#you know he would look FIRE in a black leather jacket and his hair sweeped back‚ you know I'm right

[kurara-black-blog]

Hey, internet, not to sound like a spoiled brat, but where's my boys in Grease Style? C'mon, just think about them in leather jackets and hair slicked back. I know you want to. You so want to.

[sugar-petals]

♡ måneskin scenario: getting to know ethan 

↳ NOTE. by popular demand and because i’m entirely enthralled by the phenomenon that is ethan torchio myself, here we go givin’ the gorgeous drummer some love.

word count. 5.5k

TAGS. no warnings all fluff, fem!oc, slice of life, photographer!reader, first date-ish, shy flirting, ot4 is part of the plot, ethan being sexy in heels

Jacob had enough of that twilight bullshit and joined a glam rock band. At least that’s what you thought seeing Ethan around for the first time. Setting up the kit, carrying his whiny band members around, fixing his ruffle shirt, chugging some water: Big gig tonight, extra long setlist. Five minutes later, complaining about his brocade shoes being hard to kick the bass drum with. Even later, silently nodding along to an impassioned Damiano speech crafted to boost the morale, and posing for your camera in his silver jumpsuit. Friendly to approach all the way, but without initiating stable eye contact even once.

One thing’s for sure. As your favorite professor said back at university: Someone may be photogenic and unearthly as hell in terms of looks, and even be intimidating — but also so damn shy, you won’t see their eyes a single time. „Gotta work with it and not against. Then it gets interesting“. In essence, the takeaway from that course. Which does come in handy now. Ethan seems like the kind of guy you really have to get into for a more intimate-feeling picture.

Sure, many people in front of your camera have all kinds of introverted personalities anyway, wearing sunglasses in particular. So much about eye contact in the first place. And the aesthetic is priority, not studying character. Although you really are a fan of that, it’s a huge part of photography if anything. Alas, you’re here to „capture nothing more but the spirit of italo-rock, the attitude, the hedonism!“ (the exact words of your boss) for a music magazine after all. Really, nothing more? You paid attention to how he worded it. Fair enough. Rock spirit, that’s all, the exciting parts.

Ethan surely has it. Drumming on everything he can find during rehearsal breaks („music is everywhere“) with his sticks, even Thomas’ amplifier. He’s actually dorkier than you thought, less composed when he’s in his element. First impressions do deceive. The hair’s hard to miss, too. It’s the central motif that attracts you. You may or may not have taken over 50 shots of it just because. Ethan is a bad bitch and he better know. You climb around the venue to get any salient angle of Måneskin you can think of. Even from all the way back, last row. You don’t want to annoy them being all up in their face constantly. You’re hired to get all the good shots, they’ve been a band for seven years already, professionals in the making. Doesn’t mean you have to stand below the edge of the stage and never change position.

Even from back there, the silver reflects beautifully at the back of the stage. The fashion’s all designer and it shows, but Ethan couldn’t look bad in any of the shots even if he tried or wore the plainest black suit (hell, that would be just as beautiful in fact). Just how long is that hair anyway. All the way down to the solar plexus, must be 24 inches or more. 25, even. Many rockers would wear it that way, but Ethan seems particularly interesting with how he touches it, how he behaves with it. There we go again with the character study, you can’t help wondering.

But really. It’s any photographer’s dream when someone moves their hair around so damn naturally. Gives a great variety to how it frames and shades the face. You like to play with light all the time. And hey, why ask for eye contact when he does even better posing in other ways. The body, too, Ethan’s posture is great. Victoria and Thomas often bend to really get into their power chords, Damiano frequently hunches forward for a belt. But Ethan’s throned at his kit like some royals taught him to be a good boy. Back straighter than a pole, how the hell.

No glance in your direction still, even if you return from your last row spot to move around on stage with the camera. Which gives the band a motivation boost and chances to try out gestures up close, too, so even better. Hey, maybe it doesn’t annoy them. You can actually get used to it, this way of photographing them is all dynamic. Nearing the end of the first rehearsal, you’re all busy maneuvering between Thomas and Damiano to get a nice semi-profile from Ethan’s left side. Gotta work with it not against, you chant to yourself as a mantra, and it seems easier to stick to than you thought.

How glossy all that hair is commands all the attention of your shutter release in and of itself. That he takes good care of it and has been growing it since forever shows a dedicated guy. It’s actually quite wavy. The band arrived in the pouring rain and Ethan’s curly strands at the crown and nape of the head were definitely showing — super cute. An army of stylists took on the resulting humidity frizz. They whipped out the straightening iron and protective spray, and even now before the big performance, Ethan brushes his hair out in front of you, and sweeps it around with his fingers anyway. You take pictures of the bits you find most candid, and decide to rather perfect single shots instead of making several in a row. The more you photograph him, the more you want to discover his essence in one picture. His sheer presence almost begs for it, it’s ridiculous.

Victoria on the other hand has no problems with rapid-fire releases and comes close to your lens to pull funny faces. She’s got some of the coolest poses you’ve ever seen with her bass, and hops around the stage like a bunny to the beat. Thomas is a virtuoso and pro who keeps on doing what he does when you make him pose, and Damiano can flirt with any camera ever. He even lowers his red leather jacket off his collar bones for you to have a great shot. He’s promising and most definitely a born divo, your boss will be happy with those pictures most definitely.

Then again. Behind that supposed hedonism is so much hard work and thought. Damiano even gives you ideas for angles during the second rehearsal. „Hm, maybe stand on the amplifier?“ Eagle perspective, not a bad idea at all. After trying out said suggestions with the help of triggered stage security making sure you don’t fall off the construction („eh, Damiano always suggests the most reckless things to staff, don’t mind him“), you find yourself concentrating on what goes on at the back of the stage all over again.

Ethan is busy practicing a new solo which has you curious about whether it’s for an upcoming album. Though again — the shoes cause trouble. Ethan complains again, the music stops. That could very well be the reason why he seems so preoccupied today, or is it? The manager tells the stylist, and the stylist hurries, voilà, Ethan has a new pair of shoes brought in. Ones with a thicker sole, bit of a chunky heel, and laced up rather than being slippers, a drummer’s worst nightmare as you have learned today.

You wait until he changed. Then snap some more pictures how he continues practicing calmly, and the sound did improve since he can kick the bass drum better now. Now you position yourself across the stage all over, in the empty audience ranks. Ethan is the most radiant and confident when you just take a step back. But well, he still sweeps his hair around a whole lot and looks even more tense-looking than Damiano who’s doing vocal warmups and jumping jacks, „Come on guys, come on, we’re starting in 30 minutes!“.

You can tell he does it more often when he’s nervous. And that means he does it very often. People would probably assume it’s vanity, or the fact that the hair gets in the way. You can see that for him it’s a place of distraction, maybe safety. A gesture like an anchor. He’s used to it being long just like his eye shadow being dark and smoky all day. He knows the drums by heart, if it falls in his face no need to shake it away. And besides. The strands reach below his shoulder blades, it stays down his back if he doesn’t move around too much. He could easily tie it up as well. All those things go through your mind without you even knowing why.

To switch things up a little, you photograph Thomas fooling around with Victoria at the snack bar, stuffing fries up their noses, and already see the lighting technicians do their final check. Some of them you know briefly, you made shots at this venue before, last year for a Shakespeare theatre play. You did some freelance work in the scene, but now you’re put to the test for more involved jobs. Hard to complain though, Måneskin are amazing in front of the camera. If Damiano is not the ideal Hamlet, you don’t know anymore.

Something new happens all the time, the expressions are priceless. Ethan’s in particular, when he does his wide-eyed surprise faces learning that there’s actually healthy food at the snack bar. „Vitamins, how nice.“ — Thomas, pokerfaced, reacts with eating a mayonnaise-dripping sandwich. Ethan, unfazed. Headed straight to the fruits. You’ve never seen a tall silver glitter tower like him walking around biting a bright red apple. Well, you can take Jacob out of twilight, but not the twilight out of Jacob. Snap, another picture. Clash of words, that’s a nice theme.

The concert of this evening seems particularly energetic and leaves your camera roll with some brilliant, tweet-worthy material. Damiano covered in confetti, eyeliner running. Victoria on the shoulders of Ethan while he’s playing her bass.  Thomas, stagediving. Fans waving banners and chanting along to Seven Nation Army. Your ears are ringing when the light technicians close down the stage two hours later. Thomas really played his soul out with the solos, and your feet seem to vibrate. That’s your body thinking Victoria’s bass is still playing, but the magazine is very happy with how the pictures turned out after you send the whole batch to them as soon as you can.

Little to no retouching, zooming, or cropping necessary. Ethan is just perfect as he is, you feel like you captured him well. After swiping through the gallery on your tablet, you think Victoria has some great ant’s eye perspective shots as well. Those go right on your own blog, she’s just amazing. The magazine has an enthusiastic article typed out already. Damiano’s mid-air split on beat for the final song makes the cover story on Monday, and Måneskin’s manager comes back to you a week later. „What would you think about doing some behind the scenes stuff for us? We’re planning a music video!“

And that’s how you end up in a Sicilian restaurant with Måneskin and crew a week later, stuffed with Calzone and mind filled with Damiano’s inspiring words (and the occasional catchy freestyle rap). The MV is as good as finished. Thomas had shown you around the mansion they were shooting at, and you could convince a taciturn  Ethan to walk between the marble statues and boxwood trees in the garden. With his black cape on, a rhinestone choker, and the low-cut lacey blouse that the MV director was obsessed with as well, asking you to focus on it. Your best shot even ends up in the thumbnail of the Youtube video without you even expecting it would.

All the garden pictures turned out mindblowing. If not iconic, the best project you had so far. Gets to show you the best things are often improvised. Ethan, stoic as always, sat at the base of armor-clad Emperor Augustus twisting into the blue sky in a large gesture. The marble was a perfect contrast. Ethan ate a ripe pear from a tree, even that was aesthetically pleasing, then leaned against a hunting Apollo, and you also framed him from the back next to Aphrodite and Cesar. He put on his sunglasses underneath Achilles, and knelt at the feet of a Pietà replica. Marvelous panorama shots, with him the shining center. Well, we know since Queen that the drummer is the unrealistically pretty one.

The whole picture series is blowing up on your blog for the whole afternoon. „Count Dracula on a stroll in Versailles — eugh, begone sunlight!“ is what a comment neatly sums it up as. People seem to especially like the shot where Ethan playfully put his cape over Pallas Athena’s spear with a blurry Thomas having a laughing fit in the background. Well, even Count Drac gets photobombed sometimes. Your phone buzzes with notifications every other minute, you do notice it against your thigh. But the insalata of the restaurant is good and the night is young. Victoria and the manager tell old stories of Thomas snapping a guitar string while he was trying to serenade a highschool crush. Ethan scolds them for making fun of it.

Damiano gets drunk and dances on the table, the MV director discusses new ideas, some walk-in fans take pictures. The temperature is still unbearable. You order a dessert to share with Victoria and Ethan. A large tiramisu that the waiter cuts in three pieces, and it’s truly delectable. The chocolate, so crunchy, melty. The cream, fluffy and cool, making for a funny white beard that makes Ethan look like an arctic scientist returning from an expedition.

Of course, you take pictures, all the food is documented. As are late night restaurant shots with Damiano’s heels peaking into the frame when you photograph the band’s friendship bracelets, hand-made by Victoria on a tour bus last year. Damiano’s back down on the table soon, singing, while Ethan creates a beat with two forks. Thomas also agrees to take your camera for a while so you’d be in the frame for a change, too.

You pose for a group picture, or rather a group hug, and being in the middle …Ethan’s arm wraps around your shoulder loosely, hair dangling into his face, but also brushing yours. He focuses on the camera, facing away from you. The schooled eye could catch you breaking a sweat in the resulting photo. Ironically, the tiramisu doesn’t cool you down the way you thought. Thomas is too busy trying to figure out your camera dials and yelling „hey eyebrow king, smile!“ at Ethan.

A round of even more gelato goes down in spoons and spoons. The band members eat like they ran a marathon. Ethan clinches a third round because he can, unhealthy be damned, he needs some sugar and refreshment. And it’s true the MV shooting was strenuous in the heat, and had lots of intense performing parts. Even an invisible rope suspension were Thomas would descend from a ceiling during the chorus with little cherub wings attached to his back because why not. If the manager agreed to recreate this on tour some day, the pictures would be amazing.

You can’t help but think what kind of special effect would suit Ethan the most, and you come to the conclusion that a bridge lift would be the coolest thing ever. A rising part of the stage letting him emerge like an elevator from the underground.  Maybe using smoke machines, too. The idea twirls around in your mind so intensely, Damiano asks if you’re wasted. You’re always getting carried away with all kinds of fantasies like that for over a week now. A dreamy photographer? Not unusual, but it’s seriously distracting you from the present moment.

The crew slowly heads home, and the band decides (translation: Victoria’s mood is) to head to the movies. Just when the waiter arrives with the bill, Damiano spills panna cotta all over Ethan by accident. So bad he’s all sticky from the shoulders down, making Ethan opt for the hotel instead. Besides, he’s been drumming his soul out, sleep is so needed now. Since the group is already gone and there’s still a forgotten cymbal left to carry back to the equipment bus by the hotel, you help Ethan maneuver it around. The heat is making either of you sweat, even with the full dark of the night coming up.

The gaffer lady you’re sharing a hotel room with is already fast asleep. Damn it. You want to cut a video and make screenshots with the laptop being decently bright. And with some volume if possible, you don’t find headphones in the darkness of the room. Ethan clears the desk in his own room for you after removing his make-up. He looks so young and beautiful and tired.

You type and drag and double click yourself through the video and do some last blog updates to deal with all the notifications. Ethan lends you some headphones, but you only keep them on one ear. The humming is too nice to ignore. Nor do you know what to even expect. The bathroom door is open, Ethan is topless washing the lace blouse by hand. Only wearing bellbottom pants and his lace choker — nothing else. He’s fully immersed in his task. He even adds some other shirts and silk scarves into the soap water along the way while he’s at it.

You’ve never seen someone do their own laundry so systematically. Ethan looks like Prince Caspian at the sink, wielding the almond soap bar like his weapon of choice against the enemies of Narnia (the devious panna cotta that’s still sticking to everything). He might be all mysterious, but he’s well able to curse all kinds of things. You tease Ethan for dropping his gentlemanly behavior for a stain of dessert. Ethan insists you sound like Thomas trying to test him with his slick comebacks, which makes you laugh. The blog has calmed down a little and your eyes hurt from editing, so you call it a day and send one last e-mail.

Ethan is drowning in bubbles at this point. The whole room smells like fabric softener. He thanks you for helping him carry around the equipment earlier. In return, you say grazie for him being your perfect muse in the garden today. Philosopher he is, Ethan remarks how Måneskin is usually the one searching for muses, now he ended up one himself — „Maybe not a bad thing, eh. Become the thing you want or something.“ That’s way too deep for a summer night in Sicily, and both of you need a huge portion of sleep. Tomorrow, lots of schedule. You do find yourself wanting to help lick that dessert off his chest. No way you’d tell him.

Ethan waddles off to shower after a crooked, reserved smile for a good night departure. When you close the door to your room and start brushing your teeth, the other members’ voices emerge in the hotel corridor — they’ve returned from the movies. Damiano is even more wasted than before and audibly sings. „You’ve looked at the photographer lady in a certain way earlier, huh. I saw, I saw!“ Victoria does a loud ‚shh‘ noise, and the stoic reply is a simple „Sleep, Damiano, you’ve had too much.“ Thomas giggles, and four doors click shut. Damiano’s singing is now muffled for two minutes until it’s silent. How the fuck can you even sleep after hearing that.

You assumed that Ethan would treat you differently the next morning, in whatever shape or form. But he doesn’t. The greeting is short as it would always be, and he informs you that he did manage to wash out the sugary clay from his clothes as he puts it. Damiano says nothing, adjusts his rings. Thomas randomly pulls zippers at his packed-up equipment. Victoria headed to the car already. Downtown to a studio it goes. The group gets styled to perfection, twenty minutes later they make a reaction video to the newly released MV teaser. Ethan talks about enjoying the sculptures in the garden.

Three hours down the line, you shoot some promotional pictures of them at a pool. Thomas has the time of his life perfecting his diving board skills, and Damiano creates the musical background, singing and prancing. The aerials would make literal perfect editorial-in-VOGUE material. In the meantime, Victoria dozes in the sun. Ethan dives. Sometimes just sitting at the bottom of the pool, othertimes swimming back and forth. The art director suggests you to go into the water, too. He’s right, the perspective works out well this way.

You’re basically standing in there with your flowy pantalon pants and camisole, using a waterproof camera. Your bikini is back at the hotel. It doesn’t matter, everything will dry quickly, the others went in the pool with clothes as well. And you’re all too wrapped up in your passion in the first place. You marvel at how fun the whole scenery looks through your lens. Their outfits are cropped and luminous, today’s color is bright red. You order the lighting assistant back and forth, get some more great Thomas frames where he tosses around a volleyball that the manager brought along. Less rock than usual, but it works. Måneskin at a pool in Sicily.

Damiano splashes water around like crazy. Victoria joins the fun as well, splashing right back. It’s infernal. Well, those are going to be dynamic pictures, you think, and the cameraman never dies, so. Ethan resurfaces every other minute, wiping the chlorine from his eyes. He slicks his hair back with both hands, looking down his body learning how his shirt has become completely transparent. He covers his chest with his hair, quickly, then submerges again. It’s strange. Being topless is usually no big deal in Måneskin.

Almost 12 o’clock. Thomas and Damiano wander off to work on some lyrics, probably the title that the drum solo is part of. All top secret. Victoria returns to her sun lounger, checking her phone. The crew heads for lunch, but you stay in the water, gladly you put sunscreen on earlier. You ask Ethan to try some seated or floating poses at the bottom of the pool that you saw him practice earlier. „No worries, keep your eyes closed.“

What unfolds before you is the most beautiful thing. Ethan’s shirt fans out like a red jellyfish underwater, playing around his body. His figure is just enviable. He gets the hang of it and knows quite how to move. Or rather, to remain stable when the pose is perfect. Hands above his head, horizontal, or seated, only one foot  lightly sweeping over the pool floor, or on one knee, as if he proposed.

Raising his arms helps him sink down and settle, as if he immersed himself in deep meditation. Although the purpose of meditating is to be present, isn’t it. And that’s what he feels like. Ethan would normally switch on autopilot for most of his public interactions, now he’s alive and fully in the concentrated movements of the photoshoot. So much about improvising all over again. The hair creates the most incredible shapes like a black, wide brushstroke, clearly outlined. Thank god you have the waterproof camera. These are moments you’ll never forget.

Your blog notifications keep on bleeping throughout the afternoon. The promotional pictures are a hit. Måneskin’s manager is basically waving five new contracts in front of your face at dinner, but you’re kind of spaced out again. The cozy, rose-ranked atmosphere of the street café you went to is inspiring, and the members dressed up in the most fancy suitwear. Men in Black? Måneskin in Black. It’s almost as if fate read your mind. Ethan is looking at you very intently from across the table when the minestrone is served.

Pasta shells, parsley, vegetables and basil leaves. The scent surrounds the entire table. Damiano, in serious mode tonight, is too busy finding new rhymes and an alternative chorus with Thomas who wildly brainstorms. Victoria drinks, loudly chats with the gaffer lady that you share a room with, and they use a leaf of a palm tree pot plant to tickle Damiano. Thomas plays the acoustic guitar. Ethan and you end up smiling briefly at another. „Bon apetit,“ you say. It’s almost 34° celsius. That’s going to be an entire pile of cheesecake gelato tonight.

Five signed contracts later and halfway through a hefty caprese cake, the title song is finished. An ode to Marlena, fierce like the Mediterranean sea. The piece certainly sounds exactly like this place. Strangers listen to Damiano performing bits and pieces, but you decide to disperse when too many cellphones come out. Damiano wants to go to a bar, Thomas and Victoria carry home their guitars, or to the hotel to be exact, and bags of newly shopped vintage clothes. You ask Ethan if there are any cinemas around the area. „We missed out last time, remember.“

The Palazzo Theater is a small and hidden insider tip far from the main street with its busy beach tourists. Under bulbous metal balconies and peach-colored facades, a small entrance with lanterns on each side guides you inward. Ethan almost hits his head, it’s so low. He’s wearing glossy red bottoms under his suit pants, you’re out and about with a 6’2 giant after all — a statue by himself. A small man with a pipe sells you cheap tickets for a Mads Mikkelsen movie and lemonade, Ethan picks up an XXXL caramel popcorn bucket. You think he’s flexing, but you get a sudden heureka by looking at it twice.

Unlike the S, M, and L bags, it’s thick cardboard and drum-shaped. Oh my god, obviously. Which fine percussionist could ever resist such temptation striped in red and white, the sound deep and dull? It makes you smile how Ethan pursues his instrument even when he seemingly doesn’t, it really has to be a hobby at heart. That’s how a job becomes a profession, and a profession a vocation, your uni professor’s other favorite words all over again. The latter’s words have gotten you far so you again trust the insight that came to you through that quote.

Seeing Ethan standing there, you can almost see the childlike joy at imagining it being empty and ready to get turned around. A tuxedo Italian with Louboutin heels and a ginormous popcorn drum, half past eleven somewhere in Palermo: Ingenious combination, you snap a picture. Ethan makes a cute face, posing like a pinup of the 50s. Who knows how many vintage store posters he’s seen during tours, he must have picked it up there. And— Is he blushing? Must be the dim lights in here.

Off you go to the auditorium. Ethan, who balance the popcorn with all care in the world like it’s his baby, walks the aisle slower than you. The slim steps don’t have any floor lighting. Not very heel-friendly, but since it’s not a huge budget theater and few people dare spike heels on those cobblestones outside anyway, the stairs shall be forgiven. You take out your phone and offer your arm. For every gentleman it takes a gentlewoman, duh. Like rock’n’roll and the camera staff, chivalry (or shevalry as Damiano calls it when Vic holds the door open) never dies. He mumbles a thanks, you climb upward to the fourth-last row, Ethan holds on tight.

No ankles twisted and not one popcorn spilled, you get seated on red velvet. The chairs are dated, but nevertheless ultra comfortable. Nobody else is here. The adverts roll, Ethan cracks open the lemonade bottle caps with his chunky golden lighter because he can. You toast to Mads Mikkelsen’s bone structure and good minestrone, Måneskin’s finished title track, the promo pics, and the discovery of Ethan’s favorite new drum. A whopping five things to toast about? The night’s going to be great.

Damiano catwalking across the screen, wearing a Versace skirt in the middle of otherwise-boring commercials does shake you up. He was picked as a testimonial recently. Though, your pulse is high enough. Ethan’s hair is brushing against your shoulders, not to mention his goddamn massive arms. He can’t get out a single word either for the entirety of the ads, avoiding eye contact all over again. Just how much suspense can starting to eat the first popcorn have. Well, you pick two  from the very top and start munching.

Mads does a great job opening the movie as one would expect, but you just can’t concentrate. Instead, you stress-eat popcorn. Which makes Ethan do the same thing, at least he’s somewhat fixated on the screen. After the first ten minutes, he shakes his head. „That makes no sense at all,“ he clears his throat. „Yeah, yeah it  clearly doesn’t,“ you agree, basically on Torchio-autopilot yourself for the lack of a better reply. You were too busy figuring out the components of his aftershave rather than the thin plot. Shifting in your seat, chugging lemonade…

The air conditioning is scarce, but at least the screen is quite large and proper. You try to focus on the cinematography and do small talk about it. If there’s something you can comment on without having followed the string of action, it’s at least this.  You might be nervous, but you’re still a photographer. „Um, isn’t this chainmail nice in the closeup?“ — „Hm, I guess it works. We should ask Damiano to request something like this from Versace.“ — „Medieval Måneskin Rockers?“ — „Something like that.“ — „Hilarious.“

By the twenty-minute mark, the popcorn drum is almost empty. Gladly, that stuff just shrinks to bits in the stomach. The lemonade just has to galvanize it. You might be able to distract yourself with the camera shots and the last caramel chunks, but that doesn’t change Ethan’s long legs and Acqua di Parma perfume next to you. Yep, you finally figured out what it was, it wasn’t the aftershave. And well. Ethan smells like hotel soap from Milano to Napoli and back.

That scent basically dominates all the others besides a hint of cigar and basil and citrus-y deodorant mixed with runny sweat. God fuck, you can barely stand it. And the almond scent. You take a chance to at least jokingly point it out to him. The random movie flashback sequence is boring — and just as nonsensical as before, no offense to Mads though, he’s just walking around in chain mail — enough to deviate from whatever choppy convo you had going on before.

„I actually washed it twice,“ Ethan pulls off the silky scarf that functions as his current tie, and you recognize it. „The strawberry sauce was hard, but the cranberries… God no, I’ll never go near pana cotta again. Nothing against cream desserts.“ You take the scarf, smell it. Did he literally just hand it to you? Figures, he’s sweating bullets, too. And oh shit, he hasn’t talked that much all evening.

You slowly shift from bodies turned to the screen to facing each other. So up close, so up front, only God can help you know. His eyes are dark and reflective of the film’s flickering lights and changing scenes. You wish you could photograph them on sight. It would be as glimmering as your view from the hotel room, overwatching the unobstructed stars of the Mediterranean bay down the boulevard.

But it’s like you’re stuck in your position this way, feverishly thinking about a reply. What to pick up on, what to pick up on. You think about today, the evening where you edited things in his room. „Uh well, drop your laundry in the pool next time,“ you laugh, more than tentative, with your fingers randomly curling around the scarf. „The chlorine stuff will do the job for you. It’s so aggressive, it bleached by pants one shade lighter.“

Saved. Smooth transaction. Phew. „Oh, the pool was horrible. Not the photos, I mean… I don’t know how you can poison water that way.“ — „I know right? It’s still in my nose. But yeah, was a good idea with the underwater thing. The photos turned out really well.“ — „I really haven’t done something like that before but I guess it turned out hm, nice?“ — „Come on! Nice is understated. Are you fishing for compliments?“ — „No no, by all means!“ — „The one kneeling. It’s my favorite. I don’t even know what to do with all these pictures.“

„I don’t know. Maybe keep them?“ — „Keep… for what?“ — „It’s a separate series, right. The art director didn’t request it. Maybe they can be used for something later on during promotions.“ — „Yeah. We’re always a little extracurricular,“ you laugh again, tense in your voice, and empty your lemonade completely. „This, too,“ Ethan points at the theatre in general. „You’re good to talk to. The better version of alone time.“ — „Thank you. You’re great to go out with. I… really like it.“ Beautiful nature scenes show on screen, but they’re nothing but a blur. You take Ethan’s hands in the dark and smile. „Maybe we should do it more often.“

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© submissive-bangtan 2017-2021. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate. all depictions fictional.

[mie779]

After the Holidays Hotness

📷

After the Holidays Hotness

A/N:

The inspiration for this fic came the second I saw the amazingly talented Julia Volkova’s fanart (see cover photo for story) with a shirtless Killian all tangled up in Christmas lights. So yeah this was born, and something I don’t usually write, PWP, with a smutty and tiny bit of kink involved, so I hope I did it all justice.

Thanks to MotherKat for beta-reading this.

NOTE: the little “game/play” they have here is not suggested to be lived out in real life, the risk of electrocution is very much present. BUT this is fanfiction so anything is possible, just don’t do this at home, my lovelies.

Emma groaned when she unlocked the door to their house, it had been a crazy evening watch at the station. Now she just needed to find her bed and snuggle up next to her husband. Glancing at the wreath hanging on their front door she mumbled to herself, “I really should get the Christmas stuff taken down.” Shaking her head she entered their darkened hallway. Shrugging out of her coat she hung it next to Killian’s black leather jacket. Leaning in she took a deep breath through her nose, picking up the scent of her husband from the leather. It was a secret pleasure of hers, whenever she missed him she would find one of his shirts and breathe in the scent of him still lingering in the fabric. A string of curses pulled her from her musings and she frowned as she stepped into their living room. The room was surprisingly warm, the fire blazing in the fireplace, and as she glanced around she realized what had disturbed her.

“Killian?” She tried to suppress her laughter but seeing her darling husband tangled up in the string lights that moments before had hung on their tree, was too much for her. Blinking a few times she realized something else, said husband was deliciously shirtless, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants. If the heat in the room wasn’t enough the sight of her half-naked husband sure made her blood rush a bit faster.

“Emma?” Killian whirled around, making the lights tangle around him even more, he tried to shake them off his arms but they got caught in his brace and hook. “Bloody lights.” He mumbled as he looked at her sheepishly.

“What are you doing?” She sauntered over to her trapped husband, the Christmas lights were making his skin shimmer and the sight had her gulp down. It had always been a great pleasure of hers to just gaze at her husband, his sculpted chest and abdomen had her mouth water. When he again tried to shrug off the string of lights wrapped around his hooked arm she noticed how his biceps bulged and shifted under his skin. She took a deep breath as her mind was beginning to plot what she could possibly do with her man.

“I’m trying to get the bloody lights down,” He grumbled and glared at the tree behind him, “but they seemed to have a mind of their own, the little buggers.”

“Oh I see,” Emma said in a calm and poised voice, she moved closer to him, her eyes making a blatant sweep over his naked torso, and when she looked up at him again his face was split in a knowing smirk.

“See something you like, Love?”

“Oh I see plenty I like,” She husked and stepped up to him, “not that I’m complaining but why are you not wearing a shirt?” She reached out her hand and traced the string of lights wrapped over his shoulder and crossing over his chest.

“It got a bit too hot in here, wanted to start a cozy fire for us to enjoy once you got home.” He nodded towards the fireplace, he shrugged, “I guess I forgot that we turned the heat up this morning.”

“Yeah it was freezing,” She circled her fingers through his chest hair, teasing him, and when she lightly tugged on a tuft of springy hair he inhaled sharply.

“Minx.”

“Rapscallion pirate,” Emma breathed out and slipped her hands around his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Hmm,” Killian hummed in appreciation against her lips, somehow he managed to tangle his hand in her hair, cradling her head. His hooked arm appeared to be too constricted by the string of lights. This was a slight downfall in Emma’s mind, she always enjoyed when he used his hook to lure her in.

Emma nipped at his bottom lip and whispered, “whatever am I going to do with you?” She tapped her fingers against his shoulders while she tilted her head to the side, giving her options a few moments of planning.

Killian raised his eyebrows at her pondering, and she could see that he would be up for pretty much anything she would suggest. They had a fairly free-spirited sex life and had been quite creative in the years they had been together.

Finally, Emma gave him a small wink as her hands slid over his chest, her fingers toying with the springy hairs. She wrapped her hand around the string of lights wrapped around his chest and pulled at it a bit forcefully, “you seem to be trapped here, eh Captain?”

The spark igniting in his eyes the moment her words left her mouth had her own body respond, heat pooled at her center and she licked her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

“Aye?” He gave her a small nod and a sassy grin.

“Hmm, I do like a trapped pirate.” She circled her fingertip around his puckered nipple, a groan reverberated through him.

“Bloody hell.”

“Shush, no more talk, Captain.” Emma placed a finger over his warm lips, it really was getting rather hot in here.

Killian smirked but kept silent, patiently waiting for what she wanted to do.

Emma gazed over his shoulder trying to see how tangled up in the string of lights he really was. He had almost managed to peel the whole string off the tree, and she was amazed how he’d managed to get so tangled up in the process. Shaking her head she chuckled, and when he raised a curious eyebrow she just said, “I’m just amazed how you even managed to screw up this project so much.” She could hear him chuckle as she stepped to the tree, noticing him turning around too, but he stayed put.

Emma slipped the last few meters of lights from the tree, then she turned back to her husband, the lights clutched in her hand. “On the floor.” Her voice was short and clipped but she could instantly see his body react to her bossy words. The bulge in his loose pants made a small jump, and Killian slumped to the floor. He managed to situate himself laying on his back, his hand resting over his abdomen, while his hooked arm was far more tangled up. This was to her advantage, she tugged at her end of the strings and said, “arm over your head.”

Killian followed her order with his hooked arm, then he looked up at her with wide blue eyes, filled with desire and passion. Emma tugged a little more so his arm was positioned where she wanted, then she walked around him, and tapped his other arm with her foot. “Up.”

He knew where she wanted his arm, and placed his free arm close to his hook, while he licked his lips in anticipation. His breathing was getting a little more erratic at this point, Emma knew he liked her being bossy like this. Just as much as she would let him play Captain, to the fullest capacity of the word. The mere thought of their previous roleplays had her core throb in want and desire. Biting her lips she slowly kneeled down next to his head, and leaned over to situate his hand so it wrapped around the brace of his hook. Then she used her end of the Christmas lights and wrapped them several times around his wrist and hook brace. She made sure it wasn’t too tight, but also so he couldn’t just slip out of the bonds now holding his hands above his head.

“This okay?” She asked in a husky voice, gazing at him making sure this was okay for him.

“Aye,” He gulped down, while nodding, “this is very nice indeed.” He shifted his shoulders a little and gave her a small smirk and added, “whatever are you going to do to me, sheriff?”

Emma groaned, sure she was still wearing her sheriff's badge, and their past role plays had involved a somewhat similar setup. This time was a bit different, his body was wrapped in sparkling Christmas lights. A few strands were still wrapped around his torso, then sweeping up his hooked arm where both his hands were now bound together. The perfect picture splayed out before her had her pulse pick up speed and she could feel her own breathing become inconstant.

“I seem to have caught myself a little after the holiday's surprise.” She whispered while she leaned over him, letting her loose hair spill around them. Never touching him she ghosted her lips over his cheek and whispered, “If you’re good I might let you enjoy this too.”

“Bloody hell.” Killian groaned, his voice strained and she could see that it took a lot of effort for him to stay still like this. But he would soon be rewarded.

“Patience, my lovely scoundrel.” She moved her lips over his and darted out her tongue, when he started to move forward she pulled back, “remember, patience.”

“Bloody minx,” Killian grumbled and rested his head back on the floor.

Emma began exploring the magnificent specimen of a pirate splayed out before her, using her mouth and fingers. Skimming over his heated skin, the fire still blazing in the fireplace. She ignored her own desire to begin stripping off clothes, for now she wanted to enjoy a bit of fun with her trapped Captain.

Her fingers moved slowly over his shoulders, following the string of lights wrapped around his torso, “these are a nice addition to your ravishing pirate swagger.” She searched his eyes and saw the fire reflected in his blue orbs, he licked his lips and gulped down. Tilting her head she asked, “Cat got your tongue, Captain?” She scraped her nail over his nipple, making him hiss in what she could only imagine was a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“You make it bloody difficult for me to think, love,” Killian finally managed to say in a hoarse voice, he squirmed under her never-ending torturous touch.

“Now lay still,” Emma whispered, “I want to see what else you have here.” She grinned when he mumbled something incoherent as her fingers skimmed over the top of his low-slung sweatpants. His cock twisted beneath the soft fabric and she could feel her own arousal beginning to pool between her legs. Knowing what she would find under the gray material she moaned in anticipation.

Finally, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, and slipped them over his very erect cock. Killian usually went commando when being home, something that she’d found to be rather useful when their desire for one another suddenly needed to be fulfilled. She never touched his cock as she slid the pants all the way down his legs. Letting both hands slide up his muscular legs she had her eyes shifting between this throbbing member and his heated eyes. She could see the muscles of his arms strain against the bonds of the string of lights, it could be easy for him to just rip the cord. But she knew he wouldn’t do that, he treasured these moments where she took control like this.

“Now what should I do with all this illuminated, glorious, rapscallion of a pirate captain I have captured.” She shifted back and rested her behind on her legs, her fingers tapping her chin deep in thought.

“By all means, sheriff, do as you please,” His eyes scanned over her body, setting her own skin on fire with how passionate his blue eyes burned right now. He licked his lips, “though you are far too overdressed in my humble opinion.”

Emma chuckled and shrugged, “I guess I could change that,” she looked towards the fireplace, “you did make quite a fire.” Her hands began unbuttoning her shirt, making slow progress, trying to taunt her husband a little more. This was so much fun and quite erotic to see him wither in desire and lust for her, and her alone.

Finally the shirt parted and she shrugged it off her shoulders, not caring where it landed. Rising to her feet she shimmed out of her tight-fitted jeans, standing over his body a few short moments just reveling in the beauty of her husband. His muscles well defined all over, he kept himself fairly fit, with the deputy work and whenever he worked on his ship.

His blue eyes blazed a fiery trail up her body as she took him in, she could see his throbbing member twitch in anticipation. Her own desire was raging and she could feel that she was losing control too.

She quickly removed her modest underwear, she’d been at work and not thought much of sexy lingerie when she dressed this afternoon. Finally she let herself drop down and straddled his waist letting her moist core rub over his abs.

“You’re bloody soaked love,” He said in a strangled voice, he lifted his head and looked down at where she was slowly moving her sex over his heated skin.

“Yeah, guess I love a captured Captain in all his illuminated glory.” She winked, “I do commend your genius idea to take down the Christmas lights today.”

“It was high time,” he mumbled, “New Year's Eve was five days ago.” He rolled his eyes with a smirk plastered over his lips.

“Don’t be too sassy with me Pirate, I still make the calls here, remember,” She leaned over and whispered her lips over his stubbled chin, moving slowly towards his mouth. When he didn’t speak she rewarded him with a deep and plundering kiss, making them both groan. She combed her fingers through his unruly hair and tilted her head to deepen the kiss even further. When he bravely swiped his tongue out to meet hers she let out a moan, this was getting more out of control and she could feel her own body practically begging for some sort of release.

Killian began rutting his pelvis up against her behind, she felt his arousal poke at her soft flesh, the tip of his cock already moist with precum. Emma moved herself a little closer to his weeping cock, earning a satisfied groan from her pirate.

“Bloody hell love,” Killian moaned out between kisses, “you’re killing this ol’ pirate.”

Emma pulled back and looked at him, “I know.” She lifted herself up and straddled his hips further down letting his cock nestle between her warm folds. Her own body was like a strung cord, ready to snap at any moment now. She moved slowly over his hardness, the tip grazing her clit making her shiver in lust and passion. It was a struggle for her to keep this at the teasing pace she’d set out with, the way his eyes glinted in undivided love and passion, had her core clench wanting to be filled. Biting her lips she tried to focus on prolonging their joint pleasure.

“Please.” The words tore from her pirate’s throat when she experimented with slow movements.

“What, can’t take the heat?” She smirked, but her insides were burning hot with desire, it might be her that was about to break.

“Bloody hell,” Killian mumbled as his eyes rolled back, his head pressed into the floor, “I need you—”

Emma shifted away from him, her own body protesting to the removal of the intense pleasure. She winked, “you’ll have me, soon enough.”

When she started to move even further away from him she could hear him mumble a string of curses. But she knew he would be pleased with her next step.

She twirled around and lifted her leg over his torso, scooting back so her sex was hovering over his face. She felt the rumble of satisfaction reverberate through him at the sight she presented to him.

“Darling, please let me—” Killian begged again.

She glanced down between her legs and saw him lick his lips in anticipation, and her core throbbed in expectation of the intense pleasure she knew said tongue would be able to give her. Finally she lowered herself to his waiting mouth, she shifted down so his mouth would have easy access to her wet core.

The second his warm tongue swiped between her folds she keened as intense pleasure shot through her entire body. Arching her back, letting her head fall back she closed her eyes, enjoying the pleasure her husband was currently giving her.

“Bloody fantastic,” Killian whispered against her heated flesh then he proceeded to taunt her sensitive skin, flicking his tongue down over her clit, sending spikes of heat through her body.

“More,” Emma whimpered, she could feel her own climax begin to build, but she also had other plans for this. Her gaze moved to the throbbing cock mere inches away from her face. She wrapped her hand around his girth, causing him to hiss out in pleasure. Her hand moved slowly up and down over his shaft. Soon after she let her mouth engulf the bulbed head of his cock sucking gently, swiping her tongue over the tip licking up the precum. The taste of her own arousal that had coated his cock was a nice mix to his salty tang.

“Bloody hell, wish I could touch you, love?” Killian groaned, his stubbled chin rubbing deliciously over her pubic bone, teasing her clit. His tongue swiped into her wet core, drinking in the arousal dripping from her.

“Hmm,” Emma hummed against his cock, making it jump in her hand. She used a combination of her hand and mouth as she worked on bringing him closer to his climax. It was thrilling to know that she could be in such control over this once fierce and feared pirate who’d lived several hundred years. The thought alone had her body react even stronger to his devilishly talented tongue that kept lapping at her core. When he turned his attention to her clit again she keened and pushed down closer to his mouth. While she chased her orgasm she didn’t forget her pirate, she kept her mouth wrapped around his cock.

Killian began nibbling and biting gently at her nub, this was too much and seconds later she tumbled down into an ocean of pure bliss and euphoria as her climax washed over her.

Once she could breathe again she gave her full attention to his cock and she rose up a little so she could swallow him deeper into her mouth. This made him moan against her thigh, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine, the aftermath of her intense climax was still coursing through her body.

“Emma,” Killian pleaded with a grunt, as she intensified her sucking, “I’m going to burst soon, love, please let me—”

Emma knew what he asked and with one final lick up his length, she lifted her wobbly legs and shifted around so she straddled his hips again. Her core pulsated in expectation of what was to come.

Killian shifted under her so his cock slipped between her folds again, she reached down and lined him up to slip into her heated sex. Both moaned at the pure and pleasurable feel of them joining like this. Emma looked down and took in the sight of her pirate, all wrapped up in the strands of Christmas lights, making his skin glow even more. When she found his eyes she could see nothing but passion and love burning in his blue orbs.

“Are you okay?” She whispered, and slowly moved her body back and forth, adjusting to his girth filling her core.

“Aye, just bloody well start moving love,” Killian groaned, “I’m going to burst soon, please.” He snapped his hips up making her gasp in surprise, he was clearly on the very edge of an orgasm.

Emma began moving up and down with focused and intense thrust of her pelvis, her clit rubbing deliciously against his pubic bone. She gaped in surprise, and when she spotted a knowing smirk on Killian’s face she felt her skin tingle in anticipation.

“Chase your own release love,” Killian encouraged, “I want to feel you come around me, clenching me with that sweet cunt of yours.”

Emma felt a zap of pleasure shot through her core at his words, she sped up her movements and could feel her second climax begin to build. Slipping her hand between them she assisted her own release, rubbing her clit while she still clenched around his cock, begging him to follow her into the abyss.

“I’m close,” Emma moaned, and flicked her clit vigorously, her eyes focused on Killian’s face. She could tell that he was close, his eyes focused on her moving body, slipping down to her bouncing chest. The desire was evident in his blue eyes, she knew he longed to touch her, twist her nipples mercilessly until she came. Emma slid her free hand to cup her breast, slipping her nipple in between two fingers, pinching slightly. A moan came from Killian, “bloody hell, come, Darling, come for me.”

Emma didn’t need more encouragement as a tidal wave of ecstasy washed over her, her core clenching around his thickness. Seconds later Killian roared as his own release crashed over him, bringing him into a shuddering climax. She could see how his muscles tensed in his tied-up arms, the biceps bulging against the restraints of the stringed lights. She eased her movements, drawing out the pleasure for them both. Finally, she stilled and slumped over him, nuzzling into his neck inhaling the special musky scent he always emanated off after sex. She was still feeling slightly dizzy from the intense orgasm she’d just experienced and she was pretty sure that Killian felt the same.

Killian moved under her and she felt him move his arms over her shoulders, the string lights grazing over her heated skin. He turned his head and kissed her behind her ear, “I want to take down the Christmas lights every year from now on.”

Emma chuckled, “why?”

“If this is the reaction I’d get from getting tangled up in the lights I’m all onboard that ship.” Killian mused into her hair.

Emma burst out laughing at this and she turned so she could look at him. “I think I like that idea very much.” She cupped his face with one hand and leaned down and kissed him. The kiss was slow and filled with so many promises of a future with even more passionate trysts like this.

Killian lifted his bound hands from her shoulders, “Care to untangle me a bit here, love?”

“Sure,” Emma straddled his chest and pulled his arms towards her, so he rested his hands on his chest. She realized she might have been a bit too thorough with her knots, so it took a bit of angry mumbling and glaring at Killian whenever he started laughing too much. “Not funny buddy, these tiny wires are a bloody nightmare to untie.”

Finally, she managed to untangle him and she pushed the bundle of lights to the side, it would be a nightmare to sort them into order again. Killian wrapped his arms around her waist and she felt her skin tingle from his touch.

“Thank you,” Killian whispered, his hand cupping her cheek.

“You’re welcome,” Emma replied with a smile, it had truly been a great ending to a horrible shift at the sheriff’s office. “Let’s go to bed.”

“What about the lights, they still need—”

Emma placed a finger over his lips, “leave them be, we can sort them out tomorrow.” She smirked, “I might not be done with my illuminated pirate,” then she slipped from his embrace, rising to her feet.

Killian growled in response as he followed her and slipped his hand into hers, leading them up the stairs to their bed. Emma was more than ready to explore a bit more with her pirate tonight. Her core was still throbbing in desire for the man she called friend, husband, and lover. Whatever their life might bring she could always count for him to surprise her like he did tonight. Who would have thought taking down the Christmas lights could lead to such a passionate and intense time with her husband. She would definitely make him in charge of taking the lights down next year. Maybe even hang some up in a few weeks, just so she could have him all tangled up in Christmas lights again.

[caelimonoceros]

moonlight — childe

pairing: childe x gn!reader

wc: 1.9k

tags: fluff, it’s just fluff, established relationship, i guess a lil light angst if you squint, childe lovable dork number one

notes: of course my first piece is about childe my one and only…my beloved…please come give me some constellations <3 pls enjoy! i’m planning on writing some more similar pieces with some other characters but i really wanted to post this one now tehe…interacts/reblogs appreciated!

Just as the moon guides the tides in and out of the shore, she pulls you to him—Childe, quiet in his solitude and unsuspectingly calm on the beach.

You find him on the beach just north of Liyue Harbor, on a long stretch of tan sand with a sheet spread out under him. Uneven rocks pin down the corners of the makeshift sand-protection, and you can make out the shape of the Harbinger’s jacket and boots settled next to him.

Upon hearing your soft footsteps crunching on the sand, Childe perks up. The slight curve of his posture, betraying a weeks-old exhaustion, straightens into a bright smile and a cheery wave, the welcoming facade he throws around to unsuspecting strangers who won’t ever make the plunge into the depths of his heart. Blue eyes, blue like the ocean and the cosmos and the frost on your skin after too many hours spent trekking around Dragonspine, pierce the dim night, only lit up by the small lantern next to him and the faint blue glow of his vision. They give his skin an unearthly glow, the warm light of the lantern bringing out copper highlights in his hair while the blue of his vision drives deep shadows into the far side of his face.

The night is peaceful in its simplicity, watched by the careful eyes of the moon and her starry companions. Childe’s smile brightens as you settle next to him, kicking off your own shoes and stretching out across the oversized blanket. Your own bag, full of warm midnight snacks and soft blankets, hits the ground as you do, and rolls with a soft thud.

“You made it,” Childe inches closer, quick to put his hand over yours and fold your fingers together. You let him, settling your joined hands over one of your thighs and sitting to lean against his shoulder.

“Yea. The slimes didn’t drench me.” You huff, eyes pointed out towards the water; then slowly drifting over to him.

“Well, since the slimes didn’t get to you, I was thinking…” Childe rubs a gloved thumb over the back of your hand, directing your attention. The leather is rough against your skin, worn equally from working a weapon and signing bank documents.

“Your ideas are always awful. I wanna know,” you lean into him.

“Midnight swim!” He says cheerfully, pointing out towards the water with his free hand. “The weather has been so warm lately that I’m sure the water will be as well. Plus, it’s just the two of us! Wouldn't that be nice?” Oh, you don’t want to crush his dreams and his eager, giddy smile, but you are not going in that water. No thanks, you are perfectly content to stay warm and dry on your big, spread out blanket and watch Childe make a shivering fool of himself before he comes back and soaks his half of the blanket.

“I’m not going in the water, especially not in my clothes, Childe. It’s cold out.” Childe blinks at you, as if he doesn’t understand the problem for a moment before sighing, as if he knew this would be your answer.

“Fine. But I’m going to go in, and I'm sure you’ll join me in no less than five minutes!” He says it so confidently, living up to his namesake so easily that it makes you swallow down laughter. The tall Fatui makes sure to blow you a dramatic kiss from the water’s edge, before he turns his back entirely. Really, you are completely content to watch him enjoy himself in the shallows. It’s refreshing to see him so light on his feet and in his words.

The soft moonlight illuminates his back, drawing out the folds of his dark shirt. The metal accessories around his belt glimmer in the cool light as well, twinkling like stars at you, but you’re almost mesmerized as you chase the patterns of moonlight across his ever-moving form. The water is so clear, reflecting him and the mountains situated behind you, every trace of silvery-white light that dances down an uneven slope or a curving tree branch rippling amongst your lover’s own reflection.

“You know, the water’s still warm!” Childe calls after a few minutes of peace. He’s rolled his pants up to just under his knees, but they’re still being soaked by waves of water. From your warm, dry, position on the shore you’re inclined to protest, but a shimmer in cerulean eyes not brought on by the moon or stars cuts your words before they can begin. He begins making his way over to you, sloshing through the water and then up onto the sand.

“C’mon, just stick your feet in. I promise I won’t let you drown.” You roll your eyes at his proposition; the way he walks so arrogantly over to you and crouches ever so slightly, extending a hand to you. He’s tracked wet sand onto your clean, safe haven, and his wet pants are dripping seawater on your bare shins, but you still hold your tongue all the same.

“Please? It’ll be fun. You don’t have to, but I think you’d enjoy it.” The Fatui offers his hand with a little bit of a wave this time, and you give in to his easy smile and comforting presence. It’s hard not to, hard to resist the way he sweeps you into the ocean, the same way he’s already swept you away entirely like a pebble torn from shore.

The water is still warm, but it’s still much cooler than your skin and you shudder as you’re exposed to it much too quickly. Childe’s grip on your hand is too tight, his excitement adorably obvious as you come to a halt some ten feet into the water, where it rises just above your hips.

“See? It’s not bad at all.” Childe leans down, his face mere inches from yours, and sticks his tongue out playfully. You resist the urge to pinch it between your thumb and forefinger, instead flicking his forehead gently, just enough for him to recoil as if you’ve shot him and dramatically clasp a hand over his head.

“It’s not bad at all,” you mimic, unable to stop yourself from laughing at the ginger’s over-the-top reaction. Cute, he’s so cute sometimes and you doubt he truly knows it, cute when he drops something from his chopsticks or shoots an arrow into the ground or trips over a loose rock when he’s pretending not to stare at you. Cute when his guard is down, when he’s not a battle-hardened warrior and traces of the myth you know to be named Ajax are allowed through the ever-present cracks in his facade. Just as you’re lost in thought, a spray of salty water meets your face, and you close your eyes and cross an arm over your forehead quickly.

“That was uncalled for!” You complain, but it trails off into laughter as you return the splash back at Childe.

“Hey, your aim’s not half bad!” He’s even quicker to fire back, and soon the water around you both churns enough to drown out your shared laughter. Your clumsy feet, weighed down by your movements kick up sand and cloud the water, and you brush grit from your face and hair after a particularly well-aimed splash flattens it down your back.

“That’s practically an insult, coming from you.”

“My aim isn’t that bad!” Fake offense riddles his tone, one hand placed over his poor, scandalized heart.

“Will you be less arrogant if I tell you I’m enjoying myself?” You dodge most of another splash, but even when you’re complaining you find your jaw beginning to ache from a wide smile.

“So much for staying out of the water,” Childe taunts, gesturing to the soaking mess you’ve become. He’s no better, water dripping down his face in rivulets, blinking the salt away from his eyes instinctively and pushing the wet hair back from his view.

“This is your fault, you know,” you tell him, but the complaint holds little water. He lets you splash him again, a full wave that hits against his chest, and you take another step closer to him—just close enough for him to hook a gangly leg around your own and pull you down, spinning gracefully and catching you just as your hair begins to fan out in the water. One arm holds securely under the middle of your back, while the other settles on your hip.

“You just can’t stay away from me, I know.” The smug confidence he wears is equally endearing and enraging. You begin to counter him with an asshole—, one hand moving up to poke his cheek, but before you can make contact he completely retracts his arms and you submerge with a shriek. When you come up moments later, coughing and spluttering in surprise, Childe is laughing so hard that he’s bent over with his hands on his knees. He’s completely unsuspecting, the perfect target for you to grab the back of his head and shove his face into the water, too.

Except, Childe topples over his own long legs, the two of you falling down messily and his head bumping against your knee as you land flat on your butt. He makes a face, rubbing his cheeks as he kneels. Despite how you joke around, it’s clear that the bump actually hurt, and you can’t help but feel a little pang of guilt at the genuine pain he displayed. Holding his head, Childe moves closer, until he’s easily looming over you with your hands braced against the sand and the water level just under your chin.

“You’re so difficult,” he sighs, your foreheads pressed together. The feeling of salt grinding between your skin is just on the edge of unpleasant, but nowhere near enough to make you back away. “Nearly gave me a black eye there.”

“Aren’t we both?” You smile in response, cupping a cool, wet hand over the cheek he’d hit on your leg. His eyes flutter closed, and he breathes out a sigh against your nose as tension visibly drains from his shoulders. It’s like the final traces of his daily life have fallen away with just your touch—gone is the hedonistic Childe, the calculating Tartaglia, leaving only the scattered fragments of a Snezhnayan boy far from home. Even at peace, there’s a longing in the way he looks at you—eyes wide as if in disbelief, unable to hold your gaze with all of his defenses stripped down.

“Yea. We are,” he concedes—so quiet that you barely make out the words over the sound of the wind and the soft movements of water. Difficult, and he’s right: nothing involving a Fatui Harbinger will ever be easy.

“I think you’re well worth the trouble,” you confess, letting your eyes meet his. They don’t shy away this time, there’s a blue fire blazing somewhere in the back of his soul that warms your cheeks and has your free hand clenching the sand underneath. Certainly well worth the trouble, for all of the moments he looks at you like this—holding the intensity of a thousand suns and all of the love and guidance offered by the moon, an entire universe dancing in his usually lifeless eyes.

And the trouble is most worth it when Ajax—not Childe, not Tartaglia, but Ajax, closes the miniscule gap and kisses you under the witness of the moon—you can be at ease.

“I am?” He teases, a whisper against your lips. You roll your eyes before the hand on his cheek slips to the back of his head, and you pull him close once more.

[kaz11283]

Only One God For Me

(Part 2 of Love Never Wins)

SUMMARY: After blowing up at him afyer weeks of hiding out you challenge Loki to hand to hand. Blowing up might have been the best thing, it could help you let off that frustration you had built up.

Characters: Nat, Clint, Thor, Loki, avengers on the side line.

(Loki x you, clint x you, Thor x you, Nat x you)

ANNOUNCEMENT: I didnt know how much part 1 was going to be but I am forever greatful in this amazing community! Thank you guys SO much! Check out my other stuff too if you like this. As always reblog, ask, comment, and like! After I finish up here I'll be back to writing for Fire and Ice. Thank you again so SO much for everything! 💚💚💚

Loki Master List

~~~~

You and Nat were standing at one end of the training area as Loki walked in. You glanced up from Nat wrapping your hands and noticed he was wearing his normal traing gear. Plain leather black pants with a dark green Henley, his hands already wrapped.

"Focus, your getting distracted." She said yanking on one of the straps.

"Ow. I cant help it Nat, we went from cant keep our hands away from each other to literally fist fighting each other. Ya know this is normally frowned upon is normal society." You streched your fingers out and balled them back up streching out the gloves a little.

"Hunny, even in a perfect world were anything but normal. I mean for god sakes your fighting a literal god. You remember what I taught you. Right?" She asked looking almost terrified for me.

"Yes mother, I havent forgotten. This is gonna be a piece of cake." Inside you were freaking out. You normally was in a very high spot with your bow or normally trying to break into the computers. You wasnt normally in hand to hand combat, but you were smarter than to think you would never need it.

You turned shaking you head and putting the mouth piece in your mouth. Hitting you fist together jumping back and forth getting ready. Loki just stood there smirking. You was gonna smack that smirk off his face.

"Hey sis, Im not saying you cant beat him just be careful. He throws a nasty left hook." Clint said munching on some chips."Thanks, Hawk. Mind explaining why the rest of the team is here?" You mumbled around the mouth piece.

"Thor, definitely Thor." He said walking back to the small group that gathered.

"Sweetheart. Are we gonna fight or are you just gonna stand there chit chatting?" He called across the mat.

"I'm coming." You walked across the mat to the center. Someone hit a bell signaling for the fight to start and he jumped toward you. You dodged his first attemped and circled him slowly. You could read his every move, read where he was going next.

You took a defence stance that Nat had taught you from your training before he lunged again. This time you managed to upper cut him in the side knocking some of the wind from him.

"Oh you little minx. I figured I would take it easy on you but we can play your way also." This time he took a step back centering himself. Looking up you noticed he had a dangerous look in his eye.

"I didnt invite you here to take it easy on me, I invited you because you dont take anything serious. Because if someone like me can beat you in hand to hand then anyone can." You stepped closer to him gauging what move you was going to make next.

He dropped down to the mat attempting to sweep your legs out from under you, he missed one but caught the other causing you to fall. He jumped on top of you pinning your hands above your head. "Now this positions brings back memories." He whispered to you causing your face to turn bring red. You brought your leg up able to wrap it around his waist and slammed him back down to the mat gaining some advantage.

"This one also." He smirked. You raised your fist above you aiming for his face. Whem you brought it down he moved his head causing you to miss. It felt like forever that you were both on the mat neither one gaining aginst the other. A busted lip here a bloody nose there. When the bell rang for a break Nat was in your corner with Clint offering you some water and a rag ti wipe the blood off.

"Sis, I'm try in real hard not to grab an arrow and stabe him with it." Clint said from one side. You could see anger in his eyes.

"Hawk, its fine. Given the circumstance its all good. Its just training in a matter of speaking. Anger is mostly wunning but I got this. I was trained by the best. I'm not even tired." You took another drink of water before going back out to the mat.

"This is fun. I have never seen my brother trying harder to win anything in his life." Thor shouted across the room. "Lady y/n is quite good at sparing. We must fight sometime." Thor laughed.

A few more rounds when and you could feel the weight of the afternoon but you wasjt about to simply throw in the towel just yet. You knew you could get the best of him. You had thrown him back on the mat then he took his feet placing them on your chest shoving you off of him. Before you knew it you were surrounded by multipuls of him.

"Loki we agreed no sedair! This is cheating!" You yelled at them.

"God of Mischief and lies sweetheart. Besides we're in weird predicaments all the time. You said so yourself. Tell you what. You find the real me and I'll forfeit." One of the clones said. You stood up in the middle of them all focusing everything you had on concentrating, ignoring Clint yelling in the background and the rest of the group shouting.

You opened your eyes zeroing in on one closest to you and walked up to him.

"Are you sure your right about this decision?" It mocked.

"Yeah. I think I am." You brought the ball of yoyr fist up crashing it into Loki's nose. The rest of the clones disappered as he fell to his knees in front of you. "You are a complete and utter asshole Loki Odinson. I hope that it messes with you for a while that you got beat by a mortal." You started unwrapping your gloves as you walked away.

Over the next few weeks you avoided every living space in the tower that you knew he would be in. It had truly hurt you that he had cheated during the fight. You still couldnt understand how just months before you couldn't keep your hands off of each other now you were both avoiding each other like the plague.

"Miss y/n. Team has a mission. Tony wants everyone in the confrence room dressed and ready in 15 minutes." JARVIS called pausing your movie. With a roll of your eyes you walked to your bedroom to start getting ready. Pulling out your tight skinny jeans a black tank top and your zip up hoodie you French braided your hair and grabbed your bow case before heading down.

The rest of the team was gathered when you walked in and placed your case on the table opening it up to make sure everything was right. Streching out the strings and making sure the sights were spot on aiming them to the other side of the room where Loki stood.

"It would be more effecitve if you had an arrow." Clint whispered next to you.

"Shut up, I'm just making sure everything is right." You put it back down in the case and started going over your arrows.

"You realize we have a place you can put that when your not using it." Tony said walking around you.

"Right up your ass if you suggest that again." You laughed putting everything back up.

"Love the enthusiasm kid." Tony laughed walking to the front of the table.

"Ok Team, going to be a long few days for us. Just got some Intel about a caravan carrying some explosives across the Scandinavian border. Gonna have to divide into teams for this one. Hawk, Nat, Strange, Rodgers, Bruce, and Thor you'll be starting at the meeting point and working your way toward us. The rest is with me." Tony pulled a map up on the big screen showing where you wwre going.

"Oh come on, why cant I be with the A team?" You asked with a groan.

"Sorry kid, gotta divide it up right. One god for each, one Archer. Only fair. And even if you two hate each other you guys work good together." Tony shrugged.

"Yeah sorry kid." Clint laughed.

"Hey I'm a full three minutes older that you. Probably explains why I'm better. Whatever. I'll go pack my stuff." You huffed standing up.

The next two hours seems to drag by, it was freezing here. You was just ready to get this over with so that you could go back home and relax in a nice warm bath, you pulled your jacket tighter aginst you.

"I've told you many times that you should start wearing the uniform that they gave you. You'll freeze to death one day." Loki said taking off his cloak and putting it around your shoulders.

"Thanks, but I'm still pissed at you." You hugged it closer. "I hate the whole uniform thing. To tight to revealing."

Another few minutes pass before Tony gives everyone the heads up that your about to be over the caravan. Figuring you were warm enough you took the cloak off and handed it back to him. "You may still be pissed at me but I do still care very deeply for you y/n. I was an idiot for everything." He took it and wrapped it around his shoulders. When his fingers grazed yours there was a surge that went through you.

"Give me time. You really hurt me, not just by breaking up with me but by lying to me during training. Good luck out there God of Mischief."

"Tony, your gonna have to get lower i cant get a clear shot on the driver!" You yelled over the wind whipping around your face. About that time a diffrent arrow shot through gettkng the driver in the side causing the vehicle to completly stop.

"Gotta be faster than that sis. One for me." Clint laughed over the com.

"You are my least favorite person right now Hawk." You mumbled. Tony brought the Quinn Jet down so your team could spread out.

"That is truly saying something my dear." Lokis smooth voice said in your ear.

"You gave me your cloak to keep me warm. Gave you a fell points." You pulled back again and shot it through the truck behind the first hitting the driver in the head. "Got one, Hawk, your next."

"Can we cut the chatter. Got alot going on in the sky at the moment." Tony said. Youbcould here something firing above you looking up you could see Tony being followed by a jet firing at him. "Need some back up guys. Twins. Anyone."

"Hawk. I need a Boom Boom stick." You met him in the middle of the road.

"I really wish you wouldnt call them that." He said handing you one. You both pulled your bows back and aimed. "Heads or tails?"

"I like the tails." You let go of the sting and watched as the jet exploded.

"I think she can call them whatever she wants as long as she keeps doing a good job keeping bogies off my ass." Tony yelled over the coms.

"I hate this. I cant see shit down here." You yelled over to Clint. "I gotta get higher." You looked around eyeballing the turnes over truck. You threw the bow across your back and started climbing up the truck. Shots rang around you one grazing your side, before it had started it was like it stopped looking behind you you noticed Loki with his daggers in his hands.

"You need to pay more attention y/n." He scolded you.

"Why pay attention when I have someone keeping an eye out for me." You smiled.

"Oh darling Im doing more than just keeping an eye out." After everything that ass had done to you he was flirting FLIRTING with you.

"Y/N! No. More. Gods." Clint yelled. From here you could see everything going on. Nat fighting two men, you took one out easily from your spot. She shot you a thumbs up. Bruce had hulked out throwing things everywhere, multiple times you had to dodge something flying your way. The fight was almost over when you glanced behind you noticing four men backing Loki aginst a turned over car.

His hands were up as if in surrender. "Loki why arent you using your sedair?" You mumbled pulling the bow back.

"Well darling you could say that I am in on of those weird predicaments. I've exahusted alot of my power down here." His back was aginst the truck now.

"Could let him get beat up." Clint pipped in as you shot one of your last arrows though two of the guys standing there. You watched Loki easily take out the other two.

"Told you Hawk, I'm not like that." You smiled walking over to Loki. "Although you could use a little practice in hand to hand, dont you agree?"

"Only if your the one practicing with me he smailed down at you.

"Ugh! Y/n! No mo-" Clint started before you pulled the com from your ear.

"Only one God for me." You leaned up kissing Loki on the cheek.

~~~~

Tag List:

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

[raddifferent]

I'm late but I'm in the middle of switching jobs so who cares! Here's Day Two of @rosemarymonth2021: Fantasy! This is Chapter 1; Chapter 2 will double as the Chapter 4 prompt because I want to finish this fic rather than do medieval with no fantasy elements. It's my writing project and I make the rules!!

Anyways, as usual the link will be in the replies and the fic is below the cut!

The esteemed Duchess Lepidopterina Dolorosa of the House Maryam, Baroness of the Misted Isles, Devotee of the Midnight Spiral, and Serene Lady of the Obsidian Blade, first of her name, was having a bit of a shit day. As some of her many fancy titles would suggest, she was an adept swordswoman, and she had been honored to be invited to the wedding of Duke Egbert’s daughter. She was more familiar with Lady Egbert than her betrothed, another Duchess of the Troll kingdom, despite being a troll herself. That was one of the side effects of spending an inordinate amount of time in the borderlands fighting off the blasted undead, as she found herself doing now.

Her traveling party had been journeying through the Cresting Mountains for a fortnight now, having crossed the mountain peaks worn oddly smooth by some ancient ocean and cracked in half on their tectonic ascent. The scraggly pines of its forests were dense in places and opened into large clearings in others, creating an unpredictable landscape full of pockets of zombies. Three of the party had fallen when the undead felled their horses, and she’d lost sight of the other two of her companions when the pack had separated them. Now, she fought the beasts alone.

Kanaya raised a shining hand, turning some of the undead near herself. She had a moment to catch her breath and assess the situation. A crowd of about fifteen undead humans and trolls had her backed against the base of a thick pine. At her feet lay a pile of bodies twenty-strong. Her black leather boots were shiny with rotting ichor, and splashes of guts, grime, and gore adorned her oiled outerwear. The Duchess twirled her twin blades, each a deep, midnight indigo sparkling with obsidian glitter, and also with a little magic. Her hands were covered with snugly-fit leather gloves, but beneath the animal hide Kanaya knew the sigils of the Church of the Midnight Spiral gleamed on the backs of her hands. Indeed, her skin itself glowed from the inside, although that was more of a side effect of being a Blessed Resurrectionist. Kanaya lived thirty five years, and died, and was brought back by The Bright Light in the Dark Sky to walk again some fifty more years. Those outside the Church would call her another, luckier undead. A vampire.

Her groaning, festering foes began to clamber close enough to swipe at her again. Kanaya whirled and sliced, removing limbs and heads as the undead shuffled within her reach. Eight more fell, leaving seven standing. Kanaya tried to wipe a smear of viscera from her face, but she feared the back of her sleeve only made the mess worse. She was breathing heavily. The dampness on her boots and the height of the bodies was beginning to impede her. She needed to reach high ground, and soon.

Just then, a golden light shone from deeper in the woods surrounding this clearing. Kanaya jumped to the side just as a zombie swiped at her head, leaving her in the perfect position to see a glowing arrow pin her assailant’s head to a tree. There must have only been one archer aiding her, as only one or two arrows came at a time, but they still landed more rapidly than Kanaya’s own battle maidens could achieve. In seconds, the battle had ended.

Still breathing heavily, Kanaya attempted to wipe her blades off on her jacket before sheathing them. She began to walk towards where the arrows had been coming from.

Kanaya was met at the edge of the clearing by a figure in a deep purple cloak. Her skin was a deeper, redder brown than Kanaya’s own, set in sharp contrast to their white-blond hair. Kanaya met her startlingly purple eyes, which were bright, intelligent, and a little mischievous. She had a golden lip ring down the center of her mouth, and a thin golden chain as a choker. Her clothing was modest but fine, Kanaya’s keen eye picking out expensive brocade in the shirt.

“To whom do I owe thanks for such gracious assistance?” Kanaya offered when the stranger did not speak.

The stranger spoke in a slightly raspy voice with a short, clipped affect. “Arrows rained upon your general area moments before, and yet you walk towards a potential source of danger? Moments after your own life was at risk? You must either be assured of your skill, or very stupid.”

“I like to think I am the former, although there is always time to prove the latter.”

The stranger smiled. “You think it is inevitable you will be proven unintelligent?”

“I find it imprudent to assume one will never make a mistake.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards. “Ah, a pragmatist. We may get along yet.”

Kanaya pursed her lips. “I find I get along with people much better if we have something to call each other by.”

“You would still like my name, then.” It wasn’t a question. They seemed to be hesitating. “I suppose you can call me Briar,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m just a traveler in these woods. There’s nothing I have to claim that involves fanfare.”

Politely, Kanaya did not mention the clearly magical bow, or the fine clothing. “I do have a bit of a fancy title, but I think it best not to rattle off the entire thing. Suffice it to say that you can call me Kanaya.” Hopefully, her rescuer would be equally polite about her weaponry and dress.

“May I ask where you’re headed? I wouldn’t mind some company, and you certainly seem like you need the assistance.” The last was delivered with a smirk, which Kanaya bristled a little at.

“I have been traveling with several others, thank you; we just found ourselves separated after that large group of undead descended onto us. I had almost dispatched all of them when you arrived.” She made a sweeping gesture back towards the not-immodest pile of re-deceased zombies surrounding the tree she had been up against.

Briar smirked harder. “So my assistance is not desired?”

“No, that is not-” Kanaya broke off her objection with a huff as Briar began to laugh. “I would, actually, quite like your help locating my companions. However, I would like to know why you would want to help me. You seem to be taking great pleasure in needling me about needing it.”

The other traveler sobered slightly. “I just know what it’s like to be traveling alone, and the drudgery of not having someone to talk to, no stories to tell around the fire or on the road. It can be better to group up, even temporarily, just to kill the boredom.”

“Did you lose a companion recently as well?” Kanaya blurted.

Briar raised a thin eyebrow. “Not recently, as it were. But yes, I have previously parted ways with those whom I enjoyed sharing a story or three.”

“I would be happy to share tales with you, stranger. My companions would likely head towards the closest inn if they were sure they were separated from me, as that was our next destination. Does that align with your path?”

The other woman smiled. “That it does. When last I consulted my map, the next inn was a half-day’s walk up the road. Shall we?”

As they walked up the road, dappled light gently touched the faces of both travelers. Briar hummed an aimless tune, kicking up dead, brown leaves. They traveled in silence for quite some time, neither quite willing to speak up after such an abrupt introduction. About an hour into the walk, Kanaya opened her mouth and was about to begin some sort of small talk about the weather when they reached the top of a hill. Below them, the trees opened up to reveal a path curving down and around a small, ruined stone structure. What had previously been a large castle town now lay in disarray, the abbey wall crumbling and holding nothing at bay. The peasant houses must have been constructed of wood, as all but their foundations had long rotted away. All that remained was a small stone castle with a single, thin spire reaching high into the sky. Small was relative; the property would have held a baron comfortably in his keep with acres of holdings, but from the vantage point it felt like a child’s plaything.

“Well, that certainly looks interesting.” Briar broke the silence with a chuckle.

Kanaya did have to agree. Ruins such as this one, so deep in the woods, were possibly undisturbed, and might have strange and magical treasures hidden within. At the very least, there would be a few monsters to kill, and get some of her frustrations out. “We should explore it. There is still light in the sky.”

Briar’s smile faded slightly. “You know, I grew up not too far from here. When I was a little girl, we were told a tale in whispers. It was the sort of fairy tale that adults would laugh off, but forbid you from speaking about ever again. Would you like to hear it?”

“Right now?” Kanaya asked, the question coming out more incredulously than she intended. “While we’re stopped in the middle of the road?”

The smile was back. “I can walk and weave words, miss.”

“Well then, far be it from me than to stop you.”

“A long, long time ago, a young king killed what he thought was the last dragon in his lands. His fields were free from fiery terror, and his people lived prosperously for three decades. One day, a winged shadow drew over the land again, smaller than the scourge that had last plagued the land, but still enough to wreak havoc. One dragon spawn had survived, and had lived long enough to exact its revenge.”

Briar stopped to hop over a river, holding out an arm to steady Kanaya as she crossed. Her hands were warm, heat thrumming through Kanaya’s thick gear to her palm where she clasped Briar’s. She let go, and they continued. Kanaya’s hand felt cold.

“The dragon landed on the top of the castle of the now-middle-aged king, and told the king that he would leave the lands be, if only the king would offer his daughter. One life in exchange for the kingdom’s safety.”

Kanaya laughed grimly. “I suppose it was an easy deal to make with the dragon staring him down.”

“I suppose it was,” Briar replied. “He brought his daughter to be scooped up in the dragon’s claws and carried away. The kingdom was quiet and safe for another thirty years, until the king’s son had borne an heir and several daughters, and a new ruler was crowned. The dragon once again flew across the land, and once again sat atop the tower and demanded a companion. Every three decades, the dragon would return, larger than before, and more imposing.”

“And how long ago was the last time the dragon came to the land?” Kanaya asked, playing along.

“Well, that’s just the thing.” Briar held a branch up so Kanaya could pass under it. “The dragon hasn’t been sighted in over fifty years.”

“Do you know why?”

The first crumbling pieces of stone that formerly lined the road to the castle began to rise up from the sides of the road. “No one knows. Some of the bravest in our village once described traveling deep into the woods and seeing a castle with a tall tower, a sleeping monster curled around the top.”

Kanaya squinted ahead, trying to spot the castle. “Did you put much stock in their tales?”

“When I was younger? Not really. Now? Also no, not really. I think if a dragon had a castle, he’d sleep inside of it, not on top.”

Involuntarily, Kanaya burst out laughing. “That’s your justification for why they’re wrong? Not that your country doesn’t have a history of missing princesses, or that you happened to live close enough to the dragon’s castle to find it, but not so close that it bothers you?”

Briar put her hands on her hips. “Would you sleep out in the rain and the cold if you had the option not to?”

“I make a habit not to when I have the choice,” Kanaya ceded.

“Then you admit there’s some logic to what I say,” Briar smirked felinely.

Kanaya rolled her eyes, smiling. “Begrudgingly. At any rate, there was no dragon on that tower when we saw it from above.”

“No,” Briar said. “There wasn’t.”

[the-lady-writes-what]

Swing

1920′s Gangster AU

You're working one night at the club, singing on stage, when you catch the eye of dangerous yet handsome man. You can't help yourself when he sweeps your off your feet for the night and shows you more pleasure than you ever imagined.

Content: one instance of hair pulling and spanking, doggie style, voyeurism (if you squint), praise, a hint of fluff

                                                        ---080---

The air was choked by cigarette smoke, cheap booze, and lilac perfume. The syrupy-sweet fragrance stung the most. It was like huffing a can of hairspray that faintly smelled like flowers. You put up with the perfume and cloying cigarette smoke and a myriad of other things because of one vital thing. Money. You needed it. There was no other way to survive. In the world of bootleggers, gangsters, and smugglers, you were just a girl with a mic and love of music. You worked hard to earn your current position, starting from the bottom as one of those cigar girls parading around the club. It wasn't easy, either. If the boss hadn't just so happened to hear you singing to yourself as you helped clear out the dishes in the kitchen, you wouldn't be getting ready to go on stage.

The stage was a simple affair built with just enough space for you, a piano, and several sax and clarinet players. Your spotlights were dingy yellowish beams with only enough power to shine on one person on stage. Considering you were typically the prettiest thing on stage, the spotlight always shined on you. The curtains were still tied off either because nobody wanted to bother giving you the special entrance of a dramatically raised curtain. Besides, the curtains were little more than glorified rugs hung from the rafters. They smelled of dust and old cigar smoke, and you had to concentrate on not sneezing through your whole set.

You looked out from around the stage, but could hardly see anything through the haze of smoke. Nobody seemed to care or notice the clouds of cigarette smoke. Glasses clinked with boot-legged alcohol and laughter resounded in the air. Small tongues of the fire flickered in and out of the smoke, and another cigarette was sparked into life. You scrunched your nose up at the smell and looked down at your dress. Though it was a new number in your favorite color, you hated that it was coming home with your smelling of the club, and you couldn't afford dry cleaning. You berated yourself for not keeping it at home and wear a dress that you didn't mind smelling like cheap booze and cigar smoke. Oh well, too late now.

Your boss Toshinori complimented your 'wise' choice at the clingy chiffon that hugged your curves. He didn't say that in so many words, but you knew what he was thinking. At first, your brows furrowed at his words. Toshinori sweated up a storm and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. When you asked what the matter was, his face turned white as a sheet. Toshinori refused to say at first, however threatening to not go on stage made him reconsider. After your boss explained the situation, you wished that you hadn't asked in the first place. Now, you were suffering from an overpopulation of butterflies in your stomach. Your eyes glued themselves to the front entrance through which Toshinori's guests of honor were supposed to arrive. Assuming they weren't being tailed by the police or a rival gang.

However, the second you thought this, you chuckled. Rival gang? Like anyone would be stupid or crazy enough to go against Shouta "Eraserhead" Aizawa and his highly competent lieutenants, Present Mic and Midnight. Most of those who tried ended up in coffins. No wonder Toshinori looked like he was ready to give up the ghost.

It was ten minutes before showtime when you heard a bustle of activity at the front entrance. From where you stood on the stage, half-hiding behind the curtain, you barely saw the doors burst open. At first, you thought it could be the coppers come to shut down the bar and start passing around silver bracelets. Your eyes were glued on the trio entering the club. The blonde on the right wore a black and silver three-piece with his jacket unbuttoned, and his white leather shoes shined. The lady on the left wore a white double-breasted suit jacket and matching skirt. Her whole outfit was designed to show off her ample chest and long legs to distract from the fact that she twirled a knife in her hands like a child's toy. But these characters held little interest to you because your eyes were fixed on the man walking in the middle.

He wore a dark gray three-piece and a black coat that hung off his shoulders like a king's royal cape. Like you, his eyes were half-hidden behind a curtain of dark hair and the shadows of a black fedora. He walked with his hands in his pockets and with the air of someone who couldn't be touched. The man owned the room, and every set of eyeballs in it. Drinking and laughter died when he entered. Toshinori appeared scurrying out of his office as if told at the last minute that they arrived. He continued to wipe his drenched forehead with his handkerchief. He directed the trio to a booth, which faced the stage directly. You watched your boss bow profusely from the waist. The trio that just entered sat too far away from you to be able to hear. Exactly how they walked in, the blonde man sat on the right, the lady on the left, and the powerful individual with the black fedora sat in between them. You couldn't stop staring.

You glanced at the woman in the middle one's left. You swore you'd seen her somewhere before, but couldn't quite place it. It's rude to stare, yet you couldn't help yourself. Your hands fisted the old velvet curtains. Were these the people Toshinori invited to the club? The woman on the left noticed you staring. Before you could retreat, she locked eyes on you and winked. A boulder fell into your stomach.

You realized just where you saw her before at the club a couple weeks ago. The woman appeared to be a chatty, flirty customer but otherwise harmless.

"That's Nemuri "Midnight" Kayama. Second lieutenant to Eraserhead."

You jumped out of your skin at the sound of your pianist, Hitoshi, talking behind you.

"W-what? Her? But I thought—"

"That Midnight was a man? Don't let her looks fool you. I heard that she once highjacked a police van and helped the convicts inside escape."

"Then, who are the other guys?" You might have been better off not knowing, yet your curiosity got the better of you.

"The one on the right is Hizashi "Present Mic" Yamada. They say he's robbed every bank from here to New York. Thing is, nobody can pin them on him despite his boasting. He's loud, but he gets the job done."

"That means," you swallowed, "The one in the middle is…"

"Yup," said Hitoshi. "That's Eraserhead. The kingpin of this city. You see that scar? That's the only thing he got after fighting off the Shigaraki group a couple years ago. The man's quirk can erase his opponent's, so long as he doesn't blink."

Your legs turned to pudding. That man, oh, how you wished you could tear your eyes away. You rubbed your thighs. Something wet made your legs stick together; you hoped you were just nervously sweating and hadn't creamed yourself only by looking at the man. He was a bit shorter than the gigantic figure newspapers made him out to be, although not by many margins. With all of that black and the dark suit, Eraserhead made an imposing—if not terrifying—figure. Despite the dark material, you could still see the defined muscle rippling beneath the clothes he wore. He hadn't yet taken off his coat and hat, and it made you wonder if he was playing on leaving soon. His lieutenants appeared to be making themselves comfortable by ordering food and drink. However, their boss seemed less inclined to follow. All he got was a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. Eraserhead served himself after testing the brand. Testing the taste or for poison, he left it to your imagination to choose which.

"I wouldn't get close if were you, Y/N. Eraserhead's got a thing for cute little ladies like you. I wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of his affection if I wanted to play safe," said Hitoshi.

"I-I can handle myself," you replied.

Even you didn't believe a word you said.

The first set started off like any other night. You looked past Eraserhead's table, trying not to make eye contact. You decided not to look at him, but that didn't stop Eraserhead from looking at 'you.' The whole time you performed to Hitoshi's piano accompaniment, you felt eyes burning a hole into your gut. It was like staring down the barrel of a shotgun. The worse part was you didn't know when it would go off. You stumbled once or twice through the setlist. Thankfully, hardly anyone noticed thanks to the sax and piano. You scanned over the crowds and quickly passed over that table set in the middle of the club. Harder than you thought because all you wanted to do that evening was to lock eyes with that dangerous man.

By the end of your second set, you were thirsty and not necessarily for water. You managed to escape walking past Eraserhead's table and made your way to the bar. You ordered two shot glasses for yourself. The bartender, Shoto, didn't offer any remarks but got you your drinks. You downed them before the ice began to melt. The alcohol didn't do anything to alieve the weight tied to your neck. Each second you were on stage, it was harder for you to focus on 'not' looking at him. Your gaze kept getting too close to looking at him. It didn't matter if it was rude. You weren't about to get yourself mixed up with mobsters, even handsome ones.

"May I buy your next round?"

You almost did a spit take on Shoto's pristine bar counter. Slowly, you turned to find Eraserhead. He was without his great big black coat and looking far more casual than before. You swallowed past the hard lump that formed in your throat.

"I-I gotta get back to work. I'm only allowed two drinks a night while I'm working."

Eraserhead's dark brow shot upwards. Curious, he asked, "Toshinori lets you drink on the job?"

You shrugged. "Two drinks isn't enough to get me tipsy, and a spot of liquid courage now and then helps."

You almost looked at his face. Quickly, you cast your eyes down. Eraserhead takes one step towards you. His form looms over you like a shadow, and his hand reaches out. You didn't know what you were expecting, but you certainly didn't expect him to cup your chin between his finger and thumb. Eraserhead tilted your chin up. You felt his free hand lean against the back of your stool, inches from you. You could feel him looking down at you. After the pressure in your belly grew to be too much, your eyelids fluttered open.

Your face turned red as a tomato looking up at him. Up close and personal, Shouta "Eraserhead" Aizawa was much more impressive from this angle. He was a bit scruffy, but the stubble on his face made him appear more….manly? No, that wasn't quite right. Even if he shaved, you would have never mistaken him as not being so. Every movement he made screamed of power and control. Eraserhead moved like a wildcat in the jungle. You wouldn't know the predator was watching you until it was too late. No, no, his scruffy-looking face added something a bit more. He couldn't be lazy, not with the way he dressed. Without his black coat, Eraserhead's body looked bigger. You gawked at how big his arms looked this close to him.

"If you're going to stare, at least stare at my face. Some might consider you rude," said Eraserhead.

You fixed your eyes on his face at the suggestion. It was a hypnotic pull that made you look at him the way he wanted you to. Who were you to tell him no? This was especially so when the sound of his low-timber voice made your legs quake and heat pool in your lower belly. Though tired-looking, Eraserhead's gaze never left yours. It was the same pair of eyes you felt staring at you all night. Performing made it easier to forget that he'd been watching you the moment you set foot. He's why your voice cracked once or twice while you were trying not to think about him. Your stomach quivered. Eraserhead had yet to take his hand or his eyes off you. His presence was starting to become unnerving.

"What are your plans for the evening?"

"Well, uh, I have to get back on stage eventually."

"The pianist sounds competent and talented enough to carry on without you," said Eraserhead.

Before you knew it, you were being led by Eraserhead through the front entrance. Toshinori saw and tried to protest until one of Eraserhead's lieutenants, Present Mic, handed him a fat stack of cash, which quickly shut him up. Eraserhead's coat almost swallowed you as he put it on your shoulders. His hand sat at your waist, and his thumb drew infinite circles on your hip. Midnight got into the car behind Eraserhead's while you, Present Mic, and the kingpin climbed into another. Both vehicles had personal drivers while you sat in the spacious back of the limo. You were seated next to Eraserhead, obviously, and Present Mic took the seat that faced you. You wished he'd instead have taken the passenger seat up front with the driver. Eraserhead didn't make it easy for you. Not with his hand still on your waist and rubbing circles into your hip. Present Mic rolled down the windows by a little just to let out some smoke from his fresh cigarette.

You'd be content with staring at your feet if it hadn't been for Eraserhead. His hand wandered down to your thigh. Heat rushed to your face. Your eyes first snapped up to look at Present Mic, who was looking out the window and blowing clouds of smoke into the air as they drove. Then, you cautioned a glance at your host. His nonchalant mask gave you goosebumps.

"E-Eraser…"

"Even if he was paying attention," Eraserhead whispered next to your ear, "It wouldn't matter. He's not interested in young ladies. I wouldn't show off like this in front of 'em if he wasn't."

He kissed your temple. Eraserhead's hand moved no higher than the meaty part of your thigh. You could have been grateful for that if you weren't so conflicted. You wanted him to shift his hand under your chiffon dress and tease off your garters. In contrast, another part wanted to jump out of the moving vehicle out of sheer embarrassment. His thumb continued to draw circles into your skin over the fabric.

You jolted in your seat when Eraserhead's teeth grazed the lobe of your ear.

"And…call me, Shouta," he demanded.

It would be hard for you to remember that considering his name sounded so much like your coworker's at the club. Eraserhead—Shouta gripped your hip and pulled you even closer to him. With his hand on you like that made escape impossible also if you wanted to. Lips caressed the side of your neck to send goosebumps over your skin.

"S-Shouta!" You whined.

You tried not to look at the man sitting across from you who suddenly found his fingernails to be so exciting. Present Mic didn't appear interested in you. But somebody was.

A finger trailed under your dress's skirt and up your inner thigh, edging dangerously close to your undergarments. Shouta toyed with the lace trim as if you two didn't have an audience. He continued to kiss and lick the side of your neck and relishing in the warmth spreading over your face. Shouta's caresses caused you to shudder under his touch. A bead of sweat ran down your face. Shouta lapped it up with his tongue before it reached your jaw.

"I'm going to have so much fun with you, Doll Face," Shouta murmured against your ear.

Shouta kissed your neck, shoulders, and even your hands. You rubbed your thighs together to ease the need for friction between them. Present Mic seemed the least bit interested in what his boss was doing to you. In fact, he played it so nonchalantly that he insisted on talking business around you. There was nothing in the conversation that would put you in danger, but you were intelligent enough to get the gist. During the ride, Shouta stopped kissed you all over and kept his hand on your hip. The trip lasted for another half hour, you guessed before the vehicle came to a full stop. Present Mic left the car, went around, and opened the other door. Shouta helped you out because your legs wouldn't have been able to carry you on their own.

You craned your neck as you approached the mansion set before your eyes. You knew that Shouta—Eraserhead—had a lot of money; you just didn't realize how much. You walked across a gravel path leading up to a columned portico. With his hand on your lower back, Shouta leads you inside. His coat was taken up by a butler along with your shawl and hat. You followed Shouta upstairs. You were shaking head to toe in anticipation. You passed several doors before you came to the biggest one, a set of green doors plated with gold-leaf. Shouta opened it and called for a bottle of champagne to his room. You set your purse aside on a chest of drawers and sat down on the settee. Shouta made himself comfortable by removing his jacket, vest, and bowtie. When the champagne arrived, Shouta answered the door himself and handed you a glass. You sipped as he sat next to you and resumed his previous kissing activity wherever he pleased.

You had trouble holding your glass and avoiding spilling any of the expensive alcohol. You and Shouta drank until the tips of both your noses were red. You set aside your empty glass to wrap your hands behind his neck. Your lips touched his with tenderness and licked him. Shouta gave you open access to his mouth and pressed his hand on the back of your head, bringing you closer. Your soft moans were swallowed up in the kiss. Hands trailed down each other's bodies, but Shouta managed to find the buttons on the back of your dress. He popped them open one at a time. You knew he finished when you felt the warmth of the fire grazing your spine. Shouta gave you a kiss that made your head spin. He nibbled on your bottom lip, took it into his mouth, and sucked softly. When he let you go, Shouta looked at you and pinned you with a heavy-loaded gaze.

"Undress for me."

You blinked, unsure you heard him correctly. Surely a man like the infamous gangster Eraserhead would have his women and strip them too. His hand raked up the back of your neck and grabbed a fistful of your carefully curled hair. Shouta kissed the base of your throat. Looking up, he said, "Don't make me repeat myself, my dear."

Slowly, you nodded. Shouta released you and leaned into the settee. You rose from your seat and made to stand in front of him. Shouta had down half the work for you. All you had to do was pulled the straps down and let gravity do most of the work. A simple task such as that did nothing to keep your hands from shaking. Your hands trembled as you reached for the straps. One at a time, you slipped them off your shoulders. Shouta's eyes never left you and traveled downward as you dragged the dress off your body inch by inch. You shimmied it out of the way and stepped out of pooling on the floor.

Your silk combinations must have caught his attention as Shouta couldn't take his eyes off your undergarments. You wore a cheap waist-cincher with a built-in garter belt to hold up your stockings. You didn't move while he drank you in. After a while, Shouta nodded and gave you a sign with his hand to remove the rest. You weren't alone in this. Shouta removed his shoes, socks, shirt, spenders, etc. until he wore only his slacks. Your fingers trembled too much to unhook the cincher with much success. Shouta did the work for you, peeling the cincher away and tossing it behind the setee. His hands were on you; the second the garment fell apart from you. Shouta's fingers groped you through the thin silk, slid his hands down your legs, and rolled them off. You kicked your kitten heels off and climbed into his lap.

Shouta lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carried you to bed. The silk combination was shifted off your body before Shouta settled you on the enormous bed. You climbed on top of the sheets, rested your head on the mountain of pillows, and pressed your legs together while you waited. You didn't have to do that for very long as Shouta followed immediately behind you. This time he was equally naked as you were. Shouta forced your legs apart and crept between them. He kissed and licked your inner thighs and left bruises to remind you of him the next time you went to take a bath.

He climbed unto his knees. By the firelight, you saw him. His body was littered with scars from bullets and knives. Some of them looked almost fatal. You reached up to touch him. You ran your hands down the length of his body before stopping at the stiff member jutting out. You wrapped your hand around him and give his cock a few experimental thrusts. The groan escaping him filled you with the confidence needed to rub him faster. You kept pumping him and watching his face contort to one of pleasure.

Then, all of a sudden, he pulled your hand away.

Shouta pinned your hand to the bed while he used his other to lift one leg and hook it around his waist. He didn't need to guide himself in. In one fell swoop, Shouta's cock was planted deep inside and nestled within your soaking walls. His hand left yours on the bed to grab your hips and pull you flush against him. His hips snapped into yours slowly and harshly. Shouta kept his tempo slow but hard to tease you. It didn't take long for him to become impatient. You squeezing his cock pushed him over the edge.

Your bodies pressed close together as Shouta moved within you. You slid along his body, breasts flush against his solid chest. Shouta bent and suckled on each nipple of yours until they were taut peaks. He playfully clapped his hands over them, slapping the skin, which was becoming slick with sweat. His teeth found your throat to leave behind purpling bruises as if to say who you belonged to. You didn't know what to do with your hands or where to put them. You longed to reach up and tug on Shouta's hair but was too afraid to take offense and stop. Instead, you voted to wrap your hands in the bedsheets and hold onto dear life. Tugging on the sheets beneath you grounded your being in reality while Shouta pounded you into the mattress.

"So tight for me, Y/N. A man could get used to this," Shouta growled and started thrusting faster and harder into you.

Sweat and other fluids mixed between your legs. You clamped around him and held on. Without pulling out, Shouta turned you on your stomach and resumed thrusting. His rough hands that killed a lot of people were yet still tender when touching you. To be sure, he wouldn't leave you without a few souvenirs to remember him by, but Shouta wasn't about hurting women. He grunted in your ear as he pressed his chest against your back. He pulled you tight against to leave no room between your bodies. You cried out in the pillows and scratched at the silken sheets.

The room, which had been warm since Shouta lit the fireplace, became unbearably hot. The air grew to be too stifling for you. Sweat poured out of your body and made you slick. Well lubricated, it made Shouta's job easier. He pushed and pulled, his hips never slowing its tattoo* against yours. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room along with you moaning. Your sounds drowned him out, but you could still feel him rumble with every grunt against your ear. If not for all the furnishings, you would mistake yourself to be cave-people as Shouta unleashed a primeval urge to thoroughly fuck you. He was an animal between your legs; he claimed your hips with every powerful thrust.

A tight, hot coil settled in your stomach and began to tighten. With every push of Shouta inside of you, the rigid veins of his cock rubbing every secret part, you began to wail. Your walls tightened around him. When the time came, you gushed around him. Shouta was a minute behind. He pulled out beforehand. You would remember the way he groaned for the rest of your days. Shouta was an animal who just claimed his mate and was now planting the indelible mark on their body. You felt a spray of something warm and syrupy coating your skin. It took you a moment to realize that Shouta finished on your back.

Despite the mess you just made of you, Shouta leaned down, kissed the back of your neck then your cheek. He wiped the sweat from your brow. You bashfully smiled back.

"I-I haven't done that that in a while, you know. Sorry if I wasn't as experienced as you're used to," you mumbled.

One of Shouta's dark brows rose. "Why would I care about that? Did you not enjoy yourself?"

"Well, yes, but I—"

Shouta kissed you, silencing any protests you might have had. His cock slipped inside of you. You gasped at how quickly he was hard again.

"Let's make one thing clear, Doll Face. You don't get to decide if I liked it. That's what you were about to say? Some bullshit like that, right?"

His hand came down on your ass cheek. You yelped in both surprise and pain. Shouta massaged the red handprint as he slowly began to start a new rhythm

"I get to decide whether you're good and whether I want you," he grunted between thrusts, which were starting to pick up again, "And I say, I want you. Your experience with other men means shit to me. You're with me now, and my girl gets the best, understand?"

You nodded before letting the flow of his lust take over you. Shouta flipped you back over, so you looked at each other. You reached behind his neck to hold on as his pace picked up to a punishing speed.

"Don't…ever…think less of…yourself. You're fucking mine from now on, got it?" He growled.

And that was how you ended up a gangster's girlfriend.

                                                         ---080---

[gaiuswrites]

Good morning ✨

Fic title: Surrender

Hiiii, omg thank you for the suggestion 💙✨

Okay PHEW. Here’s my thought: Din. Enemies to Lovers. But tbh, it’s more like enemies to… less hateful enemies. Idk. Here it is:

It is on heavy feet that Din trudges through the town. It’s dusty, dirty—everything, every surface, coated thick with an inch of the stuff. The metal of his body chimes like a booted spur, the tremble of his beskar echoing tinny in the canyon surrounding the village.

People pretend not to see him, pretend he isn’t there. A phantom, they part around him as he passes through. He suspects they all assume he’s there for one of them— one of their fathers, their cousins. Someone. He suspects they’ve all got their guard up, ready to fight or fly if need be— ready to get scrappy in a brawl if it comes to it.

They’d be wrong, though.

He’s just there to get supplies. Din is tired. He’s just there to refuel. That’s it.

He sighs as a woman tucks her son behind her skirted body, hiding the little boy away. The woman looks tough, stony— she’s all sun spots and thick hair. Tanned, like him. Brow eyed, like him too.

He wants to stop. He wants to tell her that he won’t hurt her, that he’s not gonna hurt anyone— that he’s hungry and tired and here for rations and fuel. That’s it.

But the ammo marking the belt slung over his chest and the rifle ominously holstered upon his back tell a different story— paint a far more threatening picture.

The bounty hunter guesses he can’t blame her. Her instincts are good; he’d probably react the same.

He walks on, nearing the depot, when something— some primal part of him— is triggered, a warning whisper breathing up his ear. Din stops dead in his tracks, listening.

Listening...

Slowly, carefully, he turns. His visor scans the area, the pedestrians milling about, the buildings half crumbling in the heat. And it is when he pivots nearly all the way around that the first shot rings out.

Ping.

The bullet hits his shoulder pauldron, ricocheting off the armor, and the townspeople run screaming—cowering away, seeking shelter wherever they can find it.

Din’s thoughts trail to the mother and her son as he rips his blaster from it’s slot at his hip. He’s scanning for the shooter, but he’s searching for them as well— they were close by, they were right there; are they alright? were they hurt?— but his concern for them is sucked dry when the second bullet whizzes through the air, landing a direct hit on his breastplate.

He grunts, staggering backwards, before finding his footing and charging in the direction of the bullet fire. He sweeps over the different stories and levels, desperate and hunting for the source— the singe in his chest aching where he was shot, stinging despite the beskar plating him. They must be using jacketed hollow points, he surmises. They must be dangerous— out for blood. Out for him.

“Mando.”

His heart is cinched like a vice at the sound of his moniker, dripping ugly from your lips. Mando. It sounds like Death— and like Death on his pale steed, you emerge from your sniper’s nest to face him.

You’re a girl— a woman— and it’s clear, from the rifle in your hands and the ire burning out from your taut frame like flame:

you aim to see Din dead.

“If you’re looking for the kid, I don’t have him. He’s gone. The bounty’s been dropped,” Din reasons, but not without dropping his pistol pointed at your center.

A fleck of confusion momentarily twists your expression before it disappears, replaced by a black fierceness that darkens your entire face. “Don’t know anything about a kid. I’m here for you.”

You and Din circle each other like sharks, round and round, kicking up dirt as you pace. He’s gruff when he asks, “who sent you then?”

“Came on my own,” you reply tersely. You’re both sizing each other up— looking for weakness in his beskar - his sides, where only his flight suit peeks through, his hamstrings, his Achilles - and possible strategies for swiping that monstrosity of a gun from your clutches.

“Why? Why here— now?”

Your breathing is coming hard, clawing tight at your chest— the leather guard you wear over your breasts creaking with the rise of your ribs.

“Nevarro,” you grit.

Din says nothing— there’s nothing to say. You’re vague and angry and he is clueless. Ignorant. Naive.

His speechlessness pisses you off even more— you mistake it for rudeness. You mistake is for boasting. You rage with it.

“Nevarro,” you repeat, the muscle in your jaw tensing, ripping under skin. “You think the galaxy fucking revolves around you, Mandalorian? You and your fucking covert? I had people there— I had family. I—”

You seethe. The crossfire of that night, that night your life was undone and you were made anew, still whistles through your mind. Din can see it, the ghost of the fall out, gaping in your eyes.

Fuck.

“I’ve lost people too, I’m sorry—”

“I don’t give a shit who you’ve lost,” you bite out, words like bile. Acidic. They boil and bubble into the sand beneath your boots. “I’m making amends. This—” you cock your rifle with a calloused palm. “This is for them.”

/

And then from there, SOMEHOW omg somehow they have to work together. I think maybe the town gets ambushed and they’re captured??!?!!! Like some sort of gang of bandits catches them by surprise and they’re tied up and dragged along idk. They eventually have to work together to free themselves and one another, even though she’s still hellbent for revenge after the whole MASSIVE SHOOT OUT at Nevarro where the reader lost family. It’s a revenge story baybee. Nothing like a feral woman seeking vengeance, even if it’s misplaced. (Grief does that. It blinds you until all you see is red.)

✨ send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it ✨

[notyourdayrdream]

Tan Hands and Tan Lines

Day Three, Side A: Ubiquitous

(read it here on AO3)

Nobody wants to spend their summer vacation working. But spending it with your two best friends wasn’t too bad. So when Mercedes told Rachel and Kurt that there were two openings at the retro fifties diner in downtown Lima, they jumped on the opportunity.

Diner in the Sky started out as a relatively slow job. It had just opened a few months ago and the word hadn’t gotten out to much of the city that it even existed. In those early days, Kurt and his friends spent the afternoons and nights singing through the empty store, twirling on black and white checkered floors. Finn and some of the other New Directions would stop by before the sunset and order milkshakes with fries. He and Rachel would not-so-mysteriously disappear for five or so minutes, and Kurt noticed the way Mercedes and Sam giggled around each other. He eventually cornered her during a graveyard shift, and she admitted that they had been dating in secret since prom. It took two days for Mercedes to win Kurt back, after buying him the new Marc Jacobs piece he had been dreaming about.

It was a cute job with even cuter outfits. Until July fourth came around.

The mayor of Lima stopped by that night and made a big show of it all, forever putting the little diner on the map. The appearance knocked out every ubiquitous fast food joint in town. It’s been packed every night since.

“I need a number five without onions!” Kurt hears Rachel scream into the kitchen, followed by the clanging of a few plates. She storms out a minute later, hair sticking to the sweat on her face.

“I hate this job,” she grumbles to him as she makes her way to another table of hungry customers.

Kurt leans his body weight against the counter. The metal is cool against his skin, a nice distraction from the oppressive summer heat. The bar isn’t nearly as packed tonight as the rest of the restaurant, mostly just little kids ordering heart attack inducing malts and ice cream cones. He’s adjusting the stupid rectangle shaped hat on his hat when he hears the door jingle at nine o’clock on the dot.

Blaine Anderson strolls into the diner with his little private smile, pulling his usual denim jacket off as he goes. He’s humming again, a pop song Kurt notices. Probably Katy Perry. He overheard Blaine tell Rachel she was his most listened to artist last week. Not that he was listening to hear if his name came up in conversation or anything like that. That would be crazy.

They meet eyes for a brief second, hazel to blue. Blaine grins before sliding onto one of the red leather barstools. “Hell again?” His cheeks are flushed pink, but Kurt blames it on the heat.

“Yeah,” Kurt replies, sounding breathier than usual. Blaine has a way of doing that to him. With his funny quirks and ability to make restaurant issued bowties sexy, the Dalton Academy junior has snuck his way into Kurt’s heart from the second he started working with him.

There’s a particularly loud crash in the corner of the building, followed by a baby screaming. Blaine takes a moment to sober himself, eyelashes fanning out on the apple of his cheeks. “I better get to work. I mean, I should get to work.” He’s flailing, adorably so. “I mean, I should check that out.” Blaine stumbles. The back of his neck is red as he walks away.

“Remind me again why you won’t ask him out?” Mercedes says with a poke to Kurt’s shoulder. Her hair is still intact, textured curls bouncing at her shoulders. The only way you’d know she had been working was the ketchup colored stains on her baby blue dress and apron. “He’s obviously into you.”

Kurt’s thought about it so many times, and the answer is that he doesn’t know. Competing schools wasn’t an excuse, it was summer. Besides, the Warblers had been so gracious in their loss at Regionals that they invited the New Directions over for coffee at the Lima Bean.

Truth is, he was scared. He’s never had a boyfriend, let alone asked a boy out or even told one they were handsome. This is still Ohio, and being out and proud has its consequences. He knows Blaine is gay at least, so his crushing isn’t creepy.

It sort of terrifies him to care about someone so deeply. When Blaine came in with red rimmed eyes after his fifteen minute break one night in the middle of June, Kurt sat with him as he ranted about how awful his dad was. He’s the only friend Kurt has that likes to watch old black and white movies for fun. Blaine makes him laugh so hard he cries, and everytime he brushes past Kurt during the busy nights, the spot tingles for until he gets home.

Kurt sighs. “I don’t know.” He rests his head against the edge of the soda machine. “Crushes are so damned difficult.” Mercedes hums in sympathy.

“It’ll work out, boo. Even if Rachel and I have to force the two of you to close together like last time.” He can feel her laugh beside him, and soon he’s laughing too. That was a good night.

“Kurt! ‘Cedes!” Rachel all but screams, turning a few heads. After knowing the girl for two years, he’s convinced she only has two settings: Loud and Louder.

Her face is bright pink and there’s a deep crease between her brows. She’s got her Business Face on. “What’re you two doing? This large party just came in, and you guys are just sitting here! A little help would be appreciated!” She huffs, pumps tapping against the floor as she walks to the back at a dizzying speed.

Kurt and Mercedes share an eye roll before going opposite ways. The party Rachel was talking about is huge, five adults and three kids under ten years old. After finding a table large enough so they’d all be comfortable, he pulls out a notepad and asks what drinks he can get them started with.

An older woman starts speaking in rapid fire Italian, gesturing to the rest of the group, who nod in return. Kurt instantly regrets taking up French instead of literally any other language.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, hoping they could understand. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

A younger man with a beard cocks his head and speaks in an incredibly thick accent. How a family of Italians decided to spend a summer in boring Ohio confuses him. “Could we get another waiter?” He stutters through the sentence, and Kurt feels bad to inconvenience them.

There’s a familiar tingle on his left shoulder. “I can help them,” Blaine whispers, side-stepping him to get closer to the table. He says something to the family, who grin back at him. He has that effect on people.

“You speak Italian?” Kurt hisses. This guy is just full of surprises.

Blaine puts his head down and smiles. He shrugs like everyone in America is fluent in the romantic language. “I spent a few summers in southern Italy with my grandmother when I was younger.” Because of course he did.

“Oh,” Kurt offers lamely. “Okay, well tell them I’m really sorry for any inconvenience.”

Blaine smirks at him and turns to the table. He says something to them, laughing afterwards. Kurt watches behind him, amazed at the way Blaine can make anyone feel so important. Not to mention Italian is such a hot language to hear coming out of his mouth.

A kid who can’t be above twelve pipes up, pointing back to Kurt. The rest of the family looks back at him too.

Kurt pulls at the edge of his crisp button down. They’re looking back and forth between him and Blaine, unnerving him beyond belief. He feels called out and exposed even though he has no idea what’s being said about him. So he just returns a wavering smile and turns to leave and prepares to never show his face again when he hears it.

Amore.

That stops him in his tracks. Love? Kurt’s no language expert, but the word is pretty universal in every one of them. He turns around to ask Blaine for a translation, but to his surprise he’s gone uncharacteristically silent.

Blaine eventually stammers through a reply, hands stuck stiffly at his sides. Kurt hears him murmur, “I’ll be back with your drinks,” before walking into the kitchen as fast as he can. He won’t make eye contact with Kurt the rest of the night.

Diner in the Sky closes at eleven every night, and it takes another thirty minutes on a good day to scrub stains from the tabletops and lock everything up. It’s Kurt’s night to close up. Usually either Rachel or Mercedes is on schedule to help him, but since his luck is just absolute shit, he has to clean up the place with Blaine.

Closing up is usually an intimate job. Just two people, the nostalgia of an old diner, and a jukebox. Depending on who you’re with, it’s either heaven or hell. Kurt’s not sure which one he’ll get tonight. The other two times he’s had to suffer through it with Blaine, it’s been fun. They dirtied dishes making vanilla shakes and doo-wopping along to the jukebox tunes.

Tonight feels like purgatory. Blaine avoids him at any cost. If Kurt goes to mop the kitchen floors, he goes to the front room, and vice versa. He won’t speak to him, or even acknowledge him when he accidentally sweeps Kurt’s feet. It’s fine at first, Kurt can handle the awkwardness. But eventually, it simmers to anger.

“Can I talk to you?” He calls after Blaine. He stops like a kid caught in the cookie jar, hand freezing on the light switch. He turns slowly, eyes as big as saucers.

“Yeah?”

Kurt glares at him for a moment before speaking. “Look, I don’t know what that family said to you, but it gives you no right to be so absolutely rude—”

“They said I looked like I loved you.” It comes out as if it pains him to say.

That sentence makes any anger Kurt has, flow out of him and into a pond on the floor. Love?

He scraps up any dignity he has left and smiles to himself. “Well, do you?”

“Do I what?” Blaine snaps, coming to sit on the stool next to him. His leg trembles on the floor. Kurt can recognize now the little tells he didn’t know he ever noticed; how Blaine presses his thumb and ring finger together when he’s especially nervous, the way his eyes seem to light up when he looks at him.

“Love me?” Kurt continues, heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He wants to hear him say it.

Blaine doesn’t answer, instead opting to bury his head into his hands. Kurt hears him mumble to himself. Something about not the right time and tan messed everything up. His stomach flip flops.

“So,” Kurt drags, tapping the edge of the metal counter. “Love, huh?”

“Shut up,” Blaine mutters. They sit in comfortable silence for a little, until the hum of Ella Fitzgerald fizzles off the record. Then, Kurt feels a warm, almost clammy hand on top of his. It’s enough of an answer for him.

[wendystales]

Memories - lrh (Chapter Thirteen)

Memories (also on Wattpad)

Chapter Twelve ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ Chapter Fourteen

I position myself in the center of the panel, making the 104th pose that morning. Brandon guides me from one shot to the next, making everything easier.

Six makeups. Six hairstyles. Six changes of clothes, even though the focus was on my face. Why did I get into this?

The photo shoot was for a cosmetics brand, for which I was the cover girl. It wasn't a 7-headed bug, as I had been thinking all night, which resulted in an irritating insomnia. And even though I arrived shy and lost, when I saw my look all produced, I felt like a great hottie, which gave me the confidence to go to that studio and rock.

I was having fun, as Leah advised me. I threw my hair, made faces and danced. I shifted my attention between Brandon's camera and my cell phone, where Nico, one of the helpers, was filming behind the scenes and stirring up my social medias.

It's fun, but after the fourth change of clothes, I was exhausted. After all, that spotlight doesn't leave me and the light gets too hot.

“For you.” Nico hands me a pink lilies bouquet. I open a smile, confused.

The team that was with me today, the agency, the brand and my parents had already sent me some bouquets earlier today, congratulating me and celebrating my return to the fashion world. So whose would it be?

I hunt for the card, opening it in a rush. Nico rested his head on my shoulder, wanting to read along with me. The handwriting didn't make me doubt, they were Luke's.

“To make your day more beautiful.

Congratulations on your return.

Love, Hemmo.”

I open a smile completely shaken by that. I burst out laughing when I see under his name “and the rest of 5sos” written in a different hand.

I ask Nico to take a picture of me with the flowers and send it to him, who quickly responds with a Petunia figure with heart eyes. I know I need to drop the bouquet and go back to the photos, but it feels so difficult.

Finally, I leave the flowers to the dressing room and I focus myself. Brandon praises my goofy smile and begs me to keep it up.

I knew everyone wanted to come today and watch the photo shoot, but I begged so hard not to. If without anyone I was already terrified of, seeing everyone there, staring at me, I wouldn't leave the dressing room.

[...]

Leah and Kiki were at my house, getting ready for Ashton's birthday, and of course, to gossip. They were both super curious to know how my first shoot was and how I was feeling.

besides telling about work, I comment about Luke's flowers and, finally, I tell about yesterday's dreams that still haven't left my head, taking root in my mind, blooming when I least expect it and leaving me out of breath.

“Oh, you naughty one!” Hastings tosses me the pillow. "Are you going to tell him?" she sits up in bed.

“No! How do I tell this?” I question, not understanding.

“Luke, I remembered when we were like two pervert rabbits and we were always having sex in the corners. Simple.” Kiki shrugs, going back to making up her eyes.

“Kiki!" I reprimand her. I hide my face, laughing embarrassed. "We weren't like that…I think…were we?" I look quickly at both of them.

Kiki looks at Leah, holding back her laughter. The brunette stares at me in disbelief. Oh my God, we were! It takes time to sink in, because with Stephen, I avoided sex at all costs. It was so cold and awkward, that most of the time I was bruised and, in all cases, unfulfilled.

I remember the touch of the dream and how it felt so soft and intense, and so good. However, I still find it hard for me to have been so turned on that I started having sex everywhere.

“Are you sure?” I ask suspiciously.

"Oh, honey! I will have to tell you about my dad's birthday, have I?" Leah hugs me, making Kiki laugh.

"What about your father's birthday?" the same way I was feared of Luke when he started telling me about the day I threw up at his feet, I get with Leah.

“Well, it was my dad's 50th birthday. A big, big party and of course I invited all of you. We had just got back from Milan, you were away from Luke for a couple of weeks, so you’re kinda getting crazy by missing him.

"Make it crazy." Kiki comments.

“The plan was for us to arrive in the morning, you'd have time to see each other, and then in the evening we would go to the party. But our flight was delayed and you didn't have that time. So you decided to open the bathroom.” Leah gives a fake smile.

I took a few seconds to understand, and then I widen my eyes, wanting to sink into the ground. I can't believe we did this.

“Calm down! She didn’t told the best part”. Kiki leaves the bathroom, joining us.

“Oh, that's cool, is there a better part?” I look at them both desperately.

"Of course, there is a best part. Leah escorting you guys out of the bathroom" Kiki throws herself on the bed, laughing. “Oh God! Your faces were the best.”

“Was after that our friendship beat all the limits and you know, we got really close.” Leah smiles to me.

What was my problem? Oh Lord, I never, ever, in my all life, thought I'd give one of those. If anyone asked me, who would be most likely to do this, I would definitely say Leah, Kiki, and even Bethany, but I would never say my name.

What did Luke do to me?!

I look at my friends, shocked. They both start laughing, amused by my reaction. A few seconds later, I give up, starting to laugh too.

"Is there any other similar situation that I should know about?" I inquire with fear.

"Yes, but we don't have time right now." Kiki gets up from the bed, slapping my foot, asking me to get ready.

We turned on the music and continued to get ready. Leah goes down to the kitchen, returning with three beers. The subject changes and we start to gossip.

After hours of producing us, I come down wearing my silver sequin jacket, finding Leah with another beer in her hand.

“Well? Good? Great?” I take a stroll, showing off the leather pants and black tank top that valued my tattoo.

"I definitely would ask for your number!" she replies, making me smile.

"Do you think people will like it? I mean, isn’t that much?” I stop in a few poses while she watches me.

“Rephrase the question.” she leans against the table. I stare at her without understanding. “What you want to know is whether Luke will like it." I open my mouth a few times.

“Perhaps.” I answer softly. Hastings snorts, hiding her face.

“You two should pay for my therapy. Because it's not easy to take it.” she takes a deep breath.

I give a guilty smile. I head to the bar, grabbing a shot of tequila and flipping it quickly. I would find Luke in a few minutes and I still don't know how to face him. I close my eyes, letting the alcohol burn my throat and warm my body, along with the memories. The flashes come back to my mind, clear as water. I can hear the girls' voices again, telling them about Mr. Hastings' 50th birthday.

“Let's go?” Kiki's scream brings me back. Standing near the door, they wait for me to down another shot of tequila before we go.

Along the way, we took several photos, already moving our social medias. At the door of the restaurant, the swarm of paparazzi was already in place and as soon as we got off the car, they surrounded us. Hands and arms linked, the three of us entered, being saved by the huge walls that didn't let them see anything that happened inside.

We went to the back of the restaurant, in a more reserved space, where a long table took up half the back wall. Right away I spot Luke, laughing as he chats with Jack and another guy I don't recognize. I analyze your look, social pants and a black t-shirt.

How can someone look so beautiful, so simple?

I swallow hard when he notices our approach and looks directly at me. I look away, unable to hold on; the images screamed in my mind.

Irwin approaches, already quite excited, trying to hug the three of us at the same time. When Leah and Kiki go to greet the other guests, I calmly hug my best friend, congratulating him once more.

“Make yourself comfortable and behave” he leaves a kiss on my forehead, going to welcome other guests who have just arrived.

I turn in time to see Hemmings approaching, one glass in his hand and the other in his pants pocket. How? I hold my breath, giving a terrified smile. He opens his smile even more.

“Hey!” he says excitedly, close enough for me to hear. Those lips… what have they done… I close my eyes quickly, shutting my mind.

“Hey!” I answer awkwardly.

“How are you doing?” he hugged me, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. I close my eyes again, feeling it radiate with amazing speed throughout my body. I let out a breath in a sigh. I manage to catch his eyes as he walks away, hiding a more mischievous smile.

“Well!” my cheeks catch fire and the jacket starts to bother me. "Thanks for the flowers earlier today." I thank, while Luke leads me to the bar. His hand firmly on my waist reminds me of that hotel room. I bite my lip, holding back the urge to bang my head on the counter. "A shot of tequila." I ask desperately.

Luke raises his eyebrows in surprise but says nothing. I turn it over without a single thought, asking for another one, just in case. The heat that spreads through my body is the result of three doses ingested. I take off my jacket and, through the bar mirrors, I see Luke shamelessly sweep my body.

“It was nothing!” he says after clearing his throat. "I'm glad you liked it. So, how was your first shoot?” he leans his elbow on the counter, propping his head on his hand, visually interested.

The effect of the alcohol starts to kick in, and so I feel lighter in his presence, not bothering with the memories between the two of us, nor the fanciful situations that my mind starts to create. I tell about the rehearsal and how fun it really was to do it. In the middle of the answer, I get enthusiastic, telling everything in minute detail. Luke looks at me smiling and interested, without interrupting me.

“I’m sorry!” I cover my eyes, laughing. “I'm talking too much.”

A few more people had already arrived, but the two of us were still there, sitting at the bar. The most interesting thing was, everyone who arrived didn't dare come here and interrupt us.

“No! I love hearing you talk.” he smiles before taking another sip of gin. I lower my gaze, totally ashamed.

"I think we'd better go sit down." I comment, seeing everyone settling into their chairs.

“Let's go?” he offers his hand, helping me off the stool. I hold into his arm, walking to the table. "Should I keep an eye on you today?" he laughs. I repress the urge to say yes, but that's not the answer to his question.

“No! I won't drink that much.” I press my lips together in a thin line, embarrassed by Ash's party.

We sat next to each other, with Calum and Noah in front of us. Luke leans his arm on the back of my chair and I'm not shy about getting close to him, even with everyone in our group staring at us curiously. We embarked on a lively conversation with everyone around us.

Michael rushes in and apologizes for being late, taking his seat next to Hemmings.

"Was she with her?" I hear Luke ask, taking my full attention.

“Yep!” Mike gives a shy smile.

“Who she?” I almost walk through the body of the australian beside me, wanting to get close to Mike.

“Nobody special.” he shrugs.

“Yeah! Go for it.” Hemmo lets go, laughing. Michael slaps him on the head.

“It's nobody special. Just a friend. I swear!" he closes the matter, but he doesn't convince me.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about it." I whisper, complaining to the blonde at my side.

“Sorry, there was no time. Also, I didn't even know it could lead to anything.” he shrugs. I stare Luke, waiting him to continue, but he is easily distracted by the napkin holder. I slap his head like Mike. “Ouch! What was it?” he looks at me shocked.

“Tell me!” Luke turns to face me, rolling his eyes.

“Her name is Sophie. They met at a Fortnite stream. She beat him and he went to congratulate her on the match, so they started talking and apparently it’s hitting something.” Luke shrugs, finishing the story.

“This is so cute. I hope it works!” I see Michael laughing over Luke's shoulder. “Is she pretty?” I question.

“This is a dangerous question.” I look back at him, confused. "Is there a chance you slap me?" I laugh.

"No." I don't get why I would hit him for finding someone pretty.

“She is pretty!" I hit him. “Hey! You said I wouldn't be hitten.” he accuses me.

“Sorry, it's just funny.” I defend myself by laughing. Luke turns forward, annoyed. I wrap my arm around his, which were on the table and come closer, placing a kiss on his cheek. "Are you going to be mad at me?" I question laughing.

"And I can do it?" he turns to me. His eyes drop to my lips and mine to yours. It would be a perfect time for a kiss, but I don't feel comfortable with all these looks on us.

Hemmo seems to understand my internal battle and just leaves a kiss on my forehead. I open a grateful smile and once again guide my attention to the conversation between Noah and Brian.

After a couple of hours of eating and drinking. We started to spread out through space, forming several conversation circles. I was having a blast with everyone. We sing, dance and record videos that we'll definitely regret later.

After starting to eat, I stopped drinking alcohol, after all, trauma still reigns inside me. So I wouldn't feel like the only sober one at the party, Hemmings decided to join me, stopping drinking too.

Relieved, of course, is the word to describe this night with him. I thought it would be hard to look at it with everything I remembered, but it was so light and fun, I admit I freaked out over nothing. As usual!

All through dinner, I try not to pay too much attention to everyone's eyes on us. We simply could not do anything that someone just needed to die of love. Luke was amused, while I just wanted to sink into the ground.

Yes, I may have had a clue as to how much I feel about Luke, but I still want to take it easy. I want to be sure, and for that, I need to stop being afraid. I know he's been realizing how I've changed and I'm letting him get closer and closer.

Our kisses, touches and smiles. Everything is falling into place and the fact that he doesn't put pressure on me helps me a lot. I already totally trust him, it just makes stronger.

Considering it was easy to stay close to him, without letting the shame take me, I didn't pull him away for a second, because most of the time he pulled me along and I liked that. I like being close to him.

“One round. Just one round.” Jack pleads, hands clasped under his chest.

“No! I've had too much today.” Luke denies it again, making his friend fake a dramatic cry.

"You drank when you arrived. A beer and a shot of gin. That's nothing.”

“I'll drive later and I'm keeping Marnie company.” he squeezes me tighter to his chest.

"Can't you drink?" Jack looks at me confused.

“Of course I can, I just don't want to, you know, make a scene. Or something like that.” I shrug. Jack rolls his eyes, turning back to Luke.

“One round.” he begs, making me laugh.

The boys were preparing a round of Answer or Drink with 10 different types of drink. So, they played and still got drunk.

“No!” Luke responds with a laugh.

For a few seconds, I leave the two of them arguing and go to the table to get my coat. With the lack of alcohol, I start to feel the cold of the air conditioning. On my way to the table, a voice stops me.

“Look what a wonderful surprise.” I turn quickly, feeling all the blood freeze through my body. "What a coincidence, isn't it?" I watch his smirk, knowing what his presence there would do.

“What are you doing here, Stephen?” I take a breath deep, controlling the urge to fly at him. Just like I did with Pam.

It's the first time we've seen each other since the diary report and I couldn't feel more disgust and loathing.

“It's a public place, Lizzie, and don't worry, I didn't come chasing you. I'm with friends.” he points to a table. “I just came to say hello.”

“Don't call me Lizzie, you know I hate it and why don't you take your fake education and stick it in your…”

“What are you doing here?” Luke walks past me, coming face to face with Stephen. "I already told you to stay away from her."

Soon, all the boys approach, ready to intervene. I grab his arm, trying to keep him close to me.

“Let him.” I beg, not wanting it to explode in the middle of the restaurant.

“Calm down, Hemmings.” the name comes out acid and full of poison. “I just came to say hello to Lizzie.” he laughs, hands in his pockets. "Don't worry, I'm not kissing her."

I close my eyes, feeling that hit both of us. That's low, very low. Luke steps forward, taking me with him. Noah and Jack are already starting to put their hands between them. Ash, Mike and Calum begin to put their hands on their friend's shoulders, pulling him along.

“Do not worry. I'm not going to spend my time punching him. But I'll just say one thing, Stephen.” he uses the same acid tone to say his name. "In case you're still dumb enough not to understand. It’s over! What you and Marnie had is over! So stop coming after her, because she doesn't want anything to do with you. She is with me.”

His tone of voice and body postureme impress. I've never seen Luke like this, so nervous, holding back so he doesn't explode, the veins in his neck bulging, proving how much he's controlling himself. I tighten your arm more tightly around my body. I bring my hand down until it's entwined with his, deceptively hoping that it will calm him down and bring him back to me.

“Funny. Cause from what I heard, you guys broke up, didn't you? What? You couldn’t stood the cheat?” he laughs, like he's made a great joke.

I don't know if he intended to hit Luke again, but without realizing it the words hit me. My blood boils and the words written in my diary take shape in my mind. Damn imagination.

I let go of my hand, putting myself in front of Stephen, who takes a step back. His gaze, full of curiosity and mockery, fixes on me.

“That’s enough, Stephen! I don't care about you. Pretend I never called you, just like I was before the accident and disappear from my life. I know you cheated on me and I don't want this torment in my life anymore. Go away.” I let go of everything contained, trying not to fly off his neck.

"Are you really going to believe their bullshit?" Stephen crosses his arms.

“Nobody had to tell me. I remembered." I see his eyes lose their mocking sparkle and he lose confidence. It's a lie, but he don't need to know. “There are at least twenty people here and they all want to hit you, including me, who wouldn't mind breaking my cast on your head. So if you don't want to get out of here on a stretcher, get out!”

I take a step back, feeling my heart pound and trying my best to keep myself from crying. Luke's agitated breath pulses against my spine. I lean against him, feeling his hand intertwine with mine, squeezing it delicately. Amazing how I feel safer, just with that touch.

Stephen passes his eyes around everyone and walks away without saying anything else. When his body pulls away, I release all the air I didn't even know I was holding. The boys start telling us to go back to the table.

I turn, pulling Luke, who is still standing there, facing my ex, who is sitting at the table with a group of friends. He turns around, pulling me easily into his arms. His hands tighten around my waist and I feel him exhale against my neck, giving me goose bumps. I stroke the back of his neck, trying to calm him down and show him that everything is fine.

We walked back to the table, striving for the mood from before. Ashton orders his birthday cake and we ourselves lull into the music, excited, mocking Irwin. While we devoured the cake, no one broaches the subject and I thanks for that. I know Hemmings and I will probably talk about it, but I don't want to involve the guys in this.

Gossip reigns at the table again. The entire group is engaged in conversation about the most disastrous trips ever made, minus the blonde and me. I watch him with his jaw still set and his gaze filled with rage, fixed directly on Stephen, who is across the room, staring at me.

It's a cycle: Luke stares at Stephen, who stares at me, while I stare at Luke.

I feel terrible for making him go through all of this. My amnesia, our breakup, my ex's return. Lucas doesn't deserve any of this. I need to reward him, but how?

“Hey!” I whisper, resting my chin on his bicep, but he doesn't hear me. "I want to leave, will you take me?" I question, hoping to gain any sign of him.

He looks at me nonchalantly, then blinks back to reality. Luke stares at the bleached on the other side, wanting to see if he's still trying something. I drop a small kiss on his shoulder, gaining his attention again.

“Of course! Let's go?” I nod, getting up.

Nobody is opposed to our leaving, I believe as much because of what happened as because it was the two of us. We walked across the room hand in hand, and with me clutching his arm, just to make sure he didn't fly into someone.

But I need to remember that Luke is just as classy as I am. Not just for the fame or the spectacle it would be, but because he was brought up that way. Educated not to go into violence, even if there was someone on the other side who deserved to be slapped.

I'm scared by the frantic flashes that start to pop when they notice the two of us. I cling closer to Luke, who makes room for his car. The delay for the questions to start is just for them to reason that it was the two of us there, together, after announcing our break up.

I keep my head down, focused on his thumb moving up and down, stroking my skin. Luke opens the car door and I settle in, still feeling the flashbulbs burst above us.

With great difficulty, we got out of that sea of ​​people. We remained silent until we reached the intersection of the main lane that led to my house.

“Do you want to go home?” he asks, softly.

I can't identify any feelings in your voice. He is neutral, indifferent. Apart from the isolated fact, this night has been amazing and I don't want it to end, not in this mood.

“No!” I turn in the seat, facing him. "Isn't there anywhere I'd love to go? Or that we both went a lot?” for the first time, I see a glint run through his eyes.

“Yeah! In fact, there are two.” he cracks a smile, causing me to smile too.

Luke takes the other path, heading to some place I couldn't even imagine. The subject comes up between us and so the mood softens. As we talk, I list a number of places I've always liked in Los Angeles, wanting to guess where it would take me.

We turn onto Wilshire Boulevard and I guess where we're going. Hemmo parks his car near the Urban Light and I look forward to getting out of the car.

Before we exit the vehicle, he pulls two caps from the glove compartment, giving me a dark gray one. I look at that accessory, wondering if it was always mine, if we always wore it when we went out.

“Why am I not impressed that this would be the first place?” I question, holding his hand.

By the time, the sculpture was a little empty, with only a few couples taking pictures. Luke and I went unnoticed, walking between those huge poles.

We walked around, with me admiring those lighted poles. I've always liked this sculpture, I've always found it romantic because so many people are proposed here, and I love the lighting.

“Oh no!” I push Luke, finding your phone pointed at me.

"This one got blurry." he laments, pointing again.

“Luke!” I exclaim laughing. I try not to scream so as not to draw attention to both of us.

“Sorry about my behavior at the restaurant.” Hemmings says after a while, surprising me. I lean against a pole, watching him.

“Why are you apologizing?” I frown. Luke leans against the same post, shrugging.

"I didn't mean to spoil your night." he answers.

“You didn't! If there is one responsible, it is him! Stephen knows he shouldn't have shown up there.” I comfort him.

His blue eyes meet mine. I take a step toward him, standing on tiptoe, reaching for his lips, leaving a simple kiss there. Without pulling away completely, I see a goofy smile appear on his face, which also appears on mine.

"What's our second place?" I whisper, next to him.

“My bed.” he lets go.

“Lucas!” I push him away, laughing again. His laugh is contagious. If he knew about the memories…

“Just kidding." Uh-hm… "Ready to get full of sand?" he asks, holding out his hand.

“Always!” I grabbed, leaning my head on his arm as we made our way to the car.

Follow me on Twitter: aquela_wendy

[luminouspoes]

From the drabble list! 87 - You gave me a black eye. + 99 - Be brave, sweetheart. <3

warnings: mentions of past trauma, feminine pronouns 

drabble list | read on ao3

“I don’t know about this,” you venture, gnawing on your bottom lip as Poe bounces on his feet across from you. You’re not sure how he’s always so hyper, he doesn’t even drink nearly the same amount of caf as you do.  

“C’mon, Y/N. It’s just to practice for the mission. You’re not gonna hurt me,” he adds with a note of sincerity when you still look worried. You’d been given your next assignment, an undercover one at a seedy fight club. You were a decent fighter, but Poe insisted you get some extra training to be safe before you left.

“Poe - no offense - but you’re a pilot,” you say even as you settle into a fighting stance. “I actually have hand to hand combat training. You don’t.” 

“Hey, I’ve got one helluva right hook.” Poe retorts, flashing you a confident, excited grin. He really doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into, you muse, but decide to humor him.

“Alright, let’s see what you got, flyboy.”

It takes all of five minutes to get him pinned to the mat, your knee on his lower back with his arm twisted loosely behind him. You blow a loose strand of hair out of your face as you breathe out a laugh, chest heaving from exertion. 

“Okay,” Poe wheezes, tapping his hand on the mat. “Do over.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Poe! She’s already wiped the floor with you once.” Snap shouts from one of the benches. Poe twists his head slightly to fix his best friend with an affronted glare.

“She did not wipe the floor with me -” 

“Oh yes, she did,” Kare cuts in, leaning across Snap to take some offered fruit from Jess. You duck your head to hide a laugh at their shenanigans as you stand up, offering Poe your hand as he rolls over onto his back, a loud sigh falling from his lips - 

And then the next second, he’s sweeping your legs out from underneath you with his own and you hit the floor with a muffled swear. Before you can prop yourself up on your elbows, Poe’s standing over you with a cheeky grin. “Who wiped the floor with whom?” 

You throw him a withering glare. “Oh, it’s on, flyboy.”

He helps you to your feet, and you go through the motions again - and again, and again. What was supposed to just be a simple training exercise has quickly sparked both of your competitive spirits, and you’re both too stubborn to admit defeat.

While you definitely have the advantage of proper training, there’s no denying Poe is a decent fighter. His movements definitely aren't polished, it’s obvious he’s more comfortable using a blaster in a fight, but he’s better than you initially gauged. 

The rest of Black Squadron left the gym a while ago, duty calling them elsewhere on the base, leaving it to just you and Poe. Which you honestly didn’t mind, it was nice having someone to spar with, someone who could keep you on your toes but also make sure you weren’t overdoing it, and the occasional laugh that would rumble out of Poe at a quip you’d thrown at him made your heart do complicated flips that you didn’t want to closely analyze.

 “You okay with this assignment?” Poe asks as you circle each other for what feels like the millionth time. You fix him with a hard stare, feinting right, but he’s gotten a feel for your strategies and quickly blocks the punch. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You grunt, using the momentum of the punch he blocked to twist out of his grasp, sliding backward before he can get any ideas to throw one back. You’re avoiding the rancor in the room, and the quirk of his eyebrows tells you he isn’t going to let you.

So what if your last undercover mission went sideways - real sideways. So what if it cost you a dear friend, so what if it left you in the medbay nursing injuries for a week, so what if you woke up screaming in the middle of the night from - 

Your attacks become a little more forceful as you remember the smell of ozone thick in the air from blaster fire, the horrific thud of your friend’s body as they were too slow to dodge one, how -

Poe says your name in concern and warning, blocking as many of your moves as he can, even as he quickly backpedals across the gym’s floor, but he’s running out of room and that dazed look still hasn’t left your face.

You throw another punch, and it nearly slips through his defense, but he manages to dodge it - just barely. The momentum with which you’d thrown it is enough to send you staggering forward, and Poe uses it as an opportunity to grab your arms and straighten you - simultaneously to keep you from hitting the ground face first and to see if he can snap you out of it.

“Hey,” Poe says, voice rough as he tries to catch his breath, “Y/N. It’s okay, I got you.” 

The reverie breaks and you blink up into his brown eyes, chest stuttering as you realize what happened. “Shit, I’m - I’m sorry, Poe.” 

“It’s okay,” he soothes, running his hands down your arms to help ground you. “You didn’t hurt me.” 

“I could’ve given you a black eye,” you counter, horrified.

“But you didn’t. C’mere,” Poe tugs you off the mat, guiding you to an empty corner. You sit down numbly, bracing your head against the stone wall as you catch your breath, eyes slipping close. You hear Poe moving around the room, and when he returns, he gently pokes you with his foot to get your attention.

You pop one eye open to find him offering you some water, which you take gladly. He sits down next to you and begins to unwrap his hands. Eventually, once his hands are bare again and he’s bunched up the wrapping into a ball and set it aside, he glances over at you worriedly. “You sure you’re up for this mission?” 

When you go rigid, Poe continues quickly, “You’re one of our best fighters, but stuff like this is no joke. I don’t want you to take this mission just so you can - I don’t know, prove you can or something.”

You twist your head to look at him. His dark curls are matted around him in places from sweat and his chest is still heaving, and he looks...oddly more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him, sitting next to you with only his blue tank top and black sweats on - no uniform, no leather jacket. You can even spy the chain he wears his mother’s wedding ring on easily.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly. “Thinking about going terrifies me, but I can’t just stay grounded forever. If it’s to prove anything, it’s to prove to myself that I can still be the person the Resistance needs me to be, the person I know I am.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Poe sighs and scratches between his eyebrows, thinking. “Do you have to go alone, though?” 

“What, do you want to come with me?”

You mean it as a joke, but Poe looks completely serious when he nods. You gawk at him, “It’s too dangerous, you’re -”

He holds up a finger, “Black Squadron and I have run crazier stunts than walking into some seedy fight club on a backwater planet. Besides…” he ducks his head away from you, clears his throat, “I’d prefer it if I could watch your back, make sure you get home safe.”

You study him for a moment, eyes running along his jawline, the worry in his dark eyes, the way he’s drawn his bottom lip into his mouth nervously. You almost surprise yourself when you say, “Alright.”

Poe blinks, swivels his head towards you. “What?” 

“You can come,” you say with a shrug. “I think today established you can hold your own in a fight if necessary - if necessary,” you reiterate strongly, “I’ll be the one going into the ring, and I’d prefer knowing that my getaway driver happens to be the best pilot in the Resistance.”

Poe grins and your heart does that curious somersault again. “Deal, besides you know what they say: friends don’t let friends go into fight clubs alone.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head with a laugh, “You’re adorable, Dameron, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Once or twice,” Poe confirms and you swat him on the arm. “It’s the hair, I think.”

“I think it’s probably all of you,” you say, feeling emboldened. You lean into him and press a quick kiss to his cheek - or at least, that’s what you intend to do: instead, he turns his head at the last second, and your lips meet his by accident.

You freeze and rear backward like you’ve been electrified - and maybe you have been because your heart is hammering and your lips are tingling - but whatever you’re about to say dies in your throat at the soft, dazed smile on his face. 

You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your face, too.  

“Can I kiss you again?” Poe asks, eyes sweeping down from yours to your lips.

“You wouldn’t have to twist my arm,” you confirm, as he cups your cheek.  

Just before he presses his lips to yours he mumbles, “No, no, you did that to me earlier, remember?”

He captures your laugh with his mouth.

[huntergatherercreator]

The Takedown | Part Fourteen

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Detective Reader

Summary: NYC has a new drug lord determined to wipe out any and all competition in order to grow his empire. You're going undercover to stop him.

Warnings: Mentions of weapons, swearing

Catch up here: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen

Part 14 - 1,536 words

Rain lashing in across the bay meant the Tribeca was deserted, everyone having retreated to the safety of the nearest building. It would make surveillance difficult. I’d gotten used to the crowds of people stumbling from clubs and bars that helped me blend in as I worked my way around the borough. Walking into Hell’s Kitchen was a suicide mission on a good day. It would be worse with no cover and almost zero visibility due to the rain.

Anything could happen while we were there. I stuffed my fisted hands further into my pockets to chase away the chill creeping in.

I considered calling it off but the thought alone of having another fight with Holland was exhausting. His stubbornness was going to get us in trouble out here, along with his pride. Then there was the reaction he’d ignited in me just hours before. I blew a deep sigh out, watching my breath mist slightly. I had to keep it together. I’m a cop, and he’s a mobster and my job is to get him and his men off the streets for good.

A small part of me knew that as much as I tried to shove down the interest my body held for him that it wasn’t all physical. I felt like I’d cracked open a door to him when I realised his main weakness, and the inside had held a mirror.

How many nights had I spent working cases into the small hours of the morning, searching for the information that was missing, putting the puzzle pieces together until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I’d walked more steps during an investigation than a beat cop in a month. I was never sated until I had enough evidence to fully convict a perp. I’d like to say that I rested then, but that was only because the Captain would withhold a new case until I’d stopped turning up to work in the clothes from the night before.

I clung to each case because I needed the hit that came with the resolution, the easy breath that came after a guilty charge was delivered. It gave me purpose, and stopped me spiralling in the months after what had happened. That’s how I recognised it so well in Holland.

The newspapers had been calling him ruthless, sadistic, evil after they found a body strung up at the docks and almost a dozen others floating out to sea. In a way it had been but I knew every move he’d previously made was calculated and weighed up to suit his interests. Now that Rivera had gotten under his skin he was slipping and I could already tell it was going to end badly. I just needed to have him reigned in long enough to give me a shot at Rivera.

Movement at the bottom of the stairs caught my attention. Completely nondescript and dressed in a plain waterproof jacket the man tipped his head at me before continuing along the street. I followed carefully, hood up and head down most of the way as he led me through a series of back alleys. Eventually he stopped at an open fire exit. Light and steam spilled into the alley, the clangs of a busy kitchen emanating back to me along with the smell of freshly cooked food. My stomach clenched as my mouth started to water. I’d been too tense to eat after Holland had left. I’d taken the extra time to go around my contacts, putting feelers out for information that would help get this over with as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to have to spend more time than I needed to with him.

The man glanced back, checking I was still there before heading inside. Unzipping my jacket, my fingers lingered over the gun I’d brought giving me a boost of confidence. If I was about to walk into a trap I was prepared. Stepping into the kitchen no-one moved to block me, no-one even batted an eye. They were either too busy with the dishes they were preparing or this was a regular occurrence. Unease flared. If it was the latter did this mean it was a regular haunt for Holland? I eyed the room, finding the man guarding a door at the other end of the kitchen.

On high alert I joined him and he ushered my into a section of the restaurant that was almost in darkness save for the dim glow of small wall sconces around the room. A dance floor took up most of the space, the tables surrounding it all had upturned chairs except for one tucked into the back corner. I could see Holland’s silhouette as he leaned against it and my pulse spiked, mouth drying up.

“I wouldn’t try his patience if I were you,” the man warned, voice surprisingly gentle. Before I could retort he disappeared back into the kitchen. The click of the door closing echoed and I stood for a long moment, letting my eyes adjust to the low light. I scanned the dark corners and shadows to make sure we were actually alone before carefully heading in his direction. He pushed off, moving to meet me halfway across the floor.

The closer he got the clearer his outfit became and I almost faltered. Instead of his usual perfectly tailored suit he was donned in dark jeans and a black t-shirt topped with a leather jacket. With his rain dampened curls and freshly shaven face he could have easily stepped off the set of a magazine shoot. I distracted myself by doing another sweep of the room, giving myself time to take a few deep breaths before risking another look at him.

He’d folded his arms, the leather of his jacket clinging to them leaving no illusion that he was more than equipped to fight his way out should this end badly. Not that I ever imagined he’d need to stoop that low. I was willing to bet he had more than one gun hidden beneath his jacket, and I already knew how willing he was to use them.

“Why are we here?” I eventually asked. The tense silence radiating off him was starting to make me nervous.

“I needed to make sure you wouldn’t be followed.”

“You should know by now that if I was, I’d already know,” I scoffed. When he didn't snap back a response I studied him. His jaw ticked as he looked me over. “You wanted to make sure I wouldn’t try to ambush you,” I realised. With a frustrated sigh I pinched the bridge of my nose, eyes squeezing shut as I fought the urge to walk away.

“Until I trust you Joe will bring you to a different meeting point each night.”

Dragging my eyes back to him I mimicked his stance. “That doesn’t help me trust you. How do I know he won’t be leading me to a quiet spot to get rid of me as soon as I get you the information you want?”

“You don’t. So I suggest you prove you’re more use to me alive.” His cheek twitched as if he was trying to fight a smile.

“I have nothing to prove to you. I have my own reasons for wanting Rivera gone,” I snapped. A soon as the words were out I realised my mistake. He strode towards me so fast I almost tripped up trying to back away. The edge of a table hit my legs, halting my retreat. He gripped my upper arms, dark eyes filled with outrage boring into me.

“Do you have a personal vendetta? Are you using me?” he growled.

“Don’t act like that’s not what you’re doing. We both have the same end goal.” I shoved against him, trying to stop his fingers biting into my arms but he only tightened his hold. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop a whimper escaping. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Without warning he released me and backed away, hand raking through his hair a few times he scowled at the floor before collecting himself.

“I want to know everything you have on Rivera. Then we’re going to Hell’s Kitchen to find the bastard.”

Not trusting my legs to hold me up for much longer I tipped over the closest chair and sank into it. Leaning forward I clasped my hands, focusing on them for a long moment while my breathing evened out. Telling him everything we’d gathered on Rivera wasn’t possible but I could throw out enough to keep him on side for the time being.

“He pretty much runs Hell’s Kitchen, distributing drugs and gun running shipments they bring in through the cruise ship ports.” The surprise on his face was quickly replaced by narrowed eyes.

“That’s not possible. It’d be too easy to get stopped.”

“Not if you own one of the companies,” I offered.

“Do you have proof?” he demanded. I shook my head.

“He’s covered his tracks well on the legal side, but I’ve seen them offload a few times. It’s definitely how they’re getting their supplies, or some of them at least.”

“Then that’s where we start.”

Taglist:

@spideylovin @lukesbabylon @panicattheeverywherekid @keep-bears-wild @unbelievableholland @tomholland-mcu @whattheheckparker @stargazerholland @gorillaglue23 @marvelpeters @weirdowithnobeardo

Part 15!

[mommymooze]

Grand ReOpening

Hubert x Reader 5,613 words

descriptions of violence, possession, Modern AU

You work at the newly remodeled and soon to be reopened Museum of History in Enbarr. A huge fire caused devastating damage to the old building, over half of the structure had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Donations pour in from private collectors in the form of money and items to replace those lost to the flames.

You finish arranging the items in the display finally locking the door on the huge glass case. Some items donated were questionable. Everything in this case is legitimate, you reassure yourself. You have already weeded out the fakes, the near perfect imitations. The director asks you how do you know? You explain to him the materials available for crafting such items, known specifics from inventories found in the locked away historical books, too delicate to be placed upon display. Sometimes you tell him you just have a feeling deep inside based on your experience and knowledge of the period. You can’t tell him the truth.

Whenever you touch one of these items, you close your eyes, the history of the item and its owners flash through your mind. It is easy to bypass the collectors, the ones that shove an item in drawers or hang it on a wall as a decoration for years at a time. The imprint left on the item when it was handled, touched, used is what you are able to see most clearly.

The small silver dagger in the upper left of the case. Its card reads: Dorothea Arnault owned this fine silver dagger. It is small enough to conceal in multiple places upon the body. Perhaps she may have concealed it in the curls of her hair for a ball or tucked it away in her corset or bodice.

They write the cards to romanticize the exhibit. People want a good story, not simply a display of stuffy items from long ago. Who would want to read a card stating she kept this particular dagger tucked into a pocket in her left boot for many years, which is exactly what you saw when you touched it.

Metal rimmed reading glasses belonging to the Imperial Spy Master, Hubert von Vestra. The card: Perhaps he wore them while brewing one of his poisons or when translating encoded messages during the war. Hah. He did not obtain these until fifty years old and mostly wore them when reading a book that struck his fancy prior to retiring for the evening.

Ferdinand von Aegir’s opera glasses. The Card: Fine mother-of-pearl covered opera glasses belonged to the Imperial Prime Minister, Ferdinand von Aegir. He may have used them when going to the Mittlefrank Opera house to watch Dorothea perform. Nope. Mother gave him these when he was but a child. Once he was older, after the war, he purchased a pair that much better suited his face, these were much too small for him as an adult.

Oh my, you’ve lost track of the time again. You scurry out of the building, making certain all doors lock behind you. Making it home just in time to change clothes, freshen up, you head back out for the Museum’s Grand Reopening Gala. Thankfully you are not on the front lines, that is the duty of the Curator, the Directors, those on the board and anyone responsible for schmoozing the rich guests, many who donated to the cause, keeping them happy. You put on your headset and have three laptops at your disposal, ready to answer any questions the staff has regarding particular items on display. You are literally fielding questions left and right. To the left are the searches for the director’s queries, to the right the Curator. In the center you follow on the security monitors where they are standing helping you to identify which particular item they need additional information about. Well past midnight you are finally allowed to leave. Security escorts you to your car and you head home for a well deserved sleep.

Two days later is the Grand Reopening. The tickets sold out three months in advance. The most devoted history fans always line up first to observe and breathe in the milieu. Listening to them mill about the displays, pour over the cases of preciously preserved objects is a joy for you.

“Look, this mirror belonged to the Emperor herself. I wonder what these items could say if they could speak. Did they reflect her face as she finished her makeup before one of the grand balls at the time, I wonder?” You knew the answers to some of their ponderings and could not hide your smirk.

A very tall dark haired male catches your eye. Dark suit jacket, black satin shirt, very nicely tailored. His jet black hair blocks the right side of his face from view. His fine leather gloves barely hover over the display case as he observes the items contained within. It suggests a hint of cosplay? Or perhaps he is attempting to channel the spirit of Lord Vestra? Your eyes sweep about the room regularly, spotting him in several different locations, each time it appears he is studying items that had belonged to the man he resembles. You wish you could see his face more clearly, however his back is turned or someone is in the way. You quietly move towards the end of the circuit the floor plan leads you through, close to the guard by the exit. There are three items of clothing belonging to Hubert this person would probably pause to examine, perhaps you can obtain a good look at his face then.

Finally, you glance through two panes of glass to see the face of the man. There is a strong resemblance to Hubert. Not exact, of course, but the cheek bones were close, the eyes are a similar shade of green. His skin tone is much darker, not nearly as pale. Your attention is taken away as the security guard a few feet from you is asked a question by an older woman.

Your focus is then called in front of you as a polite “Ahem” is noted. Standing directly before you and requesting your notice is none other than the tall dark gentleman that you have been secretively following for the last 30 minutes.

“My apologies. Not to be a bother, but I believe that you work here and would like to ask your opinion about something.” His long slender gloved fingers reach into his breast pocket, pulling out a golden box about the size of a cigarette case, barely a centimeter thick. His thumb activates a button on the case and the lid pops open revealing a dull yet clean looking folded yellowed cloth. The initials H.v.V. are sewn in black thread close to the bottom edge. The cloth is folded in a different manner than it normally lies in order to display the initials on top.

You raise your right hand up to the level of the box which is even with your chin. Touching the material with an index finger you feel the violence connected with the item, fainting straightaway.

You find yourself in the employee’s lounge with two security officers and the strange man. He is seated at a table nearby, you are located pleather covered chaise lounge, reclined. Bolting upright on the lounger, you gather your senses about you. The security officers called for EMT’s to check you out. Fortunately, you were unconscious for maybe a minute or less. You flush bright red and blame it on ‘female issues’. They insist that you remain and be checked out.

“I am terribly sorry. I assisted in bringing you back here and now that I know you are well cared for, I shall excuse myself.” The stranger stands to leave. You reach in your pocket, thrusting your business card toward him. He completes the exchange by handing you his. As he returns to the public areas of the museum the EMT’s arrive and begin their 1,000 questions.

After every possible vital statistic can be taken and recorded, they finally leave you to yourself and the security of the museum. They nod in agreement that it was most likely ‘female issues’ and you should increase your iron intake. Once you finally convince your boss that you are well enough to leave, you get in your car, grab some drive thru dinner and head directly home.

A warm cup of tea, comfortable clothing and your soft couch beneath you, you take a deep breath and begin to relax. You mull over what happened when you touched the handkerchief. That sort of reaction is expected when you touch weapons used in the war, used for self-defense, etcetera. You did not expect that from a handkerchief. The cloth was normally soaked in a strong smelling agent and held over the face of his target. Too early for ether, most likely mandrake root. Normally it would cause the target to quickly become unconscious, occasionally it would cause illness along with and possibly but not always death. One of Hubert’s weapons in the darkness, when silence was required.

You pull out the business card. Vincent H. Vestraegir. Hmmm. Possibly from the line of descendants. You enter his number and name into your phone, then text it.

You: I gave you my card at the museum. Do you still wish to discuss the

item?

Waiting for approximately 20 minutes you hear the notification tone.

V.H.V: Absolutely. Perhaps meet for coffee? Thursday or Saturday?

You: Thursday. Crown Café, 10am, after the morning rush has cleared.

V.H.V: Agreed. See you then.

Working on your day off, as usual. You log onto the Museum’s Employee website to check your email, the top notification is from your supervisor telling you that you will take a few days for yourself. The success of the reopening is greatly due to your hard work and you will take the rest of the week off. See you Saturday.

Well, well, you may get some sleep after all. After a fitful night of restlessness and strange dreams you awaken Thursday morning feeling overtired. It would be in poor taste to cancel the meeting, so you get up, showered and dressed. You decide that since you are doing this basically for free for this man, you have no obligation to him and refuse to dress up. Wearing your hair in a messy pony tail, GMU sweatshirt and jeans you head to the coffee shop a bit early. Hopefully you can get a full cup into you and wake up before he arrives.

You order a coffee double shot and finish it quickly. Bathroom, order new regular coffee, take a seat and it’s 9:50am. In the corner of your eye you see him walking past the café’s front window. This makes you smile, but you are not certain why.

He takes his seat across from you at 9:59am.

“Good morning” you greet him casually.

“Same to you.” He says, placing his phone face down on the table. He wears a long sleeve black turtleneck, fine dress pants, and black gloves.

“Please tell me what history you know of the handkerchief.” You request.

“Skipping pleasantries, straight to business, eh?” His lip curls at the edge of his mouth on the right side. “See if I pick you up off the floor the next time you faint.”

You roll your eyes.

He clears his throat. “There are several items that have been kept within the family. I do not understand the meaning behind them, why they are kept in separate or specific locations within the family residence or what significance they mean to particular members of the family. My family history appears to go through highs and lows, the most recent low is turning around, getting back toward recovery.” He pauses, enjoying his coffee for a moment. “My mother recently passed and I am now in possession of the family estate. I have not had much time to go through the property, my work is my priority. I have no intention of living there and have considered selling it. There are few things I plan on keeping for myself, the rest may go to the museum should you be able to find a use for them. I noticed at the exhibition there were some unusual items on display that I do not normally recall seeing in museum exhibitions.”

Quaffing your coffee, you take a breath. “I am sorry for your loss. The museum is changing its thought process. People are more interested in seeing the everyday life of those from history. The differences are always blown out of proportion, romanticized, too large to be true. The current exhibition is displaying the things of everyday life, to show these were not only persons held in high regard, but also humans with human needs, feelings, emotions. I agree with some of this, however there are personal items that I question if they would really want to have displayed.”

Mr. Vestraegir thinks on these last remarks, savoring the remainder of his caffeinated beverage. “Why are you concerned about the feelings of the dead? It is not as if they can come to you and complain.”

“Let us say this afternoon you are struck dead by lightning. The funeral is held in three days. Open casket. You are dressed in a white tuxedo, no gloves upon your hands. How would you feel about that?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Preposterous!” He blurts out. “I would insist on having gloves on and I have an ample amount of perfectly adequate black dress suits.”

“Why should be concerned with the feelings of the dead again? Why is it that you wear gloves? The weather is certainly warm enough they are not needed. You are extremely familiar with wearing them.”

“Hmm.” He nods in understanding, rubbing one gloved hand upon the other.

“You do have me intrigued. It is difficult to find pieces of history still standing today. It has been hundreds of years.” You wonder aloud.

“The original structure has been incorporated into the current structure. At one point walking through a corridor it feels as if you are stepping backward in time. Quite an unusual feeling.”

“When do you plan on returning there next?” You ask, thinking of your full calendar.

“In the next day or so. I want to go through some things personally prior to the movers bringing the more recently purchased furniture here.”

“I would like to accompany you to the estate. If you like, I can drive us there this afternoon. I need only to pack an overnight bag and a few items for research. My guess is you do not have internet there?”

“No.” He answers. You would have to use your phone. Not all of the house has electric, so you may wish to bring some flashlights or long extension cords as well.

Fantastic, less disturbance to the original structure you ponder. “I can pick you up in an hour if that suits you?”

He nods and it is a blur from there. Rushing home, packing, picking him up at the duplex at the address he provides. Stashing his items in the trunk you are headed to the highway.

Vincent as he prefers to be called, tells you what information he knows of the Vestra Estate. He had lived there for the first years of his youth. He and his father did not get along well and mother abided by fathers wishes. By the time he turns 12 he is sent to boarding school, graduating straight into college. Finishing his degree in law minor in accounting, he is an atty and CPA/Accountant.

There may be a few books at the property that have a bit of history in them, he’s never had much interest.

A brief stop at the store close to the house, you purchase groceries. Simple premade sandwiches, a few frozen dinners, drinks and snacks. As you wait in the car you suddenly realize you have driven far from the city with a perfect stranger, not even leaving a trail of where you are or who you are with. The perfect setting for a murder. How stupid! You quickly drop an email to your landlord, advising of your destination and how long you expect to be gone. You hesitate and do not leave Vincent’s name, that would only lead to more questions from her as she is determined to set you up with a nice bachelor.

Another 30 minutes and your car is pulling into the long driveway, the large house comes into view. He unlocks the door to show you in. He really doesn’t know much of the history of the place, it had never interested him. The two of you unload the car and he has you place your things in his mother’s old bedroom, located in a newer section of the house that has electric and running water. He goes back to the kitchen to work on groceries.

Beds are so personal. You take a breath and complete the touch. Trying to keep your mind focused on the edge of your vision. Fortunately, it is a newer bed and does not take long to complete. You will be fine sleeping here.

Vincent invites you to the more modern kitchen and the location of the food, coffee, and sundried items. He has a few things to attend to, leaving you free rein of the house to explore. He will get to specifics later tonight or in the morning.

He is absolutely correct about the corridor, they had built on to the house in multiple stages. You enter through the most recent and modern additions. The corridor seems to reach back further and further.

You slowly walk down the walls touching each section. Perceiving people passing through the corridors fill your vision, styles of clothing changing as you progress. You touch the doorframe of a small bedroom in an older portion of the house. The faces of the occupants quickly parade before you. You will the flow to slow, a young girl clings to a doll, nodding with tears in her eyes. Then the next owner, a young male perhaps ten years old with hair to his shoulders, citrine eyes. His brows are furrowed, and he is shouting, but you cannot hear what he says, anger written all over his face, his brows furrow deeply as if he argues with someone just behind you. The door appears as he is slamming it shut. Was that Hubert? Could this have been his room, you wonder. The room is decorated with old wallpaper with a feminine print. The coat of dust on the few furnishings reveals that the room has not been used or tended to for many, many years. The curtains on the window are of a thin lace, possibly being held together by the spider webs covering them, the bottom inches shredded threads.

The mantel of the fireplace and baseboards are the only pieces painted. The rest is left to the beauty of the original wood and bricks. Running your hands over the bricks at the edge of the fire box you see countless hands stacking wood, lighting the kindling, flames beginning to burn bright in the small firebox. Finally, you see older gloved hands, incredibly long fingers waving as fire bursts from their fingertips into the kindling. There are gaps until much younger but long spindly fingers cast magic into the wood creating flames.

Touching the firebricks making up the fireplace you reach out to the bottom bricks. On the right, the furthest one back is loose. A bit of maneuvering and you pull the block from its wedged in position. Three bottles lie on their sides. Without thinking you reach in to grab them. Hubert’s face comes into view, laughing with the bottles in hand. These are definitely his poison bottles, contents long dried. His handwriting on the side, coded of course, one is foxglove, the next mandrake and last is nightshade. A small paintbrush is also in the hollowed space. Removing the item provides visions of blades and darts being painted, and then the interior of a teacup.

Diabolical bastard. You admire him and hate him both at the same time. The Empire would not have won the war without him, however you did not need to firsthand witness his secrets. Sitting on the floor you catch your breath. The daylight is fading and you need to go back to your bag and set up lights and a flash light.

The room is different in the too bright halogen light. Rubber gloves in your pockets, in case something more lethal is found are at the ready. You begin touching the floorboards with your bare feet. You will notice if any has a special significance of course. Only after moving the bed and the rug that is beneath it do you find something. (the bed is approximately 300 years old, mostly for children, same with the rug.) A pocketknife blade at a corner edge and the board lifts quite easily. Several items are stashed between the supports for the floor. Gloves on and flashlight in hand you reach in and remove the items, placing them in a large clear plastic bag. You replace the floorboard and return the bed and rug to its normal position.

“Keeping yourself entertained?” Victor chuckles as he enters the room.

“Found a few things. Haven’t had a chance to look them over yet.” You say as you take the halogen lamp to the next room to inspect.

“I can make it easy for you as far as what few things I know.” He offers. “You’ve already been under the floorboard there. Next the master bedroom.” He turns that direction and you follow him with the light, dragging the extension cord behind you. He steps until he hears a hollow spot at a floorboard by the head of the bed, taking out his pocket knife, he lifts the board out of place, then steps back for you to see.

Bringing the flashlight you see a jacknife and several gold coins. You pick them up with your gloves on and place them into a separate plastic bag.

“That is all I know. I found the floorboard when I was much younger, so of course I had to stomp on every floorboard after that listening for hollow sounds.” He grins.

“Quite logical, actually.” You nod. “As a boy I am surprised that you left them here.”

He coughs. “There were more coins, I did leave some.” He looks away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You both decide to stop searching for the evening. You’ve not had dinner yet and tomorrow is another day. Besides, you want to investigate the floorboard items further as well as show him the items found behind the fireplace.

Dinner is quickly tossed into a microwave, coffee brewed and laptops pulled out onto the kitchen table, connected to the internet via the cell phones. Both of you sit quietly, only forks scraping plates or fingers tapping on keyboards for an hour.

Closing your laptop, you place a soft towel on top and the first bag with the items from the fireplace. Wearing a glove on your right hand you take each item out of the bag, placing them on the towel.

“There were owned and handled by Hubert. I believe them to be bottles of his own poison. The brush is used to paint it upon his weapons, mostly daggers.” You relay to your tablemate.

Vincent’s eyes go wide. “You’ve just seen them. How can you swear to their authenticity?”

“The appearance matches what you would find from the time. The writing on the bottles closely resembles his handwriting from the samples we have at the museum, and the code is correct for three different poison types. The brush appears to be animal hair that would be used at the time, stuffed into the end of a tube and then crimped to hold the hair tight.”

Taking a small box of plastic bags, you pack each item individually. As you reach for the third bottle it tips over and rolls off of your laptop. You grab it with your left hand and read its history. Your eyes focus as Vincent’s fingers are snapping in your face.

“Come on, are you all right?” He questions.

“Um, yes.” You shake your head a bit, placing the item in a bag and back into the larger bag with the other items.

“Are you epileptic? You spaced out there. Please let me know if you have health issues.” Vincent pleads, the concern is heavy in his voice.

“It…it’s hard to explain.” You want to tell him something. You’re never this open with people, but he makes you feel like it is okay to let him know.

“Go on.” He says waiting patiently.

“I can see some things related to a history of an item just by touching it. I see who used it, how long ago it was when used. Yes. I must be crazy.” You nod quickly after your confession.

“I want to see it work.” He frowns, two wrinkles between his eyebrows get deeper. He stands and goes to a drawer, pulling out a large spoon and a knife. Both appear to be silver, one more tarnished and scraped that the other. He places them on the laptop.

You grab the spoon. You see his mother’s hand stirring long yellow beans in a pot before pouring a creamy sauce onto them, then it changes to different people, an older stove, another older stove. A black ceramic stove stirring gravy in a large heavy skillet.

“Your mother liked to use it for cooking yellow beans. It has been here for several hundred years, at least 300 based on the dress of the last man who had a beard was dressed.”

He looks down at the table and thinks a moment. “She loved wax beans. They look like green beans but taste a bit different. She would cook them in a sour and creamy sauce. She said the spoon was in the family for a long time. Now the knife.”

Taking the silver knife in your fingers it shows she used it nearly every day to put butter on rolls with jelly. There was a lot of time in the drawer, different users. Clothing styles changed. The age of the silver butterknife is closer to 450 or 500 years old.

You share your findings.

“I’m still not convinced.” Vincent reaches into his shirt, and pulls out a gold necklace with a ring hanging from it. A simple gold band with its necklace is placed with hesitation on the laptop. As he places it there your hand brushes against his glove.

“Your gloves are four months old, purchased at Baers and the saleslady had red hair. Just saying.” You clear your throat and take a sip of now too cold coffee.

Reaching for the ring your fingers touch it softly. Your mind is filled with its memories. He has it with him all the time, takes it off for nothing, then you see the crash, blood everywhere. You fall headfirst into the table. Vincent helps you sit back up in your seat as tears are streaming from your face.

“I…I am so sorry for your loss.” You choke and gasp as the tears fall from your eyes. “M-motorcycle crash. Five years ago. He would bring you little yellow flowers he picked from the side of the road.”

Vincent’s face lost all color. A tear fell to his cheek as he nodded. He took the necklace back and put it around his neck.

After a while he took the cups to the sink, “I think it is time to sleep.”

You nod and head to bed. For hours you lay there, unable to sleep as your mind plays back the last nine years of Vincent and his husband’s lives, together and apart. You should have refused to touch it, but you wanted him to believe. And now…now. You shake your head, turn over and stare at the wall again.

The alarm on your phone wakes you. You want to flee, leave this place. It is one thing when someone shares with you tragedies in the past, it is another to have them thrust upon you. You push yourself out of bed. You can make it through today. Once in the kitchen the coffee has just finished you reach to grab a cup. Seeing the two in the dish drainer, you carefully pick out the cup you used yesterday.

You find a note on the table that he has gone for a walk and to go through the boxes he has left in the living room. Grabbing a muffin from the counter you head to the boxes. Wearing glove you begin. A few interesting books, certainly a possibility to go into a collection, many of them simply too modern or of no interest to the museum in their current condition. A box of random items haphazardly placed into a wooden box. Some woodworking tools, chisels, a pocket watch that did not work but was several hundred years old. A coffee grinder, you would definitely need to check that out. Taking that and the watch you sit at the kitchen table. One by one you experience the history of the items. The pocket watch came from approximately 1300. The coins from the floor and jack knife were owned by Hubert’s father, Marquis Vestra. The coffee grinder, broken by a child, had belonged to Hubert at one time well after the war, during his retirement.

The bags from the child’s bedroom revealed two very different groups of items. Vincent himself had placed items in a pocket next to the ones he had originally discovered. Thinking they were a time capsule, he created one of his own including a letter about his 9 year old self, a green plastic army man named Lt. Schwartz, a yo yo and a few baseball cards. The other group of items were from a young girl. A cloth doll with a few wisps of hair still left on its head. A tiny gold ring. A slate and stylus used for writing letters and numbers, the wax long eaten away. A small carved wooden horse.

Deciding to see if there is anything in the last room as well as completing your inspection of the master bedroom, you take your half cup of coffee with you down the hallway. Coming to the end of the corridor, you hear a sound behind you. Turning slowly, you see the countenance of Hubert von Vestra walking toward you. Outfitted in his full Imperial dress uniform, his large stiff collar extends several inches up from his shoulders. A ruby red brooch holds down his cravat. You drown in the sound of leather creaking from his belts on his clothes and the swish of the heavy material of his jacket. His boots create a deep a thunking sound echoing down the hallway.

“Finally.” He says with great satisfaction. “It has been an eternity.” His right hand, void of gloves, reaches out to you, fingertips softly stroking your cheek. His pale skin is cool to the touch, it has always been that way, you think to yourself. He opens his arms welcoming you to be wrapped within them. Burying your nose in his chest you deeply inhale the familiar scent of coffee, parchment, ink and dark magic. How you have longed for this.

“What of Vincent?” you ask him, looking up into his beautiful yellow-green eyes sparkling down at you.

“We have come to an agreement.” Hubert chuckles.

The vibration of his chest, his deep laughter sends chills down your spine. After waiting nearly a thousand years to have him back in your arms the reward is so worth it.

Epilogue:

Each lifetime you searched for him, but your journeys were fruitless. This girl was the most cooperative, the most willing. You found her worse than Bernadetta in some aspects of her life, especially social. She shared this body, watching from behind, creating stories in her mind. You take control and immediately begin your plan. The museum holds his property, perhaps by touching these items you can call to him. Send a signal that you are here. But they would not let you touch the things that belonged to him. The display items you could reach, touch, were not his, only beautiful recreations. Even items held in storage at the museum were not his. You had developed a spell to obtain the history of an item by touch.

It was awful that you had to burn down part of the museum, but you needed access and you needed legitimate items. What people wouldn’t do to have their name on a placard as a donor. From the items donated several very real items were found. You found yourself touching them frequently, just to catch another glimpse of him. Your cohabitant could not take the violence, she caused you to faint so frequently. Perhaps now she may finalize her agreement with you, being released and then you and Hubert can finally have the lifetime together that was stolen from you during that horrible war.

You spoke often of death, war does that. Both agreed to move on and live the best life they could. Finding out Ferdinand was at his side made you happy, especially since it made him happy. Still, he had promised that no matter what, he would find you again and finish what was started. And so the rest of your lives begins…

[otonymous]

Time After Time: Victor’s Firsts (MLQC NSFW Headcanon)

Hey everyone!  

Thanks to all who voted in my Twitter poll to see whose NSFW “Firsts” headcanons they wanted to read next. 💕Victor was the undisputed victor (haha!) over Kiro, so I hope you all enjoy my longest headcanons to date...ALL 18 MINUTES OF IT! (these totally got out of hand, for whatever reason LOL) 😵😆

Warning: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language - reader discretion is advised.

Naughtiness ensues after the cut!

A Time To Learn: Your Relationship With Victor:

A battle of wills and wits that gradually blossoms into a relationship founded on mutual trust and admiration, learning and growth

Your relationship with Victor isn't easy, especially at the beginning when you are learning about each other and how to mesh with one another — it will be a hard-won love, but one that’s absolutely worth the payoff in the end

Victor is very logical, pragmatic, stubborn, domineering and - especially at the beginning — overprotective (tends to withhold information from you if he feels it would hurt or harm you in any way).  While his intentions come from a good place, it will annoy you to no end to be sheltered like this

But as the relationship progresses and Victor comes to fully understand that you are a grown woman capable of holding her own and making her own decisions, he will gradually cease this type of behaviour  

Initially, it will be hard for you to know where you stand because of Victor's reluctance to let his poker face slip and reveal his emotions.  But when you finally see him crack a smile, or hear the soft chuckle of his deep laughter followed by a muted exclamation of “dummy” or “idiot,” you’ll feel like you’ve won the lottery, becoming addicted to doing whatever you can to see the corners of those lips tug up when he thinks no one is the wiser

When you first defy him, Victor is pleasantly surprised: he's used to getting his way personally and professionally because his overwhelming presence, business acumen and instinct usually lead him in the right directions, so he has rarely ever encountered opposition.  While he is initially taken aback by your bravado, he’ll find your attitude refreshing, amusing even.  His cock will too (more on this later) 😆

This is the type of relationship where one person fills in the gaps of the other: you'll soften Victor’s hard edges, temper the manner with which he interacts with others, and make him laugh harder than he ever thought possible.  You are the figurative sunshine in his life, the warmth he has been missing for so long.

On the other hand, Victor lends you his unflappable confidence, his expertise and experience, the will to stick to your guns and really fight for the things you want.  He is your safe haven, champion and protector.

Talk is cheap for Victor, who prefers to show love and affection by way of action: brewing medicinal soups when you’re sick (with a spoonful of caramel pudding at the ready to chase away the bitter aftertaste), tucking a cozy throw over you when you’ve fallen asleep on the sofa yet again, cooking your favourite foods when he knows you’ve had a rough day, waiting outside your office in the pouring rain to drive you home when he knows you’ve forgotten your umbrella

He also loves to high-key spoil you: whisk you away on his private jet for spontaneous weekend getaways at Lake Como or Bali, beautiful bouquets arranged on your desk Monday mornings at the office just because, an impromptu Champs-Élysées shopping excursion when you mention needing a new winter coat…THAT BLACK CARD THOOOO

Victor is a steadfast lover: reliable, responsible and always, always there when you need him.  He is your rock, a solid foundation from which you are emboldened to jump and reach for the stars…forever knowing he will be there to catch you if you fall

He often anticipates your needs, sometimes even before you realize them.  And as your relationship progresses, the ways in which he offers help will become less overbearing and more sensitive to your feelings and your right to make an informed decision

Victor is most expressive in the bedroom.  For all his emotional reservedness in his everyday life, the passionate nature he keeps buried deep inside is finally given an outlet through sensual pleasures

As with everything else in his life, lovemaking is serious business for Victor.  He is an intense lover who wants to be the very best, the one to erase even the tiniest shreds of whoever came before him.  He needs to leave his mark on you, physically and emotionally.  Even if he wasn’t your first, he’d be damned if he’s not your last.

Ever the epicurean, Victor is the pussy-eating champion.  Thoroughly devoted to exploring you orally, the man would go for hours if you’d let him, taking care not to miss a single inch of trembling flesh.  Obsessed with numbers, Victor is not satisfied to move on to something else until he’s given you multiple orgasms with his tongue alone.

The man is humming(!) in pleasure as he eats: lips, chin and cheeks shiny with your arousal and his spit.  This will be the only time you see Victor with less than impeccable table manners

Victor considers it a point of pride and responsibility to bring you to your climax well before he reaches his own

The man also loves to see you in elegant silks, satins and lace and will surprise you with the most beautiful lingerie

In all honesty though, garter belts, stockings, stilettos and nothing else are this man's jam when he really gets down to business

Needless to say, Victor’s super fit and muscular physique translates to stamina for days...

The First Kiss:

Having spent an exhausting day ironing out the minute details of your proposal with Victor, you slump onto the leather sofa in the corner of his office, meaning to take a 5 minute power nap to recharge while Victor leaves the room for a bathroom break

“The man is a machine…” you think to yourself, stealing a quick glance at your phone before the weight of heavy eyelids finally shepherds you to slumber: 9:15 pm

You are out cold.  Dead to the world.  You don't even hear the click of the door as it opens, or the soft approach of polished Oxfords when Victor quietly crouches to bring his face level with yours, gazing at your sleeping form, undisguised tenderness completely transforming that stoic visage

Victor is smiling, one large hand curling into a loose fist before it rises to cover his mouth — the side of his index smoothing over his cupid’s bow in an unconscious bid to satisfy the desire for physical contact

Jet black eyes sweep from disheveled hair to the delicate silver chain around your neck, pupils widening as they trace the line of your collarbone upon which the sapphire pendant lay

Then…slowly….as if caught in the pull of some hypnotic tide, Victor moves even closer, Adam’s apple prominent in his throat as he swallows.  Paying no heed to the heat gathering beneath an increasingly tight collar, the man continues studying your face, intent on mapping every smooth contour onto his mind for posterity

It is only when he feels the warmth of your breath on his cheek that he stops, breaking out of his trance and mentally chastising himself for almost losing control.  For losing himself in the sight of your soft lips parted in slumber

Just when he makes to stand and cover you with his suit jacket, your eyes fly open to lock onto his

Time stops.  Lost in the intensity of the gaze, neither of you dare to even breathe, let alone speak, lest the sanctity of the moment is broken

The sheer proximity of Victor Li has you captivated: cedar wood and pine wafting subtle from burning skin, long lashes softening dark eyes that blazed with hunger, lips that trembled ever so slightly with longing until you couldn’t help but become famished for just one taste…

And before you can even make sense of what you’re doing, you've propped yourself up on one elbow, bridging the gap between your lips and his — plush, soft and slightly parted

Victor’s eyes widen for a moment, a thousand different emotions silently brewing inside that busy mind until the slide of your tongue into his mouth blankets the chaos with a quiet calm.  Only then does the LFG CEO yield completely to the warmth of your lips and the fire in his soul, eyes closed as he finally allows his body to take what it wants, what it has yearned for since the day you challenged him

And when he gets to this point, Victor's kiss deepens, becoming more and more aggressive until you’re forced to pull back for a bit of air before diving in for a second round

Confession Of Love:

This man is not the type to throw the word “love” around lightly, so when he tells you he loves you, he MEANS IT.  It’s not lust.  It’s not like.  It’s a Ride or Die type of commitment.

Victor Li leaves very little to chance.  The first time he tells you he loves you, he will have planned it…WAY in advance

The man knows timing is everything (haha!) and will choose the very special occasion of your birthday to make his confession

He rearranges his work schedule (and yours) for the special day, flying you out to Paris on his private jet

At exactly 1:14 pm, he’ll present you with your gift at the very top of the Eiffel Towel: a ladies’ version of the Patek Philippe timepiece he himself wears

The back will be engraved with both your initials and the numbers 1-3-1-4.  You'll start shaking the moment you see it.

1:14 pm, 13:14, 1-3-1-4: all essentially meaning "forever" when pronounced in Chinese

Honestly, it will feel like a proposal and in a sense, it is: once Victor is absolutely certain about someone, he will never let them go.  His love is for life.

You are absolutely speechless, hands trembling so hard that Victor has to hold them steady before he slips the watch onto your wrist

Then, after taking a moment to savour the sweetness of having a shared token of love, Victor bends to place a kiss on the back of your hand, the most tender look in his eyes when he finally looks up to say, “I love you.  Happy birthday.”

Doesn’t that sound much nicer than "dummy"?! 😆

The First Night

Despite all the impossible deadlines Victor sets for you in the course of your professional collaborations, the man is incredibly patient when it comes to matters of the heart

Until Victor tells you he loves you, he will not have sex with you (much to your horny chagrin)

This is actually specific to you and not his personal code of conduct per se.  In the past, the man has had no problems bedding women he’s had, at most, lukewarm feelings for

But YOU are a totally different breed, worlds apart from the starlets and socialites that threw themselves at his feet

Victor is fascinated by your honesty: the frankness of your words, your artless behaviour.  Mesmerized by the fact that he can read you like an open book (which is why he is so keen on protecting you from those who would use that to their advantage).  Touched by the genuine kindness and consideration that guides much of what you do.  Impressed by your tireless spirit in fighting for the people and things you care about

In short, he has never met another person quite like you, especially in the cut-throat world of business and high society where he has learned to excel — a place where poker-faced people keeping their cards close to their chests are the norm and not the exception

Holding out on sex is as painful and torturous to Victor as it likely is to you; the man is incredibly attracted to you, and has been since the day you dared to challenge him to secure funding for your company.  Deep down, Victor knows you had him ensnared the moment he saw the fire burning in your eyes (not like he’d ever tell you though LOL)

And each time work brought you before him, the man couldn’t help but notice something new to admire: the way your hair fell in soft wisps — begging to be gently tucked behind the shell of your ear, the captivating flutter of lashes as tired eyes blinked back fatigue, the pleasing lilt of your voice even as you laced your words with sarcasm

It wasn’t long before Victor found his thoughts drifting to you, haunting his nights and sneaking up on him during the day…especially when he was in the shower, eyes closed and moans amplified in the wet heat as his large hand reached down to stroke the length of his cock — imagining your legs wrapped around his waist, your tongue nimble on his shaft

In spite of all this pent-up tension, Victor doesn't rush into sex because he wants things to be done right.  You are the most important person in his life and he feels the need to eliminate any possibility of things going wrong

In short, he won’t treat you like the women who came before because there’s absolutely no comparison: no one has ever made him feel the way you do

That being said, it doesn’t mean you and Victor won't get up to some extreme heavy-petting: grinding on his lap in his Bugatti, palming him through his dress pants at the office, a hand slipped beneath your skirt when you’re bent over wiping kitchen counters at Souvenir as payment for your meal  

So when Victor gives you the ultimate birthday gift of finally telling you he loves you, the two of you are hightailing it back to your penthouse suite at the grandest hotel in Paris, bodies already flush against each other and kissing as the French do in the privacy of an ascending elevator

BUT Victor is the king of deliciously unhurried love making.  It is his preferred modus operandi.  After all, the man really knows how to enjoy the finer things in life: food, wine, your body and every single reaction of bliss that can be teased out of it.

You can bet that Victor will fuck you nice and slow and thoroughly.

PREPARE TO BE PAMPERED LIKE A QUEEN

Strains of Duke Ellington & John Coltrane's “In a Sentimental Mood” are being piped through built-in speakers as Victor approaches you from behind, notes of pine and cedar accompanying the heat of his body, wafting in gentle waves to make the fine hairs of your skin stand on anticipatory end

And as you watch the sun kiss the horizon through a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows — orange rays setting the Eiffel Tower ablaze in a sea of luminous fire — fingertips are trailing up your bare arms, Victor gently gathering your hair to sweep it over one shoulder before pressing his lips to the nape of your neck, eyes closed and inhaling deep, trying to hold on to the subtle sweetness of your skin

His hands, incredibly dextrous despite their size, easily tease apart the knot of your halter dress and you tremble under the intensity of his gaze over your shoulder as they watch satin trace every curve  — your dress dropping to pool on cool marble at your feet

There is something especially exquisite about seeing the City of Light laid out before you as you’re slowly laid bare by Victor.  And just when you start to blush at standing stark naked before the fully clothed CEO, he places your hands on his chest, seductive command permeating that deep voice when he says, “Undress me.”

Sliding your palms over the broad expanse of his pecs, you palpate the rhythm of his heart, caress the lines of hard muscle beneath that perfectly starched dress shirt  

By the time your fingers are unbuttoning his collar, his Adam's apple is already bobbing in his throat, the deep breaths he’s drawing to rein in desire amplifying the rise and fall of his chest

When the last button is undone, the sight of Victor’s gloriously perfect torso erodes the last of your frayed patience and you’re practically tearing the shirt off his muscular arms, wrestling with his belt.  And although you are dying inside from your lack of finesse, Victor is secretly thrilled that you want him that badly.  Full marks 😆

Finally….finally….that beautiful body is revealed in all its glory: sculpted from innumerable laps in his olympic sized pool and so genetically blessed below the belt that your mouth is watering at the sight

BUT FIRST, a bath!  Blue balls be damned, Victor Li will enjoy this moment to its fullest.  He knows that a slow seduction can build up to the most explosive sex.  Clearly.

The man will absolutely insist on bathing you, don't even try to fight it.  He gets an acute sense of satisfaction from taking care of you in every sense of the word.  Also, there’s nothing quite like the slippery slide of his hands all over your body

Step into the marble infinity tub and lay back against his broad chest.  Soak in the warm waters as you take in the view of the city around you, the peony-scented candles, the white-petaled orchids…all meticulously planned by the man soaping you from behind, gentle hands exploring

Lose yourself in his touch: fingertips trailing after bubbles that glide over the swell of your breasts, large hands submerging to wrap around your waist until they cross at the navel, moving down to rub languid circles between your legs until you tremble — Victor’s lips finding yours when your head falls back against his shoulder in bliss

And when you reach behind to feel him - long, hot and hard  - his soft groans will drive you to the precipice of madness until you’ve got him sitting on the edge of the tub: face a mask of ecstasy to feel your lips on him, your greedy mouth never seeming to get enough of his delicious flesh

Best believe that Victor almost has a heart attack when you let him slip from your mouth when he begins to twitch, observing him with innocence in your eyes as you pump him to completion, teasing the tip of his cock with your hardened nipples while he coats your chest in his release

The man is DONE when you finally look down at your breasts as if surprised, gathering up his cum with the tip of your index and bringing it to your lips for a taste, coy smile blooming all the while on your face

Jaw tightens.  Cock hardens.  And suddenly the world around you slows to a stand-still as you’re lifted so quickly you barely have time to think before his hands are coaxing your legs around his trim waist, your body wet and slippery against Victor’s as he carries you to the bedroom

Laying you upon the king-sized bed, Victor’s lips seek the heat between your thighs — lapping fast, tasting slow, drawing out slick pleasure to coat his tongue and wrench his name from somewhere deep in your throat

Nothing gets Victor Li hotter, faster, than the sound of your voice, desperate and needy for him.  The man is addicted to it.  You can bet he won’t be emerging from between your legs until his cheeks and chin are so shiny it’s obscene, and you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve convulsed against his fingers and tongue, orgasms bleeding one into the other like sweetly turbulent waves

And when he finally rises — your flavour faint on his tongue as his lips find yours — he’ll swallow your moans as he finally pushes into you: gradual, gentle, savouring every searing twitch of muscle adjusting to the welcome intrusion of his long, thick heat

Hips moving fast, swaying slow…pelvis grinding in circles to hit your clit because he can’t get enough of the way you shudder against him, or the sting of your teeth sinking into the flesh of his shoulders (mark him up, Victor LOVES it)

EDGING: Victor will hit that spot with expert precision over and over again till you’re on the verge of exploding…only to pull away, rhythm slowing to a grind to leave you hyperventilating and dizzy with need as this torturous pattern repeats

When he finally lets you (and himself) come, you are a sweaty, screaming mess, nails scratching to leave crimson welts on Victor’s back that will make the man smile to see in the mirror the following morning

Victor likes to remain buried deep within you for a bit after his release, holding you in his arms as he peppers you with kisses: on your lips, cheeks, forehead and eyelids

Afterwards, you can bet that the CEO will have a full spread delivered to the suite, where the two of you will spend the rest of the evening feeding each other in bed in between rounds of passionate lovemaking.  Remember?  Victor has stamina for DAAAAAYYYYYSSS and has to make up for lost time 😂

⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱

Thanks so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

Snakes and Scandals (Pt.1)

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

Virgil Blanche hated a lot of things, that was a given. He was, after all, an extremely poor twenty-two year old man living in the slums of a high-end empire city. Every day he would sit through nearly ten hours of abuse from costumers who were raised to think they were better than everyone else, and even the ones who weren't born rich were corrupted very quickly.

"Excuse me? Is this still eligible for a return? I tried at another store and they rejected me but I only bought it a few days ago," Virgil merely sighed at the hat and scarf clad man in front of him.

"If you bought it less than two months ago its eligible for return, if someone told you it wasn't you can file a complaint," Virgil never spoke very clearly, but he appreciated the man at least pretending to understand what he was saying.

"Thank you," it was at this point Virgil seemed to register that the man was speaking with a slight russian accent.

"Have a nice day," Virgil said in a monotone voice.

The day continued as all days working in customer service usually did, of course, had Virgil checked his calendar, maybe he would've realized that it was National Frame a Retailer For Flirting With You day. He didn't have much time to react, whoever the girl who'd used him as a cheating scapegoat was, she was very quiet, and her boyfriend was very fast.

"You tryna make her look dumb? Huh? Is that what you want?" Virgil tried to protest but ended up with a faceful of knuckles instead.

He should've known it wouldn't end well for him, at least he wasnt dead, but now he had a bloody face and was sitting in the managers office, waiting to hear his fate.

"So you punched him?" Virgil's boss was very stereotypical, blonde, bob-cut, light brown eyes, and Virgil knew she hated him. She always acted excited about his new piercings or tattoos, and of course she congratulated him when she found out he'd finally managed to afford top surgery after saving up since age fourteen. But he could tell it was all fake. He wasn't social enough for customer service, after all.

"In self defense, only after he broke my nose," Virgil responded. His manager pursed her lips together, glaring slightly from behind her glasses.

"And you are aware they intended to sue, yes?" Virgil gritted his teeth,of course they were, after all, why attack a store employee if you didn't want to sue them, or, at least, if you didn't want free starbucks every time you showed up.

"No, I wasn't, because they attacked me first," Virgil said calmly.

"I'm sorry Virgil but I'm going to have to fire you," there was no hiding the look of pure glee on the managers face as she delivered the news.

Virgil merely set his name tag on the table and left, all the while clutching his face. It burned, badly, some people needed to go to the gym less.

"You alright dude?" Virgil moved his hand to look at the man in front of him. Tall, skinny, with a mustache on his face and a white streak in his hair. The man had a worried look on his face, though his eyes conveyed a vague crazed look.

"Yeah, sure," Virgil said. He was about to walk away when the taller man grabbed his arm.

"Come with me, I'll help clean you up," Virgil was honestly to tired to argue, so instead he merely followed.

"Roman! I think I found you a new model! A little bruised up but I think he'll be ok soon enough!" Virgil had stopped listening after 'model'.

"Wait wait wait wait wait- I am definitely not a model-" Virgil tried to shrink in on himself.

"Well of course you arent yet! Oh Remus you life saver look at him! He's brilliant!" A boy who looked similar to the one with the mustache rushed out from behind a pillar, planting a kiss on the receptionists cheek as he ran.

Remus smiled, "I'll go get some ice packs and bandages, you two can talk," he said, running off.

"Roman Prince-Duke, head of Rome Fashion Company," Roman said, holding a hand out.

"Virgil Blanche, head of confused and worried emotions company," Virgil said, Roman let out a laugh.

"So what happened? If you're comfortable sharing that is," Roman said, gesturing to Virgil's face.

"Girl got her boyfriend to attack me at work for the sake of coupons," Virgil said, shrugging.

"Oh dear. . ." Roman said, his face falling slightly.

A few minutes later Virgil was sitting on a bench with ice pressed against his face and Roman listening intently as the receptionist told him what he should do.

"Gods Lolo you're so cute when you're being smart," Roman said, smiling and leaning his elbow on his knee, head pressed against his hand. The receptionist's face flushed with color.

Virgil honestly wasn't sure how calling him a model wasn't a joke, yet here he was sitting in the lobby waiting for Roman.

"Alright Virgil! Let's get you ready for your first shoot shall we?" Roman brought Virgil up by the hand, spinning him slightly before guiding him to another room.

"Lucky for you we have plenty of outfits in your size," Roman said.

"Mention my height and the fabric scissors might find their way up your nose," Virgil growled. Being 4'8 never exactly helped his case, he didn't normally get aggressive easily but it was a bit touchy for him.

"Oh dont worry, I learned my lesson with Lo on our first date," Roman said.

An hour or so later Virgil was dressed in a purple sleeveless top with black lace along the neckline, a black corset, ruffled black skirts, and black boots with heels. It felt, nice, and Virgil wasnt sure why. Normally he hated the way he looked in everything, but for once in his life he felt like royalty.

"Remy! I've got a new model for you!" Roman said as they entered another room with all manner of different sets and cameras set up.

A man with a leather jacket and sunglasses popped out from behind one, jaw dropping slightly "Roman you SAINT! Where'd you find him?!" Remy said, circling Virgil and looking him up and down.

"That credit goes to Remus, speaking of which, I've got business to attend to, you boys have fun," Roman said, turning on his heel to leave, the nearly floor length skirt of his outfit sweeping behind him.

"Alright babes you look like you're about to pass out right now so let's take a little break m'kay?" Remy walked with Virgil to a room that seemed primarily composed of bean bags.

They sat there for a while, Remy asking him questions and telling him his own stories. Before suddenly he got up and held a hand out for him. Virgil took it and allowed himself to be lead to a set covered in giant mushrooms and flowers. Remy spent a few minutes posting him, bringing out a few props for him to prop his arms on.

"Now just relax and give me a smile, you look like you're good at subtle, let's try some of those first," said Remy from behind the camera.

Virgil started out the shoot wishing it would be over already, but by the end he couldnt seem to stop looking at his own reflection in the camera lens.

"Oh Jan's going to lose it when he sees these!" Roman said, looking through the pictures from his phone.

"Who's Jan?-" Virgil said, tilting his head slightly.

"Oh you probably know him as Dimitri, he's a rival of mine," Roman handed Virgil a magazine, one scan of the front cover and Virgil recognized the man from a week ago, he was wearing the same hat and scarf as before. He read the caption above it. "Dimitri Gabriel to release new line inspired by endangered reptile species, all proceeds to go to preservation funding, no real scales used," he handed the article back to Roman.

"I've seen that guy, he was returning something the day I got fired," Virgil said.

"Oh even better! He'll recognize you!" Said Roman.

"Wait where are these even going?" Virgil said.

"My stylegram, you dont seem like the type who likes runways, so Remus and I have decided you'll be a social media model," Roman said.

"Well- guess I better make my own account then," Virgil said, pulling out his own phone.

It was only a few minutes before the comments flooded in, he recognized Janus' face, though his handle still conveyed his name as Dimitri. His face flushed red at the compliments. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but the feeling that Janus was impressed by his looks gave him an intense sensation of joy.

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Tag List:

@nerosdayinhell

@official-lucifers-child

@meowthefluffy

@spooky-scary-virgil

@misunderstoodshadowling

@youtuberswithalex

[natural-namjoon]

Fantasy

18+ Seonghwa fic

You sat alone and stressed in the back of the small cafe which was mostly empty. The sun was setting and people were getting off work and heading home to relax and unwind, probably tired and sore from the long day, but you couldn't afford a second of relaxation because you had midterms to study for. You sat as far towards the back as you could to try to avoid the risk of being bothered, the seat though had a perfect view of the patio and you could see the brilliant pinks and oranges that painted the sunset sky in front of you and it helped ease you a bit. You connected your headphones and through your speakers came the sweet sounds of “Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major '' it was relaxing and helped you focus, it was your good luck song and so far it has gotten you through many major study sessions and had gotten all passing grades as a result. You sat and felt your mind quiet as the song went on, the words on the page in front of you seemed to blur and your hand moved out of habit as you dove in and started your notes, copying and highlighting what was important out of the thick textbook in front of you. The world was peaceful around you in this small bubble you've built, it's safe and quiet with only the melancholy sound of the cello strings serving as the backtrack to your meditative mindset.

    Something was off though, there was a restlessness in the back of your mind, hiding and creeping, quiet for the most part but every so often you concentration would break and you would pause, blankly staring at the notes in front of you, completely forgetting what you had to do next or what you needed to write down next. After a minute of fighting with your shifting attention, you sighed and decided to take a small break. Your brain couldn't stay in work mode and it was pointless to try to force yourself to work. With a long lazy-cat stretch you sat up and just leaned back in your chair, absentmindedly looking about the cafe as the song continued to play in your ears. You watched the barista walk around behind the counter, washing dishes and containers, and sweeping the floor, she was cute and small and looked like she could be a freshman in college. Then your attention was grabbed as you saw someone new walk into the cafe, it was a young man, he had black hair and jeans and a leather jacket. He had a messenger bag slung across his shoulders so he was probably a college student, also probably a fuck-boy. The leather jacket and Doc Martens and box of cigarettes in his pocket made him look like an edgy bad boy. You moved one headphone off your ear to eavesdrop on what drink he was going to order. You were able to catch his order as the barista rang him up.

    “One americano with an extra shot of espresso, That will be $3.35 please” you smirked, of course, it's an americano.

With his mug in hand, the guy walked out to the patio and sat down in a seat that was facing your direction so you had the perfect view of him and after a moment of unabashedly staring at him you realized he was incredibly gorgeous. He had a sculpted face with prominent cheekbones, his lips were full and his eyes were beautiful and intense. You shook your head and scolded yourself for being creepy and staring at a stranger. Trying to manifest some sort of determination you went back to reading your textbook and jotting your notes down. You got a bit further until you felt the restlessness kick in and your eyes found their way back to the sexy stranger. He had pulled out a notepad and some books, probably studying for midterms as well. You watched him for a bit as he wrote, looking so focused and serious. Your eyes found their way to his hands and how fast he wrote, furious and powerful. His hands were beautiful, they were slender yet large, like a man's hands, and you found yourself wondering if they were soft or rough. What would they feel like in yours, would they be dry and calloused as he touched your cheek or would they be soft and supple if he were to run his thumb over your bottom lip.

You felt a blush creep to your face. What were you thinking? Why are you being creepy over a stranger? You were being weird. Again you tore your gaze away from the guy and tried to focus on your work. You went back a few pages to try to reread some of your notes to remind yourself of where you had left off, the sound of the lone Cello still playing in your ears. You picked up your pen to attempt to continue writing but almost on their own your eyes snapped up and again you were looking out of the cafe window at the handsome stranger. He was still focused on his work and as he sat and read his hand came up to his face and he was absently biting on his thumbnail while he read. Again you found yourself captivated by his hands, you wondered if they held aggression or if instead, he was a man who did things gently and slowly, making sweet soft touches with those hands, would he slowly reach down and unbutton your shirt, dragging the moment on longer as he undid each button, letting his knuckles graze your skin as each one was undone, the heat of his touch burning almost like fire on you cold skin. Would he slowly slip your top off and explore your skin with his hands? Would he take his time and feel all of your curves and edges, caressing your skin and committing the feel of you to his memory? What would he do after? You wondered, eyes making their way up to his lips, they were soft looking, his kisses would be the opposite of his hands though, where his hands were feather-light, his lips were hungry for only you, he would be urgent and needy when he kissed you, his neediness would overpower him and he’d slip his tongue in wanting to explore your mouth with it. As you would make out his hands would do some more exploring of their own, after your top was off he would reach down and grab your ass, and give it a loving squeeze, each cheek fitting perfectly in his hands. As he did so his mouth would travel down to your neck, kissing and sucking, marking you as his, his breath on your ear and his tongue on your neck would be heaven and only after leaving a couple good marks he’d travel lower and take one of your hard nipples into his mouth sending shockwaves of pleasure rocketing through your body.

You sat still and your entire body was on fire, you knew this was weird and wrong, having fantasies like this about someone without even knowing them. But oh god was he perfect for fantasizing about, walking around looking like that you were sure you weren't the first person to fantasize about him. By now he had stopped writing and stood to stretch, you quickly looked down at your book hoping he hadn't seen you staring. He stretched and took out his phone to check it and absently he rubbed a spot on his thigh that was probably hurting him or sore but unfortunately that just brought your attention down to the lower half of his body. Oh god, His thighs were nice and sculpted and lean, he must work out because they looked strong yet slender, you thought. The jeans he wore flattered his body so much. You were thrown back into your fantasies. His mouth on your chest and then traveling lower and lower until he got to your pants. Not quick enough he would get them off and waste no time pleasing you with his mouth. The feeling of his warm tongue and lips on your most sensitive areas would have you screaming in pleasure, by now you already assumed he has good with his tongue and he would make sure you remembered his skills as he would bring you to the brink so fast only to stop and come up for air to kiss you, tasting yourself on his skilled tongue. Being generous and giving, you would want to return the favor, you would help him remove his jacket and shirt then sitting him down you would get on your knees in front of him, wanting to see what he was hiding underneath those sexy jeans. Unbuttoning his pants you would reach in and palm him feeling his thick member hard and aching, the sound from his mouth would be so nice, he's a strong handsome man reduced to a whimpering moaning mess in front of you and you wouldn't have even used your mouth yet. After teasing him for a bit you would take his dick out of his pants, you imagine that he would be a pretty nice size, cock head thick and angry red as he would be so needy for you. You would start with a couple of kitten licks, trying to draw it out but he would have to beg you and then you would go to work, taking him as far in your mouth as you could. His groans and moans would fuel your fire as you use your tongue to draw patterns and lick all around his tip. After a bit you would feel his thigh muscles tense as you draw him closer and closer to the edge and before you could take him there you remove your mouth and get up to straddle his legs, wanting to finally feel him inside you.

You were more than turned on as your fantasies became more and more heated. On the other side of the window you watch as the guy, who had gone back to doing his schoolwork, ran his hand through his hair and combed it back but a few strands fell onto his forehead as he looked upon his notes and you imagined doing the same thing, running your hands through his hair as he lines his member up with your entrance, pushing slowly inside of you and you sit there on his hard dick, feeling every inch of him inside of you like a scorching rod through your soul.

His eyes are so beautiful, strong and fierce, he had the gaze of a prince, confident, wise and sexy. His gaze could pierce anyone soul. You snapped out of your fantasies because you just realized the hot stranger was staring back at you through the glass, making direct eye contact. Face going as red as a tomato as you quickly looked away trying not to look more like an idiot. You kept your head down, eyes closed trying to shake all the sexual images out of your head. The images of him taking you on your couch, thrown over the armrest as he pounds into you until you can't even remember your name, you try not to imagine how his thick cock would feel inside you as he rearranged your insides and made you scream his name until you were pushed to the edge so hard that you cum all over his dick then not even a second later you feel his big warm load shoot into you and there would be this moment of pure ecstasy and bliss- Holy shit it wasn't working. You sat and tried to pray that your soul wasn't doomed to eternal damnation for being a dirty, creepy stalker when suddenly you felt a presence near your table.  ‘Please lord don't let it be who I think it is’ you thought to yourself. You look up from your book and of course, it's him, who the hell else would it be. He's standing there on the other side of your table, tall and God-like. You sit for a moment and just kind of stare at him, probably looking like a fish out of water, he stares back and a small smirk played on his perfect lips. He makes a small gesture for you to take your headphones off. You had almost forgotten you had the classical music on repeat, “Cello Suite No. 1” didn't seem like your lucky song anymore but rather the backtrack to your sins. You take the headphones off embarrassed.

“Sorry, um hi, what's up?” you say awkwardly, his smirk becomes a genuine smile.

“ I couldn't help but notice you checking me out for a full hour and a half since I came in,” He said, more playful than accusatory and OH MY GOD his voice was so deep and smooth you could feel your pulse drumming in your ears.

“Oh-I-I I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to-” you started to profusely apologize and he stopped you.

“It's alright, I'm not mad or anything. May I sit? It's getting dark outside anyways.” he gestured to your empty seat. You didn't hesitate to nod as he took the seat. Once he settled, he turned to you and smiled his gorgeous smile again

" My name is Seonghwa by the way, It's very nice to meet you." he shook your hand and you couldn't help but note that his hands were very soft. Turns out he was a college student, same year as you and he was stressed because of midterms and just like you decided to procrastinate and cram all his notes and study guides last minute. He was very friendly and even though you yourself weren't very good at making small talk he handled it well, leading the conversation and allowing you both to chat pretty comfortably. He was so nice and you realized pretty quickly that this fuck-boy douche persona you gave him was wrong as he was a compleate sweetheart in reality. After you introduced yourself you both went back to studying, or at least you tried to but the tension in the air was so heavy and neither of you could focus. He had been aware of your staring since the beginning and you were sure he figured out what you were thinking because you had been red in the face the entire time with your heart refusing to stop pounding. Finally, Seonghwa sighed and leaned forward. The look of pure sin in his eyes as he looked at you.

"Do you maybe want to go back to my place and study together?"