he’d gladly help me carry your canvas (figuratively and literally). P.S. It will cost you. For tax purposes, I hope you’ll let ‘it’ be the art.

—

from: david.bravo@gmail.com to: you, dustin.mulray@gmail.com

Who said divorce couldn’t be sexy?

[honeybunniii333]

(SORRY I'VE BEEN DEAD! Also i just realized I never see content for Dez and Ed. Like they have a sibling like relationship (even tho they're cousins), and they're supposedly really close in Canon! But I never saw anything for them, and I decided that needed to be fixed. SO! Here ya go!)

Again, her dad was in the hospital again. It had gotten to where he was there more than home, and that was scary and awful in its own right. But now, because of the sudden dip in his health. He can't take her to their yearly concert! They've gone to one every year since she was four, and it was her favorite part of the summer. They'd already bought their tickets and everything... and then he started getting sick again. Bad enough to land him in the hospital two days before they were supposed to leave... Dez was angry, to say the least. NOT at her dad. She knew better than anyone that the last thing the man ever wanted was to break his little girl's heart. She was mad at life for making this happen. Mad at the cancer for making her poor dad so sick and weak. He didn't deserve this. She felt so lost, so out of control. She didn't know what to do, she had to do something. She was SO tired of feeling powerless. She didn't even think about it as she grabbed the scissors from the counter.

Horror, she felt true horror as she looked in the mirror. Her hair, her pretty hair, was all over the floor and the sink. Oh god, what had she done... her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, scissors long abandoned on the counter as she cried and wiped at her face. Her eyes were sore, and her throat was raw. She wanted her dad, but he was not there. And someday, probably soon, he'd never be there again, and that thought just made her cry harder. Dez was an independent person generally. She didn't like being genuinely reliant on anyone, but right now, she'd throw her pride aside for some comfort. Her head shot up at the sound of the almost totally open door, creaking the rest of the way open and a startled gasp following it. Someone stood in the doorway, eyes wide, and God did that make her crumble even further. But this time, there were arms wrapping around her, pulling her close and nails, raking through what remained of her hair. She buried her face into their chest and just let herself cry. She cried and cried until she couldn't seem to muster any more tears.

"Dez..." Ed's quiet response came after a moment or two of prolonged silence. "Desiree, talk to me." he insisted when he got nothing but a sniffle in response, pulling her back by the shoulders to get a good look at her. He frowned a bit and brushed some hair off of her cheek. "I..." She choked out. "Oh god, what did I do... my hair..." She sniffled, trying not to cry again. "Hey, hey..." he hushed "Cmon tell me what's up." he reminded as he pulled her with him to rest against the sink cabnit. Still supporting her with an arm around the shoulder. "I... Dad is sick again." She whispered, and he seemed to understand almost immediately. "Yeah..he is..." he nodded solemly.

"I miss him.." She added, closing her eyes and resting against the strong weight beside her. "I know ya do... he misses ya, too." he reminded, and she couldn't help but smile sadly at that. "He's not coming home anytime soon... and this week was.. supposed to be our concert week." She struggled to get her words out with that feeling bubbling up in her throat again. The feeling that everything was falling apart, Edward just squeezed her shoulder in response. "Yeah Tiá was talking about that earlier this week... you guys go every year..."

"Yeah... and now we can't... " she choked harshly but pushed on. "I know it's dumb. I know he can't help it. It's not that big a deal it just.. it kinda made me realize that there's a good chance that we won't get to do a lot of stuff together, and I don't know... I just cracked, and now my hair is a mess, and I'm a mess.. everything's a mess..." She wiped at her eyes furiously as she spoke. "That's alright." He seemed to have decided. "It's okay to be a little bit of a mess sometimes..." And Dez briefly caught herself thinking about how Ed should probably take that sentiment to heart as well. "And I wouldn't say your hair is a mess..." he laughed a little, moving a bit to get a better look. "it's a bit choppy, yeah... but I don't think it looks bad on ya!" she seemed rather skeptical as she glanced up at the older boy. "Really?"

"Yeah! Just needs a bit of touch up, here..." he insisted, pulling her up and directing her to the mirror as he grabbed the scissors that had been discarded on the counter and immediately started cutting away. "Hey!" she tensed a bit, "Just trust me, Dez." he sighed with a roll of his eyes, and soon he set them back down. "See..?" she was a bit scared to look up at first but slowly she opened her eyes (which she hadn't really registered squeezing shut until now) and... he was right... it wasn't awful. "It'll take a little gettin used to, it is a big change." he hummed, fluffing her hair up a bit to check the length. "But I think you might end up liking it... and if you don't... it's just hair. It'll grow back."

She wasn't sure how to feel, standing there with a boy she'd for some reason expected to be mean when first meeting him.. it was a funny thought now. She stood there studying his work, his hands resting comfortingly on her shoulder... She didn't know how to feel, but another gentle squeeze cleared her mind. "Hey..." his voice was soft. "It'll be okay... I know it doesn't feel like it right now... everything's a bit hectic, and it's hard to see it, but... You'll be okay." And somehow, when Edward said it, it sounded a lot more believable. She couldn't help but feel better with the reminder that even when her Dad was gone. Ed would still be there... he was always there... whether she wanted or not... "Hey Eddie?" She whispered after another long pause. Ed had already gotten to cleaning up the mess she'd made. He seemed to do that a lot... "Yeah?" He hummed, not looking up from his task of sweeping up hair. "Would you wanna go to a concert this weekend?" He seemed a bit confused for a moment, but the confusion was short-lived, and he seemed to understand. He smiled fondly to himself and nodded.

"Yeah, I would."

Dez had a feeling that she'd be okay...

[skinnyazn]

In the Bleak Midwinter

The sequel to this story: The Masks We Wear

Ch.4 Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 4/5 Notes: EXPLICIT VERY VERY EXPLICIT DO NOT READ IF UR A MINOR, 3.9k words of filth, Jag finally reveals her secret; they bang, I'm not going to heaven and I'm ok with that, also alway wear protection folks but for the sake of pies du creme they are both STI free and Jag is on bc,

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Five | AO3 | MASTERLIST

By the time you reached your apartment it was nearing evening. You’d chatted for hours in a cafe near the park, only leaving when less than subtle glances from the shopkeeper signaled her impatience to close up. 

To your surprise, Simon “Ghost” Riley was actually a decent conversationalist. During your time with the 141 he was usually quiet; ever observing and aloof. Sure there had been some unspoken attraction between you two, even Soap noticed, but you chose to stay professional and tamped those feelings down. Committing the brief, accidental touches to memory. But Soap was the only person you knew who got him to open up. Often you heard their laughing—well, Soap’s—from the other room as you pored over intel. But Simon had never been as chatty with you as he was today. Maybe it was because you never had the time or resolve to pry. But here, with his stoic demeanor tucked away and walls somewhat down, you finally got a better sense of the man. He was no longer just the enigma you had created in your head.

It was dangerous, dangerous territory.

The walk back was leisurely in spite of the deteriorating damp. Everything felt so comfortable with Simon, like you had known him for years. Easy. And every foreboding alarm blared in your head: what the hell are you doing? But Simon was like a black hole. All-consuming. And you were already sucked into its event horizon.

Inside your building was a welcomed respite from the wind and the cold. You took off your beret and ruffled your cropped, black hair. Its layers fell choppily around your face. Your cheeks and nose felt slightly windburned, tinging a color that matched the scarlet of your lips. Ghost’s eyes drank you in, heavy and dark behind the mask. What you wouldn’t give for a peak of his face—to see his cheeks flushed, pretty and pink against his fair complexion…

The concierge at the front-desk wore a worried look at the presence of the ominous figure next to you as your heels echoed on the marble, but he simply nodded when Simon glanced his way. The man was visibly paler by the time you reached the elevators.

“You did that on purpose,” you mused as you pressed the eleventh button.

“Dunno what you mean.” Simon stepped inside. “Was simply being amiable to the bloke.”

You leaned against the reflective metal wall and faced him. He mirrored you; an infinity of tension in the shaft. You wanted to reach over and grab a fistful of him—kissing his pretty lips until your lungs ached with need for air. You shifted slightly, tightening your core.

The lift chimed and the doors parted. Neither of you moved, eyes still heavy on each other. The doors began to close. Ghost thumbed a button without breaking his stare and they slid open again. Pushing off the wall, you finally gave an alluring smile as you exited. He followed, silent as ever.

“So,” he said as you reached your apartment.

You turned around to face him, back against the wooden door. “So?”

He took a step closer, eyes dropping to your lips for a moment, then back up. He waited patiently.

You exhaled. “Truthfully? I didn’t have a secret in mind when I made that deal with you.”

He hummed. “Cheeky.” It should be illegal how seductive a single word sounded coming from his mouth.

“A little,” you smirked. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

His eyes narrowed, pupils honed on you as his jaw shifted slightly under the mask. It was a molten look. Too hot—like you were staring into the Sun. You wanted to turn away, but you simply couldn’t move. You made a choice, then and there.

“Alright,” you hesitated. “Maybe I do have one.”

“Let’s hear it.” His response was a little too eager. It made your heart beat a little faster.

The back of your head rested against your front door, exposing the length of your neck delicately; a peek of olive skin from beneath your turtleneck. Simon’s stare wavered.

Your eyes flicked to where his mouth was under the mask, then languidly back up to his as you said: “No one’s ever truly made love to me.”

His lids grew heavier, blonde lashes lowering. You wondered if his hair matched and if there was enough to wrap your fingers around. “Never?” A gentleman. 

“Never. A shame, isn’t it?” You reached for his hands, gloved as they were, and guided them to your hips. Giving him permission to all of you. His thumbs ghosted over your jacket to the two points of your hipbones as he slowly closed the distance between you. His colossal frame obscured your view. You were inches apart now…

“Indeed.” It rolled off his tongue like a smooth cigar.

You couldn’t meet his gaze now, afraid of spooking him like he was some wild, untamed creature. This close all you could do was inhale his scent. He smelled of rain and bourbon and your time in the woods together.

“Can you show me how tender you can be?” It came out barely a whisper.

His hands slowly left your hips and moved to the rim of his balaclava. Time suspended; only the sound of your blood pumping filled your ears. You couldn’t breathe. He raised the knitted fabric, just enough to expose his lips and the underside of his angular nose. Light blonde stubble covered his strong jaw. He was gorgeous, silvery scars and all. Simon’s gloved hand angled your chin to look at him. A heartbeat. Two. He closed the distance.

It was unbelievably soft, like the first falling flakes of snow dusting the ground. You weren’t sure if it was even a kiss, more a meager brushing of the lips. All you could focus on was his breath against your mouth; his warmth enveloping you. Simon pulled away, just a millimeter—a hesitation. You both knew there’d be no turning back after this; traces of his touch would forever linger on your skin. But you already needed the taste of him again. You closed the distance this time, hands roaming up the breadth of his chest to wrap around his solid neck. He parted his mouth to let you in. 

Your left hand groped for the doorknob as you guided him into your apartment, still kissing each other. You slipped out of your boots, as did he, and led him to your couch by the hand. He took a moment to observe where you lived.

He let out a low whistle. “Nice place.”

“Thank you.” You shrugged out of your trench coat and laid it across an end chair. “May I?”

Ghost looked at you and removed his pea coat, hoodie, and gloves, and handed them over, leaving him in a rather form-fitting, long sleeved shirt. He rolled up his sleeves. You sucked in a breath.

“Maybe I’m in the wrong line of work.” He surveyed your place and the view.

You smirked at him as your sat down on the velvet couch, relaxed and eyeing him like your namesake. You extended a delicate hand toward the massive man, summoning him to you. Instead, he grabbed it and kissed it, then leaned down and kissed your cheek, moving torturously slow down your neck. Each kiss was like a lick of fire, and your cheeks flushed with desire. You draped your hands around the back of his head, feeling the fabric of his mask and his solid skull underneath. 

Gently, Ghost slid your turtleneck to the side to expose more of you. Clever, intuitive bastard too because your neck was the most sensitive part of your body, and every kiss he placed made you melt—especially between your legs. A soft moan escaped your lips when he lightly dragged his hot tongue across your skin, followed by a gentle suck of your pulse-point.

“Simon,” you sighed. Your fingers squeezed his nape with want.

“Got all night, luv,” he murmured into your skin.

His lips found the gold chain around your neck and took it between his teeth as gently he pulled it out from under your shirt. A jade jaguar pendant hung heavily at its end. Simon rolled the animal between his fingertips, pondering it, then you. It had been your obscure secret since leaving the task force, and you felt somewhat embarrassed now that he discovered it—like you were caught with something you shouldn’t have.

“So you do miss us,” he smiled at you—well, it was a smile for him. Your heart nearly stopped he was so gorgeous.

He moved back to your lips, kissing them languidly. It was open-mouthed and lazy; tongues and saliva mixing as you wanted nothing more than to taste every square inch of your beautiful phantom. 

In one swift motion, Ghost reached beneath you and maneuvered so that he was now sitting and you were straddling him. It was blessed relief to have him under you. You rolled your hips as you deepened the kiss. 

A low growl came out of his throat. “Fffuck, Jag.” His large hands moved down your back and squeezed your ass as you continued your undulations. “That’s it, take what you want, sweet’eart.”

With the way his hands were spanned across your back and ass, you weren’t really in the mood to take your time. You hooked your feet around his columns for thighs—could feel his hardness growing under you as you continued your steady gyrations. His head flopped back against the couch as he groaned. It exposed his Adam’s apple, bobbing as he swallowed in torture. You greedily claimed it with your mouth, licking and sucking his neck. His taste; his scent—it was all too much. You desperately needed this man inside of you.

Simon clearly felt the same. His hands halted the movement of your hips, gripping the muscle firmly where your legs met your waist. 

“Take these off,” he commanded.

Obliging, you stood and pulled your pants and panties off together. Simon palmed his cock through his pants, gazing at you like you were rain in a drought.

“C’mere.” Large hands grabbed your hips and pulled you toward him as he leaned forward on the couch to meet you. His nose brushed the cropped, dark hair on your mound, inhaling your scent as he caressed your ass and the back of your toned thighs. His breath teased your skin; you exhaled shakily. Your hands kneaded his shoulders. 

“Let’s do this right, yeah?” He murmured into the crease of your hips, not bothering to look at you—focused on his task of making you feel like putty.

Fuck. He was chatty when he worshiped you. Torturous, tender kisses warmed your core. You felt like imploding. He kissed your short hair and ghosted his breath over your clit. Bastard. The tip of his tongue grazed it; he flicked up lightly. You whined and gripped his shoulders a little tighter. 

It took you by surprise when the whole breadth of his tongue sloppily licked your cunt, sucking on your labia as he pulled away slightly, only to go back and tease your entrance. Your hips bucked but his hands were fast to move to your torso, stabilizing you.

“Simon,” you moaned.

“Love when you say my name like that,” he hummed between sucks; wet sounds mingled with your heavy breathing. You were already weak in the knees the way he was working you with his tongue. 

Ghost hooked his arms under your legs as he pulled you back onto the couch with ease. You had to brace yourself against its top to keep from falling over. All the while he dutifully worked you with his tongue, delving inside of you now at this angle; his nose and the fabric of his mask brushed against your clit. It was maddening.

Legs draped over his shoulders, you relaxed your weight on him and grabbed the back of his head with one hand while the other played with your throat. There was more leverage in this position. Carefully, you ground on his face, not wanting to knock his mask off. You watched how his eyes squeezed closed as he groaned into you. His hands groped your ass, spreading you open. 

Heat was already growing in your core as you used his handsome face and masterful tongue to build your climax. A light perspiration was starting to dew from the warmth of your turtleneck and the fervency between your legs. You looked down. It was probably the hottest scene you’ve ever witnessed in your life.

“F-fuck, Simon,” you stuttered, nearly there.

His dark eyes snapped open to you, the sound of his name falling off your tongue breaking his trance. They were heavy and full of lust and possession—like you were the only one who would ever be allowed to say his name like that. It was overwhelming. Your fingers gripped the back of his head, steadying him as you came hard on his tongue—vision going white while you rode it out. You gasped for air as you curled over him. He held you firmly, but didn’t relent with his tongue, making you cry out and turn you into a moaning, blubbering mess. Finally you pushed his head away when you couldn’t take it anymore. 

He allowed you to sink down onto his chest as he stared at you like you were the moon hung over a dark sea. Radiant and exalted. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathed.

The part of his exposed face shimmered with slick from your wetness; his eyes glinted with conceit in the darkness—it was well earned. You kissed his swollen lips, still somewhat breathless, tasting yourself. He deepened it, tongue finding yours. Already had you again throbbing with want.

Simon didn’t release you from the odd position as he stood; you dampened the center of his shirt.

“Bedroom.”

“There,” you pointed, your other hand secured around his broad shoulders.

Your head lolled to the side as he started kissing your neck again while making his way to your bed. Like he couldn’t get enough. Like he’d die if he stopped.

“Need you,” he said as he set you down gently on the bed.

There was just enough light from the almost-closed curtains to illuminate him. Just a sliver of an outline in the black. 

“Ghost…” you moaned.

“Not tonight,” lips on your throat again. 

“Take these off, please.” Deft fingers began unbuckling his belt. His large hands replaced yours as he took over. 

You shed your turtleneck and socks while he slipped out of his clothes. In the darkness you made out the chiseled lines of his body and the silverly streaks of his scars—across his torso and biceps; deep on his thigh. Ares in the flesh. You slunk toward him on all fours, resting on your heels when you reached him. 

It was your turn to trace kisses across his core. He sucked in a sharp inhale. You knew he was fit under all his gear—you’d stolen glances at his vascular arms whenever he had his sleeves rolled up around camp—but up close and personal he was even more breathtaking. Perfection. Every inch of him. You slowly kissed your way to the scars on his arms, freshly healed and tender, and then to his nipple, laving a hot tongue over it and sucking while your fingertips ghosted down his core. His generous cock twitched against your stomach, hands forming fists by his side as he groaned. You could feel the rumble of the noise through his chest. It made you drip.

Your hands found his length as you continued your ministrations. Every part of Simon was big. Your mouth pooled with saliva in want. Alluringly, you dipped your head down to taste him, stroking the underside of his cock’s head with your thumb while you licked off beads of precum with the tip of your tongue. His hands caressed the sides of your face as his breath stuttered. His touch was so gentle, like you were some delicate thing. You never took your eyes off his.

Placing your mouth over the head of his uncut cock, you swirled your tongue on its underside while stroking the rest of his length. He tasted so fucking good; sweet as summer wine. You could barely fit your fingers around him. He let out a ragged breath as you began to work the length of him with your mouth, suctioning with your tongue. He was throbbing now. You needed him deeper in your throat, filling you—pulling the viscous saliva out of you.

With extreme constraint, Simon pulled away, cock making an audible pop as it fell densely out of your mouth, and brushed his wetness off the side of your lips onto the flat of your tongue with his thumb. 

“Tonight’s about you, luv.” His voice dripped like molasses. Thick and heavy. Under his licentious gaze, you accepted.

The bed sunk under the weight of him as you both moved backward; pulled into his inescapable gravity. You wanted him to crush you. His fingers found your wetness as he teased your folds, ring finger sweeping your clit; your hands stoked his length gently. He laid on his side to face you, resting his healing leg. You mirrored.

“So wet for me,” he murmured into your mouth. 

You smiled into the kiss, but quickly gasped as he slid a thick finger into you, edging a second along your folds. 

The moans that filled the air as he worked you with just one finger made his cock drip. You thumbed the head and spread it around, creating a suction at the tip. His breath hitched. He slid a second finger into you, stretching you out, as your forehead banged against his. You desperately wanted to feel his skin on yours, not the fabric of his mask. His low chuckle was torturous.

“Not even the full size of me yet, Jag.” His basso voice drove you insane. “You’re so fuckin’ tight. Think I’ll be able ta fit?”

“I can take it,” you responded breathlessly, trying to keep tempo with your hands on his pretty cock, but the way he worked you with just his fucking fingers, churning your pussy until its wet sounds filled the room, made your hands stutter. “It’s been a while, though,” you breathed into neck.

“Makes two of us,” he murmured. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” You had no doubt he would.

“Then please, hurry up and fuck me.” You needed to feel the stretch of his cock inside of you.

“Negative.”

“Simon…” It was a warning, but lacked conviction as he kissed you the softest you’ve ever been kissed in your life. 

“Gonna be tender with you, ‘member?” he whispered into your lips, dragging kisses between every other word. You fell apart in his arms right there.

Reluctantly, Simon removed his fingers from you—tracing your wetness up your clit. You pulled him closer, brushing the head of his cock against your folds, mixing both your fluids. He groaned into your mouth. Simon grabbed your right leg and raised it over the slope of his hips, caressing along the length of your thigh to your ass. Opening you up for him. Canting his hips, he entered you torturously slowly, kissing you unhurriedly. His cock’s head wasn’t even fully in yet, but you were already melting from the gentle affections, mewling with each slow thrust.

“S’alright?” He looked at you mesmerized, like he was a little in love—blonde lashes heavy under his mask.

You nodded. “Perfect.”

He smiled and gripped your hips a little firmer. Sliding in a little deeper. Surly this was heaven. Your hands clasped around the thick column of his neck, stroking the back of his head and the exposed skin of his nape. The stretch of his cock's head fully in you was pure euphoria. Simon groaned into the hollow of your neck as he slid more of himself into you with each slow thrust, until he finally filled you up fully.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, Jag.”

You couldn’t formulate any words, head lulled back accepting his worshiping. Your jaguar pendant rested solidly between your chests.

Simon snaked his thick arm under you, bracing one hand against your low back, while he slid the other between your thighs. His thumb pressed circles into your clit, hastening the heat building in your core. You moaned his name and clawed at his muscular back. He picked up his pace slightly. It was still agonizingly slow, edging you cruelly. You were both so fucking wet; the room was filled with licentious sounds of slick.

“Fuck,” you sobbed. “You’re so fucking big, baby.” You angled your leg higher against his torso so he could fill you deeper. The head of his cock pressed against your cervix, pushing your organs around with each fucking thrust. Feeling like he could split you open. You’d never been this wet or full.

Simon’s breath hitched against your throat. Hooking his right arm under your leg, gripping your back firmly, he stretched your cunt even tighter around his cock. You choked back your moans. His thrusting was becoming less exact as the heat kept building in your core. You dripped all over him and his heavy balls slapped you with each push. Working your clit with your left fingers, your right hand dug into his back, hastening the inevitable.

“Simon I—” but you couldn’t even find words as each thrust went deeper and deeper, threatening to breach your entire being. 

“That’s it, luv,” he encouraged you. His cock barely left the depth of you, between each shallow thrust. You were completely filled. His dark eyes met yours, drunk off of you. It was entirely too much.

You clawed his back as your orgasm erupted. Sobbing his name as actual euphoric tears fell out.

“That’s it, that’s fuuuucking it,” he growled as he picked up pace slightly. You were completely ruined—raking and writhing as he filled you so full you could burst. He groaned into your mouth as he emptied into you with his hot cum.

You both spasmed, unable to move coherently—just moaning and kissing and squeezing. Your legs wouldn’t stop shaking on your comedown.

“Fucking ’ell,” he panted against your face, fabric scratching at your cheeks. His damp chest with its light hair rubbed against your breasts. He pulled out slightly, but you moaned in protest. What little control you had over your limbs was used to keep him inside you. He hummed into your hair, thrusting back in. Your toes curled.

Simon looked at you full of emotion, brushing back the tears into your choppy hair. It was matted to your face.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you smiled at him, kissing his scarred lip tenderly.  

He didn’t stop staring. You felt too hot under his gaze. His cock twitched inside of you and you bit your bottom lip as you squeezed in response. You had to look away or else you’d never come back from him. 

“Wishing we did that sooner,” you deflected. “Thank you.”

He hummed. “My honor.” 

Simon pressed into the hollow of your neck, breathing you in, and draped a heavy arm over your chest; his calloused hands tracing soft circles into your shoulder. Your lethal specter replaced with something much more tender. You wished you could stay in this moment forever; time meaningless. You felt him leak out of you as you closed your eyes, completely content. Sounds of the weather outside lulled you to a dreamless sleep.

___________ Hope y'all enjoyed it! I'm thinking of doing a smaller little epilogue to tie it up, or I could just end it here. What do y'all think? For those who wanted to be tagged!  @deadbranch @k4marina @embers-of-alluring @shuttlelauncher81 @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @tomhardy41 @yourmom3-5