#I can’t fold straight so that’s also part of my issue

[afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff]

My favorite wrapping paper is the one with the grid on the back. It makes things so much easier

[xo-hoon]

an eye for an eye — p.sh

pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: revenge, angst, smut, fluff

synopsis: Sunghoon nurtured a profound animosity towards his childhood friend, Lee Heeseung, blaming him for his sister's death. To Sunghoon, his sister was the only person who had genuinely loved him, making Heeseung's perceived betrayal unforgivable. This deep resentment sparked an intense desire for revenge, driving Sunghoon to extreme measures to achieve it. But to what extent would he go to find satisfaction in his vengeance against Lee Heeseung? Would his plans unfold smoothly, or would everything take an unexpected turn, throwing his schemes into something he didn’t expect.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: swearing, kidnapping (kinda), possessive hoon, mentions of death, fake marriage, depression, fist fighting, minor bleeding, hoon has detachment issues. (typographical errors)

an eye for an eye: last part - masterlist

Sunghoon woke up with the feeling of his wife’s figure laying on his chest. You really looked angelic while sleeping.

He couldn’t help but to stroke your cheek and feel the softness of your lips. He wished to see this sight every morning for the rest of his life. That way, even if it was cloudy outside, he’d always wake up with his own brand of sunshine. He wrapped you in his arms and basked in your warmth. He vowed to never let you slip away from him.

He would do everything to tie you to him forever. And for that to happen, he needed to take action.

He gave you a tender kiss on the forehead before getting up to take a shower and prepare himself for the day. Upon leaving the room, he went straight to the garden where he suspected his father was.

“Dad,” He called. From his newspaper, her father glanced up at him.

“Good morning, son. Sit down. Do you need anything?” Sunghoon sat down in front of him.

“I’m thinking of taking my wife on a belated honeymoon trip.”

His forehead creased. “Where are you planning on going?”

“Japan. I also wanted to visit Grandma and Grandpa.” They had never been close to him, but they knew your family. “I’d be grateful if your secretary could arrange everything for me and my wife.”

He folded the newspaper and placed it on the table. “Why does this seem sudden? What about the farm? I’m getting old, Sunghoon. I can’t manage everything anymore.”

“We have good people here, Dad. They are all hardworking and trustworthy. My manager could take over, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” His father fell silent for a moment, deep in thought over what he had just said. “Alright, I understand. When are you going back home?”

Sunghoon shrugged. “I don’t know. As long as possible?” His father’s lips twitched and his eyes filled with profound curiosity.

“Why do I feel like you’re planning to live there? Is there a problem, Sunghoon?”

Yes, there is. Sunghoon laughed. “Nothing, Dad. Anyway, we can’t stay there for long. I just wanted a little vacation with my wife.” He leaned back and looked at his father intently.

“Fine. But make sure to call here often. I’ll get my secretary to arrange everything. I’ll also have him come here to get both your passports.”

“Okay, Dad. Thank you.” He said and stood up after bidding farewell. Sunghoon breathed a sigh of relief. His father agreed. And hopefully, everything would go as smoothly as this.

—

You’ve noticed that your husband has been exceptionally busy these past few days. You already knew he was hard working, workaholic, even. But it’s quite different these days as if he’s constantly chasing after something. Today, he left with his father because they said they had someone to talk to.

You glanced at the oven timer, signaling that the cream cheese garlic bread you made is cooked. Once you checked and saw that they were golden brown, you grabbed the mittens to take the baking tray out.

“Wow, that looks delicious, Y/n.” Aunt Chul said as she just entered the kitchen. You smiled at her.

“I won’t be modest, Auntie. It is really delicious.” You giggled, placing the tray on the table. She chuckled.

“Really? Let me have a taste then.”

“Sure! But let’s wait for it to cool down for a bit,” You said as you removed the mittens and took the tongs to carefully transfer the bread onto the basket lined with wax paper.

“Oh! I’ll make us something to drink, Dear. What would you like?”

“I’ll have some green tea, please.” You requested.

“Sure, just a moment.” She began boiling the water and fetched the cups while you were arranging the bread in the basket, making it look presentable. Shortly after, you and the woman enjoyed the bread and tea together.

“This is so good, Dear!” Aunt Chul happily commented after the first bite. You nodded in agreement.

“Yes, it really is. I wonder who made it?”

The woman chuckled lightly. “No joke, Dear. It really is delicious. The cream cheese garlic bread I’ve had before didn’t taste like this. Sunghoon is really lucky to have someone like you, Dear. I hope you know that.” You were speechless at her words.

“I remember, Sohyun and Sunghoon used to love eating you baked good back then. They were the ones tasting and critiquing your creations.” Your smile faded as you recalled the past.

“I felt that they grew tired of tasting my breads back then. Especially Sunghoon.” You whispered softly.

“Oh, Dear! I doubt that,” The woman said with a chuckle and shook he head. “Didn’t Sunghoon always insist on tasting even the burnt ones?”

Yes, you could vividly remember that. Every batch you baked, whether perfectly made or not, Sunghoon always tasted them. He would praise them if they were delicious and cheer you on to do better next time if they weren’t. He was always there for you, ready to make you smile and feel good. He was your everything backthen. While you couldn’t do anything for him. You sighed.

“Yes, he’s a good guy…” You said softly just above whisper.

“What was that, dear?” The elderly woman asked. You glanced at her and gave a small smile.

“Nothing, Auntie.”

She took another bite of the bread and savored it like a child. “This is really delicious, Dear. I’ll miss this when you’re in Japan.”

You paused mid-bite upon hearing her words. “What? Japan?” You asked, confused.

“Yes, Japan. Didn’t Sunghoon tell you? You’re leaving tomorrow to go to Japan. Your husband has already arranged for your things to be packed,” She explained. Your jaw might have dropped at Aunt Chul’s news. Japan? Leaving? Tomorrow? You had no idea of what she was talking about. You felt your phone vibrating in your pocket.

“Heeseung…” You murmured as you saw the registered number. Quickly excusing yourself from Aunt Chul, you hurried upstairs to your room to answer the call.

“Heeseung?”

“What’s this I hear about you and Sunghoon leaving?”

He asked sternly. You paced back and forth in the room, feeling like a cat about to give birth, anxious and unsettled.

“I don’t know! Aunt Chul just mentioned it to me just now. I had no idea. Sunghoon hasn’t said anything about us leaving.”

You stopped in your tracks and pulled at your hair, feeling frustrated. What was he thinking?

“He’s freaking insane! You need to come home now, Y/n. We need to talk about this,”

He insisted.

“But—”

“If you won’t come here, I’ll come there.”

He said sharply. You took a deep breath.

“Okay, I’ll be there in an hour.”

You quickly left the mansion, being careful not to be seen by anyone. You also didn’t ask the driver to take you to avoid anyone from knowing where you were going. Upon arriving at your house, Heeseung form immediately greeted you. His face was serious.

“Let’s talk inside.” He said, leading the way.

—

Sunghoon and his father was greeted by Aunt Chul once they entered the mansion. “Would you like to two like to have snacks or rest first?” She asked.

“I’ll rest for a bit. I’ll come down later for dinner,” Mr. Park replied, heading up to his room.

“And you, son?” The woman turned to him. Sunghoon smiled at her.

“I’ll go rest first, Auntie.”

“Is that so? Y/n baked cream cheese garlic bread,” She added making him chuckle at her obvious teasing.

“I’ll go see her first, Auntie,” He replied.

“Oh, yes. That’s right.” She quickly agreed. “Go on, she’s in your room. She went up there after we ate earlier.” She gently nudged him.

“Hurry up now.” He chuckled at the woman’s gesture. He was near the stairs when she called him.

“I’m glad you hear your laughter again, son.” She said sincerely. He smiled back at her.

“Me too, Auntie.”

He went up to their room. However. It was dark inside, and you weren’t there. The windows were open, and the curtains swayed gently with the breeze. He wondered and checked the bathroom as well, but you weren’t there either. He went downstairs to find Aunt Chul.

“Auntie, have you seen Y/n?” He asked. She furrowed her brow.

“Isn’t she in your room?” He shook his head. “No.”

“Well, I just came from the garden, she wasn’t there either. Did you check the study? Other rooms?”

“Not yet,” He sighed. “Wait, maybe she went to her brother? Your wife had someone calling her from her phone earlier.”

Your phone? He recalled Heeseung visiting the bakery. He felt knot in his stomach. The fear he felt when he woke up and found the woman was not by his side returned.

“I’ll be out for a while,” He said and rushed to his car, got in, and drove away.

—

“I have talked to a friend who’s willing to lend us the money we need. If you’re still worried about that bastard’s check, I’ll go top the bank tomorrow and—”

“It’s not that simple, Hee,” You whispered. You were both on the sofa in your living room, having a serious conversation. You felt a chill at what your brother wanted to happen.

“What do you mean?” You sighed and looked straight at him. “Do you think Sunghoon would just agree to that?” He wasn’t able to respond. “He wouldn’t, Heeseung.”

Heeseung ran his fingers through his hair in frustration and leaned back on the sofa. “Then I think it would be better if you took some time away from him,” He suggested.

You shook your head. “I think it would only make things worse if I did that.”

“Then what do you think would work?” You couldn’t answer. None of your plans had worked. Reconciling the father and son. Gradually avoiding your husband. None of it happened.

“Look, y/n. I just want you safe. I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s why I’m doing this,” He said, holding your hand. “I’ll face Sunghoon myself. I’m the reason for all of this.”

You gave him a sad smile. “Liar.” He paused. “We both know who’s really at fault for all of this.”

He tightened his grip on your hand.“Y/n, I don’t want you thinking like that.”

You sighed. “Let me handle this, Hee. Let me leaver with Sunghoon to Japan, and there I’ll figure some things out.”

His eyes narrowed and he let go of your hand. “Are you seriously telling me that you’re really going with him?”

You looked down. “Honestly, I’m still hesitant about it. I’ll try to convince him later not to leave. But if he insists, maybe it’s better if I go with him for now.” You pleaded with him to understand. “I just can’t leave him.”

He stood up abruptly, clenching his fists.

“No.” It was a firm command. “You stay out of this. I’ll confront that piece of shit right now, and I’ll resolve this mess with him.”

“I’m here, Heeseung,” You and your brother almost simultaneously turned towards a cold and low voice. You gaped as you saw Sunghoon there.

He looked at you. “We’re going home, Y/n.” He was about to reach out to you but your brother’s large figure blocked his way as he stood up.

“Over my dead body.” You grabbed his arm.

“Hee, don’t start.”

“He was the one who started all of this!” Heeseung exclaimed. “And for what? Revenge? Only children would think of—” You gasped as Sunghoon lunged forward and delivered a punch at your brother’s face.

Heeseung slumped to the floor due to the impact. Your eyes widen as you saw Heeseung’s lip split open. You rushed to him and hurriedly wiped the blood from the corner of his lips. He stood up, his eyes glaring with retaliation for the punch he received from Sunghoon.

“Stop it!” You shouted, trying to intervene to break them up. When they didn’t budge, you raised your voice louder. “Enough!”

That seemed to snap them out of it, reminding them of your presence. Both men were panting heavily, and you could feel the tension thick in the air around them. You faced your brother. “We’re leaving. I’m going with him.”

He grabbed your arm. “No!”

“Please,” Your voice trembled in plea. Reluctantly, he let go and gave Sunghoon a sharp look. You called a helper and instructed them to bring a first aid kit. “Treat your wounds, Hee. Take care.” You hugged him.

You felt your husband tug on you. “Let’s go,” He whispered. He guided you out of the house towards his car. Heeseung didn’t follow, which you were thankful for. Upon reaching the car, Sunghoon spoke.

“Don’t try to run away from me like that.” He looked at you intently. He seemed to claim all the good looks in the world because even in dim light, he still looked godly… whit a bruised lip. You reached for his face.

“You have a bruise. Let’s hurry home so we can treat that,” You said.

He grasped your hand. “Answer me. Tell me you won’t run away from me.” His intense gaze made you feel like you were burning. You nodded slightly in response.

“Say it, damn it!”

“Sunghoon, I...” He held both sides of your face and gently forced you to meet his eyes.

“Is it really that hard? To be tied to me? To stay with me and remain by my side?” Your lips parted as you saw the desperation on Sunghoon’s face, as if his life depended on you staying.

“I promise I won’t hurt you. I won’t. I can’t”

“But you’re hurting my brother. And because of that, you’re also hurting me.” You don’t have the right to complain. You deserved the pain. But your brother?

He let go and sniffed the air. “Okay. You want me to stop hating on your brother? I can do that. I’ll do it for you.” He looked at you with a longing look. “You also said I should forgive my father? Fine, I’ll do that too.” You couldn’t speak. What was he trying to do to you? He reached out and held your palm, then clasped your hands.

“If I do all that, will you stay by my side? Will you promise not to leave me? Will you stay with me forever?”

“I realized that I was blinded by anger. Sohyun wouldn’t want me to blame the man she loved forever.” Joy enveloped your heart. It felt so good to hear your husband’s words. You never expected that he would be willing to do everything just to keep you by his side. That he’s finally ready to set his anger aside. But there’s one thing he didn’t know. And Sunghoon would hate you more if you keep it hidden from him much longer. You should have confessed earlier.

How will he believe you now? Even if you tell him that you love him…

Your eyes stung with tears. You shook your head. “No… You don’t understand.”

Sunghoon lifted your face with a finger, wiping your tear that traced a path down your cheek. “What do I not understand?” He asked, his voice soft yet urgent. “What is it, Y/n?”

You could only shake your head, your tears falling relentlessly. Sunghoon enveloped you in a warm embrace, offering you solace in the cold, dark night.

“Please, Y/n,” He murmured, his voice trembling with emotions. “Just promise me that you won’t run away. That we’ll always be together. That’s all I want to hear. Please.”

You continued to sob into his chest. Truth be told, you wanted the same thing—to be together forever, to be happy in each other’s arms. But that was impossible. It was never going to happen. You sniffled and gathered all your courage. Gently, you pushed him away from you. You shut your eyes tightly before looking straight into his eyes.

“It wasn’t my brother’s fault that Sohyun died. It was mine.” Your throat ached, and the words seemed to resist coming out. “It was only right that I pay for what I did. So it’s not fair that you blamed Heeseung for what happened…”

You saw Sunghoon’s expression change. “What are you talking about, y/n?” This isn’t your fault.”

You stood firm You knew you had to stick to the truth, no matter how painful. “It was all my idea. It was my decision that led to Sohyun’s death. I can’t let Heeseung suffer for something he didn’t do.”

A mixed of shock and confusion crossed Sunghoon’s face. “It wasn’t Heeseung’s fault that your sister is no longer with us. It was my fault. The anniversary surprise, the candle lit dinner—” You gulped, and tears streamed down your cheeks again. “Those were all my idea.” You roughly wiped away the tears, but no matter what you did, they kept falling.

“If I hadn’t suggested all that, Sohyun would still be here. You wouldn’t be left alone. Everything would be okay.” Your chest tightened as you confessed everything to him. “Sunghoon… I… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

You could barely breathe from crying, and through it all, Sunghoon just stood there in front of you. This must be it. He must be hating you now and cursing you to death. You wouldn’t be surprised if he suddenly told you to rot in hell. You turned away to head back to your house. You had your answers. You didn’t need to leave because Sunghoon wouldn’t want you anywhere with him anymore.

You calmed yourself and dried the tears to see your way, but a tight hug from behind stopped you in your tracks. The embrace was so firm, you could barely breathe. You cried even harder. Sunghoon turned you around and you buried your face in his chest.

‘I’m so sorry. I never thought it would all end in an accident.”

He comforted you. “Heeseung’s surprise for my sister was your idea. That’s all it was. You and Heeseung didn’t mean her any harm. Both of you just wanted to make her happy.” You pulled away slightly and looked up at him. There wasn’t a trace of hatred on his face.

“Aren’t you going to yell at me? Sohyun died because of me.” At that, you started crying again. He sighed and tried to calm you down.

“Weren’t you listening? To be honest, ever since you came back to in to my life, my anger had gradually disappeared. I think I used what happened as an excuse to keep you by my side. I could never hate you.”

“But—” He silenced you with a kiss.

“I’m sure my sister is happy up there. I know that because I felt like she’s watching over me from there. Sohyun never wanted me to live a miserable life.” He gently stroked your hair.

“She once told me that I should stop shutting myself from the world. And when she died, it felt like my anger was the only thing keeping me alive. Until I saw you again. You were so bright that I wanted to put everything behind me. And I remembered that my sister told me I always needed to stay in the light.” He carefully caressed your cheek. After a very long time, you saw the man you loved once again.

“And you are my light, Y/n. you’re my very own brand of sunshine. The moment I saw you again, I felt alive. You complete the happy days I once had.”

If this was a dream, you wished to be a princess who had slept for a long time. And if possible, you hoped never to wake up. If this was real, why did it seem so unbelievable? You had expected a mad beast with eyes full of hate, not a handsome prince with eyes filled with love.

Oh God. Is this real?

“Yes, Y/n. This is real.” You hadn’t realized that you voiced your question out.

“But, Sunghoon. I know how much Sohyun’s death affected you. I don’t want you to hide that from me just because you promised not to hurt me. Whatever makes you feel better—”

“It’s true that my sister’s death nearly killed me. But you…” He paused, searching for the right words.

“The thought of another person I love frightened the hell out of me. If I lose you, I know I won’t be able survive.”

You embraced him tightly. “I won’t leave you.”

“Do you really accept me as your husband, Y/n? Are you ready to be with me for always? Will you love me too?” He looked deep into your eyes.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to tell him that you already loved him. That you have loved him for a long time. Your gaze shifted towards your house, where you saw your brother watching the both of you. He nodded, as if giving you the encouragement to do what you truly wanted. Slowly, a smile spread across your face. You looked up to Sunghoon, who was gazing at you with complete love. Tears pooled in your eyes again, but this time, they were tears of joy.

“I love you, Park Sunghoon.” You finally managed to say. “I’ve always loved you. Even when our paths separated, that love never faded. I still love you.” Sunghoon let put a breath, his eyes closing briefly.

He hugged you tight and kissed the top of your head. “Thank you. Thank you for loving me.”

You returned the warm embrace to your husband. “I still feel guilty about Sohyun,” you sighed.

“Stop it,” He scolded you gently. “She loves us, and I know she wants us to be happy. There’s nothing to worry about now, baby.” Right. Sohyun had been a kind and loving sister top Sunghoon. She treated you like a sibling too. She genuinely loved your brother. She wouldn’t want anyone of you to be sad.

Under the moonlight, you promised to love the man you promised to be with for a lifetime with all your heart. You would give him the light he needed and all the love you could offer. You would be together for an eternity. And it would start now.

“I love you so much. Y/n.” You heard him whisper. You tightened your hug on Sunghoon even more.

“I love you.”

It was supposed to be rainy afternoon according to the weather report last night. But the weather seemed to be cooperating with them because not a single dark cloud marred the sky. You wondered how it would feel to live in a world where there was no sadness and pain; where only the warmth of love and happiness enveloped you.

Then you realized that in this world, one need all those sufferings to appreciate the beauty of life. You should face your fears and endure trials to become a better person. You smiled as you looked back and saw your husband leaning against the tree where you were taking shelter.

Sunghoon is a great example of someone consumed by darkness, yet learning to return to the colorful world. Well, all of you went through some tough times, but you believed it was Sunghoon who suffered the most. You approached him, locking eyes. You sucked in your breath. He still looked dark and powerful, but that was just because of his striking physical appearance. The dark aura that used to surround him was gone.

“We need to get going, you know?” You reminded with a smile.

He held your waist and pulled you closer to him. “I know, baby. I was just doing some reminiscing.”

“Like when you tripped here while we were chasing after Sohyun and Heeseung?” you teased him. The corners of his lips lifted in to a smile.

“Very funny.” You grinned and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“So… Shall we go to Sohyun’s grave?” Before, his expression darkened whenever he remembered his sister, not it didn’t. He maintained a light demeanor. It was Sohyun’s death anniversary, and you planned to visit with your brother, Heeseung. The feud between the two men had been resolved.

“Yeah, I think we should go now. I want to catch Heeseung being dramatic.”

You wrinkled your nose. “How mean.” Sunghoon just grinned and kissed you quickly on the lips. You both started walking towards his car.

“You know what? My visits to my sister will be different now,” He said.

“What do you mean?”

“Before, whenever I would visit her, I always said I would seek revenge on those responsible for her loss.” He tightened his grip on your hand. “But today would be different because you’re with me, and Heeseung and I are okay. I used to visit her with a heavy heart, but this time, I would face her with a smile.”

“And she must be smiling back at you,” You said happily.

“I know.” Sunghoon stopped walking and looked at you with lovingly.

“Thank you. Thank you for being my light, y/n.” You were momentarily taken aback but quickly returned the smile to your lips.

“I always got you. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[fieldofdaisiies]

Ars Amatoria | ch. IV

-all rights reserved-

Elucien AU word count: 2,8k words warnings: none

masterlist

The door to the art studio opens with a loud pang that probably can even be heard in the city center of Florence as it comes in contact with the wall. 

“Can you believe it?” In strolls no other than Lucien Vanserra. And Jurian is furious, rising from his chair like a demon from hell. The bright green line straight through the face of his Artemis irreversible and he will punch Lucien in the gut for it. At least five times. Jurian tosses his brush away and steps around the big easel, fire blazing in his veins as he stalks towards Lucien, glowering like he is about to commit a murder — well, he might do so if Lucien’s reasons for bursting in here are not something majorly important. 

“Can I believe what?” Jurian growls and throws his in paint covered hands up in despair, giving Lucien an incredulous look. His intense glare should be akin to hurling daggers at his best friend, hoping Lucien gets the memo. But the Vanserra man is oblivious to the damage his grand entrance has created. With his arms outstretched, Lucien gazes at his best friend, his eyes wide open, disbelief etched into every fiber of his expression. 

“I have to wed!” he exclaims and now throws his hands into the air, frantically waving them around to make his point of utter disbelief and outrage clear. “Eris, the amazing brother and little asshole he is, is forcing me to marry.”

Jurian clicks his tongue, his former anger not yet gone, but at least this was an alright reason for Lucien bursting in here like a berserk, he has to give his best friend that. The artist exhales a loud breath. “Why do you have to marry?” he asks a little dumbfounded. 

“Because of the issue with the Hybern bank…” Lucien is bathing in his pity and dramatically lets himself slump against the wall behind him. “I have to marry! Do you even know what that means?” “No more sleeping around?” Jurian cocks his brow, a small, lop-sided grin on his face.

“Amongst other things, yes. But that is not the most important part, never would be. I am losing my freedom, Jurian. You understand that?”

“Just because you have a wife it doesn’t mean you will no longer be free…” Jurian huffs and shakes head at his best friend. He can only partly understand why Lucien is boiling with indignation. 

“I know,” Lucien grumbles, both of them still standing at the door. Lucien throws his head back and exhales loudly, then shakes his head and folds his hands behind his back. “I don’t want to destroy her life either. She was probably forced into this just like me. And she probably hasn't had much freedom in her life so far. I can’t do that to her.” “It is not your fault, Lucien. And you are not doing anything to her.”

“I do, by not giving her what she deserves. By not being a good husband. By being a husband who has slept with half of Florence. I am not a good man, Jurian, and you know this.”

“So this is what really bothers you?” Jurian summarises, his voice tinged with empathy. “That you won’t be a good husband to her?”

“The whole thing bothers me. I don’t want to get married for the sake of rescuing our family bank and I don't want to ruin her life either.” Lucien groans loudly as he places his head against the wall and closes his eyes, sadness passing over his face. 

“I feel like I am getting used just so Eris can keep the bank alive.” Jurian nods a little, not really sure of what to say. Of course, this is Eris’ main reason for doing it, but Jurian also knows that Eris just wants his brother to live his life right. Jurian is also a friend to the older Vanserra brother and they have often talked about this — Lucien not being the same after having lost Jesminda to Tubercolisis. And even more, after their father died and all the weight of the bank and the family was on Eris and Lucien’s shoulders. It is a lot for Lucien to handle and Eris is worried he might stray from the right path in life. 

“I am sure Eris has his reasons for it,” Jurian contemplates. Lucien peeks one eye open and gives his best friend a one-eyed dead pan. Then he throws up his hands and says, “Yes, power and fortune.” With that he pushes off the wall and strolls past Jurian into the middle of the art studio. “Now, let me see what you are up to. Any nice new paintings that could distract me?”

Jurian chuckles and follows his friend. “Don’t get your hopes up too high. I haven’t painted half-naked women in a long time.” 

Lucien throws him a glare over his shoulder and then shrugs his shoulders, chuckling a little bit. “I am nearly a married man now, I should anyways not look at random naked woman.” With that he turns and disappears behind a huge easel. His footsteps hollow in the open room as Lucien walks through the huge and dim art studio. The windows are on the other side of the room where Jurian draws and paints, on the side where the magnificent paintings are stored there is not that much light. Lucien walks up to a painting of the Cattedrale metropolitana di Santa Maria del Fiore, his index finger absently brushing over a table with sketches and painting utensils scattered across it. He picks up a single brush and starts to fidget with it, spinning it between his fingers as he looks into a shelve with objects for still life paintings. It is not really exciting, but Lucien accepts every sort of distraction he can get at the moment. He does want to think about the marriage, or what it will mean to be married. He does not want to think about how he can be a good husband. He just…does not want to think at all. Lucien lets his gaze, that has now adapted to the dim light, wander over the paintings leaning against the wall until one painting of a very exposed man that is placed on an easel catches his eye. 

“You paint Ardinghelli?” Lucien raises a brow in irritation. Jurian looks past the shelf filled with paints, right at the picture Lucien is currently staring at.

“Well, have you seen you this man?” Jurian exclaims loudly and flings one arm into the air, gesturing around. “He is a masterpiece. Stunning, cruel beauty, this man. He is the best Ares. I mean, have you seen him?”

I have, unfortunately, Lucien thinks as memories of his brother’s half-naked lover, slipping out of their family home at four in the morning fill his brain. But he only shakes his head a little in answer, chuckling amusedly. He knows that he can never, ever talk about his brother’s secret lover out loud. He would never do this to his brother. But apparently Azriel Ardinghelli did not only manage to wrap his brother around his finger, but also his best friend…how amazing. 

Lucien looks away then, slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and lets his gaze stray. There is a large painting and Lucien can once again make out Azriel’s features. How often does it want to paint him?

“Why don’t you ever paint me?” the man with the fiery red hair teases, and glances over his shoulder at Jurian who sits down on his stool and only rolls his eyes at his best friend. “I already painted you,” Jurian retorts, not paying the silly request of his best friend any more attention. 

“Never in such a position, or with so little clothing on!” Lucien raises his brows, flashing his best friend a reprimanding look. “And now I am questioning you what the reason for it is? Huh?”

“Because you are my best friend and that would make things weird between us.”

Lucien shrugs then, having to give his best friend that. He furrows his brows, strolling towards the the large and unfinished painting of Azriel to catch a look at the smaller canvas in front of it. 

“And I also only need Mars for my painting. They are the best selling couple at the moment. And well, you are not Mars.” 

Lucien chuckles a little, absently, as something has caught his eye. Bending at the waist, he lowers himself, his eyes catching sight of beauty he has never seen before. 

“And where…” Lucien is distracted, his focus solely on the woman’s doe eyes, her lush lips, the lovely rosy cheeks. His breath catches in his throat. “Where is your Venus then, Messer Botticelli?” Lucien breathes and crouches down. He is still looking at the picture, his lips parting a little as he reaches his hands forward.

“Well…” Jurian mumbles and Lucien can hear how he gets up from the chair, but he does not deign him a look, too focused on the breathtaking painting in front of him. He brushes his fingers over the canvas and feels how something in his chest sparkles a little. 

"Stunning." Lucien trails his index finger over the painting once again. "Who is that?" Jurian places his brush in a holder, wipes the back of his hand over his cheek and steps in line with Lucien. He grins, his eyes sparkling almost mischievously. “Well…that is your future wife, my friend.” Jurian pats his friend’s shoulder, looking at him with a bright smile on his face. “Your future wife and my Venus to my Mars.”

Lucien’s mouth gapes, his going so wide, his eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockest. This…he has truly not expected. And moreover, what should he do with this information now? Yes, she is beautiful, breathtaking, but her beauty will change absolutely nothing about the fact that this marriage is arranged, is forced, and Lucien would rather dive into the Arno river in the middle of winter than marrying her. He does not want to marry and her beauty changes absolutely nothing about it. It only makes things more complicated. But not everything is about beauty, beauty is not what matters most. Lucien’s back goes rigid as he straightens up and gets up. He turns to look into Jurian’s eyes. “Why are you panting my future wife half-naked?” He raises a brow.

Jurian only laughs and shakes his head a little. “Are you already getting territorial over her? I thought you didn’t want to marry her? And she wears more than every other women I have painted before, that is not even close to half-naked, my friend.”

“I don’t get territorial!” Lucien fires back, his jaw clenched and his forehead lying in furrows. “And I don’t want to marry her. I don't want to marry anyone. It is not specifically about her.” “I think you should give her a chance. She is a wonderful female. I met her on my last visit to Venice and asked to be allowed to paint her. She agreed, but was terribly shy and reserved at first, thinking she is not beautiful enough.” Jurian smiles at the memory and even though Lucien tells himself that he shouldn’t care he still finds himself asking, “It was just painting right? You only painted her?”

Sincerity is etched into the artist’s features as he bows his head. “Of course. I don’t take advantage of my artist’s role. I just painted her.” 

Lucien desperately wants to say good, but he also does not want Jurian to think that he actually cares…because he does not. Of course not! He does not want to marry Elain, he does not want to be bound to her forever, he does not— “Give her a chance, Lucien.” Jurian's voice is tinged with kindness and sympathy as she gives him a long look and reaches out his hand, squeezing his shoulder. The Vanserra brother shrugs and almost sighs dramatically. “Do I have another choice?” 

“With giving her a chance, I mean that you treat her nicely, that you don’t act like a big dick.”

Almost shocked, Lucien folds a hand over is chest. He shakes his head and then has to laugh. “When did I ever behave like a big dick?” Jurian does not feel like laughing, he wants Lucien to see the sincerity of this situation. Jurian has met Elain and he knows that she deserves a good man at her side. Lucien could be that man, he knows this, but he has to finally become more responsible and the man he was born to be. He has to let the past be the past and look at the future. He has to give Elain a chance, to let her in and open his heart to her so he can find the happiness that he deserves just as much as Elain does. 

“On a few occasions, but I won't name them all. I am just telling you, to not mess it up with her.” 

Lucien nods. He won’t, or at least he will try his best to not make her life any worse with him being in it. She does not deserve this marriage, just as much as he does not. The best thing he can do is to make it acceptable for her. He knows he will never be a good husband to her, or at least not how she probably expects a husband to be. Lucien was not born to be a husband, he was born to be free and adventurous and not bound to one place or one woman. But at least he can try to make it feel somehow alright for her. 

The artist feels like there is need for a change in subject, that Lucien would maybe like a little distraction and talk about something else. 

“So how bad is the situation with the bank really?” Jurian asks with sympathy lacing his voice. Not the best subject for a change, as it is also rather gloomy, but at least it is something else. He knows that the whole issue with the two rival banks does not only weigh heavy on Eris but also on Lucien's shoulders. Lucien cares a lot about the bank and about his family, even though he won’t admit that out loud. And it is true. Many nights Lucien has stayed awake until the early morning hours, pondering how he could help his brother, what he could do for the bank. But being a second-born son is never easy. You are always second, always the second choice and although he knows his brother loves him, that he cares about him, whenever Lucien made a suggestion Eris would always first of all ask one of his advisors if they think it is a good idea, if they would go that way, and so and so on. He never just said yes to one of Lucien’s ideas and the youngest Vanserra brother started to grow tired of that, and somehow developed this outward indifference for the bank. This indifference that is not true and that is actually not him. 

“Bad, I think,” Lucien answers. “We think they are evading taxes, but we have no proof.” Jurian groans and shakes his head. “That’s awful,” he says and slumps back down onto his stool. “So for now there is nothing you can do?” 

Lucien brushes his hand over his head, frees his hair of the leather strap that held them in place, ruffles through his hair and ties the leather strap around his hair again. “No, there is nothing we can do, other than keeping our eyes open and making sure Eris becomes Gonfaloniere of Florence.”

Surprise fills Jurian’s face, not the sort of surprise that he has not expected this decision, but rather the one that fills him with happiness. It is a great idea and Eris would be perfect for that role. “So, he is truly running for this position. That’s wonderful!”

Lucien inclines his head, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Very wonderful,” he mumbles and then glances towards the window above Jurian’s head. “I also need to leave again, Signoria meeting is about to start and I will never hear the end of it if I am late again.” 

Jurian chuckles a little and tells his friend good bye and most importantly, good luck for the following days and the meeting of the Signoria. Lucien thanks him for it and adds, “And thank you for letting me vent. It was really good to get it all of my chest.”

Jurian smiles as he holds the door open for Lucien. “Nothing to thank me for. I am always here. Whenever you need me.”

~~~~~~~~~~ taglist AA: @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @areyoudreaminof @acourtofthought @liftyourhipsformelovex @hallway5 @stickyelectrons @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @bibliophiliaxvignette @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @arabellatheauthor @autumndreaming7 @nestas-workwife @rarephloxes @tuzna-pesma-snovageneral el. taglist: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional  @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee

for @elucienweekofficial 💛

[helenadurazzo]

The Lord of the Underworld And His Lady Of Spring Part 2

In this continuation of ‘The Lord Of The Underworld And His Lady Of Spring,’ a part of me and @princess-of-pearls-and-stars HPHM x Twisted Wonderland AU, the guys and Asteria all come together in the Headmage’s office only to make more discoveries, but still no answers on how to resolve the issues of the invaders. As always, Helena belongs to me and Asteria belongs to @princess-of-pearls-and-stars

Everyone who seemed to be coming finished with Malleus and Lilia teleporting into the Headmage’s office. Asteria had to note Fae magic was quite interesting and they seemed to perform these teleportations just like apparations, albeit with much less stress.

“I hope we didn’t keep you waiting.” Malleus apologized.

“Malleus! Lilia!” Kalim cheered, “You made it!”

“Hmm…” Lilia mumbled to himself in a barely audible tone, “Seems like I was correct about who was abducted for the most part.”

For the most part!? Asteria thought to herself. What was that supposed to mean? She knew Malleus and Lilia were full of secrets yet some bothered and caused more speculation than others.

Trey cleared his throat, “I was just baking some cookies in the dorm when I got word that Riddle had been kidnapped. Then I heard Ace and Deuce were injured and went straight to the infirmary. It was all so sudden it’s hard to wrap my head around it.”

“The stables where Riddle was taken is like a war zone.” Cater added. “Even the grass was burnt to a crisp. What in the world is going on?”

“That’s what I want to know!” Ruggie exclaimed. “Leona surrendered unconditionally, yeah I know, Leona of all people. Then he said ‘Ruggie, you’re in charge of Savanaclaw until I get back, Then again, I can’t be sure I’ll come back at all…’ He was dead serious too!”

“As we understand it.” Jade began smoothly, “Azul was taken during a club meeting.”

“The board game club guys say he left with them peacefully.” Floyd continued for his brother. “And Firefly Squid and Lil’ Clione went along too. I don’t know though, it doesn’t sound like Azul.”

“Asteria’s group and I were originally with Vil and Jamil back at Ramshackle.” Kalim revealed what Asteria knew all too well.

Rook elaborated further, “We tried to fight the intruders with magic, but it had no effect on them. They took Vil and Jamil, along with Grim and Helena.”

Jade pondered for a moment, “There must be a reason then that Leona and Azul didn’t fight back.”

“Yeah…” Ruggie realized, “Now that I think about it, Leona seemed to know what their deal was…”

“…hm” was the only audible sound that escaped Malleus’ lips before more words were spoken at long last, glancing at Lilia. “Kingscholar is from an old royal house. It would stand to reason he has heard of them…”

Asteria raised an eyebrow, “What are you talking about?”

~~~

“I’ll field that question.” Asteria heard the familiar voice of Professor Trein as he entered the room.

“Oh hello Trein.” Lilia spoke casually at the somewhat unexpected visitor, “Where is the headmage?”

“Styx took him into custody as well.” Professor Trein enlightened them. “I’m in charge while he is away.”

“Maybe it’s good the Headmage is gone.” Asteria muttered to herself, “Perhaps we can actually get answers.”

“Hold up what’s Styx?” Floyd asked the Professor with a puzzled look.

Professor Trein folded his arms, “An organization that operates independently of any nation or government. It is an arcane institute that conducts research on blot. They have done so for many years.” A revelation that brought shock to nearly everyone, except the Diasomnia Housewarden and Vice Housewarden.

“They study blot?” Jade broke the silence that was formed.

“I get it now…” Floyd added.

“Get what?” Kalim raised an eyebrow.

“Think about who they took.” Jade pointed out.

“It was Riddle, Leona, Azul, and Jamil.” Cater reminded the group, “So they abducted Jamil, who is a Vice Housewarden, and left Kalim alone. But they didn’t take Rook who is also a Vice Housewarden. So they aren’t targeting just Housewardens or just Vice Housewardens.”

“It’s people who’ve overblotted!” Kalim exclaimed.

“Wait a few questions, one when did Vil overblot!?” Ruggie looked at Rook and Kalim and only received silent nods in response. “And two that doesn’t explain why they targeting Grim and Helena.”

“Nor the fact that Riddle and the others received proper medical treatment.” Trey pointed out. “They have all made a complete recovery. Why would this come up now?”

“Hmm…” Malleus pondered, “There is someone who probably knows their reasons, the Watchman of the Island of Woe.”

“The what?” Asteria was still just as confused as she was before.

“Ah” Rook seemed to have more knowledge of the subject than she did, “I’ve seen mention of them here and there in old history books. Are you acquainted with this dreadful isle and its Watchman, Roi des Dragons?”

Malleus had a confused look on his face, “Are you that clueless Hunt? You are acquainted with him as well.”

“I am?” Rook seemed to regain confusion.

“And not just Rook.” Lilia reminded Malleus, “We all are acquainted with him to some extent at the very least.”

Rook folded his arms, “Are you suggesting what I think you are that Idia is this so called Watchman?”

“Well it’s more of a family title.” Malleus explained, “I believe the current head is…Aidne Shroud?” Looking over at Lilia for confirmation.

Lilia shook is head, “No, she passed away, now it is Aidne’s son, Idia’s father.”

“Human generations pass by so quickly.” Malleus quietly realized.

“True but Styx is a rather recent development.” Lilia reminded him. “Perhaps only a century or so?”

“Wait slow down.” Ruggie pleaded, “I am still confused. Leona mentioned Idia’s family is apart of some megacorp but that’s just a cover for the whole Styx and Watchman of Island of Woe thing!?”

~~~

“While the Watchman has become sort of an urban legend now.” Lilia explained. “You see back in the old days, when mages were called witches and wizards, they were feared across the land. People believed the Island of Woe would punish anyone who abandoned their principles and went mad with power.”

Malleus continued, “One of my family’s history books even claims that the group is so ancient they date back to the age of the Gods. Back then, the relationship between magic and blot wasn’t realized. Instead, people believed, overblots were disasters that occurred without warning. The Jupiter Family sealed those disasters away on the Island of Woe to bring peace. And the Watchman is in place to protect the land from those disasters plaguing everyone once more. The first was one of the Shroud family’s ancestors.”

“Sounds more like a myth than history.” Cater remarked.

Lilia picked up where Malleus left off, “Mind you, humans never stopped researching magic, eager students that they were. Time marched on and eventually magic became safe to practice, with witches and wizards becoming known as mages. In the present, mage licenses are international and are globally recognized for the betterment they bring society. And there have been many laws and acts to help with the necessary discipline and overtime the Watchman began to fade from the history books. But regardless the group continued their research on the disasters, and that is what Styx is.”

“I see.” Professor Trein continued, “We were aware that Idia was the son of the Shroud family. But this is the first I have heard of a connection between his family and Styx. I haven’t even seen any of this discussed and I have read just about every book and work on magical history.”

“Ah but you see you are limited to the texts that survive among humankind.” Lilia pointed out. “Humans and Fae stopped intermingling long ago, and not every truth is written down.”

Trein cleared his throat, “This makes me wonder if the headmage was aware of any of this. And if he was does that mean he was unable to work with the Shroud family to prevent this?”

Malleus only shrugged, “Who can say really. Even if he had known he wouldn’t have been able to stop them.”

“So does that enlighten anyone about the plan they have for the ones who were abducted.” Trey wondered out loud.

Jade spoke strangely casually, “If they are lucky they will only be examined. If they are unlucky they will become test subjects. And if they are REALLY UNLUCKY they-“

“Let’s not finish that sentence.” Kalim requested with a freaked out look.

“But those goons rolled up and blasted half of campus.” Floyd reminded everyone, “There are ton’s of witnesses right? At least someone had to have gotten them on video. Doesn’t seem very sneaky or secretive to me.”

“Perhaps they have a reliable way of clearing the mess they make up?” Jade suggested.

Professor Trein sighed, “Look, we don’t know where the Island of Woe is which means we can’t pursue those who were abducted. I want all of you to return to your dorms and do a roll call, check for any injured students and report back to me.”

“Yes sir!” The remaining housewardens and vice housewardens said in unison except for Rook who had an ever growing scowl on his face.

~~

Around the same time as it would turn out, those who were captured would arrive at the mysterious Island of Woe. More specifically, Styx’s headquarters. The four housewardens and vice housewarden looked at their surroundings, yet soon enough, they spotted a familiar face with hair made of fiery blue flames.

“Uhh hey everyone, welcome to the dark and gloomy Island of Woe.” Idia awkwardly greeted them, “And Styx headquarters.”

“It’s you…” Vil breathed furiously.

“Yep Idia Shroud acting director of Styx.” He added as he was joined by Ortho Shroud, Helena Othonos, and one of the intruders from earlier.

“How did Helena get here before us.” Leona grunted, “Must have gotten special treatment.”

“That’s the only thing that comes to your minds?” Idia raised an eyebrow, “No ‘Say What!!!’ Or ‘No Way!!!’”

Azul sighed, “I’m so shocked I’m actually calm.”

“Granted we already assumed there was some connection.” Vil pointed out. “But you’re the acting director? That’s not some tangential link!”

“Less Chit Chat more answers Radish Sprout.” Leona glared at Idia, “Why did you bring us here and I can’t believe I am saying this, but why does Helena act and look more like a robot with those new glasses and uniform of hers than Ortho? You did jam us in cargo and didn’t bother even giving us an economy seat.”

“Yikes those are some scary fangs.” Idia jumped as Leona growled. “Just cool your jets and this will all be over and we can have a good time.”

Jamil was simply furious, “You attack our school and abduct us. And clearly have done something to Helena as she hasn’t even said a word of recognition. And you still want us to ‘cool our jets’ you are lucky her sister isn’t here or you would already be dead as a doornail.”

“Do you want to lose your head!?” Riddle exclaimed.

The previous intruder starts speaking in a robotic tone, “Detecting a buildup of magic in Subject A. Readying stun-“

“Woah woah!” Idia called out, “Pause that.” He then looked over at the others, “And Helena’s perfectly fine since unlike you all she hasn’t forgotten one itty bitty detail that’s very crucial.

“Huh?” The boys exclaimed in unison, equally confused.

Idia grinned deviously, “Where are you again? And who am I again? I’m the BOSS” words that seemed to frighten the five guys. “Don’t hurt us we won’t hurt you. It’s as simple as that.”

“Injury will decrease by 57% as long as you follow my brother’s instructions.” Ortho gleefully predicted.

“Very well.” Vil sighed, “There aren’t any better options regardless. I’ll comply and behave.” After a bit of silence, Vil’s tone turned more assertive, “Well? Are forcibly detaining us, I trust you at least have the decency to serve us some tea? Surely your girlfriend isn’t the only one who will be treated like a normal person.”

Idia mumbled, “The way you’re acting doesn’t remotely suggest compliance or good behavior… but whatever. Come on everybody follow me.” He then turned to Helena, “Would you mind preparing the tea?”

“Not at all.” Helena mindlessly smiled.

[ghostofaboy]

Rock Bottom - The Devil Is In The Details

Summary: Frankie is spiraling after Tom’s death. Drugs lead to some unhealthy friendships, and too ashamed to reach out to his former teammates for help, Frankie is drawn into a world he’s afraid he can’t get out of.

Frankie gives Tilly's offer some consideration.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morale/Original Male Characters Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only Word count: 2617 Chapter: 15/?

Warnings: implied/referenced drug use, drug addiction, self-esteem issues, angst, Frankie not coping, dubious consent

Note: This has not been beta read, so apologies for any mistakes. This is a fic with gay and bi characters. Please make sure you read the tags/warnings. Header by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Part 14 / Part 1 / Masterpost

By the time Frankie was dropped off back at the workshop and had driven home, the sky was beginning to get dark. Evening was setting in, and as Frankie slumped down on his worn sofa and glanced at his watch, it was almost 8. Kicking off his shoes, Frankie let his head fall back as he let out a long heavy sigh. 

“Fuck.” He breathed out softly. 

That had not been what he had expected from an encounter with the infamous Garth Tilly. Reaching into his pocket, Frankie could feel the slip of paper Tilly had handed him. His offer. Frankie wasn’t sure if he wanted to look at it or not. 

Looking at it meant acknowledging that offer, considering it even. If the number on that slip of paper was ridiculously or insultingly low, then the choice was clear. But what if it wasn’t? What if the number was a good one? Would that mean he was going to seriously consider being Tilly’s on-call prostitute?

Frankie thought for a moment about calling Tyler. But what would he say? How would he explain this situation? Pinching his eyes shut, Frankie knew Gavin was the first person he needed to call. Fucking little shit was the reason he was in this mess, but he was also just a kid in over his head.

Hauling himself up off the sofa, Frankie grabbed one of the many frozen leftovers Tyler had made for him and shoved it into the microwave. Then he pulled out his phone and called Gavin.

“Frank!” Gavin picked up after one ring. “Dude! Are you ok?”

“I’m good, Gav.” Frankie sighed. “Are you ok? Did, did they hurt you?”

“No.” Gavin sounded relieved. “That guy brought me straight home and told me to stay put. He said Tilly will be in touch about a job. Fuck, dude. The guy is fuckin’ sat outside my house in a car just watchin’ me.”

“Just stay put then.” Frankie pulled his cap off, tossing it onto the table. “If they wanted to hurt you, they would have. Just don’t do anything stupid, ok?”

“Ok.” Gavin agreed. “Are you ok? What happened after I left?”

“Tilly wanted to… talk,” Frankie answered slowly, trying to figure out how much to tell Gavin. “He wants me to help fix up his classic car collection.”

“The fuck?”

“I know.” Frankie gave a small laugh. It did sound stupid and weird. “Made me an offer, but I haven’t looked at it yet.”

Gavin was quiet for a few moments before speaking again. He sounded calmer. “Well, it might be a good job. I mean, the guy is loaded, so, yeah. Might be a good deal.”

“Maybe.” Frankie hummed. “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt, or you know…”

“Yeah.” Frankie could hear someone talking to Gavin in the background. “I gotta go. My mom wants help with something. But Frank… thanks for callin’ dude.”

“No problem Gav.”

“And Frank!” Gavin interrupted before Frankie could end the call.

“Yeah?”

“I’m so fucking sorry, dude.”

“I know.” Frankie sighed. “Take care, Gav. See you tomorrow at work, ok?”

Ending the call, Frankie put his phone on the table and pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket. The neatly folded paper looked small and meaningless, but Frankie couldn’t bring himself to open it. Finally, after a few seconds of starting at it, Frankie took a long deep breath. It was like pulling a bandaid off; he just needed to do it. The paper tremored in his shaking hands as Frankie slowly unfolded it.

$4,050. 

There it was, the offer, and then a cellphone number, probably Tilly’s. 

The number looked so innocuous, but Frankie’s heart sped up slightly. It was a bit less that he was making a month working for Malcolm but not so much that it would make a meaningful impact on his life. Damn it! This is what he had been afraid of. The offer was a serious one, not insulting, but one actually worth thinking about from a financial point of view. 

Frankie knew he needed to talk to someone about this. He needed an objective point of view, and Pope was the first person who sprung to mind. That wasn’t an option, though. Even if he had Pope’s number, which he didn’t, it would have meant revealing what Tilly wanted him to do. And that was the crux of the issue. Was Frankie prepared to sell his body?

Gavin had already been doing that. He was technically already a prostitute, but it had been out of his control. It was easy to blame it all on Gavin, but if he went down this road with Tilly, this would be his choice. There would be no getting around that. It would be all on him.

Frankie’s alarm jolted him awake the following morning. The sun was already up, and the sounds of traffic drifted through his partially open window. Groaning, Frankie reached over to shut it off and grabbed his phone. He had one message; it was from Tyler.

[Hey. How did it go with your friends? Miss you ♥️]

Sitting up, Frankie winced as his back cracked. He had meant to call or message Tyler on Monday but got distracted by Gavin and Tilly. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Frankie quickly typed his response.

[Sorry, meant to message. Things went great. It was good to see them. Will call later. Something has come up with Gav and his bullshit. I’ll fill you in once I get more details.]

By the time Frankie had showered and dressed, Tyler had replied.

[Ok. Keep me in the loop. Just wanted to make sure you were good ♥️]

Forcing himself to eat, Frankie stared into his cereal bowl. Withdrawal was hitting him full force now, smacking him with the double whammy of nightmares and fatigue. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep. 

He knew he wasn’t concentrating well. His thoughts felt slow, all of which was adding to the anxiety about Tilly’s offer. By the time he had finished his bowl, Frankie had a plan. He’d call Tilly on his lunch to arrange another meeting, but this time somewhere he chose. That way, he could get more details and make a better decision. 

Gavin wasn’t in the shop all that morning, sending Frankie into panic mode as his anxiety and cocaine withdrawal-induced paranoia collided. Every time the door opened, Frankie’s head shot up to check if it was the young blond and each time, his hopes were dashed. Malcolm seemed furious, Carl had briefly asked Frankie where Gavin was, and Frankie wasn’t sure if the older man believed him when he said he had no idea.

Finally, just before lunch Gavin arrived, visibly high, and was promptly torn a new one by his uncle. Frankie could only watch as Gavin left the shop, head hung with obvious tears in his eyes after clearing out his locker. Frankie didn’t know why Gavin would do something so stupid, like getting fired, but he suspected it had something to do with Tilly.

Grabbing his things for lunch, Frankie headed over to his truck before taking several deep calming breaths. It was time to get this over with. Keying in the number on the paper, Frankie heard the ringing before the call was answered.

“Hello? Garth Tilly, who is this?” Tilly’s voice on the other end sent a shiver up Frankie’s spine.

“It’s Frankie Morales.” Frankie hoped his voice sounded calmer than he felt.

“Oh.” Tilly’s voice immediately became more cheerful. “Thanks for calling. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wanted to get more details about the job offer you made me.” Frankie started to play nervously with the hem of his shirt. “The offer is good, but I’d like to know more about what would be expected of me.”

“Of course, of course.” Frankie could hear Tilly shifting something about. “Shall I send a car to pick you up? Or would it be more convenient for me to come to you this time?”

Frankie paused for a moment to consider his options before answering. “We can meet here at the shop where I work. There are some sheds out the back, so we can speak privately.”

“Perfect.” Tilly sounded pleased. Frankie wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “You finished at 5, yes? I’ll be waiting for you when you're done.”

As the call ended, Frankie sat in silence. That felt too easy. Or was he overthinking it? Or was Tilly playing him? His thoughts shifted and contracted each other as he began to eat his lunch.

Sure enough, as 5 rolled around and the rest of the guys at the garage started to gather their things, Frankie found Tilly already waiting outside one of the storage sheds. He greeted Frankie with a wide grin, dressed casually in jeans and a worn-looking band t-shirt. A far cry from his usual image of the sharply dressed businessman.

“Hey there.” Tilly beamed, waiting patiently for Frankie to open the door before following him inside. “How's your day been?”

“Busy.” Frankie pulled two crates out to the center of the room, sitting on one of them. His whole body ached, and his stomach rolled uncomfortably. He just wanted to get this over with. “Did you have something to do with Gavin today?”

“Ah, young Mr. Ross.” Tilly took a seat on the crate next to Frankie’s. “I asked him to either quit or get fired from his job here. He’s going to be working for me for a while. Why, what did he do? Which did he choose?”

“Fired.” Frankie frowned. “Came in high.”

“Not what I would have done.” Tilly scowled, shaking his head. “He really is an idiot. Oh well, hopefully, he’ll be better behaved for me. Anyway, enough about Gavin. What did you want to talk to me about? Have you thought about the job?”

“Well,” Frankie swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth was. Looking down at his hands, Frankie tried to gather his thoughts. “First of all, let me say thank you for the offer. It’s very generous, but it’s slightly less than I make per month now at the shop and-”

“Per month?” Tilly gave a short soft laugh. “No. No, that would be weekly.”

“Weekly?” Frankie’s head shot up. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” Tilly nodded, giving Frankie a small smile. “Look, I need a private mechanic. I wasn’t bullshitting about that. I have some fucking expensive and unique cars, and I need someone who knows what they are doing and is going to give a shit. But then the other side of the job, well… that requires discretion. And discretion costs money.”

Frankie nodded thoughtfully. Everything Tilly was saying made a certain sense. Tilly paused for a moment before continuing.

“Do you know why I had Gavin drug you?”

Frankie shook his head. “Figured you just liked me like that.”

“Not really.” Tilly frowned, shaking his head slowly. “I’m not a big fan of drugs. The real reason is simple. I’m not out. I have a few people who know in my inner circle, but to the rest of the world, I’m just another straight businessman. In my world, there are people who would use being gay against me, so I keep it under wraps. When I knew I wanted to keep seeing you, I had to figure out a way to keep my secret. Gavin was easy to deal with. I can scare him.” Tilly laughed. “But you, you were a different matter. An ex-Delta Force operator. Wow. Drug addict or not, you are not a guy to be messed with, so I knew I couldn’t bully you into keeping quiet.”

Tilly stood up and sighed. Frankie just watched as it began to pace, running his hand through his hair.

“All of this is before I got to know you, you understand.” Tilly turned, offering Frankie an apologetic look. “I needed to keep my secret, and you were already taking whatever Gavin gave you, so it seemed like a good solution.”

“It’s fucked up.” Frankie growled.

“It is. It was. It was a really fucked up thing for me to do.” Tilly stopped pacing and nodded. Turning to face Frankie once more, his shoulders dropped as Tilly swallowed hard. “You don’t remember anything from our time together, and I know you only have my word, but we never did anything you didn’t want to do.”

“Yeah, right.” Frankie scoffed.

“Honestly.” Tilly placed his right hand over his heart. “Whenever you didn’t like something, you told me so, and we would stop. Some nights, we didn’t even fuck; we just chatted, or sometimes we just cuddled. You told me about your time in the Army, your squad, the things you saw when serving, and how that’s why you started using coke. To stop the memories.”

Frankie looked up at Tilly. The other man was stood off to the side of the room, arms folded across his chest, looking over at Frankie with what felt like genuine fondness. 

“What else did I say?” Frankie asked cautiously. If he’d been out of it, he could have said anything. Fuck! What if Tilly knew about Tom?

“You never liked talking about it, so I never pushed.” Tilly shrugged. “But I know what you like and don’t like in bed. I know you like singing along to Fleetwood Mac, how much you like getting your hands dirty fixing things, and that your favorite movie is Return of the Jedi because of the Ewoks. I also know how much you miss your daughter and regret everything that happened with her mom.”

Tilly had his eyes locked with Frankie’s, but Frankie couldn’t help but duck his head down to hide his face with the brim of his baseball cap. Tears stung his eyes as he thought about his baby girl and how he must have laid naked with Tilly talking about her. When Frankie looked up, Tilly was crouched in front of him. 

“Frankie,” Tilly said softly, “I know this isn’t how you planned everything to go, but I can offer you a good job and a chance to get back on your feet.”

“As your whore.” 

“I wouldn’t use that word.” Tilly frowned. “I’d prefer to think of you as my companion. But technically speaking, yes, on top of your mechanic duties, you would also serve as a private escort. The pay reflects that. But to the outside world and on the books, you are my private mechanic. That’s what you can tell people because, well, it’s the truth.”

“If I agree to do this, there needs to be some rules.” Frankie sighed, wiping his eyes and staring up at Tilly. “Hard lines, got it?”

“I agree.” Tilly nodded, moving to sit next to Frankie. “Why don’t we take some time and put together some rules for each of us? Then next time we meet, we can go through them.”

“You make this sound like a business negotiation.” Frankie laughed mirthlessly. 

“Well, in many ways, it is.” Tilly shrugged. “We each need to know what the other is bringing to the table, where the lines are, as you said, and then we can put together contracts. One to cover your employment with the cars and a private one for your other services. It would be informal and not legally binding but still important.”

“All right.” Frankie pushed off of his knees to stand up, feeling his joints creak as he did. “Tomorrow?”

“Just tell me when and where?” Tilly nodded, smiling once more.

[greensaplinggrace]

do you have any darklina fic recs?

I certainly have a few! But first I want to clarify that I don’t really read fic when I’m writing it, and since I have so many fics in the works right now, I haven’t really been reading a lot of fanfiction. So this list probably won’t be as extensive as it could be.

Here are some other great fic recommendation posts, however:

DARKLINA FIC RECS by @vicioux

DARKLINA FIC RECS // part ii by @vicioux

Darklina Ruling the World Together Fic Recs by @clubofthestarlesssaint

Tumblr Ficlets

Aleksander’s First Memory by @kestrafagnor

Fivan Talk About Darklina by @jomiddlemarch

a little light in the great, big dark by @valkyrhys

Alina tells Mal she’s with Aleksander by @lorsanbitch

Darklina week day 5: intimacy & touch by @starlesscne

AO3 Fanfiction

if it ain’t me by larry_hystereks (Incomplete - 10/13 Chapters)

alina’s in her second year at Yale when she meets aleksander at one of his frat parties.

a hookup with the potential for more, only if alina wasn’t still struggling to piece herself together from last year’s breakup.

or: alina, zoya, their trust issues, and the men that fall for them

---

I’m only at about chapter 6 of this fic currently, but so far it’s one of my all time favorite Modern AUs. The characterization for Alina and Aleksander is incredibly well done, and the entire fic itself is so feminist and queer in such a refreshing way. Aleksander and Alina are bisexual as fuck, both with their own separate complex lives, and much of Alina’s own traumas and relationships are explored outside of Aleksander.

There’s some Zoyalina, with Nikolina friendship and endgame Zoyalai. There’s some mystery and some tension, but nothing too extreme, and a lot of the fic is merely an exploration in growth and overcoming one’s history and learning how to move on in healthy ways. I love it.

She Wears a Collar (With My Name) by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

She is immortal, and whatever lingering hints of humanity she may have once had have long been bleached from her heart.

I will grant you one wish, boy, if it is in my power to do so. What does a Shadow Smith most want?

"You," he answers.

Written for Darklina Week 2021 - Day 2: Role Reversal

---

This piece is just exquisite. This author’s writing style is one that I particularly enjoy. Their stuff is always so uniquely composed and crafted, and this one especially is a work of art. The way Darklina as a relationship is portrayed in particular is fascinating to me because it’s a role reversal but it’s still so complex. Aleksander’s character is nailed.

the bright sun was extinguish’d by athousandwinds (Complete)

Somewhere, deep in the dark forests of Ravka, a boy grows up on stories of Sankta Alina of the Wastes, the Sun-Scorched Saint.

---

This fic is just straight up magnificent. It’s so engaging and I love love love the way a role reversed Aleksander who joins the army is portrayed. He reminds me so much of Demon in the Woods Aleksander, as if he’s exactly what a grown version of that young boy would be. When I say I adore his characterization in this I’m not lying.

If I wanted any completed fic I’ve read to have a second chapter, it would be this one.

Winter in the Little Palace by redisxwing (Complete)

Written for Yuletide 2020.

Baghra and Alina's wildly different perspectives on the Darkling, and how things could have gone if nobody listened to Baghra.

Warning: Baghra is written as a harsh and arguably abusive parent, and this is darkfic about that relationship, with a side of shipping. Everything is terrible (except the parts that are pretty much okay).

Canon divergence pretty much as soon as Alina gets lessons in summoning.

This fic is likely not compatible with King of Scars (or any subsequent work).

---

As is said in the summary, this one makes Baghra a bit more extreme. If you’re a fan of Baghra, this fic probably isn’t for you. But since I’m not a fan of Baghra, I had no problems with it.

My biggest praise for this fic is in regards to the character interactions and the POVs. There’s a brilliant grasp of unique perspective and how to convey it, and that talent is carried over into the way character interactions are brought to life in the text. Also, there’s a scene where Alina gets kind of protective of the Darkling, which is one of my biggest weaknesses when it comes to Darklina.

Good Ideas by FelixRivers (Complete)

Alina Starkov had a very good idea. Aleksander Morozova would definitely agree. (or: Alina wants to go camping and Aleksander won't complain)

---

This fic is just straight up adorable and hilarious. They’re such a cute couple and Alina’s POV is great. It’s just pure fluff and humor 💕

I’m not a bad girl, but I do bad things with you by SanktaJenya - @sankta-arya (Complete)

Winter had been hard on Old Baghra and Ana Kuya was worried about her, so she decided that Alina should make the trip to her cottage on the other side of the woods to bring her some food and kvas. On her way there, Alina meets a stranger...

Darklina Red Riding Hood/Company of Wolves AU

Darklina Week, Day 4, Fairytales

---

This fic has a splendid grasp of tension and atmosphere. It’s very enchanting and dark and intriguing, and it nails those aspects with absolute precision. I love the style and the way the fairytale is incorporated into the narrative. It’s truly a masterpiece.

The Wretched by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

“We are strangers, but I want to help.” He growls at her, mocking and mistrustful. “I understand,” she said. “You think I am one of them. I certainly look like one of them. But I want to help you. Will you let me?” Prompt: fairytale. Alina saves a dragon.

---

Okay so I’ve mentioned this one before as one of my Top 5 fics of all time and I still stand by that. I can’t even describe why I love this fic so much except that the pacing is amazing and the prose is stunning and the story is beautiful. Aleksander is a dragon and Alina is a witch, and their relationship is just so...interesting and fascinating and lovely. I would literally kill for this fic. There’s such a softness to it as well. Such a tenderness. Idk, I just really love it.

Show Me Who You Are (I Want To Know) by Ceris_Malfoy (Incomplete - 12/?)

Alina takes her future in her own hands and makes her own decisions.

---

This is a great “what if Alina had stuck around after the reveal” rewrite. It doesn’t have Mal bashing and in fact still writes them as close friends, which is something I’m fond of in Darklina fics. Aleksander is allowed to be soft and Alina is allowed to be powerful, and I really enjoyed the take on their dynamics as a power couple wherein Alina is given a lot of control.

There’s something to be said for the way Aleksander is written in the scenes where he must be honest and earnest with Alina. I really enjoy the way they both come to equal ground, and I’m even more fond of the way Alina is allowed to grow darker without losing her light. She also engages a lot with quite a few other characters, developing tons of friendships and alliances on her own that help strengthen her as an individual character.

on this bridge between starshine and clay by @rhea-imagined (Complete)

"His breath narrows for a moment, his fist clenched tight before he forces himself to loosen it. She is his only opportunity for salvation, but vulnerability is not a cape he wears easily. “In those days, there was less prejudice against Shadow Summoners. But everyone fears the dark, in one way or another.” He does not look at her as he waits for the penny to drop, half-hoping it stays suspended in the air."

In which Alexander comes clean to Alina and tells her about his true identity in hopes that this will help convince her to take down the Fold.

A rewrite of the fountain scene in episode four, with a good!Darkling that is trying to make amends.

---

This is my all-time favorite good!Aleksander AU. He’s kept in character despite the major changes made to his motivations, and Alina is given a lot more agency in her own story. It’s the first fic in what might become a series, but it can stand alone beautifully.

I love how Aleksander and Alina’s relationship is allowed to grow tense without breaking, and how it’s a clear sign of change but not abandonment. I love how both characters are able to think for themselves and become self-aware and are given the chance to think critically. I love the character interaction so much because it’s honest and fresh and engaging. Everything from the smallest action to the most off-hand thought is in character and meaningful and incorporated with an amazing style of writing. It’s a very refreshing piece, and the writing only makes it that much better.

Bunnies of a Feather Stitch Together by Ill_Ratte (Complete)

"Just as Alina called to the light, gathering and twisting it into a ball in her hands, the door swung open.

Kirigan blacked out the door frame. His appearance enough would have surprised Alina, but there was something clutched in his arm, something dark and floppy. It almost looked like the stuffed toys that had been passed around to the younger Orphans." - Alina and The Darkling bond over a love of soft things

---

Soft stuffed animal shenanigans. Bits of trans!Aleksander, which I’m very fond of, as well as just a lot of fluff with a bit of something bittersweet and sad in a good way.

Half Lie by Ill_Ratte (Complete)

"Baghra always talked of the demon that had stolen her daughter." Or, Alina learns the hard way that the Darkling isn't the only one who deals in half-truths

---

This one is trans!Aleksander, and it handles it in a very interesting way. It’s quite sad, and deals a lot with Baghra & Aleksander’s relationship through Alina’s POV. I want to give a warning for transphobia, because it does center around that a lot as the premise, but it really is worth the read if that isn’t a trigger for you. This is one of my favorite trans!Aleksander fics, and the way it handles emotion and grief and pain is quite extraordinary.

The CEO and Helioseismologist by mrthology (Complete)

Aleksander Morozova doesn't get sick. He's the CEO of one of the most successful companies in the world, one that he had built from the ground up with blood, sweat, and tears. He exercised daily (usually), maintained a healthy diet, and kept himself fit.

He wasn’t sick.

Too bad no one believed him. And too bad Genya decided to call Ivan to take him home before also calling Alina to take care of him.

Maybe, just maybe, being sick wasn't so bad. Especially not when he has such a wonderful girlfriend.

---

Both of the fics in this series are great, but I love this one in particular because I’m an absolute sucker for hurt/comfort. Anyone who’s been on my blog for a while knows that it’s my all time favorite trope to read, and this fic fits the hurt/comfort trope to a T in the best of ways. It’s very tender and in character, and Aleksander and Alina are so soft with each other. It’s adorable and really makes you feel for Aleksander, and the caretaking is done perfectly.

All the different layers of dark (thousand little suns) by Anuna (Complete)

One month after the Winter Fete, Aleksander returns to the Little Palace, and Alina has been missing him.

Or

Episode five canon divergence in which Alina had never left Os Alta.

---

This one is soft emotional hurt/comfort smut. They’re both so open and vulnerable with each other, and it’s so beautiful to read. I love the writing style and the emotion in this one. It makes my heart ache in the best way.

An Honourable Man by liviy695 (Complete)

A reimagining of the scene after the winter fete. Alina catches a glimpse of a caring Darkling after he returns from integrating the Conductor. Plus, no Baghra interference.

---

This one is what it says on the tin, in that Baghra doesn’t interfere and they’re allowed to talk after the Darkling interrogates the Conductor. But more than that, it’s a great imagining of how a scene where Aleksander reveals Marie’s death would have gone. There’s a sort of quiet to it that I appreciate, with grief and solemnity weighed against care and vulnerability.

I see the real you (even if you don’t, I do) by Anonymous (Incomplete - 8/?)

A series of questionable decisions lead Alina to meet the Black General a bit earlier. Butterfly effect ensues.

---

I’ve only read half so far (I hadn’t realized it had updated!! 👀👀) but I’m already in love with this fic. Alina’s dialogue and perspective is perfect, her relationship with Mal and the other cartographers is great, and I really enjoy how much personality she has. Aleksander is so smitten, but more than that, his characterization is soft but not weak. It feels almost as if he’s swept up by Alina, instead of the other way around, and I quite like that.

Of parenting by Anuna (Complete)

Alina finds out how her husband handled yet another parenting situation.

---

This is pure adorable Darklina parenting fluff and I live for it. Yet it doesn’t lack depth and in fact explored Alina and Aleksander’s relationship with parenting quite well.

i have a longing by LRCee - @ladylyannastark (Complete)

“So, Alina Starkov, risk-taker, how did you end up being editing’s newest wunderkind?”

Alina Starkov is rising in the publishing world. Singlehandedly responsible for editing (see: rewriting) the hottest book of the year, she lands a coveted spot at Morovoz Publishers. It's the position she's always wanted, at the biggest publishing house in the country. Life is perfect. That crush on her boss though, that's gotta go.

---

OKAY! I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH!! Let me tell you, as someone who is not too fond of Boss/Employee dynamics, I was very wary going into this fic. But boy did it deliver in a way that was perfect for me.

The relationship that develops between Aleksander and Alina is complex but healthy, and it never feels as if there’s too much of a power imbalance or anything that would make Alina feel forced or unhappy. The tension lies purely in how she fears others will perceive her, and not in how unhealthy her relationship with Aleksander is. For somebody who’s often attracted to unhealthy ships, I have to say that my favorite fics are usually ones that don’t have that type of dynamic between the characters. This fic delivers on that.

Also, Aleksander’s POV surrounding his struggle with his Russian heritage and his feelings for Alina is amazing, and has some of the best writing and characterization I’ve seen.

You receive: an evil demon; I receive: human souls by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

The next morning while she tried to tell herself it was a dream, that of course there wasn’t a fucking demon in her house, she found a note taped to her fridge.

“You might eat this shit,” it had written, “but I would like some fucking souls please.”

Darkling Week Prompt 7: free choice. Alina has a demon in her house.

This is absolute crack, and I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me.

---

May I just say that this is the most fun I’ve ever had when reading a fic. It’s interesting with a bit of mystery, and Aleksander as a little shit of a demon is hilarious. Alina in this fic is great too. It’s such a unique take on her POV, especially when you reread it after knowing the ending. 10000/10, this fic is brilliant in every way and I love it.

I had been lost to you, Sunlight by BrytteMystere (Complete)

A Girl became a Woman, became a Sankta, became a Goddess.

Or: An Immortal Alina calls upon merzost to reunite with the Prince of Shadows she lost long ago. She may have lost herself in the process.

But then again, maybe time and endless wars did that instead.

---

You really just have to read this one to get it. It is utterly haunting and fascinating in the best of ways. The writing style is strange and novel and fits so well with the story being told. The composition of the fic as a whole is genius.

I Look Inside Myself (And See My Heart Is Black) by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

"When is a monster not a monster? Why, when you love it, of course."

Written for Darklina Week 2021 - Day 6: Favorite Quote • King & Queen • Monster

---

Once more, this author comes through with an absolutely breathtaking writing style and story. The imagery is elegant yet brutal, simultaneously horrifying and glorious. There’s a certain way these stories are written, like fairytales, where the beautiful becomes the macabre and becomes ever more stunning because of it. It’s very dark but in a good way - an almost bewitching way.

Afterlife by @aceofnowhere (Complete)

“You are asking me to leave?”

“Not asking, shadow,” she said. “Telling. Time to get unlost, loser.”

Day 3 Darklina Week prompt: Modern AU (I mean, barely)

Alina expels ghosts from purgatory.

---

@aceofnowhere once again bringing the best of the paranormal to the Grishaverse. Literally everything you write is amazing idk why I’m even pointing out individual fics when I could just rec your whole page. But anyways!! This is fun and interesting and Alina is a badass. Aleksander is, of course, compelling and dark and kind of a little shit, and it’s all incorporated seamlessly into an existential paranormal narrative.

Once Upon a Shooting Star by Ceris_Malfoy (Complete)

"But most of all, she was drawn to a vast darkness that reached out above all of them, a void so hungry for companionship that she knew she could fulfill."

---

Let. Alina. Be. Feral!! Anyways, I clearly have a type when it comes to storytelling, and it’s whatever the fuck this person has got going on. Feral!Star!Alina is literally the light of my life. Her interactions with not only other people but the world in general are so well done, but my favorite parts about this fic are the numerous ways her relationship with Aleksander is described and depicted.

I love the dark and light imagery, especially with how it’s portrayed as them filling in the gaps of each other’s lives and supporting each other instead of trying to block each other out. There’s such clear passion and joy and love and devotion between them. The central focus of this fic is on her and Aleksander’s relationship, the interplay between them and their powers and the way her light fills his loneliness, the passing of adoration and trust and reliance between them. It’s very beautiful and I love it.

A Blaze of Light by Keira_63 (Complete)

They discover the Sun Summoner in the burnt-out remains of the Shu laboratory in which she has spent the last seven years of her life.

Or, the Darkling finds himself with a Sun Summoner whose greatest wish is to burn Shu Han to the ground. He is happy to oblige her.

---

👀👀 Badass Alina and Badass Aleksander. The ultimate power couple, and Alina burning a path through Shu Han before they both burn a path through the world together. The darkness and rage in this one are handled very well, and the way that rage turns to coldness and then resolve is done so well. This fic is very cathartic and also very furious, and reading it is certainly a trip down emotion lane.

One more for the Road by Rist (Complete)

He returns to the war room shaken, and finds an Alina that cannot leave without at least having tried.

---

This one hurts so much but its soooo gooood!!! Very smutty but also very tender and very bittersweet. Sad and soft all at once. I just... love the way Alina and Aleksander are written so much, and Alina’s complicated feelings for him are explored in such detail and depth. This one is truly worth the read.

[hellomynameisbisexual]

What a weekend: both Pride in London and UK Black Pride saw their highest ever turnouts. I was lucky enough to be present for both. The energy was incredible. The city was washed in rainbow and everyone was there to say love is love and who you are is valid.

I was honored to be asked to speak on the Trafalgar_Square stage and address the crowd. Speaking in front of thousands of people is not exactly my dream but I felt it was important to have people like me represented. I did it for the young bisexuals out there searching for representation and rarely finding it. It was an amazing experience: seeing people raise those bisexual flags high and cheer at me for saying positive things about bisexuality truly gave me hope for the future.

What I decided not to share with the crowd was that two gay men made biphobic comments to me that day for wearing a shirt with a huge bisexual emblem.

Biphobia is happening at Pride, of all places

The next day at UK Black Pride a gay guy pointed at my shirt and remarked, ‘really? I don’t believe you.’

These were three gay men making biphobic comments during Pride weekend. That number doesn’t even include the nonverbal eyerolling from passers-by.

If there is one thing that truly pushes my buttons it’s hypocrisy. Of all the places and people to make negative remarks about my sexuality, it was gay men at Pride. People at a protest, calling on people to not discriminate against them, were happy to dish it out to others.

The truth is I’m more angry with myself. I was on such a good vibe at both Pride events. I also didn’t do what I normally do – put the fear of god into them.

The truth is this isn’t about me. I’m a big boy and I can take it. But the young bisexual guys, girls and non-binary people out there just emerging in to their sexuality will take these comments to heart. It is on the shoulders of people like me to call out biphobia and make these people feel so small that they never dare do it again.

What is important is that I am by no means criticizing the organizers. Both the Pride in London team and the UK Black Pride do a fantastic job and, of course, stand against biphobia. They have bisexual people working on their teams that know the issues. However, they can’t control the millions of people that attend these events.

Biphobia within the LGBTI community is a big problem

These problems exist in our community long after the Pride flags comes down every year.

It’s important to understand this isn’t just one bisexual man’s anecdotal experience, it is widespread throughout our community.

One report found that bisexual people face just as much discrimination within the LGBTI community as they do from straight people.

The Equality Network found 66% of bisexuals do not feel part of the LGBTI community. Figures that seem to have a knock-on effect. Bisexual adults are also much less likely to join an LGBTII organization or attend an LGBTQ Pride event.

Biphobia coming from within the LGBT community is actually so well-documented there is actually a term for it. Researchers came up with the term ‘androcentric desire hypothesis’ to describe the phenomenon that gay and lesbian people perceive bisexuals as being more attracted to men, which is why they treat us with disrespect.

That’s why we need a better way to stamp out biphobia within our community than our current efforts. Going forward I would like to see more of an effort made to specifically tackle attitudes towards bisexuals. It starts with LGBT groups spending more than 1% of their budgets on bisexual issues and bringing bisexual leaders in to the fold to help advise them.

This year the UK will hold its first ever Bisexual Pride on 7 September. I hope all queer people will join the celebration and help leave biphobia in the past.

[sweetyyhippyy]

Late Arrival. Spencer Reid x Reader.

(Not my gif)

Summary: Spencer is coming back home after an out of state case runs long. You fall asleep waiting for him, and when he finally does come home, he sees your outfit and there is no way he can’t wake you up for a proper homecoming.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

TW: Brief mentions of masturbation (male and female), sleepy sex?? (I don’t know how to refer to it), calling Spencer daddy (duh), fingering, reader trying to be dom and Spencer teasing, unprotected sex, creampie, a lot of praise kink.

Word Count: 3.2k

A.N: I saw @fics4arainyday​ put that she wanted someone to write this concept, so i did! I hope you like it! Also, I’m bad at ending fics so 😬... sorry! 

link for lingerie I refer to: x 

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It had been 3 agonizingly slow weeks since your fiancé had been home.

Being engaged to an FBI profiler wasn’t always easy. The days, even weeks being apart, Spencer coming home at all hours of the night too exhausted to stay awake and spend time with you, missing birthdays, holidays, anniversaries being states away on those occasions.

But in all honesty, you still wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nobody else could make you laugh the way Spencer did. Nobody else could make you think the way Spencer did. Nobody could lovingly annoy the crap out of you the way Spencer did. And most importantly, nobody could fuck you the way Spencer did.

He has been gone for 3 weeks, but the week before he left, there wasn’t a lot of sexy time going on since you were busy with your own job. It was the occasional quickie before having to rush getting ready for work in the morning, a quick mutual masturbation session on a lazy weekend, but no real “wake the neighbors” fuck that you were so desperately craving. Keeping a healthy sex life was important to both of you.

So when you got the call from Spencer that the case was finally over and he would be coming home that same night, you knew it was go time.

You didn’t have much self control when it came to online shopping when Spencer was gone, what else were you supposed to do? The goldfish you two had as a pet wasn’t much company.

So you had treated yourself to a few new pairs of lingerie. Spencer was going to love all of them, but there was one in particular that you knew he was going to lose his mind over. It was baby blue see through with a floral pattern throughout the slip. It left very little to the imagination but that was your favorite part about it. Technically you were supposed to wear some sort of underwear but the slip looked better without it.

You took a hot deep shower and pampered yourself a few hours before you knew he was going to be home, that way you were nice and relaxed and ready for his arrival. You kept your hair simple since Spencer would be pulling at it all night. But you did put some makeup on just to enhance Spencer’s favorite part of your face, your eyes.

The mood of the room was set; the bed was perfectly made, the candle you had given Spencer for a “just because present” called “Bookstore” smelling like mahogany, leather, and coffee; lit on the bedside table. It was meant for him but you enjoyed it much more than him. All that was missing was Spencer.

You looked at the time on your phone, only 10 more minutes before Spencer was due home. You lay on your side of the bed, flipping through tv channels to find something to watch to occupy your time.

***

Spencer turns the key to turn the car off, he drops his hands from the steering wheel into his lap, letting out a deep sigh. He could have been home over 3 hours ago but the jet back home was having engine issues, so the team had to fly through a regular airport… which meant waiting for a flight.

The case wasn’t particularly a rough one emotionally, it was just long. Spencer missed you like crazy within the first few days of being away. Late night phone calls weren’t the same as physically being with you.

Spencer grabbed his satchel, leaving the rest of his baggage to lug up to the house until tomorrow when he had enough rest. As he’s walking up the driveway he can see the light on from the kitchen, signaling you were awake and waiting on him. He knew how much you hated waiting, so by now he knew you were seething with rage. There was about to be a lot of apologizing he was going to have to do. Spencer unlocks the front door, dropping his bag next to the front door and kicking his shoes off right next to it.

“Babe?” Spencer calls out, removing his jacket and hanging it up on the back of the couch. He listens for an answer, but all he hears is the slight murmur of the tv from your bedroom.

Spencer begins to unbutton his shirt as he walks down the hallway to the blue hue of the tv shadowing onto the floor. He steps into the room, spotting you curled up on top of the comforter fast asleep. Before he could appreciate how adorable you looked, softly snoring, he noticed the little outfit you were wearing. You laid there on your belly, one leg straight while the other bent up on the pillow next to you.

He scans your body through the see through fabric, spotting the lack of underwear on your lower half while your butt was fully exposed to him. You were practically a step away from being naked. He quietly walks over to the bed and touches the hem of the slip and carefully hikes it up your butt, not earning a reaction from you.

Spencer quickly sheds his shirt off and throwing it off to the corner of the room along with his dark slacks, kicking them off quickly. Spencer carefully climbs into the bed behind you, laying on his side and palming himself through his boxers to get himself hard, which really didn’t take much as his eyes rake over your body and his imagination runs wild about all the things he was about to do to you. He hisses as he strokes himself harshly, his cock growing harder every second.

Your body shifts next to him, a low grumble coming from your mouth as you shift in bed onto your side, your ass now completely facing him.

Spencer’s eyes widen seeing you move, he didn’t want to get caught stroking himself less than a few inches from where he wanted to be. He finally scoots closer to your body, resting his hands on your bare hip, your skin a little cold from the lack of bed sheet or clothing on you. He lines himself up with your entrance, slowly slipping in between your folds, not yet sliding in. He rubs the tip of his cock up and down you, finding you were already a bit wet.

Your whole body jumps a loud gasp filling the room which makes Spencer pull himself back. Your head turns quickly behind you to look at Spencer, a little glimmer of fear in your eyes. “What the fuck?” You whisper yell at him.

“I’m home. And I see you left a present for me.” He says, whispering in your ear. “Is this okay?” He asks, his hand moving down your thigh and lifting it slightly for easier access.

“I don’t know. I’m pretty annoyed you were so late. I’m kind of not in the mood anymore.” Your voice was laced with sarcasm as you cocked your eyebrow at Spencer.

He licks his lips, a smirk on his face appearing as he picks up on the little game you’re playing with him. “No? Well I think I have some apologizing to do.” Spencer says, moving the strap of your outfit out of his way, kissing up your shoulder and over to your neck.

Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his soft lips pecking at your skin, a low hum coming from deep within your chest.

“You know I missed my girl so much while I was gone.” He says, his hand traveling up the underside of your outfit all the way up your stomach and up to your breasts, kneading one in his large hands as he spoke in your ear. “I missed waking up to you.” Kiss. “Seeing your beautiful face.” Kiss. “Hearing those sexy moans about how good daddy makes you feel when I’m touching you.” Kiss. “And how wet you get without me even trying.” Kiss.

You were putty in his hands, the game of trying to be tough was no longer working, and Spencer was fully aware of it.

His hand leaves your breast and goes back down to between your legs, his fingers running over your inner thighs, intentionally skipping over your core.

You whine as his fingers tickle you, scooting your body back against him. “Spence.” You pathetically whine, taking his hand and leading it to your throbbing middle. You keep your hand on top of his as you feel him play with your slit, feeling all the wetness that was seeping out of you.

“You want me to touch you?” He asks, kissing the spot below your ear.

“Please, baby?” You beg, turning your torso enough to look at him, pouting your bottom lip out ever so slightly.

His fingers part your lips, finding your bud immediately and slowly drawing lazy circles around it. Your body reacts immediately, relaxing against his body as he massages you. Your hand moves back to tangle in his hair, pushing his head closer to yours, your lips meeting for the first time in 3 weeks. His fingers continue to work their magic, as you two heavily make out with one another; his tongue slipping into your mouth and yours into his.

Your body quivers as Spencer drops his fingers down to the pool of wetness between your legs, two of his fingers slipping inside.

You pull back from the kiss, gasping loudly. “Fuck.” Your eyes flicker to his face, your mouth agape.

“It amazes me how tight you are. I’ve been with you for almost 6 years and it’s always so amazing.”

You moan in response, not being able to form words at the moment.

The room is filled with the sounds of the wetness Spencer is drawing out of you and your breathy moans. Your high was coming quicker than anticipated, Spencer could feel it in your body and could see it in your face.

You cling onto his forearm, keeping him in place. Spencer liked to play games like denying you of your orgasms, but you weren’t going to let him this time. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you fought to keep them open but you were far too overstimulated at this point. The knot came undone as you clenched around his fingers, a string of curse words and desperate moans fall from your mouth as you ride your high out.

“That’s it. Good girl.” Spencer coos, still slowly drawing what you have left out as you try to regain your breath. He kisses your cheek and moves his fingers out of you carefully. “Do you want to taste?” He questions.

You roll over onto your back, nodding your head and grabbing his hand, bringing it up to your lips, and letting him slip his middle and ring finger in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, sucking on them harshly.

Spencer looks at you in admiration as you look up at him with innocence in your eyes. “I love that I’m the only person that knows how much of a dirty girl you are.”

You open your mouth to let his fingers free, smiling at him. “And I like that I can be your dirty girl.” You say, wrapping your fingers in his curls and bringing his head down to kiss him. “Come here, I want to give you your welcome home celebration.” You say, moving him off of you.

“Normally I’m all for that, but I need to be in you. I’m not going to last long if you use your mouth.”

You sit up on the bed and get up onto your knees, pulling Spencer up to sit up too. You straddle his lap, cupping his face in your hands, rubbing both of your thumbs on his cheek, feeling a bit of stubble in his face. “You look tired, my love.”

Spencer smiles, wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you into his chest. “Not too tired to finish.”

You laugh, kissing him softly. “No? You can go all night? Multiple times?” You teasingly question.

“We can test that theory tomorrow. But right now, we have 3 weeks worth of tension we need to work out.”

“Can I ride you?” You ask.

“Be my guest. I like the view.” He smirks, laying back down against the mattress, his hands gripping both of your thighs.

You get into position, holding his cock steady while you lower yourself down slowly.

Spencer rolls his head back on the pillow, grunting loudly as he feels your tightness around himself. His hands move up your thighs and under your outfit to your hips, gripping them tightly.

You rest your hands on his chest to keep balance, slowly starting to rock your hips against him. Your eyes stay glued to him, watching how his lips were parted and light moans were falling from him. “Do you like that?”

Spencer nods his head, his eyes focusing on your chest bouncing up and down in rhythm of your movements on him. He was trying to focus on anything else in the world to prevent himself from cumming too early.

“Tsk, tsk… words baby.” You tease, scratching his chest with your nails. “You never don’t know what to say.”

“It’s cute when you try to be the one in control.”

“I know I’m cute. You tell me quite often.” You retort with a wide grin.

Your comment earns a laugh from him, playfully rolling his eyes at you. Spencer begins to buck his hips up quickly, taking you by surprise. His fingers move the straps down your shoulders, helping you move your arms out of the straps as you continue to move on top of him. He moves the top half of your outfit down under your chest, his hands like magnets and begins massaging your breasts.

“Fuck, daddy,” You whimper, holding his forearms as he fucks into you. “That’s so good, you’re so good.”

Spencer sits up, letting you take control again. His thumb finds your clit, starting to rub it slowly, his soft brown eyes watching you melt into his touch.

Your eyes roll into the back of your skull, small whimpers leaving your mouth. You lean your body forward and nuzzle your head into Spencer’s neck. You start to kiss his pale skin, raking your teeth against it.

“Mmm, fuck.” Spencer moans out, applying more pressure to your clit as he feels a small pinch on his neck. “You going to cum for me again, pretty girl?”

“Not yet.” You whine in his ear.

“I’m going to move you. I want to fuck you.” Spencer says, moving your body off of his, earning a whine from you as his cock leaves you. “Bend over for daddy.” He says, helping you lay flat on the mattress while your butt is in the air, facing him. “Mmm, you’re so pretty, my girl.” He says in a low voice, both of his hands kneading your ass.

You whine pathetically, pressing yourself against him. “Daddy, please.”

Spencer smiles, grabbing his cock and slowly sliding back inside you. “It’s cute when you try to take control, but even cuter when you’re a whiny mess.” His hand grips the back of your outfit to hold onto as he fucks you from behind. This was his absolute favorite way to have you because of how hard he could slam into you, but the reaction you gave was even better.

Your hand finds his wrist and holds onto it as he  thrusts into your dripping pussy. He could feel how you were coating his cock every time he drew himself back out of you. “I love your cock.” You mutter out.

“This is your cock, baby. You take it so fucking well.” He grunts out, now struggling to keep from exploding. Anytime you fully submitted to him, he was done for.

You had such a strong personality outside of the bedroom that most people wouldn’t believe you were submissive 9 times out of 10.

“Am I your good girl for taking you so well?” You question, looking behind you to look at Spencer with innocent eyes.

His heart and cock fluttered at both your question and your eyes, you always played the innocent card so well. He grabs all of your hair in his hand and gently pulls it back toward him, making you whimper again. “You’re always a good girl for me, my love.” He responds. “Such. A. Good. Girl.” He thrusts into you harshly with each word.

You start to rub your own clit, bringing your second orgasm to the surface for the second time tonight. “You’re going to make me-fuck-me cum. Don’t stop, please don’t stop, daddy.” You were gasping as you spoke, desperate for your release.

“Cum for me, let go my girl.” Spencer says, taking over for your fingers to help bring you to your height. He rubs you quickly, trying not to lose it before you.

Finally you feel your walls clench around his cock, both of you moaning loudly. You moan Spencer’s name along with multiple curse words as he continues to rutt into your sensitive hole.

Spencer pulls out quickly, rubbing himself as he feels his own climax coming to a head.

“No, come back. Put it back in me, please.” You whine, reaching behind you to find Spencer’s cock and lead it back into you.

“You want me to cum in you? You want it inside you?” Spencer groans, seconds away from losing it.

“Please. Cum in me, Spence.” You beg, meeting his thrusts.

Spencer thrusts one last time before he spills himself inside of you, his grip on your hips squeezing as you slowly stop throwing your hips back against him. “Fuck, you’re so good.” He whispers, his eyes shutting as he feels the tip of his cock tingle.

Both of you stay in place as you try to regain your composure. You can already feel your eyes flutter closed, heavy from being tired. Spencer finally pulls out of you, making you hiss and lay flat on the bed.

“Baby, come on, we gotta go clean you up.”

“No.” You whine, closing your eyes again.

“You need to use the bathroom and clean yourself up. We have this conversation every time you’re too tired to get up. Come here, I’ll help you.”

You poke your bottom lip out into a pout as you reluctantly get out of bed, holding Spencer’s hand as you walk into your bathroom together. He helps clean the mess inside you up with a wet towel before leaving you alone to use the toilet.

Once you’re all settled, you walk back into the bedroom, finding Spencer getting the bed ready for both of you to lay down. You wrap your arms around his waist and hug him from behind tightly. Spencer happily hums, reaching behind himself to touch your arm.

“I love you.” You say, giving him a squeeze.

“And I love you.” He says, pulling you around to give you a kiss on the lips. “Do you want to sleep?”

You nod your head, climbing into bed first and getting comfortable right away as you watch Spencer slide in next to you, laying on his side to face you.

You grin ear to ear, kissing his chin. “Hi baby.”

“Hi pretty girl. You good?” He questions, lightly touching your cheek. You lean into his touch and nod. “I’m perfect.”

Spencer brings you into his chest, his fingers rubbing small circles into your shoulder. “Yeah, you are perfect.”

[kiridarling]

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

request | Can I have royalty au (soon to be king bakugou) (and soon to be queen reader) , katsuki and reader are supposed to be getting married (not to eachother) but they end up sneaking around and doing IT with eachother so top!kats , exhibition , begging , dumbification and spanking THANK YOU💞💞

this lovely request was submitted for the kissing booth event (the rest of the drabbles come out soon, ahem :)) so, if this was your request, um...hAHA whoops.

katsuki bakugou | f!reader, royalty!au, infidelity, nondescript!fiancés, angst (gasp), fingering, exhibitionism, dumbification + more! minors dni!

— 3.7k words

“C'mon, princess...can I make you feel good once last time?

You're getting married.

No more ignorance is bliss, no more I didn't know any better—this is when you put all your childish antics to the side and fucking woman up, now in charge of the safety of your kingdom and its inhabitants and whatnot. So yes, you must snuff all your adolescent tendencies, and that includes sleeping with the Crowned Prince of the neighboring kingdom behind your fiancé's backs.

But, boys are stubborn. And stupid.

Ding ding ding!

"Excuse me, Everyone!" Your fiancé announces to the crowd in your dining room as he stumbles to his feet, spoon clinking against his glass. He nearly trips, but no one sees except yourself. "I would like to make a toast."

You frown. This wasn't a part of the rehearsal dinner.

"First of all, I would like to thank you all for being able to be with us tonight," he says, shoving the glass higher in the air. As red wine splashes over the rim, you think to remind him that isn't a toast, it's the beginning of a speech, but your comments have rarely deterred the man in the past. "As you’re all aware, this marriage is vital. Not only for our kingdom, but for the neighboring kingdom as well."

Your fiancé regards the Bakugou’s with a lift of his chalice. In the coming weeks, two arranged marriages will melt the four most influential kingdoms into two, and your fiancé and his family had the genius to throw a massive Gala to celebrate it. You wouldn’t be surprised if they got off to the idea of stretching themselves so thin their hair falls out at age thirty; they won’t even allow you to choose the type of dress for your wedding.

"I would also like to thank my lovely, lovely wife, for just being so... lovely.” Your fiancé chuckles, accompanied by an uncomfortable massage to your shoulder. The guests find amusement in how whipped he is as he gazes your way expectantly, conceivably wishing to see you swoon at the compliment. All you give him is a blank face. His elation falters.

"You know, when I first met this woman, I knew she was going to be the love of my life," your fiancé shakes your glare off. You purposely block out the rest of his story in favor of folding and unfolding your napkin again, puffing under your breath at the cheesy comment.

"Sap," you grunt to yourself, obviously. You don't expect anyone to hear, but there's a snort to your right. Your eyes lift from your lap—and straight into Katsuki's smug blood red ones. He winks at you from across the table and your eyes roll at that, though there's a small smile playing on your face that's impossible to hide.

"Isn't that right [Y/N]!...[Y/N]?"

You blink yourself back to life, eyes reluctantly leaving Katuski's hypnotic ones for the pair that make you nauseous, "Oh—u-um, yep!"

The place bursts in laughter and there's even a little smile dancing on Katsuki's face. He catches you staring so your eyes divert to your lap, but his remain a physical force against you for the rest of the night.

*selene — the greek goddess of the moon

The balcony is much nicer than the ballroom.

For one, it's the farthest place you could have gone from the commotion, all the way on the opposite side of the castle. It's a solid five-minute walk when you aren't in heels and a heavy petticoat, but it provides a lovely view of your front yard, subjecting you to watch the early-sleepers leave in their carriages to call it a night. Meanwhile, *Selene watches you from her telescope the moon with a sigh and a sad smile, because she's the only one who knows how completely and utterly alone you will be.

You glare at her—the goddess doesn't waver.

Bitch.

It's no secret that Gala’s like these get overwhelming—especially when you're the center of attention. You see Lord Shinsou (Earl) stuff the eager Lord Kaminari (Baron) into his silver-plated carriage before looking around to ensure no one saw, and blanche upon seeing your figure stood on the balcony. You salute so he knows his secret is safe with you, and relief washes over his face before he too hops into the carriage. What a scandal, you giggle.

Plenty of couples resign home after that; it makes you uneasy. You're unsure as to why, but you have the ever-increasing urge to nip at your fingernails until you don't have them anymore, and jamming the sharpest point of your heel into the concrete seems like the only proper way to release enough kinetic energy before you explode.

"He loves me."

He does, embarrassingly so—so what's the issue?

There isn't an issue; there shouldn't be. He reminds you how pretty you are and you compliment his influence. Neither of you are marrying down. You look good together. The kingdom's future power couple if you will, where you two supposedly mold the great future in your peculiarly young hands. There isn't an issue. You're the one for him, and he's the one for you.

The balcony door whines open. You don't turn around, praying whoever it is will see that it's occupied and turn the other cheek. Yet, the stomp of whoever's boots only grow louder until you’re adjacent to a shadow of a being, his chin lifted towards the stars. You catch a glimpse of blond hair, though dyed a pale white by the silver moon, and you two stand in a strangely comfortable silence, watching carriages roll out of your driveway.

The silence doesn’t last for long, though. It never does.

"D’ya always go disappearing like that?"

You frown. "What?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Katsuki grumbles—he has yet to look at you. Seems like Selene captures more than one person's attention tonight. "Blinked and you were gone."

Your frown only deepens, and you return your attention to the courtyard. "I didn't know you were paying attention."

The ash-blond presses his forearms against the railing for support. "I wasn't. He was."

Oh.

"Said he wants you to come back, so," Katsuki clicks his tongue, carmine red eyes finally flicking your way through the darkness. You don’t dare look at him. “You run off often, or what?"

"Tell him I'll come back in a second," you sigh, balancing your face in your hand. Katsuki says nothing, but he doesn't leave, and you hate that you don't mind.

Until he points towards a couple crossing the lawn and says, "Oi, that's the Duke from my fiancé's kingdom. Fucker tried to poison my dad for the throne—straightened him out real quick.”

"Why are you talking to me?" You snap like a cornered animal. Katsuki lifts an eyebrow.

"What? I can't have a goddamn conversation?"

"I—" your chest rises and falls with a reason to why he can't, but you can only come up with one—and you don't want to think about it.

"Listen. I don't like these things either, alright?" He huffs defensively, so defensively that you have to take a step back. "If I have the opportunity to get some fresh air, I'm gonna fuckin' take it."

You shrug, supposing it makes you one and the same. The wind blows, not harsh, but harsh enough to ruffle your gown, and make the gold jewelry decorating Katsuki's tunic jingle.

“So. I guess this is it, ain’t it?”

You sigh, “Katsuki, you know we—“

"Yeah yeah, that's all you fuckin' say," he growls bitterly, and you blink in a poor attempt to find where the animosity came from. His face twists in an ugly way as he sits his hands on his hips, nose scrunched to mockingly pitch his voice that doesn't sound like yours at all. "We can't, we shouldn't—"

"Because we shouldn't!" You nearly shout, and Katsuki jumps from how quickly you raise your voice. "Because—because if we get caught, we're fucked. And I can't go to sleep terrified that I'll wake up to an exposé tomorrow morning and get beheaded by the afternoon. So...please. Just stop."

Katsuki clicks his tongue.

"You don't love that asshole."

Your throat feels tight—much too tight to be comfortable, and your chest rises and falls with disbelief as you search for the words before you can talk again, eyes never dropping from the stars. You've had this conversation, fuck, you have it too often; often enough to know that he would say those exact words, and enough to know precisely what you'll say in response.

"I love him, Katsuki."

"No, no you fuckin' don't," the ash-blond chucks a laugh and it's nothing short of acrid, his words eating away at your skin more than you'd like them to. You sigh, resting your forearms on the railing too.

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Always gotta be so goddamn emotionally unavailable, huh?" He growls, glare set on the mountains presented in front of you. You feel his suit jacket hit your freezing shoulders, unaware of the cool temperatures until you feel the cloth brush against goosebumps. It’s your turn to laugh bitterly.

“Careful. People might think we’re getting married to each other.”

“One day you’ll let me fuckin’ live,” he grunts, and your eyes meet for the first time. His usual red is dyed a deep purple by the moonlight, their usual hardness traded for something much softer. “Can’t even give you a jacket when you’re shivering like a goddamn leaf in the wind.”

You give him a look of utter exhaustion because you’re tired—tired of all this running around and hiding, the secrecy. It eats at your insides like a caterpillar does a leaf, knowing that you go to sleep every night to a man who’ll barely touch you, but at the same time, feeling guilty that you don’t need nor want him to.

“Why are you here?”

Katsuki clicks his tongue. His warm body settles behind yours, close enough to feel the warmth but not close enough to feel him. “You looked lonely.”

“I thought my fiancé told you to get me?” You ask, raising a suspicious eyebrow. Katsuki rolls his eyes, his arms settling on both sides of yours.

“He did. But I didn’t refuse the damn request either.”

“You saw my loneliness all the way from the ballroom. What an eyesight,” you scoff. Katsuki’s eyes narrow, but it’s clear he’s fighting a grin because you’re a little shit who loves giving him a hard time. The ash-blond’s chest rises and falls, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

“You know what I mean.”

You snort, tilting your head to the right. You suppose you do.

“And I’m marrying a bitch,” he adds to his list of grievances, his hands finding yours to gently play with your fingers. You nod in agreement. A bitch she is.

“And...I’m really going to fuckin’ miss you.”

It might as well pass for nothing but a breath, eyes trained on your held hands. His chest suspends like he has more to say, but his teeth tear at the inside of his cheek before he can. “I—fuck, I get it, okay? I’m a selfish asshole—“

“This doesn’t have to do wit—“

“And I really, really need to get my fuckin’ priorities straight. I mean, they are, just not in the way they should be.”

“Hey,” you chastise, shaking his hands for his attention. “You can’t control who you love, okay?"

Katsuki grumbles at that but you refuse, turning around to look him in the eyes.

"And neither can I.”

You let go of his hands in favor of pulling him down via his cheeks and giving him a big fat kiss on the lips. It’s peckish and brief, but it’s sweet and gets your point across. It's comfortable.

“The hell was that for?” Katsuki asks once you pull away. Though you see him struggle to hide a grin, eyes squinting more than they should.

“Easy,” you say, stepping forwards (as if there’s any space for that), “You looked lonely.”

Katsuki snorts, dropping his head, “Bastard.”

“And I’m being married off to an asshole,” you lament, pulling his face so close to the point you’re sure the strain on his back has got to be anything but sexy. He accommodates anyways—Katsuki always has; and night seems to suspend along with his baited breath as he waits for the next line, eyes shining with a painful hope you’re about to confirm.

“And I’m really, really going to miss you,” you say, shaking your head at how utterly true that statement is. Fuck.

The vulnerability slowly fades from his eyes at that, and Katsuki hums, clammy hands finding their rightful place around your hips.

“You shouldn’t call him an asshole, you know,” he says, face inching so close you can smell the champagne on his breath. “He means well.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” you quip back, raising an eyebrow. Katsuki shrugs, and you don’t realize he’s backing you up until your back kisses the cool railing.

“Well. I can’t help but feel a little bad,” he says cheekily as he inches closer, “‘Cause I make you feel so good, don’t I, Princess? Last time I checked, better than he ever could.”

You scoff at his audacity though it’s all good-natured, eyes preferring the moon over his heated gaze as he turns you around to face the courtyard.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, redirecting your attention using a finger on your jaw, “Eyes on me, Princess. You look really fuckin’ pretty under the stars, y’know.”

You snort at the compliment, rolling your eyes.

“‘M serious. A fuckin’ goddess,” he growls, leaving wet kisses up the column of your neck. Your breath hitches as he reaches your sweet spot and sucks, and you’re swatting him away before he can leave a mark.

“I sai—“

“One last time, Princess,” he bargains lowly as his hot hands slide their way from your waist to your breasts, taking their sweet time. Katsuki hooks his chin on your shoulder. “Lemme—Can I make you feel good one last time?”

You’re nodding with a whimper before you can berate yourself for being so fucking easy, the thought of not being able to indulge yourself with this, with him, any longer tosses any and all resistance out the window.

“Good,” Katsuki hums, tweaking your nipples through the bodice. “‘M gonna pay you back for being so good to me, yeah? For puttin' up with all my shit."

You scoff, mouth dropping to tell him you weren't putting up with his shit, but then a warm hand lands on your thigh—somehow, he's found a way under your dress. The hand slides up inner thigh and you feel Katsuki's chest shudder against your back as he finally reaches where you need him most.

"K-Kats—"

"Shhh, you don't want them to hear us, do you?" He grunts, pulling your panties to the side. You shiver from the change in temperature, watching another Duke and Duchess of half-drunkenly stumble into their carriages for the night, before there's a crack of a whip and hooves beat towards the exit. It's only a reminder of how painfully exposed you two are—one glance towards the balcony and any onlooker would know exactly what's happening. You hate it.

You hate that you don't.

"Atta girl," Katsuki purrs, groaning as he inserts a finger. You shiver, the weight of his being practically trapping you against the railing. "Always so fuckin' tight. I swear that asshole never fucks you right."

Katsuki's never been an impatient man and fills you with a second finger awfully fast, chuckling when you bite into the meat of your palm to hold back a whimper. His hips start to grind against the puff of your dress and he groans as quietly as he can, carelessly shoving down the sleeve of his suit jacket to bite into your shoulder.

You let out a broken moan much too loud for this time of night and it prompts Katsuki's free hand to stuff an equal amount of fingers into your mouth. "Y'know, something tells me you wanna get caught. You want the whole world to know how much you fuckin' hate that bastard, huh?"

You choke as Katsuki slides in a third digit next to the second, the slap of his palm against your pussy becoming nothing but obscene as your slick accentuates the sound. His hips speed up against your ass and that's enough friction to have the ash-blond groaning, along with the spit that drips down his forearm.

"So dirty for me, Princess," his hips stutter when you push back, tongue laving over the bite mark you'll probably have to conceal in the morning. Asshole. "You wanna cum like this, don't you? You're gonna cum all over my fingers in front of the entire royal court. Dumb little girl, can't even keep her mouth shut to keep us from gettin' caught."

You jam your heel into the balcony concrete so hard you positive it cracks before you're coming all over Katsuki's fingers, nearly choking on the ones in your mouth as you release the loudest broken moan you have that night. Katsuki's hips stutter against you and you're positive he's filling his boxers from the airy moan that follows, and his hand goes limp in your mouth before it slides out completely.

Your chests balloon in unison, his body draped over yours, and as you two catch your breath under the moonlight, you can’t help but think how much you’re going to miss this.

"Run away with me."

"I—" he does this. He always does this. He makes you feel on top of the world, acting like everything's fine, and then he pulls this shit on you. You look everywhere but him, nearly scoffing in disbelief. "Katsuki—"

"C'mon, Princess," Katsuki scrambles to flip you by the waist until your back is flush against the railing again and he’s cradling both your hands in his semi-damp ones. There’s a look in his eyes you don’t like, and it makes your chest burn. "Across the sea, people are movin’ over there and I—I know someone there, okay? Someone we could stay with, maybe help us get back on our feet an-and I found a fuckin’ ferry guy to take us across, and I can even pay him a little extra, o-or you, or—"

"Katsuki," you give him a sad smile, squeezing his hands tight. There's hope, too much hope in his eyes and it's fucking blinding. "Running away? I—this is—we have an obligation, we can't jus—"

"It'll be fine," he insists, stepping forwards and squeezing you back twice as hard. You sigh."I—the two kingdoms can merge or whatever the fuck they wanna do and then we'll be—"

"Katsuki."

"I—fuck Princess, I don't beg but goddammit, I'll do whatever you fuckin' want, get on my knees, I ca—"

"You really want to know what I want?"

Katsuki freezes. It's the first time you've ever seen some semblance of emotion in him that isn't anger or lust, with carmine red irises swimming in unshed tears—and fuck, you hate the sight. You want to shoot yourself in the fucking foot for what you’re about to do, but it’s for the best. It always is.

"Love her."

Katsuki looks at you, and his face drops, chest shuddering.

"I can't."

You drop his hands in favor of holding his face, thumbing at the hot tears running as they fall. God, Katsuki’s pretty—too pretty for his own good and he doesn’t even know it. His unsteady hands find themselves massaging your ribs and your foreheads knock together. "You need to try. Love her as much as you love me, yeah?"

"'S fuckin' impossible," Katsuki says with a wet snort, shaking his head with eyebrows raised. You giggle, throat impossibly tight.

"Almost, then? For me."

Katsuki’s red eyes stare at you through the darkness. You have half a mind to look the other way, but you figure you owe him this if nothing else, and as he lovingly absorbs your being under the moonlight for the last time, you really wish you could take your words back.

"I'll...fuck. Fine. I'll try." Katsuki resigns with a shrug, shaking his head. You two sniffle in unison and you suppress the strange urge to pinch him. "'M not gonna try to get over you, though. Sorry, not sorry."

You roll your eyes at that but it's all good-natured, followed by a choke you struggle to hide as his arms coil around your waist, "Then I won't either."

A genuine grin spreads across his face, and it’s borderline giddy—and a stark contrast against the waterworks. "She finally fuckin' admits it."

"Figured it was about time," you give him a wobbly smile before your eyes flicker to his, red blurring from being so close. Selene looks upon both of you with a reminiscent sigh.

"I love you, Katsuki Bakugou."

Katsuki sniffs before he laughs; it's wet, and near bitter, and he pulls you so close your face nearly shoves into his chest. "Fuck. Fuck, you're an asshole, you know that?"

"This is when you say it back," you bargain, squishing his cheeks. Katsuki presses his forehead deeper into yours.

"I love you too, Asshole."

He speaks with a softness you've never heard and it's like a gunshot to the heart, and as his lips inch closer to yours as your hands slide to thumb at his ears. One last kiss wouldn't hurt, would it?

Until there's a whistle and the click of footsteps. You and Katsuki jump a mile apart.

"Oh, [Y/N]! You're still out here in the cold?" Your fiancé asks with a raised eyebrow, but it seems like that's only an afterthought as he turns to Katsuki to say, "Your wife’s found the alcohol."

"Great," the ash-blond groans, understanding the translation—your fiancé is piss drunk in the ballroom.

"I do recommend you take her home. She's making quite a mess of the eclairs. And her face."

Katsuki heads inside without giving you a second glance, and your fiancé gives him a solid pat on the way in before turning to you halfway through the doorway, "Are you coming inside, Darling?"

"In a moment," you say with a smile. Your hand never leaves the railing. "Just getting some fresh air."

"Alrighty, then. I'll be in the bedroom. Waiting~" he winks, and with that, he's spinning on his heel, and you're alone with the moon again.

You watch Katsuki guide his inebriated fiancé into the carriage lovingly, with a smile on his face that isn't quite the one he wears with you but close enough, whispering whatever pleases her at the time with a chaste kiss on the cheek. You feel comfort in knowing that he has someone to love and someone to be loved by. He doesn't look your way—not once.

It's not until they drive away that you realize you still have his suit jacket draped over your shoulders. You don't doubt he did that on purpose, either.

Asshole.

[husbandohunter]

May I request a Childe X Reader fanfic where the reader has been pushing herself too hard lately and so Childe has to forcefully get her to rest? ty

By my side [Childe x Reader]//Genshin Impact

Synopsis: You were an artist and he was an adventurer. Two people from vast backgrounds and Childe just wants to spend some time of his busy life with you. However, things didn't really go his way...at first.

(Childe x F!reader. Its all fluff)

(A/n): Perfect request anon. I too, would like to have a Childe in my life. Been getting 5-6 hours of sleep on average 😃😁. Yeah kind tossed some extra ideas with artist s/o, its a perfect reason for anyone to be busy.

============================

Once recieving the permission to take a week off from his diplomatic duties, the first thing Childe thought of was none other than his lovely significant other.

The harbinger knew quite well what lays ahead of his ventures to Liyue. During his quest for the archon's gnosis, he encountered many interesting events, such as meeting the rumoured traveller hailing from afar and a broke yet courteous man who turned out to be the ultimate ruler of this very country he walks upon then there was the battle against a dead god until he revived it using the sigil of permission. All of them were great additions to his story as Ajax the hero, something he always wanted to pursue since childhood. In which, also gave him something nice to write about when preparing letters for his siblings living back home. But little did the harbinger know that he'll one day bump into the heroine. A little too soon. Through your little art shop, he met you, a sweet and audacious woman with plenty of humour. That was how it all began.

While he strides down the streets between Liyue's exquisite buildings, Childe suddenly stops in his tracks and looks up to the sky. There, was painted a scenery of an evening dusk, sun rays relfected across until red and orange hues cast a river stream that led to the ends of the world. He watched the birds follow that streak like it was a path made for them to fly towards. A new adventure. You would have loved to captured this in your pictures.

And then he wonders, what might you be painting right now?

"Hey babe, I'm home~"

In a sing-song voice he calls out to you by your nick-name. You knew that Childe was an active member of the Fatui and that his time was limited, hence he made sure to write to you as well. Of course long distant relationships only makes the waiting more anticipated. When he does pay a visit, you'd run straight into his open arms, leaping off your feet to engulf him in one enourmous embrace. Then his hands will hold against your waist as he spins your round and around in the air, stealing the laughter out of your lungs before planting you back on the floor. Sometimes Childe would consider that being far away wasn't be such a bad idea as long as he was able to experience this, the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory. However...

"That's great."

He was met by a response similar to the wintry grace of Snezhnaya.

Huh?

All the fantasies he had from earlier shatters in the background as he stands there frozen. You didn't even spare a glance to the entrance, eyes still glued to the large canvas displayed at your front, too busy to even care. Childe clicks his tongue between the awkward silence with an uncertain expression. When there was no signs of initiation on your part, he shuffled his way to where you were and observes from behind.

"Well you're particularly quiet today," he muses to himself, placing a hand over his hip, "I guess that painting of yours must be really important then."

It was obvious that he was trying to nudge you into his favour. Something that you've found endearing was how quickly your boyfriend can be when he's in a needy state. So you quickly twisted over to peck him on the cheek before going back to work.

"That's better," Childe satisfiedly grins, "So who is this project for?"

"It's a commission requested by a wealthy family serving the Qixing. They're really influential in terms of the market and can really give me a competitive edge. I have to get it done in five days."

His tone flactuates as he squints his eyes, "Five days you say," he disliked the news of your schedule taking over his own, Childe only managed to take a week off and after that, he'll be away for quite some time, "Why don't you take a break? From the looks of your progress, it seems to me that you've been working on it for hours. I've got plenty of interesting stories to tell and you know, nothing can compare to sharing a warm meal within your company," he leans down to your ear level, "How does that sound?"

Several seconds went by as he waits for some sort of reaction, "Oh. Right," you blurted out and the harbinger only smiles, "I made some food earlier this morning. You can go help yourself if you're hungry."

Today was not his day.

Childe pulls out the wooden chair and slumps into the seat, a defeated huff escaping his mouth as he stared at the crystal shrimp placed on the table. It was hastily wrapped by plastic, most likely cold for a while, just like the romantic evening he had planned in his head. Normally you'll be sitting on the otherside while listening to the many tales he went through along the way. Although painting was your passion, it was undeniable that you also enjoyed his kind of lifestyle if you ever had the choice. He was rather surprised on how someone ambitious like him would end up with such a simplistic person but quickly accepted it as life was meant to be unpredictable, just the way he likes it. As Childe entertains you with his stories, he'll listen to your giggles amidst eating the homecooked meals that you both prepared together.

"I wonder if she ate already," he mumbled to his lone self. You most likely did but Childe knows you well. Artists are obsessed and they can go as far as to neglecting their own health for the sake of their masterpieces. Hence, he made sure to remind you to eat properly through the letters he wrote to you.

The harbinger takes a quick glance around the kitchen. It was a mess. The cupboards were slightly opened, metal pots were still displayed on the stone stove and the stench coming from the sink....

Childe pushes himsel up to see what was the cause.

Not even the dishes were washed.

Running his fingers through his bangs, he sighs wearily, "Old habits die hard huh?" And above all else, when artists are obsessed they also forget how disorganized they can become. Childe begins to roll up his sleeves before taking off his gloves. At times like this he'll have to pitch in and take care of it for you, "Looks like I'll be here for a while."

Throughout three sunsets and three moonrises, Childe had no option but to observe you from afar, minus the few attempts he made to regain your attention again. How you would go to bed much later than him, waking up before he opens his eyes and the effort he put into making your food only left with too many leftovers. It wasn't that you were unappreciative, instead, your mind had become too focused that your body was considered a second priority. Like anyone else, Childe genuinely thought you possessed great talent and supports you wholeheartedly. He loved it when you painted pictures just for him as if they were scenes coming out of his hero story, reminded by his adventures, capturing every detail. However he also needed to learn how to deal with this stubborn side of yours.

"Hey babe, I just finished preparing our dinner. Don't you smell that? Such a rich aroma, you should go eat."

"I'm busy."

Your diet were just small bites, the rest being substituted by coffee. Childe could clearly tell that you weren't getting enough sleep either as there were dark circles forming underneath your eyes and slowly, he was starting to become a little irritated.

Three hours passed midnight but you were still awake in the same place doing the same thing. Childe leans against the doorframe with arms folded, already changed into his sleeping clothes. He clears his throat to break the silence, "Ahem."

Your wrist hangs in mid air by the sound of a strange visitor, it was your boyfriend. Gaze in a daze, you lazily turned your head, "What time is it?"

"Way passed the sleeping hours as you can see," he points with his thumb at the table clock in a half-hearted manner, "You should already be in bed by now and don't think you can coax yourself out of the situation this time," his eyes parted in slits as he added with a smile, "Otherwise I might just have to force you myself."

You shook your head, "Give me one more hour? There's some finishing touches I really want to add so," clasping your hands together, you beamed sweetly, "Pretty please? I'll finish up soon."

"Oh really?" Childe challenges, head tossed back like he was interrogating you instead, "I believe that was also what you told me yesterday. And the day before? Adding up all of those days that would be.....four in total?" He deliberately counts upon his fingers before facing you again, this time his expression was slightly more serious, "As much as I find your determination remarkable, there are moments when you need to consider a sufficient amount of rest and this just isn't going to cut it."

"Four days already?!" You exclaimed, "Jeez, I don't even know if I'm halfway done."

Pressing his lips together, Childe glares in an acutely deadpanned countenance, it was also his time too, "Can't you ask this commissioner to extend your due date to next week? In your case, mora shouldn't be the issue since, well...you're dating me anyways."

It's true. Childe was the main reason why you didn't have to live as a starving artist. He had all your expenses fully covered from the marketing aspect to your residence, you simply chose to work out of pure will.

"I don't want to always rely on you so much," you confessed, "This commissioner could turn my whole career around. If I'm able to gain his favour, maybe I'll get promoted to a court painter for the Qixing! Who knows when there will ever be a chance like this again," pumping your fists, you spoke purposefully, "I'll pull an all nighters if I have to!"

Childe brings his hand to his forehead, you looked as if you were nearly about to collapse and yet still considering the option of an all-nighters? The harbinger should've detained you days prior before.

"Hm? Childe, what's wrong?" He suddenly falls deadly quiet and you watched him walk closer towards you, "What are--"

Hooking an arm behind your knees and the other at your back, your boyfriend lifts you up in one full swoop as he tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Guess we'll have to do things the hard way," he remarks cheerfully.

"W-Wait," you flailed your arms and kicked your legs but to no avail. Childe was an experienced combatant indeed, "Put me down! I have work to do."

Your protests fall upon deaf ears as the harbinger carries you to your room. You were oddly lighter than the last time he carried you, the strength less vigor than before, it was obvious that your body was in need of relaxation. He suddenly thinks there was a possibility that you would maintain this habit while he was absent.

I should probably visit more often.

Using his free leg to nudge the door open, he places you upon the shared bed in a gentle manner. You winced at the impact of the soft sheets, surprised by how much it affect you.

"There we go. All done. Man, you really are a stubborn one, aren't you. Makes me a little worried since I can't spoil you all the time."

He quickly invited himself to the empty space on your bedside and wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you close and feeling you whole. Childe made sure there was no escape once putting his chin above your hairline so that you could feel his warmth as much as possible.

"This is--" you stuttered. His tactic was enough to make your limbs soften and you could almost hear him smirk into the distance, "This is cheating..."

"You think so?" He comments as if pledging innocence, "I don't know babe. Where I come from those who take the initiative are the ones who end up claiming the prize," pulling back, Childe takes the opportunity to observe your pouty face, "I don't make the rules. It's just how it goes."

You wanted to argue back but he suddenly took the bedsheets and covered both of your bodies with, completely trapping you with his presence. He snuggles into you further as if you were a bear made of linen and you felt the drowsiness taking over your mind. The way he gently pats down the back of your head was enough to instantly lull you into a deep sleep.

"Cheater," you mumbled.

He laughs softly, the rumbles emitting through his chest, "I love you too babe."

Even after you've let go of your resistance, Childe continues his actions until he was sure that you were resting. He had been longing to touch you like this since living a chaotic life only made peaceful moments much sweeter, "You're such a hard-worker you know that? I'm proud of you but you have to know when to call it a day," he whispers, "If not, how can I go on trips while knowing that you're still refusing to eat properly?"

You closed your eyes and said nothing in return. All your senses were too cloudy to come up with a reassuring response. Childe listens to the way your breath evens as you intake his scent during the process. It smelled like the soap you used in the showers, lotus leaves mixed with his own unique musk. You could only focus on him. His comforting embrace. His slightly accelerating heartbeat because you were together with him.

Letting out one final yawn, you succumbed to his spell and allowed your energy to drift away.

The corners of his lips tug upwards, "Sleep well princess."

Childe reaches over to your desk drawer and shuts off the alarm clock before turning over to face you again. He couldn't fall asleep immediately, not when he had to consider taking care of the commissioner who gave you an impossible deadline. But that will be saved for another day, for now, he observes in silent serenity.

If he were to quit his job for a year, what would his life be like?

Peaceful. Something opposite of what he was living right now. Something similar to the life he had back home. As you arrange the many paintings in your little home, he'll offer to help you among the places you couldn't reach. Without a doubt, Childe was far taller in comparison. Taking strolls into the streets and trying the new dishes the merchants came up with. Then in the evenings, you'll both go to dinner dates while listening to the storyteller revealing the rumours of the legendary Tianquan Qixing. Although Childe loved the adventurous life he led, he had to admit that your domesticity and family-bringing atmosphere was a tempting idea.

Maybe one day.

He lightly takes a strand that had fallen over your nose and tucked it smoothly behind your ear. The soft snores coming out of your parted lips caused his gaze to melt. And so he steals them with his own, placing a chaste goodnight kiss.

One day I'll be sure to bring my family here with us.

Closing his eyes, he joins you in your slumber, hoping to see all that he envisioned in his dreams.

[doubleleoenergy]

Daddy Issues

Nobody does it like you do. I know how much it matters to you. I know that you got daddy issues

Pairing: Grayson Dolan x Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, fingering (female receiving), oral (male receiving), Daddy Kink, passionate sex

Word Count: 2361

Author’s Notes: My GRAYstans unite! I have unlocked a new passion for Daddy!Grayson. Also, my headers either feature the reader image as Malia Tate from Teen Wolf or Jane Villanueva from Jane the Virgin.

“Are you SURE you want to make Sledge’s doghouse from scratch?” You asked, following your boyfriend, THE Grayson Dolan, into the backyard. Grayson and you had just adopted a puppy that he was FINALLY not allergic to, and he had become quite obsessed with wanting the absolute best for your new pup

“Babe, do you REALLY want our son to have some basic and boring dog house for the backyard, or wouldn’t it be more fitting for him to have a MANSION like the king he is?” Grayson suggests, wagging his thick eyebrows at you.

You gently shove his side, rolling your eyes at his response. “Fine, Sledge and I will just MONITOR your progress by the pool.” You call back to the pup, watching him gallop towards you both, wagging his tail. Grayson moves towards the garage to bring all of the wood and materials needed for the project onto the grassy area next to the pool, arranging the pieces by length.

Sledge lays down in the grass next to your lounge chair as you sit down, tightening your lavender string bikini bottoms on your hips. Today was GORGEOUS, the sun shining and the heat not sweltering, allowing for the perfect day to tan while you watched Grayson work.

You decided to start by tanning your back, lying with your face propped on a towel in the foldout chair. Your hands hold your phone out, scrolling through Instagram as you soaked in the summer rays.

Grayson started his plans by sawing the boards to the perfect length, pulling a pair of safety goggles over the top of his tousled long locks. You eye him carefully from where you lay, watching as he handled the saw with ease, cutting the board to its perfect size before continuing on to the next piece. Your eyes linger on the curve of his back muscles squeezing through the black tank top that clung to his figure.

Sledge barked, pulling you from your daze, demanding attention beside you. You place the phone by your side, smiling down as you sit up slightly to provide your furbaby with the attention he craved. “Are you watching Daddy work? Well, so is MOMMY.” You coo, running your fingers through his soft fur.

A half hour goes by, Grayson diligently putting together the pieces of wood, sweat dripping from his hair down through his beard. You decide it’s a good time for a hydration break, Sledge following you back inside the kitchen where you grab two bottles of water along with a dish to pour some out for your pooch.

“Gray, how about you take a quick break?” You chirped, approaching him as he leaned over and inspected his work. You hand him one of the water bottles, opening the other and pouring half into the dog dish you set beside your feet, Sledge lapping happily at the bowl.

“How’s it looking so far, boss?” Grayson teased, standing back to let you inspect his work. You tilt your head from side to side, putting your fingers out as a ‘frame’, closing one eye and then the other. Grayson let out a laugh as he watched you pretend to inspect like a ‘real’ boss, a huge grin spreading on his face.

“I’d say it looks sturdy so far, keep up the good work, EMPLOYEE.” You place a kiss to his cheek, sauntering back over to your lounge chair, sitting down to let the rays tan the front of your body.

After a few minutes of lapping at the water bowl Sledge moves back over to you, rolling happily in the grass. Grayson feels sweat drenching his black tank top, a mixture of the heat of the sun and the work he was putting into his project. He grabs the hemline and tugs it off, tossing the sweaty material in the grass next to him.

You can’t help but stop and OGLE at him when he removes it, a sinful image playing out in your mind. Your eyes roam over his sculpted chest, remembering how it felt when you ran your hands up and down his abdomen. Your eyes move up to look at his hair, long locks sticking to his forehead as he continues his work on the dog house. Lastly, your eyes fixated on his hands, watching the veins protruding as he hammered nails into the wood, forming the outside walls of what would be Sledge’s humble abode. Grayson looked DELICIOUS, and you couldn’t help the way your stomach flip-flopped at the sight, his cerulean swim trunks clinging to his hips.

“Hey G-Gray, I’m gonna go inside, watch Sledge for me, please?” He nodded, eyes fixated on the task at hand. You took one last glance in his direction, taking a mental picture before pulling open the screen door and heading directly towards your shared bedroom. 

You needed relief after watching him work, he wasn’t even TRYING to seduce you and yet you still felt dampness between your thighs. You opened the bedroom door and shut it behind you. Your body stumbled forward, flopping back against the bed, shimmying out of your bikini bottoms, tossing them to the floor.

Your eyes fluttered closed, REWINDING the image of Grayson working outside in your head, the back of your lids acting as a screen for the projected image. Your delicate fingers slid down your chest to your core, circling around your bundle of nerves and letting out a soft moan. You pictured the way he tossed his shirt off, how the sweat GLISTENED on his skin, that perfect beard you refused to let him shave.

Fingers move lower, parting your folds and moving in and out of your core, arching your back against the bed. You continued pumping your fingers in and out, feeling that familiar buildup in your chest when you heard the bedroom door open, Grayson taking in the sight of you.

“What are you doing, babygirl?” He asked, arms crossing against his bare chest. Your eyes snap open, sitting up straight and pulling the blanket over you. As if he HADN’T seen what you were doing just moments ago.

“N-Nothing, I think I am just exhausted from the sun. I figured I needed to lay down and rest a bit.” You stuttered, a hand moving from below the blanket to scratch nervously through your locks.

Grayson’s eyes grew dark as he approached you on the bed, standing just at the edge of it and holding your gaze. “Babygirl, don’t LIE to me, you know I don’t like it when you lie.” He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow at you, eyes still locked on yours. “Were you TOUCHING yourself?” He asked.

Your cheeks start to feel hot, a rosy blush spreading across them. “Y-Yes, I was. You just looked so good outside and I didn’t want to bother you while you were working so I came in here and-” Grayson holds out his hand, silencing you before you can finish your sentence.

“You’re forgetting the rules, babygirl, REMIND me what they are.” He questioned, his voice lowering an octave. Your bottom lip quivers, your heart pounding loudly in your chest. “N-No touching myself, only DADDY gets to touch me.” You whispered, your gaze darting to the bed to avoid his stare.

“Look at ME.” He demanded, his tone making your eyes snap up immediately. “Yes, only daddy gets to touch you, and what happens when we disobey, babygirl?” You swallow the lump in your throat, eyes going wide. 

“Y-You, you get PUNISHED.”

“Exactly.” He responds, two fingers beckoning you towards the edge of the bed. “Turn around, ass up.” You follow his instructions, crawling to the edge of the bed and turning around. Grayson’s fingers grab your neck, pushing your head down against the mattress. “You’re going to count to ten for me, if you stop counting we’ll start all OVER.”

The first smack across your ass made your pussy tighten, wincing slightly at the burn of his thick hand against your skin. “O-One.” You sputtered. 

“Good girl, keep counting.” He commands, sending another smack to your flesh.

“T-Two...three...four...five.” Tears are welling up in your eyes, a mix of both pleasure and pain through each strike to your tanned skin. You don’t want to falter though, you know it’ll be MUCH worse if you add more slaps to the count.

“S-six...seven...eight...nine...ten.” Tears are now flowing down your face, staining your cheeks in the light coat of mascara you had applied that morning. Grayson moves the pressure off your neck, letting out a deep breath.

“What a good GIRL, see, I knew you could be good for me.” He flexes his hand in a fist and then stretches it out over and over, relaxing the muscles as the sting starts to dissipate. “I think it’s time that I get a THANK YOU.” You know EXACTLY what he’s asking, turning around to face him, eyes level with the thick bulge in his shorts.

“Yes daddy.” Your fingers tug down the shorts, his thick cock springing free against his chest. You lick your lips before reaching up, taking his cock into your hand and SLOWLY stroking it. Your mouth parts, lips curling around the tip, sucking and licking before moving them lower and lower down the base.

His fingers move to grip your hair, a groan of delight leaving his lips. “That’s it baby, open your mouth, let me fuck that perfect mouth of yours.” You do as you’re told, relaxing your jaw and letting him slide further. Not only was he thick, but LONG, tears welling up as he pushed all the way in, your nose touching the skin right below his belly button. He uses your hair as his reins, bucking his hips in and out, a mixture of your spit DRIPPING from the sides of your lips down your chin and neck. Grayson keeps his eyes on you, watching you sputter around him, his teeth grinding together. 

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He pulls out abruptly, a string of saliva linking your mouth to his cock, and you feel utterly EMPTY. Grayson tilts your head up with his hand, ushering you to get up. “That’s enough, don’t want to cum in your mouth today, want to cum inside you.”

His hands push you back against the bed, untying the bikini top you still wore, revealing your bare breasts to him. His hand moves to grip his cock, rubbing the red and swollen tip against your folds, a dark smile on his face. “You are already SO wet, babygirl. Do you want me to fuck you?” You nod up at him but you know that’s not what he wants, he wants you to use your WORDS.

“Yes, Gray...I mean, daddy. Please fuck me, want to feel you cum inside me.” The words are satisfaction, the code that unlocks his motions as he pushes inside of you, working in slowly as your walls INSTINCTIVELY tighten around him, pulling him deeper. After a moment he bottoms out, holding himself there, looking down at you.

“So fucking tight, babygirl. Your cunt was MADE for me.” He moves his hips, pulling out almost completely before slamming himself back in, eliciting a whine from your throat. He continues at the same pace, pulling almost completely out and pushing back in fast, your voice becoming louder which each thrust.

“Gotta keep it down, you know Ethan is still sleeping. Wouldn’t want to wake him up. Or maybe you do, huh?” He asked, two of his fingers snaking between your breasts down to your clit, circling it. “Want Ethan to know that you’re a SLUT for my cock? How your daddy is the only one that can please you?”

You moan loudly, your voice hoarse from the way he fucked your throat earlier. “Yes daddy, I want EVERYONE to know I’m yours.” His hips slap into you over and over, fingers circling your clit with more pressure now. He can tell you’re close to coming, your walls clenching and unclenching him, your thighs shaking as his own hold you apart.

“Uh-uh, gotta ASK if you can cum babygirl, you know better.” Grayson’s free hand moves to your neck, wrapping around it JUST enough that your breathing gets harder, but not enough that you might pass out.

“Fuck, PLEASE daddy, want to cum on your cock, want to show you how good I can be.” You choked out, picturing the way his hands had moved around the wood and saw earlier that were now around your throat.

Grayson is pleased by your words, eyes focusing on your face and his fingers rubbing against you faster. “Yes, babygirl, CUM on my cock.” He can barely finish his sentence before your orgasm hits you, crying out loudly, tears flowing from your eyes with pleasure. He continues his movements, feeling your walls tightening around him and knowing he can’t hold on anymore. “Gonna cum, baby, gonna coat your walls with me, want you LEAKING my cum.” A groan of satisfaction leaves his lips, his cock pressed deep inside you as he spurts thick ropes of cum into you. Your eyes roll back into your head, closing them as you continue coming down from your high, his hand moving off of your neck so you can fully breathe. His hips stutter briefly, letting you milk his cock before he pulls out, noticing your dazed state.

“Hey...come back to me baby.” He whispered, moving to lay down next to you, placing gentle kisses all over your face. Your eyes FINALLY flutter open, a lazy smile on your lips. “Sorry about that, you really did just look so good I couldn’t help myself.” Grayson let out a deep chuckle, tugging you into his side, his fingers roaming up and down your back.

“Don’t apologize baby, next time just tell me and I’ll stop to USE you how you need to be used.” He glances at the door, hearing a whine from Sledge, pulling him back to reality. “Our SON wants you.”

You shake your head, looking up at him. “Nope, YOU can deal with him now, you fucked all of the energy out of me.”

Tagging my GRAYstans: @midnightf​ | @certainaesthetic​

[scandalsavagefanfic]

Hello! I am a huge fan of ur writing. I've loved everything I've read of yours. I've read alot of what you've posted, except for a couple of the tags that are squicky for me (so I'm very thankful you tag very thoroughly). No judgement for the squick, it's just not for me. & when I'm having a bad day, I usually just go thru ur ao3 and find something to reread. I think about Therapy's Bruce & Jason every damn day. While I obvs appreciate ur darker more "problematic" content (I really vibe with some of the themes you write about bc of my own trauma, & so it's very cathartic to read about in a fictional setting), I am truly a sucker for ur more happy content. The Happily Ever After verse also lives in my head rent free. Idk more wholesome stuff just seems more special when you write it. Anyways. I would die for you. But the point of this ask is cause I'm curious as to why you don't like Urban Legends? I'm sorry if you already talked about it here or on twitter and I missed it. I was just wondering because I really enjoy your take on things and would love to hear why you dislike it. I've been enjoying it so far personally, but I am always open to DC comics criticism.

Aw thank you so much! I'm so flattered by everything you just said. You're so sweet ❤❤❤❤❤

I haven't talked about Urban Legends here or twitter (I haven't been very active in either place lately. Just a lot going on and no energy 😔) but I'm happy to do it here.

Before I start though, I just want to add a standard disclaimer and make it clear that if you like it, there's nothing wrong with that and you don't have to let me ruin it for you lol. Like what you like.

That said, since you asked...

I said this when I was talking about it on discord, that there is a difference between hope and expectation. I always hope that a new story centered on Jason (or anyone really, but things have been especially egregious for Jay for 15 years) will be good or at least treat the character with a minimal level of respect (to be honest, the bar is super fucking low). But my expectations always temper my hope, to keep it from getting unrealistic. Because my expectations are based on experience.

The long history of Jason Todd, since even before his resurrection, has been one of retroactively trying to make him "a bad seed" in order to absolve Bruce of any responsibility in his death.

I don't even expect DC or their writers to start honoring the fact that Jason was not an angry, reckless Robin (and less of the later than Dick or Tim and definitely Damian). There plenty of ways that retcon can be folded into his history and be compelling and sympathetic. And if they're going to stick with that retcon, I'm only asking that they do it in one of those compelling and sympathetic ways because Jason was 15 when he died, heroically, in one of the most selfless acts in comics, to save a woman who literally handed him over to be brutally murdered. He was 12 when Bruce plucked him off the streets, he'd been homeless and fending for himself for at least two years. I personally think that Jason's story hits harder for him and Bruce if their original, canon relationship, of Jason as starry-eyed and eager to learn and absolutely devoted to Bruce and Bruce to Jason, is preserved. But Jason's origins does leave room for a meaningful interpretation of him as angry and frustrated at the lack of meaningful results of Bruce's methods.

And that's really where my irritation at stories like Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer and Batman The Adventure Continues has it's roots.

Every time one of these stories comes out, I think (or hope, rather) that this will be the one that remembers and respects the origins of the Jason and the Red Hood, that takes into account the changed sensibilities of comics readers in the 30 years since Jason's death and the subtle, 20 year, retroactive campaign to make him the "bad Robin". The "born bad" trope is played out and literally no one likes the message it implies. That some kids are just bad eggs and there's nothing parents or the adults around them can do. Especially when it's played as the kid's fault. If Jason's time as Robin is going to be characterized by anger, then it should be rooted in anger at the social injustices he witnessed as he grew up in an impoverished, crime-ridden, area and the horrors he faced raising himself when every day was a battle for survival. There are topical, meaningful, stories to tell with that backdrop.

But those are never the stories we get.

⚠⚠ Spoilers for Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer ⚠⚠

I'm particularly disappointed in Urban Legends because for the first issue, it looked like that was the kind of story we were going to get. I was put off by the first flashback of Jason being mesmerized by Bruce's guns, and I got that feeling in my gut that it was a bad sign. Jason depicted as impatient and overconfident and the scene with the guns is heavy-handed foreshadowing that got my spidey-sense tingling. I had a inkling then (in the first three pages) of how this story was going to play out, but it was early and I could still see many narrative paths that could lead to a satisfying story. My concerns were soothed somewhat and the little flame of my hope fanned, with the flashback of Alfred scolding Bruce, with Barbara's concern for Jason. A bit of worry returned with the way Jason ruthlessly pursued an addict who didn't appear to be a dealer and with the ending of the issue. The stuff with the addict sat wrong with me but the ending was tempered some by how despicable Tyler's dad was written. The scene was clearly set so that the reader could sympathize with Jason's decision and the scene with the addict could be brushed aside as a side-effect of comics over-the-top need for constant action, so I still held hope.

Issue 2 made me uncomfortable and it's where my hope starts to take a backseat to my expectations. I can dismiss Jason's self-deprecating internal monologue as unreliable narration, except that the flashback reinforces his thought process to explicitly show that it's not unreliable narration, and should be taken at face value. Jason faces physical abuse at the hands of his mother's drug dealer and when the flashback continues later, Jason kills the drug dealer. To be clear, this is a pre-Bruce Jason. His mom is still alive. He's like... 10. He kills this guy for shoving his head into a wall and implying Jason's mother paid for her drugs with sex. This is a scene that serves a single purpose. To show that Jason has always been prone to violence.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there is the small chance the drug dealer might not be dead. But the story obviously wants the reader to think he is, and it hasn't done anything to change that yet.

Starlin already did this story with The Diplomat’s Son in 1988 and he did it infinitely better. AND that’s still technically canon. So now I’m supposed to believe that Jason lost his cool bad enough to kill two douche bags before his sweet 16? Like it’s totally normal for abused kids raised in poverty, who’ve led hard and heartbreaking lives to just... haul off and kill people? That’s bullshit, and when taken with the Jason in the third issue, who is little more than an idiot thug, this story is really doubling down on some fucked up stereotypes.

Which brings us to the most recent issue. I went into this installment with very low expectations. I thought this story was going to be about Jason, through this experience with Tyler, a young boy with a similar background to Jason's, coming to the realization that Bruce's way is the best way and that Bruce did his best by Jason.

That would be annoying (in no small part because it takes increasingly absurd levels of plot armor to keep Bruce's no kill rule relevant, let alone irrefutably right). But I can probably live with that, if only because maybe if Jason officially falls back into line with the Bats crusade, maybe I'll get stories that treat him with respect, stories that don't relegate him to comic relief, dumb brute, or a background body with no lines in a story about the Joker burning Gotham (like Jason would just fucking stand there quietly for that).

And that may still be where the story is going, Jason realizing Bruce is right.

But holy shit do I not have the right words to describe how fucking insulting and gross issue three is.

From start to finish--including the flashback--Jason is written as cruel and fucking stupid. Like straight up dumb.

The entire issue is Bruce explaining the fucking basics to Jason like it's his first day. And Jason flies off the fucking handle and terrorizes a doctor he knows isn't a part of making the Cheerdrops, beats the shit out of some random addicts, and finally, when he can't accomplish anything on his own because he's a dumb brute he calls Barbara for help and rushes in with no information where he's promptly incapacitated and must now wait to be rescued by Batman.

This panel is the least of the issues sins but I can’t screenshot the entire story but it’s representative of the tone for the whole issue (and retroactively tainted the prior two issues).

This is beyond insulting. The only conclusions Jason comes to in this issue are the ones Bruce leads him to by talking to him like he can’t make the simplest connections. And like... in this story Jason can’t make the simplest connections.

This (and the Jason throughout the entirety of this issue) is a far cry from the Jason we fell in love with in Under the Red Hood, who was competent and strategic and intelligent enough to seize control of Gotham’s underworld from Black Mask (who’s no fucking slouch, he’s the first and only person to unify organized crime in Gotham) AND elude and manipulate Bruce until the time and place of his choosing.

This is a far cry from even the Red Hood and the Outlaws Jason who is competent enough to fight the League of Shadows and Ra’s al Ghul (among very dangerous and skilled others) and smart enough to create antidotes for mind control nanotech viruses.

As he should be, by the way. Jason Todd is one of the best, most comprehensively trained fighters in DC’s stable of non powered vigilantes. He’s not irrational or hot headed. He’s pragmatic, tactically minded, and patient. He’s a detective. Right now. Has been since he was 12. Bruce doesn’t have to make him one because he already is. 

Jason is not a stupid thug who uses his fists because his brain doesn’t work. And I can’t tell you how so very exhausted I am by this narrative. 

This is actually the most egregious example of Jason’s skills and intelligence being not just undermined but dismissed entirely. Even Morrison’s Jason had some degree of competency. 

The one, single redeeming factor of this story is the art. It’s beautiful. And Marcus To is a godsend he seems to be one of only a couple of artists who remember that Jason was a child when he was Robin and I’m literally only buying this book because of him. 

Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to come out so... um... passionately lol. I’m just very very tired. My intention with this isn’t to ruin it for you, if you like it, that’s fine. 

But this issue shot this story to the top of my "Vehemently Despise” list. 1) Batman: Urban Legends (Cheer), 2) Battle for the Cowl/Morrison’s Batman and Robin, 3) Batman The Adventure Continues.

I hope the next issues somehow salvage this dumpster fire. But I’m not expecting it.

(Damnit. That sounded harsh again. To reiterate, I’m not trying to judge anyone who enjoys it, I just personally hate it and you asked me why lol 😅)

[mysewingadventures]

Fixing my Robe à la Polonaise to make it more ✨historically accurate ✨

With every project I do, I learn more and more about techniques, sewing, and dress history as a whole. So there’s no surprise if I look at an older dress I made and find all kinds of mistakes that need fixing, and I know even in a few months I’ll look at my current projects with the same criticism. Just know that the obvious mistakes are something I’ve been very much aware of since I made it, I just added a fichu because I didn’t know how to fix it.

Here’s the dress. You can immediately tell that something went terribly wrong with the neckline, but there are also some issues with the undergarments that I’m going to deal with.

I made the mistake to cut the neckline straight when it should have been slightly rounded, that’s why it slopes up in the middle. For that, I’m taking out the boning in the front (and later replacing it with actual synthetic whalebone) and folding that slope over to make it rounder. This will however create an even lower neckline which is also one of the many flaws of this dress, so that’s what I dealt with next. Another problem that I had was with one of my sleeves. The right sleeve (left in the picture) wouldn’t lie flat on my shoulders. I have no idea how that happened as I cut both sides the exact same but it’s something I needed to fix so I folded this part over on the inside and stitched it in place.

I did this on both sides so I could raise the neckline as well.

Then I noticed that the front of the bodice wasn’t laying flat, and I noticed that it’s probably too long. I folded the bottom seam over until I felt like it looked flatter and stitched that in place as well. It does look a bit awkward and is not the historically accurate way to fix it, but you can’t really tell from a distance so for the sake of facing my mistakes to practice it was good enough.

The gown still has many more issues that I’d need to make a new one to really make it work so I only tackled the most obvious parts.

There was this big fold in the back that I planned on fixing by resewing the side seam but for some reason after fixing the front it wasn’t so bad after all so I left it as it was.

Now to the petticoats. They’re fine overall, but I didn’t use bands for the ties, I made a tube out of the same fabric, which made it super bulky when tied. And since you have like, two or three of those underneath the actual gown it could make it look a little bulky in the waist area, which I wanted to avoid so I bought some cotton bands about a centimeter wide and replaced all the ties.

This is the fixed dress for now. The back is very boxy so I might resew the side seams after all but this is it for now.

Like I said, to fully fix it I’d just have to make a new one and I will eventually but probably in the distant future as I have many more projects that I want to do. But all in all I can say that I’m really glad I fixed this dress as best as I could because like I said, every project is a big learning experience and fixing something even more so. This way I can make sure I won’t make the same mistakes again!

[hongism]

a little jealousy - c. san 18+

day 14 of kinktober: jealous sex - choi san warnings: explicit smut, unprotected sex, fingering, jealous sex, sir kink, dirty talk, creampie, fwb au, a lil bit of ~possessive san~ aka that fic where 'yeah we aren't anything but i'm still jealous' wc: 1.8k genre: pwp, smut, 18+

​​​

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset!” You exclaim as you bring your arms up to your chest. It’s a defensive mechanism, yes, and San can clearly see that because he knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. Which isn’t fair, first of all, but it’s also infuriating because the look he gives you through the reflection of the bathroom mirror is a knowing one. You wish you could smack it off his face but you don’t have the willpower to do that.

San doesn’t respond, although it’s not like he could even if he wanted to thanks to the toothbrush hanging between his lips. He simply stares back at you, one hand resting on the edge of the sink with the other moving the toothbrush over his teeth. His expression is eerily calm, as though he wasn’t just snapping at you minutes ago.

To put it in perspective, you and San share a unique relationship. That is, you are friends with benefits, emphasis on the benefits part. You are nothing exclusive and mutually decided that it was best just to call it what it is without having any strings attached in the process, which is why you fail to understand the issue in what he’s upset about.

You just got back from a small dinner date. Nothing important or dramatic – it was a shitty date, to say the least – and yet, San was furious when you stepped through the door. One because you had to ignore his first call thanks to the date, and two because of the date itself.

“We aren’t going on another date anyway. And I’m still coming home to you, so what’s the big deal in all this?” You continue your tirade, eager to get all your frustration off your chest before San can respond. He arches a brow at you through the mirror then leans over the sink to spit the toothpaste out. You’re still seething, and knowing San’s temper, he is as well. He’s merely doing a better job at concealing it than you are.

“Because–” San starts, pausing to rinse his mouth out with water “–you didn’t tell me about said date.” He stands up straight again, and now his eyes are practically blazing as he looks at you through the reflection. “That’s the issue.”

“Why do I have to tell you about it? We aren’t dating, San. All we do is fuck around for stress relief, no?” The words are bitter on your tongue, and if you dared to be honest with yourself, you would admit that it isn’t truly what you want. The choice between dating someone else or San would be easy. You don’t want anyone else other than him, but you aren’t even sure that the feeling is mutual.

“We agreed to at least tell each other about any possible dates though,” San argues. “Did we not?”

You realize too little too late that he is, in fact, correct about that matter. But you can’t lie and say that it slipped your mind entirely because you did think about it when he tried calling you during the date. It sparked something ugly in you too: the desire to push your limits as much as possible and see how much bending San could take before he breaks. In short, you wanted to make him jealous, if only to see whether he would show the emotion.

“I asked you a question, princess,” San hums. You glance up at him with wide eyes, finding him standing directly in front of you now. He brings an index finger to your chin and slowly pushes you until you look him in the eye. “Did we not make said agreement?”

“W-We did but–”

“But? But what, baby girl? Did you not ignore my phone call on purpose?”

“I didn’t!”

“You said you were in the bathroom. Why could you not answer then? You weren’t with your date in the bathroom, were you?”

San is seeing through the guise of your plan with far too much ease.

“I… wasn’t, no.”

“So why didn’t you answer the phone?” San edges closer to your face, hot breath wafting over your cheeks, and you subconsciously move further into the touch. “Because you wanted to make me jealous?”

Bingo.

You inhale sharply and try to keep your expression as level and normal as possible so that he doesn’t see through you. It’s too late at this point, but you’re still clinging to the hope that he doesn’t read you that well. San hums and tilts his head from side to side a few times. Then, his touch leaves your face and he steps around you. You think he’s about to leave you there until you see him standing just past your shoulder in the reflection of the mirror. He nudges you forward with one finger, and despite his touch being as light as a feather, you hurry to move the way he wants you to. He doesn’t relent until your abdomen hits the edge of the bathroom counter. Then the finger on your back becomes the palm of his hand, and San bends you over the chilled granite.

“Did you want me to think of someone else bending you over like this?” San slips his hands down to your hips. “Touching you and undressing you with their eyes?”

You bite back a whine, teeth sinking deep into your lower lip to hold the sound back. San lets his touch travel lower and lower, snagging the band of your skirt and tugging it over your ass with little resistance. You shiver as more skin is exposed to the cool air. San hums his approval at your reaction. His movements don’t stop until the skirt is down to your ankles, and you don’t wait for him to tell you to step out of it.

“I bet you wanted to make me think that your date was undressing you like this, making you needy and wanton after only a handful of touches.” San brings two fingers over your folds, letting them dig your underwear further against your skin. There’s already a bit of wetness there, something you’re almost ashamed of because it betrays your plan and feelings without you wanting it to. “Hm, looks like I was right.”

“S-San, please,” you whine without shame this time.

“So you did want me to get jealous then, baby girl? And once I did get jealous, you couldn’t resist the taste. Just wanted more and more of it, so you drove the knife further in?”

“San,” you gasp, hips jerking as his fingers slip past your underwear. He leaves a dragging touch on your wet folds and wastes no time in pushing his index finger into your tight hole. He shifts it in you, letting you buck back onto his hand. It’s a desperate attempt to get off, and it is practically impossible to get any pleasure from the action. “Please, please put another finger in!”

“Is that really what you deserve though, princess?” San chides after clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re lucky that I’m in a giving mood today. All I want is to show you who you belong to.” He catches the band of your underwear and tugs it down to join your skirt on the floor. Then he returns to your fluttering hole and buries two fingers deep inside you. The stretch has you moaning for more, but San doesn’t give you anything more than that yet. He focuses on stretching you open with those two fingers, scissoring them over and over. He effectively avoids your g-spot with each pump of his fingers though. You know why he’s doing it – it’s payback for making him jealous – but that doesn’t keep you from wanting more.

“P-Please fuck me. San, I need you. I need you so badly, please.”

“Well, princess, you’ve got me jealous now. Are you satisfied?”

“San, I need – fuck, I need more,” you beg when he withdraws his finger from your folds.

“Of course you do. You’re such a needy little slut for me, are you not?” San drops a hand to your ass. The sound of skin slapping skin resounds, and you whine at the sensation.

“I-I am, yes.”

“Yes what?” San coos as he leans over your body. You hear the clink of his belt buckle then the sound of his pants falling to the ground.

“Yes, sir!”

“There’s a good baby girl,” San praises. You glance up at him, eyeing the reflection through the mirror. He smirks down at you with a brow arched cockily as he moves closer to your exposed backside. His cock presses between your drenched folds, and he’s quick to find your hole. He eases into you slowly, letting you get used to the larger stretch, but it’s not uncomfortable in the slightest for you. A moan slips past your lips when he bottoms out, the head of his cock penetrating deep inside you.

“You feel so good, sir,” you whine. San huffs a laugh through his nose then reaches down to keep your cheek pressed hard to the granite counter.

“Did you want me to imagine someone else doing this to you? How far did your little game go?” San’s hips rock against your ass, and you can only manage a desperate moan at the sensation of his cock rolling in and out of you. The angle has you seeing stars in mere seconds; something you love about sex with San is the way he knows how to push all your buttons with such little effort. “I don’t think I could hold back if someone else fucked you like this.”

“God, y-yes, I want – shit!” Your thought is cut short quite quickly when San pistons his cock into your tight heat at a faster pace.

“So good for me, princess,” San coos. “Bet you could cum just like this.”

“I’m – I’m gonna, oh god, I’m gonna cum,” you stammer through gasps. San’s pace is brutal but delicious, hitting your sweet spot over and over without relent. Your mind devolves into a jumbled mess of pleasure. Within seconds, the stars in your eyes turn to a hazy fog, and you orgasm with a start, back arching and walls squeezing tight around San’s member. He fucks you through the orgasm. It doesn’t give you even a second to breathe, and the overstimulation of his tip rubbing over your walls causes your moans to become broken whines.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good and tight for me. Gonna – ha, gonna cum in you.” San throws his head back, and a deep groan leaves his lips before he stills inside you. His dick twitches a handful of times, then warmth spreads through your core. He spills hot cum into your heat, filling you to the brim with his seed. It’s all intentional and purposeful on his part, an effort to push that possessive nature a bit further and show you who you truly belong to. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I need to make you jealous more often,” you exhales once you catch your breath.

“I’m not sure you could handle that, baby girl.”

...

a/n: im sorry this is rushed asfoijogijiodfg also hi @ppersonna​ please don’t read this iTS SO BAD

link to kinktober masterlist

taglist: @noonawriter @daniblogs164 @felixity @okokokok123-45 @jeonartemis @crescent-hwa @wheresmymoniat @nlost21 @lonely10vely @atletino @monbecaratstayarmy @hello-its-ya-boi @onyxblade01 @kimnamshiks @poutychangbinnie @toothlessshiber @xxbluestrifexx @lokihoeforhyunjin @ice-cold-taeyong @essantial @blueish-sun @etaerealboy @notbeforelong @wideawakeficrecs @adestinyuwu @simpforhyunjin @naajix @lilyliline21 @leaz-kpop-life @hyunjinsicedamerican0 @marigold-bebee @changbinswifu @xcookiemonsteer @ddalgi-yong @seoha​ @jiminq​ @succulentpk​ @singjiries​

unable to be tagged: @sailing-goddess-of-ateez @gingerale-addict

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Northern Exposure | Sam

❄ PART 2 OF THE MINI-SERIES ❄

Part 1

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); face riding/oral, violence, creepiness on part of our boys, predatory behaviour, Bucky’s an asshole, they’re all too lonely and too desperate, mistaken identity.

This is dark! fic and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairings: Sam Wilson x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, A Bad Time x Reader

Series Synopsis: You’re a nature photographer stationed up north but the arctic isolation comes to an unexpected and unpleasant end.

Note: Special announcement later today and as usual, update are consistently inconsistent for my other series but I promise, I’m always working on something.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The three men, the heroes who were truly villains, kept you tied up as they tied a rope to an old rickety pallet and pulled you on it like a large sled. You shivered as the hills of snow left you dizzy and when you rolled off, you were thrown back on by Bucky who treated you like the spy he’d mistaken you for.

The second time you fell off, they didn’t notice right away. You managed to get your feet under you but before you could hop too far, the snow crunched and you were scooped up again. This time Bucky threatened to break your nose and Steve talked him down as Sam tried to coax you that all would be better if you didn’t try that again.

The sun rose and they continued on. The sky never paled more than a dim grey and the restless night gathered behind your forehead. A splitting headache fed by the biting cold. When the plains began to darken again and the moonlight rose to reflect off the snow, you stilled.

It took a moment to sight the bunker. The doorway was shoveled out and even if it were spring, the roof would look no more than a lump in the ground. You’d been up this way weeks ago, a snow fox and its kits had been skittering around. You groaned at the realisation of your mistake.

You were lifted by Sam and Steve grabbed your chin as you dragged towards the door. He looked you over and shared a look with Sam, “we need to warm her up,” your teeth chattered as if to reiterate his words, “we should’ve let her walk.”

“Just get inside,” Bucky scowled and stomped down the hidden stairs.

You nearly fell down as you hopped to the top step at Sam’s nudge. He caught you and descended at your side, your bodies flush in the tight space. The door opened and Bucky pushed the door in. Steve entered behind you and locked it as the lights flickered on and a generator began to whir.

As Sam guided you to a chair, Bucky elbowed past him and shoved you into the seat gruffly. He was jabbed by the other man and Steve snapped at both of them with his fingers. The blond opened a cupboard in the underground shelter and pulled out a vacuum sealed pouch.

“She should eat, it’ll warm her up,” he moved the kettle onto the gas burner, “and change her clothes. They’re wet from the snow.”

“I still don’t know why you had to bring her back--”

“Why’s it always shoot this and shoot that?” Sam scoffed, “I thought they got all that shit out of your head.”

“It’s our job,” Bucky snarled.

“Our job isn’t to kill civilians,” Steve shoved the pouch in the small microwave above the gas stove and turned.

“And when was it our job to babysit? Or whatever it is you two are planning,” Bucky crossed his arms.

Steve brushed past him and knelt to look you in the face, “Coffee or tea?”

“What?” you blinked and looked between him and the two other men, Sam watched you with a subtle grin as he unzipped his parka.

“We have some hot chocolate but it’s military issued and tastes awful,” he explained, “so?”

You frowned and met his gaze, “tea?” you answered weakly.

“Alright, and…” his hands went to the zip tie on your wrists, “if I untie you, you won’t try anything, okay?”

“Is that really a question?” you asked.

He pursed his lips and tilted his head, “fair enough but it’s your choice.”

You considered and poked your tongue against your teeth, “you can untie me.”

Steve grabbed the plastic tie and snapped it easily. He did the same to the one around your ankles and handed them to Bucky as he stood. He went back to the kitchenette as the microwave beeped. Sam came closer and rested his hand on the chair.

“You want me to get her changed, I got something she can borrow,” he said as he slipped his hand onto your shoulder. You flinched and he squeezed as Bucky tossed the ties and rolled his eyes.

“Get her clothes, I’m sure she can manage to get them on herself,” Steve felt the kettle but didn’t seem to feel the heat as you heard the water begin to roil.

Sam sighed but backed up. He disappeared into another room and Bucky hung his jacket with the others. He dropped down onto the bench by the door and unlaced his boots gruffly. He shook his head as he kicked them off.

“So, what’s your name, not Ursa?” Sam reappeared and plopped a pile of clothes in your lap.

You looked up at him and swallowed. He was so interested it made you want to vomit. His suggestion might have saved your life but it also promised you little more than imprisonment. You weren’t stupid and the way he hovered assured you of his intent. You gave him your name and stood cautiously.

“Where can I change?” you asked softly.

“Just in there,” Steve said when Sam didn’t answer and pointed to the same door.

You nodded and stepped around the other man. Bucky yawned loudly and kicked his feet out. You left them and closed the door. There were no windows and the only other door led to a closet.

You removed your hat, the gloves hastily shoved on above your restraints, your coat, and wet boots. Next you peeled off your jeans and the fleece leggings beneath. You kept looking up at the door as you pulled on the dry clothing; a loose tee, looser sweatpants, and large socks. The hoodie’s zip was broken and the sleeves were too long. Even so, it was warm.

You hesitated and only went to the door when a bang shook it, “your food’s ready,” Steve called through.

You opened the door and stepped out. He stayed close and you felt his heat as he held out a bowl of chunky stew and a steaming mug. You took it and he pointed you to the metal TV tray set up by the armchair. You sat and blew on the tea before you sipped. You didn’t know what else to do.

You ate quietly between Steve’s shy glances, Sam’s constant leer, and Bucky’s blatant indifference. You felt queasy but didn’t know what to do. You could run for the door and then what? Freeze to death on the tundra?

“You could… you could take me back still,” you said, “promise I won’t say anything.”

“We should just get rid of her,” Bucky huffed and finally looked at you, “this place is bad enough without--”

“Man, how about we get rid of you?” Sam puffed, “All you do is complain.”

“Look,” Steve pulled up a wooden chair from beside the matching table, “we can’t do that, it’s too risky.” He sat and gripped his knees, “It’s against protocol to just ignore security risks. It isn’t about you wanting or not wanting to say anything, it’s about what someone could make you say if they found you, just like Bucky here did.”

“They wouldn’t know--”

“The photos--”

“Burn them,” you said, “please, I didn’t do anything.”

“You sure this isn’t her, Wilson? You are a bit slow?” Bucky spat.

“Shut up, jackass,” Sam retorted, “hey, honey,” he came closer, “we don’t wanna hurt you.”

“And what you do want?” you stirred the bowl, “I don’t want that either.”

He arched a brow and smirked at Steve. Steve fidgeted and Bucky groaned.

“We’ll be nice,” Sam said.

“Cap,” you ignored him and watched Steve, “you’re a good guy, don’t do this. Up here, it’s hard, the isolation, I know, but you don’t want this. Maybe you should head back south and get your head on straight.”

Steve’s jaw squared as he considered you. He inhaled and his tongue peeked out between his lips. He looked at Sam and sighed. He shook his head.

“You can’t manipulate me,” he stood and moved the chair back, “Sam’s right, it won’t hurt. In fact, looks like you’ve been here long enough that we’re doing you a favour.”

“No--”

“Should we flip for it?” Sam asked, “who gets the first night since idiot’s a no go.”

Bucky sneered and stood. The other two watched him as he stormed past them and slammed the door behind him as he fled to the other room. Your last hope was gone. You thought even if he was mean, that Bucky might stop them and hopefully not just to tie loose ends up with a bullet.

“Heads,” Steve said as he kept his hand on the back of the wooden chair, his shoulders tense as he hung his head.

Sam fished around in his pockets then searched in his parka and finally found a coin in one of the drawers. He held it up and went to stand on the other side of the table. He flipped it and let fall between him and Steve on the wood. The latter sniffed and nodded dully.

“Let her finish eating first,” Steve said, “I’ll deal with Buck, he’s just… standoffish. You know how he can be. He’ll come around.”

“Even if he doesn’t, more for us,” Sam winked and Steve shoved himself away from the table.

You caught his eye as he headed for the bedroom door and when it closed behind him, your heart sank. You scooped up a mouthful of stew and slurped it up. The only man left strode around the room and sat on the low couch. He spread his legs wide and stretched his arms over the back, his gaze intent on you.

You ate slowly even though each bite made your stomach growl and built your appetite. You drank the tea carefully and relished the last dregs. He could hear how empty the glass was and when he stood, you sat back and drew your feet up onto the seat to hug your legs. He cleared the table and folded it.

He stalked around the room like an animal around its prey. You touched your cheeks and sunk down.

“Are you really going to do this?” you asked at last.

“I only want to treat you nice,” he said as he came closer, he reached out and tickled the back of your hand, “it was Bucky who hurt you, not me.”

“You could’ve left me--”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“But you don’t have to do this,” you argued.

“Why is it so bad? Aren’t you lonely? You have to be,” he slipped his fingers under your hand and drew your arm away from your legs, “all the way up here, alone.”

“That’s not--” you trembled and he tugged until you were out of the chair, “I don’t know you.”

“But you’ve heard of me? And Steve. Even Bucky,” he purred and put your hand on his chest. He wrapped his arm around you and swayed as if he was dancing with you. He took your other hand and twined his fingers through yours, “Come on, baby, I just want to make you feel good.”

You batted away the glossy tears with your lashes as you were trapped in his embrace, “why?”

He chuckled and kissed your forehead as he turned you, “because I gave Bucky your coordinates,” he backed you up slowly, “because I knew you weren’t her but knew I wanted you.”

“No…” you breathed as your legs met the low seat of the couch, “you were following me?”

“I just… stumbled upon you and…” his voice trailed off as he focused on your lips and his eyes turned smoky, “baby, you know you need it too.”

“No,” you gasped and pushed against him.

He crushed his lips into yours and leaned on you until you were forced back onto the couch. He angled you across it, his arm beneath you as he moved his hips slowly. You felt his excitement through his jeans as his breath stuttered in your mouth.

You turned your head away as his other hand skirted along the hem of the loose tee. He slid his fingers under the open hoodie and the cotton shirt. A shiver went up your spine as his hand crawled up your stomach.

“Please,” you whispered as you stared at the carpet.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, “am I hurting you?”

Your eyes were wet but you fluttered away the tears, “no,” you mumbled, “but…”

Your voice dissolved as he cupped your chest and ground his crotch against you harder. He grabbed your chin and turned your head back, his hot breath slipped through your lips before his tongue and he hummed. He kissed you hungrily and pulled his hand back to grab your shirt. He shoved it up your torso and his fingertips danced over your skin.

He parted from your lips and sat up. He tugged at the hoodie and lifted you. He pushed his legs around you and pushed the sleeves down your arms. He untangled you from the sweater and yanked on the tee until you raised your arms. He pulled that off too and flung it.

He drew you further into his lap and laid back on the couch. His fingers hooked under the elastic of the sweats and he pulled until you were forced to raise your pelvis. You shook as you got to your knees and looked down at him.

“You can stop…”

“I don’t want to,” he said and tugged, “up.’

You stood and your pants were ripped to your ankles as he kept hold of them. You lifted one foot then the other as he pulled off your socks and the sweats. They fell to the floor with the rest and he grasped your calves.

“Sit,” he patted the top of his chest with one hand.

You stared down at him and gulped. He slipped down on the couch and his eyes lingered between your legs. He squeezed the back of your leg.

“Sit,” he repeated darkly.

You bent and gripped the arm of the couch. You put a knee beside his head and then the other. He grabbed your hips and guided you down until you felt his breath on your cunt. You held yourself up and he pulled you down entirely.

“I bet you taste so good,” his voice was muffled as his breath tickled you, “I bet…”

His tongue made you wince and squeak. His fingertips poked at your hips as he gripped them tighter and he lapped at you from below. You tried to lift yourself but his hold on you was unbreakable. He purred and began to rock your pelvis over him. You felt your core react to him and you quivered as you let out a shattered moan.

He flicked his tongue more eagerly and your chest swelled as a lump rose in your throat. You held your breath as you tried to hide how he affected you. Your thighs tensed around his head and soon it was you moving your hips, not him.

Your mind was a haze as your voice flew out of you and you clung to the arm of the couch. You rode his face without thinking as the stunning sensation drove you on. He delighted in the taste of you and his hand ran up and he scratched down your back.

Your shallow pants turned to frantic mewls and you gritted your teeth as you came violently. You didn’t want it but you couldn’t fight. The months alone, the endless cold, the pure desolation, it all spilled over and burned deep inside of you. He didn’t stop until you were weak and your legs trembled and stilled.

He tilted his head back and licked his lips, “that’s it, baby, wasn’t that nice?”

You looked down at him as he watched from between your legs. You pushed off of him and his hands fell from your back. You climbed off of him and huddled on the far end of the couch as he sat up. He wiped his mouth and stood. You were humiliated at how easily he had you.

You hung your head and when you heard him come close again, he was naked. Your mouth fell open as his dick bobbed before him and you looked away shyly. He grabbed your elbow and pulled until you let him move you again. He led you down onto your stomach across the couch and dragged his fingers over your shoulders, down your back, and along the curve of your ass.

“All those layers, I knew there was something sweet hiding beneath,” he pushed apart your legs and felt your cunt.

He put his knee between yours then brought his other down as he climbed up behind you. He slid back and bent over you as he pushed his dick down between your legs. You tried to close them then tried to wriggle away. His hands settled on your hips and he leaned his weight on you entirely.

“Come on,” he lifted your ass slightly and rescinded a hand, he angled his tip along your cunt, “that’s it.”

He pushed into you, just an inch and you clawed the arm of the couch. You groaned as he sank deeper and pulled you back onto him. He spread his thighs over yours and placed his hands on the cushion around you. He eased out of you and slammed back in, the sound deafening in the underground room.

“Shit,” he moaned, “that’s good.”

You buried your face on the couch and crossed your arms over your head. He thrust again and you whined. He did it a third time and each tilt of his hips was followed by a pause as he basked in the feel of you. 

His flesh clapped against yours and the sound made you both sick and excited. Your mind felt trapped in your body as he used you, fucking you faster as he felt your natural response. The wet noises fed his lust and soon the whole couch shook.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he snarled as he pushed down between your shoulder blades with one hand and the other lifted your hip as he lifted himself on his knees, “take it.”

His hand snaked up under your neck and he gripped your chin and forced your head up. Your back curved as he pounded you mercilessly. Your eyes rolled back and your tongue threatened to loll out. You moaned and his motion turned fractured and frantic. He jerked into you harshly and jolted your body with each crash of his hips.

“Ah, baby, I’m cumming,” he rasped and quaked as he burst inside of you.

He slowed down and stopped entirely. He straddled you still and when his breath steadied, he wiggled his hips until you squirmed. He chuckled and rubbed your back. He gasped as he pulled out of you and the cum spilled down the crease of your leg. He groped your ass and kneaded it with a growl.

“Get up,” he ordered as he stroked his softening dick, “put your hands on the couch.”

You got up, barely, numb and shaking, and turned to bend and press your palms to the cushion. He caught your hips before your legs could collapse under you.

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you, baby,” he cooed, “don’t you feel so good?”

[writefightandflightclub]

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.  

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys.  You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.  

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own. 

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way. 

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.  

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.  

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked. 

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”  

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.” 

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.” 

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?” 

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.” 

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE