#so it would be easy to pick up a couple lessons with him as a treat to myself. if i wanted

[july-19th-club]

mutuals should i learn to play the violin i just found a video for learning my very favorite piece of violin music of all time the meditation from thaïs and . well my brother once tried to learn violin and he gave up (he was like ten) but we still have this . fiddle of his. suppose i tuned up this probably not quite adult sized beast and learned the thaïs . a thing ive been thinking about since approximately seventh grade

[vivwritesfics]

No Need To Ask

Chapter Fourteen - His Pretty, Little Wife

The Norris' were a notorious crime family in the UK. One of many. With Norris, the head of the family, running operations with his son, Lando, they work to keep Y/N Norris, Norris' daughter protected. Life in a crime family wasn't something they wanted for her.

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

The next chapter is going to be the midway point, basically. We've still got so much more plot to come and I really don't know how long this story is going to be, it's already 25.5K long all together

1.8K words

Series Masterlist

Marie. The cook that Carlos fucked was called Marie.

It was easy for Y/N to find her; she didn’t think she would ever forget that face. When she walked down into the kitchens, Marie’s face went pale. She let out an alarmed squeak and went to hide behind another one of the cooks.

From the way Y/N was dressed, she didn’t blame Marie for hiding away. She was meant to be powerful and imposing, mirroring the aura her husband gave off. The long, black dress with the slit up the side of the skirt, and heeled boots. It was gorgeous, making Y/N look ever the part of the powerful mafia wife her mother once was.

“Relax, Marie,” Y/N said as she leaned against the worktop, staring at her.

The employee she was hiding behind cleared his throat and stepped out of the way, leaving Marie at Y/N’s mercy.

She gulped as she looked at the lady of the house. “Please, mi señora, no quise hacer daño,” she cried. She fell to her knees, clasping her hands together, tears springing to her eyes.

Y/N sucked in a breath. Her Spanish lessons had been going well enough that she could pick up a couple of words and peace together the sentence. Please, my lady, Marie had said, I meant no harm. She took a moment to formulate a response.

It may have made her appear weak, but Y/N didn’t care. “Marie, esta bien,” She said, unfolding her arms. (Marie, it is okay). “Tengo una propuesta para ti.” But this was where she stopped being able to speak to Marie in her native tongue.

She sucked in a deep breath. “Your sleeping with my husband is not something I blame you for, okay? If it had been me sleeping with another man, my husband would have had him killed.” Marie let out a cry. “But I don’t want to have you killed. I will not have you killed. What I want to do is to set you up, with enough money that you won’t need to work,” she said.

“Mi señora,” said Marie as she fell to her knees, gasping sobs leaving her lips.

“I’ll give you the money, enough to set you up for life, as long as you leave wordlessly and tell nobody where you’re going.”

Gulping, Marie nodded her head. She’d do as her lady asked, from fear she’d lose her life.

Carlos’s money was now Y/N’s money, too. She could do what she wanted with it, and what she wanted to do was set Marie up somewhere nice.

She took the money and found Marie somewhere to live. It was on the very edge of the Sainz territory, somewhere they’d never think to look. She gave Marie the money and helped her to escape in the dead of night.

Marie would never admit it, but she was grateful to señora Sainz, for helping her get away from this life of crime. It was no little girls dream to serve the biggest crime family in Spain, but, once you got in, there was no way out. Y/N was offering her a helping hand, and Marie jumped to take it.

Y/N made her way to Carlos’s office. She pushed past the men guarding the door, who no longer bothered to stop her, and took her seat at Carlos’s desk. In his chair, with his feet up on the top of the desk.

It was a risk, sitting in his seat, but it was a risk Y/N was willing to take. There was no telling how he would react when he came back in from the garden, to see her sitting in his seat.

But Y/N didn’t have to wait for very long. Carlos came back in from the garden, not paying much attention as he strode across his office.

But then he spied her, sitting at his desk. A smirk crossed his face. “Hello, my pretty, little wife,” he said, sitting in one of the seats on the other side of the desk. He leaned back as he stared at her. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Have you seen Marie recently?” Asked Y/N as she looked at him over the top of her boots.

Carlos let the smile drop from his face. “No, Y/N, I haven’t,” he answered.

“I wonder why that could be.”

It took Carlos a moment to realise what she meant. They’d played that game of chess nearly a week ago, the dots were hard to connect. But, once he got it, Carlos let that same smirk cross his face once ago. “Oh Dios mío,” he said with a shake of his head. “My pretty little wife had somebody killed. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Carlos liked it. For some unexplainable reason, Carlos liked it. He liked the fact that she had somebody killed. This wasn’t what Y/N expected. She didn’t really know what to do now. But she didn’t shift, didn’t move. She kept her gaze on Carlos, feet on the table. “You said you’d kill any man I slept with, so I thought I’d return the favour.”

“Did you know Marie had a family?” Carlos asked as he leaned back. “Her husband died, bless her, but she had two little boys. Mateo and Diego. I wonder what they will do without their mother. Well, I wonder how long they’ll last without her.”

As he said it, Carlos watched for Y/N’s reaction, and Y/N knew that. But it was hard to know how to react. Marie had already told her about Diego and Mateo, and Y/N had given her enough for the whole family to get away. But Carlos didn’t know that. He was expecting her to be distraught.

But that was what the old Y/N would have done, what the weak Y/N would have done.

She found the balance, picking at her nails as she said, “I didn’t know that,” she mumbled, no longer meeting his gaze.

Carlos smirked as he stood from his seat and straightened out his suit jacket. “No matter, mi amor, it is no concern of ours.” He pulled Y/N’s chair back, making her legs fall from the desk. Carlos kissed the top of her head and stood her up from the chair, taking her place. “You can stay with me, querida, sit on my lap while I have meetings,” he said, wearing a devilish grin.

Y/N quickly shook her head and rushed out of the office. What Carlos had just offered, all because he thought she had somebody killed, was that a step in the right direction? Was that evidence that Carlos was going to start respecting her? Only time would tell.

***

This was one of those rare instances where Carlos’s family didn’t join them for dinner. Family dinners was something Sainz was very passionate about, and he’d insisted they’d all meet at Carlos’s house while Y/N was settling in. But this was the last week where Carlos would host the dinner and soon they’d be returning to dinners at Sainz’s.

But tonight, there was no family dinner. Carlos still insisted he and Y/N ate together, though.

After her Spanish lesson, one of Carlos’s men came to get her. They’d begun to speak to her in Spanish, and Y/N had to try her best to understand them. If she couldn’t understand them, they’d try again in English, something she was grateful for.

Y/N stood from the table. “Gracias señora,” she said to her Spanish tutor and walked out of the library.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked out to the patio. She stood in front of the pool for just a second, looking at the reflection of the clouds in the sky. Every morning Carlos went for his daily swim, and Y/N would have been lying if she said she didn’t watch him.

She looked towards the table, where the kitchen staff were laying the food out on the table. It was a lot for two people, far too much. There was no sign of Maria as they laid the table.

No sign of her husband either.

But then Y/N looked towards the other side of the garden, towards the fire pit. It wasn’t lit, but Carlos was sat there, cigarette between his lips.

She strode towards him, walking across the patio, towards her husband. He looked up at his, dark eyes following her as she approached. “I didn’t know you smoked,” she said as she came to stand in front of him.

Carlos released the smoke from his lungs and looked up at his wife. He wrapped his arm around her place, pulling her close. “Does my pretty little wife not like it when I smoke?” He asked, an amused smile playing on his lips. His face was level with her stomach, so close to…

Y/N shook her thoughts away. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around his neck, ever step calculating. “Oh no, Carlos,” she said, slowly getting closer to him. “I couldn’t care less,” she whispered and kissed his cheek.

Standing up straight she walked away from him, hips swaying from side to side as she walked around the pool, making her way to the table.

She looked towards the golf course. Since she’d married Carlos, she hadn’t seen the golf course be used once. It was a favourite pastime of her brothers, back when he was allowed to have pastimes. If they were a normal couple, if they had married for love, Y/N was sure she would have gotten him to teach her some golf while she taught him how to play the perfect game of chess. But, instead, Y/N was left longing for that life, for the husband who would teach her golf and swim with her in the pool, who would stop smoking because she asked and hold her close as they sat around the fire pit.

Her eyes moved towards Carlos, watching as he finished the cigarette. She didn’t know when he had started calling her his pretty, little wife. But she wasn’t complaining. It made her knees weak, hearing those words leave his pretty lips.

Y/N watched as he stubbed out his cigarette and walked around the pool, sitting himself at the table opposite her. He wore that same amused smile as he began putting things on Y/N’s plate. Fuck, she wanted him. She wanted him so bad.

Taglist (open): @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @topguncultleader @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora @ashy-kit @jenniferrvsesi @barcelonaloverf1life @sbella13 @nicolettecallednikki @darleneslane @thehufflepuffavenger1 @champagneproblems17 @aespie @yukheizcigarettes @rewmuslupin @hollie911 @ashy-kit @ririgy @stqrgir1 @zaynzierulez @minkyungseokie @rafaaoli @carolinesainz @ashies-ln4op81aa23 @measimp @mizelophsun11 @eviethetheatrefreak @andydrysdalerogers @formulaal

[mimi-cee-genshin]

Straight Shooter - Tighnari x f!reader

Summary: First impressions aren't easy to overcome, but for someone like Tighnari, they're a piece of cake.

Additional info: cute and wholesome fluff, meet cute, enemies to lovers (for, like, two seconds lol), 1.1k words

(Thanks to @paimonial-rage and @andromeda-nova-writing for beta reading!)

*****

Sand got between your toes and rubbed against the soles of your feet as you hurried down the dirt road. Gandharva Ville was in sight – thirty minutes later than planned.

Collei waved at you in the distance with both arms stretched out wide. As you came near, someone else was beside her waiting at the entrance of a house. His ears were his most prominent feature, but his arms were crossed as he tapped his foot. He was irritated.

You stopped in front of Collei, out of breath and panting for air.

“You're finally here!” said Collei. “I was worried something horrible happened to you.”

“I'm so sorry. I–” You cut your own words short because you didn't have an acceptable explanation. You simply slept in and that was a weak excuse for the first day on the job.

The guy scoffs at you. “Seems like you're following in your father's footsteps, huh?”

At first, you blinked a couple of times, stunned at his words. A growing portion of both anger and embarrassment burned inside you. You gripped your bag, hands already sweating from the run to Gandharva Ville. This was an awful start to your day and this guy made it worse.

“I'll be around the back if you need anything,” he said to Collei. With that, he left the two of you alone.

“Collei, who was that?” you asked. You were somehow able to conceal the irritation in your voice.

“That was Master Tighnari. He can be a little harsh at times,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, “but he's a really great guy.”

Her words didn't exactly quell the sensation in your gut. This Tighnari guy criticized both you and your dad in a single shot when he didn't even know you.

You put those thoughts aside to refocus on the job ahead. Once inside the house, you took out a textbook and a few sheets of paper and placed them on Collei’s desk. You instructed Collei to work through exercises to evaluate her current language skills. With excitement, she picked up her pencil and went straight to work. Fortunately, you could tell right away she'd be a good student. 

Despite your earlier encounter with Tighnari, you were glad your father had told you about this job. Your previous one was getting tiring and you could schedule tutoring around other tasks and errands more easily. If only you could forget what your dad added.

"Who knows? Maybe you can even find a guy you like at this job," he told you.

"And how old exactly are your coworkers?" you asked, rolling your eyes.

You scoffed at the thought. You knew your dad was just teasing but you were content with being single. However, if a good guy came along, you wouldn't complain.

“I think I'm done now,” said Collei as she handed you the sheet with a bashful smile.

“You don't need to be so nervous around me, Collei,” you said. “I'm not that much older than you.”

Her smile grew larger. “I'm just really glad I was able to find someone like you. Master Tighnari has been teaching me this whole time and it was taking a toll on him.”

“Really?” you said, raising a brow.

“Mmhmm. He has a lot of work as the lead forest watcher so I wanted to help him out by hiring a dedicated tutor,” she explained.

So this guy would go out of his way to help someone like Collei. Maybe he wasn't as bad as you initially thought, but you still had some reservations.

After completing the lesson for the day, you packed up your belongings and Collei thanked you for your work. She was even eager for your return tomorrow, bright-eyed and ready to learn.

You stretched and yawned as you exited the house, and at the edge of the trail, you saw Tighnari standing there as if he were waiting for the two of you to finish. 

You clutched your bag close to your chest as you walked towards the trail. You put some distance between yourself and Tighnari as you walked past him. Just as you thought you were about to successfully avoid him, he called out to you.

“Could I talk to you for a moment?” he asked.

You took a breath. “What is it?” you said, turning to him. 

“There's something I want to clear up, if that's alright with you.” 

You loosen the grip on your bag slightly.

“It seems that my comment earlier has caused some… undesirable effects. It wasn't my intention to be rude to you like that.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, raising a brow.

“You see, I'm quite sarcastic around your father. As my senior, he often pokes fun at me and I, in return, have my own way of responding to him. It's simply how we behave as coworkers.”

So that was what it was. You had thrown your own retorts to your father’s silly quips as well.

“I mistakenly assumed the two of you would have a similar temperament,” he continued, “which is why I behaved in that manner. When I realized there was a chance you might be more like Collei, I decided it would be best to clear this up with you. I didn't want to leave you with a bad impression of me. And so, I wanted to apologize to you.”

You relaxed your shoulders, and for the first time today, took a good look at him. An ear was slightly bent, showing that he was a bit ashamed of his assumptions of you, yet his eyes looked directly at you, sympathetic yet focused.

This was Tighnari. A straight shooter.

“Thank you,” you told him. “For clearing that up, I mean. Not just anyone would take the time to do that.”

“It's not a problem. It's the sensible solution. I'd do it for anyone,” he told you. He lifted his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. “Anyway, are you heading home now? I hope it's not too far of a journey for you.”

“I'm actually headed to the city to meet up with some friends.”

“I see,” he said with a hand on his chin. “In that case, I'll leave you to it. I'm heading to Pardis Dhyai in a bit. I'll see you tomorrow then.”

You lifted your hand to give a subtle wave as he walked back to the house. Collei left the building after hearing his call, and she retold her day to him with a skip in her step as the two of them went to look for a fellow forest watcher.

You spun on your heel and made your way to the city. Your feet were clear of dirt and sand. Perhaps your dad was right. The guys here didn't seem so bad after all.

*****

I hope you liked it! I might add a part two some day, but for now, it'll remain as a one-shot. :) (You can also check out my other fics as well.)

[formulaforza]

—strawberry wine

and all the times we used to have. (nothing defines a man like love that makes him soft). pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: language, angst babyyy love, mackie... 5k ish. this is. definitely something. perhaps it should have stayed in the drafts but dani selected it from a group of it's peers yesterday evening.

It’s been years since you last spent enough time at the vineyard to be considered even a part-time employee. It’s hard to be there, now, in a way it didn’t used to be. Watching it fade away into obscurity and beg someone–anyone–to buy the property to land so your family can get out without generational debt. The fields just hold so many memories, an ancestral kind of history; your first job, the place you had your first drink, where you fell both in, and out of love for the first time. Being there now, watching it die a malignant death is just… sad. There isn’t anything poetic about it. 

You long for the days of the peak, of never ending days spent behind the counter in the barn selling wealthy people on the aesthetics of a small, family-run vineyard. Of your father hosting tours and your mother tastings, of you, pink nose and shoulders kissed by the sun, picking grapes by hand. Of the days where help still had to be hired. 

For a while there, it seemed like there was a never ending rotation of teenagers and twenty-somethings willing to do manual labor for minimum wage–thirteen an hour–from sunup to sundown. They’d even host the occasional tour on busy Saturday evenings, would be compensated in under the table bottles of wine and cash tips. None of them ever stuck around longer than a couple months, found better jobs indoors, closer to school, better pay. Well, nobody except Daniel. 

Daniel worked at the vineyard for… four-ish years, with varying availability depending on seasons and school and racing. 

Sometimes, when you lose yourself to sentiments and fantasy, you imagine a world where the Vineyard never faced any competition, where it is still thriving and you take over your mother’s job when she retires. Daniel still works there, maybe in the fields where he was always supposed to be, or maybe front of house guiding tours and helping you with tastings. Life is simple and plain and at the end of every night you lock the barn doors  and go home together and eat dinner and grocery shop and do your taxes. Daniel strums the guitar on the porch when it rains. Life is easy and fun and you laugh more than you don’t. 

It’s silly, really. But first loves are always silly. 

He is one of the many memories that haunt the property, walking the lines of grapevines feeling more like a walk through a fogged out graveyard than anything. 

Even now, all these years later, you can still see him sat in the swivel chair in the office doorway, throwing grapes at you while you attempt to run the dusty cash register. It’s a cool July afternoon and he’s got a stupid grin on his face and can’t look anywhere but you. 

Daniel is kind of like those people you know you’re given young so that for the rest of your life you know what real feels like. They’re more a lesson than a lover, unfortunately. 

—

You move through the place like you own it, which, you suppose technically you do, in some will locked away in an accountant’s filing cabinet, this all belongs to you. Right now, though, you’re seventeen and just returning from school, already setting up your homework on the end of the counter, a spattering of greetings from the local customers and the local hands, the people who know that this is more of a natural habitat than anywhere else on the planet will ever be. 

Danny also moves around the place like he owns it, which, if it was up to him he probably would. He hums your name as he moves past, taps the opposite shoulder to the one he leans over, reading your textbook over your shoulder. “It’s seventeen,” he quips.

“It’s a history textbook,” you reply, eyes unmoving from the page. 

“Seventeen-seventy, cunt.” There’s a half-empty bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. He leans over you to grab an orange. “Captain Hook and such,” he adds, hosting himself up onto the counter with a thud. You’re sure one day the old wood is going to give out on him and he’ll fall straight onto his ass. Part of you hopes you’re around to see it, the other knows that he’ll find a way to not only make it your fault, but also tease you about it for a minimum of six months. 

“Fuck off, Danny,” you punctuate, just loud enough for him to hear. 

“It’s Daniel, now.”

You snort. Finally, you give him your attention. “Danny is too unprofessional for a hot-shot Red Bull junior driver like you?”

“See,” he pops his thumb harshly through the peel of the orange, the citrus scent wafting out into the humid air. “You get it.”

You pout. “I’m still going to call you Danny.”

“No you won’t,” he laughs. God, the smell of orange is overwhelming, the kind that lingers long after the fruit is gone. When Danny goes back to work in a few minutes, tosses the peel and into the trash by the office door, he’ll still linger in the room with the smell of citrus. 

“I will.”

“You know what,” he hums, biting into a slice. “Let me make you a deal.”

You smile, shake your head. “Shouldn’t I be the one making you a deal?”

He groans against the fruit, “Can you just?”

When you look up again, lean back in your chair and cross your arms, he has orange juice running down the side of his hand, all sweet and sticky and summery. “Fine.”

He smiles goofily, all fucking proud of himself just because you agreed to shut up for thirty seconds. “You can keep calling me Danny, but only if you let me take you out this weekend.”

“Danny,” you protest. This is far from the first time he’s tried to plant the seed of a date with him. It’s had to’ve been a year, by now. You know he’d drop it if you would just give him an answer, but a year later you still haven’t been able to deliver anything definitive. 

He shrugs. “‘Dem’s the rules, honey.”

Maybe what you say next is your greatest mistake, or maybe it was what you were always going to say. Maybe you feel like you can say it because he leaves again soon, for longer than ever. You won’t have to live with the consequences of your actions, of your words. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s simply that you think Daniel is far too proper a name for the sticky-handed vineyard tour guide you’ve grown particularly fond of. Danny is much more fitting for him, which is most certainly why you say, okay. When are you picking me up?

—

You drive out from your parents house with your dad in his old Ford Bronco. It’s half rusted out and half chipped blue paint, with worn leather seats and a steering wheel somehow more worn than the rest of it. Seven black tree air fresheners hand from the rearview mirror, new car smell. This relic is well past that–he’s been driving it out to the property literally forever, and this trip won’t be any exception. 

You hardly recognize the place, you think as you slam the squeaky door shut with enough force to make sure it really latches. 

The fields are overgrown with tall grass and shrubs and mustard flowers. The trunks of the grapevines act as headstones for the sprawling field of dry, sunburnt plants. You don’t think anyone has been out there with a plow in months, if not years. 

The barn, the one you grew up in, has been lost with the rest of the place to time. Red paint chips off the wood in massive flakes. The branding that had once run in big wooden letters along the top of the door have all since fallen, leaving a sad outline of your family name in its weathered wake. Two padlocks, one rusted shut, sit on the lock. Every step you take kicks up more dust. 

You’re removed from your thoughts, from the hauntings and the sentiment and the memories, by the creaking of the tailgate on your father’s truck. Stuffed in the back of the Bronco are your afternoon tasks; a pair of bulk cutters for the padlocks,  a new, state of the art keypad lock given to your Dad by a realtor, a post hole digger, and five for-sale signs haphazardly packed any way they would fit. 

You spend most of the next couple hours digging holes along the road, filling them with the wooden posts of the for-sale signs, looking disapprovingly at the thirty-something in a suit that has been tasked with selling the unsellable property. 

This is, what… the fifth person you’d hired to sell this fucking place. Soon enough, you’re going to be sticking up For Sale by Owner signs with a hand-written phone number in black sharpie along the fences that were supposed to keep animals out. Realtors were never in the budget to begin with. 

—

You’re waiting on the old front porch when he pulls up in his beat-up truck, John Denver playing through the open windows, his hand moving in the wind up the entire dusty driveway. You don’t know what he can see, that your Mom is watching out the kitchen window with a friendly smile. 

You’ve got your best sundress on, one that you’d debated wearing for almost thirty-six hours. The first week Danny worked in front of house with you, he spent the entire shift flirting with one of your Dad’s friend’s daughters. He said that sundresses are a crime committed against teenage boys and that when he meets God he’s going to have words with him over pretty girls and their affinity for said sundresses. 

You’d laughed then, because you thought it was silly. You remembered it because you thought the new kid was kind of cute, in a you work for my parents and I could never think you’re cute way. 

“Fuck,” is the first word out of his mouth, before the car door is even closed behind him, followed quickly by a check of his watch and “am I late?”

“No, no,” you smile, tucking a wind-blown strand of hair behind your ear, standing to your feet on the wooden stairs. “You’re early, actually. I think,” you chuckle. “I’m just,” you can feel your cheeks flushing. “I’m just excited.”

“Yeah,” he moves to you quickly, nervously. In the way only teenage boys on a first date do. “I’m excited too.”

“You look nice,” you say, stepping down the final couple of steps and meeting his waiting hand. “Your hair. I feel like I only ever see you in a hat.”

“Thanks, yeah,” he laughs. You’ve always loved his laugh, even when he’s annoying you and annoying customers and annoying himself. His laugh has always been good. “You look beautiful. I’ve never seen you, I mean. Not that you don’t always look–”

“Danny,” you interject as he opens the passenger side door. 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he offers a smile and closes the door. Just before it latches shut, though, you hear him finish his sentence. “Thank you.”

He takes you to King’s Park, to the botanical garden after a stop for ice cream. He tells you that he’s had a crush on you this entire time and you ask him to tell you something you don’t already know. It’s then, in the botanical garden next to the water garden, that he tells you about his quote-en-quote ‘silly, kind of, like, backup dream, I guess’ where he has his own vineyard, brews his own wine and spends every day half drunk and wholly happy. 

He stumbles through the entire telling of it, which is how you know he’s not fucking with you. He never gets nervous when it comes to fucking with you. 

Perhaps that is where your silly, kind of like, backup dream started. The one where you and Daniel are working at the vineyard together and life is all death and taxes and grocery bills but somehow, in the midst of all the dull normalcy, you’re both happy as happy can be. 

—

“Someone is out there looking at the place today,” your father tells you over the phone. You try to talk every day, a habit you’ve both picked up in the past couple years, in the time and space since you’ve turned thirty. 

“You’re kidding,” you say. You’re sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling spoonfuls of some health-conscious cereal into your mouth (another post-thirtieth habit). “Who?”

“I don’t know, kid,” you swear you can hear the frown on his face, the deep smile lines and the frustrated forehead wrinkles from months in the direct southern sun. “Probably some fucking developer.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs. “If I’m right, I’d bet they break ground on a neighborhood within the year.”

Your sigh matches his. You can’t even imagine it, front yards and vinyl flooring and white walls built on a foundation of your childhood memories. It’s like going back home, to your childhood home that you sold so many years ago, and discovering it’s been bulldozed, wiped clean from the face of the Earth. “That’s so sad.”

“I know, but, well. You know, honey. It’s not like we have much choice.”

You nod. You do understand. You understand more than you wish you did. “I know. I know. Still pretty fuckin’ sad, though.”

There’s a long silence. The kind of silence that can only be shared by a father and a daughter; a silence that speaks more words than the dictionary can hold. “She’d understand it,” he finally speaks.  “She wouldn’t fucking like it, but she would understand it.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know she would.”

—

“Are you going to kill me?” You giggled, stumbling over your feet. Danny is leading you on the property, one hand over your eyes, the other on your waist, guiding you poorly. 

“And be the first fucking suspect?” He laughs. “I think not.”

“Okay, then where are you taking me?” You beg. It's been going on like this for some half hour, before he even covered your eyes.

He laughs. You laugh. All the two of you do is laugh. “Can’t you lighten up?”

“Not when I’m being led to my death. No, I can’t!”

He stops, turns you around a hundred and eighty degrees and takes his hand off your eyes, fingers digging into either of your shoulders. “Babe," he says, and you'd think he was about to tell you he killed someone.

You mimic his seriousness, find humor in it. “Babe.”

“You trust me.”

“Do I?” You smile. He cocks his head to one side and rolls his big brown eyes. You would commit crimes for his eyes. “I do.”

“Okay, so then fucking trust me.”

“Okay,” you nod, closing your eyes.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay," you reach blindly for his hand, bring it to your eyes to block the light from them once more. "I trust you. Let’s go.”

After a short, terribly blind walk, Danny finally stops. You’ve been able to hear the river that flows out the back of the property for twenty minutes, but it’s close enough now that you can smell it; the sticks and the rocks and the mud and the water. You can practically feel the splashing of the water bouncing off the boulders.

“Okay. Open,” he instructs, removing his hand from your eye, moving his arms to hug you from behind, arms wrapped over the front of your chest. 

You open your eyes to find a picnic, carefully set up with a spread of dinner and drinks and dessert, complete with a plaid flannel blanket and candles that smell like citronella masked with lavender and a bouquet of white roses already in a water filled vase. “Danny,” you hum, leaning your head back against his shoulder. 

He kisses your temple, whispers against your hair, “Happy Anniversary.”

“Danny,” you drag out the letters of his name, of the nickname he only lets the people he loves call him by. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy and special. 

“Honey,” he mocks you, sways behind you. 

“This is too much,” You crane your neck to look at him, and then turn your whole body so you’re flush against his chest, close in a way only you get to be. “You’re so sweet.”

He laughs and it vibrates in both of your chests. A feeling you’ll never tire of. “I mean, this is not too much. Arguably, this is too little.”

“No,” you back away, out of his grip and take small steps backwards, towards the picnic and the waiting meal, pulling him along with you by interlocked pinkies. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Well,” his grin grows. “I can’t argue with that.”

“I love you so much,” you tell him, because you do, because you’re eighteen and everything in this life is so simple and black and white.

“I love you, too, and–”

“Oh my gosh,” you cut him off, wide-eyed and giddy. “Wine with strawberries?”

He nods. “Strawberry wine, if you will. For the winery with no strawberry fields.”

“This is better,” you state, with the utmost confidence, without even a sip or a sniff or any idea of what white wine he’d used as a base for his little cocktail. 

“Definitely not, but sure.”

“It is, because you made it for me. That makes it perfect.”

—

You’re completely removed from the actual buying and selling of the property. It isn’t up to you to decline or accept or field offers, that’s all your dad. The place is still his, at least for a couple more weeks while all the paperwork processes.

It was an anonymous buyer, according to your Dad. Cash offer, over asking price. He’s not sure how the real estate agent managed it, and honestly? Neither are you. Objectively, that land isn’t worth the cost of cleaning it up. Everyone in their right mind knows it. You just come from a particular bloodline where the mind never was quite right when it came to the vineyard. 

What shocks you most, though, is that the anonymous buyer–supposedly–is interested in restoring the place rather than bulldozing it.

“They asked me about the dirt,” your dad tells you on one of your daily phone calls. “Wanted to know about berries.”

“Berries?”

“Yeah, strawberries or raspberries or something like that.”

You scoff. What kind of fucking idiot is buying this land? It might just be a herd of manufactured houses after all. “Well, it’s too hot here for raspberries. Everyone knows that.”

“I know, that’s what I told them. They could probably grow strawberries in July or August.”

“Are they trying to make strawberry wine or something?” And, as if this is some fucked up kind of movie, and not real life, it all comes back to you. Every memory, every moment, all at the thought of fucking strawberries in wine. 

“Good fucking luck to them, if they are.” Your grandparents entertained the idea of it once, all the fruit wines. It’s a fucking shit-show, according to legend. Hell to try and make, Heaven to taste. It just wasn’t worth it for them. But apparently now it’s worth it to someone.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, bite and bite until you’re worried you’ll draw blood, that you’re a single tooth away from popping a hole clear through the skin. There’s no way, there’s genuinely no way, right? “Dad?”

“Shoot.”

“It’s not.” You almost stop yourself, you almost have some common fucking sense and realize just how vast the world is and how completely unlikely it is that– almost. You almost stop yourself. “The anonymous buyer, it isn’t Daniel, is it?”

“Daniel?” He scoffs on the other end. “Better not be that fucking cunt.”

You smile, the kind of smile that you know you should feel guilty for having. “He’s not a cunt, Dad.”

“I never fucking liked that kid.”

You’re right–you think. You’re right, Dad. You didn’t like him. “You loved him.”

“No, I lost all my respect for him when he left you like he did,” his voice is laced with a calm seriousness. He’s always been your blind defender. 

“Yeah, Dad,” you pause. Now’s as good a time as any, you suppose. “I’ve been… that’s not exactly how it went down.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Daniel didn’t leave me, and even if he did, Dad, he wouldn’t have done it then.”

—

“What the fuck are you talking about, you’re breaking up with me?” His voice cuts through continents. He’s somewhere in the UK, or maybe Italy, or maybe Asia. You honestly can’t keep track anymore, can barely keep track of the days of the week that you’re living much less the ones he’s in. 

“It’s exactly what I said, Daniel,” you say, try to keep your voice as level headed as possible, to juxtapose the way your mind races, the way your heart rate spikes and your palms sweat and everything in you hurts. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“No, no. I’m making this fucking hard,” he’s riled up enough for the both of you. “You don’t just. This isn’t how this works, babe. You can’t just break up with me.” He’s raising his voice with you. You can count on one hand and have fingers left over the amount of times Danny has yelled at you, and this is the first time it’s not scary. 

“I can, and I am,” your voice comes from your throat, choked out over the lull of your entire body begging you to please, please don’t do this. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry!” He yells, the last letter sound cracking with the realization of his actions. “You’re not sorry. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Okay, sure. Whatever.” He doesn’t make this easy, not that you’d expected it to be easy. You’d hoped for something cleaner, though. Less mess. “I’m having a great time breaking your heart.”

“Just. Why? Why are you doing this? What happened? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, D,” you sigh. You didn’t know that your heart could physically hurt. You thought that was some crap that they made up for movies and songs and poems, some grand metaphor for how sad you get. “I can’t be a girlfriend right now. To anyone.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

You can feel yourself shutting down, closing every part of yourself off, running on pure survival instincts. “I know. I’m a cunt.”

“You aren’t… fuck me. I mean, fuck, dude.” He laughs. There’s not a thing about it that sounds happy. “I know you don’t want this, I know it. Talk to me, please. Tell me what’s going on and I can help you and everything is going to be fine, baby. Just. Please.”

“Daniel.”

“Why are you calling me that?!”

“It’s what you like to be called!” You yell back, feel the burn in your nose and your cheeks and the sting in your chest. 

There’s silence for so long you wonder if he’s hung up, if you’re supposed to. It’s minutes before he speaks again. “Not by you, it’s not.”

—

It’s been just past a year since the place got sold, and nobody from your family–nobody–has been there since. You moved out of town years before the sale, and your Dad has joined you, wants to be near you in his ever increasing age and always deepening wrinkles. When the arthritis sets in, someone needs to forge my signature for me, he tells you. 

It’s not until her birthday that you’re back in Perth, that you’re struck with the sudden spark, with the idea to drive past the vineyard, to see what idiot is trying to plant raspberries in the Australian heat, to see who's living in your shoes and wearing your clothes and sleeping under your bed like a monster. 

“I don’t know that we should do that,” your Dad says. “It’s going to make you sad.”

You shrug in the passenger seat of the old Bronco. “We’re in the parking lot of a cemetery, so,” you offer a near silent chuckle. “I think we’re a bit past sad.”

“Okay,” he nods. “There’s something you should know, then.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a neighborhood.”

“No, no. It’s a vineyard. Strawberries and grapes in the fields.”

“Well, good then,” you nod, glide your hands through the air outside the open window. “What’s wrong with it?”

He shrugs, drums his fingers on the beat up steering wheel. “You remember when you asked me last year if it was Daniel?”

“Dad. Don’t.”

“Well, I didn’t know it then, but–”

“I’m serious. Don’t tell me this, please,” you’re a second away from sticking your fingers in your ears and humming a nursery rhyme to keep the unsaid unspoken. 

“Daniel bought the place, hon.”

“My Daniel?” You squeak. You haven’t felt this young in a while. Or this small. 

He laughs, turns to face you with a look that begs you not to be so damn daft. “The only Daniel that means anything to anyone in this family.”

“When did you find out?”

“As soon as they put the sign up. I was still living out here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You have so many questions. You don’t think there’s any you actually want answers to. 

“What good was it going to do? I never thought you’d be back here.”

“Well. I’m back.”

He nods. “You’re back.”

You’re back. You never really left, you don’t think. It’s not something you can do around here. Perth is in your blood the same way wine is, some grand, immovable part of your soul. You suppose Daniel is there too, taking up a plot of land in your soul that can never be sold. He lives in you like summertime and sadness and strawberries. Strawberries. Him and his fucking strawberry white wines. 

“He’s got strawberries?” You croak. Tears pull on your voice but you won’t give them the satisfaction. You’re grown now, it’s time to fucking act like it. 

“Strawberry wine. First batches just came out last month. I heard it’s pretty good.”

“I bet.”

“You still wanna go?”

You nod, cold and stunted. “Yeah.”

You see the cars before you see the barn, they’re overflowing out of the parking lot and stopped on the side of the dirt road that leads to the drive. You’ve never seen it so busy. It looks like the pictures your parents used to show you, the ones where the place was fresh and new and shiny. The barn has a fresh coat of red paint, the parking lot is repaved and half full of ATVs with a logo for DR3 Wines printed on either side. 

Above the door, a matching phrase, in simple white wooden letters–like what once was–hangs, announces the place to passers by. 

Inside, it smells like wood, like lavender and citronella and alcohol. There are pictures on every wall, carefully framed photos of everyone in the world besides him. The counter is that same old slab of wood, the one that you always hoped he would fall through. On the wall behind is are more 4x6 photos than you can count, all unframed, all messily taken. He’s in some of those, holding a camera or posing with friends or hugging a grapevine. There’s one with you, right in the middle. You and he and your Mom on the back field picking grapes. It’s taken by your dad, you still remember that morning clear as day. 

There’s another of you; a selfie taken on a point-and-shoot, the two of you with glasses of white wine and strawberries. Next to it is a picture of Kristen Bell and Dax Shephard leaning against the counter, half-drunk glasses in each of their hands. 

Framed, on the edge of the counter, right beside the register, is a photo of the place when he first started working there, of your Mom and your Dad standing proudly in front of it. You took it. You left it in the office when your Dad decided to lock the doors for good. Our Story, the plaque below it reads, with a QR code to scan. 

It leads to a linktree, to social media links and tasting menus and a merchandise shop. The last link, though, is stomach curling. It’s her name, your Mom’s. Fighting for her, it reads. When you click it, you’re taken to a website that encourages donations, that spreads awareness and promotes research, that thanks Daniel by name twice in two paragraphs for his consistent and generous donations and support. 

Before you can make a bee-line for the exit, to tell your Dad that he was right and this was a mistake, you’re met with a red-faced teenage girl asking you if there’s anything she can help you with. “No, uh,” you swallow hard. “My parents were the previous owners, we just stopped in to see the place.”

“Oh my gosh, would you like a tour?”

“Um…” you pause, because you don’t know if you can handle being here. Seeing the place like this again. “Danny’s not… Daniel isn’t here, is he?” She shakes her head. You nod. “Then yeah, I guess. Let me just grab my dad?”

—

You get an invite to a VIP tasting at his vineyard two weeks after your visit. It’s scheduled during the F1 summer break, so you have no doubt he’ll be there, and if that wasn’t clue enough, his handwriting glaring back at you on the invite is about as obvious as obvious can be. 

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your Dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine–the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

read part two, everywhere, everything, here!

[quintinh43]

BFF's 4 Life

Set in the world of Loving You Is As Easy as ABC 123

Here are my head cannons, on before Quinn and the reader became a couple.

You and Quinn lived together for eight months before he finally found a place for himself. In that time the two of you grew very close.

Quinn was very sad to leave and debated just staying with you, but in the end he decided to go through with the move because his new place was closer to Rogers arena.

He did try to convince you to move in with him, but you didn't because your apartment was closer to the university and work.

Quinn would come into the coffee shop that you worked at every time you were working. And every time, without fail, you would present him with some obscene concoction of sugar and caffine that no one had ever heard of.

"I swear to god, i'm gonna get diabetes because of you." Yet without fail he would drink every last drop.

During covid, you started going on morning runs because otherwise, you would've gone crazy. Especially having all of your uni classes online.

Quinn started joining you after a while because he was also going crazy, and the runs really really helped, especially because he got to do them with you.

You were also the one who taught Quinn how to cook during this time. And you were genuinely infuriated when he became a better cook than you. "I'll never forgive you" you grumble, while Quinn cackles as he pulls burnt aspargus out of the oven. "Student becomes the master" he shrugs, and you throw a handful of asparagus at him.

When Quinn got covid, you showed up at his apartment covered head to toe, complete with gloves, a mask, and eyewear, holding a container of chicken noodle soup.

Quinn laughed, immediately took a photo and then proceeded to launch into a coughing fit so bad he turned the colour of a tomato.

At which point you took a photo of him. The two of you keep the photos as blackmail, and if either of you were to ever use them, all hell would break loose.

You own so so so much canuck gear, it's unhinged (courtesy of Quinn of course.) You joked about starting to sell some stuff on eBay, and Quinn looked so genuinely distraught that you never made that joke again.

When you officially started teaching, all the canuck gear came in handy. Especially when you were being lazy and didn't have time to pick an outfit.

At first everyone thought you were just a Canuck super-fan, until one day Quinn had to drop you off at work because your car was in the shop.

Then of course everyone though the two of you were dating. Which got really annoying.

The first time you officially brought Quinn to class was because he had a full day off and didn't know what to do with himself. He begged you to take the day off to spend it with him, but "Some of us have real jobs Quinn."

"Hey! My job is real"

"Well, unfortunately for you I can't just not show up. You had to have given me at least a two day notice so I could've found a substitute."

"Y/nnnnn," he whined, flopping off your bed dramatically while you finished getting dressed. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

" If you're really so concerned about being bored to death, get dressed and come help me be a glorified babysitter for the day" you snorted

Quinn's head snapped up excitedly "wait seriously?"

You were joking, but it happened anyway.

The kids were so well-behaved that you debated bringing Quinn to work with you every day.

Whenever you were on a break, Quinn pestered you to be hanging out with him the whole time. Which usually ended up with recipe expiramenting, Quinn helping you mark papers and lesson plan, or Quinn dragging you along to practice/games/events etc.

One time, he even pestered you to come on a week long roadie with him during winter break. To which you declined - because that was definitely stepping over a 'best friend' relationship line, and you were under the firm impression that Quinn would never love you the way you loved him.

The guys always teased him mercilessly about being in love with you.

"For fucks sake, Huggy. Are you blind? Do you see the way she looks at you?"

After Quinn became captain, whenever his teammates threatened to tell you that he was in love with you he threatened to make them do bag skates for an entire practice.

They shut up really quick after that.

The team loves you, and they always say that whenever they have kids they are sending them to the school you teach at.

Whenever Quinn watched you interact with Kids he gets a little starry eyed and drooly.

Quinn is a very common topic of conversation in your classroom. You often use him as your muse whenever you're doing projects.

He loves it, and he keeps every single piece you've done on him. From art projects, to Health projects.

You even managed to use him in a math project once. (You used little cutouts of his head as addition blocks, he laughed so hard he was crying.)

If Quinn has a game on a week day, you try to wear some form of his merchandise, and he always asks for a fit picture.

Quinn never ever ever let you pay for anything. "You don't even make 1/10th of my salary"

"Way to make a girl feel good about her job,"

"Wait, I didn't mean it like that im sor- no wait. I'm not insulting your job, I'm insulting the people that pay you. You are literally raising our future generations, and the government pays you like trash. If anything, our salaries should be reversed. I basically work in the entertainment industry."

"Ok, well I can still afford to pay for my own shit" you grumble.

Quinn rolls his eyes. "Don't be so stubborn. Put your plastic bank card away. it's insulting in my presence"

"Sorry we don't all have metal fucking credit cards that make noise when we drop them" you spit back.

It continues to be a fight every. single. time.

Whenever you do somehow manage to pay, Quinn is fuming and throughly debates not talking to you for a week.

He never lasts more than a couple hours.

Whenever Quinn left for the summer, you got really lonely. Especially because as a teacher, you had the whole summer off.

He always invited you to come to Michigan with him, but there was always a nagging in your head about "crossing the best friend line"

One summer, you decided to teach summer school for high-schoolers to keep yourself busy. And it was fucking hell. Hormonal sweaty teenagers trying to learn a subject in three weeks rather than four months was so so bad.

Quinn gladly listened to you complain every day, "shoulda come to michigan with me." He would shrug

"Mom and dad have been asking about you," he would throw in quietly.

Which leads us into your relationship with Quinn's family.

Over the six years that the two of you have been friends you've met his parents and both his brothers.

Luke was fourteen, and Jack was sixteen when you met them for the first time.

They both fell IN LOVE with you.

They would call you to ask for homework help, often saying something like, "You're a teacher, what do i do?"

"I'm not a teacher yet, guys. I still have to finish my degree, you know." You would laugh awkwardly and help them anyways.

You blamed both Jack and Luke for the dreadful summer you taught high-schoolers. Simply because you had enjoyed teaching Jack and Luke so much, you thought it would be the same.

They had much the same response as their shithead older brother "you should've come to michigan"

As they grew and saw how you and Quinn looked at each other, they would tease him mercilessly as good brothers do.

"Dude, if you don't confess, I'll marry her." sixteen year old Luke would smirk

That had Quinn seething, and it was quite funny. "You fucking imbecile."

"Mom! Quinn called me a bad word!"

Jack was often cackling in the background or telling Quinn to stop being the world's biggest dumbass.

The day you saw Luke in person and he had grown taller than you, you collapsed dramatically into his arms and pinched his cheeks aggressively. Crying about your favourite little kiddo being all grown up.

Ever the awkward teenager Luke just blushed and grumbled about not being a baby.

Whenever Jack and Luke visit Vancouver, they always ask to visit your classroom.

The first time all three NHL superstar hughes brothers were in your classroom it was fucking chaos throughout the entire school. You got yelled at by the principal, and they had to leave while the cops chased away reporters.

The four of you will never forget the dressing down you got in the principals office that day. It felt like you were a group of playground bullies getting scolded for pushing kids off the slide.

"This is getting brought up at ALL of our weddings." Jack grins as the boys hug you goodbye and head over to Quinn's place.

"Yeah, all three weddings," Luke says with a mischievous grin.

Both you and Quinn blush and choose to ignore Luke's statement.

Until he's winking at you over dramatically and making duck lips at you. The Quinn is dragging him towards the car by his ear and promising to pick you up when school is out.

The way luke can swing between awkward twenty-year old and Youngest child menace is so funny to you.

Now onto Ellen and Jim

They also absolutely love you.

They have loved you since you were freshly nineteen and offering up your apartment for Quinn, when all you knew about him was that he was an anxious teenager.

Jim gives the best advice. He's especially knowledgeable when it comes to kids, "its not very different than dealing with grown men who strap blades to their feet and call it a job." He says teasingly, while all his kids protest.

Ellen is the sweetest angel of a human you have ever met. She takes no nonsense from her kids, and always makes sure Quinn is good to you.

She has a knowing twinkle in her eye when she sees you and Quinn together and it makes your chest ache a little.

Her hugs are always long, and her words sweet, and she always reminds you that you have a family with the Hughes no matter what.

---

Hey guys! Guess who's back and better than ever 😎 we're getting a fic between tomorrow and Saturday, so stay tuned. Anyways, I hope yall like this! If there's anything from here you'd like to see turned into a blurb/fic let me know! I've been super inspired for this universe as of late. Also I am going through the requests in my inbox. So if you requested something it's hopefully coming soon! I've been super busy with school, but it's calming down for a couple weeks and then finals will be in full swing! I love you all and I hope you enjoy this! As always comment comment comment! And I hope you guys are doing amazing.

Love Soph 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[nyoomerr]

i've spoken about this in a couple discord chats already but the idea of a binggeyuan frieren au is so so tasty and yet there is no fucking way i am ever going to attempt it bc i just KNOW it would be sad in order to be good

the idea of bingge traveling alongside frail mortal shen yuan for some years, watching the way sy interacts with the world, letting sy coax him into using his immense power to help save some group of people (or beasts, or whatever strikes sy's fancy). bingge goes along mostly for amusement - life gets quite boring, when you're as old and powerful as he is - and at the end of everything he goes his own way without thinking twice.

later - much, much later - bingge thinks that things have gotten quite boring again, and he wants to go find the little mortal that had amused him for some years.

the little mortal is dead.

bingge is furious, of course. he hasn't allowed anyone to deny him anything for centuries now, and he hasn't had to actually deal with a mortal's death in nearly as long for the way he surrounds himself with other powerful demons and cultivators. the solution is simple, though: bingge will simply resurrect shen yuan.

but since shen yuan has been dead for years at this point, there is no body to easily restore, and in this au there wouldn't be so many convenient resurrection tools in this universe to begin with. it would turn into the whole frieren-esque adventure, perhaps with bingge picking up a kid that shen yuan had been mentoring before his death - perhaps one of bingge's own neglected kids, in fact, that shen yuan had picked up in part bc he missed bingge.

and as bingge adventures onwards towards a miracle resurrection tool, he'll occasionally run into situations that could easily be solved through pure power and callousness, and he... won't. he'll think about the way sy would scold him for being cruel, and he'll sulk and throw tantrums but in the end he'll avoid whatever the easy but cruel option was. the journey will take far longer for bingge than it necessarily would have to, because the goal of the journey has put sy at the front of his mind and now he can't stop thinking about all the stupid ""lessons"" sy had tried to give him.

and this is why i could not write this au: the most fitting ending i can think of for this au would be that the only way to resurrect shen yuan would be through some horrific sacrifice of hundreds of other innocent lives, and bingge would choose not to do it.

it would make him furious - it would drive him to the edge of qi deviation, to the edge of declaring some stupid pointless war just so he can work out his anger and get those innocent souls to resurrect shen yuan anyway. but he wouldn't. this whole slow adventure has reminded him bit by bit of just why he'd spent so long following that foolish little mortal shen yuan around, of the way that living a kinder life had felt so relaxing after years of constantly being ready to spill blood at a moment's notice.

shen yuan would be so disappointed in bingge if he choose that method of resurrection, and so bingge can't do it. bingge would be unsatisfied with that method of resurrection, just because he'd know sy would dislike it.

shen yuan stays dead, but his memory haunts bingge for the rest of his nearly immortal life, and bingge ever so slowly shapes himself into what that memory was.

[ifangirlalot]

I'm back in my miles Fairchild supermency (idk if I spelled that wrong) Anyways can I request a miles Fairchild x reader smut whatever you want to do with it

˗ˏˋ 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ˎˊ˗ | starring miles fairchild

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

*~smut!*~ [𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘:] oral (male receiving), hand play (male receiving), kinky thoughts (miles' pov)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[Name]'s POV

While Miles and I have been together for a while now, we've yet to do anything super serious. We've gotten about as close to fucking as you can get without actually getting undressed, though. See, the thing is, I'm a little intimidated by the idea of sex. I haven't ever done it before, but Miles told me that he's done it a handful of times. (He's never specified what "a handful of times" translates to with a concrete number, but taking a look at him tells me everything I need to know, really.) And while I'm not exactly thrilled about it, I can't really say I'm surprised.

The thing is, I wouldn't know how to please him. Not just with the main course, so to speak, but also in the way of appetizers. Reading smut isn't what I'd call a reliable teaching method. That's more or less just something to read when you're horny. So, I guess that's why I'm here now. In Miles' bedroom sitting in front of him, seeing him lean against the wall (because his bed is literally just a goddamn mattress for some fuckin' reason) and tastefully unhook the front button of his jeans and pulling down his fly, like he does this everyday.

Lessons start now.

Miles' POV

I don't outwardly express it, but the way [Name] is staring at my dick like it's some sort of predator she has to conquer is rather amusing to me. My pride is telling me it's because my dick is huge, but I think more likely than not it's just because she's never actually seen one up close before. I'll probably die telling myself the first one, though.

While seeing her nervous, almost terrifed face is fucking hilarious, it's not really getting me riled up. So, while she's having her quiet nervous breakdown, I let my eyes flicker to the opening in her shirt and thinking about pressing my palm against her tits. Maybe giving them a nice, hard squeeze, getting her to cry out if I'm lucky. That does the trick and pretty soon I'm at full mast and ready to get started with teaching her.

Oh what a fun little lesson this will prove to be for me.

After some quick debate, I decide maybe hand shit is where I should start. Save the best for last. "[Name], give me your hand." I urge, not waiting for her to comply and just picking it up myself. I pull it closer to my lap and wrap her tiny fingers around my shaft.

Immediately, she grips it and I have to surpress the urge to scream. Not in pleasure, but in pain. This shit fucking hurts.

"Ow- Hey, hey- Loosen it, loosen it.. that's it.. good girl.." I sigh in relief when she complies but keeps her hand in a loose circle around me. "Okay, we're gonna try jerking me off, alright?" I tell her when the breath finally reenters my system. Could have sworn my life just flashed before my eyes from that experience.

"Oh, that's easy. I read about that, I can do it!" [Name] exclaims, almost excited to try out her knowledge from books. I'm immediately cautious. From that first moment, I'm kinda scared she's gonna break my dick off. Don't think that would be good. I kinda need that.

Turns out I was right to be cautious. One second everything's fine, the next, I've died, and my dick feels like I'm fucking a succulent vacuum. And not in a good way. "Ouch-! Fuck- [Name]-! When I said 'Jerk it off' I didn't mean jerk it off my body!" This is not going at all like how I envisioned it in my head. Like at all. This lesson is so unsexy my boner keeps leaving. I have to keep giving it a couple pip-paps just to keep it up. Which in turn is making [Name] feel bad, which is also making my boner go down. Ugh, this is a nightmare.

Finally I sigh and gently move her hand. "Okay, darling. That's not working. So, instead you're going to use your mouth." When she starts moving down, I stop her by touching her shoulder. "Now before you go down and inevitably bite my cock off, listen carefully. Don't use your teeth, make sure they're just barely grazing me. And wrap one hand around the base and hold it steady. Move it in the opposite direction of your mouth so that it meets in the middle, got it?" She nods and moves down again. I hold my breath and lean back against the wall, eyes closed, half expecting to feel a sharp pain as her teeth sink into my length. But that doesn't happen. Instead, my senses are being sweetly invaded by euphoria. Her tongue is wet and warm around my dick, and her teeth are barely even noticeable. Her hand is moving the perfect speed to contrast her mouth and it feels like heaven. A wet, warm heaven. "Oh- fuuuuck-"

The sounds coming from me are foreign to me. But she's pulling them out of me faster than I can stop them. Normally I'd be embarrassed, but right now I don't have enough time to register anything that isn't pleasure. "Fuck, fuck, don't you stop-"

And then suddenly, she's doing shit that I didn't tell her about. Her mouth pulls off my cock with a soft pop and her tongue laps around me, licking, grazing, making me twitch and buck my hips. When her tongue presses against my bright red tip, my eyes roll back in their sockets and a loud groan resonates around the room. Whatever books she's been fucking reading are definitely my favorites now. Don't know who wrote them or what they're called, but goddamn do I love those books. Then, all too soon, I'm coming and it's over. It has been about two minutes. Fuck, I feel so pissed with myself. Two minutes? Fucking seriously, Miles?

I watch her, my cheeks flaming red, while she takes her time lapping up my mess like a dog under the dinner table. "So," she asks casually, licking her fingers. "When's lesson two?"

[A Note From Zee]

I'm genuinely so sorry this took so damn long- I got caught up in other things, but I hope it was at least passable.

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Three

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

Hi!

Look at all the love you guys gave Din last week! I'm completely overwhelmed and flustered and I'm so happy you guys love this little series of Pedro boys and, apparently, the luckiest woman in the world. I love exploring their voices and aaaaall the fluff and sweetness I want to cram into these stories. But before we meet Pedro boy number three I have to give a few shout outs: First to @maggiemayhemnj because of certain fashion choices in this story... Secondly to @trulybetty and @for-a-longlongtime who actually made Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread from the first part! Dieter would be very proud of you both and then steal half the pan.

Series Master List

Now, enter Pedro boy number three, and look who it is...

You almost drop Mrs. Levinson’s bag of cardamom rolls when you see him stepping through the door with a hesitant look on his face. The tool belt sits low on his narrow hips, the faded denim shirt stretches tight over his shoulders and he’s looking around the bakery with a cautious frown. It’s like he’s stepped out of the pages of a calendar of sexy construction workers, and you mentally pick your jaw off the floor as he looks over at you.  

“Here you go Mrs. Levinson,” you say, adding the last cardamom roll to her bag and forcing your eyes away from the man. 

“Thank you dear,” she replies, giving you a sweet smile as she puts her hand on top of yours, “Have you seen Mrs Morales lately?” 

“No, Mrs Levinson, I haven’t.”

“Ask her about her son the next time she comes in, he’s such a sweetheart,” she pats your hand a few times, taking her bag. 

“Thank you, Mrs Levinson, see you next week,” you wave as she makes her way to the front door, the man with the construction belt holding it open for her with a polite, “Ma’am.” 

As he closes the door, you take a few steadying breaths, and smile as he comes over to the counter. 

“How can I help you?” you ask, trying to keep your eyes on his face and not let them stray to the freckles that disappear under the V of his shirt. 

He rubs his hands together, wiping at a stain that won’t budge, and gives you a small smile. 

“I’m wonderin’ if you offer baking lessons here? 

His Texas drawl is smooth and low, a pleasant lilt to his baritone voice and it just adds to his attraction. You wonder if he’s aware of how good looking he is, he doesn’t have that air or attitude. Instead he shrugs his shoulders and puts one hand into his pocket, the other one twitching nervously at his side as he waits for your answer. 

“I don’t do regular baking lessons but I’m sure I can arrange something,” you reply, “what did you have in mind?” 

“Well, my daughter, her birthday’s comin’ up and I’d like to make her a cake or a pie or…or somethin’ that’s not just a supermarket cake,” he says, “But I don’t know the first thing about baking and I reckon I might need a bit of help or I’ll burn the kitchen down.” He furrows his brow as he talks, looking up at you with chocolate brown eyes, his hand still twitching by his side. 

“That sounds like a very good reason to learn some baking, I'd be more than happy to help,” you smile at him and his forehead smooths out as he smiles back at you. 

“Really? That’d be great, I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem, and I’ll only charge you for the ingredients, not the lesson,” you say as you bend down and get your calendar out from under the counter.

“No, I can’t let you do that,” the man protests, “I have to pay you for your time.” 

“How about you pay me with time?” you ask, looking at the tool belt around his waist, “I have a couple of small jobs around the place that are probably pretty easy, but I don’t have the right tools, maybe you can help me with that?” 

“Yeah, sure, I'd be more than happy to help you out with that,” he nods and sticks out his hand, “I’m Joel, Joel Miller.” 

“Nice to meet you, Joel Miller,” you smile back at him as you shake his hand, “How about next Monday? I’m closed on Mondays so I can give you the lesson then.” 

“Umm….” he squints his eyes as if he’s thinking hard, “I think that works, afternoon alright for you?” 

“Yeah, whenever,” you reply, “come by at one and I’ll be here.” 

“Thanks, really ‘preciate it,” he grins at you, running his hand through his hair, making the dark curls stand on end as you resist the urge to reach up and touch them. 

“Do you have a preference for what to bake? Or does your daughter have a preference?” 

“As long as it’s easy and contains chocolate, we’re both happy,” he says, “It’s got to be easy, I’ve never done any baking in my life.” 

“Easy, gotcha, I’ll make sure it’s fool proof,” you laugh, “I think I have some ideas already, I’ll make sure you don’t burn down the house.” 

“Thanks,” he chuckles, “I’ll see you on Monday then.” 

He gives you a wave and a smile as he leaves. 

…

You can’t help but spend some extra time on your hair on Monday morning, picking out your cutest apron as you get to the shop and telling your reflection to get a grip as you apply some make up. But the man is just…you shake your head, focus now!

You’re putting the ingredients out on the workbench in the kitchen as you hear a knock on the front door. Joel is right on time and as you walk across the front of the shop he gives you a wave through the window. He’s got his tool belt slung over his shoulder and a toolbox in one hand. 

“Afternoon,“ he smiles and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your eyes from drifting over his wide shoulders, the green plaid flannel shirt he’s wearing hugging them tight. It looks as if he’s just showered, his dark curls are damp and brushed away from his face and his scruffy beard looks a little bit neater today. 

“Afternoon, you’re right on time,” you smile at him, leading him back into the kitchen where he puts his tools down in a corner. 

“Nice kitchen you’ve got,” Joel says, looking around the utilitarian workspace, “I never knew baking included so much equipment though.” He’s looking into your large dough mixer on the floor, the one used for big batches of bread. 

“Baking is a very equipment heavy sport,” you laugh, “I’ve got so many gadgets with only one use, it’s ridiculous. But don’t worry, you’ll only need three things.” 

“Sounds good,” Joel smiles at you and comes over to the counter where all the ingredients are laid out, “What are we making?” 

“Texas Trash Pie,” you say, looking at him for his reaction and it doesn’t disappoint, he furrows his brow and looks thoroughly confused. 

“Did you say ‘Trash Pie’?” 

“Yep, a Texas Trash Pie,” you laugh, “Don’t worry, it tastes a lot better than it sounds. And it’s one of those ‘use whatever you feel like’ pies so you can adjust it to your own taste.” 

“Ok, I see pretzels and pecans and chocolate, all things I like, so I’d say I’m good with that.”  He smiles at you, “What’s first?” 

“First we wash our hands,” you wave him over to your sink and let him clean up.

“So I’ve got two options for you, I’m going to teach you how to make the pie crust now, but you can buy a ready-made one too if you’re worried about making it from scratch,” you say as you point him to the recipe sheet you’ve printed for him, “Go on, follow that and I’ll help you out if you need it.” 

“Ok, throwing me in the deep end, huh?” he chuckles and starts rolling up the sleeves of the flannel shirt. 

“It’s sink or swim, Joel”, you grin, leaning next to him by the workbench, glancing down at how the sleeves of the shirt hug around his forearms when he’s got them folded up, you swear he’s flexing them on purpose, but he just leans down on the bench and picks up the paper.

He carefully reads the recipe in silence for a few minutes before he grabs the flour and gets to work. He doesn’t need any help from you in the first few steps, putting all the ingredients in the bowl and working them all together as you add cubes of cold butter. You don’t want to distract him so you stand next to him in comfortable silence while he consults the recipe every other minute to make sure he’s got all the steps. 

“Alright, I think that’s holding its shape right?” he asks you after working the ingredients together into a dough ball. 

“Looks very good to me,” you say, “Now, flatten it into a disc and wrap it in plastic, we’re going to let it chill for a bit.” 

“Right, boss,” Joel replies, and it makes your cheeks heat up, as you try to suppress a giggle.

“We can get the filling done now but then we have to wait for a bit,” you explain as he puts the dough in the fridge. 

“Ok, let’s do that and then I’ll see what you need help with around here.” Joel replies, double checking on his dough before closing the door, “Didn’t think pie dough was that easy, people make it sound real complicated.” 

“No, once you’ve got a good recipe it’s easy. And this next part is foolproof.” You hoist yourself up to sit on the workbench. 

“Don’t tempt me, I could still burn down your kitchen,” he chuckles, coming to stand next to you and you catch a whiff of his warm cologne. His eyes are level with yours now and you can’t help but reflect on how much like chocolate they are as he smiles at you. 

“Lucky thing I know a contractor who can rebuild it then,” you smile back at him and he gives you a wink. 

“Lucky you indeed. Do I know him? I could tell you if he’s any good,” he replies, picking up the recipe card. 

“You might know him, he’s tall, dark hair, cute smile, built like a barn door,” you smirk, feeling your butterflies erupt up as his own smile widens. 

“Cute smile huh? Must be from out of town, I don’t know any contractors with cute smiles in this place.” 

“He’s really bad at baking, but he’s got potential, might be an alternative career path if his construction thing doesn’t pan out.” 

Joel’s grins and glances down at his hands holding the recipe, a pink shade creeping up his neck under the shirt. 

“Yeah, I might know him,” he chuckles, looking up at you again, “Is he getting lessons from a real pretty baker girl, kinda makes her customers nervous with her own cute smile?” 

“Yeah,” you giggle, “that’s the one.” 

“Alright, good to know,” he smiles and your eyes are still locked together, both of you trying to contain your grins. 

Finally Joel breaks, clearing his throat and tapping his finger on the recipe card. 

“So, this is foolproof, even for me?” he asks, bending down to read the recipe as you nod.

The kitchen is quiet for a few minutes as Joel checks that he has everything he needs and then he looks up at you again. 

“Really?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline, “That’s it? Dump all the stuff in a bowl and mix?” 

“Told you it was foolproof,” you reply, “and you can mix in other things if you prefer.” 

“Ok, but I’ll follow your recipe for now,” he says, “ ‘one cup semi sweet chocolate chips’.” He  grabs the measuring cup and the chocolate chips. 

You watch him as he carefully measures out the ingredients in the bowl and then mixes it all together. 

“That’s it?” he asks and you nod. 

“Yup, that’s it, now grab the dough from the fridge and roll it out to fit that pie form,” you point him to the form you’ve placed on the bench for him. 

“Alright, never used a rolling pin, but I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Joel grins as he unwraps the dough. You watch him weigh the rolling pin in his hand as he cocks his head and looks at the dough, as if he’s sizing it up, figuring out how he’s going to tackle it.

“Any special tricks I need to know?” he asks, looking over at you. 

“No, just keep even pressure and try to roll it out into a circle but don’t stress too much, it doesn’t have to be perfect.” 

“Ok, here goes then,” he laughs and starts rolling. He’s tentative at first, squinting at the dough every other time he rolls over it. 

“Put your weight behind it, Joel,” you smile at him, “it won’t break.” 

“If you say so, you’re the master baker,” he replies, adjusting his stance and putting more force into it. The green plaid of his flannel stretches across his back as he starts rolling in earnest across the dough, and you can’t help your eyes flitting between the way his hands grip the rolling pin and the tight seams of his shirt. 

Far too soon Joel’s got the dough nice and smooth, rolled out into a neat circle. 

“You’re a natural at that, Joel,” you laugh and give him a quick pat on the back that makes him puff up a little. 

“Tell my daughter, she’s never going to believe me when she sees her old man with a rolling pin in hand.” 

“I’m sure she’ll be very impressed,” you say, handing him the pie form, “So next step is to roll the pie dough onto the rolling pin and drape it over the form, then we bake it.” 

You tell him how to move the dough into the pie form and he gives you a proud smile as it settles neatly. 

“Now cut away the overhang and we’ll get it in the oven.” 

While the pie crust bakes you make Joel a coffee and treat him to some of your leftovers. 

“It’s not fresh but they’re still good,” you say, handing him a pain au chocolat, his large hands dwarfing the pastry. 

“I’m really not complaining,” he chuckles, biting down into the flaky dough, “I’ll bring my daughter next time I come, she's got an even bigger sweet tooth than me, but not until after her birthday, or she’ll catch on to my surprise.” 

“If you find out her favorite I can teach you how to make that next time,” you say, leaning against the counter with your coffee while Joel smiles at you. 

“You’re being far too nice, you’re gonna ruin your business if you keep giving away baking lessons.”

“Who said I’m giving them away, I’m charging you next time,” you laugh, “this first time freebie was just to get you suckered in, now I’ve got you hooked.” 

“You’ve sure got me hooked, darlin’,” Joel drawls, winking at you, and heat rushes to your cheeks. 

“You’re a real flirt, Joel,” you giggle, trying to contain the butterflies that have erupted in your stomach again as he keeps his eyes on yours, looking up through his dark eyelashes as he smiles at you. 

“Just being honest, honey,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee and finally taking his eyes off you. You feel like you can breathe normal again, resisting the urge to fan yourself with your hand as you sip your from your own mug. 

In the kitchen you hear the oven ping and you set your mug down as Joel looks up, “The crust is ready, time for the last step.” 

“I feel like you’re going easy on me,” he chuckles, “shouldn’t baking be harder than this?” He follows you into the kitchen as you smile at his comment. 

“You’re on beginner level, Miller. You’re not gonna let me build a house the first time I use a hammer right?” 

He laughs at that, his eyes squinting as his shoulders jump. 

“Alright, point taken, darlin’,” he chuckles, taking the oven mitts from you, “I’ll stay on the easy stuff for now.” 

“And I’m actually giving you a challenge,” you point out as he carefully lifts the pie crust from the oven and sets it down on the workbench, “I could’ve given you a recipe that required no oven.” 

“Wait, you’re telling me I could’ve done this lesson with no oven?” 

“Sure, but here we are, and your pie is ready to be baked,” you smile, “Just dump the mixture into the crust and smooth it out as best you can, it’s going to even itself out in the oven anyway.”

Joel does as you say, dolloping the sticky mixture into the pie crust and pressing it down lightly. 

“All done, but, there’s one extra addition I like to do that’s not in the recipe,” you say, nodding as he puts the final touch to the pie. “You can sprinkle just a little bit of sea salt over the top, it’s a nice contrast to the sweetness of the pie, especially with the caramel and the condensed milk.” 

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Joel says, “if you say it’s good, I’ll trust that.” 

You hand him the container and he grabs a pinch, “Just a sprinkle?” 

“Just a sprinkle, try to get it evenly over the top.” 

“And now in the oven?”

“Yep, just in the oven and then we wait.” 

As you watch, Joel carefully slides the pie form back into the oven and closes the door and you set a timer. 

“Alright, let me clean up and you can show me what needs fixin’, I’ve already seen that shelf in the corner,” he says, nodding over to your bookshelf that doubles as an office, holding all the paperwork for the bakery. 

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask and Joel walks over to it and gives the corner of it a gentle kick, making the whole thing sway. 

“Oh, ok,” you say as Joel grabs the shelf to steady it, “please fix that.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it stable, but you might want to consider replacing it, that cheap Ikea stuff will always start to wobble after a while,” he says, washing off and moving his tool box in front of the bookshelf as you start to remove some of the contents. 

“Actually,” Joel says, looking around the bakery’s kitchen, “You don’t have an office, do you? Where do you do the paperwork for the business?” 

“On the workbench,” you say, pointing to where Joel’s bowl still is, “or I just take it home with me.” 

“You know, I did a job a few months ago, built a small fold away office set for a bedroom,” he says, giving the kitchen an appraising look, “If you get rid of the bookshelf, I could build you a new one and include a desk that you can fold away, it basically works as a door for the shelf when you put it up, and a desk when it’s down. Here, let me show you.” 

He pulls out his phone and shows you a picture of what he means, the office set up is a sleek custom build in a small bedroom. 

“Wow, you built this?” you ask, “It’s beautiful, but I could never afford something custom built like that, I’m sorry.” 

Joel gives you a warm smile, putting his phone back, “I’ve got plenty of material left over from that job, and my time is free for you, I’d be happy to build it for you,” he says but you shake your head. 

“Really, Joel, that’s too much, you’ve already offered to fix things around the kitchen, I can’t let you build that too.” 

“Please, stop being so infuriating and just accept the damn thing,” Joel chuckles, bending to pick up a screwdriver from the toolbox, “Plus, it gives me an excuse to come back here after we’re done with this pie.” 

“You don’t need an excuse to come back, Joel,” you smile as you watch him begin tightening the screws holding the old bookshelf together. 

“I don’t?” he asks, still focused on the screws but you see him glance over as you pull out what you need to make the foundations for a wedding cake for next weekend. 

“Of course not,” you smile, “you’re welcome anytime, baking lessons or not.” 

“I might take you up on that then,” he says with a grin, giving the bookshelf a shake. “Ok, it’s sturdy now but I’m going to take some measurements for your new one.” 

“Thanks Joel, I really appreciate it,” you reply as you begin measuring the ingredients. 

“You’re welcome, and it’s no bother, really,” he smiles as he comes over to you and looks over your shoulder, his arm touching yours as you move back, but he doesn’t back up, the warmth from him seeping through the layers of clothes. 

“What are you making?” he asks and you tilt the bowl towards him. 

“Sponge cakes, they’re the bases for a wedding cake I’m delivering on Saturday.” 

“That must be the master level of baking,” he says, looking at the sketch of the cake you’ve made alongside the recipe, “It looks complicated.” The cake has four layers, each layer decorated with different coloured macarons and intricate flowers made from sugar and Joel traces his finger over the pattern, “Incredibly beautiful, I’d love to see it when it’s done.” 

“I’ve got pictures of a similar one on the bakery’s Instagram page,” you say but Joel shakes his head. 

“I don’t have Instagram, but my daughter keeps buggin’ me about it, says it’d be good for business if I had pictures of the stuff I make on it. But I don’t know…” he shrugs as if the very idea of social media is beyond him and it makes you laugh. 

“She’s right though, it would be good for business,” you say and he shrugs again. 

“I might get an account just so I can see your cakes though,” he grins and you smile up at him. He’s still standing very close, leaning his hip against the bench, his eyes flitting down to your lips and back up. Your head fills with the image of him leaning closer, soft looking lips parted as his hand finds your waist. 

But he bites down on his plush bottom lip instead, the faintest shade of pink tinging his cheeks, turning to face the kitchen, “I’d better get a start on paying you back,” he says, grabbing hold of his tool belt. 

“Ok,” you breathe out, momentarily flustered as you turn back to the cake batter, pulling your eyes away from the way he tightens the belt around his waist, hanging low on his hips. 

Joel quickly spots a few other things that need fixing around the kitchen, things you hadn’t even noticed, and gets them sorted in quick succession, a wonky wall shelf, an exposed wire, the squeak on your back door and the glitchy handle on the inside of the fridge. 

“Alright, no more getting locked into the fridge,” he says, testing the handle while you dust off your hands. 

“Thanks, Joel, really, that one’s been giving me trouble for a while,” you say and he gives you another warm smile. 

“Anything else you need help with?” he asks, “Maybe the AC? It’s boiling in here now.” He unbuttons his green plaid flannel and shrugs out of it, the gray t-shirt below is showing sweat stains as he hangs the shirt on your coat hanger. 

“Uhm…” your brain stalls as he turns around and looks at you with a hand on his hip, “No, no, the AC works fine, it’s not on though, makes the kitchen too cold.” 

“Alright, you’ll just have to put up with my sweat stink then,” he says, “Should we get back to the pie or does it need more time?” His cheeks are pink and he absentmindedly rubs his hand over his scruffy beard as he waits for your answer, his lips curving up in a smile as he catches your eyes drifting over his shoulders, the t-shirt pulled tight over the width of them. 

“Ah..umm…no, I don’t think so,” you stutter, attempting to slap your brain back into shape. As a means to distract yourself you walk over to the tall shelving system that holds all your bigger equipment, reaching up to lift down your biggest cake container, “It probably needs about twenty more minutes, I set a timer.” 

The container catches on something out of sight up on the shelf and you tug at it but it’s still stuck. 

“Oh c’mon, don’t make me get the ladder,” you grumble, tugging at it again. 

“Hang on, let me help you,” you hear Joel behind you just as you give the container another pull, and the whole shelf creaks, starting to tilt towards you, a metal bowl clanking onto the floor, hitting your shoulder on the way down. 

“Oh!” you gasp, putting up your hands to stop the whole thing from falling on top of you, the heavy Husqvarna shifting and sliding above your head. Suddenly Joel is right behind you, his chest pressed up against your back as he grabs the shelf on either side, pushing it back up against the wall, making the equipment rattle. 

“You ok, honey?” he asks, still pressing the shelf back, trapping you between his arms as you exhale. 

“Yeah, thanks, I’m good,” you huff, “Fuck, that scared me,” you give a shaky laugh as Joel carefully releases his grip on the shelf and takes a step back, letting you turn towards him, “Thanks for catching it, that could’ve been bad.” 

“That could’ve been really bad,” he nods, looking at you with concern, “If that thing hit you, you wouldn’t be walking away. I’ll get it secured to the wall for you right now.” 

“It was attached to the wall, at least the guys who remodeled this space said they attached it,” you say as Joel steps to the side of the shelf and looks up at the brackets attached to the wall. 

“Yeah, they might’ve, but the screws are coming out of the wall now. Do you have a ladder?” he asks, turning back to you but he frowns as he sees you. “Darlin’, you’re looking a bit pale,” he puts his hand on your cheek, his warm palm making nerves of another kind shiver inside you. 

“C’mon,” he says, gently leading you back to the workbench, helping you hoist yourself up to sit on it, “looks like you had a bit of a shock, can I get you somethin’, water maybe?” 

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, giving him a small smile. The shelf tipping had scared you but now it’s his closeness that’s making you jittery. He smells so good, even with his sweaty t-shirt you can smell his cologne, and when he smiles in return, your stomach clenches and you glance down at his lips. 

“Darlin’,” Joel says, his voice low as he sees your eyes move back up to his, “if you don’t stop looking at my lips, I’m going to have to kiss you.” 

You almost lose your words as his hand finds its way to your cheek again, the thumb caressing across your heated skin.

“Please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

His eyes are dark as he leans in, searching yours, and when you put your hand on his arm, his skin is warm, flexing under your fingertips. The scruff on his chin tickles your lips as he brushes his nose over your cheek, prolonging the moment before his eyes slip closed, and he takes a shallow breath. 

You don’t know what to expect, a soft peck maybe, a careful first kiss, but not this. His lips finally land on yours with a gentle press, warm and plush. But his hand on your cheek holds you close as he slowly parts his lips and you feel the hot tip of his tongue lick across your bottom lip, begging you to open up. You let him in with a low moan, your hand slipping up his arm, over his shoulder, and you tangle your fingers in his hair. His tongue is gentle but insistent, letting you open up for him, but he doesn’t hold back when you do, every bit of space you give him, he claims. One hand lands on your hip, pulling you closer before he slides it up to your back and you mimic him, feeling his muscles move under the thin cotton of his t-shirt as you run your hand over his shoulder blades. When he steps in between your legs, the full length of his warm chest pressed up against yours, you’re almost embarrassed by how loud your moan is in the quiet kitchen. But Joel licks into your mouth, pulling you closer as if he wants to pull another one from you, letting you swallow down his own groans. 

Minutes pass, your face feels hot, flustered, your body weightless as your lips tingle under his. You can hear his heavy breaths into your mouth, his pulse thrumming under your fingertips as you caress his neck, rake through his soft curls. And you can feel his excitement in the way he’s pressed himself against you, you’re just one bold move from hooking your legs around his waist and pulling him back onto the workbench with you. 

You don’t know who pulls back first, maybe it’s the sheer lack of oxygen that makes you both separate just a little, foreheads leaning together, your eyes still closed as he runs his fingers across your cheek, tracing your lips.

“Darlin’...” he whispers, his voice low and breathless, “Open your eyes.” 

You look up at him, he’s smiling softly, almost in stunned wonder, and you know he’s mirroring the look on your face. 

“Will you let me take you out for dinner some time?” he asks, still letting his thumb trace the outlines of your face, “I would very much like to do this again.” 

“Any day, Joel,” you reply, leaning into the warmth of his hand as he cups your cheek again. 

“Alright, darlin’, then let me get that shelf secure so that you don’t end up killing yourself before I get a chance to do more of this.” He bends to your mouth again, and you part your lips in anticipation, his tongue slipping eagerly into you with a low groan. 

Your head spins when he pulls back with a sigh after too short of a time pressed against you. 

“You’ve got a pie to take care of too I guess,” you smile at him and he chuckles. 

“I’d all but forgotten ‘bout the pie, honey.” 

Right on cue the timer goes off and Joel reluctantly pulls away, grabbing the oven mitts from the counter. 

“Let’s see this masterpiece then,” he grins, stepping over to open the oven door and pulling out the pie. He puts it down on the counter and gives a low whistle.  “That’s a mighty nice pie, if I do say so myself,” he chuckles, looking very proud of himself. 

“It’s a fantastic looking pie, Joel, you did great,” you smile and he grins at you. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you, darlin’. And I’m really looking forward to trying it but I should get that shelf attached to the wall first.” 

He smiles at you again, giving your thigh a quick squeeze before he turns and crouches down over his tool box, digging through it. 

“You said you have a ladder?” he asks, looking back at you over his shoulder.  “Yeah, out in the back room, I’ll grab it for you;” you reply and jump off the workbench. The ladder is tucked away in a corner and as you pull it out you hear Joel start up his power drill. 

“Here you go,” you say, putting the ladder next to the shelf and Joel gives it a shake, testing the stability. 

“Might wanna invest in a new ladder too, honey,” he says, “these cheap ones are not too stable. I’ll pick you up a new one at the hardware store, I get a good professional discount there, save you some money.” 

“You’re coming in here and just fixing everything, Joel,” you smile and he gives a little chuckle, shrugging as he gets up on the ladder. 

“I just like to make sure everything’s working, don’t wanna see you get hurt over something I could easily fix,” he says. 

“I really appreciate it, Joel,” you say and he winks down at you. 

“Now, cover your ears, darlin’, this is gonna get noisy.” 

You do as he says and he gets to work. It doesn’t take him many minutes to make new holes in the wall, fill up the old ones and make sure the shelf is securely screwed to the wall again. When he gets back down onto the floor he gives the structure a hefty shake and it doesn’t budge. 

“Alright, there you go, no more death traps in your kitchen, honey.” 

“Thanks Joel, really,” you say, “I feel like you’ve done way much more than I could ask of you, just for teaching you one pie.” 

“Make it up to me then,” he smiles, “I’ll get a babysitter and you let me take you out for that dinner on Saturday.” 

“How is that me repaying you?” you laugh as Joel steps closer, capturing your chin between his thumb and finger. 

“Because it gives me the chance to kiss you some more,” he smiles, bending to find your lips again. 

“You’re a very cheap contractor, Joel,” you mumble into his mouth as he brushes his nose against yours while he teases your lips. 

“Your kisses are worth a lot more than you think, darlin'.” 

Part Four

If you want to try out Joel's Texas Trash Pie, here you go!

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn

[pensat-i-fet]

More Gavi (Pablo Gavi x Reader)

**Another cute request. It was fun writing this one and adding a bit of Spanish. I never want to put too much because some people might find it annoying but it obviously makes sense here. Let me know your thoughts about that. And enjoy reading ❤️**

Word count: 2328

Masterlist

Wattpad

"Hey".

"I need your help", he said, getting inside the house without looking back.

"Hello to you too, mister rude".

You walked to the living room right when Gavi turned to look at you, expression serious.

"What's going on?"

"I have to do an advert for Nike".

You couldn't help but hit his arm when he said that.

"Don't come into my house talking as if something horrible has happened and then say that, you idiot. You scared me!"

"I have to speak English!!", he said, raising his hands as if that explained everything.

"So?"

"I don't know how to. You do. So you need to help me".

“Alright then. First lesson. How do you say por favor in English? Easy one to warm up?”

But as much as you wanted to tease him, when you saw his worried face, you knew you would help him. Of course, you were going to. You’d do anything for him.

“I’ll help you”, you said, rolling your eyes.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

When he hugged you, you sighed. You didn’t need to ask him how to say that you were the stupid girl who fell in love with her best friend and that kept getting friend zoned because you knew that one already.

“What do you need to say?”

“I’ll show you the script they gave me”.

You cleared the table you had been using for work and picked up a notebook just in case you needed it at some point.

“Here”.

A quick look at the list made you frown. “That’s it?”

“Yes”.

“Pablo, it’s just a couple of words that are almost the same as in Spanish”.

“But I pronounce them weirdly!”, he complained again.

“Because you’re Spanish!”

“So are you and you can speak English well”.

“I’m the exception”, you joked, flipping your hair.

Gavi groaned and hit his head against the table, making you laugh. He was so extra.

“How do you say mi amiga es insoportable? (My friend is unbearable)”

“My friend is the most beautiful girl in the world”.

“Hilarious!”

While he still looked at you, pouting, you picked up the notebook and wrote the words down.

“Ok. So we got intensity, which is intensidad”.

“Yeah”.

“So repeat: in-ten-si-ty”.

“In…tensi…ty”.

“You sound like you are afraid of the word when it describes you perfectly”.

“I’m afraid of saying it. Did I do well?”

“Could have been worse. Let’s just say it again but a bit faster”.

You kept practising until he felt confident and you could move to saying the whole sentences in one go.

“Ok, precision now”.

“What?”

His confused face made you laugh. He was so adorable…and you needed to stop thinking about him being adorable.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“The way you said it was funny”.

“Also, the correct way. It’s almost like precisión. Come on…”.

“It’s nothing like precisión”.

“We’ll go slowly with this one then”.

You wrote the syllables down and pointed at each one so he could repeat after you.

“Pre”.

“Pre”.

“Ci”.

“Ci.”

“Sion”.

“Sion”.

“Precision”.

“I can’t!”

This time, instead of putting his head against the table, he put it on your shoulder. One of his hands went to the back of your chair, but the other was on your thigh. You knew he’d always been like this but ever since you were aware of your feelings for him being so strong, it became hard to deal with him touching you so much.

“You know what this reminds me of?”, you said, moving so he could go back to his chair and changing the subject to distract yourself.

“Of what?”

“That episode of Friends in which Phoebe is trying to teach Joey French and she talks slowly and he’s doing fine. But then he has to say the whole thing and says some gibberish. That was you, literally”.

“I’ve never watched Friends. I don’t know”.

You were shocked. How could you have known him for so long and not know this dark secret?

“We can’t be friends, then”.

“Why?”

“I love Friends!”

“We can watch it later. I’m not leaving until I know how to do this so get the guest room ready. Or maybe I’ll fall asleep in your bed again if I convince you to keep teaching me until you literally fall asleep”.

Yeah…that wasn’t going to happen. That was something that happened “before”. Not now.

“You’re doing really well. We’ll be done soon”.

“Really?”, his happy face always made you smile. “How do you say eso es porque tengo la mejor profesora?”

“That’s because I have the best teacher. And yes, that's exactly why".

You continued working on his pronunciation until it was time for dinner. Teaching was exhausting and Gavi run from training straight to your house so you were both starving.

“You don’t have to cook after all you’ve helped me. Let me order something”.

Before you had time to move, Gavi was right behind you, hugging you and putting his chin on your shoulder to look at what you were preparing.

“It’s just pre-made stuff. Move back so I can put it in the oven”.

The way you took his arms off you made him frown. You’ve never reacted like that to him hugging you.

“Are you ok?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”, you asked, putting the food in the oven and avoiding looking at him. Too afraid he’d noticed the reason why you didn’t want him to touch you. “Should I make a salad too?”

“Sure”.

Once the food was ready, you took your plates to the sofa and you found online the episode of Friends you were talking about before. “The one where Joey speaks French”.

You loved screening movies and shows for people. You would look at them whenever you knew something interesting was about to happen and most were annoyed by the spoiler, but Gavi never minded. Especially with horror movies. You saved him from being scared so many times.

“I’m cold”, he said suddenly, and you took your blanket and gave it to him.

He moved closer to you so it could cover both of you and you tried to just focus on the show. No longer interested in looking at him because he was too close and your heart was beating fast enough already.

“I’m still cold”.

“I’m not turning the heating on in March”.

“Cuddle me, then”.

It was too dark, thankfully, for him to see your face at that moment. “I can get you a hot water bottle if you want”.

“Or you could just cuddle me like we have done a million times”.

“My back hurts. I’m comfortable in this position, sorry”.

“Really? Is that why you pulled away from my hug earlier?”

Now you did turn to look at him. Not only had he noticed but he was worrying about it.

“Yeah”.

“Do you need some medicine? Or I could buy some pomade and help you apply it”.

Why was he coming up with the worst ideas?

“I’ll take some paracetamol later, don’t worry. It’s nothing”.

Even though he wasn’t convinced, he didn’t talk about it more. At least he had an answer now for your weird reaction when he hugged you. It had hurt him so much to feel rejected by you…by the best friend he was in love with.

                                    **

Having Fridays off was a blessing. You got to sleep in after a week of early mornings…except for when you got calls at 8.30 am.

“Who on Earth is calling me…”, but then you say the name on the screen and answered immediately.

“I need you!”

Oh God…

“And I need sleep, Gavi”.

“You have to come to film the advert with me, please. I’ve forgotten everything you taught me”.

“No, you haven’t. You’re nervous. And I’m sure they have people there who can help you”.

“But I don’t want them. I want you”.

How you wished he was saying that in another context.

“I’ll be there. But you owe me one. Well…another one”.

“I love you!”

“Yeah yeah yeah”.

Getting out of your warm bed was hard but knowing you were going to spend the morning with Gavi made it a little easier. Even if it was getting harder and harder to just be his friend.

By the time you got there, everyone was getting a bit impatient about having to wait for “a friend”.

“Sorry, traffic was bad”.

“Can we start now?”, said one of the guys with the cameras.

“Yes”, told him Gavi, side-eyeing him. “She has to come with me so she can help me read the lines”.

“As long as we can start working, I don’t care if she wants to be your foot stunt double for the shoots”.

The guy’s grumpy tone made you laugh.

“You don’t want me to kick the ball”.

“I know”, laughed Gavi, kissing your cheek and telling you to follow him.

It was hard, but you managed to resist the urge to touch the area where he had kissed you. You could still feel his lips there. He was making it so difficult…

Gavi was actually way more nervous about speaking those few English words than you expected. He was criticised so much for his on-the-pitch behaviour that he didn’t want this to be another reason for people to make fun of him. So you took this even more seriously than back at your place.

Finally, after some struggling, he was done. And you could tell the crew was so happy to be done with this advert. Something so simple had taken so long.

“More Gavi, yeah…just what the world needs”, you joked when he was going back to where you waited for him.

“It’s what you need, don’t lie. How do you say cuanto más Gavi, mejor?”

“The more Gavi, the better. But that’s a lie so don’t say it to people. Your mum taught you better than that”.

He laughed and put his arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer to his side. And even if you knew this wasn’t helping, at all, you let him. Putting your arm around his waist, you let him hold you because it felt so good to be that close to him. Better than it should.

“How do you say…”, he wasn’t going to stop now, “te como la cara?”

You snorted at that. “I wouldn’t recommend you telling people you want to eat their face. It sounds weird”.

“It doesn’t sound weird in Spanish”.

“That’s because we are weird. So one weird cancels the other”.

“I want to do it anyway”, he said, pretending he was going to bite your cheek and making you move away from him.

“Stop that!”

“But I’m hungry!”

And you kept bickering on the way to your car, not realising once again that the feelings were mutual. That you moved away from him to protect your feelings or that he wanted to be always as close to you as possible because there was no one else that made him feel the way you did.

                               **

Pablito ❤️: the ad is out. I posted on IG. Go see it!

You: compliment your teacher on my behalf. Brilliant job she did.

Pablito ❤️: I’m on my way.

You: I didn’t mean literally!

The doorbell alerted you that Gavi was already there. This boy…

“What is that?”

“Your favourite cupcakes as a thank you”.

“You still owe me but thank you for always enabling my sugar addiction”.

He stayed in the living room while you went to the kitchen to get some napkins and plates for the cupcakes.

“Ok, the one with all the fruit for you and the one with all the chocolate for me”.

“Can I have a bite of your one?”

“Sure”.

You watched the ad while you ate, laughing at all the moments you knew had to be redone more than 20 times.

“You really made that crew earn their salary that day, Pablito”.

“I don’t think they’ll ever want to work with me again”.

“Who could blame them?”

Seeing you laugh was always special for Gavi. It was while you were laughing at one of his jokes that he thought, for the first time, about how beautiful you really were. He always knew you were but…he fully noticed what that beauty meant to him. The sound you made when you laughed was music to his ears, but it was the way your face lit up that hypnotized him.

“What?”, you asked when you saw him staring at you. “I have chocolate on my face?”

But he couldn’t talk, so he just shook his head.

He was tired of hiding his feelings. Of pretending he wasn’t in love with you for fear of you turning him down. It could ruin your friendship and he knew that. He feared that could happen. But living in fear was painful too. He had to do this.

“Can we have another lesson?”

“Sure”.

You didn’t look very convinced because he was worrying you a bit.

“How do you say te quiero?”

You swallowed. He should know that. Why was he asking? “I love you”.

He nodded. “And how do you say te quiero pero no quiero quererte solo como un amigo?” (I love you but I don't want to just love you as a friend).

“Pablo…”.

“Or should I just say it in Spanish so nothing gets lost in translation?”

“Do you mean it?”, you asked, full of hope.

“I do”.

Seeing you’re reaction gave him the final push to get closer to you. He held your face with his hands and spoke quietly.

“You’re the best friend I could ask for. And a pretty good teacher too. But I want more. Do you want more?”

“More Gavi?”

You both laughed and then you kept leaning forward until your lips finally connected. Finally showing each other how much you really wanted this. And kisses had no language. Everyone could understand what they meant.

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

The Pink Moon

Summary: Reader's anxious attachment style gets in the way of her enjoying the full moon.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: angst, somewhat hurt to comfort

Word count: 1.3k

The night is chilly and humid. You wrap yourself in a blanket while watching your chunks of Amethyst and Rose Quartz charge in the moonlight. You stare at them like they’ll hop off the ledge when you look away. Just as fast, you find yourself distracted by the moon behind them, glowing softly against the clear, dark sky.

Spencer comes to mind. You remember (once again) that it’s been nearly 13 hours, and you’ve barely heard from him. The Pink Moon is about relationships; you hoped he would spend time with you tonight for that reason alone, even though you were definitely not in a relationship. Instead, the crisp wind that grazes the back of your neck reminds you that he’s not here; no one is here tonight to keep you warm.

Your Tarot deck is in front of you. It seems easy to start a reading. But the idea of them saying anything about Spencer, explicitly calling you out for being such a lovesick fool so quickly, is something you know you couldn't handle right now.

You started seeing each other a couple of weeks ago after Penelope introduced you. You were shocked that the young genius at the FBI was easy to talk to. You had been in constant communication since he asked you to dinner after work just days later. His gentle gestures and calm tone were something you were not used to.

Now, he’s in Richmond working on a triple homicide case, as he said on the phone this morning. He’s likely surrounded by people who need his help. And you mope while wondering if that’s the last phone call you'll get from him. You're worried, actually expecting the case to be solved, the killer to be locked away, and Spencer to get home safely and not even bother to tell you.

Your list of past relationships is short. You could recall three if being together for a month counted. When your exes learned about your witchy tendencies at the start, they were for it. They were friendly when they asked about the Tarot and the significance of different colored candles on your altar. But it would fizzle out one way or another, usually after discovering your practices did not follow into the bedroom. Text messages and phone calls were then hours apart until they stopped altogether. And you were left to pick up the pieces again.

~ ~ ~

Science and behavior were some of Spencer's passions. He spoke about what he does for work and how he’s assigned to analyze things from a killer’s journals to how they present bodies upon being found. You wondered for a minute if you were in over your head when you agreed to dinner; and if such a logic-based personality could entertain your interests and beliefs. 

As you spoke, though, Spencer leaned in to listen, fingers laced under his chin, not even looking away. Like your exes, he admitted he didn’t know much about Tarot. “Oh, bullshit,” you remember saying.

“What?” He laughed.

“I’ve got insider information.” You replied while tapping your temple. “Penelope said you knew everything. She said she even quizzed you on the cards. You didn’t miss one.”

“Well, that’s true —”

“Aha!” You point.

Spencer had to hold back another laugh. “But I couldn’t tell you what they mean in sequence. Like, during an actual… reading. I think that’s the lingo. Garcia taps into something I simply can’t.”

“Hm,” You lean back in your seat. “So, is this a sign to do a reading for you in the future?”

Spencer pursed his lips. “Perhaps.”

The rest of the night took place in a nearby park, where you both stood under a tree, and Spencer gave you what was equivalent to a lecture on constellations and how they had been a storytelling method as far back as the ancient Greeks. You lapped up the lesson, watching his hands move and his fingers crook as information flowed out of him with ease. It was like he was a textbook in a corduroy jacket. It only reinforced that he was being himself from the moment you met. And you liked that about him.

The first kiss came shortly after, but it wasn't easy. You made what Penelope would later call “embarrassingly obvious" flirting attempts that Spencer was not understanding. You dropped it until he walked you to your apartment door. This was the first time the entire night that silence hung awkwardly between you. You tried once again and hugged him goodnight. You attempted to pull away, but his arms were still wrapped around you, not moving. You didn’t question, simply held on, keeping your arms where they were for another two, three, four seconds. 

When Spencer let go, you saw his smile was different. It was lazy, and his eyes were darker when he finally asked, “Can I kiss you?”

Your response, however, could be seen as less than polite. Instead of an enthusiastic yes, you poked his chest, an acrylic nail right into the corduroy. Despite moving away from it slightly, his arms around your waist helped you move along with him.

“Was I not obvious enough in the last hour?”

He raised his brows in genuine surprise. “Wait, no!” The gentleness of his demeanor shined again when you admitted what you wanted. And “Oh, thank God” was all he said before his hands rose to enclose your face in his warm palms and bring your lips together. And you enjoyed the crisp clarity that Spencer liked you as much as you liked him, and he wasn’t afraid to show it.

~ ~ ~

Your heart races with the memory. The wind blows at the back of your neck again, cooling you down this time. You pull your crystals off the balcony ledge and hold them in your hands, and keeping them close is more soothing. They can't get away from you here. Then you pick yourself up and prepare to call it a night. Your phone says it's tomorrow. It was easy to assume Spencer was asleep. 

However, the universe added a twist by having his name pop up as you look at the time. Your phone vibrated, waiting for you to decide. You placed the crystals in your pocket. “Hello?”

“Hey!” The enthusiasm behind his voice makes you swell, and you hate to admit it. “Sorry that I’m calling you so late.”

"No, you're fine! How’s the case?”

“Good, we’re at the hotel packing up. Should be leaving in the next 30 minutes.” 

“Oh, good,” you swallow. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Thanks.” He chuckles. “You’re looking at the moon, right?”

A smile creeps up on you. “Yeah. I am.”

“Me too.” The background noise of his team chatting is notable, but Spencer keeps talking. “I’m sorry I’m not there. Last minute calls are part of the job.”

“I know there are people who need you. It’s understandable.”

“I know.” He says. Silence reigns again. “I was doing some research on the Pink Moon on the drive. And apparently, it’s a good time to nurture relationships.”

“That is true.” You say. You feel like you should say more, but nothing comes to mind.

Spencer fills in the gap. “Doesn’t feel as nurturing to just be talking over the phone after not getting to speak for 13.4 hours, you know?”

“You think you can make it through the night?” You ask, sounding like such a confident smartass. When in reality, your heart is pounding in your ears.

“I’ll try my best to.”

“I will too.”

Silence is becoming more familiar between you, but a calmness in your core convinces you not to worry. So you sit in it, listening to Spencer as he breathes and even chokes down a yawn while the wind blows through on his end. “I don’t want to hang up.” He whispers.

“Me either.” You look up at the sky. The moon stands out against the stars, but you recognize some patterns in the glittering specks. Your heart continues to pump and you wonder if Spencer can easily pick up your deep breaths like you can with his. “Tell me about the constellations you can see.”

[chaibewriting]

HANDS OFF! ft. street rat! shota aizawa (aladdin au) x feisty! noble! dom! fem! afab! reader

-> NOTES: street rat! shota aizawa pickpockets the wrong noblewoman and pays the price in more ways than one. i wrote this without much thought or brain meats so im sorry if its not my best work 🙇🏾

-> WARNINGS: hypnosis, dubcon, gagging, unprotected sex, virigin aizawa (bc i said so), dry humping, unedited and unbeta read cause i’m lazy

THE human body needed a few basic things in order to survive, even at the bare minimal, one of those necessities happened to be food. And unfortunately, mainly due to his lack of social ranking in the hierarchy, a young scoundrel by the name of Shota was forced to heavily rely on his abilities to get his next meal. And no, they’re not any kind of special ability— unless you consider pickpocketing and pawning to be something special, then fuck just call him Superman.

Interrupted from his thoughts, the shaggy dark-haired man pressed a hand onto his stomach, grunting at the rumble that was embarrassingly loud. A few passerbys in the streets had walked past him with rather weary looks, shuffling away from him while clinging onto their belongings. He barely spared them a glance, knowing that there was a much more interesting target just up ahead.

This woman was wearing something custom made, something he’d never seen before, which brought him to the justified assumption that she was rich. And if he played his cards correctly, he could swipe a couple things from her that he could pawn off and have enough to not only feed himself for the next couple of nights but also enough to buy some food for the stray cats he’s ‘adopted’ that he often finds lingering around in alleys. He had plenty of experience with pickpocketing, it didn’t matter who his target was he always landed his mark and got away without a scratch.

So… how exactly did he end up in this predicament?

That was his first mistake.

Shota had picked up the speed of his stride, soon closing in on you from behind without trying to look too suspicious, making it seem as if he was simply trying to pass you to get to his next destination as quickly as possible. It should have been easy. It was always easy for him, but you apparently decided to rip the rug from right under his feet, catching him redhanded when he attempted to dig his hand into your pocket after brushing past you. You grabbed onto his wrist and pulled it up towards the sky, eyeing your wallet that was encased between his fingers. The lazy street rat was stunned, staring at you in shock and a tad bit of fear of what was going to happen next. He had been doing quite a decent job at evading the authorities but if he were to be turned in right now they would no doubt execute him. He had to get away, but how were you so fucking strong?

“My, my, my… Who do we have here? I think I’ve seen you before… On the wanted posters in the little nooks and crannies I go to get my liquor.” You hummed, continuing to grasp his wrist without budging, even with him constantly trying to pry your hand away or jerk back. “Listen, lady, I’ll give you your damn wallet back, just let me go already.” Shota hissed, suddenly feeling you squeeze at his wrist while narrowing your eyes at him, causing him to unconsciously shudder under your harsh and calculated gaze. “I don’t think so. You caught me at the perfect time, i’ve been looking for a young little thing like you for me to release my frustration. Perhaps we should speak more privately, hm?” You offer, though you give no room for arguments or even agreement as you’re suddenly tugging him towards a nearby alley. The people on the street have taken notice of the two of you but shrugged it off, figuring that you were probably just going to teach the scoundrel a much needed lesson, which you technically were.

Shoving the youngster up against the wall after releasing his wrist, a hum came from your throat as you caged him in, leaving no room for him to slip away from you. He was forced to feel your body press up against his, causing his face to redden ever so slightly as he glanced at you, attempting to intimidate you even though he was the one being intimidated.

Leaning back slightly, you reached into one of your dress pockets and pulled out a solid gold pocket watch that was worth a pretty penny or two. Immediately, his eyes left from your face and went to the pocket watch that was enough to keep him fed for months on end, maybe even years.

That was his second mistake.

“Watch the watch, and repeat after me, darling.” You demanded, though your voice was laced in honey and danger, unfortunately for Shota he was unable to break his gaze from the swinging watch and slowly felt himself slipping into some kind of unconscious yet /conscious/ state, causing him to fully let down his guard as he listened to the words that came from your glossed lips.

“‘I am now Lady Y/N’s property. I give all my rights to her. I was made to please her and only her.”

His mouth moved without his permission as he parroted the words back to her, causing a triumphant grin to spread across her lips. “That’s enough. What’s your name, boy?”

“Aizawa Shota.”

…

After performing some basic-level hypnosis on the unsuspecting street rat, getting him back to your place was as easy as leading a dog on a leash. You never expected that it would be so easy to get him to follow after you, most would have put up more of a fight, but now he was just following you around like a lovesick puppy.

Once you’d entered your home, you instructed him to take off his shoes and leave them at the door, doing the same for yourself before venturing further into the house.

Afterwards, you promptly led him to your bedroom, beckoning him with a finger to continue following behind you, which he did. As soon as he entered the bedroom behind you, you pointed towards the luxurious-looking bed and spoke.

“Sit, and wait, Shota.”

He did just that, watching you with those same loveisck puppy eyes that followed after you every step of the way, waiting for your next command. Simultaneously, you shrugged off your coat and placed it onto a nearby table, humming a random tune you’d heard in a tavern some nights ago, thinking through what you wanted to do next. You were interested in trying out your usual approach, wondering how he’d look starfishing and gagged.

Slipping into your closet, you found the medium-sized chest that sat on the floor and pulled it out, opening it up to remove a few specially made silk wraps from inside of it. With your new findings, you turned towards the bed where Shota still sat, he was awake, but he held no hint of emotion in his face, still heavily under the influence of your hypnosis which seemed to please you quite a bit.

“Stand up and strip for me.”

With ease, the unfortunate prey you’d sunk your claws into stood onto his feet and began to remove his tattered clothing (you’d have to burn those later), your eager eyes taking note of every inch of his exposed body. Even though he looked a bit malnourished and lanky, no doubt from not eating an adequate amount of food each day, he didn’t exactly look fragile. So, that meant you wouldn’t have to worry about breaking him just yet. You eyed the excessive amount of body hair that he had spread all over his body, it wasn’t unwelcome of course, you did enjoy the look of a rugged man crumbling at your feet, after all.

Walking towards him, you placed hand onto his chest and pushed him back onto the bed, watching in interest as his flaccid cock slapped back against his stomach with the sudden movement. You were eager to toy with him and you couldn’t do that if he was still mindlessly under your control, however, you still had to remain in control of him. And you always had the perfect solution. Balling the silk wraps up until you got the perfect sphere of fabric, you instructed him to open his mouth, shoving the fabric into it as soon as his lips parted. You heard him instinctively gag around it and grinned afterwards. Now, here was where the real fun began. With a hum, you snapped you fingers and watched as the cloudy mist in his dark eyes began to clear up. He looked around in confusion for a moment before his gaze landed on you and where you stood, over him at the very edge of the bed. And then he spoke. Or tried to at least.

“Whah eer wuu zoo…” He tried, mumbling against the silk in his mouth, after hearing himself struggle to speak his brows furrowed and he began reaching to take the foreign fabric from his mouth. You stopped him, clicking your tongue in dissatisfaction. “Oh no no, Shota. Don’t you remember what we discussed in the alley? You’re my property now, and you can’t just go around making decisions on your own, darling. You’ll keep that in your mouth until I say so.”

You sighed afterwards and began to undo your blouse, already eyeing his body with glee and interest. “Now, if you’re good and help me release my stress from this week… maybe I’ll take the gag out. Think you can do that for me? Ah, actually, I know you can.” You purred, a small smile revealing itself on your face as you peeled off your blouse and slid your skirt off as well, stepping out of it so that you were left in only your undergarments.

With slightly desperate movements and the speed of a huntress in heat, you crawled on top of Shota, watching as his eyes widened in surprise and his face burned crimson. This caused a thought to come to mind as you planted yourself right on his cock, sandwiching it between your clothed cunt and his own hollowing belly.

“Oh dear… Are you a virgin, Shota?”

The blush on his face only increased tenfold at your question and he quickly shook his head, attempting to dissuade you from such a suggestion. It didn’t matter to you anyways, but it would have been all the more entertaining if he was.

…

Getting Shota hard was not a difficult feat, especially not with you constantly rutting against his cock at a steady pace, effectively making your own pool of arousal start to drench your panties, mingling with the beads of precum that dribbled from his tip and landed onto his stomach. The sounds of his sweet muffled moans had urged you to move faster and rougher with your movements, the friction on resulting in your own moans as well. After you’d done your job, you rolled off of him, making him whine in need for you as you laid onto your back and stretched out your limbs, laughing at him.

“Don’t get all pissy now, I’ve done my job so its only fair that you do yours now.” You mused, laying comfortably on your back while pushing your bra up over your breast, letting them fall free from the contraption. “C’mon and put it in, I know you’re a good boy, aren’t you? Show me how good you are.” You urged, shifting around a bit to slide your underwear down until they were tossed away, exposing your soaked core and throbbing notch of nerves.

Many things came into play, a mix of hormones and hypnosis caused the pick pocketer to quickly sit up, gag still in his mouth, and get between your legs, mot even trying to hide his eager as he stared at your inviting entrance, his angry tip getting even angrier. With interest and clear amusement, you watched him closely as he grabbed the base of his cock and began to line himself up with your entrance, prodding at your folds with the tip, almost as if he was uncertain about where he was supposed to put it. It was almost cute, but you were getting a tad bit impatient, hooking your legs around his hips to bring him forcibly towards you, making him sink into you with ease and with little to no resistance.

While your moans were a bit more restrained and shaky, his moans were still muffled but were exceptionally whinier. He had fallen forward but quickly caught himself before he could crash on top of you, holding himself up by pressing his hands in the bed on either sides of your body. You’d pulled him closer until he completely bottomed out, his balls flush against your ass as he was fully inside you, kissing your cervix with his bulbous tip. You could have sworn you felt him throbbing inside of you. You probably did.

Shota, on the other hand, was on the verge of trembling and crying from pleasure, the sudden warmth and wetness closing around him and effectively trapping him in place, his eyes closed as his face only doubled with heat. He was sure he was going to cum if he moved even an inch. This felt even better than fucking his fist. A man could become addicted to this.

Simultaneously, you enjoyed the feeling of fullness but were waiting for him to move, watching him intently. When he made no effort or showed no signs of movement, you huffed, unhooking your legs from his hips and grunting at him. “What are you waiting for? The sun to set? Hurry up and move already, I’m growing impa- oh!” You were cut off by the feeling of him pulling out and slamming back into you, which was soon followed by a series of amateur jabs at your womb, repeatedly filling you with his thick veiny cock over and over again, the bird’s nest of his pubes consistently brushing over your clit with him bottoming out each and every time.

Even if he was an amateur with his thrusts, his dick was big enough to hit some delicious spots inside of your gummy walls that made you a bit delirious. You weren’t the only one, however, with the way he was still groaning and muttering praises that made no sense thanks to the gag in his mouth. As he fucked into you like an obedient and needy whore, you rubbed at your clit in rough circular motions, a string of curses leaving your lips as you enjoyed every second of the snap of his needy hips.

“Veels zooo gooo…” He complimented, though you didn’t know what he was saying exactly as he continued his speedy pace, the bed singing and creaking from the intensity of his assault on your drooling pussy.

This continued for a tad bit longer, as long as he could manage at least, before he mewled aloud, leaning over to bury his face into the crook of your neck. “Mm hmm gmm…!” Suddenly, you felt heat shoot up into your awaiting walls that had been milking him since the moment you forced him to sink his cock in you, painting you sloppily with white. He’d slammed all the way into you to release his seed in you, not letting a drop escape as he laid out on top of you in exhaustion, forcing you to stop rubbing your clit.

You allowed him a second to collect himself, feeling the cold sweat on his body sink into yours as he remained laying on top of you, still buried inside of you. Lightly, you patted his back in an affectionate manner and spoke up. “We’re not done yet darling, I still haven’t cum yet.” That, made him stiffen up, and you almost felt his cock harden again inside of you like the command was enough to spur him on for another round.

“ineeding…. foooo… ooo.” Was the last thing he tiredly panted through the gag before he lifted his hips just a tad bit, burying his knees into the bed before he began lazily pounding into you yet again, the harsh slap of skin on skin being heard well into the night.

Well… he’d never be pickpocketing again, that’s for sure.

[misguidedasgardian]

The Winter Sun (1)

Alone in the World

MASTERLIST

Summary: Your life in the Red Keep isn’t easy. 

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader 

Warnings: Death of characters, cursing, medieval and asoif customs, child on child violence, bullying, implied minors in pleasure houses, the boys are manaces, mentions of death on childbirth, might miss some warnings

Wordcount: 3 k

Notes: I’m going to delay Viserys’ death a couple of years for the sake of the ages of this history, of course I’m aging Cregan a little bit as well

This is… different, to everything I’ve ever written and I apologize if it looks too rough, I was so excited to share it with you!

Hope you like

120 AC. Reader is 10, Cregan is 12 years older

King’s landing was submerged in celebration.

Everyone was in good spirits.

it was the fifteenth anniversary of King Viserys marriage to Queen Alicent Hightower

And he wanted to celebrate it, he wanted everyone to celebrate it with him.

But you had spent the last six months in the Red Keep after losing your father, and the truth is, even if you were excited to spend time with your cousins and nephews, knowing there were kids you could play with… you came to a rude awakening.

They didn’t receive you with open arms, they didn’t want to play with you, in fact, they seemed to want to play you instead.

They were mean and rude, using you as targets for their pranks and mean jokes.

You tried to avoid them, but you had classes with them, you visited the Dragonpit alongside them, and you had lessons taught by maesters by their side.

Uncle Viserys seemed surprised when he learned that your father was educating you like you were a little boy, learning about politics and philosophy, instead of knitting and poetry. He was pleased, and didn’t go against his brother’s desires so he put you to learn alongside his sons and grandsons

He meant well, they didn’t

You were soon brought back to reality when Jace pulled your hair roughly

“And (Y/N) with her imaginary dragon”, he mocked

“My dragon exists”, she pouted, “she is not made up”

“Then where is she? we had never seen her!”, mocked Luke

“She is real! I’m telling you! it was my father’s dragon, she is shy that is all”, Aemond didn’t say anything

“Even she has a dragon, but not you Uncle!”, continued Jace, “but we are going to change that”, your ears picked up, and you looked interested, how Luke jogged down the ramp

“You found a dragon? how?”, asked Aemond

“The Gods provide”, muttered Aegon, and you and Aemond both stopped your very thoughts when Luke came running up with a pig on a leash, wings and a tail of straws.

“Behold! the pink dread!”, they mocked, and for once, even if you were relieved they targeted Aemond this time, and not you, you still felt bitter

“You can share it with (Y/N)!”, Jace said, ah there it was.

That very night the Red Keep was overflowing, with lords and ladies from all the corners of the realm that had come to celebrate the King and the Queen and their love. You were so excited, perhaps you would meet more children to play with, to befriend.

The maids dressed you and Helaena, her in a green gown, and you in a red one, with golden patterns, you felt like a little princess. Well, not like you weren’t one. they braided your hair beautifully, you were so happy.

But as soon as you got out of Helaena’s chambers, the boys were there, no doubt waiting for you. They held one of Helaena’s bugs, to her horror, a big centipede. You shrieked when they moved it teasingly near you

“Your hairdo is missing something!”, they would mock

“No! it doesn’t!”, you fought, trying to move Jace’s hand away from your head. You pushed Jace with all your might, and then you ran away from them. You heard them chasing after you, but you were smaller, and faster, so you managed to lose them in the many corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast

Your hiding turned long, you knew you were late to the banquet, so turning gently and slowly in every corner and looking over your shoulder, you walked towards the throne room that had been arranged for the feast.

The room was booming in the middle of dinner, the wine was flowing freely and the meat was being served, you had almost managed to escape your torturers… almost…

The banquet began and the boys had already shown you what they planned to do to your hair… so you didn’t wait to submit to that fate, instead, you found a place where the long big table was empty, or sort of, and you ducked underneath, not wanting the boys to ruin your pretty hair. You crawled under the table to safety…

You were safe… but not for long.

You noticed people sitting on the part of the table you were hiding under. Soon a big black boot almost stepped on you and you whimpered in fear, the sole colliding with your knees.

You looked up and the tablecloth was moved out of the way and a face showed up, looking no doubt at the soft thing he almost crushed. It was a young man, dark hair, gentle eyes and black clothing

“What are you doing down there?”, he asked, looking down the table at you, his gray eyes made you tremble. It was none other than Cregan Stark, of course, you didn’t know that then

“I’m hiding Ser”, she whispered, Cregan chuckled

“I’m not a Ser, I’m a Lord”, he corrected

“I’m sorry Lord”, she muttered

“Why are you hiding?”, he asked then

“They mock me, they pull my hair, they tangle bugs in it, they call me names”, she confessed, hiding her face in her knees, “they are mean to me, my cousins and nephews”

“I’m sorry”, he then looked up from her, towards the back of the table, where the kids passed running looking for something, or her, more like it. “She left that way”, he indicated away to Aemond, Jace and Luke, and the boys ran away, when they were gone, he looked down the tablea gain, “they are gone”

“Thank you Lord”, she answered with a smile

“Sit with me, nobody would dare to mess with the wolves”, he offered, showing you a hand, “you look so pretty, it would be a shame if nobody got to see it”, he said gently. You smiled brightly, and took his hand.

Everybody seemed surprised when you came out from under the table, you were in the middle of the Northmen, you only had to look at the wolf sewed in their clothes to see it

You took a seat by the leader, between him and a beautiful lady.

“This is my lady wife, Arra Norryn”, he introduced, and you smiled

“Nice to meet you”, you greeted

“And who you might be?”, she asked with a gentle smile, sharing looks with Cregan, if your hair was any indication, but they were playing along

“I’m (Y/N) Targaryen”, you said politely, just like your father has taught you, you offered your hand to the nice lady and she shook it

“I’m Lord Cregan Stark”, the nice man introduced himself, giving you his hand to shake, and you took it amongst yours, “nice to meet you princess”. You beamed

“Thank you for inviting me to join My Lords”. When you looked in front of you, you saw your cousins and nephews looking at you wide eyed, and you couldn’t help but stick out the tip of your tongue to them, they couldn’t bother you now.

“You are such a sweet princess, if I may say so”, the nice Lady Arra said.

“You too, My Lady”, you answered back. And the Lords of Winterfell shared looks.

For members of court that looked over at the table of the Northmen, they would chuckle in amusement when they saw you, a silver and red dot in the middle of dark haired and black wearers, lords and ladies.

Of course the Queen immediately spotted you, and she sent Criston Cole to remove you from the table of the Starks, pulling you roughly by the arm and making you sit right amongst Jace and Aemond on the main table

“You thought you got away?”, mocked Jace, “I got some news for you”, he whispered, sticking a chicken bone trough the longest of your braids

“I hate you”, you cried, defeated. But as you looked along the table to your new found friends, the big man with dark hair smiled apologetically to you, and you only waved back, sadly

That was the first time you laid eyes on Cregan Stark

But not the last.

the relationships you had with your cousins and nephews did not improve, in fact, it worsened, so you found ways to escape them, mainly, by hanging out with Helaena

Your uncle, the King, never failed in telling you how much you reminded him of your father, but other than that, he didn’t quite pay attention to you much, not that he paid attention to your cousins and nephews either…

You sometimes would accompany him while he arranged his model of Old Valyria, but that was it.

Luckily for you, or sort of, everything changed when your aunt Laena passed away, the family went to Driftmark, and an altercation occurred.

The Velaryon were bastards, that is what you have heard, that is what everybody was saying, and Aegon was right, you just had to look at them to realize it, Jace was a spitting image of that super nice knight, Ser Harwin Strong, you didn’t understand why it was such a big deal, but a fight ensued, knives were drawn.

Jace and Luke left with cousin Rhaenyra to live in Dragonstone, two of your torturers gone, but Aemond…

Oh Aemond.

That night, you defended Rhaena, declaring that you had inherited your father’s dragon, and she should have done the same, so Aemond pushed you the hardest against the stone wall, making your hands raw when they hit the stones trying to stop your face from colliding. You whimpered in pain, but you felt silly when Luke got his nose broken and Aemond…

Aemond had lost an eye

You were no longer children playing cruel jokes to one another.

Blood had been drawn, insults were exchanged…

And everything changed. For the worst.

The Red Keep had become dark, mournful even.

You were not a stranger to the enmity between Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent, but you didn’t know what it was about, or why they always were so unhappy with one another. You only noticed the tension between them in family dinners and after council meetings. Even you could notice and you could barely breathe sometimes over the table.

The only one you had left was Aemond, and sometimes Helaena

Aemond didn’t chase you around with spiders, or hid buggers inside the pages of the books you liked to read. He was even more cruel, with mean looks, he sometimes would shove you when he passed you in the Hallways and you would collide heavily with the stone walls. He would say horrible things about you right in front of you like you were not even there, and he would pull your hair to move you out of his way.

He would say things like. “She is a burden”, “an orphan”, sometimes he even called you a bastard

Helaena said he was jealous, but you didn’t understood why in earth he would be jealous of you!, and she once went further and hinted that he liked you, loved you even, but you shook your head and called her silly

Love doesn’t make you hurt.

Heavy days turned to weeks, turned to months and years. And soon, everyone was talking about how you were becoming a Lady, of barely thirteen name days under your arm.

And you felt more like a Lady, you didn’t care about the same things you did when you were younger.

Aemond’s cruelty had come to a some sort of stop.

Because now you were a lady you were instructed by Septas, not Maesters, and Ladies, and not Knights and Professors.

And even if your knitting lessons would bore you the death, you preferred it to Aemond choosing every opportunity in your lessons to humiliate you. Besided, after he lost his eye, Aemond had completely changed.

He always seemed to be the mature one of all his siblings and nephews, but now, he was not only serious, but bitter, and more cruel than before.

You never saw him smile again. And his horrible attitude towards you made it difficult for you to feel sorry for him. You didn’t. You didn’t think he deserved it either, but you didn’t pity him, and that, unbeknownst to you, made him hate you even more.

It got so bad even Alicent noticed it, of course she didn’t say anything but she tried her best to keep you away from him as much as possible.

Yes, your stay in the Red Keep wasn’t a pleasant one, you missed your father terribly. You missed your home, a small castle in the Valley, with views to the Narrow Sea. You felt like you were a permanent guest here, but a guest at last. Nothing was truly yours.

But you tried to keep your smiles, you good attitude, you were found always smiling, always helping, lighting every room you entered…

If only you knew that was the reason Aemond hated you.

He hated how happy you were, you were an orphan, alone, mistreated, you should be as miserable as he felt, he, that had his parents, and a dragon, and everything he could ask for in the palm of his hand or an order away, he was retched, and you were always happy and smiling.

He wanted you to feel as he felt, but he could never accomplish it, he could never break you.

And in time instead of frustrating him, it only spurred him on.

Aegon paid you no mind, he was four years older than you and since he was fourteen he learned how to scape the Red Keep and found pleasures of the flesh, and when Aemond turned thirteen he introduced him to those pleasures.

And Aemonds attitude towards you changed once more…

He didn’t push you no more, he started grabbing you, your wrists, your arms so roughly they bruised.

When he pushed you against the stone walls he didn’t just snicker and leave, no, he would grab your wrists and corner you, only watching you with his only eye and a thin line as his lips, and then he would release you and leave.

It started scaring you, so you avoided him like the plague, instead hiding in Helaena’s room, but she soon married Aegon, so you couldn’t do that anymore either.

You made one friend though, Tyland the master of coin’s daughter, she was so sweet, a little mischievous, always getting you into trouble, but it was nice to have a friend.

You were walking alongside her when Aemond walked by, he grabbed your arm roughly and leaned in to take a sniff at your hair by your ear, he muttered an “mmm” and then he walked away. You only signed, already accustomed to his rough ways.

And she had watched it all happen.

“The one-eye prince liked you, on his own way”, she mocked

“He hates me”, you muttered, “and I’m tired of it”

“I don’t think he does”, she mocked, “I bet he is going to ask his mother to betrothed you two”

“I’d rather get trampled and eaten by my dragon”, you said back

“Anyways, let’s talk about it when you are popping out silver haired princes”, you rolled your eyes. “Anyways, have you heard? The Starks are arriving in court”

“Why?” You asked

“They said the Wolf is looking for a wife, Lady Arra Norryn died, her and the babe on childbirth”, you looked at her wide eyed

“Really? That’s horrible”, you muttered, your heart clenching thinking about how heartbreaking that must be for him, you remembered the Northerner Lord fondly.

You wanted to see him, you wanted to say you are sorry for him loosing his wife’s and that you were at his service for everything he might need.

But you couldn’t find him.

First he was getting settled in his rooms, then he had audience with the King, and then, the courtship began, every man in court Im who had a daughter in elegible age wanted to see the Young lord, so you couldn’t offer your condolences

On top of that… One of the Queen’s maids said that Aemond wanted to speak to you.

Aemond had never requested your attention, he gave you no choice but to stand there and listen to whatever mean thing he had to say…

The very thought of what he might want to discuss with you made your skin crawl.

So you did what you had learned to do best…

You hid.

Your favorite spot had become a tall Cypress in the godswood, their branches and the way they were trimmed allowed you to hide comfortably, in some sort of natural tree house.

You took a book with you and waited until no don’t was around to climb up, and you hid up there

But another person felt the same need as you.

This person wanted to escape the heat of court, and enjoy a little shade in the godswood, looking at the Heart tree, to be close to his gods.

So Cregan Stark sat on the foot of the tree, wanted to rest until… your book fell from your hand and landed right by him.

You gasped and that is all it took for him to look up and find you

“Why every time I see you, you are hiding from something?”, he spoke to you, a soft smile on his lips

“Someone”

“Uh?”, he asked

“I’m hiding from someone” you corrected.

“That is worse”, he said, “why are you hiding this time?”, he spoke like three years hadn't gone by and you were that little kid hiding under the table.

“Someone wants to speak to me, and I don’t want to speak to him”

“It’s a boy, then”

“More like a messenger from the seven devils”, you mocked. Feeling at ease, he wasn’t looking right at you, you were still hidden, and he was seated looking at the gods tree

“I’m sorry about your wife, my lord”, you said gently

“It happened two years ago”, he answered sharply

“But I’m guessing it still hurts”, he got quiet for a moment

“It did, it does”

“Did you love her?”, you have no clue why you asked that, but not having him looking straight at you give you courage

“I did”, he said truthfully, “I had the luck of marrying my very best friend, the girl I known since I was born, and I lost her”

“I’m very sorry”, you whispered, “I Can't imagine what you are feeling, because what you had, of being friends with the person you married, is truly something magnificent”, you whispered, looking up at the branches being caressed by the soft summer wind

“Thank you princess”, he whispered, “you alongside my sister where the only ones who truly gave a heartfelt sympathy, everyone else is just… is expecting me to move on”

“You can feel whatever you need to feel, only you will tell when you are ready to move on”, you offered, “tell them to fuck off”, you covered your mouth when you let out that curse, but he only chuckled

“I will princess”, he said, he then stood up, and offered his hand to help you climb down, and you did accept his help, letting yourself fall free to his arms because you knew he was going to catch you, and he did.

He released you so your feet touched the ground.

“I offer the same advice princess” he said with a smile, “tell them to fuck off”. You giggled and nodded, picking up your book from the ground

“See you around my lord”

“See you around” he whispered

You walked away from the godswood, and in your way to Maegor's holdfast, you encountered Aemond

“Where were you!? I needed to speak to you”, he said, with his characteristic arrogance

“Oh fuck off Aemond!” You responded , escaping his wandering hand and walking hastily away from him, leaving him standing in the middle of the hallway.

Tag list! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

@stargaryenx

[foundmywei]

Soukoku Fanfic Recs

Here are my favorite skk fics, I will be updating this as I read. Feel free to rec more in the replies. Enjoy!

(last updated: 27/12/2023)

Masterpost

Do I Get My Worthless Reward Yet? by World_Ender22

canon-divergence

(40,986 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 10/10)

Chuuya has always been certain of two things: he is going to die young, and it will be Corruption that kills him. So when the Boss orders him to use his Corrupted form without an out, he is neither surprised nor distressed. He simply does what he's told. When Dazai learns that the whole thing is a ploy to make him rejoin the Mafia, he plans to beat Mori at his own game... starting with convincing Chuuya to join the Armed Detective Agency. / Soukoku

hide the truth by writingfromtheshadows

canon-divergence

(24,611 words | Not Rated | Chapters: 1/1)

When Chuuya wakes up in the middle of an ongoing fight without any memory of how he got there or what happened to him, he ends up turning to someone saved as 'bandage-waster' in his phone. Somehow, it just feels like the right decision.

Willful Neglect by timeisdancing

canon-divergence

(27,915 words | Mature | Chapters: 10/10)

"Dazai..." Chuuya's voice comes out too tight and small, unlikely to ever reach Dazai. His hand lifts shakily, in some dazed attempt to stop him. There is panic wild and fast in his chest, the beginnings of hyperventilation, his breaths shallow and quick.

Something's wrong, something's wrong—

This hurts too much, it's not supposed to be like this—

His vision is blurring, and his head is taut and aching with the stress and anxiety and so much anguish that he can barely comprehend it.

The last of Dazai's hazy form disappears, far in the distance. _______

Forced into a difficult situation, Dazai has to leave Chuuya behind post-Corruption without his usual thorough check-up. Only, he has no idea just what state Chuuya was in as he was walking away from him that night.

Grief is a good teacher on how to value those you love. When he gets Chuuya back, Dazai uses his lessons well.

I'll Always Come for Chuuya by timeisdancing

PM skk era

(11,550 words | Not Rated | Chapters: 4/4)

A memory comes to him; in the dark as they lay in bed, a small whisper between their faces, a secret moment, Promise Chuuya won't ever use Corruption when I'm not there?

What if you're not there and I have no choice? Chuuya asked.

Chuuya has to wait for me. I don't care what's happening. Chuuya has to wait.

Chuuya stares down at his screen, hidden again behind some debri. There is still no response. His hand tightens around it, tremulous. He had to have seen it by now. Dazai's phone is always in his pocket.

Shit. Does he really not give a damn anymore?

He remembers a small smile, eyes gentle and deep and dark. I'll always come for Chuuya.

Liar.

______

Dazai has been distant with Chuuya these days, seeming to have grown bored of him and has been spending more and more time with Oda Sakunosuke. This sudden rift has consequences, and Chuuya will be the one to bear it.

picking a flower that blooms on the heart for you by burgundytshirt

hanahaki AU

(44,643 words | Mature | Chapters: 9/9)

The question is obvious at this point.

To die, or to ask Dazai for help?

Chuuya is so choked by this question that his breakfast is lodged in his throat, unable to be swallowed.

(Or, Chuuya would much rather die than let Dazai find out he has hanahaki disease.)

it's easy, if it's you by lunarumbra

fake dating AU

(16,500 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

“And then you promised that you’d do anything I asked no matter what it is? We made a contract and everything!” Chuuya produces a laminated scrap of paper decorated with clumsy script and a couple of misspelled words and - yeah, there's no mistaking it. It’s definitely 10 year-old Dazai’s handwriting.

Or: Chuuya needs a date for a wedding in France.

teenage nightmares commit atrocities by forever_wandering

PM skk era

(107,063 words | Mature | Chapters: 22/22)

“Tsushima Shuuji,” Chuuya reads out loud. “A bright, optimistic young man with a pep in his step and a zest for life. Hang on–is this referring to you?” “Unfortunately,” Dazai laments, sighing dramatically. “You just got away with ‘science nerd’ and ‘soccer player,’ but I’m supposed to be an artist! I hate art! It’s useless!” “Shut the fuck up. That’s not the problem here. You? A ‘zest for life?’ Looking forward to each new morning? Hah! Rimbaud would sooner come back to life.” Dazai turns to Chuuya with the barest facsimile of a smile painted over his lips. “I,” he says sweetly, “am going to gut you open like a fish.”

Dazai and Chuuya are seasoned mafiosos at the ripe old age of almost-seventeen. They’ve fought gang wars, interrogated prisoners, and done all manner of unspeakable things. Now, they face their greatest challenge yet: going (undercover) to a real high school. With regular teens (who may or may not be desperately trying to get them to kiss). One thing’s for sure: this school is unprepared for the absolute calamity that is Double Black.

This is how it feels to take a fall by forest_raccoon

canon divergence, temporary MCD

(20,602 words | Mature | Chapters: 9/9)

Gazing down into those blank, empty blue eyes, Dazai felt something shatter inside him. And in the wake of the destruction, the emptiness, he was flooded by sudden, ice-cold clarity. It wasn't okay. But it would be. He would make it okay.

[Or, something unthinkable happens, and Dazai goes more than a little feral in his attempt to reverse it.]

Narrow Staircases by rutu14

time travel

(31,045 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

The last thing Chuuya expects while overseeing a routine shipment is for his sixteen year old self to appear out of thin air.

all my own by halfbloom (diphylleias)

PM skk era

(17,473 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

“A day off?” Chuuya echoes, blinking slowly. “Yes,” Mori repeats with a chuckle, but it sounds like an order this time. “A day off. Do with it as you please.” And right as Chuuya is opening his mouth to ask why, Mori perks up and says, “Ah, I instructed Dazai-kun to take the day off as well.” He smiles serenely. “So you two may spend it together, if you’d like.” Chuuya’s eye twitches.

In between carnival games and ice cream stands, Chuuya learns a thing or two at seventeen about normalcy, cotton candy, and hand-holding.

Around We Go (And Back Again) by zombiemarker

canon-divergence

(24,247 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 7/7)

Corruption takes a toll, the mafia doesn't care for weakness, and the ADA has a bad habit of picking up traumatized gay orphans.

In which the author beats the shit out of the characters in order to make them happier and healthier later. Also ADA Chuuya.

bite your tongue by soupthatistoohot

canon-divergence

(20,709 words | Teen and Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

The Armed Detective Agency receives a mission to investigate and take down an assassin group that has been targeting high-profile individuals through a very specific method: first, the target is sent into an unwakeable sleep for a week, and second, when they wake up, they are unable to speak. Third and last, they die of a heart attack two weeks later. Ranpo suggests negotiating with the Port Mafia for the aid of executive Chuuya Nakahara, wanting to have Double Black at their disposal. But when Chuuya arrives… he cannot speak. Chuuya Nakahara has been targeted, and supposedly, he has two weeks left until he is killed.

all the holes we had to breathe by airiena

canon universe

(18,220 words | Teen and Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

“...Are you in a hurry or something?” Chuuya inquires, hand instinctively reaching out to wipe at the corner of Dazai’s mouth, successfully getting rid of the crumbs, before he realizes what he’s doing and freezes. “Yeah.” Dazai all but breathes. He is golden, when Chuuya takes in his appearance. He is a golden thing, dimmed, beaten, snuffed out, full of scratches but is still so human and so real despite what he always seems to believe that it makes the redhead want nothing but to take him into his arms and hide him from the heavy, heavy world and soothe all his aches and kiss all his scars— “I’m in a hurry, because I’ve already lost too much time.”

death offers no absolution by Zairielon

canon-divergence

(62,063 words | Mature | Chapters: 10/10)

After so many years in the Port Mafia, Chuuya thought he couldn't be phased by anything - that he had carried out the worst orders that would ever be given to him. Then he sees things he never saw before. He sees horror, cruelty, needless suffering. He sees death in every step he takes. Chuuya is only human, too. Eventually, he breaks. OR, Chuuya leaves the Port Mafia and attempts to escape his bloodstained past.

like a piece of glass by kagshina

PM & present era

(10,554 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 2/2)

The first time it happened, naturally, was after a fight. Chuuya couldn’t even remember what it was exactly that started the fight, only that Dazai said something to piss him off and it had escalated from there.  Somehow, they ended up here—with Dazai saying, “I can kiss better than you.”

Over every extinguished past by tucuxi

canon-divergence

(16,590 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

It’s been a little more than a month since everything almost went to shit, since the Armed Detective Agency and Port Mafia faced off against Dostoyevsky, since Yokohama almost lost its fragile, balanced peace.

And it’s also been just about a month since Ranpo emerged from Poe’s book, all pride and glowing accomplishment for solving 500 murders in a week, and just a passing comment about the other guy losing patience and starting punching people.

--

Chuuya emerges from Poe's book, exhausted, to discover that Dazai has been severely injured. Standing guard in the Agency's infirmary, Yosano, Kunikida, and Chuuya find unexpected common cause in their desire to keep Dazai in one piece despite his best efforts to hide his vulnerabilities from everyone around him.

Snow White and the Huntsman by paranoid_fridge

dead apple aftermath

(1,453 words | General Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

They're alive against all odds, but the fight continues without them. Huddled against a crumbling wall, Chuuya and Dazai find themselves discussing fairytales and their own roles, and (they will later blame adrenaline/near-death experiences/ general after-battle delirium) accidentally confess. Or something like that. The words 'true love' are used, however.

One more time with feelings by Root (Fyki)

PM & present era

(12,584 words | Explicit | Chapters: 6/6)

He didn't say anything, just waiting for Chuuya to keep going. The lack of an angry response at being ignored picked at Dazai's interest, but it was Chuuya's next words that finally made him lift his eyes and properly look at him. "Have you- have you ever kissed someone?" That, Dazai hadn't expected. (Five times Dazai kissed Chuuya and pretended it meant nothing, and one time he kissed him and couldn't deny it meant everything.)

A mission gone wrong - BSD / BNHA Crossover by Unicornfairycat

BSD / BNHA crossover, time travel

(57,458 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 20/20)

The Armed Detective Agency and Port Mafia are asked to investigate "amplified abilities" around Yokohama. After initial complaints, Dazai and Chuuya agree to work together. Their group manages to find the culprit and devises a plan to apprehend them. It's supposed to be foolproof but something goes horribly wrong. Dazai and Chuuya are sucked into an amplified portal which teleports them into the future. Two hundred years.

They land in the middle of a highschool and learn that abilities have become much more common and are now called quirks. As they figure out a way back to their time, they have to act as teachers for the hero course students in class 1-A, in return for U.A. to help them out with housing, I.D. and information gathering.

Silent sorrows / Loud feelings by foundmywei

canon-divergence

(8,406 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

But there was no God of destruction trying to take over him. Chuuya, quietly standing in the agency’s infirmary with his partner’s cold hand in his, came to the crushing realization that he had lost the one person he had always wished to keep close.

Or, a mission requires Dazai to fake his death. He doesn’t think informing Chuuya about it is necessary.

STORM by foundmywei

future fic, aged up characters

(37,258 words | Mature | Chapters: 7/7)

Osamu had thought of countless things he wanted to tell Chuuya once he saw him again, but what ended up leaving his mouth was, "Did you get shorter?"

Chuuya stared at him in silence for a few moments before he let out a sigh, rubbing his temple. "So you're still acting like a child."

Or, after six more years of separation, Osamu and Chuuya find their way back to each other again. Some things have changed, and some have not. One thing is certain, though; Soukoku are going to make their love drama everybody’s problem.

Stay by the_most_happy

canon-divergence

(23,699 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

“Oi, Dazai, what are they saying, anyway? Too many people. It gets confusing.”

The detective smirks.

“They are just discussing the budget for the next mission. Kunikida insists he wants an ice cream, a drone, and a goat.”

From the Port Mafia dungeon to the depths of Meursault, Dazai and Chuuya keep finding each other.

They fall in love all over again — or, maybe, they never stopped.

That’s all.

clear skies by burgundytshirt

canon compliant

(2,860 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

When Chuuya, wounded in combat, bumps into his ex-partner in the streets, he pretends that he’s fine as they banter like usual. Except halfway through tugging at Dazai’s collar, Chuuya suddenly passes out into Dazai’s arms.

I'll Make A Home In Your Gut Because its Somewhere Warm to Sleep by arahabakii

canon universe

(8,959 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

After what felt like a lifetime, Dazai softly said “thank you.” The softness of his voice sent shivers down his spine. “For what?” Chuuya whispers, too afraid that if he spoke too loudly in this moment, it would disappear before his eyes. “For today,” Dazai confesses, brown eyes staring into blue ones, in the hopes that he might drown in them forever. “For just seeing me.” “Do you always thank people by kissing them?” “No,” Dazai whispered with a trembling breath. “Just you.” OR In a moment of weakness and vulnerability, the underworlds deadliest duo after 7 years, find a new sense of solace and comfort in one another.

Replaceable by timeisdancing

canon-divergence

(17,012 words | Not Rated | Chapters: 6/6)

Chuuya is scrabbling frantically at Mori's hands around his throat, his eyes wide. His body glows a faint red, fizzles out like a cough. "You can't even use your powers when you're like this, can you, Chuuya-kun?" "Mori, he is hurt." Dazai's voice rasps with controlled anger. Mori ignores him. "I can't tell where Dazai's plan begins and your stupidity ends, but regardless, such information should have never come out of that mouth of yours. What did you think? That such treachery will be forgiven and you will be made an exception? By the rules of the mafia, you are a traitor." ____ When one of Dazai's plans go too far, it inadvertently leads to Chuuya's death sentence. While in the dungeon cellars together facing the consequences, Dazai takes care of Chuuya and tries to save him.

Run Away With Me by timeisdancing

dark era

(5,306 words | Not Rated | Chapters: 1/1)

He must have knocked. Some time after, the door hauls open. "That's just great," the short redhead in the doorway sighs with disgust, all silken lavender yukata and flat eyes, "Just what I needed after a long flight back home. Shitty Dazai, the last thing I want right now is to see your ugly-ass face, so fuck off out of here." Dazai is staring at Chuuya blankly, and can't remember what made him think he could come here. "Right." His whisper is thin, raspy. Right. Of course. Like a ghost that doesn't know it's dead, he turns around, and he begins to leave just the way he came. "Dazai?" _______ After Odasaku's death, Dazai ends up at Chuuya's door, rain-soaked, dissociated and grieving.

I Was Never Meant to Last by timeisdancing

16 skk

(17,391 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

Dazai ends up in a coma after his most serious suicide attempt yet. He has left three letters, one of them being for Chuuya. Sitting at the bedside of his comatose body, Chuuya tries to understand. ______ Dazai is falling. In the orange glow of sunrise, the waves of his hair are fanning around him, and his dark eye is wide with fear and shock, his hand outstretched towards Chuuya. Chuuya is not even thinking anymore. All he can see is that hand reaching for him as he launches off against the balustrade and falls after him. He uses his ability to make himself heavier, his own drop faster, his hand reaching for Dazai right back. It's only when he catches Dazai in his arms, holding his head tight against his own shoulder and trying to fly back up that he remembers; this won't work. He must have been really out of his mind to have forgotten it at all.

Lessons in Kissing by timeisdancing

18 skk

(8,101 words | Not Rated | Chapters: 1/1)

At eighteen, Chuuya doesn't know how to kiss. Dazai teaches him how. _ "I think you broke my nose," Dazai says faintly, finally letting Chuuya remove his hands. He frowns as Chuuya angles his head a bit to look at it. Dazai presses the back of a quick finger to the underside of his nose, blinking. "I'm bleeding, aren't I? I think I'm bleeding?" Chuuya rolls his eyes, letting him go. "Your nose is fine. It's not bleeding either, so stop bein' so dramatic about it." "Chuuya should kiss it better." "Hah!" Chuuya exclaims, "Shut the hell up, you! This doesn't give ya a free pass to say such bullshit just 'cuz I'm doing this with you!" Dazai is staring ahead, his eyes hazy. "Ugh, yeah. I'm pretty grossed out too now at what I just said. Where were we? Oh, right." He looks back at Chuuya, focused again. "So… this time… go slow, okay? I know you're excited to kiss my pretty face and all but - " "DAZAI!" Chuuya's voice is high and wild, bordering on a screech. He's starting to regret this already. "But you have to make sure you can actually see where my pretty face is instead of just banging into me."

Doll Parts by the_most_happy

post meursault

(8,367 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

“Chuuya, what—?”

Chuuya grasps at Dazai’s bolo tie, fingers shaking and cheeks turning paler by the minute.

“I had nowhere else to go.”

Or: Shot during a mission, Chuuya crawls to the only person he trusts — his traitor ex-partner.

If you refuse to listen I’ll say it twice, love of my life by olympiansally

canon universe

(15,207 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

There’s Atsushi, Dazai’s star pupil. There’s Fyodor, arguably Dazai’s soulmate, a single mind in two bodies. There’s Kunikida, Dazai’s partner. There’s Oda, the reason Dazai wants to live. And then there’s Chuuya. If he asked Dazai to define him, to name his purpose, Chuuya already knows what he would hear. Chuuya is his dog, Chuuya is a slug, Chuuya is a chibi. And sure, maybe he is. But none of that is enough. Or, Chuuya can’t figure out what he means to Dazai exactly, but if he would only listen, he would realize that Dazai has been telling him all along.

the void is loud and wants tuna by mistflowerxuan

canon universe, arahabakitty

(5,028 words | General Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

Port Mafia Executive Nakahara Chuuya is a formidable man, the strongest ability user and is terrifying on the battlefield. He has been through indescribable horrors and has come out of those battles stronger for it. And so, there is not much in this world that can truly startle him. An eldritch abomination curled up on his chest, vaguely shaped like a cat and purring might do the trick.

The last string to sever by foundmywei

canon universe, time-travel, temporary mcd

(18,430 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

“Chuuya!” he shouted, hopping, begging for a reply, even if it was a mindless howl. But no reply ever came. Chuuya’s movements suddenly halted, his body remaining unmoving in the air for a second before it started moving again, limbs turning and twisting in a way a human body shouldn’t allow. The only sound filling the unbearable silence of the night was that of Chuuya’s bones breaking.

Dazai had never thought about what life would be like without Chuuya; a mission gone wrong forces him to find out. Thankfully, he gets a second chance to fix things.

[stevebabey]

it’s too late for me now (i need you sticking around)

a/n: ruby?? finishing something?? u better believe it! this was inspired by future me hates me / the beths & i STRONGLY recommend it for the VIBES + much luv to my dearest kenny for the threats so that this finally got finished <3 intended lowercase + fem!reader. word count: 3.1k summary:  it’s hard to believe in love after so many bad first dates — you’re desperate to make sure the next one sticks.

your run with love had its history. 

consider it the lore of your life, but the winding tales of your many failed dates — that road was long. counting them went off both hands, much to your distaste. though, you’d hardly say you dated around; especially considering none of the guys seemed to make it past date three. 

what was the problem? you were splendid company if you did say so yourself. you tried to not be too loud, nor too quiet, a good balance of serious and flirty, all loud or odd parts of your personality packed away to try not to scare off any dates. it didn’t seem to make a difference — the fault had to be the male population of hawkins.

so why did you keep accepting dates?

well, it wasn’t your fault for getting swept up in it each time. somehow, you never managed to learn your lesson — but when a boy slips sweet notes into your locker or plucks a flower to ask you to dinner, it kicks your heart into a fuss that won’t settle and you swoon.

you daydream about holding their hand, pressing a soft kiss to their brow, finding a soft spot in their heart where you can nestle & live and become someone that someone loves.

it doesn’t matter if you’re cradling your still bruised heart from being stood up by jeremy jones last month because when the next boy asks, your stupid heart still flutters out what if it’s real? what if this time it’s different? 

and it never was.

perhaps, worst of all is that you were still so tangled up with the idea of love. there was no helping the flip of your stomach, the nervous anticipation, the skip of your heart when thought about love. the track record of your battered heart didn’t seem to matter, there was no shedding the hopeless romantic in you. 

however, it meant you were a tad pickier these days. standards high enough to warrant being called a bitch from the guys who couldn’t handle the rejection but hey, if they can’t bother with flowers on the first date, it told you everything you needed. you wouldn’t get yourself pathetically worked up on boys that only asked you out over the phone and had different intentions.

but still, your poor heart loved to latch to whatever it could. 

so, when steve harrington asks what you’re doing friday night on shift at family video, you have to curse the skip of your heart. 

for the last couple of months, you had gotten to know steve as your co-worker. as anyone who grew up in hawkins did, you were well aware of his prior reputation with the ladies — so it was a pleasant surprise to find you actually enjoyed his company. maybe it helped to have robin who called him dingus in the most endearing way and introduced him as her best friend. 

and if robin buckley, certified band nerd, and king steve could be best friends, then maybe you could give him a chance. 

and somewhere between the dorky jokes and his handsome grin, you had melted into easy friendship with steve. between bad customers that you gossiped about after and both of you attempting to distract the other while on the work phone, the two of you drew close. so much that you started looking forward to shifts with him.

so naturally, you accidentally grew a crush the size of jupiter on him.

how could you not? he always picked you up for your friday shift, knowing your brother got dibs on the car and you’d have to walk otherwise. whenever it rained, steve would trot to the café down the road and return with a steaming cup of hot chocolate for you, extra marshmallows in your cup — even though you didn’t remember ever telling him your affinity for mallows.

this time, however, you were determined to not ruin a friendship just because your heart had different plans. for perhaps the first time, you were not going to fall for the delusions you fed to yourself, no matter how much you’d like to believe that steve was different. even though you had sworn you’d caught his gaze caught on you one too many times.

you didn’t think you could take another crumpling of your heart, your ideas of love crushed once again, especially from sweet steve. friends it would have to be. 

“friday?” you ask nonchalantly, looking up from the returns cart and blinking at steve. “no plans, i think. why?”

on the other side of a shelf, steve looks as though your response surprises him, lips parted and you swear a patch of pink has crawled onto his cheeks. he clears his throat and ducks to place a tape on the shelf. “i was— do you like parties? there’s a party on friday.” 

your pulse jumps for a moment, a nervous feeling settling in your stomach and you try to shake it off. “a party? yeah, who doesn’t like parties.” 

it’s enough of a casual answer you hope, continuing to slot tapes back on the shelves slowly. without meaning to, your eyes dart back up to steve, trying to gauge what he’s building up to ask. butterflies swarm in your stomach and you clench your fists, willing them to dissolve.

“did you wanna go?” for the second time in one minute, steve clears his throat. you wonder if he’s nervous. “with me?” 

you pick over his words, trying desperately to ignore the way your heart sings. no matter how much you’d like it, it seems far more likely that steve isn’t asking you out. is this how king steve asked girls out? all suave and chillaxed? steve wasn’t like that anymore and it leaves you with no hints to the true nature of his question.

even if he was asking you out, you’re not supposed to track that road you remind yourself. a beat later, you realise as the word date hasn’t even passed steve’s lips and feel embarrassment flush up your neck. friends. you were friends. friends go to parties together! all the time!

“yeah, that sounds cool.” you smile at him, pressing down the hot flush you can feel fighting onto your cheeks. casual. friends. not a date. you could do this.

speeding back to the task at hand, you miss the fist-pump steve does, hidden behind the shelf and the quiet ‘yes!’  from his lips.

—

how do you dress to go to a party with your friend, that you secretly wish was a date, without giving it away?

apparently, you don’t know the answer. at least half of your closet is strewn across your floor, a dozen different combinations tried and failed as you stare at yourself in the mirror. you twist back and forth, eyes analyzing like a hawk and a groan escapes you when you realise you don’t like this outfit either. 

your hands pull at your face, dragging down your cheeks dramatically as you lean closer to the mirror and lock eyes with yourself. “it’s not even a date.” you whisper, trying to shake the nerves that are ruining every outfit you try. 

it works; at least long enough for you to pull on one of your better pairs of jeans and the new top you had yet to wear out and finally, feel satisfied. you’re just swiping the last of your mascara when the horn of a car outside startles you, your hand nudging forward and dolloping black onto your cheek. 

“shit.” you mutter and move to the window, peeking through the slats to spy steve’s bmw in the driveway.

“shit.” you repeat, wetting your thumb and doing your best to wipe the black from your cheek. in the mirror behind you, you catch the blink of your alarm clock. god, he’s 10 minutes later than you both agreed and you’re still not ready. 

gathering your jacket and bag, you nearly stumble down the stairs, your footsteps thundering as you speed towards the door. rushing in a blur past the kitchen, you call out your hasty goodbyes and step outside, the door swinging closed behind you.

the night air is cool, the moon nearly full in the sky and beyond the rumbling of the engine in passing cars, it’s nearly peaceful outside. you don’t keep him waiting. 

despite the chill, steve’s been waiting outside for you, leaning back on the hood of his car with his arms folded over his chest. he looks good; his navy shirt stretched deliciously over his biceps, hair fluffed in his usual style, looking a picture of cool. it’s broken immediately when he stands up in a rush to meet you, feet stumbling for just a moment before he catches himself. you must imagine the tips of his ears tinted redder than normal. 

“hey!” the word is tinged with excitement and steve’s smile betrays it as well, wide and bright. “you look— you look great. amazing.” 

it’s impossible to fight the hot glow that surges to your face, forcing you to duck your head to hide it for only a moment. god, the plan to not swoon has immediately foiled. you’re about to undoubtedly fumble through an awkward thank you when steve steps closer, one of his hands reaching for your face. 

“sorry, y’just got some,” his thumb grazes your cheek, gentle as he can, over the swatch of black you hadn’t managed to rub off. your breath catches in your throat, the skin burning where he touches it and you fight the urge to follow his warmth when he drops his hand. “makeup— there was something, uh, on your cheek.” 

when you don’t say anything, words stuck in your throat as you rein yourself in, steve ambles on nervously. “sorry, i’m late i just— shit, i hope you weren’t waiting, i just thought since when i pick you up for work, you’re always a bit late and—” 

“—steve.” you cut him off, finally finding your voice. “you’re perfectly on time; any longer and i would have started fussing over something silly.” 

it seems to relax steve a bit, hearing your voice and your assurances and you see the drop in his shoulders. he turns and opens the passenger door, a handsome smile back on his face as he nods at it. “after you then.” 

the radio fills the airwaves on the drive to the party, crackly as you move between towers and you bounce your foot in time in hopes to iron out some of your nerves. you take a deep inhale but it manages to make things worse; the alluring scent of steve’s cologne floating through your nose, a musky mixture of bergamot and something sweet. 

as steve parks up down the road, your eyes latch onto the house of the party, obvious from its flashing lights and occupants that spill out of every entrance. even before you open your door, you can hear the faint notes of a duran duran song playing inside. you clip the door closed and lean against it, waiting dutifully for steve to lock it and join you on the sidewalk. 

the two of you begin to wander, steve’s pace slower than expected but when he nudges his shoulder against yours and begins to speak, you know why. 

“y’know,” he begins, nervousness wrapped around each of his words. “i’m actually surprised you agreed to go on a date with me.” 

the word hits you in the throat, halting your feet. it shouldn’t shock you too much but considering you had spent the better half of this evening convincing yourself this wasn’t a date, you can’t help your next words. 

“wait, this is a date?” 

you cringe as you watch steve take in your words, expression dimming and shoulders slumping like he can’t control it. fuck.

it’s like you’ve kicked a puppy and through the elation in your heart, you feel a sick twist in your stomach knowing that you’ve accidentally hurt steve. head spinning, you try to grapple with explanations but steve beats you to the punch. 

“well, i guess that explains why you said yes.” the deprecating tone hurts your heart, a thousand thoughts competing for your attention but none as loud as the one that says tell him the truth!

“steve—” you begin, but he’s already speaking.

“would you have still said yes... if you knew that i was asking you on a date?” steve’s voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows tightly, his words tinged with worry.

it’s a good question. the battle between your head and heart pulls you in both directions; your lovesick feelings denied by your desperation to never experience another failed date. especially with steve.

“i don’t know.” you answer honestly, only to desperately want to reel the words after you said it having seen steve’s face fall further.

the next words come out frazzled, too loud, as you try explain. “it’s not that i didn’t want to! i’ve just had so many— too many first dates that go nowhere. dates where they want to end in a parked car or stop calling or—” 

cutting yourself off with a sigh, you try not to feel embarrassed at the ramble of your shitty love-life attempts. man, this evening was not going how you expected. you dig into your feelings, knowing that you owed steve the truth, that he deserved to hear what you truly meant. he waits patiently, his face giving away only a trace of his hopelessness.

“i like you steve.” you say, voice closer to a whisper at your admittance, eyes fluttering closed as you swallow your nerves. “i like you a stupid amount and i-i don’t think i could handle the heartache if you were just another failed first date.” 

a beat of silence. and then, the softest oh falls from steve’s lips in his realization which forces your eyes open again, seeing some of the sadness lift from his figure. you can feel his gaze scan your face and he chews his lip in thought for a moment. your heart all but purrs in delight when he reaches out, his warms hands unfurling your clenched fists (when did you do that?) to hold in his delicately.

without thought, you begin to commit the rough feel of his hands, the curl of his fingers that keep your own warm and toasty.

“unfortunately, i can’t see the future, so it would be wrong to tell you i know we’ll be perfect for each other.” he smiles, a hint of teasing hidden within it. 

the joking tone hits you the wrong way and you frown, pulling back a little. is he making fun of you? steve senses it instantly, tugging you closer and this time his tone is all serious, raspy and earnest. 

“but, i can promise i will take every date you offer because i like you stupidly.” he blinks, seeming to register that he hasn’t said what he meant. “a stupid amount! i like you a stupid amount, too. as well.” 

your words. he’s using your words to tell you how he feels. shit, you two haven’t even been on a date yet — somewhere in your mind, it quietly occurs that this means steve must have liked long before he worked the nerve to ask you out. you think your knees might be wobbling from the wonderful feeling in your chest that aches in the best way; you want it to live there forever.

“which means even if you offer me just tonight, i’ll—” he pauses and smiles so sweetly it makes your knees weak. “i’ll take it.” 

you can’t help the hesitation in your bones, the feeling after another first date that crushed your thoughts about love running reminiscent under your skin.

but there’s something about steve. something that yearns, that makes you want to risk the future heartbreak, the wide-eyed late nights, and potential stupid mistakes all for the chance of his love. 

oh well, if it went wrong, future you could hate you. 

“you better not break my heart, harrington.” 

the sunshine grin that breaks on his face could be bottled and sold, you think as it sets your body buzzing with giddiness. steve grins boyishly, tilting his head back as if he really has to think about it, pretending to hmm. 

his eyes catch onto the house party and another emotion ripples across his face, gone as quick as it was there. the genuineness in his response touches you with surprise. “only if you promise the same.” 

you want to kiss him. the urge has twisted into your heart-strings and you’re sure that steve’s gaze has dipped to your lips for just a moment. turning your head to survey the party, you realise that if this time you’re actually right this time, that there will be plenty of time for all of it.

you tuck the desire to taste his lips into your heart, bookmarked for later, and instead shift your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. you tug him along and finally begin the both of you walking in the direction of the party again. 

“next time,” you begin, your smile already giving away your teasing. “use the word date, idiot.” 

steve’s hand tightens in your own and when you glimpse at him, unable to help yourself, you can’t miss the beautiful blush on his cheeks. 

“oh, i’m sorry, sweetheart. i’ll make sure to be clearer next time.” he drawls, a touch of sarcasm in his words. he pulls you even closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him. your arms are touching, you realise fondly. 

“you better be.” 

he leans in, breath warm on your ear and you can’t help but melt at the next words that fall from his lips, soft and natural. “do you wanna go on a date tomorrow?” 

you can’t help your giggle, flustered and hot in the face because man, is he good at this. it makes you ache with want, wanting and wishing with every part of your being that this works.

even though you shouldn’t be promising anything dates before the first has happened, you know steve and you nod eagerly — then tug him into the music, your hands keeping you connected as you step into the dark together.  

tomorrow, when he picks you up in his car, bouquet in his hands, you will let the buzz in your body take over because god if that doesn’t make you weak in the knees. 

when he takes your hand, a thought will niggle in the back of your head, something about waiting for the other shoe to drop, for this date to be the last and for him to stop calling, stop dropping off flowers and kisses, for him to stop gazing at you like you hang the goddamn moon.

another thought, steadier and sure, will tell you that you might be waiting awhile.

— 

just tagging ppl below! hehe sorry mutuals u HAVE to see this but also this means u shud tag ME in everything <3

@hawkinsindiana @harringtonbf @parkerroos @cptnleviackerman @skylergisondo @cultivatingkindness @aphrodites-perfume @lurkymurker @familyvideostevie @rogersharringtons @sattlersquarry @yellowharrington @upsidedownwithsteve​ @milkiane

[vickwrites]

I love you in every language - Mick Schumacher

Author's note: okay so i wanna be clear, i have no knowledge of German other than a few words, and im using Spanish because its my first language, either way enjoy.

Warnings: none really, maybe some minor dirty talk at the end but other than that none.

You and Mick had made a promise when you started dating. He would teach you some German and you would teach him Spanish, for the sake of both of your families. But after a couple years of dating you never really got to learn anything apart from the petnames Mick gave you and in his case he learned every curse word he could in Spanish.

It was Christmas break, and you were gonna spend half the break with his family and half the break with yours for the first time. Yes your families had met each other and stuff but you had never really spent time alone with each family as a couple. So you both decided it was the time. You both sat down in the living room together and began your lessons.

"Okay mi amor, this one's easy. 'Tengo hambre', I say it all the time." He gave it some thought, maybe too much thought. "You're sleepy?" he tried to guess.”I do say that often but no keep guessing.” you chuckled at his attempt. “I am hungry?” he guessed. 

“correct, now give me a german phrase.” You guys had been going back and forth with each other’s languages. “Du machst mich glücklich.“ Mick said kissing your cheek. “Im guessing it has to do something with flirting” you chuckled as he continued to kiss your face and your neck. “it means, you make me happy and that I love you in any language, well that last part wasnt included but I do.” he smiles at you.

“Okay my turn, ‘quiero que vayamos a la habitacion y hagamos cosas sucias.” you whispered to him as you straddled his lap. “Im guessing i am gonna like this one huh?” He picked you up and carried you to the bedroom to fullfill your request. 

[e-dubbc11]

Never Again Pt. 2

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x F! Reader

Warnings: Well let’s see…swearing, stalking, violent, smut (18+ please or I’m telling on you) , fingering, oral (M&F receiving), protected sex, mentions of past domestic abuse

Word Count: 4.3k-ish

Summary: Continued from part one. Read it HERE Your ex has tracked you down, you hear Brock’s voice in your head when he comes at you and you use your training against him.

A/N: I didn’t expect this to turn into a little series but as my lovely Lily @munsonownsmyass told me just a little while ago, you gotta strike when the inspiration does, which is fitting because this stemmed from her ask in the first place, so thank you my love ♥️

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

When you heard his voice again, it brought you back to the first time he put his hands on you. The accusatory tone as he asked you where you had been all night, he was insecure and always thought you were cheating on him when, in fact, he was the one that would cheat on you every chance he had.

Danny exuded classic narcissistic behavior. He would be critical of people, look down on them, and believed he was superior to others. You seemed to have a gift for finding and falling for the biggest assholes on the planet because they were all the same.

They were handsome, charming, and sweet at first but even though they all looked different on the outside, their insides were all the same…ugly.

Seizing your upper arms, his fingers pressed firmly against your skin and the more you struggled, the more intense the pain was.

“I asked you, where have you been?!” He had asked with a raised voice.

“I told you, I went to the movies with a couple of friends. Let go of me!” You told him.

That exchange should have been enough for you to pick up and leave but it wasn’t. After the arguments, he would apologize or bring home flowers. You felt like you were living in one of those shitty Lifetime movies, just repeating the cycle over and over again.

Until you didn’t want to anymore.

Because he had money, he had the means to hire private investigators to track you down. It was never about the cat, it was always about the fact that you left and embarrassed him which he couldn’t have. But this strange cat and mouse game he was playing with you was slowly killing you.

As you walked the busy streets of Washington, D.C., it was hard to not look over your shoulder, wondering if someone was following you or if he was waiting for you around the corner. And it took some time but he found you again, just when you were starting to feel somewhat comfortable in a new place.

His words and the tone of his voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you.

“Miss me?” He had said.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared because you were but suddenly you became hyper aware of your surroundings, looking at anything that could possibly get in your way, trip you up, or be thrown at you. Remembering the lessons that Brock taught you about always being on alert.

There was a packed bag next to the door in case you had to make another escape. It really was like a game for him, just something for him and his trust fund to do. “Where will she go next?!! Well let’s go find out!” But you were tired of running, you liked it here, you had a good job and you finally had…a friend.

Sure, Brock was cranky, angry, and a bit of a smartass but at least he never hit you…well, unless you were sparring or he was teaching you something new.

His teachings were playing in fast forward and on repeat in your mind. There weren’t any weapons Danny could use, not even a steak knife and he didn’t know your apartment like you did.

“I don’t know why you keep running, y/n. You know I always find you.” He said while sitting on your couch across the room.

“It’s easy when you have unlimited resources and an endless supply of money, Danny!” You replied, staying close to the door.

“Where’s Peanut?” He asked. “I couldn’t find him anywhere.”

Your voice cracked. “He’s somewhere you’ll never find him.”

The cat carrier was by the door also and it took some time but you were able to train Peanut to come when called which has enabled you to escape with some of your belongings and the cat each time.

Up until this point, he was just toying with you. He wanted you to escape so he could find you again but you sensed that this time was different, that he didn’t want to let you go, and he wasn’t letting you out of your apartment unless you were with him…or something else.

“Well come in here, baby. Lemme get a better look at you. Been workin’ out, I see. You’re lookin’ good. What have you been doin’?” He asked.

“Spinning.” You replied, curtly.

He shook his head, slowly and tapped his tongue against his teeth. “Tsk, tsk…sweetheart. What did I tell you before about lyin’ to me?” He asked. “The P.I. I hired told me you’ve been taking boxing lessons from an angry lookin’ goon every day.”

“Yeah, just boxing lessons.” You thought to yourself. He didn’t know the half of it because Brock always made sure you were alone in the boxing ring area until your lessons were up. No one else was allowed in so that included Danny’s private investigator.

Placing his hands on his knees, he pushed himself off of the couch to a standing position and your heart lurched into your throat. The look he had in his eyes was ice cold as he started to walk over to you which caused your reflexes to jump.

Brock’s voice echoing in your head. “Hands up, always be ready y/n. He WILL try and catch you off guard but you’re not gonna let that happen, are ya?!”

His lessons were still so clear in your mind, telling you that he’ll tire if he keeps swinging and missing so just keep dodging those punches. That was how you tired Brock out, he kept swinging and you kept moving.

The door to the cat carrier was open. “Psspsspss, here kitty kitty.” You said softly. The cabinet door underneath the kitchen sink opened and Peanut shot out, went right to the cat carrier and you closed the door, he had treats in there. He would be fine. You were more than sure that Danny didn’t want the cat this time.

“Well isn’t that a clever hiding spot.” Danny said.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “He never liked you anyway.” You said, smugly.

It sounded like a little bit of Brock’s attitude had worn off on you.

“Don’t let him get behind you.”

Your hands were up and ready in case he tried anything but you wanted to show him what would happen if he tried to hurt you so you struck him on his left cheek, then on his right. Backing away from the door, you inched closer to the kitchen.

“You’re not gonna hurt me anymore, Danny. Leave, now!” You yelled.

“Loose knees, elbows tucked in, show me that combo I taught you. 1-2-hook-2, that’s it.” There was Brock’s voice again.

His nose was bleeding now and he had a surprised look on his face like he couldn’t believe what you just did to him which just made him even angrier.

With his arms outstretched, he lunged for you but you quickly moved out of the way, so he missed and hit his head on the cabinet.

Dizzy and trying to catch his balance, Danny staggered toward you and in a moment of clarity, managed to grab you by the throat and pin you against the wall, an all too familiar position but you knew how to free yourself.

Extending your arm straight up and turning to the right, your elbow came down on his wrist, allowing you to elbow him hard in the face and move past him.

He attempted to chase after you but you managed to open the freezer door and he slammed head first into it, knocking him flat on his back.

He was out cold, not moving but you didn’t want to stick around long enough for him to wake up. Grabbing your keys, bags and Peanut, you left the apartment and called the only person you could.

**********

He answered on the first ring.

“You miss me already, doll?” He asked.

You quickly looked over your shoulder, no one was there. Breathing heavily, you replied. “N-not exactly.”

“Ouch!” He exclaimed.

“H-he was waiting for me at my place after y-you brought me h-home.” You said with a hitch in your voice.

You had no idea where you were walking or where you were. You turned down a couple of side streets to make sure he couldn’t follow you when he woke up, you knew you didn’t kill him.

“Where are you?!! Tell me now!” He shouted into the phone.

With your head on a swivel, you looked around to see if you could identify anything familiar but you couldn’t. “I-I don’t know! I’ll share my location. You can find me that way, right?”

“Do it now! I’ll be right there.”

You told Brock what happened after he picked you up.

“Are you hurt?” He asked with just a hint of concern in his voice.

You violently shook your head. “No…I’m fine. Well as fine as I could be, I guess.”

He brought you back to his place and got you settled on the couch before telling you he was leaving again.

“Where are you going?” You asked.

He attached a knife to his belt. “I’m going to check to see if he’s still there. I’ll be fine. Do not move from that seat and do NOT let that cat out!”

“But Brock, he’s been in there for—“ You started to say.

“Do not let that thing out until I get back.” He growled.

You tossed your hands in the air. “Ok, ok cranky pants. Jeez Louise.”

You could tell he felt a little bad for raising his voice given your previous relationship so he stopped and sat down next to you.

Gently brushing the stray hair away from your eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m happy you’re not hurt, I’m just angry that asshole found you again.”

“I knew he would, it was just a matter of time.” You said, gingerly brushing his stubble with your thumb. “Thank you for picking me up…and for teaching me how to protect myself. I’m not sure I would have made it out of there this time if it hadn’t been for your lessons. I can’t help but see the look in his eyes when he…” The hitch in your voice caused you to trail off, you wanted to speak but your words were caught in your throat and tears welled up in your eyes.

He pinched your chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilted it up toward his face so he was looking into your eyes and he softly pressed his lips to yours.

But just as fast as he kissed you, he pulled away to leave so he could check to see if Danny was still at your apartment.

“You know how to use one of these?” He asked handing over a 9 mm.

Releasing the clip to check it and slamming it back into place, you replied, “It’s been awhile but I remember.”

You weren’t sure you’ve ever seen Brock speechless before, his jaw was on the floor. “I have never been more turned on.”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“I’ll be back, remember…stay put and don’t let the cat out, I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah I heard you the first time, Rumlow.” You replied.

He closed and locked the door.

You looked at Peanut through the door of the cat carrier and said, “Sorry, buddy. Brock said you have to stay in there until he gets back.”

Waiting for Brock to come back felt like hours but it really hadn’t been all that long before you heard keys in the door. He walked in carrying cat food, litter and a litter box.

Your heart swelled and the image of Brock standing in line at the store, holding all of that stuff made you giggle a little.

“You bought all of that stuff for Peanut?” You asked.

He pressed his lips together in a straight line before replying, “Well I sure as shit didn’t buy it for me! You can let him out now, if you want.”

Brock told you about what he found when he went back to your apartment but Danny wasn’t there. He found a note that said “see you again soon, baby.” And he found blood.

“You really got him good, huh?” He asked.

The compliment made you smile. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

He brought back more of your clothes and a small jewelry box with the only jewelry you had left from as many times as you picked up and left, it contained a ring that your mother had given you. It was just a little hard to believe that this sour, angry, brute had a soft spot for you…and your cat.

“You want some tea, doll?” He asked.

“Brock Rumlow, you actually have tea here? I didn’t think you even knew what tea was!” You said with a sly smile.

“And that doesn’t leave this room, you got that?!” He said pointing a finger at you.

“Yes sir!!”

Even though you were cracking jokes, you felt very uneasy and worried that Danny was going to find you again because he always does. But you felt terrible that you brought all of this to Brock’s home and got him involved.

Your shoulders dropped and you started to fidget. Looking down at your busy fingers, you said, “I’m sorry, Brock.”

“What? Why?” He asked.

You wiped a tear that had streaked down your face. “For involving you in my problem, I shouldn’t have done that but I also feel like I’m alive because of you.”

“You’re alive because of you, y/n. I just gave you the tools to fight back with.” He said.

He gazed at you with his eyes that were the color of whiskey, the tone of his voice was raspy and sexy, and the lines around his eyes silently told you he had been through a lot in his life. That was probably why he acted the way he did.

Brock closed the gap between your bodies until you were sharing the same air and he kissed you but it was gentle and sweet, not very “Brock” like which is really what you wanted but you’d settle for this.

His rough calloused hands brushed the hair off of your shoulder and tucked it behind your ear, grazing the side of your neck, and sending a shudder up and down your back.

“You’re gonna stay here until we figure something out, alright? And I ain’t takin’ no for an answer.” His breath warmed your eyelids as he spoke.

“Ok.” You replied.

“Well I’m sure you probably wanna take a shower, towels are in the closet, and I ain’t much of a cook but you want a sandwich or somethin’ to go with your tea?” He asked, getting up from the couch and walking into the kitchen.

“Sure, Brock. That sounds great.” You said.

Walking into the bathroom, you closed the door and inhaled sharply. What happened to the Brock that kissed you so hungrily earlier, tasting you like he couldn’t get enough? Something’s changed and you wanted to know why.

**********

For two weeks, the two of you lived together basically as roommates, still working out together, and you still went to work every day.

The only thing that was different was you didn’t go anywhere without him. He brought you to work every day, some days it was on the motorcycle that left some of your co-workers drooling.

“Hey, you got a little something on your chin.” You had said with a sly grin, offering them a tissue.

“He is a smoke show, how do you keep your hands to yourself?!!” One of them had asked.

With raised eyebrows and a smile, you waved them out of your cubicle. “Goodbye, Candace.”

Brock picked you up at the end of the day too. He told you it wasn’t safe for you to drive your car around so he had it put somewhere that only he knew where it was.

At night, you’d have dinner together, watch tv or a movie, and he’d kiss you goodnight. A quick gentle kiss on the lips was all you got at the end of the day and he’d go to his room and you slept on the couch.

All of this was starting to take a toll on you, some of the excess pent up energy you could get out in the boxing ring, but the rest of it…you held on to. You needed to get it out in another way.

You remembered his words from a couple weeks ago. “The next time my head is between your legs, sweetheart, it will be because you want me there, trust me.”

And you did want him there.

You wanted his lips pressed hard against yours, his strong arms pinning you against the bed while marking up your body in the places only he could see, which probably turned him on.

That’s the Brock you wanted.

The thought of him attacking your body like a wild animal and growling against your mouth made you so wet. Most nights you had to clench your thighs together sitting next to him on the couch because of how desperately you wanted him.

And finally, one night, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You were barely through the door before turning to ask him, “What happened, Brock?”

His mouth narrowed to a fine line and with a confused look on his face asked, “What do ya mean? Happened with what, doll?”

Frustrated, you dropped your work bag onto the floor while the blood in your veins burned like wildfire.

“What do I mean?! I mean, you were ready to fuck me in the middle of the boxing ring two weeks ago and you haven’t touched me since!” You shouted.

Brock tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and ripped open the door to the fridge to get a beer, never taking his eyes off of you. Forcefully twisting the cap to the beer off, he threw it into the sink and took a sip.

“You think I haven’t wanted to?! Huh?!” He said with a raised voice.

“Well you have a funny way of showing it!” You said.

“You were attacked, y/n! Contrary to VERY popular belief, I’m not a fuckin’ monster! I didn’t want to take advantage of you…not that the thought didn’t cross my mind because it did.” He said sharply.

He moved across the room to stand in front of you. His eyes were wide and unfocused. The angry shape to his mouth seemed to change the entire look of his face and his gaze slipped from your eyes to your mouth.

Brock was still dressed in his work clothes, black from head to toe, and he had no idea what that look did to you. The outline of his ab muscles strained against the black t-shirt, everything about him turned you on.

“I’m not a broken little girl, Rumlow! I’m stronger now than I thought I could ever be!” You yelled but then your tone changed. “Because of you.” You said in a softer tone.

He didn’t say anything, he just captured your lips and walked you backwards until you were up against the wall, his strong arms caging you in as his mouth slanted over yours. His tongue begged for access to your mouth, swiping at your lower lip as his scruff brushed against your soft cheeks.

You gripped his head firmly as if to keep him from escaping. This is the Brock that you had wanted, the real one. You didn’t want someone to walk on eggshells when they were around you, or treat you with kid gloves because they thought they were going to break you.

You felt stronger than ever and no one was going to break you.

He suddenly seized the top of your blouse and ripped it apart, the buttons flying off in every direction, and discarding it onto the floor.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart.” He said in a low gravelly voice, his hard body pressed firmly against you and pushing you into the wall.

“Yes, yes Brock.” You whispered against his mouth.

Reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, you hurriedly pulled it over his head revealing his toned body underneath. Every single muscle was tight like piano wire and it was hard to tear your eyes away from the specimen in front of you.

Dropping to your knees, you unbuttoned his pants and inched them down as well as his boxer briefs. When his cock sprang free, you quickly took him into your mouth, while he praised you for it.

“I knew that pretty mouth of yours was good for somethin’ other than yelling at me, fuck that feels good.” He moaned.

Tickling the tops of his thighs, you hollowed out your cheeks as you took it all. His hips bucked as he let out a guttural moan and growled for you to get up. “Go to my bedroom…NOW!” He ordered.

Pushing you down onto the bed, he made quick work of the rest of your clothes, and ripped your panties clean off before climbing on top of you and painting kisses all over your body.

“You’re not the only one that’s good with their mouth.” He whispered.

The corners of your mouth turned up slightly as you challenged him. “Oh yeah? Then prove it to me, baby.”

He parted your folds with one finger, then a second. You were soaked. “This all for me, princess?”

You nodded.

“Answer me, sweetheart.” He husked into your ear and biting down on your neck.

“Yes, it’s all for you.” You said.

He kissed your stomach, nipping at the skin just above your core, down your inner thighs and marking you as he went further down then feeling his tongue slip inside you as you arched your back off of the bed.

Brock hummed against your clit as sharp shudders of pleasure traveled through your body. The gradual intensity of your orgasm building while he tongue fucked you until your vision went white.

His name fell from your lips over and over again, and your moans became louder as you hit your peak, soaking the sheet underneath you. With a wicked grin on his face, he climbed up your body like a tree so he could look at you again.

“You are the sweetest thing I have ever tasted.” He said, firmly pressing his hips in between your legs.

You felt warmth spread across your cheeks, you’ve never received a compliment like that before. It was almost a little embarrassing so you couldn’t help but cover your eyes with your hand but it made you smile.

He barely let you catch your breath before forcefully pinning your arms to the bed, kissing you hard until your lips were swollen and raw, and reaching into the nightstand for a condom.

He slipped into you with ease, going deeper and deeper until he was buried to the hilt and moved slow and rhythmic to stretch you out.

“I’ve been thinking about this since I met you. Fuck, you feel so good, baby.” You said, the air ripped from your throat, tearing away your voice.

“You’re doin’ real good, princess. Takin’ my whole cock like a good girl.” He barked.

Brock’s pace quickened, his movements became more urgent, and caused your walls to clench down around him.

Pulling back hard on his hair, he hit that sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again until you couldn’t see straight. His thighs and stomach went rigid, you knew he was close.

You screamed his name, gripped his ass tightly and pulled him deeper inside as he chased his own release and collapsed on top of you.

As you both tried to catch your breath, he insistently gripped your chin to turn toward his face to kiss you again. The man was absolutely feral for you.

“You can grab my ass during sex like that anytime, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re amazing.” He said, panting.

“Well you should see what I can do on top.” You said with a wink.

He smiled back. “Well we can try that later…among other things. Let’s go take a shower, doll.”

**********

After showering, you cuddled against Brock’s chest talking to each other for a while. He broke a quiet moment by saying, “I know I ain’t exactly cuddly and soft. I couldn’t bring myself to do, well, this after he came after you.”

Your expression softened as you propped yourself up on one arm, looking at him as he spoke.

“I’m grouchy, angry, I raise my voice to you and rough around the edges. I didn’t want you to think that…that I’m like him.” He said. “I would NEVER put my hands on you, well unless you want me to.” One corner of his mouth turned up into a half smile.

You sat up and straddled him, resting your hands on his broad shoulders.

“I know you’d never put your hands on me, Brock. Just because of how angry you got when you found out Danny had hit me and how determined you were to make sure I could fight him off and cause him pain. I guess that’s how I know you’d never hurt me.” You said, leaning forward to kiss him.

He rested his hands on your hips and looked up at you with his honey colored eyes. “Just don’t go around tellin’ people, alright?!”

“Ok, Ok, I won’t.” You paused. “Well, look at that…I’m on top.” You said with a sly smile.

Through the sheet, you could feel his hardening length against your leg.

He looked at you with a coy smile of his own and replied. “Yes you are, doll. Show me what you can do, baby.”

**********

You were in the middle of a dream when you felt a hand clamp down over your mouth and Brock whispering in your ear.

“It’s just me, doll. It’s just me. I need you to be quiet, do exactly as I say and keep calm for me, can you do that?” He asked.

You nodded.

“Someone’s here.”

Others that might enjoy: @fluffyprettykitty @qu1etwolf @redstarsandnightmares @gijos @nutmeg17 @k-marzolf @randomlittleimp @itwasthereaminuteago