#like the bread still tasted great it just never rose

[irawhiti]

one of the first things i'm doing when i move out is setting up another rewena bug

[meadowlarkx]

Body and Spirit

Fic/Elven food writing on pregnancy for @tolkienekphrasisweek day 2: Culinary Arts, for the theme of "bread and roses." | AO3

From the writings of an unknown Elf-scholar of the First Age, found in the ruins of Vinyamar before Beleriand’s sinking; now housed in Rivendell.

Rightly has it been written that the bearing of children takes great share and strength of one’s being. It is the duty of each faithful spouse to attend their partner carefully in this time and wait upon their needs. So the proverbs run “thou worriest like a first-time father” and “when the husband’s belly is full, the wife’s hands are never empty.” And any healer will attest that food nourishes the spirit of parent and child both, if it is prepared correctly.

In days of old, parents could rest easier: it was peacetime, and labor was effortful but always painless. Dim eyes were soon brightened by the new child’s squalling, and child and bearer both were anointed with Laurelin’s dew and garlanded with Telperion’s blooms as safeguards against dark dreaming. It is true also that Yavanna and Oromë never let expecting parents go wanting, sending servants to each threshold with fruits of field, orchard, and wood that sated more than any other. If even then Míriel’s spirit was spent and spouses fretted, how much more do they fret now, and with better reason! Yet babes go on being born as if in spite of the shadow.

Our souls are fashioned such that the mind of one spouse draws very near to the mind of the other and each knows always (if things are aright) the contemplations of the other’s inmost heart, and this is to great advantage in childbearing just as it is in child-begetting. It makes easy and unburdensome those urgent cravings that may strike one with child. Indeed a husband often knows before his wife does what it is she wishes to eat or drink, and the best spouses are ever at the elbow of their partner with this or that delicacy. My own wife once had such a wish for pickled radishes that our garden’s were finished in one Mingling, and all of the neighbors made gifts of theirs for our kitchen.

Of these desires some say that they foretell the tastes of the babe when it is grown, and others divine in them the babe’s impatience, laughter, worry, and so on. I will not here offer a full enumeration, for it seems to me each family speaks differently, and every parent is their own loremaster in this matter.

A few more words on the subject. Many have found certain cordials and tisanes soothing and strengthening for the spirit strained with child. A honeyed elderflower infusion refreshes the body, especially when chilled with ice. Dried mint, thyme, and ginger root steeped in hot water ease discomfort, and the fragrant steam brightens the spirit. As winters here bite so deeply, this last may be of most use. 

Begettings are most frequent in the Spring and thus Elves are often in childbed come Spring again. So I have striven to mark a calendar of the seasons, as well as those dishes once or now customary to be served for the health and joyful greeting of a new-growing babe and to honor and sustain the one with child. Though much is scarce, and certain plants cannot be found, new children are rare in these lands and the bearing of them is a hard thing, and a brave one. I ask readers to use every store at their disposal to make it easy and happy. Where one thing cannot be found, another of similar savor can be used in its stead.

Spring (begetting)

It is still a tradition among our people to celebrate with feasting when the child’s spirit is first felt, even if, as it may be now, only the wedded pair themselves are at the table. Sweet and savory dumplings are usually the centerpiece of this dinner. A simple dough of flour and water or egg will suffice to wrap them. Soft cheese well-salted and herbed with chopped ramp, garlic scapes, and violet leaves makes a good filling in this season. Preserved fruits and jams will suit as well.

Two things are essential in such a feast: a bowl of rich broth (each prepares it differently), to nourish the child, and a small dish of honey infused with violets, to welcome it with sweetness. Both are for the bearer of the child to drink entirely, or among the Sindar and Teleri, to be passed between both parents to the raucous encouragement of their family and friends. It is a remarkable and auspicious thing that the Elves of Middle-earth drink broth and honey to mark the time of begetting as we did in the West. Perhaps this has been our way since the days of the first awakening, though to uncover the truth of it would demand a keener mind than mine.

Summer

Summer is a time for sweets as the babe grows. The moment of quickening often occurs in late summer and may be celebrated as well. The following is the method for a cake preferred by the Vanyar that has since become popular among our people: Mix a light batter of flour, butter, egg, milk, and honey, perfumed with a spoonful of orange blossom water or rosewater, and some of the peel of a lemon; pour it into small round baking dishes that have been well oiled. Into each dish of batter, press the cut slices of exactly one peach or plum, arranged in a round to resemble the whole. (Persimmon and guava were also favored in Tirion, an you find them.) Bake in a quick oven until fragrant and golden, then cool and turn out. Scatter the tops of the cakes with rose petals.

Some among the Vanyar make a version of this sweet with a heavier dough, pressed thin and swaddled about whole fruits which are then baked so assembled. In both methods, the cakes, or depending upon whom you ask, the round fruits therein, are said to show the size of the babe at midsummer.

Autumn

The foods preferred in autumn during childbearing honor Elf and child while lending strength for the coming winter. One preparation that is very savory is to set a partridge or game hen in an artfully arranged “nest” of carrots, parsnips, slivers of apple and wild onion stalks, whichever of these are to hand, and to roast them all together until tender and browned so that the vegetables take in the bird’s juices. A lighter but very popular delicacy is that of strips of very thin dough twined into the shapes of nests or cradles. They are then filled with a mixture of stewed figs and blackberries, spiced with cardamom. The time spent upon winding such small baskets makes this task one best and most joyful shared among many hands with laughter and singing. It is ill fortune, however, if the Elf bearing the babe lays hand to such work, which ought to be done instead on their behalf.

Winter

Anyone will tell you that several foods for pregnant Elves are ever insisted upon by relatives and spouses in the cold of winter, and all the more in this land where cold numbs and freezes. One must be especially careful during this time. Yet some dishes are held to be particularly lucky or healthful. One adopted from the Falathrim is a clear stew of white fish and pickled salted greens, flecked with barley: it is oft prescribed and thought to ensure a good flow of milk after the birth, especially when tender crab’s meat is added. A porridge of as many different seeds as can be found (poppyseed, wheatberry, buckwheat, oat, walnut, and hazelnut are favorites) brings a life of plenty to the couple and the future babe. It is typically flavored with dried fruits and orange rind, and sweetened with honey.

In the past, the most devoted spouses sought fresh snows from the heights of holy Taniquetil to mix with cream, sugar, and vanilla seed. Such a simple iced confection is thought especially delectable for Elves bearing children, as it refreshes a strained body and delights the spirit. Here the winter season affords the best opportunity both to make and to relish it.

Spring (childbed)

Just as violet-steeped honey is drunk to celebrate conception, so it is again upon the table as the span of a year draws to a close and the time of childbed approaches. A draught of such honey stirred into clear springwater with crushed thyme is drunk by the Elf nearing childbed to make labor sweeter—all the more needful now that it brings such pain. Many favor also a round leavened bread of red winter wheat studded with seeds, said to be more strength-giving in the short term than lembas, and good for weariness before and after childbirth.

All must attentively wait upon the Elf who has recently undergone the trial of childbirth, providing comfort and celebration. A sweet soup of cloudy sea moss, dried fruit, and boiled dumplings filled with chopped nuts is customarily prepared by the family and specially offered to the Elf recovering abed. It is delicate and soothing to the stomach and marks something of the sweetness of this most joyous of times—before the great feasts of the child’s naming.

_____

Endnotes on AO3; say hi if you like!

[rinbowaman]

domestic fluffy drabble with ethan(like that side of ethan we saw after him and y/n reunited after the tiff incident) and y/n after getting married

awwww this one is sooooo cute. without thinking, straight the image of this pops up in my head.....

The wedding ceremony went beautifully. you and heeseung danced and dined with the family and took lots of photos. After everything was done, you both went to the lavish hotel suite where preparations of a massive bed, adorned with silk sheets, rose petals, a platter of exotic fruits, breads, cheeses, and jams all spread out on the table with sparking apple cider.

You were still in your gown with your hair in a beautiful relaxed half up and half down style, adorned with your favorite flowers decorating it with simple and tasteful jewelry. Your gown was formfitting, delicate and trimmed with lace, it was very pretty...but also very sexy. the long train draped from below your derriere, making you look even more ethereal and alluring as it contours the shape of your body....that shapely body he loves.....too much.

you start to take off your earrings, when heeseung sits on the bed and looks down at the floor, looking pensive.

You ask him if everything was alright and he smirks and says "yeah.....everything is great."

standing up, he walks over to you. He looks so handsome in his black tux and his hair combed over in a relaxed manner, off to the side, exposing his forehead. He looked so dashing and suave.

as soon as he stands in front of you, he leans his head back as he stretches it....from left....to right....to front...to back.....and then centered again. his eyes slowly open, and there he was......

Ethan......

With his mouth closed, his eyes relaxed under partially closed lids, he looks at you up and down as he sighs through his nose. the way he looked at you as he stood with his hands in his pockets...

(didnt have time to change his hair to black but you get the picture...pardon the pun lol)

yes...the way he looked at you....it was very rare...in fact, the only time he looked at you in that manner, was when after he got to reunite with him after the incident with Scott and Tiff.....he lacked all forms of a sadistic and sinister aura as he looked completely in love...not a single lustful glint in his eye.

"........you look really pretty....."

"thank you..."

"mmhmm....you look really beautiful..."

"oh...than you."

"you look gorgeous..."

you start to chuckle. "Thank you Ethan..."

lifting his gaze back to your eyes, he takes a step closer to you...

"you look like a goddess..."

"thanks."

Takes another step.....

"you look......unreal...."

"....thank you baby."

He reaches for you and gently pulls you into chest, firmly gripping you at the waist yet he was still gentle and admitted delicate strokes with his thumbs on your sides.

"............can i have you?" he asks....

You were surprised, normally Ethan would never bother asking for anything...he would just take it....especially when it came to you.

"....w-what?"

"CAN....i have you?" he asks, gently reaching up and stroking your neck.

".....yes...?.....this is....out of character for you...."

"......tonight is out of character babydoll.....tonight, you're a bride.....my bride.....my wife....tonight should be done differently...." he smirks as he reaches his thumb and gently strokes the corner of your mouth.

".....you gonna let me keep you forever?"

"Yes...."

"You gonna keep me forever?"

"yes..."

"You gonna let me protect you?"

"yes...."

"You gonna do as i say?....be a good girl and always listen to me?..."

"........yes......"

He leans in and kisses you.

"kay.....come here." he whispers as his lips brush against yours faintly.

Ethan started the night, and Heeseung ended it....it couldn't have been more perfect.....

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Sweet Grains (Alfie Solomons x Reader, Modern AU)

Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Modern AU, Bakery AU

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Reader

Word count: 3.7K

Warnings: Talk of eating disorders and low self-esteem (based on personal experience, so don’t be a twat), Alfie being a proper gentleman

Summary: Kindness can go a long way. A loaf of bread, a cup of coffee, a conversation to break up the pressure that comes with ambition. Alfie Solomons, the most feared man in Camden and perhaps the whole of London, is full of these little bits of sweetness.

Not that he would admit this outright, of course. However, the men at the bakery certainly notice a change in his demeanour whenever you pop by.

But when you do so to drop off a gift, there soon rises a bitterness that excels that of the dark roast served at The Old Rum House Bakery. Yet, as with the darkest of coffees, Alfie works his magic to reduce the awful taste.

Because he wants the best for you, who is starting to be more than a friend to him. Who else will he grant the privilege of eating his soda bread?

He wants you.

And a new bookie.

Tag List: @zablife @vir-tual @babaohhhriley @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @dreamlandcreations @solomons-finest-rum @mollybegger-blog @liliac-dreamer @buttercupsandboys @rose-like-the-phoenix @wandawiccan60

TH Masterlist

Gratitude is easy and simultaneously terrifying to show.

Take a deep breath. It’s gonna be alright.

The tin in my hands feels like it’s filled with stones rather than cookies. Also, the design of it, navy blue with gold and flowers, suddenly doesn’t seem that great of an idea either. It would be a shame to throw it away, but the thought of asking for it back once it’s empty makes me uneasy. After all, it’s a gift.

While gathering my courage, I watch people stroll by the bakery in front of me. It is mostly locals who stop to check out the fully stocked window display. Tourists tend to get their food elsewhere in the market. However, even in Croydon they can vouch for the quality and taste of The Old Rum House Bakery in Camden. 

Recently I’ve been popping by here to study for the AAT Bookkeeping exam. Partially because I want to expand and develop my personal skill set, but primarily because I’m well over being a barista and working for minimum wage. The owner, Alfie Solomons, has been kind enough to help me. Although, perhaps it’s better to say he insisted on it in his own way.

The tall burly man kept walking past me and looking over my shoulder during the first few days. Now, I can’t blame him because who wouldn’t get curious when someone sets up an improvised office in their business? On the first day, I was ready to pack up and leave in the blink of an eye. The hairs on the back of my neck remained upright, my hands jittery with the anticipation of being told by a gravelly voice to leave so there would be space for more customers.

But those words were never said.

Alfie let me sit for as long as I wanted.

The one time I had the nerve to meet his gaze, he plopped down in the chair across from me and told me he’d teach me the books. Just like that. I blinked, gobsmacked by his blunt and rather hellbent statement. Since then, he’s been my mentor.

And I don’t want to disappoint him.

One… two… three. Let’s go!

“Y/N, what’re you doing here?” The voice in my ear pierces through the hubbub of the busy street, packed with people enjoying the rare London sunshine by roaming around. Snapped out of my reverie yet still drowsy with dread, I turn to the man with black curly hair who has appeared at my side.

“Ollie, hey, hi! Is- Um, is Alfie… in? Today, I mean? Now?” It’s silly, reduced to a blabbering mess because of a person I know decently well. For as far as one can know another when in a mentor-student relation. Although, sometimes it seems we’re more than that.

Our conversations know no limits, freely flowing over tea and coffee. I can never leave without a loaf of soda bread he refuses to sell despite it being a piece of heaven. It has this certain sweet element, which he refuses to reveal what it is. However, there is one thing I value above all else.

He always makes time for me. No matter whether it’s rush hour or quiet, early in the morning when the bread is still being baked or late in the afternoon when there’s barely anything left and inventory has to be taken, Alfie stops being a business owner and becomes my mentor. Or, rather, my friend. Although, perhaps that’s a step too far. 

We’re close acquaintances.

Very close acquaintances.

The assistant brand manager of the bakery chuckles. “Yeah, he is.”

“Great! Can you give him this?” I hold the tin out to him.

“Why don’t you give it yourself? I’m just returning from my break so he can go on one. I’ll fetch him for you.”

“Oh, no, I’m kinda busy and-’’

“Don’t be shy. Come on in.” Ollie holds the door open and gestures for me to go inside.

Mentally cursing myself, I take a deep breath and step forwards.

The warm scent of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee hangs in the air, vibrant like the murmur of hushed conversation and the clinking of tableware. Here and there some tables are occupied with the customers who remain from the rush hour caused by lunch. However, most of them are almost done. In the back, a couple gets up to leave. Unsurprisingly, their smiles are content.

Because the food here would be fit for a king. 

As soon as I cross the threshold, the broad-shouldered man with slicked back brown curly hair behind the counter turns around. He grows still when his sea blue eyes fall on me, the loaf of bread in his hands entirely forgotten.

My heart skips a beat, skittish under the intensity of his gaze. I grip the tin in my hands a little tighter, but the metal does nothing to cool the flush of heat that washes over me. A queasy feeling starts to set up in my stomach when the awareness I’m showing more skin than usual hits. Nevertheless, I put on a mask and muster a smile. “Hey.”

Alfie clears his throat. He blinks a few times like he’s been rudely woken and needs to ground himself in reality again. An unusual awkward groan falls from his lips as he places the bread he’s holding on a nearby counter, wipes his hands on his apron, and then nods in greeting. “Shalom, love.”

What was that reaction?

The sound of my heels on the stone tiles is incredibly loud in my ears as I come closer. Even an elephant would walk more gracefully and quietly in them than I do. Unfortunately, in my enthusiasm I didn’t calculate in the time it would take for me to learn how to wear them properly and move like a sophisticated woman rather than a lumbering individual.

“I popped by to give you these.” I hold the gift I prepared out to him. “As a thank you for teaching me how to bookkeep.”

“You made these?” he asks as he gratefully accepts the tin. His expression brightens as he inspects the oatmeal cookies inside.

“They’re orange and apricot with a bit of salt. Also, they’re kosher. Spent the entire day in the kitchen trying to get them right.’’ I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and glance at the floor. ‘‘I’m not much of a baker, unlike you.”

“Want me to start teachin’ you that too?”

“What?’’ Mouth dry, I stare at him before I break out in a panic mess of words. ‘‘Oh, no! No, I couldn’t possibly ask that of you. I mean, you have a business to run and-’’

“I wouldn’t mind. Besides, I free up time for you anyway so you can learn the books proper.” He puts the lid back on the tin and carefully places it next to the loaf of bread he held earlier. Then he crosses his arms and leans on the counter. The shadows the artificial light cast on his skin accentuates how sculpted they are, hardened by working long hours. “Time spent in good company ain’t wasted.”

“Look, it’s really nice of you, but I don’t want to take up any more of your time. You should have a moment for yourself as well.”

Completely ignoring my remark, he continues in the same casual tone. “Kitchen is awfully busy durin’ work hours, so it’d have to be after closin’ or really early in the mornin’. Also, I’m not gonna put you among the men. No, if I’m to teach you, it’ll be only us. Way safer and more comfortable, innit? Now, I don’t think you’d like me knockin’ on your door at four when not even the pigeons-’’

“Why?” I ask, nibbling on my lower lip.

“Why what?”

“Why would you pick me up?”

Am I really worth the effort?

“Because London isn’t a safe place for doves. The shadows want to tarnish their pretty feathers, corrupt and break their kind spirits. I don’t want that to happen.” For a moment we look at each other, silently assessing where his comment puts us. His expression still unreadable, careful to conceal the sentiments he harbours towards me, Alfie continues. “If you stay after hours, I could see you safely off to the tube before dusk. If you trust and would let me, of course.”

Surprised by the offer, I open and close my mouth. Nevertheless, no answer or adequate response comes to mind. The absence of a hint he’s joking or simply being politely nonchalant also makes it hard to respond. 

“No means no, don’t it?” A quicksilver smile flashes over his lips, half-hidden beneath his bushy whiskers. “Think it over. You can accept or reject the offer whenever. Until then, it stands.”

Why me? Why not someone else? Plenty of women would kill to be made the same offer by you. I’m not worth the trouble.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat, though the light tremble in it remains. “It does.”

Another silent moment passes, a few seconds in which his gaze doesn’t waver. I glance around the bakery, praying for Ollie to come through or new customers to come in. Any diversion would be appreciated.

Anything to distract him lest he should see the butterfly storm inside.

“C- Can you stop staring at me?”

“I’m sorry. Ain’t proper, innit?” Alfie stands up straight and puts his hands in his pockets. Watching the street through the window stocked full with today’s bread, he rubs his lips together in contemplation. A thought he voices on a deep breath. “You look lovely, my dear.”

It’s just a pet name. Casual, the way he talks. It’s not affection towards me. It’s not. 

“Oh, t- thank you.” I pluck at the hem of my dress. “I finally had the courage to wear this one. Still feels a bit weird.”

“Well, I think you look wonderful. Much too pretty for Camden, though. But more than right for Bloomsbury or Westminster.” Though there’s genuine warmth in the gruff half-grumbled words and tenderness in his eyes, there’s an underlying bleakness.

And it tells me he knows.

“I- I’m gonna- I-’’ I point at the door over my shoulder. “I should go.”

“Fancy a cup of tea?” Alfie lunges forward and places his palms on the counter like he’s ready to launch himself over it. “‘Ow about we ‘ave one of those cookies too?”

“I don’t-’’

“Just one.” A careful though encouraging smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Evidently he’s not planning to let me leave, determined to use his charm to make me stay yet too proud to openly beg. “It’s good to treat yourself. One cookie won’t do any ‘arm, especially not with tea. Do an old man a favour?”

And like every time he prepares a sandwich for me and refuses to let me cross the threshold back onto the street without a loaf of soda bread, I want to try. Not only for myself.

But also for him.

“Sure.”

He claps, the noise loud enough to involuntarily turn my content resignation to temporary shock. Fortunately, the way my body jolts remains unnoticed. “Marvellous. Any preferences?”

“Not really.”

“Hm, maybe a nice pot of yuja, yeah? The sweetness will be in perfect ‘armony with the orange in the biscuits. Besides, it’s almost summer, so it’s time for citrus fruits, innit?”

“We’re barely halfway through spring. It’s not even May yet.”

“The weather’s warmin’ up, though.”

“I still don’t think that makes it summer any time soon,” I chuckle.

“I suppose it doesn’t.” Alfie lets out a breathless laugh, features softened with the kindness he usually displays around me. Nevertheless, there’s also an odd tender warmth in it that is hard to define. It’s the same curious emotion I sometimes glimpse on his face when I drop by to study or when he’s using his own bookkeeping to serve as a real-life example. When I make a mistake and he corrects it, explaining what I did wrong and how to do it right next time.

It’s there in the corner of my eye, vague in peripheral vision. However, now that I see it blatantly before me, I still can’t name it.

“You wait ‘ere, yeah. Give me a moment to prepare everythin’ and we’ll pick a nice and quiet spot.”

While the tea brews, Alfie sets up a tray. With a gentle carefulness that belies his usual rough demeanour, he places the biscuit tin alongside two dainty plates on it. In the meanwhile, I remain by the counter to soak up the sunlight, ever rare here in London, coming in through the windows. Normally I’d feel awkward simply standing around in a place where I could easily be noticed. Yet, it’s never like that when he’s nearby.

Strange, how he is both my peace and my flame. 

Humming along to one of Adele’s songs, Alfie pours the yellow liquid in a chic porcelain teapot. ‘‘There,’’ he mumbles, a proud note in his gravelly voice. ‘‘Done. Come on.’’

He guides us to a small table in a corner in the back, far removed from the other customers and staff. All the while, he stays close yet maintains a polite distance.

Alfie sits down on the chair across from me after setting the table and pouring us both a cup. Neither of us says anything, both content to only sip tea and occasionally meet the other’s gaze. 

Whereas his employees seem to have the urge to talk as soon as their boss falls silent, it’s never been the case for me nor vice versa. It’s the same type of silence as when he reminds me to take a break. The most effective way to actually get me to take one, he found, is to literally swipe my study materials to the side or pull me away from his laptop if he’s giving real-life examples. Afterwards, he’ll pull me to my feet to this very same spot so we can sit down together for a cup of tea or coffee. 

A moment of reprieve, wherein there are no burdens. No pressure to do well, no fear to mess up, no worries about changes.

There’s only us, the world shut out.

Unfortunately, the comfortable silence doesn’t last long. The corners of his mouth turn downwards and his brows knit together as words enter his mind. The way he puts his cup down on the saucer with a clink that’s a little too loud preludes to conversation.

One I’d rather not have. 

However, there’s only so long I can and perhaps want to avoid it.

And when it comes to him, I’m done running.

I want to talk.

Alfie groans, the metallic sound of his rings tapping against the side of the cup strengthening his sense of discomfort. “I know it ain’t right to ask because it’s impolite and not something a gentleman should ask, yeah. You are permitted, by the way, to storm out the door after throwin’ your tea in my face. It’d be a waste but I wouldn’t blame ya. I’d never come back either if someone asked me this.”

Head bowed, I stir my tea. “Alfie?”

“Yes, love?”

“The question.”

“Yeah… right, guess I’m beatin’ ‘round the bush too much, ain’t I?” He presses his lips together for a moment and runs a hand through his beard, lost in contemplation. The long breath he takes comes out as a deep sigh. “Look, I meant it when I said I think you look wonderful. And I’m very bloody grateful you come ‘ere for lunch or afternoon tea. It’s a fuckin’ honour to see you enjoy the food and drink ‘ere.”

“But?”

“But you’ve lost weight again, ‘aven’t ya?” he asks, his usual warm drawl devoid of emotion.

I shake my head and smile wistfully. Looks like I’m found out. “I don’t even actively try to anymore. It just… happens.”

“Do you eat? When you’re not ‘ere, I mean.”

“Three meals a day. A protein bar for brekkie or a bowl of vegan yogurt with some granola. I come here for lunch or eat a slice of your soda bread with a piece of fruit when I’m busy. Dinner kinda depends on what I’m in the mood for, but it’s generally vegetarian and has lots of veggies.”

“And working out?”

“Almost every day. I can’t sit still. It drives me up the bloody wall. I try to take rest days, but I’m not particularly good at that.”

“‘Ow much?”

I take a sip from my tea. “Too light.”

No workout today, no need. Tea won’t make you fat. Sure, it’s sweet, but not from sugar. It’s okay.

He lets out deep sigh through his nose, mumbles something under his breath, and stares out into the bakery. In the meanwhile, I don’t dare to look up at him.

Terrified of his disappointment in me.

“Look, I’m not goin’ to be the solution to the problem, it’s a journey you yourself will ‘ave to go on. All the same, I wanna ‘elp.” Slowly I raise my head, unsure about his intentions. Alfie sits back with his arms crossed. The only movement he makes is squeezing his bicep with strained forearms. “You’re a strong wonderful woman, clever to boot. I’d ‘ate it if I lost your company due to bad health. Or worse.”

“My health is fine. I guess I’m just too skinny.”

“Which means you’re more prone to sickness. And cold.” His gaze falls on the goosebumps littering my skin. “Can I ask the number on the scale?”

“Forty-six, sometimes forty-five.’’ 

‘‘Please tell me you eat a little more on those days.’’

‘‘I do, try to, but it hardly helps. Still came further down from forty-eight.”

He swallows hard, a slight taper in his breath as he speaks. “I won’t tell you what to do. What you can and can’t eat. You are your own woman and therefore free to tell me to fuck off and mind my own bloody business. Which I should, I’m well aware, love, yet I can’t. We ‘aven’t known each other that long, but I’m quite fond of you. Yeah, you ‘eard me. Fond, extremely. So I worry for you and since I’m also a chronic overthinker, I worry a lot.”

Sure you do.

Because if the King of Camden is known for something, it’s his silver tongue. 

“We can start small. You already said you eat my bread at ‘ome and I see you eat when you’re ‘ere. That’s good. Let’s start from there. We’ll go explore new foods together and I’ll occasionally cook for you. I’m no master chef, right, but I don’t think my borscht is bad. It’s me mum’s recipe, so I don’t dare fuck it up. I always make way too much brisket as well and it would be a cryin’ shame to throw it away or keep it as leftovers when it can be shared. You see, people have been bonding over food for centuries.” He leans in, his fingers entwined as they rest on the table. Voice lowered to a pleasant purr, he makes an irresistible proposal which I am loath to decline. Nonetheless, I don’t want to readily accept it with an enthusiasm and positivity I haven’t felt in a very long time. The butterflies have to remain contained because to show them would be to rip their wings. “Shall we try and see if that’s true?”

“I’d like that, Alfie.” The mention of his name conjures a beaming smile which shows off his slightly crooked teeth. One of his little perfect imperfections. “I’d like it a lot.”

“Well, let’s start with this.” He grabs a cookie from the tin, splits it in half, and holds one of the pieces out to me. “Small steps.”

I merely gaze at the cookie, my mind and body entangled in a war of control. One side wants to reach out to accept the piece of food, the other advocates to wait for Alfie to retract his hand. In the end, I clench my jaw and fight my very nature to take it.

He leans back, the beginning of an affectionate smile lingering like a ghost on his lips. After a moment of watching me nibble on the cookie and take a sip of tea, he speaks up. “Still trying to get into Shelby’s company?”

I shake my head. “I don’t feel confident enough for that. I’m not really too good with the books, am I? Maybe in the far future. When I’m better.”

“I don’t think you’re doing too shabby. In fact, I think you’re doing pretty well. Simply need to practice, is all.”

It’s basically immediately reaching for the top, the stars far out of reach and only for the gods to touch. As if a prestigious company like Shelby Company Limited would accept a rookie bookkeeper, a nobody without experience. That is, if I manage to pass the exam.

Alfie puts his half of the cookie in his mouth. An appreciative hum rises from his throat as he munches on it. A wave of calm gratification washes away the guilt of eating, replaces it with a flush of warmth throughout my body. I take a deep breath, once again able to breathe a little easier around him.

He wipes his mouth on a napkin, which he then uses to wipe some of the crumbs from his beard. “How about you become my bookie?”

“Pardon?” I squint at him like it might help me understand him better. Either that, or prove I misheard him.

“Would take some of the burden off me shoulders. Let me focus on other things to keep this place open for business.’’ The silliness of his grin amplifies the glow in his cheeks. However, there’s anxious anticipation in the way he twists his rings. “‘Sides, you’re the only one I trust with my finances.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll fuck up?”

“You’re a clever little bird so I don’t think you will. You will pass that exam, after all. I’m certain of it. But, if it makes you comfortable, we can figure it out together in the first few weeks. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, innit?”

Not because of second opinions, controlling perfectionism, nor business.

But because we sometimes need help.

And that’s okay.

[littleragondin]

I have been tagged by @sparklyeyedhimbo thank you!

rules: name seven comfort films you love, and then tag seven people

- The Lord of the Ring Trilogy

That one's an easy one. For a very long time, it was just the movie(s) I watched the most often across a year. I fell in love with The Fellowship of the Ring when I saw it at 10 in theatre, and I never came back. I know them by heart (both in French and English), and at this point putting them on just feels like coming home. It's the friendships, the hope through darkness, the love overcoming for me.

- Pride (2014)

This one's based on a true story, it's beautiful and touching and has a fantastic soundtrack of course. I watch it when I want an uplifting story but I still need to cry (usually the Bread and Roses scene or Joe and Stef sharing the bed does it, but if not? I always cry at the end), and it makes me feel better about what we can do together. I also really like the friendships in that movie, somehow they make me miss having that irl the most.

- Constantine

You know how they say the music you listen at 14/15 shapes your music tastes for life? That was the movie version for me. I was 15 when I saw it, and listen. Hear me out. Between Keanu Reeves, Rachel Weisz, and Tilda Swinton (especially looking like this) ... well. I was very into it ok. I also love horror and supernatural so you know. I love the story, there is a really good sibling relationship (if sad), it has angels and demons and cross engraved bullets... it's an easy go-to when I want some action and fantastical stuffs.

- 8 Femmes

It's a French jukebox musical about a murder, with a women-only cast for 99% of the movie. What not to love?? It's camp, the actresses are fantastic (it's an all star cast), I love the 50s feel of the whole thing, the songs are great, the characters are color coded ... I somehow always feel lighter after seeing this one, and find myself singing along all the time. (also come on, who wouldn't want to see Fanny Ardant and Catherine Deneuve make out in skirt suits?)

- Ai no Kotodama (2007)

Ootani and Tachibana have been together since high school, now in college they live together, installed in a comfortable routine until a high school classmate reappears in their life and things... become complicated. This one is just… warm, and simple, and quiet. It's just a slice of life, the conflicts can be a little silly but some feel more grounded, there is a clear and sweet happy end, it always warms me up. I've seen it for the first time 13 years ago and I still think about it regularly. Also the two songs are great and still on my playlists, and the fashion now feels delightfully out of date (Ootani's hair hello <3).

- Big Eden

I watched this one for the first time at a moment in my life where i was very lonely. I picked it up because I had seen some gifs on tumblr, I knew it had a happy ending, and I was starting to want to watch more story with adults. There are so many things to love in that beautiful movie, but usually I put it on for the warmth and acceptance of the community, for "Thing is, Pike, we want things to be nice for you, too, buddy." and the whole "Did we teach you shame?" speech and "I was just hoping you'd let yourself be found this time. I was hoping you'd let us find you. But you keep wandering and we can't." and just... yeah. This one is a comfort still when I feel lonely, or lost, removed from the people I love.

- Coraline

I was already a huge fan of the book and of Henry Selick's work when my dad took me to see it for my 18th birthday. It's a beautiful movie, visually, with an incredible score (by Bruno Coulais), and a very strong adaptation of the novel imo. It's a little creepy, but the good guys win at the end, I love Coraline as a character, and as I said it's just SO pretty to look at? I never get bored by it.

If you're into it and no one asked you yet, I'll tag @scienceoftheidiot @benkaaoi @howdydowdy @troubled-mind @gillianthecat @heretherebedork and @sauvechouris !

[simply-a-simp4]

I used a randomizer and the ship is Jingo Raichi x Seshiro Nagi

TW: Swearing??? I dunno

Them Changes; High school au (just to make it easier for myself lol)

Everyone in this damned school annoys me. My classmates, my teammates, my teachers, the principal, and even the people in my gang. They either hate me or despise me. Well, look who hates them back, bitch. Glares were sent my way, and the seats next to me always empty, having to scare someone into being my partner for PE. The list can go just as long as James Bond’s hit list. I was sitting in the worst situation possible. Aka, science class in the stuffy classroom on a Tuesday afternoon. Everyone either wants to die or go home. Screw the difference between animal cells and plant cells. Screw microscopes. Screw atoms.

I sighed, leaning my head on my arm and not reacting as I hear my black pen fall on the ground for the 163rd time. My science book was open to a blank page, remembering that I had to write down whatever the stupid teacher was blabbing on about. I started nodding off, the heat of the classroom paired with the droning background noise of my monotone teacher made my eyes start to close. A sudden knock on the classroom’s sliding door jolted me out of my sleep-induced trance. The door opened at the call of the teacher and someone entered. Not that I cared, but I’d just never seen him before. Sleepy, ox-brown eyes that were half shut, droopy white hair that almost covered his eyes and must be too long for the school’s regulations. He walked in, dragging his feet into the class and lazily looking around. His eyes locked onto the empty seat next to me and he begrudgingly plopped his stuff down on the desk and slid onto the seat. His movements were very similar to a sloth, I noticed. But whatever. Just another NPC in the amazing story of how Jingo Raichi became Japan’s best army official. I focus my already little attention back on the teacher, huffing through my nose to show my disinterest. My ear twitched as I heard a quiet rustling sound from next to me, and I turned to see what it was. The sloth boy had sneaked a small loaf of bread and was eating it behind an upturned book. He must’ve noticed my staring and he broke a small piece of bread off and slowly held it out to me, eyes still looking down at the bread. I jolted for the second time, staring at the piece that was held out to me. Kindness and generosity were things that people usually saves for others they liked. I don’t know why, out of politeness I assumed, I took the piece of bread with a gravelly “thanks” and popped it into my mouth. It tasted like, unsurprisingly, bread. The sloth boy slowly drew his hand back and resumed chewing on his little bread loaf. What the fuck just happened??? I started playing with the black earring on my left ear, deep in thought. Clearly, this class is too boring to be thinking about anything other than the soft, sloth-looking boy next to me. It must’ve been a while since someone gave me food without me having to punch them first. I winced a bit, remembering the time when I saw the brown-haired boy have a better lunch than me so I beat him up to get it. His name is Kuon, I think. We must’ve been friends. He always avoided me after that, though. Not that I cared, all the people here are just jealous stepping stones for my greatness.

“Oi.” I whisper-yelled. The sleepy boy slowly inched his head towards my direction. His ox-like eyes were still glued to his bread, which was slowly dwindling in size. He made a soft, low “hm?” sound, but it was so quiet that if he didn’t move his head an inch then I would’ve thought that he didn’t hear me. A vein pulsed in my head and a small spike of annoyance hit me when he didn’t even bother to look over. I harshly pulled him towards me by his light-grey hoodie until my mouth was inches from his ear. His eyes kept staring at the bread. I narrowed my eyes, hoping that I looked intimidating as usual.

“What’s your damn name, sloth boy?”

“Roses are red, violets are blue,” he muttered, “If I had a brick, I would throw it at you.”

The End

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

TW : difficult relationship with food?, mentionned eating disorder, child neglect, child abuse, ableism

Can you help me understand my relationship with food better? I don't think I have and eating disorder, but I've become concerned when piecing together my childhood trauma and current relationship with food. I don't really know what to think of it.

I've been forced to stay hungry for long periods as a kid because my parents very rarely allowed snacks between meals, and the meal times were very strict. When they offered snacks, it was often nuts, "organic" cookies with poppy seets and vague lemon flavor - not great when it's your only option. They'd even withhold food when we were hiking for a long time because we "hadn't found a good spot yet"...

My dad also has some very unhealthy ideas about food, I suspect that he might fit the criteria for anorexia. He rose me with these ideas, obviously. He believes that forcing yourself endure pain is honorable, in general - he already got himself sick at some point from working out constantly and eating very little. That being said he also pressures me and my sibling to eat less just because he wants to spend less money.

As a child I would sneak anything edible in my room. I hid chunks of salt in tissues, raisins in some box I had in my room... My dad even found the bowl of noodles i hid in my nightstand as a teen (glad I didn't eat that honestly). I even had a bottle that ended up spoiling which resulted in a lot of guilt.

I only had free access to food at one of my grandma's, when I stayed at her place I could eat anything anytime and it felt good. She had snack / candy drawers and I'd pick what I wanted, but I know I also probably ate too much of it at once. It felt like I was rushing to eat because I finally could. This was when I was a teen, I wasn't a toddler or a child anymore.

I also always ate lunch at school from primary to end of highschool and since I'm autistic it was traumatizing. I would be hungry most of the time because my body pretty much refuses any food that doesn't feel right.

My parents also pressured me into eating foods that felt horrible (I was not "scared", I knew what it tasted like and I just couldn't). So I'd end up not always eating enough at family meals, too, when I had the chance. My parents never accomodated my disability and this includes food sensitivity. I'm 20 now, and I eat what I want around the house and I've learned to cook. I pack my own meal when I commute to uni, and I finally eat foods that feel safe. Still a lot of depressing ingredients but I make it work.

However I have a hard time handling hunger, I am always drawn to fat and especially sugary foods. I got my first cavities ever in the past 2-3 years, basically when I started this new way of life.

I also have quite a bit of gut problems, I will see a doctor soon I think but basically I rely on butter, pasta, bread and rice to fill me up. I can't pack meat/eggs because it would spoil, and I try eating vegetables often but it doesn't always help (and the fresh veggies are like... carrots, carrots again, carrots... carrots again with some carrots on the side - these are not a safe food so.. yeah). I do eat more nuts lately because I need to chew on something when studying, and it does help with the hunger.

I feel like I don't understand how to feed myself healthily (without being restrictive like my parents were bc it's all they taught me).

I have ways to deal with the material signs of this relationship with food, so I'm more interested in the core problem. Could you help me with this? Also if you have resources I'd be happy to see them. Thanks a lot :)

Hi anon,

I would ultimately recommend asking an ED-informed therapist or nutritionist about this. I know that maintaining a healthy diet after experiences like those is not an easy thing to do, and I don't want to give potentially counterintuitive advice.

I think a therapist could help in getting to the core problem of your complicated relationship with food, especially as a professional who will know what they're doing much better than an inexperienced volunteer. A nutritionist or dietician may help in the actual application of a healthier plate.

I hope I could help at least a little bit. Best of luck with everything and please know that you're welcome here if you need anything.

-Bun

[reddancer1]

 · This was written by Chief Dan George, in 1972.."In the course of my lifetime I have lived in two distinct cultures. I was born into a culture that lived in communal houses. My grandfather’s house was eighty feet long. It was called a smoke house, and it stood down by the beach along the inlet. All my grandfather’s sons and their families lived in this dwelling. Their sleeping apartments were separated by blankets made of bull rush weeds, but one open fire in the middle served the cooking needs of all.In houses like these, throughout the tribe, people learned to live with one another; learned to respect the rights of one another. 

And children shared the thoughts of the adult world and found themselves surrounded by aunts and uncles and cousins who loved them and did not threaten them. My father was born in such a house and learned from infancy how to love people and be at home with them.

And beyond this acceptance of one another there was a deep respect for everything in Nature that surrounded them. My father loved the Earth and all its creatures. The Earth was his second mother. The Earth and everything it contained was a gift from See-see-am… and the way to thank this Great Spirit was to use his gifts with respect.I remember, as a little boy, fishing with him up Indian River and I can still see him as the sun rose above the mountain top in the early morning…I can see him standing by the water’s edge with his arms raised above his head while he softly moaned…”Thank you, thank you.” It left a deep impression on my young mind.

And I shall never forget his disappointment when once he caught me gaffing for fish “just for the fun of it.” “My son” he said, “The Great Spirit gave you those fish to be your brothers, to feed you when you are hungry. You must respect them. You must not kill them just for the fun of it.”

This then was the culture I was born into and for some years the only one I really knew or tasted. This is why I find it hard to accept many of the things I see around me.

I see people living in smoke houses hundreds of times bigger than the one I knew. But the people in one apartment do not even know the people in the next and care less about them.It is also difficult for me to understand the deep hate that exists among people. It is hard to understand a culture that justifies the killing of millions in past wars, and it at this very moment preparing bombs to kill even greater numbers. It is hard for me to understand a culture that spends more on wars and weapons to kill, than it does on education and welfare to help and develop.

It is hard for me to understand a culture that not only hates and fights his brothers but even attacks Nature and abuses her. I see my white brothers going about blotting out Nature from his cities. I see him strip the hills bare, leaving ugly wounds on the face of mountains. I see him tearing things from the bosom of Mother Earth as though she were a monster, who refused to share her treasures with him. I see him throw poison in the waters, indifferent to the life he kills there; as he chokes the air with deadly fumes.My white brother does many things well for he is more clever than my people but I wonder if he has ever really learned to love at all.

 Perhaps he only loves the things that are his own but never learned to love the things that are outside and beyond him. And this is, of course, not love at all, for man must love all creation or he will love none of it. Man must love fully or he will become the lowest of the animals. It is the power to love that makes him the greatest of them all… for he alone of all animals is capable of [a deeper] love.My friends, how desperately do we need to be loved and to love. When Christ said man does not live by bread alone, he spoke of a hunger. This hunger was not the hunger of the body.. He spoke of a hunger that begins in the very depths of man... a hunger for love. Love is something you and I must have. We must have it because our spirit feeds upon it. We must have it because without it we become weak and faint. Without love our self esteem weakens. Without it our courage fails. Without love we can no longer look out confidently at the world. Instead we turn inwardly and begin to feed upon our own personalities and little by little we destroy ourselves.

You and I need the strength and joy that comes from knowing that we are loved. With it we are creative. With it we march tirelessly. With it, and with it alone, we are able to sacrifice for others. There have been times when we all wanted so desperately to feel a reassuring hand upon us… there have been lonely times when we so wanted a strong arm around us… I cannot tell you how deeply I miss my wife’s presence when I return from a trip. Her love was my greatest joy, my strength, my greatest blessing.

I am afraid my culture has little to offer yours. But my culture did prize friendship and companionship. It did not look on privacy as a thing to be clung to, for privacy builds walls and walls promote distrust. My culture lived in big family communities, and from infancy people learned to live with others.My culture did not prize the hoarding of private possessions, in fact, to hoard was a shameful thing to do among my people. The Indian looked on all things in Nature as belonging to him and he expected to share them with others and to take only what he needed.

Everyone likes to give as well as receive. No one wishes only to receive all the time. We have taken something from your culture… I wish you had taken something from our culture, for there were some beautiful and good things in it.

Soon it will be too late to know my culture, for integration is upon us and soon we will have no values but yours. Already many of our young people have forgotten the old ways. And many have been shamed of their Indian ways by scorn and ridicule. My culture is like a wounded deer that has crawled away into the forest to bleed and die alone.

The only thing that can truly help us is genuine love. You must truly love, be patient with us and share with us. And we must love you—with a genuine love that forgives and forgets… a love that forgives the terrible sufferings your culture brought ours when it swept over us like a wave crashing along a beach… with a love that forgets and lifts up its head and sees in your eyes an answering love of trust and acceptance..."

~Chief Dan George was a leader of the Tsleil-Waututh Nation as well as a beloved actor, musician, poet and author. He was born in North Vancouver in 1899 and died in 1981. This column first appeared in the North Shore Free Press on March 1, 1972

[idy-ll-ique]

See You Tomorrow On The Other Side.

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: unprotected sex

Requested: nope

based on this prompt.

Summary: Nothing wrong with just wanting a taste, is there?

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! enjoy!

---

Wait, why is it so cold?

Y/N blinked her eyes open, flinching when she felt blinding pain in the side of her neck. Touching it, she found out that she was bleeding. What in the world…? "What the fuck?" she mumbled, moving to turn on the night-light but instead, she heard loud gagging noises coming from next to her on the floor.

She froze. I live alone. And then her instincts kicked in. She started screaming, only for her mouth to be clamped shut by a cold, freezing hand. "Shut up! Don't scream!" a raspy voice hissed. "Who the fuck are you?" Y/N demanded, though her voice came out muffled. "Forget that— why the fuck does your blood taste so gross?" the man asked instead.

Y/N's eyes widened with fear. "My— you— who are you?!" she yelled. "Shush! It's the middle of the night!" the man groaned, "My name is Bucky Barnes, happy?" Y/N huffed, clutching the side of her neck. "And what the fuck do you mean by your blood tastes so gross?" she questioned. "Did I stutter? I mean exactly that. Why the fuck is it so disgusting?!"

Y/N froze for the second time that night. Her first thought was that it was a dream, but the very real pain in her neck and the blood on her fingers suggested otherwise. The man— Bucky— he bit her neck. And that had only one reasonable explanation. "Are you a vampire?" she blurted out.

"Aye, see? Knew you were smart," he beamed and she stared at him, shocked. "Vampires aren't real." His face dropped and he rolled his eyes. "Then how do you explain me?" He flexed and Y/N scrunched her nose in mild annoyance. "First off, you're too annoying. Second— what the hell are you doing in my house?!"

"What do you think I'm doing?! I was hungry! Now answer my damn question— why is your blood gross?" He tapped her on the forehead twice. She blinked. Well, since this night couldn't get any crazier… "I have anemia? I guess that's why. Now you answer my question! Why did you select me to be your food?"

"Because you look like a snack?" he offered sheepishly but she only raised an eyebrow. Bucky blushed a bit; he very well couldn't tell her that he had had a crush on her ever since he had seen her— that was a few months ago. Nothing wrong with just wanting a taste, is there? "Okay wait, come back to you— you have anemia?"

"Uh, yeah? Why do you care? Go away, dude, you got your taste, you didn't like it, now leave me alone!" Y/N scoffed, turning to lay back down but Bucky put an arm around her, pulling her back up. "No, we gotta talk about it. Are you taking anything for it? Supplements, Vitamin D pills…?" Y/N stared at him.

"No," she replied flatly, "Medicines taste bad and I've already come to terms with my condi—" Bucky scoffed harder. "Really? You are a dumbass, you know that? I'm bringing you the medicines tomorrow, and you're gonna take them every night in front of me, got it?" Nothing wrong with being worried about your darling's health.

"Do you usually get this involved with your prey/food?" Y/N deadpanned. "You're not— don't argue! If you're not going to take care of your health, I'm going to have to do it for you," Bucky huffed. "As sweet as the sentiment is, I think the fuck not. Goodnight, Bucky, I will not see you tomorrow." She gave him a sweet, fake smile and lay down.

This time, Bucky didn't stop her. "Dumbass," he muttered under his breath as he stood on the window sill, promptly turning into a bat before flying away into the night.

---

"Hey, welcome home!"

Y/N screamed, almost dropping her bag of groceries on the floor as she whirled around to see Bucky sitting on the couch in the living room, flipping through the pages of a magazine. "Couldn't figure out how to turn on the TV," he muttered as Y/N eyed the magazine. She couldn't help but snort. "Ancient."

"Hey, rude." He narrowed his eyes at her and she narrowed hers right back. "Okay, had your fun reading the magazine? Now get lost or I'll call security," Y/N threatened him and stood in front of him, her arms crossed. He smirked and rose to his full height, causing Y/N's resolve to crumble.

He was much, much taller than her. "Go ahead, do it, baby girl," he whispered tauntingly, leaning in so that their faces were inches apart. Y/N whimpered involuntarily at his sweet scent, slapping a hand to her mouth in horror when she realized what she had just done. Bucky burst out laughing. "See? You want me here."

"Flatter yourself, Barnes," she mumbled but the truth was, she did want him there. The previous night, she had failed to notice just how beautiful he really was; now, she found out. He was also funny, charming, caring and sweet— not bad company. "So, am I cooking dinner for one or for two?"

"You? I'm cooking dinner! And you're gonna eat whatever the hell I'm going to make. Go take a bath in the meanwhile, I'll handle it." Bucky ushered her towards her bathroom and she blinked. "What, I— hey! Wait!" He stopped pushing her. "Why are you cooking for me?"

"Because your dumbass doesn't eat shit it should be eating and instead eats what it shouldn't! You're anemic, and yet I never see you eating food that has high levels of iron in it. You just don't care about your life, do you?" Y/N laughed, pinching his cold cheeks. "You're really cute, you know? Dude, I'll be fine—"

"Okay, how about this? I'm doing this for myself because your blood tastes gross and I gotta fix it," he suggested. "I have a solution: why don't you go find someone else to be your food? Look, my blood tastes bad, so why waste all your time trying to fix it? Get someone else, kill them!" Bucky pulled a face.

"Kill them? You think you'll die if I bite you?" Y/N nodded slowly. "Um, no, sweet pie, you won't die if I bite you. You'll… maybe get sick for a few days, but then you'll be fine," Bucky explained. "What if I don't want to get sick for a few days either? Just go away, find someone else, make them sick!" Bucky pouted.

"You really don't want me to be here?" he whined. "I— Fine! Fine! Cook whatever the hell you want, stay, but on one condition." A huge smile bloomed on the vampire's face as he nodded. "You don't get to bite me, ever." His face fell. "Not even a little…?" Y/N shook her head. He pouted harder. Y/N stared back, unwavering.

"A little, small bite…?"

"Bucky, don't push it," Y/N warned and Bucky immediately raised his arms in surrender. "Now go take a bath, I'm making food." With a small smile, Y/N entered the bathroom, starting to fill the tub up with water as she sat on the toilet seat, thinking back a few hours.

How did this even happen? First, she wakes up to find a stranger on her bedroom floor gagging on her "gross" blood; second, he reveals that he is a vampire and third, he wants to take care of her and wants her to get better. Teenage her, who was quite fond of Twilight, would've loved this dude.

But now? Y/N was still skeptical, but at least Bucky hadn't pulled any sketchy shit. So far, he had been nothing but sweet. "Maybe I can give him a chance," she whispered to herself. She had no doubt about the fact that he was a vampire; he was always cold, had sharp, pointy teeth and she had practically seen him turn into a bat last night.

So yeah.

Y/N was going to allow a vampire to take care of her.

"Oh good, you're here," Bucky called out when she finally walked out of her room in her pajamas. "Smells good, what did you make?" Y/N smiled, sitting down at the kitchen island. Bucky placed a plate in front of her. "Beans. We'll start small. Do you eat meat?" Y/N nodded, eating a spoonful of the beans.

"Mm," she groaned, "These are so good! You're a great cook, Bucky." He rubbed the back of his neck shyly as Y/N beamed at him. "Thanks. My ma taught me, back in the 1500's." Y/N's eyes widened. "How old are you?" she asked with disbelief as she picked up the bread he had prepared along with the beans.

"A few centuries. You kinda lose count after a long time," he laughed. "Were you born a vampire or were you turned into one later in life?" Bucky pondered for a few seconds. "I was born one. My ma and my pa were both vampires." Y/N nodded before looking at him with a curious look. "What do you want to ask?" he teased upon seeing her expression. She chuckled.

"Can I become a vampire too?"

Bucky froze. "Do you want to be one?" he spoke slowly. "I mean, sounds cool, don't you think? Of course, I'm not completely sure, I just— wanna know how you turn someone into a vampire. Can you turn someone into one?" she blurted out. Bucky gulped hard; God knew he had been dreaming about turning her into a vampire ever since he had seen her.

Vampires having relationships with humans wasn't uncommon but he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And with vampirism comes one boon— immortality. So, if he turned her into a vampire, they could be together forever and always, literally. "I— I can turn people into vampires. All it takes is a neck bite."

Her brows furrowed. "But you bit me last night, am I—" Bucky shook his head. "You aren't a vampire, Y/N. There is a specific spot on a person's neck that you have to bite in order to turn them into a vampire. I didn't bite you there." She nodded and exhaled. "Good. I don't wanna be a vampire just yet, gotta think more before making a decision."

"So in the future maybe, you'll be open to becoming a vampire?" Bucky asked, his hopefulness shining through in his voice. Y/N laughed. "Wanna turn me into a vampire that bad?" she teased and Bucky looked away, an embarrassed look on his face. "I'm not desperate," he muttered. Y/N finished eating her dinner, did her nightly routine and got into bed.

Bucky soon approached with two pills in his open palm, his other hand holding a bottle of water. "Just gulp it quickly and you won't have to taste the pills," he reassured her as she eyed the pills with disdain. Putting her doubts aside, she quickly downed the pills, pulling a face as she did. Bucky ruffled her hair.

"Good job, sweet pie! See, easy, wasn't it? Now get a good night's sleep, I'll see you tomorrow evening." Y/N lay down on the bed, pulling the covers on top of her as she smiled sleepily at Bucky. "Goodnight, see you tomorrow," she yawned and Bucky gave her a huge smile before jumping out the window like he had done the night before; flying into the night as a bat.

---

"Bucky! Are you here?"

Y/N walked into her dimly lit house, confused. All the lights were off, the house lit by candles placed strategically here and there. She could smell roses too. "Hi, sweet pie." A gasp escaped Y/N lips when Bucky walked out of the kitchen. He was dressed in an all-black suit, a suave smile on his face. She stood frozen as he approached her, taking her hand.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and Y/N found her voice. "What is this, Bucky?" she chuckled. "Our six month anniversary, sweet pie. Did you forget?" he pouted. Y/N laughed harder. "We're not dating." His smile stayed confident. "Would you like to?" She paused mid-laugh, staring at him through wide eyes filled with disbelief.

"Are you… asking me out?" she whispered and Bucky nodded. "Oh my— yes! Yes, Bucky!" She ran forward and jumped into his arms, ignoring how cold he was as she hugged him tightly, burying her face in his neck. As he stated, six months had passed since Y/N and Bucky became friends and Y/N was quickly falling for him.

He was literally perfect. There was nothing she didn't like about him; she had even gotten over the fact that he was a vampire. "Oh, fuck, I thought it was gonna fail," Bucky laughed as he pulled her flush against him, one arm wrapping around her waist as she other cradled her head. "No way, Buck, I've liked you for a while now."

Both of them walked into the kitchen, where Y/N got another shock. The floor was covered in rose petals; they formed the shape of a heart. There was a bouquet of roses sitting on the dining table as well, between two plates of delicious-looking food. Next to the vase were two bottles of expensive champagne, and two glasses.

"How long did this take?" she whispered, snuggling further into Bucky's arms as she admired the scene in front of her. "A few hours. But all worth it." He pressed a quick kiss to her temple. "The rose heart looks awesome," she grinned, thanking Bucky when he pulled out her chair for her. "Ha, thanks," he laughed.

They maintained a light-hearted conversation as they ate dinner; afterwards, Y/N took a relaxing bath, took her medicines and got into bed. "Bucky," she called out tentatively and he turned to her. "Yes, my love?" She smiled shyly. "Will you stay the night?" Bucky grinned broadly. "Thought you'd never ask."

He stripped down; only in his boxers as he got into the bed with her. Before he could lay down Y/N pulled a pro-gamer move on him and straddled his lap, rendering him speechless. "Sweet pie," he groaned when her lips came crashing down on his. He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her close, kissing her deeper.

Somewhere in the kiss Bucky's hands reached the hem of her t-shirt and he broke the kiss to pull it off of her. Another few minutes in, Y/N found herself laying on the bed stark naked under Bucky, who was equally as naked, his hard length poking at her tight entrance.

"Bucky," she whimpered as he slid home, a deep moan leaving his lips. "Fuck, sweet pie, so fucking tight," he praised, one of his hands toying with her breasts as the other grabbed her headrest, using it as support as he thrust into her repeatedly. Y/N's hands fisted around her bedsheets, the pleasure in her abdomen becoming too much to bear.

"I'm close," she announced breathlessly and Bucky dropped his head, pressing kisses to her face. "I'm close too, just a minute more." Y/N tried her best to hold the pleasure in as Bucky's thrusts started becoming sloppier. "Such a good girl for me," he grunted as he felt himself inching closer to the edge.

"Let go for me."

Both of them let go at the same time, Y/N cumming around him with a soft whine as Bucky shot his load into her with a guttural snarl. "Oh, fuck," he panted as he fell on top of her, both of them out of breath. "Bucky, I— I wanted to ask you something," she whispered shyly as Bucky rolled off of her, only to pull her closer to him. "Yes, darling?"

"I wanna be a vampire."

Bucky turned to look at her, wide eyed. "Are you sure?" She lowered her eyes and nodded. "I— I love you, Bucky, and there's no one I'd rather be with than you. So please, make me— make me immortal." Bucky blinked back tears and cupped her cheek, tilting her chin up. "All mine. My beautiful girl. I love you too," he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips.

He then strayed to her jaw, peppering it with kisses until he finally reached her neck, nuzzling into it for a few seconds, breathing in her scent. Soon, he found the spot— the one that would turn her into a vampire. "It'll sting just a bit," he warned her, "Then you'll go to sleep. When you wake up, the transformation will be completed. Are you sure you want this?"

"I have never been so sure of something in my entire life." Bucky smiled and pressed a quick kiss to her spot before sinking his teeth into her neck; Y/N winced a bit at the sting but overall, felt fine. When Bucky pulled away from her, he was wiping blood off his lips. He then reached down and picked up her t-shirt.

Y/N smiled sleepily as he cleaned her neck, admiring the mark for a few seconds. "Looks good. And tastes much better." Y/N giggled and slapped his bare chest, making him grin. Both of them then lay down on the bed, arms around each other as they closed their eyes.

"Goodnight, Buck."

"Goodnight, princess, see you on the other side tomorrow."

---

A/N: Thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed!

[julek]

my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

+

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

+

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

+

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

[parker-razor]

show me, feel me, teach me - ch. 4

previous // next

series masterlist!

female!reader x mando

word count: 2.8k

series summary: during a drinking game, you let slip that you don’t know much about sex. mando offers to show you what you’ve been missing, and you happily accept.

warnings: smut that’s so filthy it’s insane (extended warnings under the cut), lotssss of fluff, mentions of insecurities

a/n: today’s the first day i didn’t have to work in awhile and i had to write some more... this chapter in particular made me all blushy so lemme grab my vibrator real quick

extended warnings: somnophilia, oral (m and f receiving), thigh riding, grinding, cum eating, masturbation, multiple orgasms

*****

You watched Mando as he hauled the heavy, limp bounty up the ramp of the ship. You had offered to help, but Mando, ever the gentleman, refused. So, you and the kid watched him drag the lifeless body into the Crest, and into carbonite.

Apparently, Mando had gotten so excited to see you when he made it back to the ship last night that he abandoned the body at the foot of the ship and scurried inside and into your quarters. It wasn’t like the body was going anywhere, Mando had argued. He just needed to see you.

After your little… chat over the comm, Mando was still rearing to be with you. As soon as you had fallen asleep at the end of your call, he jumped to his feet and continued on his hunt at a speed he had yet to hunt at. He had thought that after getting some of his drive for you out of his system that he could rest for a while before he kept hunting. But just the opposite happened; hearing your voice, your moans, the way your words hit him right in the chest… Maker he just had to get back to you.

He couldn’t help himself when he saw you splayed out on your bed. Your tank top was almost see through, and you only had a pair of underwear on as bottoms. He just needed a taste.

After he quietly stripped his armor and clothes off him, he gently pulled your underwear down to your knees and knelt down on the bed. He must’ve not smelled too great after days of hunting, but he was too drunk on your presence to be self-conscious.

He couldn’t stop himself from delving between your thighs, making out with your dripping cunt. It must have still been wet from your earlier orgasm, or maybe you were dreaming of him. Maker, he hoped you were.

You were asleep, so it didn’t totally matter if he tasted you with any technique or rhythm. Flicking your clit with no real purpose other than to have your taste in his mouth, to have his tongue flooded with your essence. His cock hardened at an ungodly rate, and he couldn’t help but start stroking himself fast. He didn’t care about his pleasure, or frankly your pleasure; he just wanted to taste you.

All the sudden, he heard you speak up, and you were coming into his mouth with a vengeance, and he came all over his hand with you.

He didn’t want to bother you too much, so he figured one orgasm was enough (for now). He crawled up to you, kissing your shoulders and your neck and your cheeks. You had no doubt fallen back to sleep by then, and Mando was overwhelmed with sleep as well. He drifted off with his head rested on your chest, your hands carded through his curls as his breathing slowed.

Mando had never been with a woman like he had been with you. Sure, he hadn’t technically been with you in the biblical sense just yet, but this was so different. He had had one-night stands when he had time to spare on a hunt, some girl in a bar who gawked at his armor who he figured would be willing to let him get his frustrations out. A grateful damsel he saved, who was coincidentally being attacked by the bounty he was tracking. Not many women, but enough to know just what he was doing and just how to make someone writhe in pleasure.

But you… you were radiant.

Your beauty was unconventional; your skin rolled around your waist, your stomach hung over just a little with stretch marks littering your inner thighs and hips. When you slept, your neck folded into little rolls. But Mando adored all of it. Not in a patronizing way, but because you were truly just gorgeous. Not despite of your flaws, but because of them. They weren’t flaws to Mando, they were just what made you more and more perfect.

Many of the women he had been with exaggerated their pleasure. It wasn’t fake, just turned up a bit because they figured it would make Mando more confident. Mando hated that, when women would be dramatic when displaying their pleasure. You never did that, though. Your sounds were… primal. Like you were trying to hold them in, but you felt so good that you couldn’t help it. They were involuntary grunts, yells, and gasps. Just the memory of it made Mando hard under his armor.

Not to mention, you had never felt this way before. You didn’t know that there was an expectation for women to be loud and exaggerated in bed. The sounds you made were all you, and that is what got to Mando most.

Mando was pulled out of his daydreams as you approached him, feeling around his arms and shoulders.

“Do you have any cuts? What do you need treated? We don’t have a ton of bacta kits left, but if you really need it then-“

“I’m okay, I’m not hurt. Just a little bruised. All I want is some food and to hang out with you and the kid.”

You and Mando had grown accustomed to eating or drinking back-to-back since the drinking game that started all of this. It was better than Mando locking himself away in his quarters; he hadn’t shared a meal with someone in years. But being able to chat with you and enjoy his food was a luxury.

“What did this guy do?” you asked as you munched on some bread and cheese.

“No clue. They never really tell me, which I kinda get. A lot of these guys are scum bags, they should be ashamed,” Mando responded, taking a sip of water.

“Did this one put up a fight?”

“At first, but then he realized he couldn’t beat me.” You shivered for a moment, thinking about Mando’s strength. You knew the armor added another layer to make him seem bigger and stronger, but even without it he was built. He didn’t have a six-pack, he wasn’t totally shredded, but Maker, was he strong. His arms, his chest, his broad fucking shoulders, they made you needy. You had seen him knock out a man in one punch, some guy who had grabbed your ass at a bar. You didn’t know at the time why you felt an ache between your legs when you saw that, but now you do after your lessons.

After you had both eaten and fed Grogu, Mando decided it was time to depart to catch his second bounty. You grabbed any gear still lingering outside the ship, secured any loose weapons, and in no time Mando was preparing to take off. You were off to Naboo this time, a planet you had been dying to visit. Almost all of the planets Mando had taken you to were either barren or covered in buildings, large urban areas. Naboo was green, apparently, with beautiful buildings and cascading waterfalls. You couldn’t wait.

Mando sat in the pilot’s chair as you sat behind him in the passenger’s seat. Grogu, still exhausted from the three-day strike on sleep, snoozed in his enclosed pram in the captain’s quarters. So it was just you and Mando…

It was a bumpy takeoff; although Mando was a great pilot, the Crest wasn’t exactly shiny and new. The ship left Tattoine’s atmosphere, and after a few minutes of cruising in empty space, Mando put the ship into hyperspace.

It was quiet as Mando hit some random buttons and you watched the stars fly by you at an insane speed. You thought about last night, not remembering much other than coming hard. Were you dreaming? You remember waking to Mando’s arms around your waist and his face buried in your chest, but everything during the night was a blur.

“When… when you came back last night, did you fall right to sleep? Or did you-“

“Eat your pussy? Yeah, I just wanted to taste you. I hope that’s okay.” You gulped, slightly shocked at Mando’s bluntness. You were only really used to hearing him talk dirty while in the act, not him bringing it up so casually. You squirmed a bit in your seat, causing Mando to turn back to look at you.

“What, you like that? You like that I couldn’t wait for you to wake up before I tasted your cum? Yeah, I bet you do, pretty girl,” he rasped, making you whine and your legs clench together.

“Why don’t you come sit?”

“I’m… already sitting, Mando.”

“No, come sit over here, with me. On me.” Stars.

You rose from your seat as Mando turned his chair to face you so you’d have room to sit without the control panel in the way. His legs spread, and he sat back in his chair with his arms resting on his knees. Kriff, he looked so fucking good.

You weren’t sure how Mando wanted you to sit on him, so you straddled one of his thighs, gasping as the hard metal plate met your core.

“Oh, is that what you want, sweet thing? You wanna sit on my thigh?”

“Yeah Mando, can I please?”

“Of course, baby, just wasn’t expecting you to sit on me like that.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself in closer to him. As you moved closer, you couldn’t ignore the way it felt when you rubbed yourself on his armored thigh. It felt fucking good, the same friction you felt when Mando would use his fingers on you. Out of instinct, you couldn’t help but do it again.

“Oh fuck, is my good girl gonna grind on my thigh? Does that feel good?” You whined, Mando’s hands grasping your hips to encourage your movements. “Go ahead, baby, get yourself off on me. Take what’s yours.”

“M-Mando… feels s-so good…” Your hips sped up as the friction continued to nurse the ache growing in your cunt.

“Want it to feel better, honey? Here, let me show you,” Mando groaned, lifting you so you were planted not on his thigh, but directly over his crotch. He wasn’t wearing a codpiece, you didn’t expect him to when all he was doing was flying. So you gasped when you felt his hard cock rub up against you cunt.

“Oh, s-stars, Mando, I like this a lot…”

“Yeah? You like feeling my cock rub on you? Go ahead, grind on it, make yourself feel good.” His grip on your hips were bruising as you ground your pussy hard onto his crotch. The head of his cock nudged itself right against your clit between your clothes, making your eyes cross and hands grasp at Mando’s shoulders.

“Oh, I bet that feels s-so good, pretty girl, it feels good for m-me too… Fuck, I can feel how wet you are, it’s seeping through my pants. Keep going, you’re doing so good for me.”

Your moans got louder and louder, sounding out as “uh uhs.” Your eyebrows creased together, and Mando grabbed your cheeks to tilt your eyes down towards his.

“Look at me, baby, let me see you when you cum. Let me look into your eyes. Maker, your p-pussy is so wet, I can feel it. Come on baby I know you wanna cum, go ahead and cum.” You were shouting now, your moans echoing in the cockpit. This was the closest the two of you had gotten to fucking, and the idea of Mando’s cock being so close to your cunt sent you over the edge.

Warmth flooded you, and your legs shook violently as you came. Your thighs clenched over and over around his hips, keeping your eyes right on his visor.

“Fuck, Mando, fuck fuck, Mando, Mando!”

“Yeah, that’s it, good girl. So f-fucking good for me.” As you came down, you noticed Mando was still hard. And you still wanted him.

“Can… Can I have you? In my mouth?”

“Shit, baby, you want me to cum in your mouth?”

“Please, Mando, want you to feel good. Want your cock down my throat.” You shakily climbed off his lap and knelt to the ground. Your hands trembled as they came up to his pants, tugging at the waistband until his cock sprung up against his armor. You looked at the thigh you had just been grinding on, and saw there was a wet spot staining his armor. It made you want to cum again.

“I’m not gonna last long baby, already so close,” Mando rasped out, his chest heaving up and down in anticipation.

“I don’t care, I just need you to tell me what to do.”

“Gladly, sweet girl. Start by licking the tip, yeah just like that.” You flicked the bead of precum leaking from Mando’s cock, his taste flooding your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the tip, eventually licking down his shaft. You had almost forgotten how big he was… almost.

“Fuck, you’re doing so good. Y-You want to put it in your mouth now? You got this, baby, take it nice and- oh f-fuck me.” Your actions interrupted Mando’s train of thought, his cock entering the warm wet of your mouth. You weren’t totally sure what to do from there; Mando had just said he wanted his cock in your mouth, so now what?

“Okay, baby, you know how you stroked my cock with your hand the other day? Just do the same with your mouth, and suck while you do it. G-gonna do so well for me, I know it.” You did as he said, and his reaction was instantaneous. He moaned out so loud you’d think the whole ship could hear it. It finally hit you that Mando’s cock was in your mouth, and stars if that didn’t make a new wave of wetness flood your inner thighs. You couldn’t stop yourself from pushing your hand down your pants, rubbing your clit like Mando taught you as you sucked on him.

“H-Holy shit, baby, are you touching yourself? You rubbing that little clit? Do I make you that wet, pretty one? F-Fuck you’re doing so good, feels so good. Y-You’re a natural…” His words made you moan around his cock, the vibrations making his hips buck up into your mouth. For a second he was worried he’d gone too far, until you pushed your head down even further.

“Fuck, such a g-good girl for me, g-gonna cum in your m-mouth, d-don’t stoppp.” You sucked hard at the tip as your fingers circled faster on your clit, and you were already falling over the edge. Mando’s cum flooded your mouth as he moaned out your name, and his taste made you writhe on your fingers, white flooding your vision. The whines around Mando’s cock as you came made his orgasm last even longer, leaving him totally breathless. It took him a moment to realize that you were still probably holding his cum in your mouth, causing him to jump up and come to your aid.

“Shit, baby, here’s a rag, you can-“ He was stopped short when he noticed you breathing heavily below you, mouth agape and… empty.

“Wait, what did you do with…”

“I swallowed it. I like how you taste,” you whined, totally out of breath and fucked out. Mando’s head hit the back of his seat in awe of how hot you were, swallowing his cum the first time you took him in your mouth, just because you liked it.

“Fuck, come here, baby. Come sit in my lap, let me love on you.” You clambered up into his lap with shaky legs, overwhelmed with the amount of dopamine that flooded your brain. You were still trying to catch your breath as you rested your head on his shoulder as he rubbed your back. These were the moments you held with you when Mando was gone; his comforting touch, how gentle he was despite the damage you knew he could do. You kissed the sliver of skin that peaked out between his collar and his helmet, at which he pulled you in closer to his chest.

All the sudden you heard a crash from below the cockpit and a loud wail… Grogu.

*****

tag list: @niiight-dreamerrrr @ajeff855 @ohhersheybars @sleep-tight1 @jefferson-in-the-tardis @constanzee @halerune @liltangerineart @thewintersoldierswife @ah-callie @witchy-ana @chibi @greyteacup @justanotherblonde23 @hotsauceonabiscuit @pcrushinnerd @altarsw @nerd-without-a-cause @yajairaholmes @stardust-kenobi

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

De Amore

My fic for @aceomenszine is finally available on AO3!

Aziraphale has come to Paris to find the answer to an important question: What's it like to be in love? Crowley's not sure why he wants to know, but he's willing to discuss it to make his angel happy. Full text below!

--

“What’s it like to be in love?”

Crowley stumbled to a stop on the Paris street, glaring at the angel beside him. Aziraphale stared straight ahead, walking with his usual expression: calm, poised, slightly arrogant. As if he were talking about the weather.

“Dunno. S’a human thing, isn’t it?” He scowled at a few gawking peasants, hurrying to catch up. “Romance. Lust. Sex. Nothing to do with us.”

“You could say the same of hunger, or exhaustion, or boredom.”

“Yeah, and I’d be right.” Crowley held out an arm to stop Aziraphale from walking directly into a produce cart. “Neither of us gets exhausted. You’re never tired, and I just like a good nap sometimes.”

“Really?” A flicker of that mocking bastard smirk. “How many nights did you sleep this past week?”

“Nrrg. Five or six, but that’s not the point.” They started walking again, Crowley tossing an apple he’d snuck from the cart. “I could stop if I wanted to — I’d miss it, but s’not the same as being tired. Same with you and eating.”

“But if I desire a food, so strongly I can already taste it, surely that’s…if not exactly hunger, a close approximation?”

“Don’t think so.” Crowley offered the apple, but Aziraphale shook his head. “Spend a couple days in the city, you’ll see what hunger looks like. S’not about pleasure or wanting a particular food. It’s need, desperation. And we just don’t experience that.” He tossed the apple towards a group of children, and a girl in a ragged dress caught it. “Boredom I’ll grant you. I’ve definitely been bored.”

“So, we might enjoy things as humans do, but never desire them the same way,” Aziraphale mused, smoothing his hands down the front of his stolen jacket. “But is love the longing for a connection with another, or the pleasure of that connection?”

“Doesn’t really make a difference to us, does it?”

He waited for Aziraphale to respond, but the angel simply continued walking, hands folded behind his back, eyes more distant than usual.

“So?” Crowley prodded after nearly a block in silence. “What brought this on?” Aziraphale shrugged. “Let me guess. Reading novels again? Sappy poetry? Getting…ideas?” He stepped ahead of Aziraphale and walked backwards, to ensure the angel saw his suggestive eyebrow wiggle. No response. Crowley shrugged, falling back into step. “Look, f’you want to try falling in love with a human, s’your business. Let me know how it goes. Just do it back in London, I don’t need that…drama getting back to my bosses.”

“That’s not it,” Aziraphale snapped, wringing his hands. “It’s not — it doesn’t even work that way, Crowley. Humans don’t just decide to fall in love!”

“They don’t cross an ocean and charge through a revolution for a snack, either.”

“Oh, never mind. Clearly you’re the expert here.” Aziraphale froze, glaring at a shop just ahead, and threw his hands up in disgust. “And now they’ve closed my favorite creperie! Why do I even bother? Might as well return to England and feast upon whatever lumpy brown bread the first tavern I pass serves.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Crowley hissed, turning down a side street and gesturing for Aziraphale to follow. “If you get locked up again, I’m not rescuing you a second time.” The angel’s lips twisted sourly. “Look, gourmet crepes aren’t really in demand right now, but I know a place. Might still be open.”

“I suppose that will have to do.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and glared at the sky, thin grey clouds veiling the sun. He should probably just let Aziraphale stew in his own sullen displeasure. Might even give him an advantage — a distracted angel was easier to outsmart.

But Crowley hadn’t been in the business of thwarting Aziraphale for over a thousand years. Why oppose each other, when they could work…not together, but in tandem? Ensuring all their duties were fulfilled, their paperwork properly filed.

It was better this way. Less fuss all around, less inconvenience. Pleasanter conversation. More time for trips to the theater or quiet meals, either of which was a far better way to spend an evening than any sort of elaborate espionage.

He’d been looking forward to griping about his job over a mug of cider while Aziraphale worked his way through a plate of crepes, smiling and wiggling in his seat. Watching Aziraphale get excited over something was, in Crowley’s opinion, one of the best ways to pass the time.

Only the conversation had left Aziraphale annoyed, pouting and…Crowley studied him carefully, dark glasses imperfectly hiding his eyes. More than anything, Aziraphale looked hurt. A sight that always made Crowley’s stomach twist painfully.

He sighed, tossing back his head. “‘Love is an inborn suffering, proceeding from the sight and immoderate thought upon the beauty of another, for which cause above all other things one wishes to embrace the other and, by common assent, in this embrace to fulfil the commandments of love.’”[1]

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look, I don’t know. You asked me—!” Crowley walked faster, face growing hot. “It’s from some old treatise, right? Love, he says, is seeing someone beautiful and wanting sex. Then, when you have your fill…” he waved his hand vaguely.

“I see.” Aziraphale adjusted his sleeves. “I suppose that…makes sense.” But he still looked grim.

Up ahead, not quite along their path, stood one of Paris’s parks, gates now open to the public. Apart from some rubbish cluttering the entrance, it seemed well-maintained. Crowley tipped his head, inviting.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up and he nodded, the first hint of a smile on his face. It always made Crowley feel light, that smile, however briefly it appeared.

They wandered in silence up the path, lined by trees here, flowerbeds there. Leaves had turned yellow and the grass was edged with brown, but the roses were still in bloom. Crowley paused to pluck a particularly well-formed bud.

As they crossed a bridge over a small watercourse, Aziraphale suddenly said, “Do you think it’s true, though? That — that treatise? Because it rather sounds like he didn’t see any difference between lust and love.”

“Mmh.” Crowley paused, gazing downstream, where a group of ducks swam contentedly. “As a demon? Yeah. Fits the party line. Humans don’t think of anything but their own pleasure, always wanting what they don’t have. Jealous, possessive, until something better comes along. Then it starts all over. If love and lust aren’t the same, well, they’re pretty close, right?”

“I see.” Aziraphale stepped beside him, holding out his red cap, now filled with grains of barley and cracked corn. They each took a handful and tossed it down. The ducks swam over eagerly, bobbing to catch the seeds before they drifted away.

“But as a being who’s been in the world nearly six thousand years?” Crowley threw another handful, then leaned against the railing, crossing his arms. “Not so sure. Humans do too much that can’t be explained by simple pleasure. Besides, I’ve seen what they do when overwhelmed by lust, and what they do when overwhelmed by love and…dunno. S’not the same.”

More handfuls of grains as a second group of ducks approached.

“What d’you think, Angel?” Crowley prodded. “Must be something in all those books you read.”

“Oh, quite a lot,” Aziraphale assured him. “Much of it contradictory. Many poets will only talk about their beloved’s face, or eyes, but if it were simply a matter of beauty, surely everyone would fall in love with the same beauties.”

“Sometimes they do.” Crowley rolled some seeds between his palms. “S’where the jealousy comes in. But yeah. Gotta be more to it than that.”

“I hope you’re not planning to make those poor ducks sink.”

“What? Nk — no. Course not.” He threw the grains down and the ducks quickly swarmed, turning bright shades of pink and blue and violet as they ate.

“Crowley.”

“Oh, it’s not hurting anyone.” He glanced sideways to see Aziraphale pressing his lips together, struggling not to smile. Grinning, Crowley tossed down more enchanted grains. “Go on then.”

“Hmm? Ah, yes. Well, the overall impression is that love is…transformative. Changes the way one thinks and feels at all times. They speak of, oh, the sun shining brighter, foods tasting sweeter, winter blossoming into summer. Metaphors. Others speak of — of attraction, quickened pulse, sudden heat and so on, but that’s a passing thing, part of a — a particular moment of closeness. Surely, no human could maintain such a state for an hour, never mind weeks or years!” Aziraphale offered Crowley the last handful of grain in his cap. “And once that moment passes…”

“Back to the metaphors.” The ducks below were now spotted, striped, every color of the rainbow. One bore pure white wings, beside another with midnight black. Aziraphale chuckled, very softly, which made Crowley feel immensely satisfied. Dusting off his hands, he circled the angel and continued walking.

“Yes,” Aziraphale hurried to catch up, cap twisting in his hands. “I get the sense that the feeling is so obvious, so…universal, they never think to describe it.”

“How inconsiderate.” Crowley thought it over. “So, flash of heat, racing heart, sun gets brighter, then ten pages about the color of their eyes? That about it?”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale rubbed a finger across his lip. “Not always beauty, though. Some appear drawn by their partner’s clever mind, or acts of kindness. Some praise stories of bravery or great deeds, others fixate on meaningless symbols of wealth. But still, those only tell why one falls in love, not what it feels like.”

“Sounds like a sort of obsession.” Crowley furrowed his brow. “That treatise had a list of…sort of rules of love. Mostly about jealousy, really, don’t think the author thought much of women, but… ‘Every action of a lover ends in the thought of his beloved.’”

“I see…so that, together or apart, one cannot help but think always of the other. That certainly aligns with the evidence.” He started to replace his cap, then paused, looking inside. “Anything else of use?”

“‘Love can deny nothing to love.’” Beside him, Aziraphale turned pink and a brilliant smile broke across his face, like the sun after a storm. He pulled from the cap the bright red rosebud Crowley had hidden within.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale slid the flower into his buttonhole, drinking in the way the delighted shiver ran across his shoulders. Then the angel looked up, hitting Crowley with the full force of his smile.

Stunning. Blinding. It stole Crowley’s breath away, wiped every thought from his mind.

One day, that smile would destroy him, and he wouldn’t mind at all.

“So, this creperie — are we close?”

“Ngh. Smh. Unh. Nearly. Another block or two.” The park’s gate stood just ahead, half shut, the bustling street beyond. Crowley quickly stepped ahead, pulling it open for Aziraphale. “You, ah, find the answer you needed?”

“I…think so, yes.” He rested his fingers on the gate — so close to Crowley’s he could feel their warmth — then quickly pulled away, folding his hands behind his back. “I’ve been trying to work out…well…whether I’m in love with you, Crowley.”

“Oh.” What was he supposed to say to that? “Oh.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale’s eyes darted nervously and he began to pace. “I-I want you to know, I don’t desire you. I’ve never felt that sort of attraction. And I’m not jealous by any means. I’m not even certain who I’m meant to be jealous of. But…” He turned back, tugging his jacket. “I think of you. Constantly. Every action, every experience reminds me of you. I go to a concert, and I can’t concentrate on the music, only whether you would enjoy it. I hear a joke and I imagine how you would laugh, or roll your eyes, and I can’t know a moment’s peace until I’ve shared it with you. And last month…when I was reprimanded…for days afterward I could think of nothing but how I wished you were there. When I finally found the strength to venture out, it was only from my determination to come here.”

“For…crepes?” Crowley offered stupidly.

“No, you silly creature, for you.” He stepped forward, reaching up as if to straighten Crowley’s lapels, but once again his hands dropped. “I hear your voice and no matter how dark my situation — no matter how absurd you look in the current fashion — I just…feel happy again.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and lifted his eyes — hopeful, fearful, vulnerable — to meet Crowley’s.

“Oh.” Something more was probably needed. “Yeah.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

“Well.” Aziraphale’s eyes dropped and he turned, trying to hide his expression. “Yes. I thought you should know.” He ducked his head and hurried through the gate. “Where — where is this creperie? We should try to arrive—”

“Me too.”

Crowley hadn’t meant to say anything. His mind was still ten minutes behind, struggling to catch up, but the pain on Aziraphale’s face hurt him like a blow to the chest.

The two words stopped Aziraphale in his tracks.

“I…I think about you, too.” Crowley stepped halfway through the gate, gripping the bar so tight it began to bend. “When I wake up, or fall asleep and…and away from you, here, I just…I miss you…but you — you idiot, with your crepes and your — your execution and…and then you smile and I just…” Blast! How could Aziraphale be so eloquent? Crowley swallowed and started over. “Look, m’trying to say…don’t think I can deny you anything. And. If that’s love…yeah. Me too.”

All this time, Aziraphale stood perfectly still, his back to Crowley. But now he turned, blue eyes furiously blinking. “That’s…ah…thank you. I know y-you hate being thanked but…” Aziraphale took one step closer, then another, until only inches separated them. “Thank you.”

“Nh.” He could so easily reach across that last bit of distance. Crowley didn’t know what that would accomplish, what he’d even do, but he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. “Now what?”

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale’s gaze fell. “It…doesn’t change anything, does it? You’re still a demon, and I’m—”

“I don’t care,” Crowley hissed, shocked at the fervor in his own voice. “We don’t need to play by their rules. We could — run off, or—”

“We can’t. Crowley, both our sides would — they’d find us, they’d destroy you.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” He reached for Aziraphale’s hand.

“I’m not.” The angel jerked back, putting more distance between them, eyes wide. “Crowley that’s — that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. I’m sorry, but no.”

“Fine,” Crowley growled, pulling away. “What do you want?”

“I want…” Aziraphale shut his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. “I want a shop in London, where I can surround myself with books and foods and everything I enjoy. I want my superiors to trust me, let me bring good into the world my own way, without sending me all over Creation at a moment’s notice and — and punishing me for a few miracles to make my life easier. I want us to go to plays and gardens and balls together, not for clandestine meetings but because we enjoy them. To be openly in each other’s company, without fear of reprisal. And…I’d like you to visit my shop and bring me flowers or sweets. I’d serve my very best wine and…we’d talk all night about…everything and nothing. And laugh together.” His eyes fluttered open and for the first time Aziraphale looked sure of himself. “I want what we already have. Only I want more of it.”

This time he didn’t move as Crowley reached out. Long fingers carefully adjusted the rosebud, standing it straighter in its buttonhole. “Yeah. I…I’d like that, too.”

“And you don’t want anything…physical?”

Crowley snorted. “M’not a human.” But he wondered if Aziraphale’s cheek was as soft as the rosebud’s petals. “I’d like to touch you. Your hand, your face. Your wings. Hear your voice as I fall asleep. Feel your fingers in my hair. Is that…too much?”

“No.” Aziraphale smiled gently. “That sounds perfect.”

“Maybe…” Crowley fidgeted with his glasses, shuffled his feet, but refused to step away. “If we’re careful…”

“The Arrangement is already dangerous enough. You must understand…”

Crowley closed his eyes. “I do. Nothing changes.” Except there were words now, to the feeling he had when he thought of his angel. And that changed everything. When he looked again, Aziraphale nodded, as if he felt the same.

“Right then.” Crowley circled around Aziraphale, sauntering back to the main road. “Let’s see if these crepes are worth risking the guillotine.”

“My dear fellow,” Aziraphale easily kept pace. “One bite of true Breton crepes will silence your doubts forever.”

“Breton, huh?”

“Oh, yes, far superior to any others.”

“If that’s so,” Crowley smirked, remembering Aziraphale in his cell, “s’a wonder you came to Paris. Particularly in such a…controversial outfit.”

“The city has…certain other attractions.”

Something warm and heavy wrapped across Crowley’s shoulders, invisible to his eyes, though he could feel the individual feathers tickle his neck. Aziraphale strolled beside him, hands clasped behind his back, eyes forward, as if nothing were amiss.

Carefully, trying to look natural, Crowley scratched his shoulder, brushing his knuckles down a long flight feather, softer than any mortal bird’s.

Aziraphale smiled ever so slightly and flexed his wing, holding Crowley a little more tightly. An embrace that no one could see, no one could know about, except them.

“Dunno,” Crowley said. “Still seems pretty risky.”

“Yes. But I’m an incorrigible old fool. Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

“Suppose I can understand,” Crowley said as he extended his own wing, wrapping it around Aziraphale’s waist. The angel’s composure broke as he wiggled, burying himself in invisible feathers. Crowley smiled, heat running through him, a warm spring day after a long cold winter. “After all, we’re not so different, you and I.”

[1] De Amore, Andreas Capellanus, c. 1190

So happy to finally share this!

[yandere-sins]

Can I see bondage and blood (4 and 6) for the bratty goat man that is Lucio. I just got into the arcana and I’m loosing my mind over this brat. I love it.

Hahahaha, welcome to the fandom! Thanks for requesting the goat man lol Enjoy ^^

Bondage - “Darling your such a tease. I’ll give you a taste of what it’s like playing with fire.” 

»»———————— ♡ ————————««     

There were so many red flags when you received the invitation to the Palace. All these rumors about a sickness spreading through the streets of Vesuvia, yet, the count still requested the likes of you to attend to him and keep him company while people began drawing back and isolate. Sure, tending to anyone who demanded your service was your daily bread, but you’d rather stayed at your home as well.

But he was a paying customer and not a first-timer either. Also, as the count, he was paying very, very well. Once these ‘sickness’ wore down, it would be good money in your hand to have, especially if you wanted nothing more than to leave this place.

That wasn’t all, of course. Every visit you spend at his side was filled with lavish meals and grand festivities. You felt less than an escort and more than an actual member of the high society when you were with him. But all the presents and clothes he gave to you were starting to drown you in guilt and fear that one day, this was something to hold over your head if you weren’t careful.

So, why did you go back?

Biting your cheek, you wondered about your reasons as you put on yet another wonderful, soft and endearing garment that he had prepared for you. Lucio hadn’t even arrived yet, but you knew by his choices that he grew bolder every time. You had told him right at the start, from be very beginning, that you weren’t interested in more than staying by his side and looking nice. That other services weren’t your occupation, and even less were you interested in something personal.

Yet, your hands began to sweat nervously as Lucio got announced, servants rushing to open the door for him, and your bad feeling intensified.

“[Name]!” he called out joyfully, arms open wide to pull you into a hug, entering the room without even a moment of hesitation. Lucio wasn’t a typical noble. Everyone talked about him behind his back of how unfit he was in his position. To greet you first and so casually - in front of servants no less - kind of confirmed that. No one would tell him off, strangely enough, giving him the respect to do as he pleased. Perhaps that was the influence of his wife, but you weren’t unhappy that he wasn’t spitting in your face or belittling you like the others would once they were done with you.

“Count,” you greeted him briefly, bowing your head to him with a small smile you could muster. No second later, you were virtually overrun by him, finding yourself dipped down and in his arms in the blink of an eye. “Finally some good company,” he smirked, reaching for your hand to kiss it. Charm, he had, even if this was one of the few good points you could name about him.

It was a rather typical meeting, minus the grand balls he liked to throw for his ‘friends’. Just you too, a table between you that was smaller than the one he usually filled with food. The menu was just as delicious, even though you two had it in silence, Lucio never losing the smile on his face. He usually was much more talkative, so you let him talk, but today, even if you spoke up, he wouldn’t react with his great stories and even greater enthusiasm. Maybe, it was just a calm day for him. Maybe he was just exhausted.

The time couldn’t run out faster, your eyes occasionally flitting to the small clock on top of the fireplace. Yet, every time you’d be disappointed with how much time was still left. You had been served tea, the servants leaving you alone as soon as the biscuits were placed down on the coffee table in front of you. Only when the door fell into its lock did Lucio finally sigh deeply, as if he was bothered by a heavy weight on his shoulders.

“I thought about it,” he finally spoke up, his words more serious than you had heard from him ever. This voice, paired with his words, rose another flinch of nervosity in you, and you sipped at your cup filled with warmth to hide your anxiety. Lucio walked back over to you, sitting down next to you on the couch and taking an inelegant sip of his own cup. “I want you to stay here.”

Immediately, the tea you just drank left a bitter aftertaste on your tongue, and you backed away noticeable. “My Count, I told you in the very beginning I don’t stay the night--”

“No, no!” he quickly waved off, shaking his head before taking a deep breath and reaching for your hands. You wanted to pull away, but at the same time, you feared upsetting such an important figure in this society by behaving rudely. “I meant forever.”

“Forever...?” you muttered, feeling your expression crunch up in confusion. “My Lord, I don’t think that would be appropriated--”

You really couldn’t see yourself, an escort, stay by his side.

“Not yet, but...” his voice trailed off as you thought to see hints of red grace his cheeks. “I will make you Count Consort. I mean it! You’ll have all the rights that even the Countess has, and you’ll be allowed to stay here.”

His offer sounded sincere at least, his expression giving off the impression that - even if it was foolish - he meant it. It took you a lot of strength not to gasp in his face about what he said, the mere idea of you becoming such a high-ranking member of nobility scaring and appalling you. Maybe this was a dream coming true for many people, but not for you. Not for someone like you who wanted to leave this city for a new start, and especially the Count who was starting to do what you always feared he would: Monopolize you.

“I cannot,” you said firmly, feigning regret in your voice before pulling your hands from his. “Why?” he asked, inching closer, your legs touching while he kept snapping for your hands. “I... I just can’t.”

“That’s not a reason. You can. Just say yes and stay with me.”

Finally, he managed to get a hold of your wrists, squeezing them tightly in his fingers. The golden prothesis always had scared you a little when he touched you with it. It was cold, and not rarely he put on claws on top of his fingertips that seemed more than just dull accessories. You were glad it wasn’t the case this time, yet the sheer strength he managed to bring up with it was only made more painful by the metal.

“No!” you gasped, finally letting your feeling of fear and disgust showing on your face. It was in the gist of the moment, Lucio witnessing your rejection, that he loosened the strength on his grip so you could tear your arm away. You didn’t mean to cross his cheek with your palm. You really didn’t! But when you realized the slapping sound echoing through the room, it was already too late, and you had jumped up, staring at what you did in horror.

The next moment, you ran to the door, slamming into the wood as it wouldn’t budge when you wanted to open it.

You always believed that he was different, but perhaps, you should have heeded the warnings. He treated you nicely, but in the end, when the other escorts told you that he had little patience, yet mighty demands of his partners, you should have heeded their advice to not go agree again and again to visit him. They told you about what he took pleasure in; the colosseum, the wars, bloodshed, and people worshipping him. It should have been enough for you to not return. To see that he was no good man, even if he treated you right.

“Darling you’re such a tease,” you heard behind you, and no second passed that another body pressed up to you, locking you between the door and Lucio. “You want me to fight for you? Beg you? Run after you? If that’s what you want, sure, I don’t mind.”

Exasperated, you turned around, not wanting to leave your back so exposed to him, only to find yourself staring right at a golden key he held in front of you. Hesitant, you glanced at him, his eyes now clearly duller compared to before, where he looked at you as the object of his affection, but the smile playing on his lips was anything but sincere. The mismatch of expression scared you, but you quickly snatched the key from him, fiddling with the door a little until you heard the lock open. Pressed up so close to it, it was no surprise you lost your footing, tumbling to the ground as it finally gave away. In the hallway usually filled with hustling and bustling of servants and guards, dead silence and darkness were all that awaited you.

You faintly remembered the layout as you stumbled to your feet, giving a short glance over your shoulder as you saw Lucio step out of the room as well, his hand leisurely coming up to usher you forwards. “Run, my Beloved. It’s only fair if you have a chance to escape. You always told me how you wanted to escape your life, so here I thought we were under the same impression, but in the end, you’re going to hate me as well, don’t you?”

His words were so sad, yet, their meaning scarier than anything to you. You never realized... that he thought this way. That up till now, he had been looking out for you after all. “But it doesn’t matter if you hate me,” he added, shoulders slumping as he looked at you pitifully. “Everyone does, but that means they let me do what I want. And I want to be with you. Deep down, you know I can make your wish come true. Otherwise, why would you have always come back to me?”

Now, you weren’t waiting anymore. As quickly as you could, with the fabric of the garment rushing by you as you ran, you made your way to what you thought was the exit. There was something mad about the way he uttered these last sentences, and you didn’t want to find out. Not when you heard his steps follow after you.

“That’s a dead-end,” he called behind you as you dipped into a sidearm of the hallway. “Don’t make it easy for me to catch you, Sweetheart.”

But it was already too late; you had to move forward. You’d slip into a room there and jump out of the window if it turned out that there wasn’t any way left to go. But the further in you got, the fewer doors you saw until they only sparsely appeared around you. Every time you thought, “One more, the next I will enter and escape,” but then they stopped appearing completely, and you ran right into a portrait of your suitor at the end of the hallway.

“You went easy on me?” you heard behind you. “You’re such an adorable rabbit. You could have just told me that you wanted me to court you some more! But don’t you worry.”

Eventually, Lucio caught up to you while you pressed up to the wall in your back, eyeing for a chance to escape him. Until it was too late, his face so close to you, you felt his breath against your lips and a cold, uncomfortable grip around your chin. “Hate me all you want, but I finally realize this is what you want too. You got me really riled up now, [Name]. We can play all night long if you want.”

You wanted to say something, do something, slap him again! But you couldn’t. You couldn’t even move a finger, or take a breath, captivated by the glowing silver of his eyes, shining even in the dark. “I’ll give you a taste of what it’s like playing with fire,” he whispered before you felt his lips close in on yours.

“Because that’s what you did to me too and now it’s your turn to get burned.”

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidentally Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 6 | Having a bit too fun with our charming Captain America?

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: As Molly and Chris become friends, Tom becomes jealous and makes a terrible mistake. 

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

-

Tom came home carrying an enormous bouquet of lilies and roses he purchased on the way home. He bubbled with anxiety and excitement. His talk with Benedict had done him wonders. Until he opened the door to an empty house. He called out for Molly a few times but got no response. There was also no note. He slumped in a kitchen chair. His phone buzzed.

I’m on my way home. Sorry I didn’t leave a note. Hope you aren’t worried. I promise I’m fine!

Tom smiled at the message. He didn’t know why, but something gnawed at the back of his mind. He scrambled to his feet as he overheard the door opening.

“Tom?” Molly yelled into the house.

“In the kitchen, darling!” He fidgeted with the flowers behind his back. As he stared at the floor, a wide grin grew on his face.

“Molly, I…” His face fell as Evans walked in behind Molly.

“Look who stopped by and took me to lunch!” Molly squeaked.

Chris slung an arm over Molly’s shoulders. Tom’s fist clenched around the flowers behind his back.

“I hope you don’t mind me stealing your girl, Tom.” Chris smirked. “She said you were out to lunch with Benedict.”

“Not at all, Chris.” Tom lied. “I’m glad you could keep my wife company.”

“Pleasure was all mine, pal. She is,” Chris gazed down at Molly with a look that made Tom want to leap across the kitchen counter and strangle Chris. “a pretty special girl.”

“Chris!” Molly smacked his hand. “You are too kind. Thank you for a lovely lunch.” She squeezed his torso.

“And don’t forget about tomorrow. We will find decent margaritas in this city if it kills us.”

“You’re on. But you know I have discerning taste when it comes to my liquor.”

“That makes two of us.”

Molly and Chris giggled. “Let me show you out, Chris.” Tom offered.

Molly smiled over at Tom and noticed his hand behind his back.

“What’s that, darling?”

“What?” Tom’s brows knitted.

“Behind your back.” Molly strolled towards him and peeked around Tom. “Are those for me?”

Tom pulled the flowers out. “They are. I thought you might want them to brighten up the house.”

Molly gasped at the beautiful arrangement. “They are stunning, love.” She wrapped an arm around Tom’s neck and pecked his lips. “Thank you. I love them.”

Tom leaned down for another kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth when Molly sighed.

Chris cleared his throat and hooked his thumb towards the front of the house.

“I’ll just see myself out.”

Molly pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tom trailed kisses down her neck, tickling her skin. She giggled as Chris waved and walked away.

“What has gotten into you?” she teased as she pushed Tom back.

“Just selling the relationship. We are newly married.” Tom commented, kissing her cheek.

“Oh.”

Tom’s answer disappointed Molly. Somewhere deep inside, that place she never admits to having Molly wanted Tom to want her for more than just a PR stunt. She wanted him to love her as much as he pretended to. But it seemed clear Tom was content on keeping things professional.

“That is the plan, after all?”

“Yeah.” Molly shook her head. “So how was lunch with Ben?”

“Good. You’re going out with Chris again?” Tom’s heart sank further down as he shelved plans to tell Molly how he felt. Evans ruined that.

“He is staying in town for a few days and with you doing auditions and meetings tomorrow, Chris thought I could use some company.” She went to grab a vase for the flowers.

“I bet he did.” Tom muttered.

“What’s that?” Molly twisted her head around.

“I said how nice of him.”

Molly smiled. “It is. He is so funny too! The stories he tells.”

Tom inhaled sharply. “Think you can pry yourself from the Captain to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“Anything for you.” She cupped his cheek. “Now what would you like for dinner tonight?”

“Whatever you would like, love. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

Molly marched over to him and placed the back of her hand on his forehead. “That is the second time you have said something like that. Are you sure you’re not sick?”

Tom pulled back. “I’m fine. There’s no need to fuss.”

Molly pursed her lips. “After you drove me to urgent care, filled my prescriptions, let me sleep in your bed, and took care of my every need for three days, you can bet your sweet ass I’m fussing.” She touched his forehead again. “Hmm. I can’t tell if you have a fever. Go lie down in the living room and I’ll bring you dinner.”

“But I…”

“Go!” She jabbed a finger at the door. “I will not have you getting sick on my hands.”

Tom held up his hands in defeat. “Yes, ma’am.”

Molly came in with a steaming bowl of a beef stew she whipped up with leftovers in the fridge and on the side some thick slices of a crusty bread she picked up a few days ago. A heavy slash of butter on top. She arranged it on a tray for Tom.

“Arms and knees up.” she commanded. Tom complied, tucking up his knees. Molly set down the tray and then settled into the spot once occupied by Tom’s feet. “Eat up.”

Tom blew onto a spoonful before taking a bite. He moaned as he swallowed. “That is exquisite, Molly. What is it?”

“Leftover stew.” Molly took a bite herself.

“You made this with the leftovers?”

“You learn to get creative with the spice cabinet.”

“Foster care?” Tom asked quietly, teeth crunching through the crust of the bread.

“College. Financial aid only goes so far. I couldn’t let food go to waste. I became famous or rather infamous in the dorm freshman year with what I could with a microwave. A modern witch, they called me.”

“You have certainly bewitched me, darling.” Tom commented without thinking. “With your cooking.” he covered. “You are a genius in that kitchen. I will have to learn some of the recipes before year’s end.”

Molly gazed up at him, pained. He was already talking about when all of this was over. Tom quickly changed the subject.

“Tell more about college. I imagine it was rather different from my experience.” Tom ate another spoonful of stew, warming his insides.

“Where did you matriculate?” Molly teased in a haughty tone.

“Cambridge.”

She let loose a low whistle. “You really are Mr. Fancy Pants.”

“With a degree in Classics.”

Molly giggled. “And I thought a tourism degree was useless.”

“Enough about me. I’m boring. Tell me about you.”

-

They talked about college, about how hard summers were when the dorms closed and Molly would couch surf while working summer jobs.

“I had amazing friends.” she whispered. “I am forever in their debt.”

Tom reached over and pulled her to his chest. “I am so sorry you had to go through that.”

“I’m not.” She snuggled against him. “Our experiences make us who we are. The good and the bad. I would have preferred an easier life. I would prefer not to freeze every time someone raises their voice, but that’s not me.” she sighed and the tears fell onto Tom’s shirt.

Tom smoothed down Molly’s hair. “I’m sorry to upset you. Let’s talk about happy things.”

“What are those?” she chuckled softly.

“How about this?” He stared down at her tucked under the crook of his arm. “Tell me about some of the craziest things you’ve seen as a bartender in Vegas?”

Molly laughed. “How about the one about the guy who peed on a blackjack table?”

“This I must hear.” Tom chuckled.

-

Tom woke up on the couch that next morning. Molly’s messy bun tickling his chin.

“Molly…” He groaned as he sat up. “… I have to get up, darling.”

Molly burrowed deeper into Tom’s chest and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around her. He kissed her temple. She hummed and sighed. Tom’s stomach clenched.

“Time to wake up. I need to shower.”

She slowly woke and stared at Tom, realizing the compromising position of their bodies. Molly scrambled away, blushing.

“So sorry.” She sat up. “I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

Tom cleared his throat. “I still have time.” Tom sat up and fiddled his hands in his lap. “You could always come with me. We could grab some lunch. You can see all of my ‘hard work’.” Tom gazed at her hopefully.

“I…” Molly pondered the offer. “can’t. I would only be in the way. And I have plans with Chris.”

“Chris, right.” Tom stood abruptly. “We wouldn’t want you to miss that.”

Molly gave a strained smile. “I already committed. But we are still having dinner?”

“Dinner, indeed. I’ll meet you at the restaurant at 6:30 p.m.”

Molly stood and hugged him. “I���ll be there with bells on.”

-

There was a knock on the door exactly when Chris said he would come by. Molly opened the door to find Chris leaned against the frame in jeans and a henley. A devastating combination.

“Hey babe, I have an Uber and a list of five Mexican restaurants with great promise. Ready to find the perfect margarita?”

“I am.” She stepped out with a smile. Chris slung his arm over her shoulder. Molly leaned in for a bit. Just long enough for a camera to click.

-

“That first place was awful!” Molly howled in the back of the Uber as they made their way to the next place.

Chris laughed next to her. “I never knew they could make tortillas out of rubber.”

Molly’s phone buzzed. It was Luke. She switched off the phone.

“Anything important?” Chris leaned over to glance at the screen.

“Just Luke. Tom’s publicist. It is probably just something about an upcoming event. I’ll ring him back later.” Molly shrugged before tucking the phone back into her purse. “Now an important question.”

“Which is?”

“Strawberry or Lime?”

“Lime all the way.”

“A purist, I like that.”

Chris burst into laughter.

-

Tom struggled against his sour disposition through most of his auditions and lunch. It wasn’t until he got to the restaurant for dinner Tom listened to Luke’s voicemail. Which led him to googling himself for the first time in years.

“Fuck!” He hissed louder than he wanted to, drawing the attention of a nearby couple. He forced a smile and gave a small wave.

Molly slipped into the chair. “Sorry, I’m a bit late. I lost track of time and then traffic.”

Tom’s fists clenched. “Having a bit too fun with our charming Captain America?” He spit at her.

Molly blinked at him. “What do you mean by that? I was with Chris. He seems like a nice guy.”

“And you are such a friendly girl.” Tom continued to speak in a clipped tone.

“Tom, what’s wrong?” She reached out for Tom’s hand, but he pulled it back.

“This is what’s wrong.” Tom slid his phone over to her.

Molly scrolled through the pictures with increasing horror. The headlines read: Hiddleston Marriage on the Rocks? Tom’s New Bride Steps Out with Captain America Himself.

“I… I…” Molly sputtered, handing the phone back. Hot tears hit her cheeks.

Tom threw his napkin down. “We’re leaving. Keep a smile on as we leave and when we get home. No need to give the paparazzi more fodder.”

Molly stood in a daze and Tom snatched her elbow roughly to lead her out of the restaurant. As they walked outside, Tom leaned in.

“Wrap your arm around my waist and laugh like I said something funny.”

Molly snaked her arm around him and Tom pulled her tight against him. They both threw their heads back in laughter until they got into the taxi, where Tom’s expression fell into a cold mask.

Molly sniffled with stifled sobs the entire way home. Tom took no effort to sooth her. He was… cold and detached. They repeated the charade from the restaurant up the stairs to the front door. Tom had to hold back from slamming the door.

“How could you have been so stupid?!” Tom hissed, slamming his keys onto the table.

“Don’t call me stupid. I was just going out with a friend.”

“A handsome movie star!”

“Not unlike my husband! In fact, Chris called you a close friend.” Molly raised her voice.

“He would say anything to take you from me!” Tom yelled.

Molly froze and her head dropped, shoulders hunching forward. “Please don’t yell at me.”

“How else am I to make you understand, Molly?!” Tom continued to shout like someone crazed. He gestured wildly in the air. “You are forbidden to see him.”

“I want out.” Molly sobbed.

“What?” Tom snapped out of it. He glanced at Molly, only to see the damage he had done. Molly was all but curled in on herself. She sobbed freely, shoulders shaking. “Molly, I…”

“Don’t touch me.” She turned from his hand, reaching out to her. “Why is Chris different from your sister?”

“Because Emma isn’t trying to steal you from me.”

Molly chuckled. “You’re fucking jealous?! How rich! Chris is a nice guy! I used to say the same about you. I used to…” her voice trailed off.

“Used to what?” Tom sniped, tears of anger and hurt filling his own eyes. “Take pity on me? Poor Tom with shit taste in women?! Has to pay a girl to pretend to be his wife for the papers?!”

Molly reared back and slapped him. Tom held his cheek.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Molly screeched. “I’m leaving. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back.”

“Molly, please…” Tom begged.

“Fuck off, Tom!” Molly pushed past him. “I thought we were…” she sobbed. “But I guess not. It’s my own fucking fault.”

“What’s your fault, Molly?” Tom asked. “What’s your fault?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Molly cried, defeated. “I was clearly wrong about you.”

“Wrong how?” Tom’s heart shattered as she walked away, returning with a small bag.

“Goodbye, Tom. Don’t worry, I’ll be discrete. Wouldn’t want to tarnish your good guy image?” she sneered before heading to the door.

“Where will you go?” Tom grew more desperate as the reality of his actions set in.

“Away from you. Other than that, I don’t much care.” The front door slammed behind her.

Tom collapsed onto the couch and his head fell into his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK!” he screamed into the void of his empty house.

[wonderlandhatter]

Fixations and love.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (I’m fairly sure I didn’t include any pronouns so it can be read as gender neutral)

Summary: Just fluff honestly, it’s quite short but it’s pretty much just Spencer coming home from a case, you’re making bread and lots of cuddles and kisses. Pretty much just fluff with plot.

Word count: 1674

Warnings: None just a load of fluff.

Prompt: 7. “Well the probability of that is 0 but knock yourself out”

A/N: Thank you so much for the request. i posted this like 10 days ago but it was unedited and honestly awful, I haven’t had any inspiration to write in ages, i tried to fix the mess that this was but I still don’t think its great, its ok but anyways. I’m going to try and get out of this slump.

A/N2: My old account got deleted so I'm just reposting my fics I would appreciate if you could bust this so i could get back to where my account was thank you for your time.

God you hated mornings. They are just horrible, people that like them should not be trusted, they must have issues if they enjoy leaving their nice warm bed.

That’s why you always stayed up late, it had always been that way, when the sun was down is when you felt your happiest and most productive.

And that is why you are currently up at 2am making bread in your kitchen, well attempting. You had wanted to have had the bread done by now or at least by the time Spencer got back home from their latest case. But maybe your plans to bake in the morning got pushed back by the fact you slept until 2pm (it’s the weekend so no judging) and then had some work you brought home to finish so yeah, you’re doing it now. But better late than never.

You were currently sitting on your couch watching greys anatomy while you let your dough rest (for the third time because you may or may not have been very unsuccessful thus far but third times the charm right).

While you were completely wrapped up in the current episode you heard the keys turning and your front door opening to reveal your very handsome boyfriend finally home from a weeklong case.

As soon as you both made eye contact smiles appeared and you rose from your spot and ran straight into his open arms were your face buried into his chest welcoming his familiar smell and he buried his into the top of your head letting the smell of home engulf him, your smell.

You stood there for a minute or two like you always did. After every case when Spencer came home to you, you hugged him, you held each other because that’s what you needed what you both needed, sometimes longer than others but without fail you needed to feel him to feel that he was there and that he had gotten home safe.

He needed to feel you to feel at home and grounded and at peace, he needed to feel the happiness you could only bring to him in contrast of the sadness and horror he was stepping away from.

Spencer was the first to break the silence as you gripped his cardigan , he kissed your temple before speaking “I don’t think I will ever get tired of coming home to you” you smiled at that, home you loved it when he called you home, “I truly hope you don’t, I know I will never get tired of coming home to you” you said the last part as you looked up at him and saw he was already looking at you with a love sick smile, he brought one of his hands up you cup your cheek and you leaned in welcoming the familiar touch.

“I love you y/n” you smiled, god you had heard him say it so many times but it would never fail to make you smile, and so you leaned up and capture his lips in a kiss that said more you ever could.

The first kiss after a case was always all consuming, it was filed with so much love, lust and emotion. It was powerful and wonderful; it was everything you couldn’t share while you were apart and everything you did; all the I love yous and the I miss yous shared over the phone all in one kiss all to show that even though he you couldn’t always be together physically the love and care would always be there. It made you feel loved and any insecurities you or he had about themselves or the relationship were wiped away. It was a dream.

You pulled away first cursing your lungs for needing air, neither you or Spencer opened your eyes just leaned on each other’s forehead basking in the moment and relishing in the love just shared, “I love you too spencer, so much”.

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

Spencer had gone to shower a little after and you were making coffee, currently adding his mountain of sugar. You had gotten him to cut back on it a little, but it barely mattered he still took it like there was no tomorrow.

You heard him coming out of the shower and approaching you, your back was still to him as you made the coffee so he hugged you from behind and rested his head on your shoulder leaving light scattered kisses on your neck his half dried hair tickling you as he did you giggled.

“Spence stop your tickling me” you giggled while wriggling in his hold, “fine but only because I see coffee and I haven’t had any in too long”.

You half turn around to pick up his mug while now being caged in between the counter and him and handing him his mug.

He takes it from you with a grateful smile and takes a sip “thank you love, it’s perfect” he says after tasting it and kissing your cheek, you reply with a simple and very cocky ‘I know’ before picking up your own mug and taking a sip. Spencer simply sighed out a breathy laugh and shook his head.

Spencer set his cup down on the counter behind you and rested his hands on your hips one hand mindlessly making its way under your shirt, circling your left hip with his thumb without even thinking about it more of just an instinct to need to feel you in any way possible, you both stood like that in comfortable silence.

Spencer broke the silence as the thought popped in his head “so, what were you up to so late” your eyes widen with excitement, you had completely forgotten about the bread dough, it should be ready by now. Jumping up and setting your mug down you practically ran to where you had left your dough to rise.

“Oh, I nearly forgot” you paused in front of the bowl and looked at Spencer who was looking at you with an amused grin, while leaning on the counter and sipping his coffee. So, you explained plainly “I’ve been making bread”.

He raised a questioning eyebrow at you and repeated your statement but as more of an amused question than a statement. “You’ve been making bread?” you just scowled at him and answered very overexaggeratedly, “yes Spencer I have been making bread” you answered strongly, and he just gave you a look before you continued.

“Fine it hasn’t been very successful but this time I know it will be perfect I just need to check that my dough has risen”.

Spenser loved how you got these hyper fixations, you would obsess over shows and hobbies, you would have so much joy and passion for each of them and he loved you even more for it. This time it looks like it was bread, but he quickly saw your face drop as you took the cloth of the top of your bowl.

“Did it not rise” you simply huffed and looked ultimately defeated as you leaned on the counter behind you crossing your arms looking like a sad puppy, you looked up when you heard steps and saw Spencer making his way to you.

“I don’t get it I followed the recipe exactly why do I keep messing it up” Spencer hugged you once he had reached you and rubbed circles onto your back “it’s alright love, bread is a really difficult and delicate thing to make, I’m sure you’ll get it.” This didn’t really make you feel better, you simply grumbled and inaudible response as your face was buried in his chest, Spencer tried his best not to laugh, you were just so adorable when you were tired and slightly grumpy.

“Tell you what love, its late why don’t we go to bed and try again tomorrow”.

You just grumbled into his chest again and this time he couldn’t hold back a tinny   giggle, you knew he was right, you were tired plus you had run out of flour so tomorrow would be the better option.

You could feel Spencer’s chest move as he laughed at your response “come on love I’m sure you will get it tomorrow; I don’t have work so I can help you it will be fun” you simply replied a slightly less muffled response from your spot in his chest “Well the probability of that is 0 but you can knock yourself out“.

“Oh, come on grumpy boots, it will be fun you’re just tired just wait until tomorrow evening when you get your energy back”. “Fine Mr 187 maybe you’re right”.

“Yes I am, now come on I’m tired too, plus I’ve missed sleeping with you in my arms”.

You removed your face from his chest and looked at him while moving your arms up around his neck playing with the damp hair in the nape of his neck “I missed having you in my bed too, your hoodie isn’t the same, it smells the same, but it isn’t you”.

Spencer looked at your sad eyes recalling the nights alone “I know but I’m here now and I don’t plan on leaving your side while I am, now come on”.

You squealed as Spencer swiftly grabbed the top of your thighs and picked you up your legs wrapping around him out of habit. “Spencer I can walk”.

Spencer smirked and patted you bum with one of his hands as you hid your face in his neck to hide how flustered he was making you, “yeah well I want to carry you, I told you I’m not leaving your side while I’m home with you, I’m keeping you as close as possible”.

And with that he walked you to your shared room and laid you down, having already been in pj’s you didn’t need to change, he got under the covers with you and you held each other sharing kisses and I love yours until you drifted of feeling complete once again now that you were back together.

[lovelytarou]

the language of flowers — oikawa tooru

pairing: oikawa tooru x gn! reader

genre: fluff, flowershop!au

tags: flowerboy!oikawa, slowburn, strangers to lovers

word count: 4.06k

a/n: i finally finished this after 2536484 years of procrastination! but thanks to my moots shae and julie for showing support and giving their opinions about this concept hehe. this is the longest fic i've written wow 😳

⤷ summary: the flowershop on the street you frequently walk on going home is a wonder you didn't notice until recently when the smell of flowers caught your attention. deciding to enter it one day out of pure curiosity, you met the owner of the shop and with it, the start of a blooming romance.

life was filled with repeating patterns, certain routines and habits that everybody has gotten used to doing. like the way you always took the same path when going home, passing by the familiar faces you encounter all the time, seeing the similar architecture and landscape that brings some sort of familiarity to you whenever you see it. 

your feet stopped in their own accord when a sweet smell invaded your nose. you inhaled deeply, the aroma pleasant and fresh. going a few steps back, you finally saw where it was coming from. the flower shop stood out like a sore thumb in the street with its vibrant flowers that you can see through the clear glass. the sunlight was shining down upon the beautiful flowers and they looked charming even from afar. 

you thought for a moment and decided that you'd stop by in the flower shop for a little while. besides, if the smell alone has caught your attention, who knows what else can? 

the soft tinkle of the bell on the door signalled your presence. you were simply in awe at the sight of the decorations inside the shop. it was breathtaking. numerous flowers, bouquets, wreaths, and some that you don't know the name about were placed neatly and elegantly inside the shop to let the customers feast their eyes (and noses) upon. 

giggles and loud laughter snatched you away from your thoughts, a huddled group of women and men alike are circling over something - or someone? - and they seemed to be too entertained about it than the flowers themselves. chuckling quietly, you shook your head and decided to look around the place more for yourself. 

there were buckets and baskets of anemones in pinks, reds, and purple. there were also daffodils, camellias, and tulips of many colors that you can't help but get sucked in by them. you can't think which one to go to first, there are so many! the hanging plants are wonderful as well, they can make for great decoration. the succulents look cute and adorable, it can also be manageable if you find yourself too busy to take care of a plant. 

you were too deep in your thoughts, caressing a blue tulip to even notice the sudden silence in the shop and the ringing of the bell at the door that tells you the previous patrons have exited the flower shop and you're now alone. or so you thought.

“beautiful,” a sing-songy, lilting voice spoke from behind you, causing you to jolt from where you're admiring the flower and turned towards the owner of the voice. 

if the flowers took your breath away, well he made you get your breath stuck in your throat. he looks like he's not from around him, and simply breathing in his space is something short of disgraceful. you took in his wavy side-swept dark brown hair, and his welcoming eyes of the same color that shone with mischief. his lips are stretched into a smile. 

wow, he is really tall. you're surprised he hadn't reached the ceiling of the shop. he seemed pretty intimidating with his height alone, but there's an air around him that screams playfulness.

“ah, i meant the tulips.” he apologized as a blush coated his beautiful clear cheeks, a hand touching his nape.

“oh!” you cleared your throat, immediately bringing the tulip back where it respectfully resides, “yes, they're very wonderful to look at. you have a lovely shop, uh…” 

he seemed to perk up at the inquisition of his name, he chuckled to himself before offering his hand.

“oikawa tooru, nice to meet you! and thanks, i do try hard to keep this flower shop presentable for customers like you who have taste.” he winked, walking past you and you followed suit – eyes practically glued to his form as he moved swiftly around his small shop.

“must be difficult to run a business like this all by yourself,” you wondered, fingers brushing against petals that your hand can reach. 

it's odd, but staying in there for just a few minutes has brought you a sense of relaxation. as if the flowers all around you and talking to oikawa is such a breath of fresh air. 

“well, you get used to it after a while. besides, i have my friends, uh...help me sometimes.” he nervously chuckled, he certainly knew that 'help' means that force his friends to carry things around while blackmailing them and bribing them for lunch, then sure, he had them help him. 

you only hummed in response. 

he turned around after a while, a pink lily in his hand.

“i think this suits our gorgeous customer, don't you think?” he smirked, handing the flower with a flourish which you took gently – causing your hands to touch and making you feel that slight tingle people talk about in movies and books. 

you felt silly about the way your face heats up at the small gesture, your gaze not straying away from the flowers in fear of letting oikawa see his effect on you. 

but you can try with all your might, nothing can stop him from already seeing your flushed face. he always does these things to entertain the customers but he found his chest feeling warm staring at you like that.

going back to his place in the cashier, he started to tidy up a bit for the next customers that will visit the shop. his brown eyes kept staring at you from time to time as you walked around, trying to see if there's anything else you could buy along with the lily – but we all know it's just to keep your attention away from him and the fact that he can make your heart race with mere flirting.

“i never really noticed your shop before, and i have walked this street for how many times now.” you droned on, playing with the cute pots on the shelf – some of them were heads of the cliché green alien and other space themed stuff which you find adorable, bringing a fond smile to your face.

“oikawa's flower shop is like a secret garden, my dear customer.” he boasted, spraying freesias on the cashier desk with a smile on his face.

“it truly looks like one,” you agreed, with one final look in the flower shop, you walked closer to the cashier and got out your wallet. 

“no, no. it's on the house, lovely.” he beamed, stopping the hand in your bag.

“really? thank you.” your face flushed at the feeling of his hands – the very same one who took care of these beautiful flowers – touching yours. 

he recoiled, as if burned. his face painted a deep red like the roses by the windows. both of you looked away, like two magnets of the same sign – coming in contact with each other only to repel.

“well, um, i'll see you around then.” you muttered, breaking the silence. 

“yeah, see you.” oikawa smiled warmly. hopefully much sooner, he hoped.

with one last look at each other, you turned around and exited the secret garden. you walked home that day all smiles and giddy, still feeling the lingering touch he has left on your skin, how warm and calloused they felt. maybe from how hard he was working. 

you wondered if you'll ever see him again soon. 

the second time you visited the flower shop was when you saw oikawa in one of the coffee shops you frequented. it turned out that he usually stops by for coffee and his milk bread when the shop's particularly slow. he asked to walk you home and since you're both taking the same path, you agreed. 

he turned out to be a very chatty person – not the kind that will annoy you because they only talk about themselves, but the amusing kind because he has a lot of stories stored inside his big brain full of tales about him and his friends, and occasionally asking about your life as well.

you two had fallen into a comfortable pace as you walked together, sipping both your beverages. 

“hey, let's play truth or dare!” he blurted, eyes sparkling in excitement and thinly veiled mischief, a bright smile on his lips.

“really? here? now?” you asked, incredulous. isn't this something people do in parties around a lot of people? 

“yeah! it'll be fun,” he shrugged. 

“well, okay then.” you sighed, before sipping your drink, “you go first.” 

“okay…” he pretended to think hard, eyes darting everywhere as he hummed, “truth or dare?”

“you don't really need to think so hard about that,” you chuckled.

“just pick!” 

“alright, alright. truth!” you beamed at him, trying to understand what his brain will cook up to ask you.

“ah, that's easy. what's your name?” oh, that's right. you forgot to tell him back then the first time you went in his flower shop. and so, you told him.

“y/n. what a beautiful name. okay, my turn! my turn!” he excitedly chanted, eyes never losing their sparkle. 

you ignored the butterflies that erupted in your stomach the moment he said your name, as if he's taking his time and tasting it around his tongue like a foreign delicacy he hasn't tasted before. 

you cleared your throat, averting his gaze as they zeroed in on you, “truth or dare, mr. milk bread?” 

“hey, they taste really good, i'll have you know.” he scoffed, before his face morphed back into excitement again, “dare!”

you thought for a moment, there isn't really anything too interesting to do while walking. and then you smirked.

“i dare you to greet the person who will walk this corner as if you knew each other for a very long time,” you grinned devilishly. he gaped at that, before darting his gaze towards the street corner you were talking about. 

“y/n-chan, i didn't know you would be the type,” he teased, you were about to retort when a huge, buff man walked around the corner. he looked intimidating, even for you and you wondered what oikawa might be feeling right now. 

but you didn't need to wonder about it any longer as he was already walking up to the man, confident and grinning. he raised his hand in the air before slapping the guy on the shoulder. 

“hey, long time no see, man! say hello to the wife and kids for me, will ya?” the man gave him a weird look before shaking his head, walking past and minding his own business muttering about 'kids these days'.

once the guy was out of earshot, you and oikawa bursted out in laughter, looking at each other with relief and surprise.

“i thought he was going to pulverize you!” you wheezed in between chortles.

“i know! me too! i thought he'll get mad at me or something,” he threw his head back as he laughed. you stopped your own giggles to stare back at him. he looked radiant as he let himself go, you thought he looked attractive with the way he candidly showed his happiness.

“something wrong, y/n-chan?” you hadn't realized he stopped laughing and was left staring at him. his head was tilted in curiosity as he peered at you in concern.

“not at all!,” you catch yourself, suddenly feeling hot and embarrassed, hoping he didn't notice you ogling him, “where were we?”

“it's your turn now, truth or dare?” feeling bold, you chose dare next. 

oikawa gave you a broad smile, his hand extending towards you as if encouraging you to take it, “i dare you to stay a little longer with me in my shop,”

to be honest? you expected him to get back at you and maybe make you do an equally embarrassing (if not more) dare, but you did not expect this. 

what you also didn't expect is the fact that you had stopped in front of oikawa's flower shop with your back turned to it. how did you reach there so fast? it seemed like talking and walking with him made time stop. a part of you would like to keep it that way, if only it was possible.

“i would love to,” was your answer. oikawa opened the door to his shop, letting you in first. he then led you near the back of the shop, opening into a wide backyard that resembled a small, gorgeous garden with different kinds of flowers. some even you haven't seen him display in the shop inside. 

the two of you sat on the two seated table. you were simply at awe with how ethereal this all looked. your eyes couldn't get enough of all the wonderful colors that it landed on.

“wow,” was all you managed to say, taking in your surroundings and appreciating every nook and cranny presented to you.

“i spent most of my breaks here,” oikawa came back with two glasses of water and placed them on the glass table. 

“usually talking to myself and talking to the flowers. i heard it helps them grow faster and makes them more beautiful.” he, too, looked around his small garden with unconcealed pride and fondness. if you looked closer, you could also see the hint of sadness hidden in there. 

“you talk to your flowers? that's so cute!” you gushed, hiding your smile behind the glass of water as you sipped it.

“if anything, you're the one who's cute.” he complimented as if it was nothing, eyes boring into yours as his smile widened.

you choked on your water, coughing it up out of surprise and it was the opposite of cute. but his opinions didn't change.

oikawa barked a laugh, reaching over to pat your back soothingly. once you calmed down, you avoided his gaze once again and decided to stare at the sunflowers nearby. 

“we should just continue the game,” you decided to divert the topic. 

“truth or dare, cutie?” oikawa bit back the grin from emerging on his face. hiding it with a palm propped up on the table.

“d-dare,” you answered without thinking. and oikawa being the little shit he is, took this as an opportunity.

“i dare you to go on a date with me this saturday,” he sincerely declared, eyes not leaving you once. your head whipped back to him so fast, you swear you got whiplash. 

you're not one of these flowers and yet you felt the butterflies going wild inside of you.

your heart beat rapidly inside of your chest, pounding hard and ringing in your ears. 

“you don't need a dare to get me to say yes,” you reasoned with a wide smile.

oikawa tooru, like his flowers, is a lively, blooming person. you get to know that the moment you agreed to go on a date with him. it followed a few hangouts, and frequent bumping into each other considering this was a small town, afterall. how you haven't noticed such a vibrant person in your life was beyond you.

you see him everywhere, every day in your life right now. in the small bushes that your neighbor has in their garden, the alien and sci-fi movies in the store which were his favorite every time he invited you to watch a movie, the milk bread you saw in the coffee shop you both love to go, and even the characters in the books you love to read. oikawa tooru practically invaded your life the moment you invited yourself in his flowershop and you loved every second of it.

every time you two hang out together, he never misses to bring you any flower. you'd always keep them with you until you come home, placing them in a vase and watering them constantly, taking care of them like how much oikawa takes care of the flowers. you paid no mind to it, only thinking that it was a sweet gesture from him until your friend decided to comment on the fresh flowers on top of your coffee table.

the both of you had known each other for a very long time now and that she's going to get married, she wanted you to be a part of it too. setting down the tea in front of her on the table, you sat down beside her, engulfing her in a hug. 

“oh, y/n! i missed you so much! it's been busy with all the planning for the wedding and the people to invite, i still haven't tried on my dress and tasted the cake, it's kind of stressing me out!” she immediately let her sorrows and agony free the moment you let go of the hug.

“speaking of stress, is there anything i could do to help?” you reached for her hand, rubbing it soothingly in circles. 

she hummed thoughtfully, sipping her tea to calm her nerves, “now that i thought about it, we still don't know anyone good enough for the flower decorations in the venue,” she pouted, sighing sadly. 

a lightbulb lit itself on top of your head, making you perk up, “i know someone who does!” 

“really? are they good?” oh more than good, you wanted to butt in but shake your head free of those thoughts. 

“of course! he's actually the one who gave me these, he takes real good care of them.” you gestured towards the tulips in your vase. it seems like her eyes lit up and she immediately fell in love with the flowers. 

“tulips?! oh, y/n, my dear, he's in love with you!” she squealed in glee, bouncing in her seat like a little kid.

“how did you know that by simply looking at my tulips?” 

“giving tulips to someone means a declaration of love, sweetie.” she sighed dreamily, “you might as well plan for your wedding too!” 

“don't be ridiculous!” you exclaimed, trying your best not to smile too wide. 

you weren't too against on the idea, but you just met afterall. it would be too early for another wedding. even though he never failed to show his affection every time you are together, there's still a lingering doubt whether he did like you in that way.

as promised, you asked oikawa about it the next day, stopping by his flower shop with coffee and his beloved milk bread since it's his break. 

“y/n-chan! it's always a pleasure to be visited by you again,” he greeted you, he was attending to a few customers in the store and excused himself before talking to you. your heart swelled with the action, not being able to hide your smile this time.

“tooru, i was just stopping by to ask you a favor. my friend's wedding is getting near and she still doesn't have any flower decorations for the venue. i mentioned you and i was wondering if you're the one who could do it instead?” you bit your lip nervously, fumbling with the paperbag containing the bread as you looked up at him hopefully. 

seriously, how can he resist you looking at him that way? your eyelashes fluttering, mouth formed into a pout, eyes shining brightly. you're just asking him to devour you whole. before he knew it, he had leaned in to peck the corner of your mouth. 

it completely shocked you to your core. he hasn't done that kind of thing before, always being respectful and never doing anything you didn't want to. but strangely, you weren't mad at him for it. to tell the truth, you kinda wished he kissed you more. 

“i'd love to, y/n-chan.” he uttered, pinching your cheek before turning to hide his own reddened face. 

that was basically the last time you saw each other since you recommended him to your friend. and since then, he has been busy and you tried to help with the wedding as well. you figured oikawa has his hands full with taking care of the decorations for the wedding, but even then, he would still message you or even facetime you after – asking about how yiur day went and craving to see your face without him being able to for how long.

the day of the wedding came and it was magical. your heart melted the moment your friends said their “i do's” as everybody clapped and rejoiced with them. the moment you stepped into the venue, everyone was amazed, speechless at the decorations being the first thing their eyes could feast upon. pink and white roses was all you could see – ranging from vine-like ones hanging from the ceiling, to arches in the doorway, and some are even placed neatly on the tables. 

to sum it all, it was breathtaking.

“your boyfriend did amazing,” your friend teased, bumping her hip to yours as she walked away with her husband to greet some guests.

you were left standing there, mouth agape as you took everything in. you couldn't wrap your head around the idea of oikawa managing to do all this by himself, but then again, he has surprised you by doing a lot of things you didn't know he could do. 

“you know, if you stayed here longer there won't be enough food left for you.” the familiaf voice you grew to love and got used to spoke from behind you. something tugged in your chest, the events seeming like déjà vu all over again. 

“i'm just admiring your work, tooru.” you smiled, turning around to face the man behind the beautiful decorations. 

he's changed his clothes into a more formal attire than his usual getup with the aprons and white button up shirt for a maroon suit and tie. he even styled his hair back, if you didn't know him long enough you might have mistaken him for someone else. 

“you look...good,” you managed to breathe out, it seems like the decorations aren't the only ones that are breathtaking. your eyes drank him in, how the clothes hug his frame perfectly, the color complimenting his skin tone, and the fact that his fluffy hair is swept away really makes you want to jump his bones right here, right now.

“and you look gorgeous. i must say, i don't mind you looking like this all the time, y/n-chan.” he chuckled, a shit-eating grin blooming on his face as he eyed you up and down slowly. your face grew hot against his stare and you felt naked, as if his eyes can see through you. 

“th-thanks, tooru.” you mumbled, playing with the hem of your clothes. before any of you could speak, however, the emcee spoke on stage calling out the bride and groom to give a speech. 

you all gathered around the small stage as they thanked everyone for coming to the wedding, inclduing the guests, their helpers, the staff. after all the mushy speech, she declared it was time for the dance, turned around and threw the bouquet (that's also from oikawa) to the audience. 

you saw the thing flying to you and out of pure instinct, you threw your hand in front of you and ended up catching the bouquet. everyone around you clapped including oikawa himself as you stared at it wide eyed. your gazed met oikawa's and as if your face couldn't get any hotter, you also felt the fast beating of your heart when you stared at each other. 

everybody howled and chanted teasing remarks at the two of you. instead of paying attention to the newly weds they picked the two of you as the center of their amusement. 

your friend's voice overpowered them all as she also chanted, “kiss! kiss! kiss! kiss!” 

oikawa looked at you with a raised brow and you can only smile bashfully in return before you felt the world turn upside down, oikawa dipping you as he kissed you passionately and deeply. time seemed to stop once again as everything blurred and all you can feel is him, and all he can feel is you. he hoped it would be enough to pour all the emotions and words he wanted you to know. 

it felt like the kiss lasted forever before he pulled away, the two of you out of breath as you giddily smiled at each other, both sharing a lovestruck look.

“is it too early to ask you to marry me?” 

general taglist: @chibishae34 @behan @bukojuiice (tagging you here bcs you're excited for this)