#wanted to give dream his signature long coat but even that man has to dress appropriately sometimes

[noctis-noctua]

I, Kaeya Alberich, Take Thee

Pairing: Kaeya x Fem. Reader

Count: 1976

Description: Kaeya knows that be does not deserve anything he desires. There is nothing he can do to make you his, but so badly does he wish there was.

Content: Unrequited love, angst, bittersweet ending, marriage.

Warnings: Slight spoiler for Kaeya's backstory but an addition of (non-canon!) Prince Kaeya.

In another universe, maybe I am not cursed so by the Gods. Kaeya resists the urge to nibble on the tail-end of his quill. It was unbecoming for a man of his stature to succumb to unsanitary habits. Plus, this particular pen hailed from a crow’s feather, hunted by the hands of a childhood friend. The intricate quill had not been put to use for a substantial amount of time, but it fits into Kaeya’s hand as if it came to shape its spine based on the curvature of his own grasp. He could get used to signing off documents and organizing civil affairs if it meant succumbing to such mundane sensations. The morning sun dripping onto his mahogany desks and floors, a faint scratch of keratin against ivory paper filling the empty space… It has been a long time since he’s made the decision to take over petty bureau duties. Today is a special day. Kaeya needs to focus on the satisfying echoes of paper and pen, on the sunlight heating his back, or he might just go insane.

    The clamor of bells tugs Kaeya from his mechanical performance. Each ring is a song of desperation, a performance begging for his attention. Come out and celebrate! Indulge in the pain. He is not a man that falls prey to anger, but he cannot help that frustrated itch in his stomach as he hears the iron reverberating. Please just be quiet, Kaeya thinks. Let me forget. The hesitant croak of his door alerts Kaeya to the presence of the Acting Grand Master. She dons an outfit unique from her usual uniform - a cream-colored dress, embroidered by floral lace, a single azure ribbon tying at the waist. So even the straight-edged Jean has taken time off today? 

    “Kaeya, you can’t make these excuses forever.” He knows from how Jean closes the door with unperturbed silence that this is not a conversation regarding hilichurl nests or Fatui diplomats. He can tell from the way Jean drops the mature title of ‘Sir’ in favor of his childhood nickname, that it is a conversation Jean feels must be approached with gentleness as if Kaeya is a stray cat that claws at feeding hands. The Grand Master releases a heaved exhale because both of them dread this discussion as much as the other. There is an inherent wrong in seeing Kaeya distressed. He may not be shedding tears in solitude or resigning himself to the dormitories, but he is hiding, and that is enough for Jean to observe that he is not functioning as normal.

    “Please, come for a little while. I know it’s not… something you want to see, but he’s your brother. Offer a small congratulations at the least.” Her heels tap on the polished hardwood.

    “I was planning on coming by later this evening.  Tell them I’m sorry for not being able to attend the main event. How could I? Just look at all this paperwork.” Kaeya’s signature chuckle follows, putting up a front of careless flirtation. It is not uncommon for Jean to rope the Cavalry Captain into his desk chair. Lord knows he’d never do it otherwise… yet now he claims servitude to the dulling labor. How ironic. 

    “I’ll tell them of your apologies… but both of us know that paperwork isn’t the reason you can’t make it.” Jean turns around, blonde hair trailing in the breeze left behind before Kaeya can quip up a rebuttal. She’s right. Jean is always right. The papers piling on his desk are from the drawers of his subordinates, filed away to be completed in another five months' time. There is no reason they had to be done today. He is hiding. He is a coward and a pathetic one at that. The thought alone provokes Kaeya to tug on his studded gloves and push out his chair. His sights are set on leaving because to be seen as a frail child is to fail at the sole thing he succeeds at. Being the chivalrous Cavalry Captain renowned for his beauty and failsafe charm is the one thing he cannot lose because he cannot let Mondstadt see how fragile he is behind the visage. 

    Mondstadt’s avenues are bustling. Oak tables identical to the ones across local taverns have been dressed in linen tablecloths and topped with miniature feasts. Children run between tables, tugging at each other’s shirts in a feisty game of tag as festive music tempts the adults to a dance. The tell-tale strums of Mondstadt’s No. 1 Bard’s lyre lead the crowds to the statue of Barbatos. Behind it, trails of petals line the paths leading to the limestone Cathedral. Couples, singles, and families alike make haste to enter through the carved doors. No one wants to miss this. Kaeya tugs on the collar of his fur coat, gazing at the entry before him. He can hear the music of an organ, romantic and rich, ricocheting from inside. 

    He steps into the Cathedral. The ceremony has yet to start and the pews continue to fill. Citizens scoot as close as possible to allow for more onlookers to take a seat. He finds a spot next to Huffman and a few other Knights, squished on the outer edge. It is three benches from the front. Too close for Kaeya to be comfortable. The croaking benches have long since met their capacity by now. Not a soul is missing, Kaeya reckons. Diluc Ragnvindr, the wine Tycoon, Mondstadt’s famous magnate, is marrying after all. It is no small occasion. Diluc’s brazen hair is a torch amidst fog, its perk hue garnering the eyes of all in the Cathedral. He is dressed in a suave black suit. It boasts minuscule gold embellishments followed by a hefty crimson cape draped on his shoulders. Even dressed in the furs and fabrics of royalty, one could sense a distinct awkwardness from him. If you’re going to marry her, at least look confident, brother. 

    It hurts. He cannot lie to himself - not that Kaeya was trying to in the first place. There is a pain associated with seeing the woman he loves marrying the brother that no longer desires to even speak to him. Now, Kaeya regrets standing up from his busy work. These thoughts won’t stop their festering, and it punches a hole through his stomach. Kaeya is all-too-aware that tonight, you will climb into Diluc’s sheets. He’d treat you kindly, of course. He grew up with Diluc and has seen his rigorous nobility tutors shape him into the gentleman he is today. There is no doubt that you will live a lavish life of luxury. A life Kaeya could never afford to give you. 

    In Khaenri’ah, Kaeya’s title of ‘Prince’ holds as much merit as it does in Teyvat. His people are dead or suffering. His city has crumbled into dust and shards of a forgotten legacy. Kaeya himself serves one purpose, and that is to bring glory back to the Eclipse Dynasty. It is in these times that Kaeya regrets being born royalty to a lost nation. In the solace of his chambers, Kaeya would stare at the painted ceiling and ponder. If I were born someone else entirely, would you give me a chance? But who is he kidding? Kaeya knows he’s handsome. It’s stupid and unreasonable to be so self-deprecating. He isn’t the one marrying you because he wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr. He wasn’t from a line of Mondstadtian heroes; he was from the ashes of sinners and embers of civilization. He was Kaeya Alberich, Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, caught between familial loyalty and a stinging betrayal. Of course he wasn’t marrying you. 

    The Cathedral doors groan as the nuns heave them open. Light floods in and frames the feminine body of the lady of Mondstadt. In your hands, a bouquet of calla lilies. On your body, a silken robe of pearls and diamonds. It flows at your back, fluttering in the blessed gales of Barbatos’. Kaeya swore that as a Khaenri’ahn, he would never see the Gates of Celestia. But this… this, he thinks, might be the closest glimpse he gets. No one dares to speak. She is beautiful. She has always been beautiful. Time slows as Kaeya lets himself take in the sight of you pledging your livelihood to his brother, and his brother’s livelihood to you. 

     Then, as if he is an innocent child once again, Kaeya closes his eyes as you two kiss. Clapping and cheers fill the atmosphere. 

    “To the Ragnvindr’s! Oley!”

    “Say, Kaeya, do you ever wanna get married?” The girl questions from Kaeya’s backside. 

    “Maybe. Then I can show off in front of my lovely wife! That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Diluc?” Kaeya jests, elbowing his step-brother’s chest. Diluc rolls his eyes, ever the prodigy. 

    “We’re still young. There’s no use thinking about such things. Shouldn’t you focus on training?” He grumbles. Kaeya knows that he will never have a lucky wife. He will never have a healthy family, or a thriving home, or a genuine relationship. Those are nothing more than dreams to Kaeya.

    The girl grabs Kaeya’s arm and begins running into the fields of grapes and firs. There is a childlike giggle dispersing for all in the neighborhood to hear, fading out as they lose sight of the manor. Reaching the edge of the cliffside, they halt. It overlooks a sapphire river below, fit for one of Master Crepus’ paintings. Diluc had been abandoned long ago. 

    “Hey, Kaeya, the water kind of looks like your hair.” The girl remarks, nuzzling closer to him. He feels his heart thrashing in its cage, begging him not to react, begging him not to ruin the fate of his country. To the girl, he smells of linen, lampgrass, and sweat, much as a kid his age should. Silence settles onto their shoulders, both of them catching breaths that had been stolen in the wind. “I didn’t ask before because I thought Diluc would get mad, but… Kaeya, how about we get married when we grow up?” How silly, Kaeya thinks. I couldn’t marry you if I wanted to. 

    “Hmm, okay. So you’ll be my lucky wife then?” Kaeya plummets down onto the grass and grins. It tickles the back of his neck and stains his blouse a verdant green. He dreams of dreaming, because that is all Khaenri’ahns like him can do. He dreams of coming home to your embrace or trudging back from battle hand-in-hand. Either one is okay. Anything with you is okay. 

    “Of course, stupid. That’s what marriage is. So you’ll be my lucky husband!” Lucky husband. It fills his heart with an immature pride too chaste for a traitor of his caliber. 

    “Deal!” 

    “Deal.” 

    They are naive children making impossible promises, but a part of Kaeya has never unlatched from those delicate whispers. Khaenri’ahns dream of dreaming, but just this once, Kaeya wished he could dream of you.

    “So, Sir Kaeya, are you going to marry soon? Youth is fleeting! Get a wife while you’re young.” One of the Knights suggests, sliding him a suggestive beam. Kaeya let’s himself open his eyes. He processes the blinding light from colored panes of glass spilling over him, the jovial expressions of the citizens he has sworn to protect, and you grasping onto Diluc’s arm, a longing of adoration phasing across your features. Happy. You are happy. He turns towards the knight, cracking a smile.

    “Don’t be silly - I’m already married, Huffman.” He lets the novice soldier ogle at him for a few seconds. “I’m joking. Lighten up.” Huffman releases a hearty chortle, commenting on his Captain’s sense of humor and putting a hand to his chest. He laughs along, but Kaeya knows there is no joke. 

Don’t be silly. I’m already married. It was a deal, after all.

[thiswasinevitableid]

87. you’re a P.I. my parents hired to investigate my fiancee and you completely ruined my engagement party with the dirt you found but I want to know all the details right now

Sternclay, sfw or nsfw, please!

Here you go! I went NSFW and set it in the same universe as this Indruck fill. The orc designs are once again inspired by @kriskukko, whose art everyone should check out

The air is grey and chilly, and his best coat is still a bit too plain for this affair, but Barclay can’t help but glow. His husband to be is using this engagement party to invite him into parts of society he’s only glimpsed from behind kitchen counters or through windows on his way home in the early hours of the morning.

He didn’t even have to cook the table of delicacies and warm punches, which is usually his entry fee into any social space not hosted by Mama or his other friends back at Amnesty Lodge.

“Are you alright my dear?” William touches his shoulder. He’s the height of fashion from the new stud in his nose to the cut of his suit. Barclay looks at their linked hands, marveling at how his tattoos and calluses contrast with the smooth, unmarked green of Williams' skin. It’s wonderful to know he can be part of such an unlikely match.

“I’m fine. I just wish Mama and them could be here too.”

“Barclay, I know you care for them, but they agreed with me that this is not a party they’d feel comfortable attending.”

If memory serves, Mama’s word choice was “enjoy” not “comfortable” but he’s distracted from this detail by the orc currently in a hushed conversation with William’s parents. His accent is American, the same as Barclay’s. He knows William has no friends or family on the other side of the Atlantic, and he’s too well-dressed to be an attendant. When William’s parents fervently shake their heads, the newcomer turns and strides across the floor, right to the happy couple.

“Mr. Cobb” he offers Barclay a slight bow, shows no deference to William, “My name is Joseph Stern. I’m a private detective hired by your fiance’s family. They hoped I would find reason for him not to marry you. I have.”

“I, I don’t understand. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“No, you haven’t. The reason I suggest calling off the wedding is that he” Stern indicates William, “is not the least bit interested in you. He chose you because he knew his parents would disapprove of the match, which would in turn make it easier for him to call off the engagement two months from now and, three months after that, propose to his lifelong friend, Albert Rothby.”

Gasps and whispers fill the room. Barclay looks to William for reassurance but can’t find any; William’s too busy trading alarmed glances with Albert.

Stern continues, “His parents would be all too happy to accept the orc they once rejected for being from a slightly less well-off family after the shock and scandal of him almost marrying a nobody cook.”

“Hey!”

“His words, not mine.” The detective turns to the hosts, “You don’t need to pay me for my time, since I didn’t give you what you wanted. Good afternoon.”

A thoroughly baffled servant hands him his coat and hat as he exits, the room overflowing with chaotic accusations behind him. William doesn’t say two words to Barclay, choosing instead to shout at his parents. Barclay pulls off his silver engagement band, shoves it into his now ex-fiance’s hand, and storms out of the room.

He intends to make straight for the train station, hide his tears and humiliation until he’s safe under Amnesty’s worn shingles. But when he spies Stern on the corner handing coins to an errand boy, his foolish hope gets the better of him.

“How do you know?”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you know that’s really what William planned?”

Stern hails a cab, motions for Barclay to join him inside it. When they’re seated, he reaches into his coat and removes a bound stack of letters.

“Albert’s arrogant and sloppy; all it took was five pounds to get one of the maids to fish these out of his wastebasket.” He passes the notes to Barclay.

Each one he skims is like slicing his finger with a meat cleaver. Not a single piece of his personality or appearance remains unmocked by the time he’s done.

“I was just a game to him.” He stares at William’s signature, the same one that dots a pile of letters he’ll burn when he gets home. When he looks up, Stern’s face is full of sympathy.

“I considered not saying anything. That even if the engagement ended, you might be able to tell yourself it was a true love that wasn’t meant to be. But the longer I trailed you...I saw that you deserved better than being a pawn in someone else's trivial chess game. I offered his parent’s the chance for me to have the conversation in private; they doubled down on their insistence that you must be secretly awful to have lured their dear son to you. Ruining their party seemed fair.”

“I guess.” Barclay’s lip trembles. What was it William wrote? That he was as tender and devoted as a lapdog and twice as fun to kick around?

Stern produces a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket, holds it out to him, “I’m sorry. I know ignorance is bliss but, um, wasting your heart on someone like him strikes me as hellish.”

Barclay wipes his eyes, but the tears insist on flowing, “No you’re, you’re right, it just, I, I really thought he loved me.” He lets out a bitter laugh, “I really am more brawn than brain, just like he said.”

“No, you’re not.” The cab slows, and Joseph’s blue eyes pin the pieces of his crumbling heart together, “and even if you were every single thing he said you were in those letters, that wouldn’t justify his treatment of you. You’re a good man, Barclay” he smiles for the first time, “someone will treat you how you deserve one of these days.”

The driver announces they’ve arrived at Barclays hotel. He glances at Stern, surprised.

He opens the door for Barclay with a wink, “detective.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Fall arrived on the first of September, meaning the business at Amnesty dwindles right along with leaves. They won’t see another flood of visitors until the winter holidays, when everyone travels up and down the country to meet with family. Barclay fills his days with work and tries not to think about how happy he was a year ago.

Dani has a cold, so he’s working the lobby counter until it’s time for him to start dinner. A chill and burst of nickel-tinted light announce a guest. When the orc approaches him, he drops his pen.

“Hello, Barclay. It’s nice to see you under happier circumstances.” Stern removes his hat, runs his fingers through his black hair, “would it be possible to rent a room here indefinitely? I’m on a case and I have no idea how long it’ll take.”

“Yeah, of course.” He pulls out the register to check which rooms are open, which would be easier if his eyes didn’t insist on flicking back to the orc in front of him. He’d noticed Stern was handsome before, in the same way he noticed the sky is blue or a piece of fruit was ripe. Now it’s all he sees; the cut of his clothes suggesting a trim, capable figure beneath, his clean shaveness showing off the angles of his jaw and cheeks. His tusks are the same size and not chipped like Barclays own. The cook wants Stern to sink them into his skin and not let up until he sobs for a kiss instead.

“Uh, here” he retrieves a key, “I can put you in number twelve. It’s upstairs, last door if you take a left.

“Great!” Stern takes the key, lifts his two bags, “thank you for accommodating me.” His gaze slows as it moves up to Barclays face, “I think I’m going to enjoy my stay.”

---------------------------------

Joseph hates the days where he has to wait for telegrams before proceeding with his investigation. It makes him feel like a dog gnawing its tail out of boredom. At least, it used to. Now that he’s at Amnesty, he’s never bored. It’s hard to be when the best looking orc he’s ever seen likes to talk with him while cleaning tables or making breakfast.

William Ashby is a fool. Joseph knew this when he watched him forgo a kind, interesting orc who was built like a god and had eminently kissable lips for the sake of some uninteresting upper class nobody. But now that he’s eating Barclays’ cooking every day, the opinion is twice as strong. No one should be able to make potatoes a divine experience, but his friend manages.

“No running around stuffy offices or abandoned houses today?” Barclay sits down across from him.

“Not until I get a telegram from that solicitor in London. Black or white?”

“White. Well, that’s good news for me, I get a chance to beat you.” He’s smiling, the firelight dancing in his eyes and off the copper in his beard. Joseph wishes he could mimic the light's path with his hands.

Instead, he grins as he lays out the chess pieces, “In your dreams.”

An hour and a half later, Barclay whoops, “checkmate” and Joseph falls even more in love.

-----------------------------------

“Barclay? Since it’s not raining I thought you might like to…” Joseph falls silent at the sight of Barclay sitting on his bed, facing the window with a defeated set to his shoulders.

“Sure, as long as we’re back before dark.” He shrugs and doesn’t so much as look over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Joseph settles beside him, notices the handkerchief with his initials on it clutched between his hands. The tears on it are fresh.

“Nothing. Just, uh, just….this is the anniversary of when he proposed. Of when I thought someone loved me that way, of when I thought that, that...fuck, it’s gonna sound so silly.”

“You don’t have to say it but I, um, I hope you know I won’t judge you for whatever it is.”

Barclay twists the fabric, “I love my life here at Amnesty. I love Mama, all my friends, I love being a cook. But I’ve never been wealthy; Mama and I faced lots of hard times before coming here, especially when my folks died and she took me in. The Lodge does well but there’s always the fear that one day it won’t. I can be happy without fancy food or nice clothes or nights out but, uh,” he clears his throat, “that doesn’t mean I didn’t really like having them. I don’t miss him so much as I miss this feeling of being able to want without worry. Of, of thinking I’d get to do that forever.”

He lists to the side, rests his head on Joseph’s shoulder. He’s both taller and broader than Joseph, which adds to his charms, but right now the detective wishes he was smaller so he could gather him in his arms and protect him from the disappointing world. Give him what he’s missing.

An idea buzzes to the front of his mind. He rubs Barclays shoulder soothingly, “You have to go into London for some orders, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“I have to go in to deal with this case and check to make sure nothing urgent is waiting at my office. Do you want to go together?”

Barclay looks up at him, brown eyes glittering like precious metal, “I’d love to.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay knows Joseph has wealthy clients; he’s starting to suspect he has even more of them than he lets on. They’re in London for two days, and every moment not spent sleeping or working is filled by Joseph taking Barclay somewhere. The meals are by far his favorite, but Joseph bought them tickets to the opera their second night. When Barclay worried he wouldn’t be well dressed enough, Joseph decided they could both do with new clothes and bought everything without blinking at the bill.

Now, Barclay is in a private box, belly full from their stop at Simpson’s and Joseph’s shoulder resting against his own. The music is beautiful, the staging intriguing, but he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, too warm and comfortable from the company and the darkness.

The port they had after dinner probably isn’t helping.

He rests his head back, let’s his eyes flutter closed. After a moment Joseph laughs softly and whispers, “A bit too full from dinner?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“That’s okay. The whole point of tonight is for you to enjoy yourself. If that means happily lazing like a dog by a fire, that’s what you should do.”

Barclay tenses for a second, then relaxes. It’s not like when William kept referring to him as a dog; in Joseph’s voice it’s fond, like a master who knows he indulges his hound but doesn’t care.

“That’s me. Just a spoiled pet.” He murmurs.

Short claws trace across his upper thigh, “As it should be.”

His eyes flutter open; Joseph watches him in the dark, expression attentive and possessive. His fingers don’t move even a centimeter until Barclay nods. Then they finish curving over his thigh to stroke his cock through his pants.

No one can see them, but even so his eyes dart side to side before shutting once more.

“Good boy” Joseph sighs, “sweet boy.”

Barclay nods, squirms as the touches stay teasing.

“Don’t rush. We have a whole other act to go. Just keep quiet; you’re a big, sweet beast, I’d hate to have to” he presses his palm down, “discipline you.”

He bites his tongue to keep from groaning; when they’re back at the lodge, he’s going to misbehave so much.

Joseph keeps up his steady, calculated teasing, Barclay never moving past half-hard. He falls into an almost sleep-like state, feeling weightless and far away from himself yet completely safe in Joseph’s care.

Then swift fingers undo his trousers and a handkerchief wraps around his cock. He throws a palm over his mouth as Joseph jerks his hand up and down.

“It’s almost over.” The detective murmurs, chuckles when Barclay crumples to hide his face in his neck, “that’s it, be a good boy and---oh, oh good lord.” He stifles a sigh in Barclays hair while Barclay cums into the cloth, saturating it embarrassingly fast. William once compared him, unfavorably, to a centaur in that regard. Joseph simply kisses his forehead and tidies him up. By the time they exit, the only sign of their dalliance is Barclays wobbly legs.

He fully intends to return the favor, but sex-drunkeness and general exhaustion drag him to sleep before Joseph is even in bed.

Their morning is a brisk packing up of things followed by a trip to the train station. Once they’re in their cabin, Joseph looks over the notes he made during his research.

“I just can’t shake the feeling Mr. Newton is in danger.”

“Giant cursed hound will do that.”

“I’m not so sure that’s it. I’m not ruling out the supernatural, but there are elements of this that feel distinctly orcish and very much alive in their threat. I’m glad he brought that friend of his with him; were he in Beacon House alone, he could be in serious trouble.” He closes his small notebook.

“I still can’t tell if he’s more than a friend.”

“They might not know. The few times I’ve run into Mr. Newton or Mr.Cold, they seem to be in stalemate, neither willing to make a move.”

“Good thing you don’t have that problem.” Barclay winks, then realizes he might be reading the other orc wrong, “I, uh, I mean, not that last night has to mean anything.”

Joseph unbuttons his coat, “I, um, I hoped it might.”

“Thankfuck.” Barclay slumps back, “me too.”

There’s a click of the lock, then Joseph stands and begins undoing his pants, “speaking of which, it seems to me a good boy would reward me for last night.”

“Yes, oh fuck yes.” He scrambles to get his cock out, stroking it frantically as Joseph rolls up his sleeves.

“You’re so eager to please, it makes me want to give you everything you ask for.”

“Please?”

Joseph, now bare from the waist down, bends to kiss him, “Please what?”

“Please let me fuck you, let me mppph!” His moan slips straight down Joseph’s throat as he sinks onto Barclays cock.

“Ohhhhhyes, ohmylord” the tips of his ears twitch as he rocks his hips, “you feel so good”

“Y-you’re one to talk, fuck, Joseph can I touch you?”

“Anywhere you waAAnt” he tips his head back, whisper threatening to break as Barclay drops a thumb down to rub his cock. He sets his hands on Barclay’s shoulders, “we, we don’t have much time, and I do need to review more of the case before we arrive, so be a good boy and let me ride you hard and fast?”

“Yes, yesfuck, ohyeah” A laugh catches on his tongue as Joseph, his dignified, debonair detective, sets to bouncing up and down on his cock with the kind of abandon he only witnessed when he used to serve drinks in a brothel.

Joseph grins, kisses him messily as their grunts meld with the rumble of the train. Barclay glides his free hand around to grope and paw his ass, savoring how it tightens with the effort of riding, of taking Barclay again and again. Curious, he gives it a light slap, wishing he could see a little pink bloom on the green there.

“Careful, sweet boy; if anyone’s ass is getting bruised it’s yours.”

“Tonight?” He smiles hopefully at Joseph’s flushed face.

“Yes, Barclay tonight. Tonight I’ll, ohlord, strip you down, let you rut on the bed like the needy beast you are while I turn your ass tender and red before fucking it, oh, ohshit, Barclay.” He smashes their lips together as he cums, Barclay whining with pleasure at the fact that he got him there. The detective doesn’t break the kiss as he pulls off, simply uses his strong legs to keep straddling him as he jerks Barclay off with one hand and rucks his own shirt up with the other. Barclay moans helplessly as he cums in large, white droplets all up his stomach and chest.

“You’re wonderful.” Joseph kisses his cheek.

“So are you.” Barclay holds him close, giggles adoringly when Joseph starts concocting theories while half-naked and cuddled in his lap. By the time they reach home, there’s no sign of their dalliance.

Except for their linked hands and matching smiles.

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Sixteen: The One With the Parents

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3029

        "Oh!" a familiar voice called as Bucky opened the door, "Well hello there. who are you?"

Lily's eyes blew wide as she jumped up from her seat on the couch, readjusting herself before rushing forward from the living room, startling Joey. Coming to a halt, beside Bucky, Lily gave a nervous smile as she came face to face with her parents. Alicia and Abel Osborne, two of the most notorious environmental scientists in the country. And some of the most down-to-earth and relaxed people you could ever find. So how they had an uptight and perfectionist daughter like Lily? Well, no one could really explain that.

"Mom? Dad?" Lily questioned, a small laugh trailing behind her words, "It's like eleven o'clock. What on earth are you doing here?"

"Well your father is never good with timing but that doesn't answer my question," Alicia Osborne hummed, handing her coat to her husband, "Who is this?" she smiled, pointing her finger up and down the man.

"James Barnes," the man introduced, reaching his flesh hand forward, "Please, call me Bucky. It's lovely to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Osborne, Lily has told me much about you."

"How sweet. we haven't heard anything to do with you. Other than what everyone already knows about the famous Winter Soldier!" Abel commented, shaking the man’s hand that was outstretched. One that lasted a second too long.

Blunt. A very notable characteristic of the Osborne parents. Due to their intelligence, they seemed to have failed in the social department. Neither knew when some of the things they said could come across as hurtful, yet somehow managed to say these things in sweet and loving tones. It had a tendency to be a detriment to the three children of the two, seeing as when they didn't like someone they brought home, they would say it. Not to Lily. Not to Rose. Not to Cedar. To the other party. They always said sugarcoating was a waste of time, and that honesty was something that was vital.

"Where's Hunter?" Alicia asked, continuing to eye Bucky.

"As I said. it's eleven at night. He's asleep." Lily sighed, leading the rest of the party into the kitchen, "I wish you would have called me to tell me you're coming. I only have one spare room."

"Oh, that's fine. Bucky can sleep with you." Alicia stated, opening up her daughter’s kitchen cupboards, searching for lord knows what.

Lily stared wide-eyed at her mother as she took a seat at the dinner table next to Bucky. Hiding her face in her hands, Lily shook her head. This was one of the main reasons Lily never introduced most people to her parents. Especially her mother. She recalled the many times that Lily had brought home a potential boyfriend, only to have them scared off by Alicia's harsh and straightforward remarks.

"Lily you need to go grocery shopping, you have no food." Alicia sighed, "Come on Abel let's head to bed now."

"Yes, dear...and you two. Keep it down tonight, the spare room is right next to Lily's." Abel commented, chuckling as Lily dropped her head down onto the table and Bucky let out a deep and hearty chuckle.

And as quick as they came in, Lily's parents were gone upstairs to the spare room. Leaving Lily and Bucky alone in the kitchen again, wondering what the hell had just happened. mostly Lily, Bucky seemed to find the entire interaction quite comedic. Seeing Lily get flustered must have made him smile because lord knows the comments were parents made wouldn't.

"Well then...shall we get to bed, doll?" Bucky cooed, leaning towards the blonde and placing his hand gently on the small of her back.

Lily shot the man a glare, but yet, still followed him as they wandered up towards the bedroom Lily slept in every night. And the one she'd be sharing that night.

“Keep it PG, Barnes.”

-----

The gentle feeling of fingertips ghosting against her skin sent a shiver through Lily's body. Her deep green eyes peeled themselves apart, only to hum at the sweet feeling of touch. Her body tensed at first, her mind not comprehending who it was who was caressing her pale skin. But soon it caught up, and her heart began to beat at a rapid pace. But she didn't move. didn't flinch. She cooed gently at the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing small patterns into the smooth skin of her arm. The dim sun of November pierced through the thin curtains of Lily's bedrooms, and she eventually figured she would pull herself from the tranquillity of the moment.

"Mornin' doll." a gruff and raspy voice cooed from behind the blonde, resulting in her rolling onto the other side to come face to face with a stubbly Bucky Barnes.

"Morning," she purred as his fingers returned to her arm, "I should go get Hunter up."

"It's Saturday. let the kid sleep." Bucky replied, inching himself forward. Their noses were millimetres away, and Lily could barely catch her breath.

A grin placed itself on the man’s lips. Leaning forward, the brunette caught the young mom’s lips in his own. Their lips moulded into one another as though they had been perfectly sculpted for the other. His large hands found their way down to her waist and he gently gripped at it, resulting in a breathy noise escaping Lily's lips before he quickly swallowed it with his lips once again. His hands were rough, yet his touch was gentle. The callouses and years of wear and tear against the milky smooth skin of Lily's waist were that of heaven. But she came to as his hands wandered down near the stretch marks she was left with from those years ago while pregnant with the young boy just down the hall.

"Wait," Lily whispered, hands dropping from the man’s hair down onto his hand, averting it from the marks that she still had yet to find comfort in.

Bucky gave her a knowing smile. His warm eyes pouring into hers as he sat up, moving the comforter and sheet from both of their bodies. She watched intently as his hands fiddled with the hems of the white shirt she wore. The blonde sucked in a breath but didn't halt his movements. The tall man gave her an affirming peck on the cheek before lifting the bottom of the pyjama top a smidge. Just above the bottom of her torso. Lily immediately averted her forest green eyes, not wanting to see the pale peach marks along her body. But Bucky's flesh hand gently caressed her chin, beckoning her to turn her head to watch again.

"Lily you are one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen," he cooed, leaning his head down to press a gentle peck against a mark on her hip, "and these only make you more beautiful," he continued, further littering gentle kisses along her stomach, "you created one of the most amazing kids I've met. These are marks to show that strength you had."

"That's one way of putting it," Lily whispered, reaching her hand forward and running it through the dark tresses atop Bucky's head.

"You're gorgeous." Bucky hummed, kissing up her navel before attacking her face with the same gentle kisses he had just pressed to the marks that made Lily wish to never put on a bikini, resulting in a sweet and harmonious giggle to sing from Lily's throat as she thrashed her head around playfully.

When their lips finally met again, the two sunk into one another's touch. Lily hadn't felt so...seen in a long time. The way he kissed her was something she only experienced in her wildest dreams. But having it happen, having his hand, flesh and vibranium, on her and making her feel special...no dream could capture that. The kiss heated up subtly, both gripping the other as though they were each other’s last lifeline. Only to once again, be interrupted by a knock at the door. This time though, the person on the other side didn't both to wait.

"Oh!" the sound of her mother’s voice echoed through the room, causing Joey to pop his head up at the end of the bed, "Well I suppose that's my fault. I should have waited."

Bucky chuckled at the woman's words before ducking his head down into the crook of Lily's neck, giving a shake of his head. Lily groaned and leaned her head back, gently shoving the bulk of a man off of her, sitting up and turning her attention back to the woman who stood in her doorway. Her mother was dressed in a pair of beige cargo pants, a navy blue button-up shirt, and a fishnet cardigan. A signature Alicia Osborne look. And it always managed to work so well with her? Honestly, Lily aspired to be like her mother.

"What can I do for you mum?" Lily smiled, tucking a golden strand behind her ear.

"Well, your dad and I want to go see Gen and Rose! So why don't you two finish up and then we can head down to Gen's cafe, yes? Lovely. Also isn’t morning sex just the best? See you in half an hour!" the blonde cooed, sending a wink towards Bucky before shutting the bedroom door once again.

"Your mom's quite the character."

"Oh, you haven't even seen half of it yet."

-----

A series of chuckles radiated through the group as Lily, Bucky, Hunter, and her parents arrived at the slightly hectic cafe that her best friend owned. Hunter had made a joke that caused Abel to laugh so hard he had stumbled, resulting in him bumping into the back of his wife. Overall, it was a light-hearted mood within the family of Lily Osborne. Though there was a looming presence that each person avoided. And that was the topic of Cedar. The currently incarcerated youngest Osborne child. For a crime, he did indeed commit, but the motive? Still unknown.

When seated, Abel was the first to speak. But not what Lily was hoping to hear.

"Hunt why don't you go see auntie Rose and aunt Gen in the back?" the man hummed, sending his only grandchild off from the booth, leaving the three Osbornes and a Barnes seated. All of them knowing what came next, "So...we did come down for a reason. To talk about, well, Cedar."

Lily tensed up at the sound of her younger brother’s name. The only images playing in her mind were that of the boy’s face when she was brought in to try and question him. A deeply troubled and forlorn look that had made Lily uneasy. As though there was something much bigger at play here, instead of simply that her brother had tried to break into her ex-husband’s apartment. If she could turn back time, she would. And pry the answers out of Cedar if it killed her. She needed to know why the boy was at the apartment, and what he wanted from Scott.

"Now, James. We know you were initially the one to reprehend our son. Which we totally get, he was committing a crime. And you're, well, you," Alicia continued, "But we came down to New York to help question Cedar. And we just want to know everything that happened."

Lily's face began to heat up. Her breathing quickening as she tugged at the dark blue cardigan she wore. Everything around her grew larger as she felt herself shrink. Just thinking of the night that everything happened made the blonde want to hide away from people forever. But it wouldn't go away if she avoided it. The pain that was caused that night wouldn't mysteriously disappear just because Lily chose to ignore it. Despite her constant efforts to do so. And she knew that the time would come where she did in fact have to talk about the night. But what Lily was worried about, subconsciously, was why her parents had kept Bucky here for the conversation. And why on earth they kept referring to him as his first name, despite him being evident on preferring the nickname that everyone used...and Lily wanted to test the waters.

"Buck, why don't you go see Hunter in the back?" Lily hummed, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, the cool metal feeling pushing through the thin cotton of his shirt.

"No." Abel stepped in, "No, we need Sergeant Barnes to stay."

Both parties, Lily and Bucky, looked at the brunette man across the table with confusion in their eyes. Lily slightly understood the use of James, but not fully. Seeing as it was his first name. However, hearing the words that laid printed on Bucky's dog tags tucked underneath his shirt caused her to straighten her spine slightly. Lily's hand reached under the table to rest gently on the man beside her knee, running smooth circles along it with her thumb.

"...Okay," Lily stated, nodding along hesitantly with her father, "Why?"

"Well he was witness to what happened," Alicia hummed, smiling as a waitress brought out the group each a coffee, "We also trust his memory a tad more than yours, flower. He is a super-soldier after all!"

Lily cocked an eyebrow at her mother’s words. The tones of her parents seemed to fluctuate, and it would have gone unnoticed by those who hadn't been raised by the pair. It only ever happened when both seemed to be on edge or nervous about something. Though Lily tried to convince herself it was merely because their youngest child and only son had been arrested for attempted breaking and entering. But Alicia and Abel Osborne weren't known for their nerves, especially when it came to Cedar. But once again, Lily convinced herself it was most likely just because of that. Hell, if she was in their position with Hunter? She may have already gone mad.

"Did you see anyone else there, that night?" Abel picked up, sipping his coffee, "Any unusual faces? Not just police?"

Both Bucky and Lily shook their heads, but it was the former who spoke, "Not that I saw. But we were at the front of the building. And I'm sure the police did a sweep of the perimeter to ensure there weren’t any other people. So to sum it up, it was just Cedar."

The two nodded along. But there was a new sense of unease settling over the table. It set Lily's nerves on edge. The way her parents fidgeted and shifted. She'd never seen them act so...uncomfortable before. The night before, they were making slight sex jokes with their daughter and Bucky, not a single care in the world. But now? Talking about whether or not there was another person involved in the event seemed to be their least favourite topic of conversation, despite being the ones who had initiated it. The only time that they acted this strange was when Scott had asked their permission to marry Lily, and they said no. But he went along with it anyway...and well, everyone knows how that ended up.

"And Cedar, was he acting weird? Confused, dazed?" Alicia asked, tracing her finger over the hole in her mug, "fidgety?"

Bucky nodded, "Yeah he seemed confused. I didn't get a good look at his face but he kept looking around and panting. He seemed paranoid about something. We've dealt with a few people who have maybe been on substances doing this sort of stuff. Typically on a larger scale though...y'know. trying to take over the world and all of that super fun stuff I call work."

Lily's eyes sat trained on her father. The two always had a close relationship. They were two peas in a pod. Though Alicia tended to be more outspoken, Abel sat back and observed most of the time. But now he was the first to strike up a conversation. Something Lily wasn't used to. What she also didn't like was how he avoided her gaze. He'd sneak a glance every few minutes but immediately turn away when he saw how Lily analyzed him. The shifting in his seat, the paranoid glances. Similar to what had been described for Cedar. A new sense of fear almost. Lily felt an uneasy ball rest in the pit of her stomach, and she tapped on Bucky's arm.

"Can I talk to you outside?" she whispered. When he nodded in agreement, the two excused themselves and pushed open the doors of the cafe out into the chill New York air, "Buck I don't like this. They're acting weird. Something is going on here."

Bucky gave her a gentle smile, before placing his hands on her shoulders, "Doll they're just a bit freaked out because of what's going on. I mean imagine if it were you with Hunter."

"I know! I know I would have lost it by now but I know my parents," Lily insisted, shaking her head, "There's something going on with Cedar and with them. There's something not right about all of this. First of all, Cedar cried whenever I killed a spider. Second of all, he would never want to cause any sort of pain for Hunter, he loves him so much. And third of all, my parents are acting very differently. I've seen them under considerable stress, and my father never speaks first. Bucky I need you to trust me. Something is happening."

He must have picked up on the shake in her voice. For when she finished, he tugged the smaller woman close to his chest, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. Her breathing was rigid and he cooed to her softly. He agreed he'd trust her, and that he'd keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Kissing her forehead once more, the man lead her back into the cafe. When they returned to their seats, Lily watched carefully as Bucky leaned forward. The gears were turning in his head and Lily could see it. He was formulating something. And then he spoke.

"Cedar was arrested a month ago and questioned. Why are you here now? A month late."

[retroateez]

Prophecy - Chapter Seventeen

length: 3k

tag list: @hewwo-from-the-other-side

prophecy masterlist

Strolling arm in arm with Seonghwa, the kingsguard of Ateez's powerful monarch, was not a situation you had ever expected to be in, not in a million years.

But yet, here you were, clutching onto the tall, handsome man as he led you through hallways and down great wooden staircases. Really, you didn't know what you were more nervous about, being in the spotlight in front of hundreds of people, or seeing Wooyoung dressed like this.

Your gown, an exquisitely made garment just for you, fits your form beautifully. The skirt sways gently with every step you take and every so often, you swear you catch the stitched butterflies fluttering with ease.

"Yeosang enchanted the butterflies," Seonghwa explains quietly. "They gave me quite the fright too when I saw them moving."

You smile, thinking of Yeosang whispering softly to the fabric and watching as the rose pink butterflies come to life.

Before long, you're both stood in front of the great oak doors that lead into the main hall. Seonghwa adjusts his position, putting his heels together and straightening his back. You can tell he's done this countless times before; he knows exactly how to carry himself and you would expect absolutely nothing less from the man who exudes regality.

"I don't know if I can do this, Seonghwa." You exhale sharply, tightening your grip on the kingsguard's arm.

"Of course you can!" He gives you a small, reassuring smile. "All you have to do is walk, and sit. When Wooyoung comes to you and offers to dance, you accept, and then you dance."

"I'm- I'm not cut out for fancy stuff like this." You say, looking up at him with sad eyes. "I'm just a nasty little street thief."

Seonghwa scoffs.

"You think a street rat would ever wear something as beautiful as this? Nonsense! The past is the past, Iris. You're one of us now."

Something about Seonghwa's words calms you, the thought of being accepted by (almost) everybody in the castle warming you to the heart. In a sense too, he's right. The shades of your old life had been completely cast out, starting with Yeosang giving you a proper home, and Hongjoong giving you a job of sorts.

Really, you had it all.

But the insatiable hunger for more still burned within you, and no matter how hard you tried to push it to the back of your mind, it would come back ten times louder.

Seonghwa reaches out and knocks firmly on the door, and immeditately, both of them are pulled open.

You stand there, mouth agape, taking in the scenery before you.

The great hall has been completely transformed, from an empty, lonely space to a bustling center of hospitality and entertainment.

On the far left, where Hongjoong's brilliant throne is, sits a long table, with space for nine people. In the center, is a smaller, but no less impressive version of the throne, where you assume the king himself will be sitting.

Off to the side of that, is a rectangular platform, upon which is Mingi, expertly playing his lute whilst accompanied by three other men playing various instruments you couldn't name. The rest of the hall is full of grand oak tables, each one lined with people chattering and singing along loudly with Mingi's song. Every table is graced with an abundance of hot food and goblets of ale. Whole roasted pheasants, hogs, mountains of golden roasted potatoes and boiled carrots covered every single surface and filled the air with a delicious aroma.

You spot Yeosang and Wooyoung occupying two chairs on the top table, conversing with each other, probably about the prophecy. You also spy San admist the guests, who laugh heartily as he speaks to them. Perhaps a jester is more than jokes after all.

At the end of the table is a sturdy young man with chesnut brown hair, who looks incredibly familiar to you, but you know you've never met him. Next to him is Yunho, who you grin at, happy to see a familiar face. He doesn't reciprocate your smile, instead giving you a small wave. You pray that he hasn't noticed the stolen textbook.

Seonghwa keeps you closely by your side as you glide into the hall and the silence in the room becomes abundantly clear.

Everybody is watching you.

All the guests take their seats and they sit like obedient children, observing as the stoic, cold-faced kingsguard accompanies you to your seat at the head table.

For some of them, this is a completely new experience; to see Seonghwa leading a beautiful woman to the most importaant table in the room. But for the older attendees, it is a sight they haven't seen since the passing of the Queen.

It's only when you're sat, Hongjoong's empty seat to your right and a giddy Yeosang to your left, that you realise you were holding your breath the entire time. Seonghwa tucks your chair in gently, and takes his own place on the other side of Hongjoong's vacant space, with Wooyoung faintly blushing to his right. The noise in the hall picks back up again, allowing you to quietly converse with your mentor.

"You look positively beautiful, my little student." Yeosang beams at you, and you shyly smile at him.

"You look rather dashing yourself, Yeosang." There's no lie; his brilliantly blonde hair is styled (for once) so it trails ever so slightly down the back of his neck, his outfit makes a start contrast to his usual attire, although he has opted to keep his signature white shirt, but over the top is fitted, beige jacket with embellishments of gold down the line of buttons, and leading down to his wrists.

"Do you like the butterflies?" He asks, a glint of pride behind the eyes. "I thought you would like them."

"Yes, Yeosang." You nod. "They're very pretty."

Suddenly, a hush falls over the room once more, and you guess that can only signify the arrival of a certain person.

The same doors you entered though swing open again, and Hongjoong himself confidently strolls in. He's wearing the tawny brown fur coat you saw before, fancy black trousers with gold patterning up the outside seams of the legs. His boots are ordinary, but they shine brilliantly, almost putting the jewels on his crown to shame.

It dawns on you then that you have actually never seen the king wear his crown, and you're astonished at how stunning it is. At the center is a huge blue gem, identical to the one sitting in the middle of the silver circlet on your own head. Each peak of the crown is embellished with glittering green sapphires, and between the tufts of his fluffy, mousy hair you can spot the sparkling rubies and garnets fitted around the base of the crown.

Hongjoong paces slowly, aware but unaffected by all eyes watching him in awe. He gets to the table, and stands on the other side of where you are seated, and he turns to face the crowded hall.

"Welcome!" he cries, motioning out in front of him. "Esteemed guests and distinguished friends, welcome to the annual Ateez ball."

The guests clap and cheer at their welcoming, Hongjoong patiently smiling as he waits for them to shut up. Sometimes he really hates his obligation to these dreaded social functions.

"It is with great sadness that the kingdom of Seventeen is not able to attend tonight," He says. "Commander Jeonghan sends his regards to all of you."

Hongjoong claps his hands together, the sound echoing throughout the hall and ringing in your ears.

"Nevertheless! Let us enjoy a night of feasting and festivities! Please, thoroughly enjoy yourselves." He finishes with a deep, sweeping bow, upon which the attendees go wild once more, taking up their goblets and gulping their mead down hungrily.

Hongjoong moves around the table, and takes his seat beside you with an exhausted sigh. All chairs, except for two which belong to Mingi and San who are busy entertaining the guests, are now occupied, and you can't help but wonder who the brown haired man next to Yunho is.

"Hongjoong?" You turn to your right and timidly ask the king your question.

"Jongho?" He questions. "He's the tailor who made your dress. He's a quiet lad, from somewhere up north I believe, but he's damn good at what he does."

Jongho's face perks up over hearing his name and he whips around to face you. Hongjoong signals for him to come over, and he does.

"Jongho! This is Iris, Iris, this is Jongho." The king introduces you, and you can't help but blush at the handsome smile the young man gives you.

"Pleasure to meet cha," He says. "You look even more beautiful in that dress that I ever could'a imagined. Hope yah like it?" You notice the difference in his accent, figuring that must be how they talk up in the north.

"It's gorgeous. Thank you."

"Oh hey, you're that kid from the inn!" Yeosang's voice behind you makes you jump, and you slowly realise that Yeosang is in fact correct.

"The inn with the bear!" You gasp. "Do you know if the bear is okay?"

Jongho chuckles. "The bear is fine. I actually recognise you two from the inn also, fancy meeting here, eh?"

You laugh along with him, one of the many worries settled in your mind as you finally learn about the bear that's been plagueing your dreams for so long.

"Well, I'm glad we are all well aquainted." Hongjoong smiles sarcastically, and Jongho takes that as his notice to return to his seat, bowing politely to you before he does so.

"So when do we start dancing and stuff?" You ask Hongjoong, your eyes following Seonghwa as he hurriedly gets up and scurries out of the hall. Your gaze falls back to the king as he shrugs.

"Probably within an hour or so," he answers. "Only people of high status are allowed to dance, so lords, ladies, princes and princesses from other kingdoms will take the center."

You nod, gulping nervously.

"I hope you've been practicing." Hongjoong says. "You'd better not embarrass me in front of my guests."

"What?" you yelp. "Why don't you go out there and dance if you're so bothered?"

"Because I'm the king." he smirks. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to, and I can make anyone do anything I want."

"You're evil." you snarl at him.

"You love me really." he grins. "Besides, I'm being awfully nice to you, am I not? Letting you live in my castle, giving you lavish clothes, allowing you to do whatever you please?"

"But why? All I do is cause trouble and get in the way."

Hongjoong stays silent for a moment, mulling over his answer before turning to face you once again.

"Truthfully, you remind me of my mother. She was very headstrong, very determined. She would never let my father order her around, not a day in her life would she obey the king's command." He stares into the joyful crowd, his eyes misting over ever so slightly as he remembers his late mother.

"I think she would have liked you very much." He continues. "She loved me dearly, but I think deep down she would have loved to have a daughter. My behaviour as of late, I know she would not have approved of it. My mother firmly believed I would be a good king, and so I strive everyday to make her proud. Your arrival reminded me of the promise I made to her before she passed."

"What promise was that?" You whisper.

"To treat everyone fairly, as she would have done. Regardless of age, race, or gender, my mother was a kindred spirit to every soul she met. Did you know that both Mingi and San were found abandoned outside the gates of the kingdom?"

You shake your head.

"My mother refused to have them sent to the orphanage, so she brought them here and they were raised alongside me."

"She sounds like an amazing woman, Hongjoong."

"She was." He smiles fondly. After a few moments, he shakes his head, rubbing his hands together. "My mother also loved to dance, and so with that, the ball shall properly commence!"

Hongjoong stands up, grabbing a glass goblet and a shiny silver spoon from the table and clinking them together to seize the attention of his guests. You watch as he commands the room like a true king, speaking confidently and without hesitation.

You look out at the sea of guests that hang onto his every word, and smile proudly.

Even if you haven't always seen eye to eye, he's a good man who just wants the best for his people, even you can recognise that.

Hongjoong raises his filled goblet towards the ceiling and grins cheerily at his spectators.

"To Ateez!" he toasts.

"To Ateez!" The crowd, including the table at which you are sat, mimic Hongjoong's cry and you sip eagerly at the alcohol in your cup.

When you place your goblet back on the table, you see Wooyoung stood in front of you, on the other side of the table.

You hadn't actually noticed just how handsome he was looking tonight, and now you had a perfect view.

He was wearing his signature, loose, white shirt, except the first two buttons were undone, giving everybody a direct peek at the top of his chest. He also wore a brilliant crimson waistcoat with bold, green plant stems stitched across the front. Beautiful emerald leaves accompanied the stems, with gorgeous, multicoloured flowers dotted here and there all over the front and back of the waistcoast. You even noticed dainty pink butterflies opening and closing their wings, sitting on the flowers of his outfit, butterflies that were completely identical to yours. Wooyoung's trousers were his usual black ones, but tighter than usual.

His jet black hair was soft and curly, parted in the middle and allowing him to stare at you fondly with his stunning amethyst eyes.

"Would you care to dance?" He asks politely, offering you his hand over the table.

Of course, you nod, and hurriedly rush past Yeosang and San who are sat at the table, to take Wooyoung's hand. He gently takes your hand in his, and raises your hand to his lips. He kisses the back of your hand delicately, and smiles at you with a sparkle in his eyes and a warmth in his heart.

"You look stunning tonight, Iris." He whispers to you, leading you towards the middle of the room where the other couples are preparing to dance.

"As do you, Wooyoung." You blush deeply.

The two of you are stood in the center of the hall, and it feels like you're the only two present. You place your arms around his neck, resting your hands on his broad shoulders, and try to contain the blushing when he puts his hands on your waist.

"Are you ready?" He teases. "Remember all your training?"

"Of course," You mumble back. "How could I possibly forget when I had such an amazingly gifted teacher?"

"Don't let San hear you say that," he murmurs against the shell of your ear. "Or else his ego will shoot through the roof."

The music starts up again as you giggle quietly. You feel Wooyoung's hands tighten slightly on your waist and the nerves slowly begin to creep in once again.

But then Wooyoung's fingers are on your chin, tilting your head up to face him.

"Hey." He whispers. "No nerves here. We've got this."

And you grin from ear to ear, because he's right.

You manage to keep yourself standing, Wooyoung assisting you most the time by leading you with gentle spins and careful twirls. The two of you join the rest of the crowd in a group dance in which you temporarily switch partners. To your delight, you ended up with Mingi, who despite the vast height difference, was very pleasant to dance with. At one point, Mingi even picked you up and spun you so fast you thought the room was spinning around you.

"That was so fun!" you exclaim to Wooyoung when you return to your original partners.

"I'm glad you thought so." He replies, a hint of playful bitterness laced in his voice. "I much prefer dancing with you than San, his shoulders are much too sharp."

You nod in agreement, laughing joyfully and grinning as Wooyoung matches your gleeful expression. The dancing continues for a short while longer, most of the dancers filing out to eat and drink as the music becomes calmer and slower. But you and the elf carry on as if you were the only two in the room, whispering to each other as you gracefully move across the floor.

Hongjoong watches the two of you from his seat at the main table. He's sitting alone, Yeosang, Yunho and Jongho having collected themselves at the table of King Chan and his guests, talking animatedly.

Hongjoong watches as you and Wooyoung dance, observing with an amused twist of his mouth as Wooyoung dips you down, holding your waist, and gently places his lips on yours.

Hongjoong can't help but admire the bravery displayed by the elf.

He watches you smile into the kiss, and notices how Wooyoung's grip on your waist tightens. The king might even go as far to say he's impressed.

With an exhale, Hongjoong's gaze moves from you to the others, to San cracking jokes, to Mingi expertly playing his lute, and to the other three who seem to be getting along well. He's glad he went through with the ball, the stress of the prophecy getting to him more than he would have liked.

The king sits silently, pondering over the last few months, when Seonghwa, visibly distressed comes hurrying over.

"Hongjoong," he rasps. "We've recieved a message from Seventeen. They've recieved word that there's magic in the kingdom and they're sending soldiers to attack-"

"Ah." Hongjoong nods. "That's why Commander Jeonghan didn't show up. I see."

The king stays silent for a few moments, Seonghwa staring him with panic written over his entire face.

"Well, there's no reason why we can't talk this out. Tell them to send their commander and we can assure them there is zero magic in Ateez."

"But-"

"But what, Seonghwa? There is zero magic in the kingdom. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir." The kingsguard nods hurriedly, and once again rushes out of the hall, no doubt to instruct the messengers.

Hongjoong sighs. He won't tell the others, not yet.

"Let them enjoy themselves." He mumbles to himself, watching Wooyoung twirl you around in his arms.

[camillemontespan]

her one constant [part eleven: phoenix rising] [drake the bodyguard AU]

Master List

@ibldw-main​​​​ @jovialyouthmusic​​​​ @katedrakeohd​​​​ @moonlightgem7​​​​ @pug-bitch​​​​ @princessleac1​​​​ @burnsoslow​​​​ @notoriouscs​​​​ @dcbbw​​​​ @saivilo​​​​ @rainbowsinthestorm​​​​ @marshmallowsandfire​​​​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​​​​ @gardeningourmet​​​​ @kingliam2019​​ @nomadics-stuff​​ @kimmiedoo5​ ******************************

Leo rested his feet on the table as he leaned his head back. His mobile was in his hand and he was waiting patiently for his contact at Trend Magazine -and occasional fuck buddy- Jennifer Taylor to pick up her line.

‘Hi Leo.’ 

Leo smiled his typical lazy smile that made women’s knees go weak; even if Jennifer couldn’t see him, she would certainly know he was smiling the smile she liked so much.

‘Jen, gorgeous, how are you doing?’ he asked her cheerfully, picking at his thumbnail. 

‘Living the dream,’ she replied dryly. ‘How about you? Enjoying being back in Cordonia?’

Leo chuckled. ‘It’s certainly eventful. So, I got something for you.’

There was a silence on the other line before Jennifer spoke eagerly, like a dog gnawing on a bone. ‘What have you got for me?’

Leo rolled his eyes. So predictable.

‘I’ll give you it... but only if you give something to me.’

‘Like what? A blowjob on your yacht like last time before you left to travel to god knows where?’

Lee smiled at her attempt to act casual and non-plussed when really, he knew she wanted him all over again. No woman could resist his charms. It was why he had a roster of women, routinely benching ones who weren’t serving their purpose for him anymore. He was a lethal coach. 

‘Something better,’ he said. ‘You ever spent the night in a royal suite in the palace?’

He heard her gasp. 

‘No, I haven’t-’

‘You, me, my suite in the palace.. Naked,’ Leo said. ‘That’s what I want. You under me.’

Jennifer let out a low groan. ‘Leo…’

He had her. 

‘What have you got for me?’ she asked breathlessly. Clearly, images of Leo on top of her had her feeling a little flustered. 

Leo smiled. ‘The Duchess of Valtoria.’

‘Tell me more.’

Camille was catnip for the magazines. So predictable that Jennifer instantly latched on. 

‘The Duchess of Valtoria and her bodyguard,’ Leo told her. ‘I saw them making out amongst the coats at last night’s ball. Pretty seedy to be honest.. She’s a Duchess, she can’t be acting like that.’

Jennifer let out a cackle. ‘Says you.’

Leo smirked. ‘I know, right? But we’ve got a standard here. Duchesses have to keep to it. She is supposed to be making out with nobles, not her bodyguard. I think the public deserve to know how much of a common slut she is.’ 

‘Bit harsh,’ Jennifer said, her voice not in the least bit concerned. ‘I take it you want to be an anonymous tip?’

‘Yes,’ Leo said. ‘A concerned source, if you will.’

‘Why are you even wanting me to write about this?’ Jennifer asked. ‘Why do you care?’

Leo rolled his eyes and decided to ignore her question.  ‘See you in my suite tomorrow night, gorgeous.’

He hung up on Jennifer and closed his eyes, content with what he had done. Yes, Jennifer, why did Leo care?

He didn’t.

But he didn’t like being told no. Once the bodyguard was forced to resign, Camille would have nothing standing between her and a night with Leo. Because that’s all Leo wanted; he liked the chase. He liked it when new women entered court and he could shamelessly flirt with them. He enjoyed winning them over. He enjoyed taking them to his room so he could introduce them to Cordonian traditions. If they were special, he added them to his roster, skulking back to them armed with roses and perfume and that lazy smile of his that they loved so much. 

It was all fun and games. 

******************************

 Trend Magazine’s cover story for the following week broke the revelation that the Duchess of Valtoria, Camille Montespan, was having an affair with her bodyguard. 

‘According to our source, the Duchess of Valtoria was seen getting hot and heavy with her bodyguard during a ball at the palace. Following further investigation, it seems as though Camille and her human shield, Drake Walker, are more close than is expected of a Duchess and her employee. Paparazzi photographs often show them laughing together or going as far as to hold hands. Indeed, in one photograph, the two lovers are pictured sharing an umbrella, love in their eyes, as Camille attended a Beaumont Bash. 

This revelation will blow apart the Duchess’ carefully constructed image of sophistication and elegance that she has tried so hard to create in her bid to win approval. Following her rejection of King Liam’s proposal of marriage - which sent shockwaves through the country- it was expected that she would court a fellow noble, perhaps seek a Duke to run the duchy of Valtoria with her, as per courtly traditions. But apparently, the Duchess has other ideas. What is she thinking?

‘If Camille is serious about remaining as the Duchess of Valtoria,’ our source says, ‘she needs to up her game and let go of the bodyguard. It is unbecoming of a Duchess to have an affair with someone she employs; it is unprofessional and makes a mockery of her title. Perhaps she feels affinity with him due to the fact he is a commoner and so was she not so long ago. But she is in a different world now and she should set her sights on someone nearer her station - not his.’

***************************

Camille threw the magazine down on the coffee table and sank her head into her hands. Drake stood in the corner of the room, too afraid to move. He didn’t know what to say or do. This was all his fault. If he had just been professional, none of this would have happened.

But he was also furious.

Who made up these accusations and gave them to this poisonous rag of a magazine? What do they have against Camille? I’ll kill them. I’ll fucking kill them.

His inner thoughts were broken by the sound of Camille letting out a choked sob. She clenched her hair with her fingers and her shoulders shook as she cried. Drake instantly abandoned his corner of the room and crossed the floor towards her, sinking down to his knees at her feet.

‘Camille..’ he murmured. ‘Look at me.’

She moved her hands away from her face and Drake could now see her tearfilled eyes. He longed to reach out to kiss her and make her feel better but he found it would be too inappropriate given the circumstances. 

‘This is bullshit,’ Camille said, her voice thick with emotion. ‘Complete and utter bullshit.’

Drake sighed. ‘I know. God, Camille, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. If I had just stuck to being the typical bodyguard, you wouldn’t be in this shitstorm.’

Camille let out a shuddering breath. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said. ‘I’m not blaming you for this. You are the best bodyguard, you do your job, and I’m not letting you take the blame for something as shit as this. How dare they say such horrible things about you?’

Drake reached out to pick up the magazine. His eyes scanned the words filled with superiority and pretension. ‘But she is in a different world now and she should set her sights on someone nearer her station - not his.’ 

The sentence was like a knife cutting into Drake. But it was true. Why wasn’t Camille dating a noble? She could date Maxwell if she didn’t want Liam. Maxwell Beaumont was the one noble who actually seemed like an ordinary person; he adored Camille and would treat her right. But instead, Camille was kissing Drake in secret - though not at palace balls as Trend wrongly reported. 

‘I’ll quit,’ Drake muttered, his words killing him as he spoke them. Camille’s eyes widened in horror. 

‘Drake, no-’

‘If it makes this all go away, I’ll quit,’ Drake said steadily, his eyes penetrating hers. ‘I don’t want your name dragged through the mud and for the nobles to look down on you more than they already do. I said it from the start that your reputation is important; now we’re a cover story which is so far from what I wanted. So, I’ll quit and your reputation can be restored. You’re the Duchess of Valtoria; you are important.’

He waited for Camille’s reaction. He waited for fresh tears to well up in her eyes and for her to break down again. But instead, her eyes had narrowed and she was scrutinising Drake. He swallowed. ‘Camille? Say something.’

Camille cast her eyes to the magazine. She picked it up and got to her feet, magazine in her hand. She strode across the room, her high heels clicking against the hardwood floor, as she made her way to the fireplace. Without hesitation, she threw the magazine onto the logs of wood, ready to be lit for a cosy night by the fire and a glass of wine. 

She turned to face Drake. Her shoulders were thrown back and her chin raised defiantly, the signature Camille move she adopted when summoning confidence. 

‘I am the Duchess of Valtoria,’ she said with a determined voice, ‘and you are not quitting.’

***********************

That night, Camille was invited to a dinner party at the Beaumonts. It was to be an intimate affair with only fifty nobles in attendance but she still didn’t want to go. She was sick of nobles. It was a huge irony for her that she happened to be one herself. 

She had chosen to wear a red silk dress and gold heels. Fuck Olivia Nevrakis who didn’t like it when other women wore her favourite colour. Fuck the nobles for thinking they were above everyone else in the world. Fuck Trend. Fuck the expectations set on Camille. She was done. Tonight, she was going to be like a phoenix rising from the ashes and she wasn’t going to show remorse or regret. Let them think she was fucking Drake; he was certainly the best man she knew. It wasn’t an embarrassment for her as everyone believed it should be. 

She was angry about the comments about Drake. That was what had upset her. How the article had basically said that he was inferior to Camille. How he was referred to as a human shield. Camille wanted to shout that he was so much more than a human shield and he was equal to her. Nobody was better that anyone else; what was so hard to understand about that?

Drake’s eyes widened when he saw what she was wearing. ‘You look incredible,’ he breathed. Camille smiled and watched his face turn as red as her dress as he realised he had made an ‘inappropriate’ comment. It took him a while to compose himself. 

‘If I go missing tonight,’ she said with her eyes sparkling, ‘blame Olivia Nevrakis and her obsession with being the only one to wear red.’

Drake chuckled. ‘She’ll be the first person I’ll interrogate.’

They walked out of the manor towards the car. Geoffrey was leaning against the door, enjoying a cigarette. He quickly stubbed it out when he saw the Duchess and the bodyguard approaching. ‘Apologies, Duchess!’

Camille giggled. ‘I’d kill for a cigarette right now, Geoffrey.’

Drake opened the car door for her, again making Geoffrey feel useless but again, he was used to it. 

Drake and Camille settled into the plush seats. As they made their way to the Beaumont’s, Camille chatted easily. It was as if the magazine article hadn’t happened, which to Drake, meant she was on a mission. She wasn’t going to let this faze her.

How could Drake break it to her that no matter how hard she ignored this situation, it wouldn’t go away? 

******************************

The paparazzi surrounded the car before Camille had even gotten out. The car lit up inside from the flashing and Camille shielded her eyes from the harsh glare. Her hand was trembling.

Paparazzi were still her kryptonite. No matter how confident Camille was trying to appear tonight, she had reached her obstacle. Putting on his bodyguard persona, Drake got out first, shoving past the photographers who were now photographing him.

‘Drake, how long have you been sleeping with the Duchess?’ one shouted.

‘Have you banged her in the car?’

‘Smile for us!’

‘How do you feel about the expose from Trend?’

Drake reached Camille’s door and deliberately used his broad frame to shield her from the cameras. They couldn’t see past his 6’4 muscled body, no matter how hard they tried to push past him to take a picture.

‘I’m scared..’ Camille whispered, her confidence shattering. Why was she wearing red? Why had she been so naive earlier? Why was she such a coward?

‘I’ve got you,’ Drake told her in a low voice. ‘Take my hand and keep close to me.’

Camille grabbed his hand and Drake pulled her into him, holding her close as he shut the door behind her. Her breathing was rapid and she could feel her body shaking uncontrollably. Drake shielded her as he stood in his spot, his eyes looking down into hers.

‘You are the Duchess of Valtoria,’ he murmured. ‘You are strong and brave. You are above these vultures. Don’t let them scare you or they will exploit you for their own gain. Throw your shoulders back, keep your head high and walk into the Beaumont residence like the woman I know you are. I’ll be with you every step of the way.’

Camille swallowed. The paparazzi were still shouting, trying to get the money shot. Drake gave her a terse nod. ‘Ready, kid?’

She looked up into Drake’s face. His eyes were so kind and warm. He had so much faith in her. Camille loved him. She loved him to the point where it felt like her heart was being held tight and she couldn’t breathe. It was all encompassing. 

Be brave for him. Show Cordonia that you don’t care about the story. Walk confidently with him by your side.

Camille took a deep breath and gave him a nod. ‘I’m ready.’

Drake placed his hand on her lower back and guided her away from the car, shielding her from the cameras. He watched as Camille stopped shaking and threw her shoulders back, walking with purpose towards the Beaumont residence. 

She was a phoenix rising. She was fire and steel, burning brightly beside him. Drake felt his heart flip as he watched her transform in an instant and he longed to take her into his arms and burn with her.

*************

Drake stood in the corner with Lou, Micah and Thomas. The four bodyguards kept their eyes on their Duchesses who were sitting around the dining table. 

'So anyone gonna mention the awkward cover story about Walker and the Duchess of Valtoria?', Lou muttered from the corner of his mouth. 

Micah sniggered. 'Ironic that he's the only one of us not banging his Duchess and he still becomes a cover story.' 

Drake’s jaw set at that comment. Micah instantly stopped laughing to himself and cleared his throat, knowing he should keep quiet. 

‘Is she okay?’ Thomas asked quietly.

‘She’s fucking upset,’ Drake said in a low voice. ‘But more about the comments made about me.’

They all watched Camille as she sipped her wine and spoke in low tones to Hana who was sitting by her side. Maxwell was trying his best to engage in conversation with Camille but Bertrand kept diverting his attention. Drake was beginning to suspect it was deliberate. So far, only Hana had acted normal with Camille. The other nobles had not.

Aside from a comment about how red didn’t suit Camille, Olivia had ignored her. 

Madeleine wrinkled her nose in disgust whenever she looked at Camille. 

Kiara and Penelope avoided Camille’s eyes whenever she tried to make conversation with them, instead finding the table cloth fascinating. 

Liam wouldn’t even look at Camille, keeping his eyes focused away from the woman he had proposed to just five months ago. 

Bertrand had the waiter serve Camille last. 

Drake watched furiously at the passive aggressive actions that were being performed in front of him. He fought every urge to abandon his post and storm across to Camille, taking her by the hand and getting her out of there. 

But he knew this would happen. As soon as the story made front page news, Drake knew Camille’s standing at court had been ruined. Already, she was being ostracised and no longer viewed as a shiny new thing at court. To the nobles, she was sullied; dirty; not one of them. 

And it was all Drake’s fault.

***********************************

As the night drew to a close, Camille had become more withdrawn at the table as she realised how much the court had turned against her. When Bertrand announced that they could all retire to the drawing room for champagne, Camille stood up and briskly left the room to collect her coat without excusing herself. She wasn’t going to stay for champagne in the drawing room. She had had enough of nobles. Instead, she was going to light the fire at home, watch the magazine burn into ash and drink wine. 

Drake said goodbye to his fellow bodyguards and followed Camille out the door. He had to run to catch up with her. 

‘Camille, slow down!’

‘Fuck them,’ she spat, storming across the courtyard to the car. There were no paparazzi waiting outside which was a first. ‘Fuck all of them. Narrow minded, arrogant, patronising bastards!’ 

Drake grabbed her by the arm; Camille instinctively raised her elbow to jab him in the gut. Drake stepped back, avoiding the blow. 

Camille whipped around to face him, her eyes widening in shock as she realised what she had  nearly done. ‘I’m so sorry!’ she cried. ‘I didn’t mean to use your self defence training against you-’

‘I’m glad you did,’ Drake said, interrupting her. ‘I trained you well.’

Camille let out a breath and looked past Drake towards Beaumont Manor. ‘I hate them all,’ she whispered, her voice cracking. ‘I hate this world I’m in. It’s stifling. I hate that I am part of these people. I’m never going to be one of them and I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be like Olivia or Madeline who look down on others because they feel superior. I just want to be surrounded by people who are kind and good. Is that too much to ask? The only person I have who is the embodiment of those two things is you and now they are trying to pull me away from you. I won’t have it, Drake! I won’t let them!’

Her voice was rising now, almost hysterical. Tears filled her eyes as she shouted and Drake could only listen helplessly as she vented to him. 

‘You’re better than all of them combined, Drake!’ she cried. ‘Fuck them if they don’t see it! They are horrible, horrible people and I hate every single one of them.’

She let out a sob. Drake’s heart cracked open. In an instant, he pulled her into him and held her tightly. ‘Shhh, it’s okay..’ he murmured. ‘I got you.’

Her hands clenched the lapels of his jacket as she cried into his chest. Drake closed his eyes as he held her. ‘Let’s get you home,’ he whispered. 

Camille drew away from him and looked up into his eyes. She rubbed hers harshly and allowed Drake to guide her to the car. They settled inside and didn’t speak for the entire journey, instead thinking about the dinner party, the nobles and Camille’s tirade. 

They got back to the manor. Camille stormed through to the kitchen and brought out a bottle of wine and two glasses, before striding back to the living room with determination on her face. 

Drake stood in the hallway, trying to summon the courage to tell her the one thing that would make it worse. But he couldn’t keep quiet. 

Watching the nobles treat Camille like the shit on their shoes had shown Drake just how much he had ruined her reputation. Nobles were lethal and had no qualms about freezing someone out of court if they did something deemed controversial. He thought about the future; Camille attending these events, continuing to be ignored. Camille soon not being invited and spending every night at home in the manor that was too big for her. Camille becoming lonely. Isolated. Unhappy.

Drake couldn’t have that.

Swallowing, he walked into the living room where Camille was curled up on the floor by the fire.  

‘I’m giving you my month’s notice,’ Drake said, his voice clear and stark in the silence.  ‘I’ll interview potential replacements for you as I know what they should be like. I can’t be the reason for your unhappiness. I can’t stand by and watch as your name is dragged through the mud. I’m so sorry.’

Camille didn’t look at him. But her fingers clenched the stem of her wine glass as his words hung heavily between them. She looked into the fire, willing herself not to cry. She had a feeling he would quit; yet his words still felt like a bullet in her chest. 

The magazine was burning, its pages curling into nothing, the image of Drake and Camille sharing an umbrella, smiling at each other and laughing,  turning charred and black. 

[wiener-soldiers]

hallelujah (iii) - steve trevor

summary: after your partner, steve trevor, washes up on some mysterious island, you can’t help but worry endlessly. an ocean away, steve can’t help but think about you in the company of a certain amazonian warrior-princess.

words: 2000ish

warnings: none, this is cute

parts: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv

 But Baby I’ve been here before

I've seen this room and I've walked this floor

You know, I used to live alone before I knew ya.

And I've seen your flag on the marble arch

And love is not a victory march

It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.

It seems like worrying was all you have been doing nowadays. You worried about your family: your mother who was struggling to make ends meet, your outspoken father who was most likely advocating for the entry and acceptance of refugees displaced by the fighting, and your brother who was slowly reaching the age where he could disguise himself as an eighteen-year-old and volunteer for the army. You worried about Etta, who gave herself a tremendously heavy workload and pretended that everything was chipper. You worried about your friends, Charlie, Sameer, and Chief, all suffering from emotional and physical scars from the war.

Most of all, you worried about Steve. He has not returned for weeks from his solo mission to gather intel on Dr. Poison.

He was supposed to be back eight days ago. But no one knows where he is.

The weeks without Steve were unbearably grim. You were normally sent out on missions together, but solo missions for the two of you were somewhat common. However, this mission had felt a little off to you: you had reason to be correct.

The weeks without him followed a routine: wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast if you are lucky, go to work, pretend not to worry about your partner as Etta’s chipper personality is in front of you, go home, eat some food, sleep, and repeat. You did not leave the house early with a smile on your face to meet Steve for breakfast anymore, or throw crumpled paper at him as he sits in the desk across from you at work, or debate on which deli makes the best sandwiches as you take a stroll through London for lunch, or console him through the aftermath of a terrible breakup with his fiancée after dinner.

You wondered if Steve felt the same longing for you while you were away.

You focused on that thought over a more terrifying one: if Steve was still alive.

Of course, he was alive. At least he thought he was. Washing up on a mysterious island full of women who seemed to be stuck in Ancient Greece was confusing, to the say the least.

Maybe this is all some crazy lucid dream that I’ll tell (Y/N) when I wake up, he thinks to himself.

Instead, he finds himself on a sailboat, making a makeshift bed out of sheets for Princess Diana. Princess of what, Steve still isn’t so sure.

“What are you doing?” Diana asks from behind him.

“Oh! Uh—” Steve’s mind scrambles for something to say. He will not deny that Diana is one of the most beautiful people’s he’s seen, but with his mind on (Y/N), he finds that she is more of a distraction from getting back home to her. If Steve couldn’t see you, he damn well would like to be left alone with pleasant memories of you. “I thought you’d maybe wanna get some sleep,” he finishes sheepishly, turning around to face her.

He averts his gaze downwards and shuffles out of the way as Diana makes her way to the makeshift bed. “What about you,” she asks, “Are you not sleeping? Does the average man not sleep?”

He stammers over his words a bit, still confused about how to have a conversation with her. “No, it’s just I—,” he pauses and inhales. “Yes, we sleep. But we don’t sleep with…” he finishes, gesturing towards her.

“You don’t sleep with women?”

“No! No, I do sleep with...” he retorts in a flustered manner, letting out an awkward chuckle. He shakes his head again, “Yes, yes I do. But out of the, uh, confines of marriage. It’s just, I don’t—it’s not polite to assume, you know?”

His mind wanders back to you and how you helped guide him through his horrendous breakup with his fiancée. He still doesn’t truly understand how you were able to stay by his side when on some nights, all the two of you would do is sits on his couch and stare. He was grateful, nonetheless.

He remembers one night in particular: the two had stayed at the office late, clocking in late hours to do paperwork and write reports. It was nearing ten in the evening when Steve looked up at you. You sat in the desk across from him with your eyes drooping as you tried not to fall asleep on your hand as you finished a report. He smiles softly before standing up, the legs of the chair scratching the wooden floor.

“You’re done. We’re done. We’re going home,” he declares, packing his stuff into a briefcase. You had just enough energy to look up.

“What do you mean ‘we’re done’? Steve, these reports were due a week ago and we started them at five today.”

“Well, our bosses are gonna have to get them later.”

“Steve—“

“Would you rather them read a late and crappy report or a little more late but extremely thorough report? Besides, this report isn’t even important.”

Your silence gives him his answer.

He walks over to you and begins packing your stuff as you let out an exasperated sigh, mumbling about how he was a bad influence and how the report was never going to be ‘extremely thorough’ anyways.

The two of you lock up the office and walk through the lobby, the marble floors echoing your footsteps in the empty building. As soon as the two of you step outside, you stop at the curb as Steve crosses the street.

As soon as he realizes the click in your heel and the warmth you radiated from standing beside him went away, he turned around an called back at you, “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for a cab,” you say as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“Sweetheart, it’s late and I know you can take care of yourself, but I don’t want you waiting out here this late,” he rants, not caring that the term of endearment escaped him. He cared about your wellbeing more than he did his pride.

You roll your eyes at him as you pull the trench coat you have on tighter around your body, “Do you propose that I walk home then?”

He scoffs and walks towards his car, opening the passenger door for you, “Just get in the damn car.”

You were never really one to deny a request from Steve, so you slid into his car.

Though you want to keep a conversation with him, the cool air and his smooth driving are enough to make you fall asleep against the leather passenger seat. Every now and then, Steve finds himself sneaking glances at you, then at himself in the reflection of the window mirror.

What am I doing? he thinks to himself as he watches you, lovestruck. Though he just got out of a messy relationship, he didn’t fear loving you. He didn’t fear getting close to you because he knew that you were different from his ex and would never hurt him.

He parks his car in front of your apartment building and helps you out of the car and up the stairs. It is a struggle trying to open your apartment door while bearing most of your weight as you nuzzle your face into his chest, too tired to care if you are being embarrassed.

Steve helps you inside and helps you change out of your jacket and shoes. He helps you remove your formal wear so just the slip dress underneath covers your body. You are too tired to feel uncomfortable and Steve has too much respect for you to look anywhere but your face. He helps you to bed and spends a few minutes sitting beside your head stroking you hair until he is sure you have fallen asleep, just as you had done to him when you had found him drinking away his sorrows and helping him get home safely.

Somewhere in between, you falling asleep and the morning, Steve had also fallen asleep in your bed. He woke up and the break of dawn with his arms wrapped around your waist and your head on his chest. Though he knows that it is best for everyone if he leaves, he lets himself enjoy this moment of tranquility. For a moment, everything else washes away and it is just you and him, basking in the morning light. He places a soft kiss on your head before hesitantly climbing out of bed and driving home.

When he arrives to work that morning, changed and showered, you are already sitting at your desk finishing your report. You smile at him as he sits down but immediately continue working.

Steve lets out a sigh (of relief or disappointment, he can’t tell). You didn’t know that he fell asleep in your bed last night.

Maybe it’s best for everyone if she doesn’t know, he thinks to himself. He never brings it up.

“Marriage?” Diana asks him, and he is snapped back to reality.

“Marriage. Do you not have that on…,” he sighs, remembering Patricia, his ex-fiancée. “You go before a judge and you swear to love, honour and cherish each other until death does you part,” he mutters quickly.

“And do they? Love each other until death?”

He wants to laugh, cry, and scream. But instead, he answers, “Not very often, no.”

“Then why do they do it?”

Steve finds himself speechless. He was once hopelessly in love with a woman who did not love him to propose, only to have his heart and emotions served back to him in a casket with her signature all over it. “I…have no idea,” he finds himself saying, chuckling at the end as he hopes to relieve his own discomfort.

“So, you cannot sleep with me unless a marry you,” Diana states.

“I will sleep with you if you want!” he finally answers with a joking tone, hoping to appease her. “I will sleep right there.”

“There’s plenty of room.”

“Then, fine, if you don’t mind…”

“No, it’s up to you.”

“I know it’s up to me, I’m making the choice. I will come to sleep with you.”

Diana chuckles softly in slight confusing at Steve’s sudden edge at the topic of marriage, “Okay.”

Steve stands up to lay down beside her but is certain to keep a respectable amount of distance between them. He lies rigidly and awkwardly beside her as Diana shift to face him, resting her chin on her hands.

He suddenly feels embarrassed by how he behaved when Diana mentioned marriage, and how easily distracted he was when his mind drifted to (Y/N). “You know where I come from, I’m not considered average,” he starts, already cringing at his own need to protect his pride. “You know, being a spy, you have to show a certain amount of…vigor,” he finishes lamely.

“Are there no women spies, where you come from?”

His heart skips a beat, “There’s not a lot, to be honest, almost none. There’s uh—well there’s my partner.”

“Your partner? As in your partner in marriage?” she pegs on.

“No! I uh, no. No just my, uh…partner. In spy work. My spy partner,” he stutters. He hopes that Diana is poor at picking up social cues, as his answer was blatantly showcasing his true feelings.

“Will I meet her? When we go to the mainland,” she asks after a beat.

“Yeah, I mean—I hope you will. Unless she went off on an assignment or something.”

“Tell me about her.”

Steve clears his throat, suddenly feeling warm. “She’s smart. Kind. Loves her family, would do anything for them, really. Trustworthy, she always has my back. Caring, forgiving, reliable. An excellent listener…”

Diana listened as Steve continued to list things off about his partner. The way his face lit up and his eyes sparkled was a reflection of how her mother looked at her. This is love, Diana concluded, Maybe, this is the reason why people get married.

taglist: @sebastianstanfoundmymixtape, @accio-rogers, @lionheo04, @stupendoussciencenaturepanda

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 3

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

��

Malcolm didn’t get a second of sleep that night.  After more than an hour tossing and turning in bed, mind racing, he reluctantly reached for his tablet and glasses, turning on the bedside lamp.

A simple Google search turned up hundreds of thousands of articles on inheritance, but none seemed to offer any solutions to receiving the inheritance without meeting the stipulations of the will.  He was an old man, perhaps he was going senile?  Why would he do this?

He shot off an email to the will executor and solicitor, asking Is it possible he was not in sound mind?  Is there a previous version of the will that doesn’t include this marriage requirement?

It was likely a vain hope, but he had to try.  Resolving to forget about the marriage idea for the moment, he turned his attention to finding a job posting board.  After a few false starts he tried charity administrator openings London, and with a sigh, began reading through the first posting.

No matter what happens, this is going to suck.  Thanks a lot, Uncle Wally.

-

Friday

By the time his alarm went off he was dressed and ready to go, texting Graham to cancel his morning pickup and deciding to take the Underground instead.  Pausing just outside the gate and staring up at the townhouse, he realized with a jolt, Everything I have is tied up in the Estate.  If I lose this inheritance, I lose everything.

At twenty-seven he’d fled Glasgow before the ink on his divorce papers was dry, bringing Clara to London for a fresh start.  His uncle had been kind enough to give him a job working for The Thistle Foundation in the mailroom, and he spent most of the next decade working his way up and earning his keep until Wallace decided to retire, leaving Malcolm in charge.  The townhouse went with the Estate, having been owned by the family since shortly after it was built, and he didn’t so much draw a salary from the Foundation as receive a stipend from his uncle.

I’m fifty years old and have almost nothing to my name.

It had always been a given that he would inherit; Wallace had never had children, his only sibling Malcolm’s father, and Malcolm was in effect an only child, his brother having died decades ago.  He’d never had to worry about assets, had few personal expenses.  To lose the Estate would cost him everything.

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed his stop, barely making it through the doors onto the platform before they closed.  Coming up to street-level he looked around, catching sight of the little shop Rose usually got their morning coffees from, only recognizing it by the familiar logo.

Stepping inside, it wasn’t until he was facing the cashier he realized he had no idea what Rose usually ordered.  “Erm, hi.  I don’t do this, my assistant is usually in here – pretty, blonde, big smile, name of Rose?  D’you-”

“Oh, you must be Malcolm!” the girl, Amy, gushed, eyes lighting up.  “Of course we know Rose, she’s in here everyday!  Oi, Mel, Rose’s regular order, stat!”  She turned back to him, finding him blinking at her in surprise.  “Always nice to meet a fellow Scot.  Rose is great, isn’t she?”

“The absolute best,” he agreed proudly, unsurprised but touched by the impression she obviously left everywhere she went.  That’s my gi- that’s Rose.  “I’d be hopelessly lost without her.”

“Too right.  Anyway, here we are, that’s ten quid,” she passed over two large takeaway cups of coffee and a pastry bag.

Right.  Feeling like a moron, entirely out of sorts after first the previous day’s bombshell and then no sleep, he dug out a twenty-pound note and thrust it across the space.  “Keep the change.  Thanks.”

Picking up the order he made his way to the door, more focused on the drinks than where he was walking, elbowing open the door and slamming right into someone entering.  “Shit!”  He barely managed to keep hold of everything, coffee sloshing dangerously but only spilling a little, and he looked up to give the person a piece of his mind only to stop dead in surprise.  “Oh, fuck me.”

Rose arched one eyebrow in response, a smile flickering over her lips.  “I’d rather not get banned from here, if it’s all the same to you, ta.” She plucked one of the cups from his hand, lifting it to her nose before taking a large gulp.  “What’re you doing here?”

Stepping out onto the sidewalk they started down the street towards their building, falling naturally into sync.

“I couldn’t sleep, thought I’d come in early.  I saw the place, and…” he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder.  “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she echoed, rolling her eyes.  “Clara stopped by, talked my ear off until half two.  Decided to just get a move on.”

The silence was awkward, which only served to annoy him; they had always had a good rapport, after the first six or so months once she had settled into her role.  Now, eight years later he considered their partnership to be a well-oiled machine, two halves of a whole despite the on-paper power imbalance.

He held the door for her as they entered their building, nodding to the security guards as they buzzed through.  Rose hit the button on the lift for their floor, and they rode up alone.

Malcolm followed her to her desk, watching as she flicked on the lights and shrugged off her coat, vaguely curious to her routine; she typically arrived only a few minutes before him- long enough to be settled and ready to face the day, but recent enough that his coffee was always hot and fresh.

“Oh!” she yelped, turning around to see him leaning on the corner of her desk, watching her.  “D’you need something?  My computer’s still booting up.”

The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, before he sighed, shoulders slumping.  “No, I’m good.  Just- oh, you know what you’re doing.  I’ll be in my office.”  Extracting his muffin from the pastry bag he slunk into his office, falling into his desk chair and turning to gaze listlessly out the window.

What am I supposed to do?

-

It was, quite frankly, the worst day of Rose’s professional career.  Things got done, most of her duties able to be completed on autopilot after so long, but she could muster no spark to put into any of it.  No banter. None of her signature Rose Tyler charm.

Her computer dinged and she glanced up from where she was poking at her salad halfheartedly to groan.  “Oh, you’ve got to be motherfucking shitting me.”

“Rose Tyler!”  Malcolm’s delighted voice made her jump and yelp, “I’m so proud of you.  That was almost a proper swear.”

“Missy’s on her way up,” she didn’t even look at him, clicking on the IM box from Mickey, the building’s security guard and one of her oldest friends.  It was just an emoji, two wide eyes, but it was their code.  “What do you want me to do?”

He sighed heavily.  “Fine, I’ll see her.  I swear, she must have my office bugged or something.”

The lift dinged, and she raised her eyes to glance at him.  He looks like he’s having as rough a day as I am.  He’d said he hadn’t slept; had it been for the same reason she hadn’t?  No, he was probably thinking about the gala.  Of course it was about that, dingbat.  “I’ll send her in.”

“Thanks.”

He disappeared back into his office as Missy walked in, and Rose had to bite her lip hard to keep from laughing or rolling her eyes.  What did he ever see in her?  Missy Tucker was without comparison the most extravagant, eccentric person she’d ever met, and that included all of her mother’s rich society ‘friends’.

“Good afternoon, welcome to The Thistle Foundation, do you have an appointment?” Rose asked sweetly, as the older woman approached her desk.

“I’d like to see my husband, please.”  Missy’s smile was just as fake-sweet as Rose’s, as they went through the whole song-and-dance.  One of the very first things Rose had been taught on her first day, by both Malcolm and her predecessor Jo, was to stall Missy as long as possible, making enough trouble that she didn’t find it worth it to visit the office.

This is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother, Rose lectured herself, pretending to stare intently at her screen for a moment.  “I can give you a few minutes, but he has a call at one that he can’t miss.”

“Thank you.”  And she swept past Rose into Malcolm’s office.

Once the door shut behind her, Rose let loose an undignified snort.  Taking a subtle picture with her mobile, she texted it to Clara with the caption Your mum’s here.

Missy Tucker was the subject of ongoing amusement amongst the three; every time she appeared after months of no contact she had an entirely different style, often with a slight tweak to her features suggesting she was a fan of cosmetic surgery.  Today her chosen look was that of evil Mary Poppins, complete with a plum-colored ankle-length skirt and matching dress coat, a white dress shirt buttoned to the neck with an elaborate bow, black heeled boots, a delicate hat, and an umbrella Rose would swear was an actual prop from the movie.

She looked ridiculous, and like she would be right at home as the evil orphanage matron in a Victorian version of Annie!

Are you fucking kidding me? Clara pinged back almost immediately.  I love my Dad, but God I wish I was adopted.  Please tell me I didn’t inherit her fashion sense!

Snickering, Rose shook her head and returned to her work polishing up her resume.  At precisely one o’clock she buzzed in on the intercom, using what Clara called her flight attendant voice.  “Malcolm, I have that potential donor on line two.”

“Thank you, Miss Tyler.”

A moment later the door opened and Missy stalked out, a murderous expression on her face.  “I’ll talk to you soon,” she threatened her ex over her shoulder, ignoring Rose as she stormed towards the lift.

Rose waited until the lift doors closed before rising and entering Malcolm’s office.  “So?”

He was lying on his couch with his head back against the cushions, a crystal cut glass of scotch hanging loosely from his hand.  “She wants to reconcile, says she’s changed, wants to go back to what we once were.”

“What did you say?”  She settled gingerly on the end of the glass coffee table by his head, watching as he opened tired eyes to stare at her.

“That who we were went up in a flaming pile of shit twenty-three years ago when I caught her high in bed with the babysitter on our fifth wedding anniversary.  That who we were was a childhood friendship that went too far.  That who we were died many, many years ago.”

He looked so sad, Rose’s heart went out to him.

“It’s far, far too late now.  A part of me will always miss that, always wonder, but…  It’s ancient history.  Never mind that this is all because of Wallace’s death and the inheritance.  She didn’t say it, but I know her.  Anything that even sniffs of money or power and she’s first in line, plotting how to get it.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose offered, giving him a kind smile.  “You deserve better than her.”

Sighing, he struggled upright, turning to plant his feet on the ground and set the untouched glass of scotch on the coffee table next to her.  “Thanks.”

Their eyes met, and for once, she didn’t blush and look away.  Clara’s question from the previous night circled back through her mind, and she let herself actually see him.  Ice blue eyes capable of such a coldness shined back, warm and open, something only a privileged few were allowed to see.  His strong features could be severe, Clara had once called them attack eyebrows, but when he smiled… his entire face would light up, almost like he was a different person.

She'd always found him attractive, may have had the occasional fantasy involving them, a bottle of wine, and a hot tub, but love?

Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she automatically licked her own.  She would be lying if she said she’d never wondered – didn’t everyone, at some point?  He drew closer, and she realized that she was leaning in; they were both leaning in.  Is this really happening?

Rose’s eyes fluttered closed, her heart pounding, and she could feel his breath against her lips when-

“Dad?”

[purelypeaky]

Spite

You’re the wife of a policeman who’s been giving the Peaky Blinders some trouble. Tommy Shelby decides to pay you a visit one night.

Tommy Shelby x reader

Warnings: s\m\u\t (ft. smug, slutty Tommy)

A\N: for the purposes of this oneshot, your husband has the last name Cooper

Masterlist

Just as the evening tea came off the stove, the doorbell rang. You had only moved to Birmingham a month ago so you weren’t sure who would be calling on you this late. Setting the tea aside, you wrapped a robe around your nightgown and answered the door.

A man stood there holding an unopened bottle of booze, the streetlamp outside backlighting his silhouette. It was Thomas Shelby. You recognized him from photographs, but he had much kinder eyes under his cap than the stories your husband would tell you of the bastard gangsters.

“You must be Mrs. Cooper,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips when he glanced at your attire. “Wife of Officer Cooper.”

“I am. What can I do for you, Mr. Shelby?”

“You know who I am?”

You gave him a smile. “I know you’re with the Peaky Blinders. The leader, I believe. Is that the nature of this visit?”

“No ma’am, you ‘ave my word.” He cocked his head innocently. “Am I not allowed to pay a visit to a new member of Birmingham’s finest?”

With a wave of your hand, you stepped aside and let Thomas saunter in before shutting the door behind both of you. You were going to correct him on the whereabouts of your husband before he got too comfortable, but he beat you to it.

“Or at least visit his wife while she’s home alone?”

“Now Mr. Shelby,” you said sweetly, “I hope you would have better sense than to threaten me.”

“The Peaky Blinders don’t hurt women and the same goes for me, Mrs. Cooper. This is a house call to welcome you to the city.”

For some reason you weren’t scared of him. It was true, your husband was on the night shift and now the leader of the gang he despised was standing in your kitchen, but Thomas was unassuming and respectful so far. He’d even taken off his hat when he came inside.

And maybe you were slightly curious as to why he was visiting.

“I heard this was your favorite,” he boasted, setting the bottle of booze on the table.

You raised an eyebrow before turning to clear away some dishes. “And just where do you hear things about me?”

When Thomas didn’t answer right away, you turned back to find him carefully gazing at you as he took a drag of his cigarette and shed his jacket to hang it on the back of one of the chairs.

After a few curious moments, he smiled and gestured at you.

“Your ‘usband likes to do a lot of talking when he’s bringin’ one of my brothers in.”

A laugh escaped before you could catch it and you quickly went back to the dishes. But any tension in the air was melting as easily as the cold against the fireplace and Thomas did look rather proud of himself.

“Well he got it right, Mr. Shelby,” you quipped. “And that is not inexpensive, so thank you.”

“Share some with me?”

You slowly swiveled toward him, wringing the rag in your hand as you took your own moment to study him. “You don’t want tea this time of night?”

“No, Mrs. Cooper, if that’s alright with you.” He sat down and smugly propped an elbow up on the table, not the kind of thing a man does if he’s wanting tea.

Of course you still hadn’t figured out what he wanted from the visit at all, but you decided that one drink of your favorite booze wouldn’t hurt. Didn’t want to make a gangster mad, after all.

“Alright, Mr. Shelby. A drink it is.”

You opened the cabinet to look for glasses and smiled to yourself when you found the two you wanted. Sliding them along the table to Thomas, you made sure your robe was secured and perched in the chair across from him.

“My husband says everything tastes better out of these glasses.”

Thomas poured the drinks, sighing as he handed you a glass and took a sip of his own. “Fine, upstanding Officer Cooper and his bright ideas.”

After a brief pause, you felt comfortable enough to say with a smile, “I’m sure you’ve gathered that he doesn’t like you very much.”

“I can unfortunately say the same about him.” Thomas slowly leaned back in his chair. “So let’s not talk about him tonight, eh? I’m here to check on his missus.”

A heat rose to your cheeks that you blamed on the first sips of alcohol. Instead of questioning the whole situation, you took a bigger drink and crossed your leg expectantly. “What would you like to talk about, Mr. Shelby?”

“It’s Thomas.”

“And it’s Y\N.”

“I know,” he said evenly.

That must have been the only thing he knew about you because he went on to ask about plenty of other things. Your family, your childhood, where you’d been in Birmingham so far. He told you a little about his own family and stories about growing up and even made you laugh a few times.

One drink turned to two and you didn’t even notice when he poured you a third. Which meant that some of it spilled onto the table when you bumped the glass.

“Shit, sorry,” you murmured, standing up to grab the dishrag.

But when you turned back around Thomas had crossed the space between you and was dangerously close. He caught your forearms to steady you and then slowly leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. Then he pulled back and waited, resting his nose against yours as you breathed in the moment.

And immediately dove in.

From there it was a frenzy. Your fingers in his hair, his kisses ravishing your lips, both of you stumbling for the bedroom but never stopping your hands or mouths. Your robe slipped off easily in the hallway and his waistcoat followed suit when you pulled him along into the bedroom.

Ignoring the photographs of your husband on the wall, Thomas deftly slipped down the straps of your nightgown and took a long look at you as it pooled at your feet. His hands followed his eyes, grazing along your newly bared skin. You were still tipsy but you’d never felt more alert than at the mercy of his touch.

“You’re still wearing a lot, Thomas...” you ventured.

He smiled as his eyes slowly raised back up. “Can’t have that, eh?”

Kissing you deeply, he worked down the buttons of his shirt and let you push it off his shoulders. You only got to glance at the tattoos along his chest and arm while he slipped his pants off and then he crushed you against him, the warmth of his skin electrifying you.

The bed caught your tangled bodies and he never stopped leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and chest. Your hands haphazardly squeezed at his shoulders as pleasure began to cloud your mind and a tightness pulled between your legs. There was no guilt, no hesitation, only the bliss of how right it felt to have Thomas’s strong body on top of yours.

All at once he was face-to-face again, curving an arm around your back as he lined himself up and thrust into you. You moaned, adjusting to him perfectly and loving how his head fell to the crook of your neck when he found a rhythm that worked well.

“Thomas...” you breathed, lifting your hips to meet his each time. “Thomas, oh god...”

He slipped a hand down to press at your clit and watched with a haughty grin as your gentle expression morphed into deeper pleasure.

“Does your ‘usband make you feel like that?”

You just clutched him harder. You didn’t want to think about your husband at the moment.

Instead you roughly kissed Thomas and rolled on top, bracing against his chest to ride him for all he was worth. He grunted and latched onto your hips, grinding you down harder again and again. When he couldn’t take in anymore he sat up and pressed your chests together again, still rocking into you all the while.

Your head fell back as the tension in your core got tighter and then he dared to kiss you, capturing your mouth just when you moaned his name once more. The climax took you immediately and heated bliss washed over you in waves. Thomas was right behind you and his hips satisfyingly stuttered through the end before he collapsed backward and brought you with him.

His deep voice rumbled to you soon afterward. “I’m impressed, Mrs. Cooper.”

You lifted up and smiled. “I was never a whore, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckled.

The process of piecing yourselves back together was slow but deliberate, making sure nothing was left behind or looked out of place. Your clothes didn’t take long to put on and it left you time to watch Thomas finish redressing. As he buttoned up his waistcoat, you asked a question that had been bothering you since the two of you stumbled into that room.

“Did you fuck me because you like me or because you hate my husband?”

He tugged the waistcoat straight and then pulled a cigarette from the pocket. “I believe we simply fucked.”

You knew the real answer but decided that if he was going to ignore it, so were you.

The two of you strolled back up to the front of the house and you cleared away the glasses from the kitchen table, still perched at their opposite ends from a more innocent time in the evening. You turned back as Thomas was shrugging on his coat and openly gazed at him, a smile growing on your lips when he noticed.

“Do you always wear those sharp suits?”

“I wanted to dress up for the occasion,” he tossed back.

You picked up the bottle of booze from where it was still sat on the table and gave it a few thoughtful taps before holding it out to Thomas.

“I’m sure you’ll want this back.”

It was his turn to smile. “I think it would be easier if you kept it ‘ere. Spares me from carrying it back an’ forth, eh?”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise but you were far from disappointed. No, you could get used to these kinds of house calls.

Thomas carefully pushed his kitchen chair back to its rightful place and gave you a resolute nod with a smirk you knew you’d be dreaming about soon.

“Good night, Mr. Shelby.”

He opened the door and slipped that signature cap back on his head before he strode into the night, calling to you over his shoulder.

“Welcome to Birmingham, Mrs. Cooper.”

[supersoldierfreak]

Devotee

Slowly making my way through requests after a long writing hiatus......

Request: Hi Phee!! I’ve read all your fics and they’re so goooddddd! I was wondering if you could do a con-artist!reader x bucky where he knows her before joining with the avengers and he calls her (unbeknownst to the Avengers) and she turns up and stuff?? 

Whoop, so here we go I’ll be trying to make my way through the list over the next couple of days and I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long and this has taken so long to get written :( xx

Masterlist

“The painting ‘Starry Night Over The Rhone’ has been stolen in transit from the Musee d’Orsay in Paris to The Metropolitan Museum of Art here in New York.”

Stark scoffed. “We’re the Avengers; why are you coming to us over art theft?”  

“Because it’s not the first theft. There have been several other high-level thefts of a similar nature and we believe they’re all related.”  Fury stared him down with his one eye. 

Steve looked up from the file in front of him. “And by similar nature you mean?”

Fury leaned off the table. “All of them have been art thefts or valuable items. Moreover, they’ve all had the same signature left at the scene.” He pulled out an item and placed it on the table before flicking his coat and walking out the door.

On the table laid an origami swan.

A man who had been silent all the way through the meeting made eye-contact with femme fatale sat opposite him before walking out the room alongside everyone else.

Later that day, Bucky Barnes sat on the bed of the room Stark had given him spinning the burner phone in his hand. Coming to a conclusion he dialed a number and waited with baited breath.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

You slipped past a businessman, sliding his wallet from his suit pocket and smirked before extracting the notes from the wallet, putting them into your own bag before doubling back and slipping the wallet back into the man’s pocket and continued down Fifth Avenue, no one any the wiser.  You had barely moved when your phone began to ring causing you to raise it to an ear, only barely glancing at the Caller ID.

“Hey Barnes, it’s been a long time since you’ve decided to show face.” Your tone was light, showing nothing was meant by the comment.

“What can I say? It’s been rather busy.” The man replied with a chuckle.

You rolled your eyes. “Somehow, through magic obviously, I don’t think this is just a social call.”

“Damn doll, how could you have known; it must be the magic.”

You laughed into the phone at his sarcasm as you moved south. “How can I help?”

“Heard of the collectibles thefts going on at the moment? Well we’ve been assigned the case by Fury.”

“Wait Nick Fury as in the dead but now apparently not dead SHIELD director?”

“Yeah, but that’s not common intel so mind out. Thought the case may be of some interest to you if you wanted in, Y/N.”

“Consider my interest caught but tell them I want a 10% cut when I’m done because I already have it down to three people anyway. Are you based at the tower or some other ex-government secret base?”

Bucky laughed. “No, we’re at the tower. I’m guessing you’re on your way?”

“Make sure they’re ready for me. And tell Nat I’ve missed her.”

The line went as you ended the call, the Empire State Building and Avengers Tower coming into sight.

The doors loomed over your head as you pushed your way through the spinning door. you scanned the crowd before picking an employee. You flashed a smile onto your face bumping into the poor woman.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to! Here let me help.” You grabbed the files she had dropped on the floor with her help and as you handed them over you slid her badge off waist. “Once again miss, I’m so sorry!” Flashing an apologetic smile at her as you walked backwards to reach the gates. You scanned your new security card so the guard could buzz you through and you waited till you were out of sight in the elevator.

Scanning the card one more, the buttons became illuminated so you could choose the one you wanted. Ascending to what you knew to be the Avengers floor, you happily sipped your Starbucks drink you had acquired from reception and watched the numbers flash.

When the elevator opened with a ping you strolled out and surveyed it all. The modern design showed an open plan kitchen and living area with a large dining table to transition the two.  Various things were scattered around the place: papers, files, a gun, and a few books on the kitchen island. Bucky stood there, arms crossed looking at you amused.

“Was the Starbucks necessary?”

You looked affronted. “Absolutely.”

You opened your arms and walked towards him as he did the same, his tightly wrapping around your waist and yours swung around his neck in a tight hug.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N.” He whispered.

“You too, James.” You pulled away and took a few steps around the kitchen, your hand just barely brushing over the gun on the side. “So now I’ve gone through weapon checks and reunions...”

The sound of a gun being cocked sounded behind you and you trailed off staring at James sending telepathic help signals.

James who was leaning forward on the island, smiled at the person and shook his head. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

A familiar female questioned it. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes sarcastically as you turned around head down. “Well for one it would bloody hurt.”

You could see the gun lowering through your hair before the grip tightening and a loud click was audible. And again. And again. And..

“Looking for this?” You lent back on the island, armed folded, holding the missing magazine from the gun.

“Y/N?” Natasha’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped ever so slightly.

“Hey Nat.” You smiled as she zoomed to embrace you in a tight hug.

“What are you doing here? Not that I’m not loving the fact you’re here.” Natasha took steps until she was with the rest of the team again.

“Well, mon cherie,” You moved around to lean on his shoulder in mock adoration. “Our darling soldier gave me a ring.”  

James shrugged you off with a chuckle.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, stepped forward. “Who are y-”

“Oh my god! You guys could have told me that there was a legend in the building. Y/N L/N, I am a huge fan of your work and your innate ability to piss off almost any figure of authority there is. I mean it’s truly incredible and-”

“ Mr Stark. Thank you.” A deep voice cut the billionaire off as a man dressed in purely black garments walked in, an eye-patch and all. “Avengers, this is Y/N L/N, the best con-artist in the world.”

“Hey! Alleged con-artist. They never actually proved I did any of my alleged work. Besides I’m touched; you think I’m the best?”

“You said it yourself: everybody knows you did your ‘alleged’ work but they can never tie it to you making you the best, Y/N.” Natasha interrupted as she clicked the gun magazine back into place.

“Prove it.” Sam Wilson aka The Falcon. 

You laughed. “Okay, sure. Can I borrow your wallet a second?”

He patted around his pockets only to look up and see you smirking, holding the wallet. “What? How? You haven’t even come near me?”

“You shouldn’t underestimate me, Wilson, it’s rather provocative.” You raised an eyebrow and twirled the wallet in my hand before tossing it back to him.

He opened it only to see brown leather. 

“Missing these?” Your hand held his card and $65 in bills

“Yeah give ‘em back. That’s mine.” You laughed at him before sliding it along the counter to him.

“Yeah, I think I’m alright.” Although as you said this you were testing the balance of one of Barton’s knives he kept on him at all times.

Clint just stared at you entirely confused but accepted the knife gingerly when you held it for him.

“So, as your new Art theft consultant I will take the liberty of narrowing down the suspect list to three people.” You threw three folders from your bag onto the counter as Bucky stood next to you. “Yeah you have him to thank for this.”

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1. Mun information Preferred Name: Xochitl Age: 21 Pronouns: They/Them Timezone: CST Activity Level(Scale 1-10): 8 Discord:  Password: Eric Cartman is a fatass

2. Muse Information Muse’s name: Michael Age: 17 Birthday: 13 November Height: 6’ 7" Sexuality: Constantly questioning Gender/Pronouns: Cis Male; He/Him 3. Personality (two paragraph) Michael is just as much of an asshole as he was in his childhood. He never has cared much for being popular with his peers just as he’s never cared much for anything. His apathetic and stoic attitude has made it difficult for him to form any close relationships outside the goths, or any sort of relationship for that matter. He has a disdain for anyone he considers to be followers of the “conformist agenda”, whatever the hell that means. Essentially, the school’s elite and most liked are at the very top of his shit list and while it is possible to get Michael to change his opinions, it’s extremely difficult. He’s immensely stubborn so much to the point that it has no doubt gotten on even his closest friends’ nerves.  On the opposite end, however, Michael does have his approachable days. To those he considers friends, he isn’t as stern and even tends to dote on them, much like a mother. He’s thoughtful, honest but thoughtful. He doesn’t particularly like being an asshole to those he truly cares about. With the goths, he’s overprotective and affectionate in his own way. He would never go out of his way to purposefully hurt them. He’s deny this if it was brought up, however. His pride still reigns over everything else. 4. Appearance (two paragraph) Michael stand’s at 6’ 7", a very tall boy but not too unusual considering his family is one of the more “vertically blessed” in town. While he was known for his cachexic physique as a child, the goth has grown into himself. He isn’t the most jacked dude in town but he has toned up, more than would be expected give how slender he is. Even disregarding his height, Michael is a very lengthy person. His fingers are elongated and skeletal, and his legs are much longer than his torso, giving off the appearance that the boy is 80% leg. [A bit of a reach but you get the drift.] He’s very easy to pick out in a crowd. His complexion is pale and slightly yellow, like very aged parchment. His eyes are dark, piercing, and judgmental. He has a very attractive face: slender, high cheekbones, blemish-free, and mature. Model-esque, in it’s own way. He wears long dark coats—some simple, some extravagant—and never leaves the house without the comfort of makeup and jewelry. All of the rings, earrings, and necklaces he wears are custom made, handmade by himself of course. No matter where he goes, even if it’s just to grocery shop, Michael is dressed to the nines. His most casual pieces of clothing, that aren’t specifically pajamas, are dress shirts and slacks. His nails are always neat and manicured. His eyebrows always groomed and highlighted with makeup. His hair is never less than perfect. Again, he is a very prideful man and it reigns above everything else.

7. Name at least 5 headcanons

✞ If there’s one thing Michael will put a ton of effort in, it’s his appearance. He wakes up earlier than normal to make sure he is presentable even when staying in. He has a collection of high-end makeup and hair products that he uses on the daily. He also takes great care of skin and uses a variety of moisturizers, cleansers, exfoliators, etc. His daily routine usually takes around 2 hours to complete. He even goes to a fancier salon to get his hair cut and dyed professionally.He buys a lot of his clothing online and will often have it tailored because of his height. ✞ His home life and relationship with his family isn’t the best. His mother and father are constantly fighting and separate usually every other month. His parents usually take their frustrations out on him since he is the one who intervenes in a majority of their fight. They’ve gotten into a habit of kicking him out every so often. He is currently homeless due to this and is staying at the local motel. He also has two older siblings [who can be seen in the background photos in Michael’s home in Dawn of the Posers]: a sister and a brother. The three of them have a tight bond because of how awful their relationship with their parents is. Michael is very protective of his older siblings, and vice versa. ✞ He’s very much a dick and won’t be very nice to a majority of the characters. He is a bit nicer to the Goth Kids but he’ll still pick on them. He sees the other goths as family and will be overly-protective of them to point where he’d be willing to batter someone for hurting them.

✞ Speaking of which, Michael is a brute. He’s very violent when it comes to his fighting style. He won’t go picking fights unprovoked though, so stay on his good side and you’ll be fine. He still suffers from anger issues but he’s managed to push down his rage save for a couple of touchy subjects. ✞ A lot of his interests revolve around horror, the macabre, and things that are generally considered taboo. This, of course, includes horror movies, urban legends, the occult, the supernatural, mythology, demonology, cults and even serial killers [though he does not romanticize or idolize murder]. He’s also big on conspiracy theories. He loves hearing about them even if they’re the most outrageous thing ever. ✞ A secret interest of his is that he’s super into Angels. He knows a lot about them for someone who is not religious in the slightest and dabbles in doing angel readings and contacting them. He finds both demons and angels absolutely fascinating. ✞ He’s also a pyro and is almost always setting random crap on fire. He has a huge collection of Zippo lighters that he uses for this task. He hasn’t started any major fires since the Hot Topic, though. ✞ He still writes poetry. He’s also taken a liking to photography and metal-working. He’ll often take photos of his friends of when he’s just walking around with his Polaroid camera. He learned how to work metal on his own and usually just makes jewelry and charms.

✞ Michael works two jobs to support himself and his bearded dragons. After having been regularly kicked out by his parents in high school, Michael decided to find his own place the moment he could afford. However, the bills soon began to overwhelms him and he had to drop out of college his first semester to take on another job to keep him and his scaly children alive. He currents manages a record store during the day and bartends during the night.

8. Write two decent sized paragraphs that shows how you would portray your muse

May 26th. The end of the school year is merely days away. The senior class of South Park High School are all ready to graduate and move on with their lives. Universities, technical schools, and careers have all been planned and the students are ready to set them into motion. And while his classmates are chattering about move-in dates and fall schedules, Michael still hadn’t locked in on an after-graduation plan. He didn’t have much of a choice. It was either work or school and neither of those appealed to him. There was always travel but one needs money for the expenses and ,in turn, a job or two. It was depressing to think about how he would be the one to be trapped in the frozen wasteland that is South Park, Colorado. While Michael had his heart set on one school in particular, he had never heard back from them. In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have only applied to one school, kept his options open. Maybe then he’d relate to his classmates’ conversations, even if he only managed to get into Denver U. He wouldn’t still be an outcast. But traditional schooling was never for him, higher education or not. Michael knew what he wanted from a young age. “Pratt Institute or bust” was his mentality but that dream was closer than ever to being shattered. It has now been months since acceptance letters were sent out and Michael had gotten nothing, not even a notice of rejection. He was just about to give up on the idea until he noticed something on the kitchen island: an envelope addressed to him. His breath hitched in his throat the moment the signature yellow insignia that read “PRATT”. Skeletal fingers trembling, the goth opened up the envelope with a such a painfully slow pace that even the world’s laziest sloth would become impatient. Why was he so nervous? There was only two possible outcomes and he had already mentally prepared for rejections months ago. And even if he did manage to be accepted, there was no way he’d be able to afford the travel expenses, much less tuition. Still, he held a sliver of hope in his dark heart that he’d spend his future days far from the mundane world of the small mountain town, living life to the fullest in New York City, as cliche as that thought was. Michael Nguyen-Darbi, Upon review of your application… He could feel his heartbeat resonate in his head. The goth’s vision was becoming hazy. His nerves had completely taken over, making him sickly. Stop stalling and finish reading the letter, Michael. Don’t be a bitch. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, readying himself to finish. As soon as his eyes shot open he read the rest of the line. …we are glad to offer you acceptance to Pratt Institute. In that moment, all time seemed to stop. It was surreal, reading those words. He did it….he actually fucking did it. Michael’s breaths were ragged, labored and audible. The euphoria he felt was overwhelming, so much so that he stumbled back from loss of balance, grabbing onto the kitchen counter for support. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, growing from the a tiny upwards curl to a bright, toothy grin. Michael took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before letting out a loud “Yes!!” God was he glad no one was home. But he wished someone was. He needed to share this news. Fumbling around in his pocket, Michael searched for his phone. He swiped through his contacts before calling the one under the name ‘Assmunch ☠’. Rising. Riiiiing. “Pete? Guess what I just fucking got..” 9. Any additional information  you would like to add That’s it!

[endkrp-blog]

                                                  GUEST FILE.

                                                      name    kang illhwa                                                       d.o.b    07/17/1991 (26)                                                       occupation   stay at home wife                                                           room    501

                                                          welcome to the end.                                                              kindest regards.

— first, we inquire: why?

from birth to teenhood, illhwa grew up in a small two bedroom house with her mother, father, and younger sister. she shared her room, her food, her phone – everything that belonged to illhwa belonged to her sister. only being a year apart, they were often mistaken for twins, and at times, it felt like that, too. they had nearly the same everything, their parents complaining about how costly it was to have two children. the sisters tried to stick close like honey to a bee, especially when money grew real tight, forcing them to move out of seoul and to a much smaller city, which just meant a much smaller home. this time, it was only a one bedroom apartment – mother and father on the floor of the living room while the girls shared another room.

it wasn’t a burden to be raised lower-class. it was a burden to feel like one. to have her parents make comments day in and day out about the bills, about how it would be hard to pay for college. it felt so much like a burden that illhwa wouldn’t speak up when her shoes got holes, or when she needed something for school. she let her sister talk for the both of them, letting her be the one to receive spankings from their parents. when the girls turned eleven and twelve, they were moving out of the small apartment and into an actual house with two stories and their very own room. it seemed too good to be true after so long living so cramped.

her younger sister often asked how they suddenly got the money to live so nicely like this? and the answer both girls got was the same: “dad’s got a new job now.” a new job, sure, but they weren’t allowed to know what he did, and where he was most weekends. where he was when he was missing dinners – they weren’t allowed to ask. illhwa figured they needed to enjoy the normalcy of living middle-class, to try and make the best with what they were blessed with. her sister, however, voiced all of her complaints and problems freely, the more outspoken one of the two. she said all of the things illhwa didn’t dare want to speak.

it was because of this that their parents must have saw something in illhwa to choose her for this. to choose to marry away their daughter in order to pay their debts to the mafia. in the last two months of being seventeen, illhwa was being put before professional photographers (the girl needs a profile photo for the gentleman, her mother said), for a whole file being made on illhwa. her birth certificate, identification, bus pass information, grades from kindergarten to her senior year, her college application, scholarship funds, hospital records – every little detail possible about dok illhwa was in that folder.

she heard it landed in the hands of the mob boss’s son, the next in line to lead, and he liked everything he saw. when illhwa got a file of kang intak, there wasn't nearly as much information as she had given, and he was already nineteen. his school records were perfection, his photographs were handsome, all illhwa needed to do was just sign the document, and her arranged marriage would be finalized. illhwa kept the contract for weeks before deciding it was the right thing to do to help her parents and her little sister. she could spare her feelings if it meant caring for her family.

her signature went on neatly with pretty loops only practiced english could bring. and her wedding was only a month after she turned eighteen. with consent from both parents, dok illhwa became kang illhwa, jumping over the broom with a man she had only met twice before. she moved out of the house with her sister kicking and scratching for her not to go, and began living a completely different life. she’d also given up college since she was meant to have children and play the homemaker.

in the beginning, intak spoiled her rotten with lavish gifts and plenty of diamonds. told her that if she did as she was meant to as his wife, she would continue to get these things. money wasn’t just money to this man, it was his pride. he was following in his father’s footsteps, married young, and even planned on having at least two children with illhwa. the couple grew to like each other, but with every gift, came a new threat. intak began threatening his wife to ensure that not even she could go against him in the future. he was paranoid that one day she might grow bitter because she was forced to leave home so fast, but she couldn’t stress enough that it had been her decision to sign the contract.

the threats gave illhwa a sinful feeling in the pit of her stomach, something like butterflies with strong rushes of adrenaline, and the chemical responses started to become something illhwa craved. she very much enjoyed it when the man came home and set his gun down on the table, resting it so that the barrel pointed at her the entire dinner. even when he came home with a fur coat and told her that she just needed to keep up the good work, needed to not too comfortable with him despite the gifts. fear of her husband turned into something deeper, something not even illhwa could possibly wrap her mind around.

does she love him? is she really afraid of him? it was much easier just to say that she loved her husband, but respected him more. that was what she told people during pricey cocktail parties and any other business parties intak had to take care of. but there was nothing like the passion she shared for him in their most intimate moments, the ones where they would kiss and he would tell her not to get herself killed, that he’d gut her if she ever tried to leave him. she could never tell if the words were just sensual whispers, or true threats. no, no, there was nothing to fear. intak’s game was safe, wasn’t it?

intak graduated from just a prodigy to the real deal when his father died, making him the new boss of seoul’s mafia, which put pounds of pressure on illhwa’s shoulders. she was expected to act, talk, and dress a certain way around others at all times. it was expected of her to be able to cook and bake to keep intak’s mother happy about their marriage. without this marriage, her family would go back to starving, they’d go back to hard times, and her sister just got into a good college. this was often among the things intak used against illhwa. if you don’t do what i say, your family will pay for it.

but if she has nothing to fear, then why the fuck is she running to some hotel on jeju island? nine years later, the brochure came in the mail one day along with other things that didn’t pertain to her. she tucked it away from intak’s sight, too afraid of what he’d say if he saw her reading it. he’d think she’d want to leave, and he just couldn’t have that. just the other night he threw a glass cup at her when he saw her making too many gas purchases on the car. who are you with? where are you going? why were you there and not here? the outburst had been the first one to ever make illhwa scared.

the end was just far enough that she could use whatever cash she could find to get there, intak’s eyes were on all of their bank accounts, so using any of their cards was out of the question. jeju island seemed like a good place to stay for now, it just had to be. until illhwa could get herself figured out. what did she want? a marriage with a man she wasn’t sure she could tame after not having a say for nine whole years, or a marriage where she was completely at the mercy of a man who did dangerous things with a temper intact? it was already a risk for more than just herself to be running off like she was, but if she looked at the same four walls any longer, she was going to lose her head.

illhwa was painfully unaware of the exact mafia her husband leads operates right under her feet, in the basement of the end, their eyes and ears on everything that went on in the hotel. including the woman’s arrival.

— then, we wonder: what?

since eighteen all she’s ever really known is portraying the ideal housewife. she’s done a fine job of keeping an act going that her marriage wasn’t flawed, but the deeper the years went, the more illhwa became “unsure” of her husband. with her stay at the end, illhwa acts as though doesn’t know what she wants. playing the victim is much easier than not, telling a sob story about how her parents forced her into an arranged marriage with a scary man. in reality, she’s stuck between wanting her husband to come after her – so maybe she’s swiped a credit card or two in jeju to give him a clue – or wanting to just be left alone. on the outside, she lies to herself and anyone that asks her about the man, tells the whole world she’s done with the confusion and fear. but on the inside, illhwa’s aware of the trouble this could cause her, and she wants it.

illhwa wants to feel the fear and tension with the man, she lives for it. she doesn’t have any other dreams, or aspirations, she just wants to play the cat and mouse game with intak. perhaps it’s her age that’s kept her so foolish. or maybe it’s the endless drinks the end’s bar serves that makes her feel so brave.

— finally, we demand: who?

( addicted - body language ) , song choice.

she’s obsessed with being afraid of her husband. illhwa can’t get enough of intak and how he talks and acts around her. she didn’t mind too much when the glass cup hit the wall right beside her head because it gave her a rush. the song is about two lovers, one who is fully in love with the other, and the other who says that they spend plenty of time together, that they don’t need to act any further on their feelings. the one in love is the one who gets dragged into the confusing relationship that never has tied up answers, always frayed ends left standstill. with so many emotions on the table for both parties, but neither of them speaking clearly, it only leaves the girl in love to be going over everything in her mind until she can’t possibly work it out – and the process just starts up all over again, becoming a true addiction.