#might be better than the little scarf

[rvspecter]

Bonus:

[nereidprinc3ss]

strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf. 

Stupid scarf, you think. 

Stupid door. 

Stupid wind. 

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient. 

You look at the stack of papers and sigh. 

Stupid Lord Byron. 

Stupid cafe. 

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly. 

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable. 

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust. 

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance. 

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once. 

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café. 

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk. 

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor. 

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here. 

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up. 

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you. 

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that. 

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing. 

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out. 

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles. 

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go. 

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone. 

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot. 

“How did you do that?” 

His cheeks turn slightly pink. 

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack. 

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently. 

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble. 

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look. 

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels. 

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second. 

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself. 

He was totally in love with me. 

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again. 

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while. 

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it. 

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café. 

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout. 

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer. 

Spencer. Spencer. 

It feels important. 

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away. 

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you. 

Spence. 

Reality sets in. 

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk. 

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away. 

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way. 

“Who was that?” 

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in. 

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up. 

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality. 

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character. 

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination. 

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression. 

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

 Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading. 

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more. 

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table. 

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin. 

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real. 

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed. 

Adorable? Get a grip. 

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges. 

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley. 

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents. 

So that’s cool. 

You’re cool with that. 

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer. 

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers. 

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet. 

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again. 

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it. 

Nah. Boys are dumb. 

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it. 

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone. 

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line. 

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it. 

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second. 

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless. 

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long. 

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh. 

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard. 

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid. 

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice. 

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again. 

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible. 

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air. 

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company. 

But his job is important. 

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.   

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present. 

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer. 

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits. 

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly. 

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm. 

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now. 

“I would.” 

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted. 

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair. 

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles. 

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way. 

He says none of that. 

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards. 

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real. 

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair. 

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute. 

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper. 

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird. 

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go. 

[solarmorrigan]

See, just because Steve lets Eddie and the kids play D&D at his house now doesn't mean he's really interested in the game, just the same as even though El and Max sometimes tag along, they're really there to hang out, not play. They each bring their own things to do, and one night El brings a ball of yarn and a shiny little metal hook and a vaguely rectangular yarn-thing that she focuses very hard on while the boys shout in the background.

Steve has no idea what she's doing; he'd say she's knitting, except he's almost certain that involves some kind of sticks, not a hook. But since he's not really doing anything himself, he sits down next to her and asks what she's up to.

"Joyce has been teaching me how to crochet. She says it will help with my hand-eye coordination." El holds up her project with a proud smile. "I am starting with a scarf."

It's not the world's most attractive scarf, but it's not like Steve could do better. He's still not entirely sure what crocheting is, to be perfectly honest. "Is that different from knitting?" he asks.

El nods gravely. "It is," she says, and takes to showing him how she loops the yarn over the hook and pulls it through the stitches in her scarf and adds a few more inches to the row she's working on.

When Steve's attention doesn't completely wane during her demonstration, she pulls a second ball of yarn out of her bag and presents it to Steve.

"Oh, I don't–" Steve tries to demur, but El is determined, and Steve has seen entire dimensions pale in the face of her determination.

This is how he finds himself crocheting a little chain of stitches with just his fingers, the same way Joyce had apparently started El off. El beams at him and returns to her own project, occasionally checking on his progress. The chain is a few feet long by the time everyone needs to be driven home, and Steve decides it actually hadn't been a bad way to pass the time. Kind of relaxing.

The next time everyone is over, El sits down with her scarf, and after a short while, Steve sits down next to her. He compliments how much longer the scarf has gotten (and it does seem like the shape has evened out a bit as she's been going along). She smiles and pulls another ball of yarn out of her bag. This time, she has an extra hook and seems intent on showing Steve what to do with it.

Almost involuntarily, Steve's attention flashes to the group clustered around the table, hesitating to take the yarn from El, and she frowns.

"Joyce says these types of skills are important for everyone to have," El says firmly, and, well– Steve's not really going to argue.

He learns how to crochet a chain with the hook. It feels odd in his hands at first—the shape too small, the metal a little too slick, the yarn not wrapping naturally around his fingers the way it does El's—but he gets the hang of it. When El is pleased with his progress, she shows him the stitch she's been using: a simple single crochet. It's tougher than it looks, and Steve understands immediately why El's scarf is so uneven; neither of them have ever done anything like this before.

Still, he doesn't hate it.

In fact, he really kind of enjoys it.

He enjoys it enough that he asks El to show him more the next time she's over. She's still new herself and is really only working with pretty much the same couple of stitches, but she proudly teaches him what she knows, and Steve picks it up as fast as she's able to lay it down.

Steve goes out and buys his own supplies, no longer content with mooching off of El's. He hadn't realized there were so many different kinds of yarn, and resigns himself to awkwardly asking one of the craft store employees what type might be best for beginners.

The employee—a woman about his mother’s age with a much warmer smile and far less judgement in her eyes—explains with great enthusiasm what all those different types of yarn might be used for, and how the size of the hook affects the outcome of the project, and shows him so many different pattern books his head spins. He realizes that she probably upsells him on a lot of shit, but he leaves with a few different sizes of hooks, some new yarn, and more excitement for a hobby than he's felt probably since high school.

El and Robin are the only ones who know about his new hobby, of course. It's not really that he's ashamed to tell the others, he just knows how teenage boys work and he's not keen on giving a bunch of fifteen-year-olds another reason to bully him. Maybe in a few months. In the meantime, he crochets at home while he's listening to the radio or watching TV, and he crochets at work during down times. Robin finds his newfound hobby morbidly fascinating, but vehemently denies any and all offers to teach her.

("I will find a way to damage myself with that hook and I think we both know that," she says. "It's just kind of wild to see you with a grandma hobby."

Steve threatens to tell El she called it that, and Robin shortly finds a new label for it.)

Fall rolls around and the air acquires a chill sometime in mid-October. Steve's been making practice scarves for a little while now (largely because he really only knows how to make rectangles at this point, but he doesn’t have the attention span for a whole blanket just yet), and he even considers wearing his least heinous attempt despite the fact he's never really wanted for good winter clothes. Then he notices Eddie.

Most of their little group has begun dressing appropriately for the weather, but Eddie doesn't do much more than add a pair of fingerless black gloves and maybe a heavier leather jacket to his ensemble. Steve's not even sure it's because he can't afford it – he's pretty sure it's because Eddie is committed to his aesthetic. Nancy had tried to force an extra scarf on him one day after a little cold snap, when they'd woken to frost on the ground (the scarf is blue, patterned with white snowflakes; it's actually Mike’s, but Mike is also refusing to wear it and Steve suspects Nancy doesn’t want to hold it, but also doesn’t want to get in trouble for letting Mike lose it), but Eddie had declined, insisting it doesn't match his vibe.

Steve can respect this. He himself has a certain aesthetic going on. However, he can also see that Eddie is definitely cold, and that just won't do.

He picks through the scarves and other various wooly things he's accumulated so far, but decides none of them would suit Eddie and, besides that, none of them are really warm enough. If he's going to make Eddie a scarf, it ought to be a good one.

So Steve sucks it up and heads into Melvald's one day when he knows Joyce will be on shift, hoping she won't be too busy for a quick chat.

When he catches her, Steve explains that El had shown him the basics of crocheting but that his ambitions have outgrown his skills and maybe if she isn't too busy sometime, Joyce would be willing to show him a little more?

Joyce, because she’s a saint, says she would be delighted, and invites Steve to come over on their next shared day off.

When he gets there, she tries to ask him who he's making the scarf for, and the best he manages is, "...someone."

Joyce bites down on a smile. "Someone?"

"It's a surprise," Steve finally declares.

"For everyone?"

"Yes."

Joyce bravely manages to not laugh at Steve and instead asks him what kind of scarf he thinks Someone would like.

Steve decides that it needs to be thick, but it should also be soft. It should also be textured, because Ed– because Someone really likes fiddling with things. He can't get too ambitious with colors or patterns, but he decides that black and grey stripes will be perfectly suitable.

(He doesn't kid himself into thinking that by the time their brainstorming session is over, Joyce hasn't figured out exactly who he's talking about, but she's kind enough not to say it out loud.)

Steve's always been good with repetition and patterns—it's probably one of the reasons he’d found crocheting so relaxing in the first place—and he picks up the new stitches with ease under Joyce's deft instruction. She sends him home with the practice piece he'd made with some of her scrap yarn, and after a quick stopover at the craft store on his way home (he briefly gets stuck between shades of grey, but eventually decides on the silvery one over the steely one), he's ready to begin.

He expects making the scarf to be tougher, but once he gets into the rhythm of it, he sails right through. It takes him less than a week (albeit devoting a few solid hours to it every day, possibly more on his days off) to end up with what is, if he may say so himself, a pretty fine scarf.

The challenge comes in actually giving it to Eddie.

Christmas would be an excellent excuse for presenting it to him, except that's a little over a month away, and Steve doesn't want Eddie to go cold until then. Instead, he takes to keeping the scarf in his glove compartment just in case the perfect occasion for giving Eddie a scarf arises.

And much to Steve's surprise, one actually does.

It's right after the first real snow, and Steve has insisted on driving to pick Eddie up so they can hang out (Steve has nightmares about Eddie's driving when road conditions are optimal, never mind when the roads may be icy). He can see Eddie shivering under his jacket, blowing warm air into his cupped hands (Steve wonders if he could learn how to crochet gloves at some point, too. Ones with full fingers), so he ever-so-casually gestures to the glove box and tells Eddie, "Hey, if you're cold, I've got an extra scarf in there."

He's possibly not as casual as he hopes he is (or maybe Eddie just sees through him, like he always seems to), because Eddie gives him a look. "You do, huh?"

"Yep."

Steve concentrates very hard on the road in order to avoid Eddie's eyes. It doesn't stop him from hearing the little laugh Eddie lets out before popping open the glove compartment.

"Oh," Eddie says quietly as he pulls the scarf out, likely having been expecting another castoff piece of outerwear. "This is... actually really nice."

For a moment, Steve can't help but glance over to see the way Eddie is fingering the crocheted ridges of the scarf, running a thumb over the bright silver stripes picked out of the black, and he immediately looks back up at the road.

"Yeah. You should– you can, uh. Keep it. If you want," he says, and wonders what happened to the days when he was smooth.

"No, man, this is, like, for real nice. I couldn't take this," Eddie says, though he's still holding the scarf in his lap.

Steve draws a breath in. "I mean, I was kind of hoping you would, since it's for you."

"Seriously?"

They have unfortunately arrived at Steve's house at this point, and there will be no avoiding the conversation now.

"Yeah," Steve says. "I, uh. Made it for you. So you should take it. Don't let my hard work go to waste, yeah?"

"You're shitting me," Eddie unfolds the scarf and holds it up in delighted scrutiny. "You made this?"

(Distantly, Steve appreciates that the emphasis isn't on "you made this?" Like Eddie doesn't immediately doubt he's capable, only that he's holding a handmade item at all.)

"Yeah. No big deal." Steve shrugs.

"You made this for me." Eddie looks at Steve, and it sounds like that had been meant as a question, though it comes out in flat uncertainty.

"Yeah. Just noticed you were cold, but you won't wear anything that doesn't match your aesthetic," Steve tries to tease, wiggling his fingers at Eddie's outfit, but Eddie doesn't say anything in return.

He doesn't say anything for just long enough that Steve gets insecure all over again, reaching hesitantly for the scarf.

"But, I mean, if that's weird, or whatever, you don't have to-"

"Nope. Fuck off, I'm wearing this forever." Eddie loops the scarf quickly around his neck and squeezes the ends in his hands. "Jesus, this is soft."

Steve grins. "I'm not sure it'll last forever, but I can make you another after than one wears out."

"You'd better," Eddie says, and he's grinning too. "So, what, you knit?"

Steve points a very serious finger into Eddie's face. "Crochet. There's a difference," he says sternly.

Then, because he can't help it, he bops the end of Eddie's nose before getting out of the car, leaving Eddie to scramble out behind him, laughing and calling him a dork as he goes.

(The kids, incidentally, don't tease Steve nearly as much as he'd thought they would when they find out.

This is possibly because they're more mature than he gave them credit for, but more likely it’s because El is standing beside him and daring them to say anything unfavorable about their shared hobby.

Mostly they just let it slide, though Dustin demands to know why Eddie got a scarf and he didn't. Then Lucas wants one, too, because Mike and Max have already received various bits of outerwear from El, and he's not about to be left out. And then Robin, of course, will want to know why Steve hasn’t made her anything, once she finds out that he’s making things for the kids.

Steve resigns himself to a busy winter spent under a pile of yarn.

It's not really a hardship.)

[Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Ao3]

[tarjapearce]

Like Me Pt. 2

Tarzan! Miguel O'Hara x Scientist ! Reader

Art by Rendraws21 on X

WARNINGS: Mildly suggestive, power dynamics, emotional distress, endangering situations, Kraven being an asshole.

Summary: Your savior proves himself to be very much real.

A|N: Hope you like! I know you're waiting smut. Just bare with it! ;w; Reblogs and feedback are always welcome ❤️

Previous Miguelverse Main Masterlist

Kraven didn't dally and ordered the camp to be settled. The spot was rather good. A prime source of water and food next to you all, soil sturdy and perfect for withstanding the hard hammering of the tools that nailed the bases for the tents.

And after hours of bickering, russian cursing, more work and the crew doctor patching your arm up, the camp was settled and food served.

Each bite not only felt heavenly, but was scarfed down. You couldn't care less if Peter looked your way, mildly disgusted and surprised of your manners, or rather the lack of them while eating.

It was the least you deserved after surviving a ship sinking, getting lost in the jungle, being chased by a giant Jaguar and a man that left more questions than answers.

Who was he? More important, How had he survived all these years on his own?

After a second plate and extra slices of bread, one of the men approached and announced the readiness of your tent. One of the things you asked in your contract. To have your own, cause as much as you trusted Peter, there was nothing better than to have your own space and privacy in the midst of an unhealthy amount of testosterone surrounding you.

"We've eaten, replenished, and blah blah. What happened?" Peter mumbled while picking his and your plate together.

You shook your head softly as another crew member passed by. You didn't trust them, and Kraven had proved to be unpredictable.

One minute he cared for his crew and the other he was leaving you to fend for yourselves. But as long as you did your job, you wouldn't be part of the russian's guessing dangerous games.

"Kraven said we'd have to make do with the little tools we have. He spent a good time of the day trying to get some signal for the radio."

"Any luck?"

"None so far." Peter mumbled as he took your things inside your tent.

A hammock was the bed, a few boxes and other storage things were placed in a corner. A chalkboard and your investigation books in another corner and against all odds, a little broken mirror that acted as a poor attempt of a vanity ontop of another wooden box. Your hairbrush rested next to it. Whoever arranged it, at least had the consideration to make it as comfortable looking as possible.

In total, you had a couple of shirts and skirts left to use. The rest remained on the sea, floating and drifting away with unknown course.

Peter excused to go change himself and you seized the chance to do the same. Catching a cold in the jungle wasn't in your priorities list. Not with reduced medicine and victuals.

You put on a dry set and combed your hair out as much as you could. Peter joined you a couple of minutes later.

The fire cracked and sparked alive as the crew surrounded it. The day had been chaotic at best and everyone tried to soothe the nerves in their own way. Some drank, others sang, others talked and soon Kraven joined.

Others simply went to sleep. Too tired to keep up after a well deserved meal.

"So..." Peter started while sitting before you, a rag and some tubs on his hands. He was cleaning the remaining pieces of your equipment.

"Promise me you won't talk to anyone about this. And I mean it, Parker."

"I'm a geologist, not a snitch."

"I'm... kinda scared of what might happen if Kraven finds out"

"Now you're scaring me.  What happened back there?"

"I know... who killed the beast Kraven is skinning." A gulp rolled down your throat upon remembering the lurid scene displaying before your eyes

"Wait... you said, who?"

A nod from you and Peter paled.

"We're not alone, that's for sure."

Peter rubbed his hands against his face, an exasperated groan escaped him.

"He's taller than Kraven."

"Bullshit." Peter mumbled almost immediate, surprised at your words.

"I'm not bullshittin' you Parker!" You had to hush your voice and soon grabbed a sketch notebook and begun tracing and drawing.

"He's freaking tall, long hair and he's naked. Well, not naked but a loincloth is everything but clothes if you think about it."

Peter frowned suspiciously as his hand pressed on your skin, to see if your body temperature had increased. Jungle fever was one of the worst things a human could suffer when away from their homeland. Cause he refused to believe anything of the nonsense that came out of your mouth was true.

A man taller than Sergei? Impossible. He was tall, but Sergei had been one of the tallest and well built men he had ever came across with.

"What are you doing?" You pushed his hands away and frowned.

"I'm sorry, I do want to believe you but.."

"I'm telling you the truth, Pete! He had... This... red hue on his eyes and fangs!"

"Fangs?" The incredulity in Peter couldn't be hidden the more he listened to your apparent rave.

"He's fucking strong, Pete. He was holding that beast by his tail! and then fought body to body against it! and He's so damn touchy. No respect for personal space!."

"And what? He smashed the jaguar to death and then kissed you?"

"Yes!" You nodded but quickly frowned when Peter tittered on his seat, unable to keep the mirth away.

"Why are you laughing?!"

"I'm sorry. You know we've been friends since college, but you seriously can't expect me to believe that, Dally."

A short for Dalhberg. The surname that put your name out in the researcher's map in London, upon discovering and naming another type of daisy and named it after you. The Dalhberg Daisy.

"You believe in the freaking Queen but refuse to believe in this?"

"I believe in the Queen's acquisitive power, nothing else. Cause I've seen it!" He explained, skeptical.

You showed him the sketch and shoved it to his hands.

"Look at that! That's exactly how he looks like!"

Peter sighed and raked over his eyes on the semi-crumpled paper sheet. Sharp features, a strong jaw and deep eyes.

"Yeah, a haircut would make him look better though." he chuckled, "Look, I know it's been a long day for us... let's rest, ok? We've got another tomorrow."

With a frown you removed the sketchbook away and tossed it on the makeshift vanity.

"He's real." you pointed at the sketchbook

"Okay, okay. He's real. We can discuss it all tomorrow when we're less tired, alright?"  He held your shoulders, trying to ease your rising anger.

But you quickly removed his hands from you, hurt that your best friend didn't believe you. "Whatever. Goodnight."

Peter left with a defeated sigh and soon you cuddled in your hammock.

"I know he's real." With a huff, you pushed the pillow closer to your face, letting the day's weight to finally crash on you.

-----

The loud bangs of a gunshot echoed through the bright blue skies, frightening any local fauna that rested comfortably, like you, that nearly fell out the hammock from the initial jumpscare.

With a heavy exhale, and rub of your eyes you geared up for the day.

This time Kraven was thoughtful enough to give you a weapon. A small knife with enough sharp to slice and dice through anything weak enough to perish under the blade.

And soon everyone gathered to the morning structions. Kraven split up the crew in three parts. The first group of men would go to the beach to recover as much equipment as they could. The second group would be in charge to set up traps and hunt down for food. And the third one, meaning Peter, you, two more men and himself would go explore and study the jungle in order to gain any sort of information of new potential species.

You carried a small backpack, filled with your sketchbook, pencils, some essay and sample tubes and some snacks in case Kraven decided to return until dinner time.

And after a quick breakfast of oatmeal and fruits, everyone left.

Peter walked behind Sergei, guiding the group whenever the mercenary asked him to. You were in the middle as the other two men trailed with their guns behind.

Morning slowly poured into hours. Tortuous, running at the speed of a snail. Each breathing felt like adding more to the waiting, bringing your nerves to a much annoyed stance.

But it quickly melted away upon finding your first discovery.

The grass laid pressed in a circular pattern on the ground. The leaves were placed strategically, as if used as cushions in great amounts. A couple of fruit carcasses laid next to them. Discarded and forgotten.

"Look at that" The excitement in your voice beyond evident. You crouched to see if there was any other clues to your growing suspicion.

Kraven and Peter stopped upon you crouching to the floor.

"What is it?" Kraven pulled his gun from it's holster and walked over you.

"These are nests!"

"Nests?" His brow quirked and you nodded vigorously, to then count the spots. Around six in total.

"You know what that means? They live in packs! Gorillas live in packs!"

"About damn time we found something." Kraven nodded, pleased as he helped you up to then mark a spot in his map.

"Good job, Dalhberg."

Praised the mercenary before moving.

--

When the sun got high enough and Peter discovered some other findings like rare minerals, the group decided to take a break nearby a lake.

The five of you sat down and ate whatever thing you got left from breakfast.

Once you were done, you took your backpack, pencil and sketchbook with you.

"Where are you going?" Kraven grumbled after gulping down the water from his canteen.

"Saw some specimens of plants Id like to register. Won't take long."

"You better return as soon as possible, understood?"

The mercenary warned and you nodded while walking away from the tree. Excited to partake in the things you were brought and paid to do.

Your first specimen was a moss plant, then a new type of orchid. A fish, some birds and more plants. Even though you studied everything alive, the plants were your speciality.

You put the little backpack in a a nearby trunk as you sat down to draw yet another orchid. The place seemed flooding with them.

Engrossed beyond wits to notice you had drifted off a bit too far from the group and a little too late a baboon sniffing and ransacking your backpack.

"H-Hey! Hey! -The baboon took the backpack away, excited and driven by the tinkling within "Get back here!"

The animal hopped on the trees before you could catch it, with graceful and effortless agility, to finally stop to a sturdy looking and serpent-like shaped trunk above the middle of a swamp.

As much as you wanted to let the monkey get away with it all, you didn't want to face Kraven's anger for losing the last bit of equipment and delay the investigation. You didn't know when the next ship would arrive. None did actually.

It's hoots and chirping only increased the more things he pulled out of your backpack. The tubs shattered as they fell off.

"Stop it!" you shrieked while hopping onto the trunk with wobbly and uneven steps.

The monkey hooted louder until it started shrieking, as if mocking you whenever your balance failed and you were forced to crawl over the top.

"God, I swear... if I catch you, I'm so making an article on how annoying you are!"

The baboon just screeched at your silly threat once more before leaving your backpack pending from a twig as he jumped way through the stretched branches that favored him like open arms, with your bag of seeds.

Your breath hitched when the trunk creaked and some cracking around the base perked up your ears.

Shit.

You couldn't stop and return crawling from where you came from, not when the backpack was oh so close to be reached and your nightmare to be over.

With a deep breath, you crawled closer and closer. Paused breaths turned controlled, but quickly grunted when the hem of your skirt stuck in a jagged branch.

"No, no" You whined and pulled away, the trunk creaked harder and you immediately hugged the trunk.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" with a firm yet calculated yank, you ripped the fabric away, freeing yourself although losing a good chunk of front coverage.

A thunderous crack made your breath hitch and you moved forward as the trunk stuttered midair. It was then your eyes actually considered the generous and dangerous distance from your position to the murky water. But the backpack dangling before you, edged you to take a risky decision.

Or you took the backpack and threw it on land, hoping to take the least damage as possible or jumping to that other branch to avoid falling to the water.

None of them happened as the tree dipped forward, and with a dying groan, the cracks widened, tearing the feeble base of the trunk, unable to support your weight any longer.

As in slow motion, you saw the murky water closer and closer and closer, until nothing but darkness swallowed you whole. Cold and muddy water hit you, suffocating your body with enraged water that fought hard to drown you.

Your hands were the only thing that made it out as they failed. The sub aquatic flora begun their tangling in your boots and legs, pulling you down.

Your lungs burned as some water seeped through, the backpack sunk deeper and deeper. Like a sacrifice in exchange of your life. Because a strong pair of tanned hands pulled you with a powerful yank by the forearm, out of the water before death and crocodiles owned it.

Your head too dizzy to actually understand what was happening. Your eyes could only see the landscape sliding smoothy underneath your feet, like if you were flying.

Am I dead? Dead people don't fly, do they?

You shrieked as soon as your eyes looked upwards. Powerful and solid thighs held tightly on the growing vines, that spurted from underneath the gigantic trees, as one of his hand took your arm gently to suddenly pull you up in the air and catch you in his arms.

Your instincts told you to hold onto him as the other survival mode blared with danger alarms. The massive wall of solid muscles he had for a body was warm, full of scars and plush hair that did nothing but welcome your dizzy head on his chest.

The man quirked a brow at your sudden state. He frowned and quickly got over the foliage of a tree, before the pouring rain trapped you both.

You were put with ease against the solid and definitely not rotting trunk, and your body lurched to the side to expell away the swallowed water, clearing your airways.

A firm slap from his hand made your lungs to finally get some air as you gasped and coughed, all the while he watched you curiously.

You were drenched, against a tree, clothes sticking way too intimately against your shivering body, breathing like you were a first born, raged and fast. Lungs burned less.

Eyes finally widened when recognizing the man before you. Some fresh scars littered his Greek-god type physique.

"T-Thank you." You mumbled through clattering teeth and forced yourself to take a deep inhale to control the rising anxiety.

He grunted and approached. One of his hands slid gently under your chin to take a hold of your cheek. Your head instinctively melted into his heavenly body heat, and your eyes dared to shut for a minute. Relishing in the irradiating warmth his calloused hands provided.

He's so warm.

As if sensing the good deed, the man rubbed his hands on your cold arms, mindful of the patches around your arm, a couple of times before going back up to your cheeks and neck.

You gasped as soon as his hands were placed on your chest. His hands gently palming your breast but quickly let them go upon feeling your hardened nipples. You quickly covered your chest

He watched his hands, as if inspecting them for any damage when he felt the hardened nub, to then return to your arms, prying them away from your chest.

"Wait!"

You shrieked and he took both of your wrists with one hand and hovered them above your head, squishing them against the tree, softly. His eyes raked and took in every feature of you, before stopping at your chest again.

Your breath hitched as he slid the other hand inside your shirt. Cheeks turned impossibly warmer when he took one of your breasts and pulled it out of their confinements.

He examinated the perky mound with puppy wonder-like curiosity and then looked down his own chest. He frowned. His didn't swell like yours did.

"Wh-What are you doi-" you bit your lip as he poked your nipple, sniffed it and licked it. Earning a short mewl from you.

The sound startled him and he let you go.

"T- That's not a polite thing to do!" 

You quickly put the breast back and swung your hand to slap him. You had to admit his reflexes were something else cause it caught it before it collided against his face.

"How dare you?!" You struggled to let your hand go, but stopped your outburst when his eyes watched your hands and brought them before his ever curious face.

His own hand reached up, and placed itself before yours, comparing the stretched and long digits against your smaller ones. They weren't the same size, that was much true, but the texture and lines he had were the same on yours.

His eyes shone brighter than any  bewilderment. His mind had finally clicked together at the sudden epiphany that flooded his brain.

You were like him.

He pursed his lips before letting out an excited grunt. He backed away to create enough space for his arms to move freely.

He pointed to himself and spoke with the deepest yet excited voice he could manage.

"Miguel."

Your eyes went wide and you approached. He tried again while pointing at his chest.

"Mi guel."

"Miguel." His nose flared proudly and his throat grunted happily.

"Oh! I see!"

His ears perked up upon hearing your name.

"OhIsee!" He repeated.

But you quickly corrected him, with your name as you pointed to yourself and then called his name as you pointed at him.

A buttery crawl rolled down your spine as he mumbled your name.

"Exactly." you smiled.

He cupped your face again and mumbled your name once more. However, the sound of a gunshot tearing through the skies disrupted his attention from you and stood at the edge of the branch.

"Kraven" You gasped. Completely forgetting about him and the group.

Oh no...

Trouble was a tiny word of the deep neck shit you were into. Another shot rippled through, frightening the birds in the ratio.

"Kraven!" He repeated, excited.

Extraordinary. There wasn't any word to describe him better. He took you back, trapping you in between his muscular thighs and swinging through vines.

The more you approached the camp, the clearer you saw this massive black and brown spots moving away from the settlement.

Your hearth thumped with violence upon finally standing before a small group of gorillas, sniffing and hooting softly upon seeing Miguel.

Your savior wasted no time in pulling you closer to them. You shook your head, rightfully frightened.

"No, no, no wait!"

The gorillas huffed to then sniff your head, your clothes. Some even pulled at your hair softly, others examinated the clothes you were in.

Another gunshot echoed closely this time and it was loud enough to spook out the beasts out that pulled Miguel with them. You could only watch him, wide eyed, expectant. But he left.

"Miguel..."

----

Kraven wasn't one for losing his temper with women. But you, had the annoying ability to make his patiece turn to dust in the least opportunes of moments.

"I asked you, where the fuck have you been?!"

He dragged you to the center of the crew and threw you on the floor.

"I told you, I almost drowned! Why do you think I'm like this?!"

Kraven spat a few words in his native language under his breath and grunted

"You lost your equipment, didn't you?"

"I... I tried to get it back but I almost drown in the swamp, Sergei!" you explained with nothing but the truth

"You can't swim, don't you bullshit me.!"

"I'm telling you the truth!"

"Then how you survived!?"

Peter frowned as he looked at you.

"I was saved. Ok? A man saved me!"

"A man?"

"He's... Not like us. He's taller than you and he saved me!" you kept pressing, hoping the angered mercenary understood that you didn't do anything in purpose to upset him.

"He knows how to swing through the vines! And dropped me here! His name is Miguel. "

Everyone stared with derision at you and Peter seemed concerned you stuck with your story so bad to the point of risking your own neck and reputation.

Kraven' brows furrowed into a scowl and soon he pulled his revolver out and pointed at you.

Your face turned to panic, as your hands rose shakily.

"A savage named Miguel helped you?"

"He did! Otherwise you'd still be looking for me."

Kraven snorted without removing the gun's aim from your body.

"Funny you think I'd waste my resources to look up for a stupid woman like you."

"Please, you have to believe me! I saw gorillas around the camp!"

Kraven removed the safety pin from the revolver, as if peeved you'd waste his time and resources into being an idiot and not doing your work as he required.

Time was ticking and he still had no news, and for you to be fantasizing about savages and doing stupid things such as endangering yourself had proved you weren't reliable.

"You're not reliable, anymore, Dahlberg."

"No! Sergei listen to me-"

He pointed the gun once more to you "I can't keep unreliable people within my crew."

"I'm not lying!" You pleaded with all your might and tears in your eyes, "Miguel is-"

Before Sergei could push the tip of his revolver on your head and shoot, the earth underneath rumbled, as Miguel fell in between you.

Real.

Kraven stepped back as the imaginary savage was now fully standing before him. His head had to crane up to meet his burning ember eyes.

Miguel's lips snarled at him, showing his fangs and beating his chest. A clear challenge for him to fight him.

A collective round of gasps echoed through the men, but when Miguel bared his teeth, they all pulled their guns and pointed at him

"Stop!" You yelled and quickly scrambled to your feet to take Miguel's hand and shake your head with determination.

"Don't hurt him!"

Peter immediately got himself before you and rose his arms, showing he was no armed.

"I'm sure we can reach an agreement here without filling eachother with bullets, gentlemen"

"Shut up, Parker!" Sergei seethed and with a deep flare of his nose, pointed the gun at Miguel again, but Peter grabbed the weapon and the shot tore through the air again.

"Kraven" Miguel grumbled at the gun shot sound.

Said mercenary could only watch him, nonplussed for a moment. While you, again, stood your ground before the behemoth of a man. Attempting your best at protecting him.

"Have... we met before?" Kravinoff spoke confused.

"I told you he could speak! And he is real!"

Miguel remained glued at your side. Everyone slowly put their weapons down as Kraven approached to take a proper look at Miguel, fascinated by his sheer size and build.

Peter had to admit, that it was the last time he'd ever doubt your words.

"You said you had seen gorillas?"

Again, you nodded and Miguel repeated the word.

"Miguel knows them. He could help us."

"Help us? The man barely understand us, but... It's better than nothing I suppose."

Sergei scrunched his face in confusion as Miguel took strands of your hair and sniffed them, his senses awakening in pure adrenaline. Throat grunted approvingly.

"Yeah... kind of understand the personal space thing now." Peter cleared his throat behind you. The rest kept looking to see but quickly were dismissed by their leader.

"Oh, shut up." You grumbled nervously as Miguel pulled your head to his chest once more, to listen to his powerful heartbeats.

"Yeah, it's very very nice." You chuckled nervously with a soft flush creeping your cheek.

"Nice." He repeated.

Kraven could only watch but if he was the link towards the gorillas, he'd seize the chance in every way he could.

"He's way smarter than you think."

"We're running against time, how would he understand us, Dhalberg?"

Miguel moved to inspect Kraven, mimicking his gestures effortlessly. Earning a giggle from you.

"Leave that to me."

-------

Taglist:

@yhrlocalcyprus @nommingonfood @literatiastray @call-me-nyxx @gennirose @loonalockley @danubliat @marit332 @beabfleab @l3lazeit @lililapuce @prollyanvycchi @huehuehuehuehehe @nanamiscunt @ncj2837ndjcj @leviswifey-act62 @migueloharacumslut @migshusben @freehentai @animequeen4

@del-ightfulling @angel-of-the-moons

[stuffeddeer]

imagine mistaking beastzai as your usual dazai (you thought he wanted to be emo for a day) and like did usual silly cute things with him then dazai came home and he’s like HUH WHO IS THIS GUY R U CHEATING ON ME :(( but in the end you have… double boyfriends but one’s moody and one’s fucking annoying

anons that think alike omg telepathy … use ur powers for good!!! two asks in one btw i feel so productive

alsooo beast!dazai would be giddy like a child to be in the main tl w his love… he’d be twirling you around and enjoying what could’ve been before he has to go back!!! all dazais are cringy and in love w u it's true they told me themselves !!!!

“What’s with the outfit?” You spoke bluntly, clearly a little put off by the reappearance of the black coat and red scarf. “Dude, you look like Mori.” Harsh, sure, but your boyfriend worked so hard to walk alongside you in the light, so the last thing you wanted was to see what would’ve been, if not for — 

Dazai smiled, seemingly amused. “Ah, love, it’s merely a costume. Thought you’d get a kick out of it,” he replies easily, pulling off the long red scarf: a staple of the Port Mafia’s boss.

His words help to relax you, letting out a small sigh as you push the coat off of his shoulders. “Let me grab you your coat, I know it’s around here somewhere…” You flittered about your shared apartment, pulling a backup brown coat from its spot buried underneath your closet. “This better suits you,” you speak under your breath as Dazai pulls it on. The fit seems a little… different. Is it somehow looser than normal? You frown.

“Thank you, love,” he repeated the same pet name. It felt as though he missed saying it, which doesn’t quite make sense.

You choose not to dwell on it — maybe seeing him in black again just rewired your brain for a moment. He’s alive and well in front of you and nothing else matters. A nod is all the reply Dazai gets before you slip on your shoes.

“I thought you might have headed to work early when I didn’t see you in bed this morning, but I guess that’s my fault for assuming the impossible,” you decide to tease.

Dazai easily slips behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin against your shoulder. “Mm… I love you, you know that? Let’s skip work today. We can spend time together, ‘kay?”

He’d always been unpredictable and spontaneous, so you merely laughed in response. “I don’t have work today, remember? But you still do.”

Shaking his head, he pouts — there’s the Dazai you love. “Nope!~ I refuse to go into work today. I’m spending my whole day with my love!” He practically jumps for joy, hands moving to gently hold your waist. “Let’s bake cookies.”

There isn’t much you can do, watching with an amused grin as Dazai unties your shoes before dragging you to the kitchen.

“It does not take two hours to make cookie dough…” you sigh, trying to jostle the white flour from your hair. “We baked cookies together, like, two weeks ago! How could we already have forgotten everything…”

Dazai grins, planting kiss after kiss on your cheeks, melted butter staining your skin from when he accidentally tried to drink from the cup you’d used to soften it. “Hard to remember much when I’m with you.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You chuckled, grabbing a towel from the counter to wipe both your face and his lips.

“Yep!~ It’s like.. my love is so pretty I can’t think when I’m around them! Oh, I could just die in… No! I don’t even want to die! I could live in your arms, grow old together and watch you get all frail and saggy,” Dazai speaks dreamily, swooning over the idea of growing old with you. How sweet.

You push him away gently and begin balling up the chocolate chip cookie dough, pressing it onto the silver pan you made Dazai buy when you first started staying over. “Saggy? No, I’ll be young and beautiful forever,” you joke, but Dazai only nods in response.

“It’s true! No one holds a candle to my love. Why, I wish I could spend every day just staring at you.” Dazai’s voice always sounded teasing when he was with you, but even as you put the last of the cookie dough onto the tray (only had enough to fill one, since Dazai kept spilling, throwing or eating the ingredients..) you could feel the genuineness in his words.

Oven preheated, you slid the sheet in to bake (making sure to start the timer) before turning to Dazai. Before you could get a word in, the front door to your shared apartment creaked open. Heart dropping to your stomach, you grabbed the closest thing to you: a whisk your boyfriend had licked clean. Said boyfriend only seemed to sigh, falling into a more somber mood, head hanging before he sent you a sad smile.

“I think the jig is up, love…”

Your name is called from the front door, the voice… suspiciously familiar. “Are you in there? You weren’t answering your phone and I got worried...” Dazai stepped into your apartment, hanging his keys by the door before turning around (an addition you made, since he tended to forget his and jumpscare you by picking the lock every few days).

The three of you stood still, no words spoken and the only sound being that of your metal whisk dropping to the floor. Spinning from one Dazai to the next, you wiped a splotch of flour from your shirt collar. You felt guilty for some reason, like you were at fault for not recognizing an imposter Dazai, and wanted to make yourself look more presentable.

“Awww, love!” The Dazai at the door pouts, throwing his coat on the floor as he quickly heads over to you. “Are you cheating on me?” He continues, slouching over you to impose as much of his weight as he can. You struggle for a moment, his bone crushing hug enveloping more than you expected.

Guilt still apparent as your tummy twisted, you shook your head. “I didn’t— “

The other Dazai, the one wearing a black tie and covered in various cookie ingredients pouted as well. “Maybe she’s cheating on me! I mean, I can’t believe my love moved in with another man…”

God, this was too confusing. You gently pushed Dazai A off of you, stepping back from the two. “I don’t— “

“I can’t believe this… I head to work early one time and now you’re making cookies for someone else!” Dazai A whined, face smooshed against the oven door’s glass in longing. “I’ll never be on time again! In fact, I think I’ll always have to be late.”

Dazai B pulled Dazai A back towards him by his collar, whispering obnoxiously, “I’ll share the cookies if you share the beautiful partner.”

Dazai A nods in approval, eyes closed and arms crossed like it was the easiest decision to make in the world. “I want half the sheet. And, I want a kiss…” He pouts towards you. Ugh, how annoying.

You deadpan towards the two, no longer feeling guilty. These two were just as much Dazai as they could get. Arms spread, you let Dazai A pull you into a hug so you can give him a proper welcome home kiss. “Both of you are obnoxious. Is that all I’m worth? Half a sheet of cookies?”

“Half a sheet of your cookies,” Dazai B grins. “That’s not something either of us would give up lightly.” The other Dazai nods in agreement.

Both of your stupid, annoying, clingy boyfriends tug on your sleeves, forcing you over to the couch so they can both receive your affections while the cookies bake.

the timer goes off after a while but they both whine about not wanting to let u get up. once you threaten letting the cookies burn they're quick to let go. i hate them both.

[pixiesfz]

inspired by canada's new series

camera shot j.f x reader

plot: you are hired to help film the canadian womens soccer teams documentary throughout the gold cup and end up socialising with the players

warnings: none

“Oh c’mon Joan I’ve been looking for a promotion for weeks and I know my way around San Diego, my auntie took me everywhere and I-“

Your boss put her hand over your mouth “Shush child” she said, her British accent thick “If you had let me finish my sentence I was going to tell you that you’re coming with me to film a short documentary”

Your eyes lit up “Really? Like you’re not fucking with me?” you ask with a smile and your boss nodded with a smile “We know you’ve been stepping up and you deserve it”

You smiled brightly “Thank you so much!”.

“Meet me at five in the morning for the plane ride” She called out as you started walking away and you shot her a thumbs-up.

When you got home to your apartment in Portland, where you had recently moved with your boss who got a better offer and took you with her you started packing, asking your neighbour to look after your cat muffin.

You only knew little about your neighbour, you knew she played soccer professionally and you knew she was Canadian, she’d had some more friends over recently, and now you were scared to open the door and have someone else open it.

Luckily Christine opened it with a smile “Hey y/n” she smiled before seeing the fluffy cat in your “and muffin”.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but I just got this documentary series for one of the teams in the ‘gold cup’ thing and I need someone to look after my cat” You smiled shyly, holding muffin up like he was a prize.

“He only scratches when you don’t give him belly scratches when he wants it” you instructed and the older woman just nodded, grabbing the cat out of your hands “You’re filming Canada by the way,” she told you and you smiled “are they all nice?” you asked and she nodded “extremely, way more than me,” she said as she started playing with your cat's ears.

“Yes, because you’re so scary”

Christine gave you a deadpan stare before dropping the cat onto her floor which he then immediately ran onto her couch and made himself comfortable.

“I can give you a rundown on everything if you’d like,” Christine said as she saw your shaky hands, you were very nervous and you nodded “Yes please, I just need to pack,” you told her “You can tell me whilst I do that,” you told her before running back to your apartment, Christine walking behind you before closing the door on Muffin who had now fallen asleep on her couch.

“Okay so I retired from my national career last year so I’m not there”

“oldie” you teased and the woman threw a Canadian scarf at you, which she had grabbed on her way out “I’m not old, and that is if you need to go to a game” You folded it into your suitcase “Thanks”

She explained to you the new girls and the younger ones before she went in depth about some of the others “And then there’s Jessie, she’s the new captain, I like to call her a mini-me” You smiled “Well that’s cute”

“She hates it though, so don’t call her that”

“I hardly think I’ll have a conversation with her or any of them,” you said with a shake of the head “They’re Canadians, they love to talk also Jessie isn’t the biggest fan of social media so maybe keep that in mind when she found out about the series she called in a nervous mess,” Christine said and you took a mental note to remember it “she is the captain though so that might be hard” you mumbled.

“You’re talented I think you can do it,” Christine told you before looking at her phone “It’s twelve, go to bed, where’s muffins food?”

“Next to the potted plant in the front” you sighed before zipping up your case.

Christine got up from her seat and rubbed her hands on her lap “Just look after Fleming for me, she can get in her head sometimes” she said softly and you nodded “I can do that”.

Christine nodded before leaving the room, you heard her pick up the food before she left.

The next twenty-four hours were a bit of a blur for you, you boarded the plane with Joan and two other camera guys and flew to San Diego where the Gold Cup was being held, and arrived at your hotel where Joan let you all take a long nap before you were needed in the meeting room.

You roll out of bed, putting a pair of jeans and a sweater on before walking down with your camera.

“You must be one of the camera people?” a voice popped up and you turned to a blonde woman “Yeah I’m y/n” you introduced yourself and the Canadian nodded “Chloe, I can walk with you to the meeting room, you look a little lost”

You gratefully nodded and followed behind the girl who you learnt played for Arsenal which Christine had told you, but you didn’t want the players knowing their ex-captain gave you a lesson about all of them.

When the two of you walked in, you felt people staring at you before Chloe smiled “this is y/n one of the filmers?” she asked and you nodded “Pretty much”

Some of the girls who arrived early started asking you questions right away.

‘Where are you from?’

‘Do you support a team?’

‘I like your sweater’

“Guy’s leave her be for a second she just got here”

A voice popped up and you looked across to a girl who had brown short hair, a little bit shrivelled up and her hands were in her pockets. She must’ve just woken up from a nap.

But you recognised her from Christine’s ‘lesson’

You smiled shyly at her before the Canadians gave you all sympathetic looks “It’s okay umm to answer your questions Uhm unfortunately I’m not that into sports, I’m from Los Angeles and thankyou I like this sweater too” You smiled and some of the girls laughed, including Jessie who still seemed tired, or maybe nervous.

You excused yourself to set up your camera and started to film once the meeting began, there were little introductions and you smiled and waved when their coach announced your name, catching eye contact with Jessie, both of you quickly looking away.

Their coach announced Jessie as the captain as you did your job, zooming up to the girl who glanced at you through the corner of her eye before being congratulated by friends.

Once the meeting finished you started to pack up your camera as Joan told you to interview some of the girls as she saw you talking to some of them.

When she left you saw another figure approaching you “Hi” a Canadian voice popped up and you whipped your head around to see Jessie “hi” you smiled and she looked down at your feet “Do you live in Portland by any chance?” she asked and you quickly zipped up your bag.

You didn’t want them to know you were friends with Christine, you felt like it would effect your job as their interviewer.

“Uhm yeah, why?” you asked and Jessie blushed “Oh I just- I just thought I had seen you before that’s all” she said, one hand brushing her hair back behind her ear.

“I’m guessing you live in Portland then?” you ask, standing up and she nods “Only recently though, I used to live in London before” You smiled “I have friends from college who live there, they say it’s nice but just really cold” Jessie nodded with a smirk “They are not wrong trust me”.

You just laughed and pulled your bag across your shoulder and Jessie looked to the door “I can walk you back to the room, It’s a bit hard to navigate” she offered

You thought back to when her teammate had found you at a loss because of that you had remembered how to get up but for some reason, you didn’t want to say no to the girl in front of you.

“Sure”

Jessie smiled before setting off out of the room, you beside her.

“What room are you?” she asked “307” you replied and she smiled “I’m 310” she revealed and you laughed “maybe we’ll run into each other more, “I really want to go to the hotel pool and spa but there's no free time during the day, the schedule is packed”

“Late night swim then?” Jessie asked and you nodded “maybe”.

You didn’t realise you had made it to your room before Jessie stopped walking “Well have a good night and maybe don’t try to wake me when you go the the pool” she teased and you rolled your eyes

“Maybe another night, I am dying for some sleep,” you said and the girl laughed as she reached her door.

“Bye Y/n’

‘Bye Jessie”

The first couple of days in camp were full of training for the Canadian team, sometimes you would pull some of the girls out for one-on-one questions which they always smiled and answered with full honesty.

Sabrina and you had to take a break from how much she made you laugh with silly comments.

After the first game, Canada came on top and you tried hard not to scream out in cheers as you were filming but once you stopped you greeted the girls with hugs. Squeezing Jessie a bit harder and congratulated her first game as the official captain.

“It’s um- It’s-“ she stuttered before shaking off her nerves “Thanks” she smiled and you laughed “Nasty black eye” You pointed at her eye which was red and blotchy, already bruising in some parts, Jessie lifted her fingertips up and lightly pressures the skin surrounding her eyes “Hopefully it will make me look badass” she laughed and you tilted your head to get a good look at it.

“Hopefully it’s not too bad for a coffee date tomorrow”

Jessie’s face turned red “What?” she asked and you blushed as well but laughed “Your interview at the café” you explained and Jessie looked at her feet “Oh yeah- I- I forgot” she admitted running her hand through her hair.

“I’ll leave you guys to it then, see you all at the hotel” you yelled out to the team before running after Joan who was already out of the arena.

Once you were sitting in the car your phone buzzed “Is that from Jessie?” Joan asked and you swivelled your head “Umm what no!” you said quickly, and your boss laughed “I’ve seen you two mingling”

“Please never say that word again”.

In the morning you were excited to get out of bed, even if the sun was still rising and it was weird because you were not a morning person.

Then you thought about your boss's comment.

Have you started to have a thing for the Canadian captain?

You hesitantly knocked on the girl's door which she quickly opened right after “Hey” she smiled and you waved your camera back at her “Hey Fleming” Smiling Jessie stepped out and closed her door “What café are we going to?” she asked “I chose a good one don’t worry”

You both tried to ignore stares from the public eye once you started setting up your camera and Jessie pretended to be preoccupied by her phone.

“all done” you smiled sweetly at Jessie “Can I press record?” she asked, confused by the video camera on the tripod, you found it adorable “Absolutely,” you said and the girl dived in.

“What does this button do?” she asked, and you peered your head over her shoulder, not realising that the impact made the girl red “That switches the brightness” you explained, brushing your fingertips to show her.

“I think if I wasn’t always so busy with soccer, I’d be taking pictures and videos of beautiful things all the tim,e” she told you and you nodded “It’s my favourite thing to do” you told her and she smiled, finally finding the record button.

“Can I say action?” she cheekily asked, and you nodded, laughing “if you really want to”

“Action!”

Jessie walked away from the camera, and you took over the camera as she walked over to the barista “hi” her cheery Canadian voice sounded, and she ordered her chair but turned back to you “do you want anything?” she asked and you popped your head up

“You don’t have to”

“I want to.”

You went silent before you remembered you hadn’t drunk or eaten anything yet “Just a hot chocolate please”

The barista smiled between your interactions as Jessie added a hot chocolate to her meal.

You both moved outside to start your interview, you smiled as Jessie talked about her passion, catching her eye a couple of times which made you both blush.

When your drinks came out you thanked the waitress who smiled at you both before telling Jessie she supported Chelsea but quickly came back with “we’ll miss you on the pitch”.

You laughed as Jessie got embarrassed, happy to catch It on film.

“That was sweet,” you told her and she laughed “Some Chelsea fans aren’t as sweet,” she told you and you hummed “I can imagine, as I’ve heard it’s a very hard on club”

You both went back to the interview before finishing up “Can you see my black eye?” she asked and you shook your head “Only when you looked straight at the camera but you hardly did that”

“I’m not the biggest fan of being filmed or doing social media” she admitted “I can kind of tell” You laughed and Jessie picked up your camera “Can I try and film?”

“film what?” you ask “Beautiful things” She shrugged “Like you said” she added and you felt a weird tingly feeling in your stomach.

You weren’t sure if it was from her words or the way her arms flexed when she picked the camera up and turned it towards you.

Jessie seemed to make it evident that she was filming you, making you blush “I see the appeal” she hummed before passing it back to you.

“Have you gone to the hotel spa yet?” Jessie asked and you nodded “I swam around the night after the game but I’m planning on going again” You responded, “Maybe this time I’ll join you?” Jessie asks hesitantly.

You smiled at her question “I would like that Jess” you told her, and she turned to you, slightly shocked “Yeah?” she asked and you nodded “yeah it be nice to have some company”.

Throughout the day you couldn’t stop smiling, thinking of Jessie and your conversation in the coffee shop but you tried to dial it down, filming the girls training as if nothing happened.

You will admit you found yourself filming Jessie more than the others at certain times.

You joined the team huddle next to Sabrine and Janine, Sabrine whispering ‘action’ in your ear, her arm around your waist making you laugh, catching Jessie’s attention as her eyes glared daggers at her Canadian teammate, which did not go unnoticed by Janine who pointed her brows at her friend.

To which Jessie ignored.  

When the small meeting ended between the group you filmed everyone leaving, getting ready for the game against the USA.

Jessie was watching as you panned the camera around, not seeing her best friend behind her “Jessie” Janine said and the girl shrieked, the sound going from nowhere “Where did you come from?” the ex-Chelsea player said, her voice slightly raised from panic.

“Well you would’ve noticed if you weren’t too busy ogling the camera girl,” the blonde girl said, her eyebrows raised “Her name is y/n,” Jessie said with her eyes looking to the floor “Right, y/n” Janine nodded.

Janine looked back over to you as you were now packing up, cocking her head as she took a good look at you “She’s familiar” she hummed as Jessie span her face around “Stop looking at her, or else she’ll know we’re talking about her”

“Oh calm down Jess, she’s probably into you too” Janine brushed her friend off who was now blushing “I’m not-“ she tried to lie but her friend shot her a look “Okay I’m into her”.

Janine gasped “I know how I know her now!” Jessie bulged her eyes, slapping her friend “Shut up” she said before running away into the rooms, blushing as you looked over, waving to Janine who held a smile and ran up to you.

“You’re Christine's neighbor!” she said loudly, proud of herself as you stuttered “Y-yeah I am” you smiled and Janine stepped back “Oh did you not want people to know” she cringed and you shook your head “No it’s fine I think, I just didn’t want to bring it up or brag about it” you explained and the girl nodded and you continued, finding a flow in the conversation “I tried to be very professional coming into this and not really talk so I didn’t think people needed to know but you guys are all nice” you shrugged and Janine nodded “I just recognised you, I’ve been to Christine’s a lot”

You nodded “Yeah she’s looking after my cat right now” you laughed and she joined you, silently judging your character for her good friend.

“I need to see a picture”.

The weather was horrendous for the American game, limiting your access to filming in certain area but you were still drenched under your big raincoat that covered you. Filming as all the women practically swam around the ground.

Some of them even apologized as when they kicked near you, a gush of water fell on you from the impact.

You just responded with a smile and thumbs up. Hoping your camera won’t break soon.

You got up for penalties, finally going inside with your camera as you were called in “They lost?”

You asked as Joan walked in, helping you check the camera’s and nodded “I would allow you to check on Jessie but the two guys I had come with us have disappeared somewhere so you’re all I got right now” she sighed, the feeling of defeat on everyone’s shoulders.

“So we go home tomorrow?” you ask and the woman nodded

“We go home tomorrow”.

When you were sat in your room you watched the digital clock as it hit midnight, but you weren’t tired, you weren’t tired at all.

So you got up, put on your triangle bikini and the hotels dressing gown, grabbed a towel and walked out. You thought about knocking on Jessie’s door but elected not to thinking she needed her time.

She was probably asleep anyway.

You sat in the spa, your head laid back on your shoulders before you heard the door open, revealing a tired Jessie Fleming.

“I can leave if you want” you said, not sure if the girl wanted alone time but she shook her head “I was actually hoping you would be here” she gave you a half smile and you smiled back before she jumped into the spa with you.

There was a comfortable silence before you looked at Jessie “You okay?” you asked and the girl shrugged “This was just my first tournament as captain” she explained “can’t help but feel I let them down”

You nodded “You didn’t let anyone down Jess”.

The girl nodded, smiling at the nickname. “Can we talk about something other than football?” she asked and you smiled “sure, do you have a big family?”

The both of you talked, bringing smiles on each other’s faces, slowly gravitating towards each other until you were sitting next to each other both of your thighs touching.

“I can’t believe you took dance classes in college” you laughed, looking at the girl “I had moves” she defended herself but you just gave her a look, your eyes quickly looking at her lips as you saw she did the same.

The lights had been off the entire time as it was night but as you both started leaning into each other the lights turned on, both pulling away from the brightness as a worker walked in, oblivious to the two of you.

“What’s the time?” You asked, hiding your eyes “Five in the morning!” the worker yelled out to you both as your eyes popped “I’m on a plane in two hours!”

Jessie watched as you panicked, quickly jumping out of the spa and grabbing two towels for you both “here” she threw it to you and you wrapped yourself before quickly turning to the girl “I’m sorry”

And you left.

Jessie was sitting in Christines kitchen playing with a bowl of cereal after her flight.

“So you met a girl, flirted with her and didn’t kiss her” Christine listed as Jessie groaned “well technically I tried but we were interrupted” she said and Janine laughed “you shoul’ve seen it she was so into her it was insane”

“It wasn’t that obvious”

“We had a bet going on, her workmates were in on it!”

Christine furrowed her brows …workmates?

“What was her name?” Christine asked but her doorbell rang, Christine going up to answer as she knew someone was coming “wait my neighbours getting her cat”

“I was wondering where this cutie came from” Janine cooed, scratching the cats head.

You were at the end of the door waiting for Christine to open the door, if there was anything that could make you feel any better right now was your cat.

“Hey y/n!” Christine cheered opening the door before two heads peeked through

“Y/n?”

“Jessie?”

“Oh I forgot to mention she was Christines neighbour”

And that’s how you met your future wife.

[skzdarlings]

the same but different | the threesome series ; skz ; han/reader/felix

masterlist.

threesome series part 3/4.

You grew up with Felix and Jisung.  Your definition of normal has always been unique, considering Felix is a faerie and magically connected to Jisung.  So even though you are dating Jisung, when Felix tells you he needs to marry to keep up appearences in the faerie court, you see no reason to say no…

pairing: han jisung/reader/lee felix content info: sexual content. threesome. faerie au. this is an almost 16k word read. one day i will meet my maker and have to atone for that. warning for some ambiguous motivations plus general freaky faerie and supernatural stuff. felix and jisung have a magical connection, reader does not know the details but it seems they can physically feel each other's reactions and urges and they do a lot of the same things in an uncanny way. there is a 'consummation ritual' that involves being watched but reader is clever about it.

:)

-

Autumnal flurries follow Han Jisung everywhere, little tornadoes of red-and-gold kicking up an elemental fuss wherever he steps. It might be a remnant of his time with the faerie folk, or maybe a coincidence, or maybe he is such a blustery font of chaos that he is simply kicking up wind storms on his own. 

He totters into the café with his usual trail of leaves, much to the displeasure of the bus boy who follows with a broom.  The wind gets restless at the window.  It throws itself against the pane with a heavy, reverberating thunder as if nature is knocking in pursuit of Jisung’s attention.  You watch a few pine cones hurl themselves at the glass before everything settles down on its own. 

Jisung pays it no mind.  He slides into the booth across from you, heaving a big dramatic breath. 

“Good afternoon,” you say, amused with your boyfriend’s theatrics.  They are as constant as his flurries.   

“Yo, is it, ‘cause ah, HAHA—I’ve been having a day.”  He thunks his head on the back of the booth and pretends to fall asleep.  His round glasses skew with the loll of his head.

Jisung dressed up for today’s date.  He is wearing a beige coat that flatters his warm complexion plus that cute checkered scarf you gave him last winter.   You don’t mind his usual hoodies and caps as it always puts a swagger in his step, but you appreciate his effort even if it is a little random. 

He lifts his head with another musical sigh, golden blonde hair fluttering from his breath.  His big glasses make his dark eyes even bigger and you smile again.

“Hi,” you say sweetly.

He whimpers with more theatrical misery. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says like it is the most painful fact in the world.  “Why are you so beautiful?  And funny, and smart, and mine.  If you weren’t gonna be ugly and horrible, the least you could have done is reject me.  It wouldn’t have been so bad.  I could have been a lonely suffering artist, hidden away in a basement, composing symphonies for the beautiful woman out of my league.”

“I think you just described the Phantom of the Opera,” you say.

“Even better.”  Jisung sighs wistfully.  “He lived in an underground sex dungeon, right?  I don’t think he even paid rent.”   

You laugh into your hot chocolate. 

“What’s gotten into you?” you say.  It’s a rhetorical question.  Jisung is always a little silly. 

Your playful boyfriend thumps his hands on the table and glares past you, out the window. 

“Faeries,” he says brusquely.  “And their stupid faerie bullshit. My life is a nightmare and an arthouse horror movie and no one has ever suffered more than me—oooh, is that a chocolate croissant?”

You slap his hand when he reaches for your pastry.   He yelps like you chopped it off. 

“Jisungie,” you say, lifting an eyebrow, “what do you mean faerie bullshit?” 

He pouts spectacularly while unknotting his scarf.  He speaks in a watery, despondent voice, very contrary to his usual goofiness, “What do you think I mean?”

This, it seems, is also rhetorical as you have no opportunity to answer.  The bell jingles above the door and a little shiver moves down your spine. 

Unlike Jisung, you have never been to the faerie realm, but you have a gift for recognizing a supernatural presence.  Everything catches your eye as if they are sparkling fireflies, no matter their efforts to hide. 

The courtly fae, the ones that look human, have a tendency to cast enchantments both literal and metaphorical, their impossible beauty captivating to any human eye.  You are not immune to their gravitas, the way space seems to warp around them like earth is little more than gelatinous mire, but you can sense their other-worldliness before seeing them.   This is most likely due to exposure.  You did, after all, grow up with a faerie. 

You look to the doorway.  

Ah.  Speaking of. 

“Oh my god,” Jisung whines.  “He said he’d give me time to tell you.” He steals your hot chocolate and takes a swig like it’s hard vodka. 

“Tell me,” you repeat.  “Tell me what?” 

Though you are talking to Jisung, you cannot help but look over at his… his…

His Felix. 

Felix smiles when he sees you.  He scrunches his nose cutely and it makes his constellation of dark freckles dance on his sunny face. 

The freckles have always been an intriguing part of his glamour – for his human-like appearance is a mask shrouding his true faerie form – because faeries typically regard such things as imperfections.   Perhaps the freckles are residual from his time in the human realm, as Jisung’s flurries are the opposite. 

Felix is unbelievably beautiful.  He is wearing mortal clothes but he does not look truly human.  There’s something in his movements, fluid and dance-like, sometimes too swift to perceive.  His blonde hair catches the light with a perfect glow at every angle, his slender frame flawlessly draped in a black long-coat and a flattering black sweater.  His lovely ringed fingers part the air with his little wave and his perfectly pink mouth curls up in a sweet smile.  His dark eyes seem to sparkle.  

He crosses the restaurant in a few strides, quicker than a human would.  He smiles the whole time. 

“Hello,” he says, his deep voice smooth as butter.  Or maybe you’re the butter, his voice the knife, gliding right down the centre of you and settling low in your belly.  It has always had that effect. 

“Felix, hello,” you say in that quivery way you always greet him.   You grew up with both Jisung and Felix but Felix flits off to the faerie world when it suits him, and every time he returns you find yourself awestruck by him, as if you had never truly seen him before. 

Jisung smacks his head down on the surface of the table.  You and Felix look at him, you with considerable more concern.  Felix just draws his mouth into a flat line, neither smiling nor frowning, more like he anticipated his… his… his Jisung would behave this way. 

“Is it okay if I sit?”  Felix asks, pointing to the spot beside Jisung.  Jisung is somewhat sprawled in the booth but this doesn’t seem to concern Felix.  When you nod, he smiles, smooths out his coat, and simply bumps Jisung with his hip to squish himself into the booth. 

Jisung whimpers again, resting his head on the wall and pouting at it. 

“So,” Felix says.  He folds his hands on the table and tips his head, looking at you.  “How are you doing these days, hmm?” 

Faeries are known for their decorum.  It can turn sour very quickly, but it is imperative to adhere to rules of hospitality and general politeness.  

It is still strange and unnerving to have a faerie prince plunk himself into your booth and smile at you so politely.  Especially when you haven’t seen Felix in more than a year.   A year and fifteen days, to be specific, because Jisung has counted them all.  Jisung complains endlessly when Felix visits but he complains even more when he’s gone for too long. 

You think Felix must have returned to the human realm a while ago.  Jisung is usually friendly when he firsts sees him, but right now he is glaring. 

“What?”  Felix looks at Jisung.  They cock their heads at each other, the same angle, same time. 

It is always funny seeing them side-by-side.  Singularly, they look nothing alike, perhaps because Felix has intentionally deviated his glamour from being identical.  Jisung has a round face, cartoonishly cute at times, his build bulkier from his somewhat erratic workout schedule.   Felix is all sharp lines with a pointed elegance to his features, though his presence fills what space his slender body does not.  Their only similarity is their hair, similarly bouncy, alike in length, and identically shaded.  Right now it is a matching blonde. 

Despite their ample differences, there is an uncanny sameness to them.  They move the same way, tip their heads at the same time, roll their eyes in tandem.  They even take a breath at the same time.  You are certain if you pressed a hand to each of their chests, you would find their hearts beating to the same steady cadence.   

Felix was once a changeling.  Faeries sometimes swap their infants for human ones, occasionally for fun, oftentimes when their offspring is sickly or malformed.  Once a changeling swap has occurred, the faerie and human are inexorably linked to one another.  If the human parents try to kill the faerie or let it die, it will also kill their child, so it is in their best interest to nurse the sickly baby and hope the faeries swap them back. 

Felix was born too soon, a shrivelled little creature, third son of the autumn high prince’s third wife.  His mother swapped him for Jisung, stealing the little mortal away in his infancy.  Jisung’s mother was not a bewildered, simpering mortal, however.  Her resilience and intelligence was part of the family’s initial allure, but it was also the downfall of the changeling operation.  She ventured into the faerie realm and won back her son, plus the right to see the lonely faerie prince that had been so unceremoniously abandoned by his unloving family. 

She returned to the mortal world with Jisung and Felix.  The changeling prince spent his childhood bouncing between the human realm and the world of faerie.   You grew up next door to Jisung and the three of you have been a tight-knit trio since before you can remember. 

You love Felix just as much as you love Jisung, it’s just that… the faerie-ness complicates things.  You aren’t sure Felix really loves you or Jisung in a way you understand.  Even now, his enquiry after your well-being seems more like a necessary script than genuine question.  He will be uneasy until you complete your side of the exchange. 

“I’m good, Felix,” you say.  “How are you?”

He smiles, freckles dancing.  “Good,” he says.  “Thank you.”  

Felix cracks his neck and Jisung is compelled to do the same, though he looks irritated about it.  The depth of their connection has always been ambiguous to you, but sometimes Jisung feels phantom aches and pains, urges that come out of nowhere and pester him like an itch until he satisfies them.  

He seems impatient today, his glare not subsiding for a second.  

“You said I could have time to tell her,” Jisung says. 

“I gave you time,” Felix replies calmly. 

“You gave me like five minutes, man!”

“It doesn’t take more than five minutes,” Felix  says.  He seems genuinely perplexed that Jisung would believe otherwise.  He looks at Jisung with a head tilt that Jisung mirrors, then they both look at you.  “Hi,” Felix says.  “Will you marry me?  See.  That was less than five minutes.  It was five syllables, actually.  Well, I guess if you had asked it, you would have said, ‘Will you marry Felix,’ so it would have been six syllables, but that’s still less than five minutes, even if you streeeeetch it ouuuut—”

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Jisung says, then plants his forehead in his palm.  “That came out wrong.” 

Felix does not plant his forehead in his palm but he does rest his chin in his hand. 

“So,” he says to you, smiling. “Will you?  Two syllables, by the way.”

“Shut up about the syllables, dude.” 

“Wait,” you say, interrupting their inane blabber.  If you leave them to it, Jisung and Felix will dance in verbal circles for hours and still not clarify anything.  “Marry you?  Why would I— Felix, you know Jisung and I— I don’t understand what’s—”

You love Jisung and Felix.  You find them equally attractive, in their own way and as a complimentary pair.  As much as you adore Jisung, you feel bereft when Felix is gone for a long time.  Your crush on Felix was as inevitable as your romance with Jisung.  Only where that relationship has long since solidified into a stable love, you and Felix have never done much more than hug. 

Jisung and Felix, on the other hand, have shared their own intimacies.  You caught them kissing back when you were teenagers.  You got pouty rather than angry, viciously jealous of both of them at once.  Jisung was too flustered to speak, mostly chirping like a frightened bird, while Felix just smiled and cheerily said, “Jisungie says we’re practicing.”

“Practicing?” you asked, hands on hips.  “Practicing for what exactly?”

Felix frowned, looking confused, like it had never occurred to him to follow that line of questioning. 

“For girls!”  Jisung exclaimed. 

Felix snapped his fingers and nodded.  “Right,” he said.  “Girls. That was it.  Wait.”  He looked confused again and pointed to you. “Isn’t she a girl?” 

“She doesn’t count,” Jisung said, getting redder by the second.  You threw a shoe at him and stormed out of the house. 

That was a long time ago.  That momentary flicker of suggestion was the only time Felix brought up potentially kissing you.  Even then, it seemed less desirous than pragmatic.  

And now, for some reason, he is asking you to marry him. 

“Oh my god, man, maybe if you used more than five syllables, she would get what’s going on,” Jisung says.  His gaze softens when he looks at you.  He reaches across the table to take your hand, though it takes you a second to respond.  Your fingers are frozen stiff around your mug.  “Baby,” he says in a soft, apologetic voice, “I know it sounds a bit strange, but I promise I can explain.” 

“I have to get married,” Felix interrupts, ignoring when Jisung scowls at him.  “I think it’s just for, uhhh, appearances, basically.  My brother Chan just became high prince and I’m the only one of my mum’s kids who isn’t married and she thinks it makes her look bad because all my dad’s other kids have their lives together… anyway, she said either I find a bride for myself or she was going to give me one.  And, uh, she’s not very, hmm, generous, is she?”

Definitely a rhetorical question.  You do not need to have met the faerie princess to know of her predilection for malice.  Felix would most likely be saddled with some Shakespearean donkey-headed monstrosity for all his days.  Felix, being Felix, would smile blithely and accept his awful fate, saying little on the matter when prompted. 

Felix is like that.  He shows neither amity nor animosity to much.  His emotions, whatever they are, manifest unpredictably.  He smiles a lot of blank smiles.  Occasionally he bursts into random tears that flood out of him with terrifying distress.  It comes upon him unexpectedly, so big that it is almost theatrical.  You think he might be mimicking expressions of human pain to convey whatever interior hurt he is feeling, however severe or benign, then it just stops until next time.  

He is not the sort to wail and harass you.  Even if he was desperate, he would not force you to marry him.  Looking into his dark eyes, you know that much.  There are plenty of stories the world over where supernatural princes steal mortal girls from their beds, where they compel them to dance until their feet bleed, where they fill their heads with songs that play until the human goes mad and dies in some anguished pit in their own mind. 

There are not many stories where they propose in a café.

“Felix, you idiot!”  Jisung smacks Felix on the arm.  “You didn’t even tell her the important part.” 

“Oh yeaaah,” Felix says. 

Jisung scoffs and looks at you, his expression soft again.  He squeezes your hand.

“Baby,” he says, “you know how Felix and I have a special, um, connection?” 

You know he means the changeling magic but you think about them kissing.  You push the image aside, as well as the lingering jealously, and nod. 

“Right,” Jisung says.  “We’re like… tied together and shit, right?  Like if I got hit by a bus, Felix would also go splat.”

“Faeries don’t splat,” Felix says, bristled. 

“Splat,” Jisung says sweetly, “like a big stupid faerie pancake.” 

“Jisung,” you say, “are you going to make a point?” 

“The point,” Jisung says, “is Felix is gonna live a long time, if he doesn’t go splat.  So that means… I’m gonna live a long time too.”

“If,” Felix interrupts, “he comes with me to live among the folk.” 

The fair folk.  Another name for the courtly fae.  Divided into seasonal realms, the four courts host a variety of faerie life.  Felix is from the autumn court and Jisung was spirited to it as baby.  You have never crossed from this world into the faerie world.  You know the stories better than anyone, almost more familiar with the foreign realm than the world around you, but its reality has only ever been a distant dream. 

This seems like the world’s strangest break-up: your boyfriend leaving you for his changeling faerie to live an immortal life in the faerie realm.

Except it’s not a break-up.  It’s a proposal. 

“I have no idea what’s happening right now,” you say, juggling feelings of confusion and jealousy and desire.  “What does that have to me with me?  And getting married?” 

“It will bond us together too,” Felix says, smiling again.  “Do you understand?  Isn’t that wonderful?  The three of us can be together for always.  I think you’ll really like it.”  He looks sideways at Jisung and adds, “And you’re smarter than him when it comes to the fair folk.  I would feel better if Jisung had your company.”

“What?” Jisung slaps the table.  “What are you talking about?  I’m the one who’s been there!  I am so totally super smart about faeries all the time!” 

“You once ate a magic apple and grew a tail,” Felix says.   

“You know I get snacky after my naps.  Besides, I got better.  Suck on some salty iron and boom, no tail.” 

Felix sighs, exasperated, and Jisung sighs, even more exasperated. 

“Please marry me,” Felix says imploringly.  “For all of us.” 

Felix cannot lie.  Faerie magic ranges from miniscule to immense, but lying is an impossibility regardless of rank. 

An inability to lie does not guarantee honesty. The truth can be obfuscated.  Faeries are clever with words, cleverer still what they reveal at all.  

Felix has not lied.  He needs to marry.  It would bond you.  You are smarter than Jisung when it comes to the fair folk.

Felix has not told the whole truth.  He does not need to marry you specifically.  He would be happy with just Jisung, you think.  They have something special, something you have always watched from the outside.  You know a lot about faeries but you do not belong to their world.  Felix could keep Jisung safe.  You are a spare. 

Despite the loving stare of your two oldest friends, you feel woefully insecure.  You take your hands back and rest them in your lap, staring morosely into your cooling hot chocolate. 

“Baby?” Jisung says gently.

You look up.  They look equally concerned.  They reach for you at the same time then look at each other.  They mutely come to an accord and Felix takes your hand.  You shiver immediately. 

“Sweetheart,” Felix says.  “It’s just me.  I won’t… I won’t make you do something you don’t want to do, but I… I want to know… I mean, do you not…”

“You don’t want to come with us?”  Jisung asks, his bottom lip wobbling.  Tears spill over his cheeks seconds later.  “I-I-I know it’s a bit weird.  But you’ve always talked about wanting to see it anyway.   And you don’t have any family here anymore.  Are you worried about the royal court thing?  Because I’m gonna be there and Felix says we’ll spend most of our time at his bower anyway and okay I don’t even know what that means and I didn’t wanna seem stupid so I didn’t ask—”

“It’s just my tree-house, Jisung,” Felix says.

“It’s just his tree-house,” Jisung sobs. 

“It isn’t that,” you say.  You reach for Jisung so you are holding both their hands.  You give them a squeeze.  “I love you both.  So much.  It hurts a little sometimes because of how much.  And I’m scared… I’m scared of being left behind.” 

They both pause.  Felix looks more bewildered than any supernatural creature in history, you are sure.  They are inviting you to come along and you express fear of the opposite.  It must be incomprehensible to his mind. 

Apparently it also confuses Jisung because he softly whispers, “What the fuck.”

You bring their hands together and withdraw your own touch. 

“I just mean…”  You are too embarrassed to vocalize it. 

Recognition lights their eyes at the same time.  Jisung rips his hand away. 

“I can’t be alone with Felix forever!”  Jisung cries.  “Are you crazy?  We need you!  Without you it’s just… just… just us.  It’s nothing, it’s empty.  You… you’re our person.  If you’re not there too… then… then… then I’m not going either.  I’d rather get old and die with you than live forever without you.” 

Felix’s mouth opens and closes with a storm of unspoken thoughts.  He has sobbed spectacularly at birthday cards and scraped knees, but he doesn’t cry now. 

Jisung’s exclamation rattles you.  It was such a genuine burst of emotion, so rich with devotion that you feel silly for ever doubting either of them.  Empty, he said.  You never considered what kind of echo might exist between them, how your presence filled it and made it better, not worse. 

You intend to remedy your blunder, an apology on your lips, but then Felix finds his words.

“I’ll tell you my name,” he says.  “My true name.  Will that be enough to convince you?”

Enough?

Enough?

You and Jisung stare at Felix with your jaws dropped.  Felix clenches his jaw, staring back at you. 

Faeries go by many names in their long lifetimes.  Felix was the name Jisung’s mother gave him, but it is not his true faerie name.  Names are powerful things.  If a mortal has a faerie’s true name, they can ensorcell and compel that faerie to do their bidding.  It essentially enslaves them. 

Faeries do not freely reveal their true names, not to other faeries and certainly not to mortals.  Tricky mortals have uncovered faerie names, stories of humans triumphing over wicked creatures, but you cannot think of a single story where the faerie got down on one knee and willingly offered it.

Because that’s what Felix does.  He gets out of the booth and gets down on one knee in front of you, then looks up at you with dark, desperate eyes. 

“I’ll tell you right now if that’s what it takes,” he says.  His hands are shaking.  The wind starts knocking at the window again, harder than before.  Leaves form columns of colour, shooting up to the sky, scattering in every direction. 

“Don’t,” you say.  “Don’t.”  The trust this requires is extraordinarily substantial.  It means more than any simple I love you.  Maybe Felix feels human love or maybe he feels something different.  Maybe losing you is not like losing a person, but like losing a limb or something equally vital.  It must be, for him to offer up his entire being in a word. 

The gesture means more than you can say.  The best way to reciprocate it is by refusing it. 

“It’s enough,” you say, choked up.  “It’s enough that you would offer.” 

“I’ll tell you,” he says, like he thinks you don’t believe him.  But of course you believe him.  He can’t lie. 

“I know,” you say.  “I’m sorry I doubted you.  Come here please.” 

Felix sits beside you and lets you wrap your arms around his neck.  He is tentative at first but then he looks at Jisung and holds you tighter.   The world outside settles once more. 

“Wow, that was intense,” Jisung says.  He grabs a napkin and blows his nose.  “Wheeew.  Wednesdays, am I right?”  

Felix pulls back, just enough so he can see your face.  You feel shy under his rapt attention, flush with warmth when his fingertips sweep from your temple to your jaw.  He holds your chin and tilts your face up.  He seems to be studying you.  This close, you can see all the shades of brown in his eyes, even flecks of dark, dark green and threads of gold.  There is a shimmer to the black of his iris.  If he turned a certain way, you think his glamour would disappear.  You think he would be beautiful anyway. 

He exhales.  His breath flutters over your lips. 

“Will you come with us?” he asks, his deep voice rumbling so soft and low.  “Will you marry me?”

You look at Jisung.  You cannot imagine any circumstance in which a man would look so eager for his girlfriend to accept another man’s proposal, yet this feels completely normal. 

Normal.  The three of you have always had your own definition of that word, haven’t you? 

You look at Felix, at the shimmer of his bold gaze.  

“Yes,” you say.  “Yes, I will.” 

Felix smiles and Jisung lets out a whoop!  You laugh, turning aside to wipe an unbidden tear from your eye.  Felix touches your cheek.  He looks more entranced than anything, blinking long and slow like a content cat. 

Jisung is still celebrating.  He shoves half your croissant in his mouth while you are distracted.  Then, with his cheeks stuffed full of pastry, his eyes get wide. 

“Ohyeah, weforgotsumffing!” he says around a mouthful of food.  He coughs, swallowing too quickly.  Felix clears his throat and passes Jisung your mug.  Jisung gulps it down while you and Felix exchange an affectionate glance.  

Then Jisung clinks the cup on the table and looks at you, sheepish. 

“Haha,” he says.  “By the way, you have to fuck Felix.” 

-

There are entrances to faerie in the deepest part of the woods.  Doorways are found in unlikely patterns that most humans will declare peculiar but innocuous: rings of spotted mushrooms, circular patches of darkening grass, shadows that arch with a perfect curve beneath a canopy of leaves.   

You have known this all your life, but you also knew to never go looking.  Not on your own.  A mortal wandering into faerie is not so different from a lamb wandering into a wolf den.  

Even with a wolf escort, you feel like that vulnerable lamb.  You hold hands with Jisung the entire trek, trailing behind Felix who hums as he lightly dances his way through even the harshest terrain.  Finally you come across two branches, twining up and up until they tangle like two hands clasping across a chasm.  

Winded from the exertion of the hike, you and Jisung come to a slow stop to catch your breaths.  Felix hurries ahead, his face brightening as he approaches the archway. 

“You ready?”  Jisung asks, squeezing your hand.

“Yeah,” you say.  “You?”

“Oh, hell yeah, baby,” he says with a laugh.  You look at him only to find his gaze turned on the archway, faraway with reminiscence.  “I remember it, you know,” he says.

“What?” you ask.  Jisung has never mentioned this before. “But you were just a baby.”

He looks at you with surprise, like he didn’t expect an answer.  Maybe he didn’t mean to say it out loud.  He laughs, deflecting the tension, and rubs the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says.  “Magic I guess, or something.  I dunno.  I just know I remember it.  There’s stuff that happened last week I can’t remember.  In a year, or fifty, or a hundred, I don’t know what I’ll remember from here.  But I remember this place like I never left.” 

You squeeze his hand again.  He looks at you and smiles, squeezing back. 

“Come on!”  Felix calls.  He is standing at the archway, waving to you.  He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a leather satchel slung across his chest.  The mundanity of his clothing looks unnatural.  If he looked inhuman in that café, he looks even less human now.  His glamour is in tact, his freckles pronounced, but there is a quality to him that defies logic.  He looks like he could take off flying and it would not be unusual. 

You and Jisung exchange a final glance then approach.  Felix smiles and walks backwards through the archway.  You can see him clearly as if he merely took another step in the woods.  He holds out his hands, you and Jisung taking one each, then you step through as well. 

Oh.

October orange sunlight pours through the trees, the early sunset colour of a clear autumn day at its close.  The woods are a mosaic of colour: green, orange, yellow, red, brown, little swirls of leaves flying from branch to branch, gathering in piles and scattering again.  You watch leaves settle over a pile of bones only for the whole apparatus to knit itself together.  You stumble to a surprised stop as a cat made of bones and leaves unfurls before your eyes.  It scampers up to Felix, rattling like an ivory windchime and somehow still purring.  Felix scratches behind its leafy ears, smiling and greeting the kitty affectionately. 

“Come on,” Felix says, not noticing the way you and Jisung are completely arrested by the sight of the cat.  “It’s not far from here.” 

It is the domicile of the autumn court.   It is built into the woods, or swallowed by it, grand structures built within and around trees, some abodes very high in the sunlit branches, some disappearing into the ground.  They are decorated with garlands of dried flowers, gardens of gourds and harvest fruit weaving around the lower rooms.  You jump, startled, when a pile of nearby leaves rises up, revealing itself to be a deer, presumably also made of bones beneath its leafy surface. 

“Whoa,” Jisung says, an apt summary.   The leaf animals have no eyes, the faces uncanny.  The deer turns its neck with a click of bone, dipping its head in a respectful bow to Felix as he passes. 

Felix doesn’t notice.  He is watching you and Jisung now, smiling with so much mirth you think he might start glowing. 

“Do you like it?” he asks, looking directly at you.  Maybe he knows what Jisung is feeling without asking.  You try to school your expression to show more than just awe. 

“It’s beautiful,” you say.  You can see how a mortal could be a swept away by the beauty of the faerie court.  Between the glitter of crunchy leaves and the wafts of cinnamon and spice, it fantastically overwhelms the senses.  You can also see how quickly this dream could turn into a nightmare, if the sun was eclipsed and the undead creatures of the earth turned their vacant eyes on you.

You do not convey the complexity of your thoughts.  Felix takes for granted that you always tell the truth, even though he knows you can lie.  You think he sometimes forgets.   His whole face crinkles up with a smile now, maybe too severely, but you appreciate his attempt to render delight for you. 

“A little further to the palace,” Felix says. 

“Palaaace,” Jisung says in a sing-song, squeezing your hand.  He almost knocks you over when a bird swoops by his head.  This raven is real, not made of leaves, and it perches on Felix’s shoulder.  “Birds,” Jisung says woefully.  “There’s always a freaky-ass bird.” 

“This is one of mine,” Felix says, scratching its head.  “I think my brother sent it.”

You watch as the bird leans in, eerily person-like in how it seems to whisper in his ear before fluttering off.   Felix neither smiles nor frowns, his mouth drawing into a thin line as he comes to a halt.

“What is it?”  Jisung asks.  His startled tone reveals that Felix might be perturbed. 

“They’re expecting us,” Felix says, gazing ahead as if he can see your destination through all the foliage.  “They’re already preparing our wedding.”

“What?” you and Jisung say at the same time.  You look at each other then you ask, “Did you tell them already?”  Felix only proposed yesterday and he has not returned to the faerie realm, unless he snuck away overnight, but you don’t think so.  He spent the night with you and Jisung, Jisung insisting on being the little spoon between two big spoons.  Felix had his arm around Jisung and his hand in yours all night. 

“No,” Felix answers.  “I didn’t say anything yet.”

“This feels spoooooky,” Jisung sings, then laughs nervously. 

“Maybe,” Felix says with a casual shrug of his shoulders.  “Maybe not.  Let’s go.” 

You and Jisung exchange another look, but you have gone too far to turn around, so you follow Felix.  He leads you to a red-bricked path that thickens with moss the further you walk.    When you reach the base of a hill, Felix stops to hold your hand. 

“Don’t look back until I say,” he says.  “You could fall.  Keep your eyes on me or the cat.  She knows the way too.” 

The cat is running around your feet, mewling, though the clack of its jaws is louder than its airy voice.  You decide to look at Felix instead.  Apparently Jisung picks the cat because he coos, “Aww, she’s kinda cute in a freaky way.  What’s her name?” 

“Babyeater,” Felix says. 

“Oh nooo,” Jisung replies.

You follow Felix and the cat up an incline that grows so steep that at one point you are walking perpendicular to the forest below.   You look at Felix the whole time, squeezing his hand tightly.   His returned squeeze is reassuring.  You remind yourself this is Felix, the same boy who kissed your scraped knees better, who sat through all your childhood tea parties even though he never really understood the concept of playing pretend, the same boy who has dutifully and lovingly obliged your every whim, however much he failed to understand its human purpose.  For Felix, it was always enough if it made you happy. 

He leads you safely over the crest of the hill, then it’s just a few more steps through a darker patch of woods before you are stepping into a huge clearing, bright and orange and gold.   Three massive, broad trees stand in the distance, an elaborate stone citadel built around the trunks.   There are faeries and other supernatural entities wandering around an autumnal garden, some scurrying with bundles of lights and candles and drapery.   The clearing and castle have been beautifully and frightfully decorated with pumpkins and dried flowers and bones. 

“Is this for us?”  Jisung asks.  “Uh, I mean, for you?”

“It looks like it,” Felix says uncertainly.  “I don’t know how they—”

Jisung screams, a proper shrill yell right in your ear, when something bursts out of some shrubbery and blocks his path.  You stumble back with wide-eyed surprise and Jisung instinctively shields you even in his terror.  Felix is not scared, his face neutral as ever, but his connection to Jisung has him reacting similarly, guarding you with his body. 

An eyeless husk straightens itself, bony limbs stretching for the sky.  You hear the crack of a neck-bone and the flutter of leaves, then all at a once a glamour settles over the faerie, revealing a handsome young man with short brown hair and dark eyes. 

“He’s still loud,” the faerie says.  “You were loud as a baby too.  Wahhh-wahhhh-wahhhhhh—” 

“Seungmin,” Felix says, nonplussed.  “Thank you for the raven.” 

Felix bows and the faerie, Seungmin, who must be the aforementioned brother, bows back as per the dictation of decorum. 

“Chan is mad he had to find out the news from Hyunjin,” Seungmin says, his mouth quirked in a smirky little half-smile.  “You better to be ready to grovel.”   

“Ah,” Felix says.   He looks over at you and Jisung who are clinging to each other, still wide-eyed with surprise.  “Hyunjin is a prince from the spring court,” Felix says.  “He can see the future.”

“Oh,” Jisung says.  “Yeah, sure, makes sense.”  He looks at you with a face that says, it definitely does not make sense. 

“Spring court,” Seungmin says with a little eye-roll.  “They burst in here with a dramatic fuss like always.  It’s embarrassing that the high prince of autumn learned about his favourite little brother’s engagement from a different court...”

“I can’t help that Hyunjin sees the future,” Felix says, more disgruntled than you have ever heard him.  It occurs to you, as you look between him and Seungmin, that Felix stands out here just as much as he did in the human world.  It is different, as here it is the little cracks of humanity that fracture his faerie face.  Not just the glamour, the freckles or his clothes, but some intrinsic bearing.   Maybe it is the sameness to Jisung, the way they block you with the same stance, the way they shuffle on the same foot.  Maybe it’s something else, but it is suddenly pronounced. 

Seungmin does not appear to notice Felix’s tone.  He just gives another bow which Felix is forced to return.  You see Jisung twitching and you squeeze his hand. 

“You don’t have to bow,” you whisper.    

“I know,” he says, then bobs twice in an aborted half-bow. 

You sigh.  You jump when Jisung shrieks again, startled by a little leaf-dog that comes running out of the shrubbery.  It is being pursued by some frantic sprites.  They yammer at the puppy in a faerie tongue as it starts to chase the cat.  All their bones are clattering as they run around, cat then dog then sprites.  Seungmin blinks at the fiasco then looks at Felix. 

“Let’s go,” Seungmin says.  He turns and gives you a bow, as is polite, then looks at Jisung and says, “Boo!” 

Jisung jumps and Seungmin cackles, bowing. 

Felix gives Seungmin a little shove, his mouth a grim line again. 

You follow Seungmin further into the garden, coming upon a feast that seems to be currently underway even while servants continue to set the party around the guests.   Food appears and disappears off the table, some faeries eating and some of them throwing food at the servants.   You have heard stories of ensorcelled human servants being trapped in places like this, but you only see faeries so far.  It doesn’t put you at ease exactly, but you don’t feel quite as frightened. 

Then all the faerie guests at the grand table stop and look at you.   Then you are frightened. 

“Hi,” Jisung squeaks. 

It is nervously and thoughtlessly blurted, but it would be impolite to ignore it, so a chorus of “hi” and “hello” circles the table in return. 

Most of them have a glamour of some kind.  A stockier, handsome faerie with bright orange hair stands.   He is on the other side of the long banquet table but manifests in front of you in mere seconds.  You are very alarmed to find him wearing bandages under a black army coat, the white wraps stained with blood.  It is very at odds with his deeply dimpled smile. 

“Hi there,” he says, looking past Jisung and straight at you.  “Wow, Felix really did it.  Welcome.  Call me Chan.  Sorry for the, ah, blood, I think it upsets humans?”  This apology seems sincere enough, accompanied with a tilt of the head, but he offers no further explanation.  He pulls you into an embrace, tucking you into the fold of one muscular arm, and laughing with an unexpectedly adorable giggliness.  “We have a human little sister.  That’s fun, yeah?”  He looks at the table and everyone nods and claps, only a few characters mutely unresponsive. 

You smile, maybe.  It feels a bit boxy.  Your brain is fitting all the pieces together, recalling that Seungmin referred to Chan as the high prince of autumn.   Chan is thus the highest font of power in this faerie court and he is hugging you. 

The hug pulls you away from Jisung who moves closer to Felix.  You look at them, watching as they hold hands, trying to convey with your eyes that you would rather be with them.

There is no time for any extraction attempt because a fuss stirs at one end of the table.  A pink-haired faerie bursts out of his seat.  He is long-limbed, tall and spindly, and he runs around the huge table at a fairly human speed.  He is wearing a billowy green jacket and a long string of pearls, his pastel appearance at some odds to the deepness of the autumn court. 

“Hey Fee-lix! Heeey!” he says, very literally bouncing when he reaches Felix.   

“Aha, hi, Hyunjin,” Felix says.   

“You brought humans!”  Hyunjin says, sweeping down to look at Jisung, then turning his dark-eyed stare to you.  His glamour is astonishingly beautiful, as bright as his pearls, a face like a handsome marble statue and a supermodel’s stature.  But he slinks like a ferret, as smirky as a fox.   “The bride,” he says with something of a wistful sigh.  His dark eyes are sparkling.  “A faerie and a human.  How romantic.  I love romance.” 

Then you are freed from hugging Chan, but only because Hyunjin cups your face in both hands and kisses you.  Not a greeting kiss either, but a deep kiss.  You sputter when he licks you. 

“Um,” Jisung squeaks. 

“This is High Prince Hyunjin.  Of the spring court, of course,” Chan says amiably, not doing anything to stop the high prince of the spring court from sucking face with his brother’s bride. 

Hyunjin stops on his own, smiling at you fondly.  “Pretty girl,” he says, stroking his whole hand over your face.  “I wish I could marry you.”  This is spoken without much longing, but it must be true or he couldn’t say it.   

He turns his sights on Jisung next.  Jisung straightens, eyes darting around for an escape. 

“The changeling baby,” Hyunjin says.  “He’s so cute now.  Can I marry this one, Felix?” 

Jisung’s eyes widen, looking at Felix, then at you. 

Felix looks unamused.  “No,” he says simply. 

Hyunjin pouts, slinking up to Jisung.  He grabs his face, long fingers grasping him tight.  Jisung’s lips part with surprise, his cheeks puffing when Hyunjin shakes his head around. 

“That’s not fair,” Hyunjin says.  “You already have one.” 

“I said no,” Felix repeats. 

Hyunjin just sighs.  “I knew you’d say that,” he says.  “Oh well.”  Then he kisses Jisung full on the mouth too, Jisung squeaking through the very wet onslaught.  Hyunjin just smiles and strokes his face, then goes back to the table. 

Hyunjin’s self-introduction triggers a similar desire in the remaining guests.  Soon they are swarming you, forced into the vaguest semblance of a queue when Chan waves a demanding hand.  You meet Felix’s mother, who smiles and coos at you like she didn’t mandate a wife in the first place.  You meet Changbin, another half-brother of Felix, who thankfully follows the example set by Chan and not Hyunjin and simply hugs you.  He is so burly and strong that it lifts you off your feet, but he has enough restraint not to crush you, so that’s something.  

There are clusters of other faeries, all noisy, all dipping in bows or trying to kiss you, and all of them from the spring or autumn court.   A hush falls over the garden when the remaining guests approach for an introduction.  Felix finally appears at your side, Jisung too, standing on either side of you and holding your hands. 

“Winter and Summer,” Felix whispers as two courtly fae and their retinues step forward. 

You know very well why Felix deigns to warn you.  The autumn court and spring court, as per their seasonal equivalents, are shifting and transitory in many ways; they grow and they learn, and they often host humans, be it in a generous or malicious capacity.  The winter and summer courts are hostile to change, and both have little to do with humans at all.  Whatever human encounters have transpired in those courts have left few survivors to speak of it. 

Their glamours fit them strangely, like new clothes not yet broken in.   The first prince wears his glamour like a boy forced into dress clothes by a parent, walking with a stiff sort of discomfort.  His robes are coloured blue and yellow, long and loose, his blonde hair turning dark blue at the root.  His dimples are deep and cheekbones very sharp, and when he smiles he reveals a whole row of long, piercing teeth that he forgot to glamour altogether. 

You jump, staring aghast as the otherwise too-pretty prince sweeps into a bow.  He looks at Chan, sees him smiling, and copies the expression with a frightful brightness. 

“Prince Jeongin,” Felix says.  He squeezes your hand, reminding you to bow back. You do so swiftly.  “Summer.” 

“High Prince,” Jeongin says, laughing for some reason, a wheezing sound. 

“You have fourteen older brothers,” Felix says. 

“Had.”  Jeongin smiles again, his dimples deepening, his teeth glittering.  “I ate them.” 

“Oh,” Felix says. There is a pause as he looks at you then looks at Jeongin.  Your face reveals terror, you are certain, but Jeongin is waiting expectantly.  Felix weighs his words and says, “Uh.  You must be happy to be congratulated.” 

You wonder how you ever thought Felix was strange.  He seems so normal suddenly, the only one who finds something wrong with a person eating fourteen brothers.  If he did approve, he would not have to word his congratulations so strangely to avoid a lie. 

Unless he just did that to appease you, a small voice says in the back of your head. A different truth is not a lie.

You wish you were not such an overthinker.  This is Felix.   Your Felix.  Yours, yours.   As much yours as Jisung, who is breathing a little heavier, so it makes Felix breathe heavier, and their combined strain has you close to panting as well. 

You are thus all breathless when you meet the final prince, introduced as High Prince Minho of the winter court.  He is wearing dark clothes, apparently sans his usual furry winter accoutrements, and his glamour is a barely-there mask that vanishes when the light hits him at certain angles.  He wears it like a loosely tied scarf, grudgingly donned.  He has not glamoured his eyes, mismatched and vibrant and vacant of all human emotion.  He does not smile when he bows.   Like Jeongin, he does not hug or kiss you. 

He looks you over, his stare raking, then he does the same to Jisung.  Whatever he sees makes him laugh, though it is a derisive sound.   Then he looks at Felix and says, “They’re fragile.  Be careful, changeling.” 

When he leaves, Jisung whispers, “Honestly, that last one got me kinda hard.”

“Yeah,” Felix says, unhappily, “I know.”   

And just like that, you are trying very hard not to laugh. 

You look at Felix and find his returned gaze to be very affectionate.  You always thought his regards looked a little too precise, like he was concentrating on forming the appropriate expression, but compared to certain toothy grins and cold laughs, Felix looks positively alight with sentiment.   He still looks strange in his t-shirt and jeans, but you think he might look strange anyway. 

It never occurred to you before that Felix’s changeling life might have made him an oddity on both sides of the veil. 

You feel a pang of sympathy, suddenly. 

Felix looks down at where you are holding his hand.  You see his gaze flit across to where you hold Jisung’s hand as well.  It exacerbates that pang in your chest, recalling your own jealousy when you found them kissing, plus all the years spent wishing you shared their magical connection.  It never occurred to you that Felix might feel some type of way about you dating Jisung, about you and Jisung both being human.  Maybe it reminded he was an outcast wherever he went.  Always very close to being part of something, never quite belonging. 

Funny enough, Jisung has always been significantly more blasé.   He sets his sights on what he wants and it never occurs to him that he will not have it.  He has Felix, he dates you, you marry Felix, he lives forever.  You look at your human boyfriend, at the way his dark eyes seem to sparkle as he looks around the garden.  You think somehow, despite his occasional shrieks and frights, he looks more home here than Felix. 

“Right then!”  Chan suddenly claps in your face, startling you.  “It’s wedding time, yeah?  We’ve never had a human wedding here before but Hyunjin is an expert so he helped us out…” 

Two faerie servants rip you away from Felix and Jisung.  Hyunjin follows you, looking very keen, his hands clasped behind his back but his whole face lit up brightly.  His eagerness does not put you at ease, nor are you reassured by his seemingly “expert” advice.  Seeing as he thought it was appropriate to introduce himself by making out with you, you sincerely doubt he is the human expert he has proclaimed himself to be.  

Sure enough, the slapdash preparations are very random.  You are shoved into a very pretty dress, but then Hyunjin attempts to adorn you with both a veil and a headpiece, and you can see an array of other accessories from international wedding regalia.  Being as polite as possible, you decline the offer to any headpiece at all.   

“Wow,” Hyunjin says, cupping your face.  “You are so humble.  Humans are so amazing, the way they just let themselves be ugly.  Wow.  Wow.  I won’t interfere with your hideous but humble head.  Should we kiss again?”        

“I think it’s better we don’t,” you say.  “It might wrinkle the dress?”

He nods sagely.  “That would be bad,” he agrees.  “Especially because your head is so bare and horrible.  The dress is doing all the work.  Can I put flowers in your hair or do you really prefer to be ugly?” 

“Uh, flowers, yeah, sure,” you say.  He says everything so frankly that you somehow can’t feel offended.  A compliment would feel just as meaningless. 

“I’ve always wanted to attend a human wedding,” Hyunjin says.  “You know, spring is a very popular time for human weddings.  But humans are always dying so fast after, so it makes me sad to watch them properly.” 

“You feel sadness?” you ask.  Though Hyunjin and Felix seem quite different, perhaps you can glean an answer to the depth of faerie emotions.  Especially considering this marriage business feels like an entirely different beast now that you are in a wedding dress with an entire congregation of faeries sitting in a garden waiting for you.  It seemed like a simpler affair when it was just Felix and Jisung in a café booth.     

“Oh, of course,” Hyunjin says.  “I feel sad all the time.  I feel sad right now because you aren’t marrying me.”  He says this with a great deal of joviality, smiling at you like he’s proud of his supposed sadness.  

You decide not to ask more questions on that front, because you doubt his answers will be very helpful.  You do enquire after the wedding festivities.  You try not to frown at the very random assemblage of traditions he has baked into a single ceremony.  It sounds like a tedious affair but you decide to brace it, supposing it could be worse. 

“Then we all watch the royal consummation,” Hyunjin says casually, adding another flower to your hair. 

You grab his wrist without thinking, stopping him.

“Did I stab you?” he asks, blowing on your head to check for blood.  “Sorry.  I keep forgetting pins in heads kill humans.”  He says this with a lot of exasperation, like it’s a personal inconvenience to him that humans die so easily. 

“No, it’s not that,” you say.  He pops another peony on your head, manifesting the little buds out of thin air.  “What do you mean ‘we all watch the royal consummation?’  Who is ‘we’?”  

“The high princes, obviously,” he says, tucking a rose behind your ear. 

You stare ahead, mouth hanging open. 

Yesterday seems so long ago now, but Jisung and Felix did explain to you that the autumn court required an act of consummation to legitimize the marriage.  Apparently it has nothing to do with virginity or rearing heirs, mostly functioning as a ritual for the sake of itself.  Once faeries decide something is a rule they must follow it. 

You were very hot in the face the entire conversation.  Jisung seemed content to describe the way you need would have sex with his changeling faerie, but you were too embarrassed to meet either gaze. 

Maybe it would have been easier if you did not want to sleep with Felix. If it was just a necessity, it would be meaningless.

But you very much do desire Felix, even if he only smiled blithely during the discussion.  He seemed unaffected while you were very flustered. 

This is a very different type of flustered. 

“I was not told there would be an audience,” you finally say.

“There isn’t usually,” Hyunjin says.  “But that’s how human princes do it, if I remember.  A whole council watches.  Felix doesn’t have a council, though, so we’ll have to do it.  It would be very rude not to indulge your human traditions.  There!  All done.”

He steps back to admire your appearance.  You are still frazzled from the conversation, from the strong floral scent that is now wrapped around you, from everything. 

“You look—”  Hyunjin pauses, then, “—not horrible at all!  I did a very good job.  Now the wedding can start.  I’ll tell Chan to start killing the sacrificial wedding goats.   We only have one and it’s made of leaves and bones but I assumed that would be okay with you.  This way we can just keep killing the same one over and over again.  I’ll be right back.” 

“Can I—”  You feel panicked.  You need to see Jisung.  Hyunjin has you sequestered in some little golden alcove.  You do not want to be hunted down if you just flee, so you ask, “Can I go look at myself in a mirror?” 

“You’re testing me,” Hyunjin says, his long fingers covering his mouth with a surprised gasp.  Then he giggles.  “I passed!  I know you can’t look at the bride before the wedding.  Wait here!”  Then he disappears out the gate and around the corner. 

You sit down in a huff and close your eyes.  You try counting backwards from one hundred to calm yourself, but you reach the low twenties and still feel tense.   

Then you hear the patter of human footsteps.  You know it is a human because faeries scarcely disturb the ground where they walk.  You hear the crunch of leaves and lift your head, feeling a rush of relief with Jisung pokes his head into the alcove. 

“There you are,” he says.  “Felix is – uh – they’re getting him – dressed – and I wanted –  wanted you—” 

You stand as he talks, as his voice drifts, as his breath catches.  He looks down the length of your dress then back up, his dark eyes watery as he exhales with a gut-punching whoosh. 

“You look so beautiful, baby,” he says.  “This – this feels weird.  I know it’s – weird.  But it’s not – it’s not wrong, right?  It’s just weird.  But weird isn’t bad.   It’s just—”

“Weird,” you say, with a little laugh.  “Yeah.  I know.” 

He smiles softly.  He wore his glasses here but he has since put in contacts.  His hair is neatly styled and he changed into slightly nicer clothes, still human world, but very handsome in his black pants and black shirt.  He is so handsome that for a moment you forget about all your worries, taking a step towards him with your hand extended.  He catches that hand, bringing it to his shoulder.  He sweeps you into a kiss that banishes all your bad thoughts, the familiar taste and feel of him engulfing you.   You sink your fingers in his hair, parting your lips under the press of his mouth. 

It's him who ends the kiss, breathlessly, stuttering, “S-sorry, wait.  I came here to tell – to tell you – the consummation – that pink guy—”

“I know,” you say with a cringe.  You bury your face in his neck.  “Ugh, a bunch of faeries are gonna watch me have sex.” 

“Faeries and me!” he says with a nervous laugh. 

“Huh!”

“I tried to stop it, but no one would really listen to me,” he says.  “Someone only listened when I said it was weird for a guy to watch his little brother have sex, and some people agreed, so Prince Chan said I should take his place, since there were no faeries of equal rank to him and at least I was human.”  He slaps a hand to his forehead.  “Sorry.  I tried.” 

“Oh, Jisung,” you say, giggling a little helplessly at your morose boyfriend.  “How do you get yourself into these situations?” 

“You’re wearing a wedding dress!” he replies. 

“That’s only because I know you!” 

“Your life would have been very boring without me,” Jisung says, smiling. 

“I know,” you say.  “It would have been awful.” 

Because for as strange as all this faerie nonsense is, you cannot imagine a world where you never knew Jisung, where you never knew Felix, where you never had this love in your life, as messy and jealous and complicated as it has been at times. 

You tip your head, gazing into Jisung’s eyes.  He shivers when you twirl a bit of his hair around your finger. 

“Jisungie,” you say, thinking of your own jealousy, of Felix’s confounding glances.  “Do you ever feel jealous at all?”

“Of what?” he asks, totally innocent.

“I don’t know,” you say.  You are not sure how to explain it without seeming ridiculous, which puts it into some perspective.  “I mean, me and Felix are about to… you know.”

“Uh, yeah.  That’s okay.  I don’t want to have sex in front of the cannibal faerie,” Jisung says, making you laugh.  “Not a joke!” 

“I know, I know.”  You kiss his cheek. 

“I couldn’t be jealous of you two,” he says, looking contemplative, as if this has never really occurred to him before.  Then he looks at you a bit sheepishly, his gaze skittish in how it darts around. 

“What?” you ask, recognizing his shy mischief. 

“I think it’s… uh… kinda hot?”  He rubs the back of his neck.  “I love you and I guess I also love that stupid faerie boy.  And… maybe… I kinda wanna see…”

You feel very hot again. 

“You, um, want to watch Felix fuck me?” you ask, frankly as you can. 

“Yes.”  He stares straight up, his ears gone completely red and his cheeks turning pink.  “I think you’ll look hot together.  I was kinda hoping we’d do something like this one day.  I mean, the cannibal faerie is a surprise, but other than that…”

You kiss him.  His arms circle your waist and he tugs you close, the kiss deepening naturally.  You let all your flustered embarrassment fizzle away, thinking about Felix, thinking about Jisung.  You get a bit handsy, squeezing Jisung’s biceps then resting your hands on his chest.  He makes a little sound into the kiss, one of his needy whimpers.  It never fails to light you up. 

“I’m nervous,” you say, speaking low, against his lips.  “Thinking about so many of them watching me and Felix…”

It is clear by his gulp and frantic nod that Jisung finds the scenario sexier than he should.   “Yeah, baby,” he says.  “What can I do?” 

You know the faeries will be occupied with Hyunjin’s myriad of rituals for a while, so you peck his lips and ask, “Get me ready?”

“Ready,” he repeats.  His gaze jumps up to the flowers in your hair.  “You are ready.” 

“Not like that,” you say.  

Jisung really does his best to be appropriate, but he gets pussy-drunk faster than any man you have ever known.  A suggestion is all it takes.  You tap his shoulder and he obediently drops to his knees. 

“Baby,” he says in a reverent whisper, sighing, eyes closing when you run your fingers through his hair. 

Heavy-lidded and so seemingly submissive to your desire, Jisung looks up at you.  Then he reaches past you, grabs the chair by the leg, and yanks.  He is not too gentle, spilling you onto it with a forceful nudge. 

You know Jisung does nothing by halves.  He is singular in his passions.   You ask him to kneel, so he kneels, so he closes his eyes, so he opens his mouth.  He pushes your dress out of his way and licks through your panties until the fabric is sticky and you are so so wet that it clings to you.  Your thighs tremble and he whimpers softly, high and light in the back of his throat. 

“Jisungie…”

“Shh, shh, shh,” he says in a raspy voice, drawing the fabric aside.  “It’s okay.  Don’t cry.  I’ve got you, baby.” 

He speaks so sweetly, like he is incapable of being mean, even while he torments you with long, twisting strokes of his tongue, never committing to a single pattern.  It is a storm of sensation, rolling through you over and over again.  You are so sensitive that slightest nudge feels like a miniature orgasm all on its own.  You gasp and whine, trying and failing to close your legs around his head. 

“Jisuuung,” you say, your voice rough. “We don’t have much time, I need to come…”

He moans when he buries his tongue in you, when he licks messily up past your clit and back down again.  You grab his hair and tug, though it does nothing to deter him. 

“Your husband can make you come later,” he says, giggling an inch from your pussy.  “I’m just warming you up…”  

“Please,” you say, “please, please, please.”

“Hmm?” is his reply, then he sighs and dives back. 

Your eyes close, brow furrowing in concentration.  You rock your hips against his mouth as he finally starts circling your clit with a single-minded resolve.  You feel flushed and shaky, pleasure and heat coursing through you, and you know you must look as ravaged as you feel.   

You open your eyes and see Felix standing in the entryway.  He looks astonishingly beautiful, his long blonde hair neatly styled back, his freckles pronounced and eyes so dark.  Long earrings made of sparkling orange gems dangle from his ears, looking at once like rippling flames and water running over bronze.  He is dressed in an approximation of a tuxedo, except the pants are leather and the shirt and blazer are cropped too short. 

He tips his head, his eyes on Jisung for a moment.  Then he holds your gaze unflinchingly, maybe daringly.  His smile appears slowly.  It is too gentle to be lecherous, tender despite the fact his gloved hand runs over his belt and tugs.  His tongue touches his bottom lip and he tips his head the other way. 

His presence startles you for a moment.  You should feel caught, or embarrassed, or something.  But the initial surprise fades and you just stare back at him.  You dig your fingers into Jisung’s hair and breathe harder as he strokes and strokes and strokes you with his tongue. 

Felix exhales.  His smile is still soft.  He lifts a darkly gloved hand and gestures to you, curling two fingers, a suggestive come here. 

Then Jisung’s hand goes from your thigh to your pussy, two fingers curling inside you without any resistance.  Felix’s smile curves into a pleased, satisfied smirk.  He nods. 

You come, holding Jisung’s face against your pussy, letting him moan and whimper with his own pleasure as you roughly fuck his mouth.  When he lifts his head, his mouth is so obscenely wet that you throb with a renewed ache of desire. 

“I think you’re ready now,” Jisung says.  He lowers your legs and slowly slides his fingers out of you.  Your breath catches, swallowing up a sound of a surprise when he uses both thumbs to spread your pussy open to his gaze – his and Felix.  Your head feels fuzzy and not with faerie magic. 

“I think so,” Felix says. 

Jisung does not seem surprised by his voice. He lets you go, your dress falling back over your lap.  He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and looks over his shoulder at Felix.  Felix approaches, his steps silent despite his big black boots.

You watch.  Jisung’s bottom lip twitches.  He looks up at Felix with the same hazy intoxication he looked at you.  Felix bites the tip of a glove, pulling the fabric off with his teeth, then he swipes his thumb across Jisung’s glistening mouth.  Felix brings that thumb to his own bottom lip, his tongue only just swiping the tip of it. 

Then Hyunjin struts into the alcove and slaps a shocked hand over his mouth. 

“What are you doing?” he demands.  You think he is going to remark on the man kneeling at your feet, not to mention your sexually dishevelled appearance, but then he says, “Felix.  You’re supposed to have a hat.” 

“I don’t need a hat, Hyunjin,” Felix says with a sigh.  “I would like to talk to my bride for a minute.” 

“That is impossible,” Hyunjin says.  “You need a hat.  Come with me.”

It occurs to you that you are watching the two most emotional faeries in their courts, even if those emotions are aimed in strange directions, like hats.  Because Hyunjin is very adamant and Felix is very annoyed.  You are more than a little concerned that if things come to a head, it will turn horrifying without much effort.

Then Jisung leaps to his feet and puts himself between the two faerie princes.  It surprises everyone to silence.  Even Hyunjin stumbles to a stop.  He cocks his head like a predator regards a measly scrap of prey, eyes flashing as he takes a menacing step forward.  

Felix has no time to react.  You have no chance to scream. 

Jisung is a step ahead of everyone.

He bows.  Hyunjin stumbles to a stop for a second time.  It takes him a second to realize what has happened but when he does his eye twitches.  He bows back, then straightens with a huff.

Jisung bows again.  You slap a hand over your mouth to hide your surprised laugh.  Hyunjin looks far less amused.  Glaring, he bows too, as per the rules of politeness. 

Jisung leaps to the side and bows again, forcing Hyunjin to follow him.  He does this twice more, leading Hyunjin to the exit, bowing back and forth the whole time. 

“Make him stop!”  Hyunjin shrieks.

“Okay, okay!” Jisung says, hands raised in surrender.   He bows one more time, swooping low, then he turns and runs as fast as he can.

Hyunjin, obliged to return the bow, goes chasing after him with a frantic yelp. 

“Is he gonna be okay?” you ask, springing to your feet.  You dress falls neatly down. 

“Yes,” Felix says.  “Hyunjin won’t hurt humans.  He likes them too much.”  He turns to you then, his expression returned to a more passive neutrality, though you do not miss the way he looks you over.  “Will you be okay?” he asks.  “I’m sorry.  I thought we would have more time when we got here.  I didn’t know they would do this.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, too shy for a conversation after he very much watched you orgasm.  “Um.  Might as well, I guess… get it out of the way.” 

“Yes.”  He frowns at this, turning aside.  “You want to… get it out of the way.  I understand.  I’m sorry it had to be this way.  You don’t want to marry me.” 

He says it so plainly and without any hesitation.  He must believe it is the absolute truth.  For a moment, you can only stare at him, his handsome profile, the tendrils of sadness that tug at his features.  How did you never see it before?

“Felix,” you say gently.  He does not look at you.  You touch his arm and he looks at your hand.  “Felix, I am happy to marry you.  I love you.”  He looks up at that, his brow furrowed.  “And Jisung,” you add.  “I’m… I’m glad it happened this way.  So that you and I—”   He turns to you and your heart skips a few beats, affected by the warmth of his steady gaze.  “So that you and I could come together as well.  And now the three of us—” 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, then looks aside.  “I’m sorry.  That was forward, yeah?  I just… don’t want the first time to be out there.  Is that strange?  To be honest, sometimes I don’t know what’s strange or what isn’t.  The rules are different everywhere, you know?  I don’t think I’m doing a good job of this.  I’m sorry.  We don’t have to—”

You cup his face and kiss him.  It is very stiff for a moment, because you are both surprised by your brazen action.  He somehow grounds himself first, a careful hand curling around your hip to guide you a little closer.  A breath passes between you then he kisses you back. 

You touch his chest, making a sweet small sound into the kiss when his lips slide so softly against yours.  You are about to deepen it when Jisung interrupts with, “Aww, you’re kissing!  So cute!” 

You and Felix look over at him.  His hands are clasped and he is gushing as only Jisung can. 

“I thought you were running,” Felix says, with a hint of amusement. 

“Stupid labyrinth led me back here,” Jisung says.  He mimes zipping his lips shut and gestures to you.  “Keep kissing.  Pretend I’m not here.” 

“I wouldn’t want to pretend that,” Felix says, so sincerely that Jisung’s eyes widen.  They look at each other for a long moment, then Felix looks at you.  He cups your face. 

Then Hyunjin comes running in.  He swings his arms in a dramatic flail and flower petals fly everywhere.  The leaf dog comes running in and starts nipping at the air, trying to catch the petals.  In the midst of this chaos, Hyunjin storms up to Jisung and promptly bows.  Then he shoves him to the side and grabs Felix by the arm.

“Hat!” he shouts.  “Now!” 

-

It is a twenty-six hour wedding ceremony.  You and Jisung fall asleep halfway through festivity number twelve, curled up under a furry blanket near a fire pit.  You wake when Felix lifts your head into his lap.  Jisung is already curled up with his head on your belly, so you smile and snuggle into Felix.  He cups your face and strokes your cheek, the flickering firelight casting shadows on his face, making his smile seem bigger than usual. 

The consummation ritual is last.  It takes place inside the castle, in a beautiful room that appears to have been designed for this express purpose.  The mossy stone walls are decorated with dried flowers, the plush bed laden with thick red throws and burgundy cushions.   Despite the tall open windows, there is no autumn chill, a lit fireplace cozying the room with its warmth.

It would be a lovely chamber if not for the translucent curtain with a literal audience behind it.  The winter and summer princes sit ramrod straight, so uninterested in their surroundings that it actually puts you at ease.  Hyunjin looks… a little too eager to be honest, but you aren’t convinced he understands this ritual anymore than anything else today. 

Jisung is side-eying Jeongin, who is sitting beside him because Hyunjin refused to sit by ‘the annoying changeling brat’.  Minho is sitting between Jeongin and Hyunjin, casting the occasional side-eye to the spring prince.  Despite his stoic countenance, his displeasure with the company is clear. 

Honestly, the whole tableau is quite comedic.  You find yourself trying to stifle laughter when Felix finally arrives.  You were sent to separate rooms to undress and change into robes, but you arrived here first.   Felix looks at you curiously, clearly perplexed by your laughter. 

“You’re not nervous anymore,” he observes. 

“No,” you say.  “I’ve just been thinking like a faerie.” 

He tilts his head at that.  You smile and kiss him, a chaste kiss that makes his lashes flutter.  The little reaction tickles a flurry of butterflies in your belly.  You hold his hand and lead him to the bed where you sit down.  His eyes shift with a nervous scuttle, but he follows the direction of your hand when you gesture to him. 

You keep your eyes on his, intensely locked as you lift his hand and take two fingers in your mouth.  When you close your lips around his fingers and gently suck, his breath catches.  It echoes in Jisung. 

Then Jeongin whispers loudly, “Is she going to eat him?”  He sounds moderately intrigued. 

“Be quiet,” Hyunjin replies. 

“I think it’s over,” Minho says, catching onto your ruse before anyone else.  

You smile and open your eyes.  You separate from Felix and turn your head to the silhouettes beyond the curtain. 

“A penetrative performance,” you state.   “I believe that was the requirement.  And I believe that should qualify.” 

You are stretching the meaning of those words and you know it, but that’s what faeries do.  His fingers ‘penetrated’ the breach of your mouth, so it should count on the most technical level. 

“All done,” you say with a smile and wave. 

“So you’re not eating him?”  Jeongin says, frowning. 

Minho is the first one to stand.  He flicks Jeongin’s forehead as he passes, but otherwise says nothing before fleeing the room.  Jeongin follows with a slightly disgruntled shuffle, then Hyunjin stomps his foot. 

“Humans,” he says, marching past Jisung. 

The door closes behind Hyunjin.  Jisung claps a hand over his mouth and laughs into it, so hard he has to put a hand over his stomach as he doubles over.   Felix laughs too, a pleasantly low rumble that he tries to stifle with a cough.  You smile up at him, leaning back on your palms and admiring him in the warm orange light.  He tucks some hair behind his ear, regarding you with a very tender gaze when he nods his head in a curt little bow. 

“All done,” he says.  It makes your brow furrow: the little shift in tone, the tension that still draws his shoulders back.  You realize that even after everything, he is still uncertain about his place.  Even Jisung knows where he belongs, not for a moment thinking he should leave the room, but Felix takes a step away from the bed like he intends to do just that.

You grab his hand, drawing his attention back to you.  Blonde hair falls around his face, shadowing it.  He doesn’t quite meet your eyes, gaze somewhere on your chin. 

“Felix,” you say.  His fingers tighten around yours and it feels like a question.  You answer by tugging that hand, drawing him closer.  His eyes flash gold when you drop his hand to open your robe.  This time you can hear Jisung’s sharp breath too, all laughter subsiding as you let the robe fall off your shoulders, laying yourself bare before Felix. 

He looks awed but stricken.  You can see when he swallows.  He looks at Jisung then back at you, his brow furrowing.  His lips twitch in a bid to speak but no words come.   

It would be funny, this supernatural being somehow struck dumb by you in your most vulnerable state, but your smile is more affectionate than amused.

“Felix,” you say again.  “Have you ever done something like this before?” 

He shakes his head frantically, his eyes still running up and down your body. 

“No,” he says.  “Uh, no.  No.  I can – feel something when Jisung – when you – I mean—”  He chokes on an awkward laugh, turning away for a second. 

“I fucking knew it!”  Jisung says, poking his head between the folds of the curtain.  “Bro, you’re such a liar.  I asked if you could feel when we fuck and you said no!”

“I can’t lie,” Felix replies, turning to Jisung.  He forgets to be embarrassed while arguing, very plainly and patiently stating his case.  “I told you most faeries don’t think about sex like humans and that I couldn’t be certain what you were doing, yeah?  And I can’t.  And I would have told you more but you only asked the first time and I didn’t know you were going to keep… being with her.  And I – I didn’t want to make things awkward… for you… okay?  By thinking of me every time… so I just… What are you smiling at?”  His deep voice breaks, pitching comically higher for a second. 

Jisung is smirking and nodding, just a floating head with a vague silhouetted body behind the curtain. 

“Man,” Jisung says, “you’ve been acting like a monk but secretly jacking it while we get freaky in the other room… That’s naughty.”

Felix draws his mouth into a flat line then looks at you for help.  You are trying to hold in your giggles, lips pressed tight together.  When he looks at you, you exhale, waving at Jisung to back down for a second.  He ducks behind the curtain again, giggling to himself like the menace he is. 

Fortunately, Felix is easy to distract.  All it takes is opening your legs for his all his attention to zero in there.  He swallows again. 

“Sounds like we’ve been teasing you too long,” you say, your voice drawing his eyes back up to your face.  You smile and beckon him forward.  “Come on.  Let me make it up to you.” 

He looks like he is going to deflect politely, either because he is a faerie or because he is Felix, but then you grab his robe and yank him closer.  He stumbles up to you, his fingers fluttering at his sides and his shoulders still tense.  You take one of his hands and place it on the side of your face, soothing him with another gentle smile as you unknot his robe.

He is already very hard and this seems to fluster him, but he points to the curtain and sputters, “He’s – touching—“ 

“Fuck yeah I am,” Jisung says. 

“Jisung, shh,” you say, trying not to giggle again.  “And slow down.  You’re always so impatient.” 

“Am not,” Jisung says, but you can see him lean back, folding his hands behind his head. 

You look up at Felix, holding his gaze the way you did when you sucked his fingers.  You like the way he twitches and breathes harder, the way his eyes flash, the way his jaw clenches.  His thumb curls under your jaw when your mouth slides over him.  You can’t help but moan when his whole face contorts with more natural emotion than you have ever seen from him.  His breath stutters and stops and starts, his sounds so low and guttural that you feel them inside you. 

“Oh, fuck, dude,” Jisung says, rasping.  You pull back just a little, drooling and stroking with your hand, and glancing at Jisung out of the corner of your eye.  He lifts his hips and squeezes himself over his pants.  “We were fucking torturing you, holy fuck.”   

“Mmmmrrgh,” is the approximate sound Felix makes.  His eyes are partially-lidded, his expression one of immense concentration.  He pulls your face back to him with a flick of his wrist.  Appetent and quite demanding, he leads your mouth back onto him and holds you in place to shallowly and gently fuck your mouth.  He makes a pleased sound, one of deep relief, his head lolling back and the tension leaving his shoulders.   

You let him set the pace, matching the animal instinct that overcomes him.  He stops himself when he’s close, breathing hard and stepping back.  You want to ask if he is okay, but you have to flex your jaw and your voice is momentarily shot.  Before you can find that voice, he turns to the curtain and says, “Show me what you did earlier.  I want – I want to do that too.” 

There is a quiet moment, Jisung maybe surprised at the sudden attention, but then the curtain parts and Jisung steps all the way through.  He has unbuttoned his shirt to the navel, his partially unzipped pants doing nothing to hide the bulge behind his fly.  The sight of him sets off more sparks, especially when he winks at you with all his cheeky wantonness.

Felix gives Jisung a once-over too, pushing a hand through his hair and steadying his breathing.  His features look sharper than ever, darkened with a determined resolve.  He says nothing when Jisung sweeps behind him.  Jisung wiggles his eyebrows at you while he gathers Felix’s robe and slides it off his shoulders. 

“She likes your freckles,” Jisung offers by way of explanation, smooching Felix’s freckled shoulder with a playful little mwah. 

Felix tilts his head and looks at you.  “Really?” he asks.  “I can’t fully scrub them off the glamour. I think it’s somehow your fault.”  This is aimed at Jisung.

“Everything’s my fault!” Jisung says with a great deal of pride. 

“Why would you want to get rid of them?” you blurt, showing just as much as horror as you did when meeting the cannibal faerie.   Felix without his freckles is equally abhorrent.

Felix looks at you, thoughtfully.  Firelight is flickering over the room but you do not think it is a trick of shadow when his freckles seem to darken everywhere. 

“Aw,” Jisung says.  “He’s flirting.” 

Felix looks at him with a certain degree of exasperation.  “Show me what I asked,” he says. 

“Oh, wow, okay, geez, pushy,” Jisung says, circling so he standing beside Felix.  Felix drops the rest of the robe, evidently not the slightest bit shy to be standing there naked.  Now your gaze is the roving one, jumping between them, darting upward when Jisung cups Felix’s face and turns it to him. 

“You need to turn her on first, man,” Jisung says, swaying to the playful rhythm of his own voice.  Felix follows, but his eyes narrow into judgemental slits.  Jisung seems unbothered by this, standing still, tucking some hair behind Felix’s ear.  “C’mooon,” he says, with an impatient little shoulder wiggle and a laugh.  “She likes you… she likes me… as they say… badda bing badda boom…”

“I don’t think they say that during sex,” Felix says, frowning. 

“He’s right,” you say, giggling. 

Jisung sighs and looks at you.  “No audience participation,” he says, miming a zip across his lips.  “Just sit there and look pretty, baby.  We’ll get to you.” 

Felix looks at you.  Jisung leans close to whisper in his ear.  You try to decipher what he is saying based on Felix, but all Felix does is furrow his eyebrows then look sideways at Jisung.  There is a moment of quiet, then they smile at the same time.

Felix delicately cups Jisung’s chin.

The last time you caught them kissing, it spurred only jealousy.  But that was different.  That was your childish reaction to exclusion, your own anxieties speaking over everything else.  This time, you are not outside of their connection.  You even swear you can feel the faintest tingling on your own lips when they gently come together in a feather-light kiss.   

Their hands trace similar paths, Felix’s slipping into Jisung’s pants and Jisung touching him back.  The kiss deepens until their tongues touch, then Jisung giggles while Felix grins.  They look at you at the same time.

“Go,” Jisung says, nudging Felix forward. 

They let go of each other and Felix climbs up on the bed, guiding you backwards until your head is on a pillow.  Long tendrils of blonde hair brush your cheeks. He lays over you and kisses you, pressing your head into the cushion.  Even lost in his kiss, you can sense Jisung with a fuzzy awareness.  You recognize the familiar touch of his palm, his hand gliding up your inner thigh.  Felix makes room, joining Jisung at your thighs.  You twitch with an instinctive little jerk, pushing yourself up on your elbows to look at them.  Jisung puts a finger over his lips and shushes you, smiling. 

“We got it, we got it…” he says.  He cups the back of Felix’s head and pushes his head down to your pussy. 

Felix glances up at you, then him, then down.  His eyes close and he sticks out his tongue, his expression one of the sweetest pleasure when he puts his mouth on you.   What he lacks in skill, he compensates with eagerness, messily diving in with an open mouth, licking and kissing and making a mess of himself.  Jisung threads his fingers into his hair and tugs, laughing a little. 

“Easy, easy,” he says.  He and Felix look at each other as Jisung lowers his own face.  When he puts his expert mouth on you, your head falls back, thighs parting further.  You throw your arms over your head and dig your fingers into the cushions.  You chase the rhythm of his tongue, looking down when it stops, when Felix replaces him. 

“See, look at her,” Jisung says.  Felix looks up at you.  “Just like that.” 

Then Jisung joins him.  They torturously alternate whose mouth is on you.  Jisung dives at Felix, licking across his wet lips and kissing him before returning to you.  You can hardly tell one mouth from the next, gasping under two tongues as they stroke you and each other, matching blonde heads bobbing in perfect coordination between your thighs.  It is inhumanly perfect, so harmonious that it almost agonizing.  This is how mortals lose their minds here, you think.

Eventually you are so wound up that you can’t help but cry out. 

“Oh noo,” Jisung says, very unrepentant as lays beside you.  “I think we were teasing her… That’s so mean of us, isn’t it, baby?  Huh?”  He pinches your face in his hand, cooing at you while you playfully glare.  He giggles and kisses you, your own wet desire smeared across his lips.  “You’re so wet, baby,” he says, sliding his hand down your body and over your pussy, easing his fingers through the wetness there.  When you whimper, he whimpers back in faux sympathy, pouting and nodding.  “I know, poor baby,” he says, curling his fingers inside you.

Felix’s eyes light up, watching.  He props himself up on one hand and touches you with the other.  You make a sound against Jisung’s mouth, a breathy moan as Felix slides his fingers in too.  It’s thick, that many fingers at once and so suddenly.  Your thighs jerk and you whine into Jisung’s mouth.  You see stars when you close your eyes, their fingers moving at the same time inside you.  They share a heartbeat, a rhythm, not faulting in the slightest.

For a moment, you just lay there and dizzily take it, stretched around their fingers, wet and silky hot and so turned on that you feel like you’re floating. 

“Jisung,” Felix says in his rough, deep voice.

“I know,” Jisung replies, just as hoarse.    

Their fingers leave you and Jisung grabs your throat with that same hand, slick fingers nudging your chin to look at him.  Your breath catches and you think Felix’s breath catches too. 

“That’s my girl,” Jisung says, reaching down at the same Felix reaches up, a hand on each breast, teasing the pebbled peaks.  You squirm and Jisung returns his hand to your throat, smiling at you so innocently, scrunching up his eyes with delight.  “Good girl,” he says, squeezing.  Felix gasps then moans, sucking kisses wherever his mouth lazily roams.  Jisung places those same hot kisses on your neck, each kiss landing one after the other, lighting every nerve.  Teeth and tongue lave at your skin, no doubt bruising it with each little love bite. 

“That’s it,” Jisung says, and you really start to think your human boyfriend is made of more magic than autumnal flurries.  His dark eyes sparkle in the light, his mischievous smirk lighting up his handsome face.  He is so giggly and sweet despite the dastardly torture of his hands and mouth. 

You find yourself sinking into the sensations, eyes closed, body running on instinct. 

“Felix,” Jisung says.  His hand leaves your throat, sliding down your body.  You realize he is spreading your pussy lips again, teasing as Felix pushes inside you.  It is easy now that you have taken so many fingers, but the knowledge of what is happening, of who is fucking you, makes your breath stutter and eyes open. 

“Ohh,” is the only sound you can make, watery eyes on where Felix is moving slowly in and out of you.  His brow is furrowed again, that look of concentration, then he groans and all but sprawls on top of you, fucking you with messy abandon.   Jisung thumps his head heavily onto the cushion, panting heavily, as if he was fucking you. 

“Felix, you gotta—”  Jisung says, his own face twisted up with a tortured sort of pleasure.   Felix does not listen to him, still rocking his hips with a frantic unevenness.  It feels good and crazy and wild, your head lolling to the side, a hum in your throat. 

Jisung finds the resolve to push himself up, groaning with the effort.  You watch him roughly manhandle Felix, yanking his head up to get him to concentrate.  Felix’s eyes flash gold then go dark.  His mouth is hanging open and his cheeks are flushed.  He never stops moving. 

“And you said I was impatient,” Jisung murmurs, grabbing Felix’s hips and evening out his rhythm.  You suppose it stands to reason that if Jisung is the most pussy-drunk man you have ever known, than Felix would be too.  Except Felix actually is magic, and everything about Jisung seems to multiply in Felix.  He looks completely overcome.  Then Jisung suddenly asks, “Good tears or bad?”

“Good,” Felix rasps. 

“So you wanna keep going?”

“Ye-es,” Felix hiccups, then suddenly starts crying, all the messy human-ness mixing with his confusing faerie-ness, coming together in an explosive physical and emotional mania that has him burying his face in your neck and fucking you so deep and hard that your own sniffles start. 

“Yes,” you say at the same time as him, wrapping your arms around his neck.  Jisung touches your hand, his other still guiding Felix’s hips.  Felix moans in your throat then marginally turns his head. 

“Jisung,” he says.  “I can’t—unless you—”      

Jisung very unceremoniously shoves a hand down his pants, then looks up at you and smiles. 

“Okay,” Jisung says.  He moves and Felix sinks back inside you, moaning deeply, clutching you possessively.  You hold him back as fiercely, blinking up at Jisung when kneels near your face.  “Come on, baby,” Jisung says, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip. 

“Yes,” Felix says, nodding at him and at you. 

You open your mouth, nodding at Jisung.  His pants get tossed somewhere and he removes his shirt at the same time his dick pushes past your lips.  They really do fuck with an extraordinary identicalness, perfectly matched without a word.  It is easy to fall into their rhythm, not even straining.  You feel like you were born to be here, between them, sharing them, sharing yourself with them. 

They come at the same time, Felix with his cheek pressed to yours, Jisung with his head thrown back.  They lay down on either side of you, flopping back at the same time. Felix has a completely dazed look on his face, his breath stuttering when you tuck some of his sweaty hair back.  He looks at you like he is seeing you for the first time all over again. 

All three of you exhale at once.  The resulting giggle comes in three-way unison too. 

“Wow,” Felix finally says.  “It’s much more fun like this.”

“Hell yeah,” Jisung says, holding out his fist for a bump.  You swat it down before Felix can return it.  Jisung just laughs, snuggling up to you. 

Felix also rolls onto his side. He tucks one hand under his head and touches your face with the other.  You and Jisung both look at him, his faraway stare, the way a small smile unfurls on his face.

“You’re mine now,” he says.  “Forever.  Yeah?”  It’s posed like a question but evidently it is already fact to him, or he could not say it. 

“Forever and ever,” Jisung says easily, stretching out on the royal bedsheets like he has always belonged there. 

Felix looks at you for an answer too, still smiling.  You are not as easy as Jisung, but you try hard not to overthink. 

But you remember so many stories of humans wandering in the faerie world, never seen or heard from again, the tales of their disappearances ranging from beautiful to horrifying.  You think it would be impudent to think yourself different or better than them.  They thought they were safe too. 

The question tumbles past your lips before you can think twice: 

“Your true name,” you say.  “Would you still give it to me if I asked?” 

He clearly does not expect the question.  He blinks quickly, then his gaze darts to the side.  You look there to see Jisung nodding off, already half-asleep on your shoulder.  Felix is not sleeping.  You look at him, wondering still about the sometimes contradictory depth of their connection. 

“Aren’t you tired too?” you ask. 

“A little,” he says. 

You realize he didn’t answer your other question and you open your mouth to ask again.  He kisses you, cupping your face, making a happy sound when you kiss him back.  Jisung makes his own little happy sound, sighing on your shoulder. 

“I love you,” Felix says, speaking soft and low against your lips.  He strokes the side of your face.  “I want you to stay with me forever.” 

“You’d really tell me your true name?” you ask. 

“I’d do anything for you,” he says.  “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Felix,” you say, about to say more when he kisses you again.  He smiles so big and bright, it crinkles the corner of his eyes.  

“You do,” he says.  “That’s the truth.  You love me like you love him.” 

“It’s the same but different,” you say.   “Like how you love both me and Jisung.”

He is still smiling.  He kisses the corner of your mouth sweetly.  “The same but different,” he says.  “Yes.  I understand.” 

He draws you into his arms and kisses the crown of your head, sighing a happy sigh.  Jisung curls up behind you, already fast asleep while Felix murmurs sweet love confessions at you until you fall asleep too, nestled tightly and safely in his arms.

[lovedazai]

SNOWFLAKES & MARSHMALLOWS . . . a winter evening with you makes dazai realize what he’s been missing out on.

ft. dazai + f!reader, christmas time, lots of kisses, a little suggestive for a sec

“ow, ow, ow!” dazai sticks out his burnt tongue, glaring down at your mug of hot chocolate. his big brown eyes are shimmering, lips pouty. “it’s so hot!”

“it’s mine,” you poke his forehead, and he whines your name. “are you okay?”

he puckers his lips expectantly in lieu of a response. they lift up into a smile as soon as your mouth touches his, his giggles vibrating against you. “i’m all better now.”

your fingers brush against his as you take your stolen drink back. the sip of hot chocolate was enough for something warm to settle in his stomach, but he suspects the fuzzy feeling that’s been lingering in his chest since earlier that day is because of your company.

the christmas lights draped across the street had been especially pretty on the way home, bouncing off your skin and your big eyes as you looked up at him, intertwined hands swinging in between the two of you. you had given him your scarf when you saw him shivering, reached up on your tiptoes to wrap it around him; you said you didn’t need it, that he was there to keep you warm.

he thinks you look just as pretty now, bundled beneath a blanket, your legs intertwined with his. the fake tree you insisted on getting sits in the corner, emitting a warm white light around his little dorm.

“are you sure you want to drink that?” he sighs, draping a bandaged arm over his eyes. “you could hurt yourself. i’ll sacrifice myself and drink it for you, if i must.”

the sound of your happy hum makes him peek at you, whipped cream dotted on the tip of your nose, eyes bright as you pull your mug away. “it’s so tasty!”

he cups his palm against your cheek to tilt your face towards him. he kisses the whipped cream away, but it’s nothing compared to the plush of your lips when he presses his mouth against yours; you taste sugary sweet. “i can think of something tastier.”

you let out the dreamiest sigh as he kisses you, and he swears you could melt right between his hands. he nibbles on your lower lip, trying to ignore how dizzy he feels when your tongue presses against his own. you trail your fingertips along his jaw to pull him closer, his own inching up your sides, greedily taking in as much of you as he can.

“this is the first christmas eve i haven’t been alone,” he kisses you in between sentences, lips curled into a bittersweet smile. “if i’m not careful, i might get used to it.”

“you’re going to have to,” something tugs in his chest as your hands drift to his nape, touch tender as your fingertips trail along his neck, toying with the edges where his bandages overlap. “because i’m not going anywhere.”

the pads of your thumbs feel like velvet as they trace his face, cradling him with more care than anyone else ever has. he’s starting to miss your pout, his heart fluttering at the thought of getting to kiss it off your face, and inches his hand back towards your mug.

“‘samu!” his lips part as he steals another sip of your hot chocolate, a defense already brewing as he licks the melted marshmallows off his lips. “it’s snowing!”

he blinks. he’s already so much colder when you dart away from his side, even when you leave behind the blanket and your mug is still warm in his hand.

“come here, hurry!” you smile back at him over your shoulder, bouncing on your legs like a child. you hold your hand out, grabbing for him, and he intertwines your fingers with his as soon as he’s in reach.

he slides his arms around your waist and beneath your shirt, settling them against your bare stomach. he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, peeking up just enough to see the flurries outside. against the streetlights, they almost look like they’re glowing, little stars falling down to the grass and melting away.

you look at him, eyes shining with the reflection of the tree’s lights before you gaze back outside. “isn’t it pretty?”

he squeezes your hands and nods, but his eyes are glued to your profile. “gorgeous.”

BSD MASTERLIST

[enbesbians]

‘LUMIÈRE (light)’

artistic obsessive! ellie x in love! reader

cw: knife play, obsessive! ellie, blood play, stalker! ellie, oblivious! reader, fingering (r! receiving), tribbing, nipple play if you squint

MINORS DNI

summary: ellie is an odd girl… she likes odd things and does odd stuff. her obsessiveness and possessive nature is too much to grasp but you can’t help yourself but needing a taste of her torture. her rebellion and outlook on the world was attractive, passing through every red flag she possibly had with a salty teared kiss. she was the light in a room filled of chipped paint and dirtied tile— her blade carving the prettiest of pictures that you seemed to love on the thick of your skin. ‘hang them up on the wall, let the world see… you are mine and always will be’

a/n: warning if you don’t like blood play and knife play… do not proceed. this was too much, ill admit, but i really wanted to grasp the insanity ellie has for the reader. this isn’t proofread so this might be all over the place and have a multitude of mistakes but let’s not pay attention to that… i hope you end up enjoying nonetheless. (i also made the mistake of referencing ellie’s room as yours… just forget that happened)

no one told you in the beginning ellie already knew who you were. she knew your name, she knew that you worked down the busy strip of the city where only cute little old women would buy brooches for their dresses and fluffy scarfs, she knew that you lived approximately twenty minutes away on foot and five by car. you didn’t know that you had already been drawn on many of the pages in her sketchbook before she said hello, lying saying that she drew it after the fifth ‘accidental’ meeting.

to be this oblivious was a skill and to be this good at stalking was impressive, it was like a new profound profession. ellie was good at being odd like this— she never questioned her own antics, thinking that whatever she did was in good faith. she just worked off her needs by impulse. the first time you complimented her thick brown jacket that she placed on the counter to buy, she got a real good look at you. that tired stare, forced to be kind after the repetitive small talk you’d give every customer. in some ways, she knew that it was fake— your ‘hello’ and ‘have a good day’ had nothing but boredom laced within each syllable— but she couldn’t get enough of how beautiful you were. you were a light that she needed to obtain in her darkness, so she took it upon herself to study you.

many times she’d come into the store and wouldn’t even buy anything— wearing hats and beanies and even her roommates clothes to hide the fact that it could be her but you didn’t pay attention even to the regulars who’d come almost every day. she learned your favorite kinds of music while you spoke with a coworker, she learned your favorite color and what you liked to eat after a long shift. she took mental notes and kept them in memory for as long as she could hold them.

she’d watch you from across the street, seeing how you’d struggle to lock the door during closing hours. she noticed how angry you got when it wouldn’t work or if you had left the keys inside, all to open the door’s gate and repeat each step. calculated and smart, making the first official meet seeming as though it was all coincidental, saying all the right words, mentioning all your favorite things, loving how your eyes beamed with excitement thinking that you and ellie had been similar in many ways no one else had.

the connection that built off that first meet was powerful. ellie played her cards extremely well making each encounter better than the last, her presence now seen knowing that you didn’t mind her random pop ins to your job, you encouraged it and looked forward to seeing that weird auburn haired girl and her raspy laugh.

after a few months, you took her to your house, cooking spaghetti that you had learned from the internet which ended up too bland and too watery, forgetting the bread in the oven that was now too crispy to enjoy, apologizing over and over that you had messed it up. ellie didn’t care, she adored how hard you tried to impress her. the noodles twirling against her silver fork that had flowers carved into it’s handle, rolling her tongue against her lips with eyes that showed her need of you. she took you to your bedroom, where the sauce of the pasta had vanished and replaced itself with the warm folds of your messy slit.

you’d explore the inside of her mouth, tongue tasting of beer and fingers of left over bread and parmesan cheese. her lips would explore the flower of your labia of the thump of your clit, dressing it with her sweet salvia and drunken words. she sucked your cunt deeply, fingers digging into the inner of your thighs with her nose tickling against your pubic bone. then she laid on the soft indent of your comforter, her hips fucking up into your face with conviction, hands buried in the back of your head as she moaned your name over and over again.

ellie was obsessed and so were you.

time worked on her side and the way you followed her made her feel invincible. you fell for her charm, the way she talked about art so eloquently and the expanse of her taste in music mixing in with your own, playing the stings of her new guitar she bought at the old record and instrument shop down the way. you fell for her odd way of speaking, the numerous ‘ums’ and abrupt laughs between her words. awkward and fantastical, hyper yet calm. scratching the back of her neck and picking at the skin of her nailbeds. you fell for her love for weed and the scent that carried on in her skin.

she dressed in clothes, weirdly put together, hanging off her body with its interesting style, looking on the brink of disintegration. they were distressed, faded, but put in a fashionable way that would look like utter shit on others. the peak of elastic from her boxers shown as she stretched, her toned abdomen crafted. her worn converse that seemed to be each pair she owned— black, red and blue, all reaching the end point of being at a functional wear. she made it look sexy, her rebellious and don’t give a fuck attire caught your attention. it brought you in.

she wouldn’t let anyone interfere. kindly asking who people were after you seemed a little to excited of their presence when theyd walk in the shop or if you had texted someone a little too long with a smile resonating on you lips. you found it cute, endearing even, not knowing that a ball of fury dropped at the center of her gullet. she’d find them, watch them, seeing how pretty the could be in the sight of your vision, knuckles whitening as she fought the urge to pound them in the center of their face. she wanted to watch them bleed from their noses or see the vessels of their eyes pop. she wanted to see them scared, she wanted them to know who she was and what you were to her. she hadnt though, she needed to act smart. she needed you as hers, without the interruption of any other. she asked you to be her partner in which you agreed to before she had even finished her sentence. and from then, she felt confident. she was yours and you were hers.

slowly, her true colors showed. the gentle shade of what you thought was her color was now a red. the anger she always had within came to the surface. her obsessive desire played in the form of her words and the tone of her voice and the pounds of her thrusts. she fucked you like she hated you, yelled at you like she despised you, touched you like she loved you. the fear of losing her bottled you up and made you sick to the point of missing multiple days from work, calling her over and over just for her to sit and stare at her phone as if she wanted to teach you a lesson only for her to be two buildings down. she needed to keep tabs, it was her own obligation. her questioning on your friends were now more rough and irritable, hating the smile she sought out for from first meet and only wanting it directed at her.

she took pictures, so many of them. polaroids hung on the chipped wall of her art room that she finally let you see, noticing her odd behavior and interest in you was a tad more than normal. her artwork had been of you, the blotches of blues, reds and yellows implementing how she felt in that very moment her brush slashed the canvas. it would’ve been smart to stop whatever was happening between you both but you were too far gone. you couldn’t get enough of her. she was just that good… just that additive… just that possessive. she owned your mind and your body and all the red flags that screamed for release had been scribbled away by the dull tip of her sketching pencil.

you said sorry so many times and she yelled… so many fucking… times.

her fingers vibrating deep into your cavern, it’s tips prodding devilishly in your walls, grunting all the names of people who called you pretty, telling you that you were hers and hers only. her tongue slivered down into your throat, singing her sensual cry as she pleaded you to never leave. ellie was a piece of work, and you couldn’t find all the pieces to her shattered vase but you still tried to tape it all together instead of using glue. she was too stubborn, too headstrong to be controlled, to be tamed.

you fell in love with her nonetheless. framing her devotion to you like a golden plaque. you loved how her pupils dilated when she stared at you, no matter how angry or how lustful they may have looked. she asked you why you were so happy even though her face stood at a permanent scowl, though she had a shadow rimming around her aura, red like crimson, hot like hell, you’ve fallen for the landscape of the scattered freckles that dotted on her cheeks and down her neck. it was bittersweet, the push and pull and dull ruinous bickering of unwarranted jealousy. you spoke like broken lovers, bodies in a celestial light fated to be doomed if only you hadn’t been so blind.

the collision of her character had you in an awe, not wanting to miss a second of hypocrisy knowing that if she told you her eyes color was brown though they were green, you’d believe her. you yearned to be close to her, trusting her rage as if that was what love was. no one has ever made you feel as alive as she had. no one made you feel as pretty as she did. you’d think of the times she made love to you, her legs intertwined with yours as her cunt rolled down onto yours, lips feathering around your ankle as she moaned her addiction towards you. you gave into her, bucking your hips into hers, needing her warmth as close as possible, needing to be inside her flesh and wear it like that brown coat she bought the first time she locked eyes with you. you were enticed with her spanks and the sting that lingered against your flesh. how her nimble fingers clenched around your throat, growling at how good your pussy felt and how pretty you looked wearing fear and arousal. you were infested with the hallucinations of her far from perfect personality, hearing the misplaced strings and untuned guitar— no matter what she played and how she played it, it felt right. she was perfect.

one argument led to separation, planned successfully as she distanced herself for weeks in which you thought was the final end. all messages that were scent had been read from her, as well as every call was denied. she thought you were fucking your coworker— the busty older woman who often brought cookies, calling all youthful people ‘baby’ as a welcoming gesture. she saw how she touched your shoulder and how you giggled at her jokes. her jaw clenched and her eyebrows stayed knitted as she thought of the worst even though in the back of her mind she knew how pathetically in love you were with her.

you missed her and you wanted her. you missed the smell of her college, the stench of weed and the sight of her breasts and how they fit so perfectly in your hands. you missed her smile and her boyish style of clothes you’d hold onto in the dead of the night.

she gave in, asking you to come over since her roommate was going to be gone for the weekend to stay over a family’s house for something she didn’t mention. you agreed a second after you viewed the text, pleading your manager to leave early that worked in your favor.

it was cold in her apartment, the thin white curtains washing like a quiet wave against the glow of the sun that sunk through— it’s beams coloring the floor orange and yellow like one of her gouache palettes. no light had been turned on, relying on the autumns afternoon sunset to bounce off the depth of her cheeks and the green of her irises. she exhaled a heavy breath and then came a thin film of bitter smoke escaping from her nostrils, brushing at the upper of her lip. you stared at her, inhaling it’s stench you hated but loved coming from her. your eyes glassy as you felt this would be the absolute end of what you and ellie had transpired and what ellie planned all along.

“so.” she sighed, “ya gonna tell me why you look like you’re about to cry?” her voice deep and empty of empathy, yet it sounded so sexy the way it croaked from her throat.

“i don’t want to lose you.” you choked, nearly letting the tear fall down your cheek.

“stop fucking up.”

“im trying.” you admitted, not knowing what you should do or what could’ve been done to prevent her from being so angry.

“you’re mine you know that? all those people who try can’t get to you. do you understand that?” her body now turning towards you. strand of her auburn hair running in between her eyes, “no one has what you and i have… no one can take that away… they don’t have the chance, the willpower, the ability to be me and anyone who has any fragment of what i am. im the only one you need… im the one who loves you. who can fuck you better than any woman could ever… face it. i know you know it.”

you stared at her, eyes staggering as you gulped every word she spat which felt like a lump struggling to be let down. her words was harsh and rough like a midwinter breeze. she was so beautiful to you, your pupils must’ve formed hearts knowing that ellie viewed you in a way that made you feel like a prize. it was true, she was better than any girl you’ve ever been with— she kissed you and no matter how long you’ve been without, you could taste the mint chapstick left over the skin of your lips.

“im all yours… no one else’s.” you breathed, “only yours ellie.” loving the way her voice sounded in your cry.

her unoccupied hand slid against your burning hot cheek. she kissed you. the lust that was now heightened is so desperately trying to be held with a simple press of lips. such an innocent kiss, with now her lips moving and yours following. sounds of cupped kisses as your lips shyly mold in with one another— her head tilting to it’s side, nose tickling against the side of yours. it picked up its pace, drowning in the movement of her tempo, finding yourself in the center of her bed.

your body quivered involuntarily under ellie’s touch, hovering you with her toned arms beside your head. the familiar bliss of her invading your personal bubble taking you by complete astonishment, a pleasant one at that. your tongue swirled around in her mouth, tasting the bitter flavor left on her taste buds, her mouth with much more expertise and experience, you’d known she was a woman of many hidden talents— your mind was fuzzy and floating to a graceful blur as your oxygen wholly snatched itself from your lungs. pulling away momentarily, an obvious string of saliva connected both of your swollen lips as eyes met, she was about to speak again yet found no need in words when the language of your bodies expressed the heat of this very moment too perfectly. she licked your lips, like a cat steadily lapping water, inhaling the bottom of your lip heating the familiar hum of her moan.

each suck, she looked at you, studying the way your lashes flickered open, chest heaving as she gave you a look of massive incredulity whilst shaking her head as a small fit of giggles escaped her mouth, silently snaking her hand around your throat. her knee pressed in between your legs, grinding down at it’s jean as her lips feathered yours, watching you roll your hips.

“such a pretty baby…” she murmured.

infested with carnality, day and night. ellie’s mind couldnt escape; as if it was the horrid and angry deep sea, crashing against the softness of the hot sand, in need of something to fix prurience, her wants which was you. to be fair, it was noticeable how you both operated whenever with each other. you wanted her just as badly as she wanted you. anyone could just sense it, feel it, cut it in the thickening air of their razor nails. the body languages, the way you both spoke, the way your eyes stared extreme intent.

“ellie…” you purred, hand riding along the dip of her shoulder blade, hands finding its way in her warm strands.

she called your name back.

the tingling sensation rose within your body, almost electrifying your whenever you heard your name being called from those pretty pale red lips. just thinking about her got you so worked up— altering her breathing, letting it become staggered and desperate.

she drew her eyebrows together at any given second you felt pleasure from her knee as if she could feel what you felt. just from your voice alone made her want to pin you down, even through the phone at every nightly phone call whenever she wasn’t angry, or when you both met… it took everything in her to tame herself and not pounce onto you. yet her eyes didn’t lie— how they looked at a squint, with a devilish dark aura, taking in each and every time you’d fumble over your words which made her blush a bright shade of red.

the air was hot and heavy despite the chill from the window, “ride it..” she grunted, moving along your grinds, feeling the heat weave through your pants onto hers. she’d slip in words she knew you’d like, calling you her ‘good girl’ from time to time. it never failed to make you shrivel up. ‘so pathetic’, she thought, enjoying you and your weak ability to hold yourself together around her. how would you manage if she used you as a plaything, diving deep into her demented mind and make you body feel disgusting as well as beautiful. would you be ready for that? she’s already given you a taste.

“you… make me… want to use you, like you’re nothing… but fuck you like you’re everything.” the words coming out slurred and meaningful. her eyes gulping the color of your eyes. she moved her body, you whining at the empty feeling of her knee. leveling her face at your legs, she pressed kisses starting at your ankle and to your knee, moving her lips as her tongue would peak through, letting spit form and absorb in your jean until she reached your waist.

“please…” you whimpered, a smile curling at her lips, fingers making its way to undo the clasp of your pants, yanking it down which made you gasp at the sudden movement. she continued her kisses, the cold inhale of her breath washing against your skin as she pressed her lips at the lining of your underwear, to your thigh and down your calf before she ran her tongue up again meeting with the fabric of your shirt.

she pressed her face into your stomach, raising her head as it dragged all the way up your torso, inhaling the sweet smell of your detergent as well as the soap that coated your skin, until she found your neck, taking a bite without much warning— feeling the flesh sink between the spaces in her teeth. ‘so soft’, she thought, letting her lips latch and suck roughly, as she used her unoccupied hand to pull your body closer to her, resting herself in between your legs once again. her tongue rippled and rolled against the aching bitten part of your neck, popping herself off before she pressed a kiss at the hem of your ear, “am i allowed to whatever i want with you?” she whispered, raising the same joint towards her mouth and inhaling it, pressing more kisses at the side of her face, allowing its smoke to slip through each release. “am i allowed to mark you, bruise you… use my fingers to fuck you? can you be my little bitch, princess?”

“do everything to me ellie…”

her eyes dilated, feeling her stomach drop at hearing her name being called yet again. something about it, drove absolutely her mad and it only was because of your voice— so gentle and sweet, whining out for her, calling out to her. oh were you not the cutest little thing she’s ever seen. you was her meat, the body that will now feel the pain and pleasure of her love, slinging you around like a dumb little doll.

cocking an eyebrow, her face glared at you, as if she hated your guts which wasn’t the case. images popped in her head of many ways she can fuck you up, to turn this ‘innocent’ being into a sobbing mess. this was the opportunity she yearned for, and possibly you did to.

the contrast from her just staring at you to her hurriedly hanging the joint at her lips, sliding her hand into her pants pocket and grabbing you by the throat, turning you around and yanking you into her embrace. your back against her chest with the hand that was on your throat, now in her pocket, coming out with a shiny object in hand— it was a pocket knife, made of real silver, etched with thorns and roses at its wooden handle. she placed it in front of your face, hearing the loud sound as her thumb allowed its blade to show, “so much trust in me… you could be in danger you know.” her joint dangling as she spoke, smoke puffing at almost each word while her body pushes closer into yours.

“i could really hurt you, you know?” her voice dark, demented and laced with a smile, the tip of the blade now at your neck, pressing it into your skin, just enough to feel it’s point but not go through the first layer of your skin. “…but look at you, such a dumb… pretty little girl, wanting me to fuck you, like you’re worth nothing but the dirt underneath my shoes.” it came clear, by the sound of her voice that it was full of hunger, the deep breaths in between her words, the groan that vibrated in her throat, her hips, grinding against your backside.

she dragged the knife down, gasping at the indention of your skin from the blade, wondering how you’d react if a bead of blood were to splash on the silver blade and run down your neck, as if a beast bit you. she knew how much you idolized her and she took advantage of that.

abruptly, she let the side of her blade rest at the bottom of your jaw, making you lift your head a little higher, maybe as a reflex or a safety mechanism— either way it didn’t matter. taking the joint from her lips and cooing in your ear, making your body sway left and right, hearing the awkwardly loud shift in clothes rubbing against each other.

“you’re mine.”

you breathed heavily, not knowing that ellie had this side to her. maybe you’ve always seen it. the way she fucked you in the past was some reflection towards it. she had this glimmer of danger that rose your orgasm to serendipity.

“say it.” she whispered, her nose dragging along your cheek, sighing out a moan. “say. it…”

“im yours…” you exhaled.

“no… no no no… louder. say it… say it louder.” her words breathless, letting open mouthed kisses to gently press onto your skin.

“im yours ellie!”

she wanted your underwear off, loving how quick you were to obey. she decided to help you a little by quickly using her knife and angling it with its cloth, slicing its side and letting the loud sound of her blade fill the quiet room, exposing your cunt, having her blade rest yet again at your neck.

“mmh… what a good girl.” laughing sinisterly. she began to draw lightly with the blade with some pressure on the flesh of your neck, before she pushed the tip a little harder into your skin, seeing a pretty bubble of ruby crimson form. she tended to it quick, seeing the blood run so prettily down your soft skin as she latched her lips onto it, sucking sloppily. you tasted so sweet, just as she imagined. pulling back she had slight remnants of your blood against her lips, with the slow run of the blood form at the small pierce at your neck.

“why must every part of you taste so good? do you know why, princess…? answer me… you know i love your voice… i could… i could just cum hearing it.” her face still close to your neck, spreading her tongue onto the wound again and letting it drag up your skin to your cheek, mixing your blood and her spit. “don’t worry, ill fuck you fairly quickly, i just like to play with my treasures, that’s all.”

you didn’t know if it was the nerves or the fact that she had full advantage of your body but something made you close your eyes shut and prepare yourself for what was about to happen. you were ashamed to admit how excited you were and how you’d let her do anything she wanted even if she were to hurt you more than she already did. ellie intimidated you. you felt as if you made one wrong move, she’d ruin you and you were willing. arousal and fear is what coursed through your body and you craved more. you’ve never felt so alive, the adrenaline puddling all throughout.

her taunting words went straight to your head went your clit. you were in pure bliss. you kept backing your hips against her crotch loving how she rutted against your ass. you felt like a needy whore and it made your gut bubble with embarrassment.

letting go of your body, she witnessed how weak you were as you fell down onto the bed. the steps of her shoes colliding with the floor as she walked around the perimeter of the bed, inhaling her loved smoke, watching you, grinding into the bed’s comforter like an art piece in a gallery. she laughed, a playful type giggle that made her throw her head back and bend at the knees until she met with your face, “oh baby… look at you… i barely touched you and you already look… like… this.” pointing at you with the knife, twirling it by it’s handle.

“i dont… it’s cause… youre… you’re…”

“awe baby… you’re stuttering… ellie doesn’t understand you, speak up. i know how loud you can get… come on pretty, speak up for me. use those lips like you use them to suck on my clit…”

leveling at eye contact, she inhaled and blew the hazing smoke at your face, extending her tongue and pressing its burning end against it, hearing it sizzle out. flicking it somewhere in the room. she still held her tongue out, showing the left over ash on it before swallowing. gripping your head, she yanked it from where it lay, your lips already ajar, abruptly spitting her marijuana taste into your mouth. “you look pretty disgusting.” the last word coming out as a snarl.

“isn’t this room so pretty…” her eyes scanning around listening to your whimpers, “maybe we should paint it red?” broadcasting the same knife that she used her before. “lay on your back.” you listened.

with her now in front of your knees, without a thought she pressed the blade against your thigh, letting its tip prod at your skin, running it down but not too deep, she always remembered that. blood started to pour from its light mark and she immediately started to kiss it, her lips coating themselves with a more pigmented color. she sucked as if he was hungry, savoring the sweet and metallic taste of your blood. using her other hand, spreading your legs further apart and seeing your wet slick expand and bubble.

the blade now barely glazing your skin, fell at your crotch, pressing it against your clit as she drew it up and down, your eyes withering at how cold the blade had been. “do you see that?” she laughed, seeing how your slick started to coat the silver.

she pressed a kiss from the mark of your all the way up onto your pubic bone as she stared at you with amusement, taking the knife away and setting it down beside you on the bed. your body twitched and turned, the tingling sting from your neck and thigh throbbing and wrapping it’s pain in a form of pleasure.

“what fun would it be, if i were the only one to taste?” she crawled on top of you, hand first pressing onto the seeping blood at your thigh, letting it slide against you. her fingers lightly covered, pressing the pads of them to your lips in which you wrapped your mouth around. it was gentle, sucking them in a bobbing motion as you took in your own taste— one that ellie fell drunk for. she couldn’t help herself, the view of you was too much, she let her lips press against yours in an opened mouth kiss, her tongue prodding it’s way into your mouth— she moved her lips slowly, humming a sweet hum into your throat. she never wasted a second to devour you within a kiss, using her time to play and tease you.

pulling back she saw the strings of spit connect both of your swollen lips, admiring at the fact that you didn’t interject her ways. you’re so pretty, she admired you, patting your face with loving stroke before slapping your cheek without a say, her moans mixing in with your shock. “oh god i love the way you react to me.”

she loved to see how you took her infliction— the facial expression, the sounds, any source of feedback, she’d take and cherish. with the way that your body talked to her, it showed how weak you allowed to portray yourself. your body spread and sunken into the puffed comforter. the sound of her breathing, in need of air but too focused on the richness of the blood and spit that smeared on your lips. her tongue tasting sweet with its intoxicating spit, sucking viscously on the flesh of your bottom lip, pulling it back.

“you’re insane…” your words wore heavy on her ears, unable to hide the smile that formed on her lips. the sound so small, weakened but clear. you was turned on and your slick seeped out from your cavern. you gave the same look with those bright doe eyes just like the first time ellie sucked your pussy. those pretty eyes stared and pierced her right in her chest. with your ability to take the pain that you were receiving, continuing to let her destroy you, that gave her the feeling of pure delight, fueling her egotistical mindset that settled itself with anger, desire and eroticism. her body burned, like the room had set itself on fire and it’s flame feathering against her skin— your body heat and hers combining into one making beads of sweat litter her forehead.

“oh… i know.” admitted that at times she indeed was. ellie was one to fall deep when it came to pleasuring activities, and most of the time it’s focused in a conjoined thing, other times only purely for your enjoyment— wanting you to concave into her submission, believe her stalkerish ways was natural and that whatever she did was right, not wrong.

the use of her knife and how deep she let it cut, she knew that the scar would stay longer than it should. the bite on your neck will bruise with a pretty mixture of deep shades red while your body would paint itself with delicate darkened browns from the force of her hands grabbing and slapping. you were now her canvas— an artist starved for her creation, her light, her venus.

the dark haired woman lifted herself up, her body now situated between your spread legs as she took a good look at the figure that lay before her.

fear. want. dread. attraction. panic. admiration.

oh yes, this is she wanted, this is what she wanted to see. “my pretty girl, my stupid little bitch.” her voice playful like a drunken woman full of giggled joy. taking off her shirt, she exposed her top half, her hardened nipples poking from her small breasts. she started to take off both her jeans and boxers which then showed her full body. her wet slick dripping slowly from her, dribbling down her leg, as her clit twitched.

“are you ready for me, angel? do you want my pussy against you?” she asked. you nodded. “i want to make your pussy so sloppy… feel it squirt… or maybe even cream against my clit. i want to hear it baby, will you let me? hmm…? is this pussy mine? is this pretty cunt mine?”

you could see the hair sticking to her forehead and the sides of her neck, the tips of her fingers rubbing up in between your folds. you gasped, hands holding onto the sheets, lifting your head as you looked at the way the veins bulged prettily at her hand and forearm.

“my pussy is yours…”

“that’s a good girl..” her slapping your pussy, purposefully aiming for her clit, the sting rummaging through your body. “im going to fill you up and make you so full of cum it’ll make you go brain dead.”

the beat of her heart, pounding against her chest and her fingers twitched against your cunt, gathering spit and letting its liquid fall down on it. the amount of eagerness ellie had was considerably concerning. at any given moment, she would probably pass out from the adrenaline— like her insides were overworking themselves, and that was proof it wasn’t going to die out any time soon.

she slapped it again, her spit splattering. “oh baby… look at how cute your pussy is when i slap it… how it moves.” in awe at how it jiggled cutely, slapping again and again, watching your wet cunt shake. “my pretty pussy… look at it…fu…ck…” her voice staggering as he pulled up your clit head with her thumb and letting strings of spit fall down onto it, mixing itself with your juices.

her unoccupied fingertips pressed themselves in her thighs, sliding them down just enough for a little of his nail to scrape against the blood coated flesh. the hand placed at your cunt found it’s way into your opening, starting with one, then a second. her wrist tightened as she thrusted up into you, your back arching at the pace she went. your pussy squelched, it’s sound loud and disgusting. the sounds of your moans bounced against the bedroom walls, feeling her fingers being gripped each time she’d thrust them outwards.

“come on baby… feel me.” she grunted.

she didn’t stop, she couldn’t stop. her knuckles deep, her fingers curled, hungry in the bliss that she shared. the quickening of your orgasm greeted you with intensity, your toes curling as your stomach hallowed at every moan. “it feels so good… it feels so good… it feels so fucking good.”

the tips of her curling fingers rutting at your good spot, your body tensing at how she abused your pussy so good, a warm wash fell at the start of your insides then all over your body as you squeezed yourself against her fingers, a splash of your squirt pooling and falling every time her fingers fell outward, “squirt on my fucking fingers baby, that’s a good fucking girl.” it fell everywhere, staining the bed with a light white ring wrapping around her knuckles.

slipping her fingers out, she quickly placed them in her mouth, sucking the leftover cum you gifted her as your body shook from its orgasm.

she didn’t wait, she didn’t care to. her bottom half hovered yours, a leg wrapping above your thigh as she angled her cunt on top of your sloppy one. whirling her hips around, she felt the flowery skin of your labia and clit kiss hers, a loud guttural moan escaping her mouth.

her hips moved, grinding against your cunt with conviction as your body jerked with each movement. you loved this, how nasty you felt at all the liquids that had been mixed all over your skin.

she grabbed the knife that lay lonesome on the bed, grabbing your shirt as she let it pierce through, gripping it and tearing it apart just to see your breasts that she loved so much. the point of the blade cascading lightly over your nipples and stomach, loving it’s gleam that reflected off your skin. she angled it at your lips, brushing it as you moaned against it, “lick it.”

carefully, you ran your tongue along it’s side, sliding in your mouth and letting it reappear as you pulled back. ellie groaned, a monstrous one that made her feel like her insanity was one with yours. you did it without question. the danger of her hips fucking up into yours, taking her knife as if it had been her fingers, cleaning the small dried blood that rested at its point.

“goddamn.” ellie breathed, moving herself to now her face and body was angled just above you, your legs spread and her lower half squatting. her thrusts rippled, the flesh of your clit and the poke of your bud colliding with hers as the knife now aimed at the underside of your neck. “fuck im gonna cum, let me fill your pussy baby… feel it… take it… fuck... fuck!” she announced, the pit of her stomach fuzzed as she squeezed the pleasure from her lower half, a spray of her squirt gushing from where you both connected.

“oh fuck!” you cried, shaking at the overstimulation and the wetness of her squirt, the wet pounds of her cunt mixing in with the hungry moans you both let out.

it didn’t take long for another orgasm to form, her hand gripping your cheeks as she made you watch her speak in the form of her moans. your eyes rolled back, the sting of knife pressing slightly deeper as you lay limp, cumming once again. “good girl… good fucking girl, cum on my pussy… just like that.”

it last long, unable to grasp the fact that it felt so good. “i love cumming…” you cried pathetically, “i love how you make me cum…”

“good endure it…” her hips now slowing itself down. she set the knife beside you both, pressing her lips against your moaning one’s, “you’re mine. your body… it shows that now… look it all the marks ive given you..”

“im yours ellie… only yours.”

“good girl.”

[bunnyreaper]

guy fawkes/bonfire night with the 141

(mild nsfw/18+, mostly fluffy though)

as the resident demolitions expert, you best believe johnny has that shit on lock. he refuses to go to an organised display because he just knows he can do way better. his job gives him the expertise and access to anything he might need (and ghost secretly helps him assemble anything else if they need to skirt the law just a lil)

he ends up with a massive cache of intricately rigged up fireworks all perfectly timed--johnny had been planning it on and off for half the year, working on preparing for all of october and pulling late nights leading up to november 5th.

he bonds/flirts with you by begging you to help him a little with the set up. of course you don't really know enough to help, but you hold things for him, give him encouragement and listen to his excited rambles after you make sure to ask questions to get him going.

when the big night finally comes, he's setting off remote detonators with glee, pulling you into his body as the two of you watch the display. you get lost watching the sparkle in his eyes--both his passion and the flurry of sparkling explosions.

the sex that night is even more frantic than usual, johnny filled with excitable energy after watching all the blasts.

simon is in charge of the bonfire and is very territorial about it. starts collecting huge amounts of wood early on and setting it all up in the field behind the barracks. the whole thing is stacked PERFECTLY, structurally sound as fuck and to go up in a barrage of flames.

he'd love to make "guys" to set up on the bonfire, leaning into his goofy side. some of them have masks just like him, some of them have printed out faces as your enemies, one of them has hastily sewn in features that look a LOT like soap... but simon swears it's just coincidence when the scot loses his mind looking at it.

he's happy you have to quietly tag along as he sets up, and occasionally indulges you in chat as the two of you carry piles of wood back and forth. of course he keeps jokes for the occasion in his back pocket.

on the night he lights the fire, steps back and admires his work as he hugs you from behind, cradling you as he rests his head on the top of yours and the two of you listen to the crackle of flames as they lick up the sides of the structure. as the night goes on, his hands start to wander over your body and his lips find their way to your neck, making you burn hotter than the fire did.

john is on general dad duty ensuring safety, but more importantly he's pn hot chocolate duty. his recipe is a special one (and yes there's a bit of whiskey in there of course) passed on from his mother and his grandmother.

he's insistent on everyone having a thermos filled with it, to keep you warm and to enjoy the start of winter properly. of course while handing out the flasks he tells stories of bonfires he saw as a kid.

he invited you along with him while he worked in the kitchen, allowing you to be the only one to know about his secret addition to the drink (you'd giggled and encouraged him to add more, as well as making him do a shot as he prepared the other drinks).

the two of you had a blast shoving the whipped cream can into the thermos to fill it up with the topping--and price had definitely squirted some on your face.

he also put you in one if his oversized jackets, wrapped a scarf around you and made sure you were covered in layers of clothes and hats and gloves. he didnt want you getting cold even for a split second. the coat smells just like him as he leads you out into the field hand in hand, his other holding a bag with your hot chocolate filled thermos' in.

when you make it back to your room after all the festivities, he makes sure to warm you up properly, pinning you to the bed making you feel drunker than the whiskey-filled beverage did.

kyle takes point on setting up a cozy space for you all, but especially for you. he knows exactly what he has in mind to make the night just perfect for you. he sets up a little lean-to or two, lays down a picnic spread and fills it with all the warmest and comfiest blankets and cushions for you to lounge on. he strings dimmed fairy lights across the top, lays some lanterns around the outside and creates the most enchanting little set up imaginable.

he does it all because he knows it'll make your night, your month, your year. yes the guys will be there two but this is all for you, because he knows something so pretty and aesthetic and cozy will make your heart so happy.

he makes sure to help you snap photos of the comfy space, making sure the memory is never forgotten, but mentions that he has one final thing before you all get comfortable and wrapped up in the blankets.

he has a stack of sparklers waiting for you, as he knows they're one of your favourite parts of the occasion. two two of you take cute photos with the sparklers, with kyle showing you how to make the trail show up by giving the shot a long exposure time, of course the two of you draw hearts together.

later on when you're cuddled up, maybe his hand sneaks under the blanket and finds your clit, making sure you really see sparks.

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, fwb with feelings

— General info: 18+, modern AU, one-shot, smut, fluff

— Summary: Everyone is suspicious that Eren Jaeger has a secret girlfriend or at least a new body. What they don’t know is that his secret affair is with you.

— Content warnings: nsfw, vaginal sex, handjob, light bondage, femdom if you squint (Eren likes being tied up), role switch, mentions of drunken make out, vaginal fingering, mutual pining.

— Notes: I haven't written smut for Eren in a while, but here you go. Happy reading, bubs!

Links: Read on AO3 |  Masterlist

Or at least a secret person who's kept him from overwhelming you with his flirty attitude and incessant date proposals. The change in his demeanor was obvious from the start. Your friends noticed it right away.

Eren Jaeger has a secret girlfriend.

Overnight, he simply stopped trying to persuade you into going out with him.

If anything, this shift in dynamics brings peace to your group. Nobody has to put up with Eren's cringey pick-up lines and you seem more relaxed than ever now that Eren's off your back.

You've always made it clear to him that you just want to be friends, yet that's never stopped him from shamelessly insisting how great you'd be together if you just gave him a chance. But now that he's no longer waking his friends’ second-hand embarrassment by forcing them to watch him get rejected over and over again — they have to give you credit, you've remained incredibly patient — the only explanation is that he's spontaneously over his crush, or he's found someone else to fixate on.

Whichever the case is, he's awfully secretive about it. Nobody has met her and he hasn’t even mentioned a name. All they know is he has a goofy grin when the group splits at the end of your get-togethers and he rushes to his confidential rendezvous. But perhaps that's for the better. If he's not talking about it, then it means whichever poor girl he's lured in isn't a ploy to make you jealous.

As your weekly poker night comes to an end after everyone has come down from their weed-induced high — it's your turn to host — and everyone takes on a different task to tidy your living room, Eren is especially quick to wash glasses and finish off everyone's self-assigned duties so goodbyes can be bid sooner.

Everyone heads out the door and into their cars to drive back home.

Eren lingers in front of your house, as his hands fumble around his glove compartment long enough for his friends to disappear from view. With one last glance over his shoulder, he hurries back up the steps to your front door and eagerly knocks a coded beat.

When the door cracks open, you're looking up at him with a neutral expression.

“I think I forgot my lighter,” he grins.

With a roll of your eyes, you pull him inside by his shirt and shut the door.

A short while later, Eren's wrists are tied to the bed with a silk scarf and he does his best to resist the urge to thrust into your hand, as you jerk him off at the laziest pace you can manage. His torso is littered with the searing sensation left by your lips when you kissed down to his V line minutes earlier.

Eren's bare chest rises and falls heavily as he watches himself grow big enough that your thumb can no longer reach your fingertips.

A soft mewl leaves his lips when your thumb brushes over the head of his cock, the gentle friction sending a tickle up his spine and causing his nipples to harden.

“When can I tell our friends we're together?” he asks, admiring the black lace set that adorns your body. The thin straps of your thong disappear into the crease of your thighs as you rest on your calves before him. He hasn't pointed it out, afraid it might embarrass you if he did, but he's noticed you've gotten into wearing sexier pieces of lingerie as the weeks have gone by.

He didn't mind the plain cotton underwear from the first time you pulled him aside to tell him you'd give him one night and no more — pink bikini cut panties with a little bow at the front— but he's not complaining about your recent style evolution, either.

You raise a quizzical eyebrow.

Eren barely acknowledges your expression, but clarifies anyway in between shallow breaths.

“O-or… you know just t-tell them that we're sleeping together.”

Your lips tug into a smile.

“You want them to know you like being tied up and jerked off by me?”

An airy chuckle leaves Eren's lips as his head falls back against the pillow.

“Yeah… I kinda do,” he shyly admits, blinking up at you through half-lidded eyes.

After the first night you spent with Eren, when you drunkenly made out in his car and you let him finger you to an orgasm after poker at Armin's, you assumed he'd get bored and just move on. His tireless flirting always seemed like more of a joke with how juvenile he was about the matter.

Eren was known to be loyal to none else than the bachelor life, always having fun but never settling down. He went from to girl to guy, to girl again. He wasn't careless about it, but he wasn't one to get attached to his fleeting partners more than he should, either. You weren't a prude, but you learned long ago that sleeping with friends can be messy, which is why you spent months rejecting him countless times. Besides, you'd feel a bit hurt if he just saw you as one more person to conquer.

But one too many shots of tequila two months ago pushed you into a spiral of lust and hazy thinking. Suddenly, giving into Eren's advances didn't seem too bad. And considering you kissed him first, you could at least say you had some power over how you felt about it all. You wouldn't get attached, and you wouldn't expect more than you knew he could offer. It'd just be a friend helping a friend get off.

Only it didn't stop there. Eren stopped by your house the following morning to confess his feelings. It wasn't the first time Eren admitted to liking you, but it was the first time he was so earnest when pronouncing the words.

You remained skeptical. Even now, when he tries to get your opinion on revealing your relationship to your friends, you hesitate. Suddenly, you're oblivious to the pounding in your chest each time he flashes his boyish grin at you, or when he shudders under your touch and you have to hold back from viewing him through a romantic lense. Suddenly, you ignore the fact that he hasn't even talked to anyone else since that night in his car or that he's adamant about repeating how much he likes you each time he gently wipes you clean of his cum. Suddenly, you can't recall the lengthy periods you've spent browsing lingerie, thinking a little too hard about what Eren might like. Suddenly, you're clueless to the absurdly obvious that somewhere along the way, you've developed feelings for Eren and his have only gotten stronger.

“So?” he breathes, a lazy crooked smile plastered on his face.

Your hand pauses as you lean forward to kiss his cheek.

“You're cute,” you smile.

Eren blushes profusely as you pick up your movements, your hand more firm this time as it strokes his cock.

With your free hand, you unclasp your bra with agile movements, letting the delicate cups of black lace fall from your breasts and the straps to glide off your shoulders.

Eren bites back a whimper as his gaze wanders over your pert nipples.

“What was that?” you tease, giggling once Eren throws his head back like you knew he would. You soften your hold on his cock, which elicits another whimper from the helpless figure before you.

“You're getting meaner these days,” Eren mumbles as he returns his gaze to you. “Come on,” he begs, bucking his hips upwards to accentuate his pleading. “Touch me, please.”

A sigh of relief falls from his lips when your hand wraps around his length once more, your thumb brushing over his tip with a ghostly touch that has shivers running down his spine.

He connects with your gaze, refusing to peel his focus from you even when a particular stroke makes him hiss and his eyebrows upturn in pleasure. It's a matter of willpower, to not come undone before he even gets the chance to bury himself inside you.

His eyes shimmer at the image of you bending forward to trace your hardened nipples with his tip. Your nipple brushes with exquisite friction over the slit of his urethra. It sends a pleasant tingle through your chest and has him releasing shuddered breaths, breaking the dam of his mental prowess as warm cum bubbles and leaks from the tip, trailing down his length and pooling in the crevices between him and your hand.

There's no use in toughing it out anymore. You stroke him more fervently, kindly prolonging his high as he thrusts into your hand, his hips clumsy and his whimpers broken as he struggles with his restraints.

Your hand grows sticky as it slathers his release over his length, his cock still hard even after the last of the creamy white ropes finish spurting from his tip.

When you look up at him, he's got a lazy grin on his face and his eyes shimmer as they watch you adoringly. He'll never not be fascinated by how hard it is to hold back when it comes to you. But he tries his best, and it's earned you plenty of hours worth of fun.

You smile back as you press his hips against the mattress before straddling him. His breath hitches when he realizes you're preparing to lower yourself onto his cock.

Your fingers hook under your thong, tugging the fabric to the side as your free hand strokes him before he gets a chance to soften — as if that were possible; the man gets hard just by looking at you. Carefully, you line him up with your entrance and lower yourself in measured movements. Your brow furrows in concentration, your eyes closing as you replay a visual in your head of his length making its way inside you.

A pleasant burn comes from sinking onto him without much preparation beforehand, but the slick gathered between your folds from watching him writhe under your touch eases any discomfort.

“Easy, baby,” Eren murmurs, admiring the way his cock gradually stretches you open and disappears into you until you're flush against his pelvis.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips, your features softening once he's fully inside. It's been a while since you and Eren started exclusively sleeping with each other, and it only gets better each time he carves your insides to be his perfect fit. You've never felt so full, both physically and emotionally.

“Do all the people who've been on this bed get to spend the night?” you teasingly asked the first time he invited you to stay over at his place.

Eren smiled as he continued twirling a lock of your hair between his fingers, his chest still reflecting his heavy breaths as his efforts to make you cum twice that night caught up to his body.

“You're the first.”

You never expected Eren to be so tender. Even when you decided to explore new things together, there was always a moment where he'd just look at you and smile, infecting you with his amusement that ultimately ended with a shared laugh as you collapsed onto bed beside him, or further teasing which led to the most mind-blowing orgasms.

You stir your hips slowly, getting used to the feeling of him inside you. Eren can only admire from below as your hands fix themselves on his stomach and you start to grind against him.

A lazy crooked grin stretches across his face as he watches your brow furrow in concentration when you're finally comfortable enough to raise your hips and sink back onto him, grinding your clit onto his pelvic bone as you do. Your movements are sharp and measured as your arousal continues to build up and a series of pretty moans climb up your throat.

Your tits bounce to the beat of your skin slapping against his, offering Eren the most perfect view as he grows frustrated with the pink silk scarf that's keeping him from playing with the soft mounds.

“Eren,” you whine, short of breath and too clouded by lust to remember how to pronounce anything other than his name.

“Keep going… You're doing so fucking good, baby,” he breathes, and accentuates his words with upwards thrusts he makes to meet you halfway. “So. Fucking. Good.”

Your head rolls back, your eyes fluttering closed as you bite back the moan that's threatening to escape your lips.

Your hands fall onto his calves and you lean back, pulling his focus from your tits to the wet folds that swallow his cock, coating him with the glossy sheen of your arousal.

Eren continues thrusting up into you a few times, matching your rhythm and doing his best to ignore the pesky scarf that keeps him from reversing your roles and dominating you instead. You haven't reprimanded him for moving so he figures you could use a bit of help — you must be getting tired.

It's oddly fun to be tied to the bed as he grows more and more excited each time you lift your hips and your sloppy cunt is right in his line of view. It's incredibly satisfying for him to witness you fluttering around him, taking him so well as you only grow more needy, too. So he does his best to remain a good tool to help you get off.

Your forehead is lined with sweat, your features are contorted in a mix of concentration and pleasure, your thighs are growing heavier and yet you've never looked prettier in Eren's eyes.

No matter how glad he is just to watch you use him, it's a huge relief when you throw yourself forward with barely enough clarity to undo the knot on his wrists with one sharp tug of the silk fabric, and he can finally dig his fingers into your hips, picking up your slowing pace for a more fervent one.

The sound of slapping skin plays over and over again as you fall forward and bury your face into the crook of his neck, whimpering and exhaling nonsensical noises into his feverish skin as a reward for his patience.

His hands grope your ass, spreading your cheeks as he helps you meet his eager thrusts. Your nails dig into his shoulder and grip the sheets, the satisfying sensations between your legs too big for your body to carry as your breasts jostle against his chest in tandem with his relentless thrusts.

Eren's hand effortlessly wraps and tugs at your hair, forcing you to face him as you reach your high.

Sweet moans and whimpers fall from your parted lips, your half-lidded eyes looking down at him through a glossy haze.

“You're so pretty, baby. Come here and give me a kiss,” he coos, before pulling you by the back of your neck into a searing kiss that overwhelms your body further.

His tongue expertly glides inside your mouth, caressing yours and devouring each of your moans. The kiss is desperate and sloppy, with teeth crashing into each other in his futile attempts to bring you impossibly closer — as if thrusting himself into the deepest parts of you and shoving his tongue to the back of your throat isn't enough.

But it's no surprise. He's always been like this. At least, that's what you learned from day one of this secret arrangement. What you don't know is his desperation was awakened by just you.

Eren's no stranger to being a wildfire in bed, but it's different with you. His usual passion has been puppeteered by his heartstrings since the very first time two months ago. He's been a shameless flirt, it's true. But once you kissed him that night in his car, it was game over. He can still remember the frantic beat of his heart that stemmed from that very first taste of your lips. It still finds its way to him now, even when he eases his rough kiss for exhausted breaths that he releases over your open mouth.

Never before has he held so much eye contact with the person on top or below him, yet he finds a way to always have your face in his line of view to appreciate every little shift in your features. He loves the way your eyebrows knit together when you feel your orgasm coming in, and the way they soften with the washed over bliss of your high. He loves getting to clean you after and getting to hold you while you share pointless conversations as your exhaustion catches up to you — that's probably even better than the actual sex.

So as you cum around his cock and he fills you with hot ropes of white, he exhales a sweet ‘I love you’ against your lips.

Your body shivers and your legs weakly tremble as you climb off of him.

He pads to the bathroom, where he soaks a clean washcloth with warm water and comes back to find you fixing your hair on the bed.

His heart flutters as he goes through the usual motions of sitting beside you, tapping your thigh for you to spread your legs just enough for him to tenderly wipe his cum from the still sensitive spot at the center.

“What was that about?” you ask as you lean back into your hands, admiring his large hands gingerly pressing the washcloth where your thighs meet.

He glances at you briefly before smiling as he continues cleaning you.

“What do you mean?” he asks, still with that sly grin etched on his face.

Your face warms.

“Earlier, when you came,” you explain, circling around the exact words. “What you said… was that from the heat of the moment or something? Some new kink I should know about?”

An airy chuckle leaves his lips as he softly shakes his head.

“I wouldn't say that,” he murmurs. “Let's just leave it there. You can decide what to do with it later.”

You hum in response, trying your best to look composed as butterflies stir in your stomach.

You've spent the past two months being skeptical, but ignoring your blooming feelings is hard when Eren keeps surprising you with things like this. He's sweet and attentive, and cuddling in bed with random conversations is easily earning the first slot in your favorite things to do. You like brushing his hair from his face and burying your face in the crook of his neck. You like hearing him say sweet things and you like the duality of his actions in bed.

You can decide what to do with it later.

It'll be a while before you admit to the cause of the incessant pounding in your chest, but for now the feelings linger in the air as Eren pulls you under the covers with him and he presses a kiss into your hair.

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[manias-wordcount]

Actually, whatever link you think is best for eating out a reader lol

You have good taste (no pun intended) I trust your judgement here

Eating S/o Out HCs (Adult Link)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝗲𝘅𝗰𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀. 𝗶 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘄 𝘂𝗽 𝗮𝗻 𝗹𝗼𝘇 𝗳𝗮𝗻, 𝗶 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀. 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 𝗲𝗵𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲 :)

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 !! 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 (𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗹) 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗟𝗢𝗟

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

Skyward Sword

Favorite Position?

You? Sitting on his face.

Sleepy boy likes to take things easy

So having you grind on his tongue all you want while he’s laying in bed? The absolute dream

He definitely won’t be too loud when he’s with you since his mouth is a little more than occupied

But you can earn yourself a groan or two from him whenever you dug at his hair

He probably likes the fact that he has the perfect view of your expressions while you make yourself feel good

But try not to run away from his mouth when things start to feel too good

Because he’ll be quick to grab your hips and keep you right where you started

He might seem a bit lazy but the Hero of the Skies is always gonna finish what he started- including you <3

Twilight Princess

Favorite Position?

You on your back with his face between your thighs of course!

I’m talking full-on muff diving

He’s 1000% the type to enjoy eating you out just because he has so much control over your body and your pleasure like this

Not to mention, he can watch you squirm and whine all he wants with the perfect view

He’s definitely really good at reading what you need and want from him

And he’s even better a giving or denying you that too, unfortunately

But if you’re close, you’ll get exactly what you want as long as you beg for it <3

And I mean really beg for it- wolf boy is a sweetheart but he doesn’t work for free

Though just try not to act too surprised when he tongue fucks you through an orgasm

Breath of the Wild

Favorite Position?

Him kneeling before you as you throw a leg over his shoulder and he goes to town

Bonus points for him if he can get away with eating you out while outside and against some random tree

They don’t call him wild for nothing <3

Now he’s been out of the game for a little bit so he might be a little rusty

But don’t worry- he makes up for all of that with his enthusiasm hehe

Out of the Links, he’s the one who will practically beg you to let him go down on you because he’s bored and has nothing to do while dinner cooks

But whatever happens…do NOT pull his hair. no matter how good it feels

You don’t want to encourage him too much while he’s already up your skirt

You do want to be able to walk on your own two legs later, right?

Hyrule Warriors

Favorite Position?

69 with you on top, naturally

He’s definitely a bit of an ass man so I hope you don’t mind him spreading and playing with some cheeks

And of course, he loves the feeling of your lips wrapped around his dick don’t get me wrong

But to him? It’s not as good as seeing you try to look back at him when he’s going crazy on that clit

He obviously going to be good at what he does- like have you seen him

With the way he fights it’s should come as no surprise that his first move is going to be trying to overwhelm his opponent (or in this case, you <3)

Loves receiving and giving sure but he’s the type of guy to get off on seeing his partner whimper and moan and struggle to keep up

So you can expect things to get a little more than heated as he attempts to make you scream his name

He won’t stop until you’ve made a mess of his face so you better hold onto to something- like that scarf perhaps?? ;]

[talesofesther]

warmth in winter

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You meet with Tara on a cold day. She keeps you warm.

A/N: A very random drabble to distract my mind from the bigger projects a little. <3

Masterlist

New York was covered in a white blanket. Temperatures were frigid outside, the horizon with a soft white fog that didn't allow you to see much far.

It was one of those mornings where getting out of bed feels like a punishment and no matter how many layers of clothing you put on, it still feels like you were standing outside only in your pajamas as your bare feet disappear between the snow.

To put it simpler; it was cold, and it was snowing. And you had to go to class.

Truthfully though, it wasn't your chance at a better future that made you brave the unkind weather. It was the fact that, in that same university, you would see her.

Love does weird things to people; it makes taking a fifteen-minute walk holding your jacket close to your body as snowflakes kiss your cheeks feel like no trouble at all. Because inside, you're as warm as ever. That's how Tara made you feel; warm. Even in the coldest weather.

As you walked the stone path on campus, blowing hot breath into your gloved hands, your eyes roamed around in search of her. And you found her sitting on a bench, the one that stood under a huge tree — otherwise adorning vivid green leaves, now was all naked branches and fresh snow — she was sitting there, cross-legged and wearing a fluffy coat with an even fluffier scarf around her neck as her hair fell in waves over it.

You were smiling before you knew it.

Tara perked up as soon as she laid eyes on you, her cheeks and nose a deep red from the cold made the dimples on her smile stand out all the more, eyes twinkling at the sight of you. She got up and opened her arms for you in a silent invitation.

Your feet might be freezing, but your heart melted. You enveloped her in a hug that was arguably cozier than your bed; squeezing her into you and burying your nose in the fabric of her scarf.

Tara sneaked her hands under your jacket — she'd always been like this, wanting, needing to be as physically close as possible as if she had to remind herself daily that you were actually real. You could feel the coldness of her fingers through your shirt, it raised goosebumps all over your skin and made you squirm in her hold.

"Coldest hands ever," you mumbled against her.

Tara chuckled and you were able to feel the heavenly sound all over your body, feel the shape of her smile.

"I don't have gloves," she told you, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes.

It was something out of your favorite fairy tale; her dark messy hair contrasting with the white background, her pink cheeks, and her eyes crinkling on the sides because you made her smile.

Sometimes it was painful. It hurt just how much you loved her, but it was that kind of pain one can't have enough of. Especially when you could see that same love right in those gentle eyes of hers.

You reached for her hands until you could hold them in your own, the fabric of your gloves closing around her palms. You leaned down to place a kiss on her knuckles, feeling the cold skin there on your lips.

Tara took the opportunity then to cup your cheeks and pull you closer. She pecked your lips with her own, leaving traces of strawberry chapstick on the corner of your mouth. "Let's go inside before we catch a cold," she spoke before stealing another kiss.

You hummed, taking off your gloves, "give me your hands."

"It's okay, you don't have to," Tara shook her head softly, but extended her hands to you anyway.

Taking hold of her hands, you gently put your gloves on her, "I want to, I'm warm enough."

Tara's cheeks became rosier, if that was even possible; she had an endearing grin on her lips, her nose scrunching adorably because of it. She sheepishly looked down, flexing her fingers to feel the new fabric around them.

She took your hand in hers with a strong grip as you started walking towards the university. Her heart overflowing with a familiar warmth.

Needless to say, you didn't get your gloves back. Even if it was a bit harder to write with them, Tara didn't take them off during class, or when you went to grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria. And you were gifted with the adorable sight of Tara holding a coffee cup with both hands so it wouldn't slip her grasp as she tentatively took a sip of the hot beverage.

It was certainly worthy of a picture, so you took one, and every time you turned on your phone you felt that same burst of happiness. Love does weird things to people, but mainly, it teaches them to see the beauty in small moments that would otherwise go unappreciated.

You were snapped back to reality when a coffee cup was placed in front of you on the table.

Tara was smiling when she pulled her chair closer to yours to huddle for warmth, "got your favorite," she told you, her shoulder bumping yours.

Yes, that's what love was all about; her pink cheeks and dark eyes shining under the dim yellow lights of the cafeteria, your gloves on her hands when she intertwined her fingers with yours.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Tara’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us @alexkolax

[buckyalpine]

Favorite trope: academic rivals to lovers

Kinks: temperature play, knives, "rope" play (or his tie or scarf 😏)

Hot and Cold 

18+

God this is hottt afffff!! Yes Yes Yes to alll of thissss. 

Warnings: Very sexy smut, dom Bucky, lots of fluff cause he might be a dick but he melts apart for his girl. Temperature place, knife play, he’s a menace, his tie is a menace 

-

You were seething, glaring at at the tall brunette as he delivered his counter argument within record time, your professor declaring their team the winners of the debate. You huffed, packing you bags, the hairs on your neck standing up when you heard footsteps approaching you, his perfect polished shoes coming into your vision. 

“What’s wrong cupcake?” He smirked down at you while you rolled your eyes, stuffing your pens and books into your bag. You decided to ignore him, hoping he’d shut up and walk away but when had you ever so lucky. You looked up to meet his icy blue eyes, a cocky smug expression his face, your annoyance fueling his ego. 

Fuck him. 

“Can’t take a little competition?” He sassed, while you turned on your heel to face him, unable to keep your mouth shut. 

“Don’t call me that” You hissed, wanting to smack his pursued lips off his face, “And it’s not competition when you deliver a weak argument mere seconds before class ends” 

“Weak?” Bucky scoffed, shaking his head while you continued out of the lecture hall, grumbling to yourself as he followed you, “I’m sorry, so Professor Stark must have been mistaken when he said you lost, in fact he must have misheard the whole debate since your team did so much better” 

“You got lucky, there wasn’t anything impressive or revolutionary with what you said and we would have given you a rebuttal if class hadn’t ended. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather lick a city bus than continue speaking to you” You stormed off to the bus stop, your heels clicking on the pavement as you walked away. 

Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and walking away to his car. Your eyes shot up at the obnoxious rev of an engine as his Audi r8 sped out of the parking lot, your skirt nearly flying up as he drove by. 

Asshole. 

As soon as you found a seat on the bus, you closed your eyes, letting out the breath you had been holding. 

James Buchanan Barnes.

The absolute bane of your existence. 

You were both finishing your final year in Law; he was your number one rival in the three years you knew him. There had been tension between you both from day 1. The both of you top of your classes, always finding ways to counter the others argument, finding ways to prove each other wrong, each trying to take over the other. You’d both compete for internships and work opportunities in an effort to prove who who truly more gifted. 

What frustrated you more was you’d often both get hired for the job, given your combined impressive skill sets and work ethic. The problem was it only fueled your rivalry more, leading to heated disagreements at work, as if school alone wasn’t enough. 

You found James to be an arrogant, self-centered, egotistical. 

Likewise, he found you to be stubborn, frustrating, vain. 

There was absolutely no middle ground with you both, constantly at each other throats, ready to pounce. 

You had managed to avoid Bucky for a while after the last class, grateful for midterms that had started meaning there were fewer debates taking place and more studying. You thought you could see the light at the end of the tunnel, you only had to work on some reading and an up coming project. Everything was in the all clear. 

That was until you were given your assigned pairing for your final project. You nearly ran out of class to throw up, glaring at the cocky brunet while he scoffed, clearly just as offended he had been paired with you.  

Time couldn’t have possibly gone any slower as you counted down the minutes till the end of class, stomping down the lecture hall, only to be met with your professor holding up a hand to you both, stopping you before you could even speak. 

“How could-

“Before either of you say another word, I can’t pair you with someone else. I’ve paired students up with those who are around the same academic level so that leaves you two” 

“Then let me work on this independently-

“No. This is a paired project. No ones working on this individually so suck it up and start planning your assignment with Barnes” 

You cursed under you breath, while he continued to pack away his things, leaving the lecture hall without sparing you a second look. 

“Let’s go” Bucky didn’t even bother looking at you, looking straight a head of him as he started to leave the hall.

“Excuse me?” You frowned, trailing behind him as he continued down the corridor, towards the library. You nearly walked into his chest as he stopped abruptly, turning around to face you.  

“I’m not fucking up my gpa because you have an ego. We’re going to the library. Now” and with that he continued down the hall. You bit your tongue, wordlessly following him, as much as you couldn't stand him, you were not about to let your gpa drop either. 

2 weeks later 

“The library closes in 5 minutes” The student worker mumbled as she walked by while you groaned, staring at the stack of papers you were yet to go through. 

“There’s still so much shit we have to read” You rubbed your temples, skimming through another article. 

“We could work at my place” Bucky shrugged, twirling a pen between his fingers, leaning back in his chair. 

“And why do we need to go to your place” It was bad enough you had to spend all your free time with him but you were not about to work at his place now too. 

“Because I have an actual office room, and proper place we can get work done, unless you have something better to officer princess” He challenged back, while you glared at him before glancing at the clock. You had to leave the library. Your tiny apartment was hardly a place someone could call livable let alone a space to work productively in. 

“Fine” You gritted out, rolling your eyes at the satisfied smirk that crossed his lip as he closed his laptop. 

“Good. Pack your things” 

You stuffed your things in your bag, throwing on your coat before the both of you the only ones left on campus. You gripped your coat tighter feeling the cool night air nip your skin as you walked out to the parking lot; Bucky’s was the last car left. 

“Get in cupcake” He cocked his head, unlocking the car doors and roaring the engine to life. The leather was cool against your skin, making you shiver, you felt a little inkling in your tummy with the acceleration of the car sending vibrations through your body. 

“Compensating for something?” You couldn’t help but scoff at the way the exhaust rumbled each time he went faster as he sped down the empty streets. Cocky asshole.

“Don’t need to, you can see for yourself” His face was smug, clearly sure of himself while you shook your head, squeezing your thighs together. 

“Arrogant” You mumbled under your breath, ignoring the way your stomach clenched, wiping away the image that tried to form in your mind, remaining silent for the rest of the ride. 

“We’re here” 

Your eyes grew wide at the large house Bucky pulled up to as he parked on the stone driveway. You wordlessly stepped out of the car, following behind him as he unlocked the door leading you inside. 

“The office is upstairs” Bucky led you up stairs, taking you right down the hall to a large office room. The space was dark and cozy; books lining the walls with shelves that nearly reached the ceiling. There was a couch off to the side along with a large desk that was near the center. A coffee table sat on top of the plush rug near the couch, with a fire place near by. 

As soon as he walked into the room, Bucky went straight for the crystal glasses that sat on the shelf, dropping a few ice cubes from a mini freezer that was tucked underneath the table. He grabbed the whisky bottle, pouring the dark liquid nearly to the rim, taking a long sip before setting the glass down and loosening his tie and rolling his sleeves up. He looked at you for a moment longer, a silent offering though you declined, setting your things by the couch and pulling your notes out. 

You started to type up the paper on the couch while Bucky worked at his desk, making notes of key points and handing them to you. You let out a frustrated huff at the latest paper he handed you, unable to decipher half the words, spending more time decoding what he had written. 

“I can’t read your stupid writing” You tossed down the notes Bucky had scribbled down, “It’s impossible to read”

“Didn’t know you struggled with reading too” Bucky didn’t even bother looking up at you, continuing to read through a paper, still sipping on his whisky.  

“It’s not reading, its your writing, you write like a child” You shot back, grumbling under your breath, looking through the article to figure out what he had scratched down. 

“And you act like one” His voice had dropped, his blue eyes flicking up to glare at you while you rolled your eyes, going back to typing the paper. You ignored the way his voice made your stomach flip, feeling warm under his gaze. You didn’t even bother looking through the new article he handed you, setting it onto the coffee table, continuing to type away. 

“I don’t need your stupid notes or your help on this, I’ll work on this on my own while you work on your writing skills-” 

“You’re a brat” He growled, his jaw clenching as he stalked towards you, shutting your laptop and ripping it out of your hands. You ignored the throbbed you felt between your legs as he towered over you, the scent of his cologne suddenly making you woozy, combined with the scent of the whisky he drank fanning off his breath. 

“And? What if I am?” You hissed, not backing down from him. Bucky stared at you, between the way you always had something to say, your bare legs tucked underneath you, your tiny skirt riding up, almost exposing your panties, the scent of your perfume, your glasses perched on your nose, your sassy little mouth, he so badly just wanted to take you and- “What the fuck are you going to do Barnes?” 

“I’ll show you exactly what I do to little girls that don’t know how to listen” He grabbed your face, squeezing your cheeks together, his eyes burning with something you couldn’t quite place, his pupils blown. Bucky grabbed you, hauling you over his shoulder, grabbing his drink as he walked out of the office and right to his bedroom, throwing you onto his bed. You felt your heart race, struggling to ignore the way your pussy was aching for him-

No.

Fuck him. 

You chest heaved as he locked his eyes with you, setting his glass down before ripping his tie off. 

“Hands above your head” His voice had dropped several octaves, making your nearly melt and comply but no. You’d never. You shrugged while he growled, straddling you and grapping your wrists, roping his tie around your hands, securing you to his headboard. You tried to tug your hands free, glaring while he smirked, unbuttoning his shirt while still on top of you. He tossed it off, coming down to your ear, his lips brushing by your lobe making you shiver. 

“Told you I’d show you what I do to brats that don’t listen. Say Alpha if you want me to stop”

You nodded while he cupped your face again, squeezing your cheeks, making your lips pout. 

“Use your words” 

“Yes” 

“Good girl”  

You stopped breathing, blinking slowly at the dark ink that covered his arms and torso. It had never occurred to you that you’d never seen his sleeves rolled up or seen him in a regular t-shirt for that matter. The smug bastard was always in a perfect pressed shirt with a silk tie around his neck. Your eyes grew wide at the pocked knife he pulled out of his pocket, flicking the blade open. 

“Quiet now, aren’t we cupcake” He mumbled, tracing the sharp tip of his switch blade from your forehead, down your nose, skimping past your lips and down to your neck. You could feel your heart race as he applied the slightest bit of pressure, smirking at how you tensed, “I’m surprised you trust me sweets” He whispered by your ear, pressing the knife into your skin, just enough for it to sting slightly. 

“You won’t need this” He brought the knife to the buttons of your blouse, slicing upwards, sending the buttons flying to the floor. He slid the blade under the band of your bra, throwing it aside, his eyes raking up and down your exposed breasts. He pulled the zipper of your skirt down, pulling it off your legs before grabbing his knife again, cutting your panties off until you were completely bare on his bed. He tugged on the knot he secured around your wrist with his tie, humming in satisfaction at the whimper that slipped past your lips. 

“Such a needy dirty little slut” He plucked the ice cube out of his whisky, sucking off the dark liquid that dripped off before straddling on top of you again, circling it around your nipple. You gasped at the icy sharp jolt that ran through your body, your hips bucking up as your nipples pebbled instantly, almost painfully hard as he continued to run the cube across your skin. 

“So responsive, hm?” He let out a dark chuckle at the way your legs squirmed and squeezed together, soft whimpers dripping from your lips as he continued to glide the ice between the valley of your breasts down to your belly button. “Nothing to say now baby?” 

You shook your head, your breaths getting heavier as he moved to kneel between your legs, spreading your knees apart with his, keeping you wide open for him. He dragged the cube down lower, swirling it around your pubic bone, watching you intently as you squirmed, your browed furrowed, eyes locked with his. 

“Wonder how you’d feel if I played with this somewhere else...how about...here” He spread your folds apart with his fingers, letting the edge of the ice cube brush by your swollen clit, the sensation making you cry out. Your pussy throbbed, pulsing as he brushed by it again, your body feeling both hot and cold as he let the ice melt against your warm skin. He his knees kept your legs apart as he ran the ice cube through your folds, coating it in your slick, the sheets under you dampening from the water droplets and your arousal dripping out of you. 

He smirked, pulling the ice away, loving the way it glistened with your wetness. You gasped at the way he popped the ice cube into his mouth, sucking your arousal off, moaning at the taste. 

“Taste yourself princess” He smirked, running the ice through your fold again and pressing it against your lips, groaning as you parted your mouth to suck. 

“Good girl” He whispered, pulling it away and letting the rest of it it melt on his tongue, swallowing the rest of the ice with a satisfied hum. He got off the bed, tugging his pants and brief off, his cock slapping against his stomach, resting heavy between his legs as he crawled back onto the bed. 

“Brat” He loosened the tie around your wrists, flipping you around so you were on your kneed with your ass in the air. He brought your hands behind your back, tying them securely, holding your wrists with one hand, the other holding his cock, prodding against your entrance. 

You whined, trying to push yourself back onto his cock, huffing at the dark chuckle he let out, pulling away each time you chased more of him. 

“Needy now are we, always knew you were a desperate little whore” He growled, tugging at your wrists. “Just needed a cock to shut you up, huh” 

You couldn’t help the steady stream of slick that poured out of you every time he opened his mouth, your pussy fluttering and aching. 

“Open up for me cupcake” Bucky pressed the head of his cock against your fluttering entrance, his head thrown back at the way you were squeezed him already, your tight pussy struggling to accommodate his length. You moaned into the pillow, gasping as he gripped you harder. 

“Still such a fucking brat, I told you to open up for me” Bucky hissed, shoving his cock in all the way as you gasped as the way you could practically feel him in your throat, his cock pulsing and throbbing. He didn’t give you any time to adjust, one hand grabbing your hip, the other holding onto your tied hands as he started to slam into you at an unforgiving pace, the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust. 

“Do you have any idea what the fuck you do to me?!” He gritted out, pounding into you, nailing his cock against your cervix with each word. “With those tiny little plaid skirts and stockings? Parading around the campus like a good girl, getting on my nerves all the time always arguing back with me”

You had no idea how you ended up in this position, the band in your belly starting to wind tighter every time his heavy balls tapped your clit. 

“You know how many times I wanted to stuff my tie in your mouth and fuck you till you couldn’t speak, rail you on my cock until you wouldn’t be able to formulate words, just give me a warm, wet place for me to cum in” 

Bucky grinned at the way you squeezed his cock, your pretty little mewls filling the air as he fucked you harder, bringing his knee up to pound into you deeper. 

“You’d like that huh cupcake, you want daddy to stuff his tie in your mouth and take you across his thigh? Can feel you choking my cock baby, I know you want that, you want daddy’s cock in your mouth so bad, something to keep your pretty mouth shut” 

“Who said I’d call you daddy” You shot him a glare, ignoring the way your stomach flipped at the name, struggling to keep yourself from moaning. Bucky smirked, his hand snaking around to rub your clit, angling his hips to stroke your sweet spot making you cry out. “FUCK-

“Crying for my cock, huh? Whose cock are you crying and making a mess all over” He growled, fucking you harder making you see stars. “Tell me, whys your little clit throbbing on my fingers, why are you choking my dick huh? Fucking naked in my bed, all tied up like a needy whore, I’m you’re fucking daddy, say it!

“DADDY” You could even stop yourself, giving into the pleasure he pulled from your body, his mouth unrelenting. 

“Daddy found your spot, huh?”

“Spank that cute little ass till its sore and you can’t walk? Then have daddy take care of you after?”

“So fuckin’ needy, look at how you’re dripping all over me baby, making a mess on my bed” You could feel his cock grow harder, his grip on your ass bruising as he drilled into you, spurts of precum dripping in you. 

“I know you’re close, cum on my cock princess, be a good little slut and make a mess on daddy’s cock” 

Your body betrayed you, obeying his command instantly, your body sucking his cock in deeper, ready to fall off the edge. 

“I-I’m gonna-DADDY- You screamed into the sheets, your vision going white, the band snapping, deep pleasure shooting through your body as you squirted all over his cock. Bucky couldn't hold it anymore, already struggling to hold off his orgasm with the way you were tied on his bed. 

“That’s it, cream on my dick baby, soaking my balls nice, look at you squirting all over my cock, bet you’d look even prettier bent over our Professors desk, hm? M’gonna fill you up, you’re gonna drip for days, all your little skirts tainted with my cum, get ready for my cum cupcake, open up for me, open up for daddy” 

He roared, spilling into you, giving you a few sloppy thrusts before stilling, his cock throbbing, endless ropes of cum filling you up. He let go of your wrists, letting you fall limp on the bed while he panted, drops of cum still leaking from the tip making a mess on your ass. You felt his tie loosen as you dropped on the bed, his hands rubbing your wrists before leaving the bed to grab you a towel. 

You jolted at the feeling of him wiping your folds, surprised at how gentle he was, running his hands over your bruises before tossing the towel away. 

“This never happens again” You stated, throwing on his shirt as you sauntered back to the office, sitting on the desk, going back to skimming papers. Bucky smirked as he threw on some sweats, his eyes trailing up and down your bare legs, your skin littered in scratches and bruises, hair tousled while you sat in his shirt in his office as if you owned the place. 

“Whatever you say cupcake, wouldn’t have it any other way” 

After that night, you were even more of a brat, finding ways to get on his nerves till he lost his patience, never admitting you did it on purpose to see how far he’d go to tame you. It didn’t mean you hated him any less, but if he was going to satisfy you...

You squeezed your thighs together, gasping when he dragged you by your ankle off his desk, tossing you over his knee while sitting on the chair of his office. You’d ignored all of his calls, finishing the second half of the assignment by yourself; he didn’t seem to care that it was given a perfect grade. 

“I told you to call me” He growled, ripping your skirt up and tearing your panties off, rubbing the supple flesh of your ass “Count”

“Fuck you-AH” His hand spanked your ass, rubbing the sting away, his jaw clenched over your stubbornness. “I didn’t need your help-HNG”

“Count” He spanked you again, groaning at the way your ass bounced, his patience growing thin with the way you tested his patience. 

“One” 

You found yourself spending more time in his office than the school library, more time in his bed than studying books. You ignored every flutter of your heart, convinced it was the stress of school and nothing more. You willed yourself to ignore the way his adorable tongue would poke out of his mouth when he focused or the way his pouty lips would part when he fell asleep with his head tucked in his arms on his desk. 

You hated the way his voice got raspy when he was exhausted or the way he would loosen his tie and roll his sleeves up. 

You ignored the blanket he had placed on top of you when you had fallen asleep once on his couch, it meant nothing. He didn’t care about you that way. 

When he had you bent over in his bed, your hands tied, mouth stuffed with his tie, you shook your head when you felt yourself craving him to make love to you instead-

No. 

No. 

He was your rival. Your partner for a project. When this was all over, things would go back to normal. 

A few weeks later 

“Surprised you didn’t decide to work a head again, aren’t you supposed to be the one whose equal to me?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow, typing out the paper you forgot to finish. 

You stared at the pile of books in front of you, sticky notes poking through every corner; you knew you had to go over the notes again but you didn’t have time. The project would be over soon. You still had to finish you assignment for Stark. When it was over, you’d be done working with Bucky.  You had another project to finish for work. He’d never know how you felt. So much school work. He’d never know you fell in lo-

“What, no smart ass reply” He sassed, his brows furrowing when you still didn’t respond. He looked up, frowning when you didn’t look at him, your eyes vacant turning away from him. “Y/n?” 

You shook your head, fighting back tears, biting you lip to keep it from trembling, losing your composure as you heard him get up, moving over to the couch. 

“Hey, hey look at me” He sat down beside you, his heart dropping at the soft sniffles you struggled to hold in, shying away from him when he moved closer. “Come here” He pulled you into his lap, his hand cupping your cheek, wiping away your tears “What’s wrong?” 

You shook your head, your mind swirling over what you were actually upset about. You wanted to let go of your ego and pride and curl up into his lap and tell him you adored him but you couldn’t. What if he didn’t feel the same way, what if you were just something to warm his bed, what if-

“Y/n?” 

“Nothing” Your voice cracked, your body stiff in his hold, trying to protect yourself even though your heart was screaming to just tell him how you felt. 

“It’s not nothing, something’s been bothering you, I’ve noticed” He waited patiently for you to speak, huffing when you silently toyed with your fingers instead, “Why are you so stubborn” 

“Why are you so persistent” You shot back, finding it easier to argue with him than admit your feelings. Bucky smirked, shaking his head. 

“Is there something you’re not telling me cupcake” Bucky whispered, his lips brushing by your ear, “Only one way to get you to speak” He wrapped your legs around his waist, noting the way you clung onto him like a little koala, not letting go when he set you on his bed. He carefully undressed you, soothing your needy whimpers with his lips brushing across your skin, his cock pressing against your entrance. 

Your thighs wrapped around his waist as he slid inside you, the both of you gasping as he filled you, staying still and keeping you full and withering underneath him. You whined, your ankles digging into his ass hoping he’d move, distract you from the way you felt but he refused. 

“Talk to me” He let his body weight rest on you, his eyes locked with your glassy ones. He’d craved to have you like this for a while; wrapped around his body, feeling all of you. 

“I- You bit your lip, blinking at him, desperately hoping he’d just know without you having to say anything. Your arms clung around his shoulders, your legs squeezing his waist tighter. 

“You what” He whispered, his heart beating faster at the way you clenched, your nails digging into his shoulders “So stubborn baby” He started to rock his hips, the slow gently pace causing more tears to slip down your cheeks. He fucked you soft and slow, everything you had craved for weeks, with gentle kisses in between, his hands coming to lace with yours. 

You whimpered, moaning against his mouth, your cunt fluttering each time he pushed in, your head thrown back at the way he moved deeper each time, the tip of his cock rubbing your g-spot. This was different from every other time, feeling every inch of his body, the both of you pressed against each other. 

“You just needed me to make love to you, huh?” He kissed your neck, while you nodded, squeezing your hands in his, his tongue running across your skin, “Needed me to fuck you slow baby? Make you feel good?” 

“Fuck James” You cried out, letting go of his hands to wrap around him again, pressing kisses all over his cheeks, running your hands through his hair. “Please, please”

“I know sweets, I know” He cooed, soothing you, letting his hands caress your body, “M’right here, gonna be so slow with you till you tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours” 

You didn’t say anything, while his nose bumped against yours, smirking “No one else gets under my skin the way you to my stubborn little baby�� 

His?

“Y-yours?” You stuttered out with wide eyes, while he chuckled at your shocked expression. 

“Mine. Mine cupcake, all mine. No one else comes close to you, you’re so fucking brilliant and beautiful” He started to rock his hips faster, the both of you climbing higher and higher together. “You-you challenge me every single day, I wouldn’t-I wouldn’t have come this far if it wasn’t for you”

He wrapped his arms around your body, panting against your neck, moaning, his cock growing harder while you squeezed him, the band ready snap between pleasure and all your emotions. 

“Fuck James I love you” You sobbed, pleasure erupting through your body as your orgasm washed over you, clinging onto him while he fucked you through your high. 

“I-I love you too” He rasped, moaning into your neck as he stilled, his cock throbbing as he came in you, his body jolting in your warm head. “I love you I love you fuck, I love you” He pulled away from your neck, while you shyly bit your lip, pulling him back down into your arms while he laughed, cuddling you close to him. 

“Knew I could fuck it out of you” 

Three years later 

Bucky had his hand around your waist, kissing your cheek while you both moved through the crowd greeting and thanking guests. He grinned as you both approached the last table, his two best men sharing shit eating grins while you rolled your eyes, groaning. 

“Don’t even start” You warned while Sam cackled, shaking his head. 

“I called it” He snorted while Steve nodded, shrugging when you shot them a playful glare. “You were both just to stubborn to see it” 

Bucky couldn’t help but pepper you with kisses, snorting while Sam wolf whistled, suddenly straightening himself up as someone approached you both from behind. 

“Congratulations” Tony grinned, sipping on his drink, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “I’m assuming you worked through your differences?” 

You giggled while Bucky squeezed your waist, unable to take his eyes off you, hardly registering anything else happening around him.

“Thank you for coming Professor Stark” He hugged you tightly, before pausing, leaning close to you. “I’ll let you both in on a secret” Tony smiled smugly, while you cocked your head with an equally confused Bucky. 

“I could have paired you with someone else, Mrs. Barnes” 

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[puppietooth]

let me preface this by saying i will love and adore and cherish s3 no matter happens. however, i will say — the one thing i want to see is carmy going out of his way to get back on sydney’s good side.

i’m talking begging for forgiveness, grovelling at her feet, bending over backwards for her.

imagine:

carmy gets out of that walk-in, sees the queasy look on her face, and is already drafting that notes app apology in his head. he tells her he’s sorry and that he fucked up and she tells him they managed to pull everything off without him but she cannot with his bullshit right now.

that hits him like a punch to the gut and, well, he gets it cause it’s definitely deserved.

but as the weeks go on, carmy tries to talk to her she only responds in shrugs, nods, and yes chefs. sydney goes home straight after service, after she helps with clean up, does not linger and talk in the office with him like they did before. carmy tries joking with her and she rolls her eyes more often than not. he asks her if she wants to work on the menu with him and she says no and he gets the feeling that she doesn’t even want to be alone with him anymore.

and that’s when he realizes — fuck. she’s so mad at him.

my girl is mad at me i want to die.

so? what else is carmy supposed to do but the most?

sydney comes in one morning and tells tina she was running late so she couldn’t stop by her favourite spot to get her morning latte. carmy overhears this and takes it upon himself to run to that spot, ten blocks over, to get her that latte. and when he gets back, sweetly and breathless, he gives it to her only to find out it’s the completely wrong order. but syd smiles, just a little, says a small thanks.

during family, he casually hints at the fact that he’s seeing a therapist now — says sorry chef i have therapy saturday afternoon when marcus asks if anyone would be down to go to the farmers market with him. because he needs her to know that he’s trying to get better. for himself, yes, but also for her.

his notifications are on and his phone is never on silent anymore — carmy vows to never miss a text or a call from her ever again.

carmy starts checking in with her about everything. when the walls need to be painted again he tells her, asks sydney if she’s okay with changing the floral arrangements but the bar, lets her know he’s ordering new aprons for the line cooks, runs tweets by her before posting them to the bear’s twitter account. and it gets to the point where syd has to tell him to chill — that she appreciates him not wanting to keep her in the dark, but some things just don’t need her approval. pats him on the shoulder and tells him it’s his restaurant, too.

it might come off as a bit showy but he tells her great work today, chef sydney after every service — because she is doing great work.

when sydney’s finally moving out of her dad’s place carmy is there, bright and early, moving her boxes into his car, trying to avoid the subtle stink eye her dad is giving him. again, deserved. he drives her out to her new place, helps her set everything up and lingers when she asks him if he wants coffee.

carmy shows up for her, everytime. he sets his own priorities aside, swaps them out for hers. sydney says jump and he asks how high?

it all comes to head on her birthday. before service he goes up to her and gives her a present — a scarf, fabric pink and decorated with prints of various different flowers. it’s soft and silky and he saw it on a mannequin in a window front while he was downtown a couple of weeks ago, immediately thought of her. she tells him it’s lovely and beautiful and she’ll wear it all the time but that he really didn’t have to — that he doesn’t have to keep trying to win her over, that she isn’t mad at him anymore, that she hasn’t been mad for a few weeks now, that she can see he’s trying.

then, sydney hugs him, strong and gentle at the same time, tells him — i see you, carmy.

whatever is supposed to happen after that does not happen because fak starts yelling about an exploding toilet from the room over so sydney scoffs and says she’ll go take care of it.

and it’s at that exact moment that carmy becomes aware of what he hasn’t been aware of but that has been there, right in front of him this whole time.

holy shit.

he likes sydney.

he likes her a lot.

[reysdriver]

His & Hers | S.B.

part 2 of Wife; you and Sirius go on a bonding (and very flirtatious) shopping trip — sirius x fem!pureblood!reader fluff

warnings: reader has just recently escaped an abusive, pureblood family, sirius and reader were in a young arranged marriage

words: 1.1k

It took a little bit of time, but once it really set in that you were going to be staying with the Potters for at least a little while, you were forced to think about what else you needed with you.  When leaving your own dreadful home, you had packed and taken off in quite a rush, neglecting many ordinary things. 

Euphemia promised to take you down for a shopping trip down at Diagon Alley. You really didn’t want to inconvenience anyone so you tried to tell her it wasn't necessary, but she insisted the family had been meaning to take a trip there anyways—even though you could tell she was just trying to make you feel better. 

You went along with it, so here you were now in Diagon Alley with a list of things you needed to get back on your feet. 

James went off to browse the newest Quidditch equipment in stores, his parents went to run a few errands around the alley, but Sirius insisted on staying back and shopping with you. 

You could feel him peering at the list over your shoulder, and your suspicions were confirmed when he started reading it aloud. “Quills, paper, toiletries— Love, I know the Potters have all of that and they’ll be more than willing to share.”

You had been getting closer over the last few days, but the nickname still sent a flock of butterflies loose in your stomach every single time. The both of you walked into the second hand store and the butterflies got worse when he opened the door for you. 

“I’m sure they do.” You responded. “But I don’t want to be dependent on them. No offence.” 

The last part was teasing, but he would never take the bait like that. 

“None taken, actually.” Sirius said proudly. “The Potters are all lovely people.”

“If you love them so much, why don’t you marry them?”

You were trying hard at this point to tease. At least it seemed like you were getting a reaction now. 

“Well, I don’t know.” He chuckled. “I mean, I could start with the fact that I’m already married.”

Your jaw dropped as you feigned shock. “You’ve been married this whole time? I can’t believe you, Sirius Black.”

You admired how he played along. He rolled his eyes and his mouth formed a small smirk. 

“I know, I can’t deny I can be a player sometimes, I’m sorry.” He ran his hands along a frilly dress beside you. “Actually, I don’t even know why I’m here with you because my wife is pretty great.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and pretended to look at some skirts so you wouldn’t fold immediately. “Yeah? Tell me about her.”

“Where do I even start? We were actually set up by our families, but it may be the only thing my parents ever did right. She was the fittest girl in school even though I would never admit it at the time, she’s way too good for me, she even ran away from her horrid family and came straight to find me. But there is something…” He sighed like there was something huge he needed to get off his chest. 

You tilted your head to the side and decided to travel down whatever road he was heading. “And what might that be?” 

“Well, a few things actually.” And your interest was piqued even further. He picked up a thin scarf and started waving it around dramatically as he spoke. “First is that I have no idea if she even likes me back, and second is that she’s only been living with me for a few days and she’s already made it abundantly clear she intends on getting her own place—”

You cut him off there, grabbing the scarf to stop its movement. You were both smiling at each other as he moved with the scarf when you pulled it closer. 

“You’re making this wonderful wife of yours seem like she hates you.” You softened, and your attention switched to the half-used rolls of fabric on the dusty shelves. “I already told you, I am getting my own place soon. And if we get closer and decide that our marriage was a good idea, then you’re absolutely free to move in with me.”

“Then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want that to happen, but there was no way you were going to tell him that right now. 

“Look!” Sirius got your attention, holding up a soft, barely-used roll of fabric. “We can even get some ‘his and hers’ robes made from this stuff!”

“I think matching housecoats is just a thing for couples.”

His eyebrow raised and he looked down at you like what you just said was completely ridiculous. “And what’s the problem?”

“You and I aren’t a couple.” Obviously. 

“Well, that can be changed easily. I think it’s about time we go house hunting together.”

You rolled your eyes, and started walking down the store’s aisle, away from Sirius. He was absolutely not going to see you blush as you told him this next bit. 

“You at least have to take me on a date if you want to buy a house with me.” 

He followed where you walked. Though you couldn’t see his face, you knew that stupid, annoying, super sexy smirk was back on him. 

“This isn’t a date?” He asked. 

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

No, not really. You supposed it sort of was a date. It was just the two of you here, and the way you talk isn’t quite how people talk to each other when they’re just friends. You could really only think of one defence in favour of it not being a date. 

“You never asked me out on this date. You have to ask someone to go on the date for it to be a real one.”

Sirius threw his head back dramatically, rolling his eyes and letting out a loud sigh. 

“Will you make this a date with me, love?” 

He held out his hand, asking you to take it and make this a real date like you had said. 

Putting an end to his anxious suffering, you placed your hand atop his and intertwined your fingers. 

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you, Sirius.” You told him in mock defeat. “Now pick up that fabric you liked. If the date goes well, I’ll think about having those robes made.”