#I feel like I’m forgetting something though

[lov3yv4mps]

SLEEPY SEX WITH CHAN AFTER YOU BOTH HAD A LONG DAY OF WORK PLEASE ILL GET ON MY KNEES ANS YOU WRITE SK GOOD OMG ILYSMMM

₊˚⑅⋆ overtime ⋆⑅˚₊

Genre: smut, MDNI !!

Warnings: cuddling, kissing, cursing, some dry humping, oral (f rec), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it), lemme know if I missed any!

v4mps note: sorry if this sucks smut is NOT my strong suit but I LOVE YOU TO WHAT!?!?

Chan finally stepped through the door, his body weary from the long hours at the studio. The moment he entered the apartment, he was met with the comforting, familiar smell of your scent, and his muscles relaxed just a little. The door clicked softly as he kicked off his shoes, and his eyes found you—half asleep, nestled beneath the soft covers, just waiting for him.

He smiled to himself, the exhaustion from the day slipping away as he walked over to the bed. Your soft, sleepy voice greeted him with a simple, "Hey, baby."

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and you stirred slightly, opening your eyes to see him standing over you. His tired expression melted into a loving smile as he whispered, "Hey, sunshine."

Without another word, he crawled into bed next to you, his body instinctively pulling you close as he buried his face in your neck. The warmth of his embrace settled your nerves, grounding you after the long, exhausting day.

You sighed into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him as his hands gently traced over your back. You could feel his exhaustion, but there was something more—something deeply affectionate in the way his touch lingered. "Long day?" you murmured softly, your fingers running over the ridges of his muscles.

"Yeah, you have no idea," he chuckled quietly, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. But even though his body ached, he couldn’t help the way his eyes roamed over you, the pull of desire slowly creeping into his chest. "But I’m glad I’m home now."

You turned in his arms, your lips brushing against his as he kissed you softly, the taste of him making your heart flutter. It was a slow burn at first—tender, like you both just needed this connection. But as his lips moved lower, down your jawline to your neck, you felt the heat rising between you. His body shifted, pressing against yours just enough to make you feel him.

A breathless gasp left your lips as he gently ground his hips against yours, the subtle friction making your stomach flutter. Chan was slow, his movements deliberate, but there was something in the way he pressed against you—something that made your body respond immediately. You could feel his hard length against your thigh, and it made you ache with need.

His fingers traced down your sides, tugging at your clothes slowly, taking his time to savor every moment. His lips never left your skin, each kiss and touch a mark of love, but also desire.

When he finally moved to kiss your lips again, you moaned softly into the kiss, pulling him closer as your legs instinctively parted for him. His hips moved against yours once more, slow and purposeful, the friction making you shiver beneath him. He was already making you ache, the pressure building in all the right ways.

"You feel so good," he whispered between kisses, his breath hot against your skin. "So perfect, baby."

And then, his hand slid beneath your waistband, his fingers grazing over the fabric of your panties as he gently pulled them down, exposing you to him. He moved slowly, as if savoring every moment of this. His fingers traced over your soft folds, teasing the sensitive skin, making your breath hitch.

With a soft growl, he moved lower, his lips following the path his fingers had taken, and you could feel your heart race as his breath tickled your inner thighs. You gasped softly as his mouth pressed against your heat, his tongue circling your clit with a slow, deliberate motion. You couldn’t help the moan that slipped from your lips as he continued, the sensation of his mouth on you enough to make you forget everything but him.

He worked you with perfect precision, each flick of his tongue sending waves of pleasure through you. You arched your back, your hands grabbing at the sheets as he licked and sucked at you, the pressure building with each passing second.

But just as you felt yourself getting close, Chan pulled away, his eyes dark with desire as he hovered above you. "You taste so sweet," he murmured, his voice thick and full of hunger.

His hips shifted, and you felt the hot press of his length against you once more. He moved slowly, his hands on your hips guiding you as he began to rub against you, the dry humping adding just the right amount of friction. You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders, feeling his muscles tense beneath your touch.

"Channie, please," you begged softly, your voice filled with need. The desperate tone in your voice made him growl low in his chest, his hands gripping you tighter as he shifted, pressing into you just a little more with each roll of his hips.

"So needy, baby," he muttered, his voice rough as he finally slid inside you. The slow stretch, the perfect way he filled you, made you gasp and sigh as your body melted beneath him. His pace was tender at first, as he gently pulled out and thrust back in, giving you both time to savor the connection.

With each movement, each soft groan of pleasure, you could feel yourself getting lost in him. Your hands moved to his back, nails dragging lightly over his skin as his hips met yours in a steady rhythm, slow and gentle but building with intensity.

His breath was ragged against your ear as he whispered, "I love you, so much."

His pace quickened then, but still, there was no urgency. It was the kind of lovemaking that made you feel cherished, adored, loved. His hand moved between your bodies, his fingers brushing over your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

You moaned his name, your body trembling beneath him, the pressure building as his thrusts became more insistent. And when you finally tumbled over the edge, your body spasming in release, Chan followed right after you, his body trembling as he buried his face in your neck, holding you close as you both rode out your high together.

Slowly, gently, he pulled out, and you both collapsed back into the bed, tangled in each other’s arms, still connected. The warmth of his body wrapped around you as he whispered soft words of praise and love, his hands tracing soothing patterns over your skin.

"I’ve got you, sunshine," he murmured. "I love you. Always."

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart full as you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, the world outside forgotten as you both drifted into a peaceful, sleepy embrace.

[reminiscingtonight]

Guilty

Lia Wälti x Russo!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Tis the season for sequels. Featuring a lot of Kyra and Alessia and not so much of Lia

[The Thing About Families Masterlist]

You should have known better than to trust her. 

There’s a reason Steph’s always more than happy to drop Kyra off on your doorstep whenever camp’s over.

There’s a reason Mini looks like she’s gained five years every time the younger girl has been granted privileges to “babysit” her two kids. 

You have a million reasons to not trust her yet you did. 

Why did you trust Kyra with the ring?

Your knuckles are nearly white as you drag the young girl into a nearby unoccupied conference room. Kyra’s looking apologetically guilty, but a delirious haze is starting to take over you. It’s a mixture of horror and disbelief, but at the bottom of it all, you feel beyond stupid.

“What do you mean you lost it?!”

Kyra looks like she’s moments away from crying, but you can’t find it in yourself to be compassionate. You can console her later. Right now you need to get to the bottom of this and try to salvage your relationship with your girlfriend first. 

“I swear it was stashed at the bottom of my drawer but it just wasn’t there when I looked this morning.”

“Well where did you put it?”

“I never moved it! Someone must have taken it.”

You pinch your eyes shut, praying to whatever soccer gods that are above that this was just a cruel joke. This wasn’t really happening and you weren’t about to postpone all the plans you’ve spent months working on. “Kyra, I am begging you not to do this. What am I supposed to do? The dinner’s been booked! The restaurant knows I’m proposing!”

“We can get you a new one! I’ll front it, I swear.”

Forget Kyra crying, you’re going to cry. 

“Unless you’re willing to shell out five grand in the next few hours, I don’t think ‘buying me a new’ one will work.”

The young Australian’s eyes bulge out at the sound of how much you spent on Lia’s ring. 

It’s not a well kept secret that you were going to propose. You and Lia have been together for years now, married in every way except for the official one. Wedding plans have already been discussed, from venues to food to the invitation list. The last thing you actually had to do was the actual proposing and getting married parts.

Though with the ways things are going, you’re not sure you’re going to get married anytime soon. 

There’s a knock on the door but you ignore it, pacing back and forth as your mind races. There’s not really much you can do at this point. The place you got Lia’s ring custom made at is already closed at this time of day, and your girlfriend deserves something better than a last minute generic engagement ring. 

A flash of blonde enters your peripheral just as you make your decision.

“Okay. I think I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh I’ve been looking for you guys--”

“Now’s not a good time, Less,” you wave your sister off, not even bothering to pay her any attention. “Okay Kyra, listen closely because I won’t repeat myself.”

The younger girl nods, determination painted all over her features. 

“I’ll cancel the reservations. That’ll buy me a couple days.”

“Guys--”

“Less. Not a good time,” You repeat, shuffling to turn your back to her to ensure Alessia can’t interrupt again. “The jeweler still has the plans I sent him. I can probably get Gio and Luca to lend me some money, but you have to find where you stashed that ring, Kyra. It wasn’t cheap.”

“About the ring--”

“Not now Alessia!” This time your and Kyra’s voices blend together, neither of you willing to give Alessia a minute of your days. 

She lets out an offended huff and you have half a mind to just strangle her right here and now, your mother’s feelings be damned. 

Gritting your teeth you turn around, not really happy to have to find out what your sister wants. She has free reign to bother you at any minute of any day but why was she so insistent on doing so right now? “What could possibly be so important, you impatient piece of--”

You cut off suddenly, eyes doubling in size when you look down at her hands. 

There’s a velvet box clutched between her perfectly manicured nails, the tiny thing sitting there like it’s mocking you for losing your temper earlier. 

“That’s my--”

“The ring! But-- but--”

“Where’d you find it?”

“Oh god, Lessi I could kiss you, you just saved my ass--” Kyra breaks off, something clicking in her brain. “Wait, where did you find it?”

There’s a slight pause as you wait for Alessia’s answer. 

“Err… so funny story.” She blows out a breath of air, trying her best to look nonchalant. “I might have been-- actually Kyra hid…” Alessia fidgets, not liking the crease that was growing deeper and deeper between your brows. “IwantedtoprankKyraaftersheprankedmesoItooktheringthelasttimeIvisited.”

She slams her mouth shut the second the words are uttered, but no one says a word. 

An uncomfortable tension settles into the room and Alessia does her best not to wilt to the ground. 

You stare at her.

Kyra stares at her.

Alessia stares at a spot past your faces, nervously shuffling under the weight of your gazes.

There’s no mistaking icy stare or the clenched jaw that proved you caught every word of her fastball confession. 

“You… What?” There’s an edge to your voice, a tone Alessia rarely was at the end of growing up, but one that she recognizes all the same. The order there is clear, but Alessia’s not so sure she wants to repeat herself out of self preservation.

She shrinks, suddenly wishing she wasn’t so tall. “Um. Well. So Kyra hid my earrings the other day, and I, uh, I thought hiding this would be a funny way to prank her back?” Alessia cringes, not liking the way this all sounds now that she’s saying it out loud. “But judging by the looks on your faces, I’m going to say otherwise.”

Your nose flares but that’s the only response she’s given. 

Kyra looks grumpy, probably the result of taking your misplaced anger from earlier. 

You hold out your hand.

No words are exchanged but Alessia is quick to drop the box into your hand. 

Just as quick as she darts forward to do so, she jumps back, shoving her now empty hands into her pockets. 

“See, no hurt no foul, right?”

Crickets. 

That’s all Alessia hears as she nervously chuckles. 

Neither you nor Kyra have moved, faces giving nothing away. 

At least not until you call the Australian’s name calmly, eyes never leaving your sister’s.

Alessia watches as the two of you slowly peel away from each other. Her eyes keep darting between the two of you, feeling more and more like prey that’s being stalked as the seconds tick by. “Guys, c’mon–”

“Remember how I told you to play nice with my only sister?”

Kyra’s frowning. It’s probably supposed to come off frightening but she looks too much like a kicked dog for it to really do too much.

But the look on your face… yeah, that was intimidating enough for the two of you.

“Forget everything I’ve ever said. I don’t have a sister.”

Alessia gulps.

“Get her.”

She bolts.

[theseinfernalangels]

Fragile — Sawyer Henrick

Synopsis: Mender!Reader comes back from RSC worse off than the rest of your squad. Sawyer is heartbroken and takes care of you.

A/N: I pumped this one out surprisingly fast! I may post my OC reference sheet after this for more context, since there are references to characters you haven’t met yet, such as Reader’s dragon, Cridhe, and Eden (Liam’s girl!). We’ll see how it turns out! I might even do a part two for this hehe.

Warning for mentions of blood, injuries, insecurities, and anxiety. Oh, yeah; don’t forget the dragon telepathy.

Sawyer knew something was up when you didn’t meet him outside the Gathering Hall. 

It wasn’t like you to be late for…Well, anything, much less seeing him. He certainly wasn’t an anxious person, but it made his fingers twitch with nervousness when he didn’t spot your cautious frame lingering close to the sides of the hall. He waited anyway. He’d always wait for you.

At the ten-minute mark, his thoughts began to race. He could understand if you stayed behind for a word with one of your professors – you were a genius, anyway. Perhaps you could have gone off-track to help another cadet in need of extra notes. That was just in your nature (even though Sawyer and Ridoc had tried to convince you to charge a couple coins for it – you’d be swimming in gold by now). Maybe you were in the infirmary with your friend…Eden, was it? Emily? He could barely remember.

But no. Another fifteen minutes slowly ticked by, and his reasonable side began to veer off a little. Maybe you’d been injured somehow. Maybe the other cadets had finally taken advantage of your anxious, gentle nature and were in the middle of ganging up on you. Maybe they’d finally gotten you – the Marked cadets who weren’t too fond of you for what your parents, Navarrian military legends, had done to them.

He heard Sliseag’s chiding voice resound in the back of his mind. Easy there, Ashling, he soothed. Do not worry too much. She is exactly where she is meant to be.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I would beg to differ, he replied, trying to calm his racing heart. If she was in the right place, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.

The dragon snorted. Really, now? he mused. Look up.

Sawyer had just turned, his palms sweaty, when he saw a figure moving sluggishly in his peripherals. He squinted, then froze, the sight making his blood run cold.

You finally showed up…But you looked awful.

Damaged was the best word to describe it. Your hair was messy, your bangs falling in your face in a way it only looked after an intense flight. One of your eyes was swollen shut, and the rest of your face was battered. Your bottom lip was split and bleeding, the blood oozing out sluggishly and staining your chin crimson. That was only your face; the rest of your body was probably just as bruised and injured.

Go, he heard Sliseag urge. Go to her now. She needs you, Ashling.

He broke out of his trance; he couldn’t run fast enough to get to you, his legs moving on what felt like autopilot. Gods. What did they do to you?

You held up a hand when he neared you. “I’m fine,” you whispered hoarsely. “I…It looks worse than it feels.”

Sliseag made a noise of disapproval in his mind. I doubt that.

Sawyer, in that moment, felt almost scared to touch you, as if putting his fingers anywhere would shatter you like glass.

Finally, he found his voice. “What the hell happened to you?” he murmured, wincing at how sick he sounded. His eyes traced your face; you still looked gorgeous as ever, but just looking at your good eye made his heart wrench.

“We,” you began, faltering as you fell forward a bit. Sawyer caught you with ease, splaying a hand on your back as you leaned into him. “We had RSC. I…I didn’t expect for it to be so…awful.”

You looked down, and Sawyer made a soft sound of protest as he lifted your chin back up to face his. Skies above, he thought. He’d seen you injured before, obviously – there was no avoiding that at Basgiath. But this…

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, ghosting a kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry. You…You haven’t been to the infirmary yet?”

You shook your head. “No. I saw a clock and remembered we agreed to meet up. Wanted to see you first.”

Oh, he thought. Damn you, you sweet, sweet girl. Damn you and your loveliness. 

He sighed quietly, glancing at the sky. It was getting close to dusk, which meant that the infirmary was probably winding down for the day. His gaze flitted back down to your trembling form, his heart aching.

“Do you want to go?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound pushy. “I’m sure your friend is still there; she’d be willing–”

His voice trailed off when you vehemently shook your head. “No,” you said softly. “Not now. Can we…Can we just go to yours?”

At that moment, with you looking up at him hopefully, your good eye wide but exhausted, Sawyer would have given you just about anything. 

He nodded, perhaps a little too hard. “Of course, darling. Just hold on to me. I don’t trust your legs right now.”

The pained smile you gave him twists his heart. “I don’t, either.”

It took a little while, but the two of you finally made it to his dorm in relative silence, save for the pained gasps and whimpers that occasionally fell from your swollen lips. The whole time, Sawyer was clenching his teeth. It didn’t matter that RSC was something that happened to everyone – not even his injuries hadn’t looked this rough.

He sat you down gently on his bed. He didn’t want to leave you, not when you looked that beat up, but he pushed that aside to grab the little box of medical supplies you kept in his room for when he was beat up after sparring. If you weren’t huddled beside him looking more fragile than he’d ever seen you, he would have made a joke about it.

You’d already removed your jacket and shirt, leaving your torso bare save for the bindings you always wore. Sawyer relaxed for a moment before he took note of your ribs, black and blue bruising rippling up both sides. Save for that, though, and other bruising and – Gods forbid, handprints – you honestly didn’t look too terrible.

He brushed your bangs away from your face, tilting your chin up so he could assess the damage. “Have you tried mending yourself?”

You sighed, sounding almost disappointed in yourself. “No. I’ve never tried that, but it won’t work, anyway. I tried to mend Anya’s arm after it got dislocated, but it didn’t work. I’m either terrible with my signet, or the injury was too bad, or–”

He cut you off before you could delve deeper into self-doubt. “No,” he assured you, taking a wet rag and wiping the blood on your chin. “They tampered with your water. It’s supposed to dull your signet and cut you off from your dragon to feel more realistic.”

Your lips formed an O in realization. “So that’s why I couldn’t feel Cridhe,” you mumbled, hissing in pain once he actually touched your lip. “I got worried there for a while.”

He nodded, ducking his head lower to check the area around your neck. There was an angry red line around your throat; someone had tried to choke you, he assumed. Bastard.

“I know,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “When they took me, the serum didn’t wear off for about a day. I thought Sliseag randomly chose to hate me or something.”

The aforementioned scoffed softly. As if, Ashling, he muttered. I didn’t choose you just to leave you behind.

The words warmed Sawyer’s heart long enough that your silence didn’t bother him for the next few minutes while he looked you over.

He only paused when you spoke softly, your voice faint. “I…think I have a concussion,” you mumble. “The light hurts, and I’m dizzy.”

A tight-lipped smile fought its way onto Sawyer’s face. “Trust you to diagnose yourself barely an hour after it happens.”

You don’t respond, prompting Sawyer to lean back up and look into your eyes. Sure enough, your pupils were unfocused and exhausted. Smart girl.

He opened his mouth to make another little quip, only for it to die on his tongue once you leaned into his side.

“Tired?” he prompted you gently. A soft hum from you confirmed his suspicions, and he hesitated for a moment before relenting. He could carry you to Nolan or a healer in the morning, after you slept the night away.

He looked away for a moment, and you had somehow managed to snag a random shirt off his floor and slip it on. His eyes softened, and he reached over to help you out of your pants and under his covers. You looked so…unusually small in his bed, curled in on yourself like a flower without the sun to warm it. He didn’t even bother to change out of his uniform, opting to kick off his boots and leave himself in his undershirt as he settled next to you. You slowly unfurled from your tense position and rested your head on his chest. Pure bliss.

You both lay there in silence for what seemed like hours before Sawyer found his voice again, feeling weirdly sentimental. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you don’t want to talk about it.”

Your silence was an answer enough.

“Thought so,” he murmured. “That’s okay. We don’t have to. Just…I hope you know that I’ll never let that happen to you when the time comes. Whoever it was, they’d have to kill me first to get to you.”

More silence from you. Sawyer thought for a moment that you fell asleep, but his eyes popped back open once he heard your weary voice.

“Sawyer?”

“Yes, darling?”

A beat. Two beats.

“Thank you for this. I didn’t want to be anywhere besides here.”

…You don’t have to thank me, he thinks, a pained smile tugging at his mouth. I’d do anything and more for you, anyway.

[monolotus]

°˖✧◝ (𝙠𝙚𝙮𝙨 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮) ◜✧˖°

includes: wonwoo fighting, mentions of reader having a period, ramyeon

[05:54 a.m]

wonu👾: having breakfast with mingyu! long day ahead 😢

[07:32 a.m]

wonu👾: good morning sleepy head!

[08:06 a.m]

wonu👾: let me know when you wake up!

[11:00 a.m]

wonu👾: just catching up! about to enter the studio, talk to you in a bit💗

[15:53 p.m]

wonu👾: it’s almost four, there’s no way you are still sleeping

[missing call]

[missing call 2]

[15:57 p.m]

wonu👾: are you mad?

wonu👾: if you are mad, at least let me know you are okay.

[16:37 p.m]

wonu👾: i don’t remember you having anything in your calendar, are you at the library? a caffe?

[17:25 p.m]

wonu👾: about to enter practice!

wonu👾: if i’m done and you haven’t replied yet, i’ll be going to your apartment

[19:57 p.m]

wonu👾: babe?

[missing call]

[19:59 p.m]

wonu👾: got left off early, im coming

Wonwoo had been busy all day, their manager bickering whenever he would get a break to text you during work. He couldn’t help it though, it was so rare of you to not reply to his texts. Not only that, but he had to re-write his entire verse in the next title track, as the co-producers said “it didn’t fit the flow”. So, on top of all his work, he hadn’t gotten a single message from you since last night.

He hadn’t seen you active on social media either, this only making him worry more.

As he got closer to the door of your apartment, he could feel his heart almost escaping from his chest as he saw the door unlocked. Why was your door unlocked? Were you with somebody? Had somebody break in?

Filled with questions, he quickly got into your apartment, starting to call out your name.

Going to the kitchen, he grabbed one of the largest knifes he could find, while holding his phone in the other. Ready to call for help if needed. Slowly, he started going to each room- the bathroom, the laundry room, even the little balcony you had.

The door to your room was slightly open, and he could only think the worse. Cracking it open, he saw your figure hugging a foxdungee. With a confused expression on his face, he let the knife in one of the shelves, before reaching for you, only for you to jump once you realized he was there.

“Wonwoo! You could’ve killed me!” You yelled, clutching at your shirt, catching your breath.

“I mean, yeah, you know why? You let the door open! Anybody could’ve break in! How could you forget to lock the door? Is something so dumb! You couldn’t even do that?” He was being harsh on you, but his own heart was beating like crazy- you hadn’t answered any of his texts or calls in the whole day, and you were just in your bed the entire day? He was exhausted after taking criticism and what nots from his members and staff the whole day.

“Well, good thing the building has security! Don’t yell at me, it was a silly mistake!” You pouted, your head had been pounding the entire day, your lower stomach felt hard with each cramp, and you had just woken up, your body too tired and numb to allow you to do something besides sleeping in.

“You’re right, you’re an adult. You should know better than to disappear the whole day and leave your door open to whoever wants to break in, right?” With that being said, he got out of the room, closing the door maybe a little too hard for his own liking.

With a sigh, he took off his shoes (too worried to see you to take them off before entering your home) and took back the knife to grab three packs of the ramyeon you always kept on hand, he started boiling the water.

He took a glance at your apartment, the sofa having one too many blankets, a pack of oreo out of the fridge and the bottle of peanut butter took his attention, a combination you only ate on a specific situation… Checking the calendar on his phone, he let a new sigh. You were pretty regular with your period, also this being one of the few things that can make you feel under the weather so easily.

He started cleaning the little mess you had on your house, waiting until the ramyeon would be ready.

Once he had set the table, he went back to your room. Knocking softly, he entered the space once again.

“Baby, i’m so sorry.” He murmured, seeing you covering even more of your body with the tick cover, “I thought you were just being childish, I didn’t know what date was.”

“Whatever you say, Wonwoo” you whispered, feeling his weight beside you, and his hand caressing your back.

“I’m so sorry” he whispered, pulling the blanket off you just enough to start kissing the little exposed skin of your face. “I should’ve asked if you were okay before overreacting like that. I was just stressed from practice.”

“Then fight with Hoshi and Jihoon, not with your beautiful but cramped girlfriend.” As you let off the blanket, you decided that receiving kisses from your boyfriend was more important that being petty.

Taking the hint, Wonwoo laid with you, starting to bombard your face with kisses. Hugging you tightly, suddenly the days stress started to disappear and the shame of yelling at you started to replace it.

“I’m sorry, jagiya” he murmured against your neck, “But I was worried, you hadn’t replied to a single text of mine”

“Because I was sleeping, Wonu. When have I not talk to you, even when mad?” you replied, with a heavy sigh. “Let’s eat, I can smell the ramyeon from here”

Later at night, when you were wrapped to your boyfriend’s torso while trying to fall asleep, you could only hide the smile that came with your boyfriend becoming so needy for you to accept his apologies. Obviously, a lot of kisses was the perfect payment.

˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹-˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹-

more / ask & request are open!

[paucubarsisimp]

Pau with reader that also has a cute lil scar on her face <33

scars

pairing: pau cubarsi x reader

summary: in which pau finds your scar adorable

warnings: none!

you were curled up in pau’s arms, the soft hum of the music from the speakers filling the air around you. the evening was quiet, peaceful, and felt like it was made for moments like this—just the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s warmth.

pau’s hand traced small circles on your back, his fingers dancing lightly over the fabric of your shirt. he had a way of making you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. his chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath your ear, and you felt your breath sync with his, like the two of you were in perfect harmony.

as your eyes began to close, the quiet comfort of his touch lulling you deeper into the moment, his hand drifted upwards. his fingers gently grazed your cheek, as if memorizing every detail of your face. when they paused near your left cheek, just below your eye, you felt him linger there longer than usual.

you blinked and shifted your gaze up to him, wondering why he’d stopped. his eyes were soft, focused, as his thumb hovered just over the small scar that rested on your skin.

“what’s this?” pau asked in a whisper, his voice full of genuine curiosity, yet there was something in his tone that made you feel safe, as though he was studying something precious.

you immediately stiffened, a little embarrassed. the scar wasn’t big, but it had always been a reminder of something you weren’t exactly proud of. “oh… it’s just from when i was younger,” you explained, trying to brush it off. “i was a clumsy kid. tripped over my own feet and got scraped.”

pau’s gaze softened, and his thumb gently caressed the scar, moving with such care that it almost made you forget you had one. “it’s cute,” he murmured, almost too quietly, as though he didn’t want to disturb the fragile moment. “it makes you even more beautiful.”

you blinked, unsure if you had heard him right. “cute?” you asked, your voice unsure. you hadn’t exactly considered the scar “cute” before.

he smiled, the warmth of it spreading across his face as he continued to softly trace the mark. “yeah,” he said, his voice gentle but certain. “it’s like a little piece of you that no one else has. like a secret that only i get to see. it’s… it’s part of who you are, and i love it.”

your heart fluttered in your chest, and you felt your face warm up at his words. he always had this way of making you feel so comfortable in your own skin, like every little thing about you was special to him.

“you’re the only person who could think a scar is cute,” you teased, trying to hide the little blush creeping up your neck.

pau chuckled softly, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to your forehead. “i’m serious,” he said, his voice low and tender. “it makes you… you. and i love you. all of you.” his thumb continued to move gently over the scar, as though it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

you let out a small sigh, melting into the embrace, the simple act of him being so present with you making everything feel right. “you always know how to make me feel better about myself,” you murmured, closing your eyes again, letting yourself sink deeper into the warmth of his arms.

“i don’t think you need much help,” pau whispered, his voice full of affection. “you’re already perfect to me.”

you smiled, feeling the weight of his words settle over you, and for once, you didn’t feel self-conscious about the scar. with pau, you felt like you were exactly who you were meant to be, and that was more than enough.

don’t hesitate to leave a request!

[more-mara]

Charles and carlos lead oscar to their hotel room planning to fuck him till he can't move as oscars a bottom but then they see his cock is really big (9in) and they just stare at it while oscar has had this happen to him alot and he really just wants to be fucked not the one doing the fucking.

–🍑

I said I’d write a Drabble (100 words) but at my core, I am a liar so here’s 600.

This was a great idea.

Carlos had to give Charles credit because he would never have done this on his own. Beautiful, beautiful Charles and his unending sex appeal and overbearing confidence. God, Carlos wanted to kiss him for coming up with this.

It felt devious- coaxing Oscar from the after party and inviting him to their room. Yes, their room. Just two guys sharing a bed and exploring each other's bodies on the regular- totally normal.

But god, something about Oscar just had Carlos’ cock springing to life- hardening so quick that his head spun a little. Charles had noticed, of course, and took matters into his own hands.

“Fancy letting us fuck you, baby?” Charles whispered, hand ghosting along Oscar’s crotch. Oscar visibly shivered but shot Charles a smirk before letting his gaze drift to Carlos.

“Both of you?” He asked, a glimmer of something mischievous in his eye.

“That’s the plan. Can’t have you walking away easily afterwards- maybe we’ll keep you in our bed forever,” Charles said, glancing over at Carlos who was nodding along obediently. Who the hell was he to argue with that. Getting to fuck Oscar six ways to Sunday? Count him in…literally.

They’d barely been able to keep their hands off each other in the elevator, practically shaking with want as they waited for the ding of the bell before bolting straight for their room.

Oscar was on Charles immediately, hands gripping his face as he connected their lips together, pressing Charles against the wall. Charles let out an airy laugh, grasping Oscar by the waist to stabilise them. Carlos watched on, his already hard cock twitching in interest.

In the blink of an eye, they were stripping their clothes off each other as they stumbled towards the bed, Oscar falling backwards a little awkwardly as he spread himself across the duvet. Carlos and Charles stood at the end of the bed, discarding their remaining clothes in a hurry as they took in the sight in front of them.

Oscar stopped his own movements just to stare at them both- his eyes drifting to their cocks. His eyes went a little hazy, probably imagining how it was going to feel to have them both splitting him open, fucking him until he was screaming and forgetting his own damn name.

“You can stare all you like once you get those pants off,” Charles said, kneeling on the bed between Oscar’s ankles. Oscar flushed a little before letting his thumbs tease under the waistband of his underwear.

Carlos and Charles watched in fascination as Oscar peeled his boxers off his body, revealing his naked cock.

“Holy shit,”

“Fucking hell,”

They both muttered in unison, eyes locking onto Oscar’s rather large cock. Charles had seen his fair share of dicks in the past, Carlos too- but none had come close to this.

Oscar watched the pair as they analysed him, processing what they were seeing.

“I’m not fucking either of you,” Oscar blurted suddenly, hand drifting to try and cover himself. It was futile though, given Oscar’s dainty hands and massive cock.

Carlos couldn’t help but laugh at the blatency as he climbed onto the bed alongside Charles.

“Who said anything about that?” Carlos asked teasingly, hand cupping Oscar’s jaw as he let his thumb slip into Oscar’s mouth.

“Just- people usually see my dick and think I should top…” He mumbled before beginning to suck on Carlos’ thumb. Carlos smirked, pushing it in a little deeper.

“Hm, I don’t think you’d enjoy that though-“ Carlos began, barely registering that Charles was now firmly between Oscar’s legs, his fingers slicked up with lube as he reached down below Oscar’s cock.

Oscar tensed a little as Charles’ cold fingers came in contact with his hole but he relaxed quickly, fingers coming to grip Carlos’ wrist as he took him deeper into his mouth.

“No,” Carlos said with a cruel chuckle, his other hand coming down to spread Oscar’s knees wider for Charles. “I think you just love to be filled, isn’t that right?”

Oscar couldn’t disagree. Much less when he found himself choking on Carlos’ cock as Charles took him from behind.

[luigilore]

Hiii i’m having an awful flair up because i’m on my period, and reading anyyyyything lu + pain related would be so great. either he takes care of us or we take care of him or visceversa. esp if it’s like vulnerable and tender. thank you so much mwah <3 also no pressure if this isn’t something you wanna write today :D

luigi x reader with chronic pain, taking care of you (a/n: i am sorry this took so long also i hope you're feeling better!! i kept it vague re the exact pain but i really hope you like it <33)

luigi enters your shared bedroom quietly, just in case you’re sleeping. you're not– your pain instead spreads throughout your body and invades your mind like a parasite. 

“i got the heating pad,” luigi murmurs, holding it up with a soft smile and what you can tell are analytical eyes, silently assessing your state.

"thank you," you mutter halfway into your pillow.

“a hallmark of a strong relationship is a shared heating pad,” he jokes, bending down to plug it in. when he stands up, a hand comes almost instinctively to intertwine with your own. 

“i grabbed some epsom salts when i picked up your medicine- if you want a bath later," he adds.

sometimes you feel like luigi is so unfairly good that maybe you don't deserve him; deserve his tender patience or the energy he's put into researching remedies. but he always rejects those worries flat out, he knows how you feel, because he feels like that too sometimes. luigi always makes a pointed effort to how strong you are and how much he loves you whenever you have bad flare ups.

right now, you just want to pull him closer and let him hold you and forget everything else, an enticing offer, but your pain makes your mind focus on other more consuming things. 

“what if it doesn’t go away,” you whisper, avoiding his eyes as he sits down on the edge of the bed next to you. 

“then we’ll deal with it. if that happens,” he says carefully. you sometimes go back and forth with each other like this, trading reassurances. it just sounds so much better coming from luigi than it ever could from the voice in your head. it's always 'we' and you're glad that it is. he gently turns your chin to look directly into your eyes, hazel flecks from the sunlight streaming in through the windows, “right?”

"yeah," you say eventually, a bit distantly, "sorry."

luigi scoffs indignantly, "what could you possibly be sorry for?"

"i dunno. moping, making you cancel your plans." luigi had plans this afternoon to go to a yoga class with his friend but your flare up made him cancel- even though you still encouraged him to go.

luigi frowns and raises his brows. "first of all, you're not moping. second, shockingly, you're a bit more important to me than a yoga class, even with the cancellation fee."

"just a bit," you echo.

"yeah," he laughs, warm thumb rubbing across your palm, hands still interlocked. “you know i love vinyasa.”

you smile up at him and the silence between you is comfortable, like it always is.

“i just-" you start and struggle to find the right words, luigi doesn’t interrupt you and waits patiently, “feel like a bit of a burden.”

you cringe slightly at how vulnerable your voice sounds, something only luigi would get to hear. he smiles sadly, “i get it,” he starts slowly.

you look up at him with an equally sad look, taking an opportunity to fill a second of silence, “i wish you didn’t.”

luigi hums, like what can you truly do. “but, you're not a burden. not to me. or anyone. plus i like feeling useful and taking care of you," he says, which you know is true. your wide smile at him makes his cheeks burn red- even after years together.

“did you eat while i was gone?” he asks after a few beats of silence, looking at you expectantly with raised brows, knowing the probable answer. you look at him sheepishly and that’s enough of an answer for him. 

"you still have to eat even when you’re hurting," luigi says disapprovingly with knitted brows. he stands up and you frown as your hands break apart. "i can go get us something," he checks the time on his watch and laughs lightly, “we can have an early dinner.” 

"i just want you to stay here," you say honestly, maybe a bit desperately, voice hoarse.

“let me make you something then,” he says easily, “we need a grocery trip but i’ll get creative.” 

you smile and he does to; sometimes the amount of love he looks at you with overwhelms you in a really nice and tender and precious way. a feeling you want to hold onto for a long time. "thank you," you whisper.

“you do the same for me,” luigi says. like it's simple- and maybe it is.

[viviwah]

CHOI SU-BONG (THANOS) - BEST FRIEND

warnings: f!reader, unprotected sex (creampie), slight oral (m receiving), smut + fluff, smau (takes place outside of the games), mentions of drugs, friends to lovers??

a/n: i’ve been seeing so many smau’s and now i’m obsessed ^^

sum: after finding out your boyfriend was nothing but an unfaithful piece of sh*t, your best friend comes over to comfort you.

You sat on your living room couch, legs crossed and mind wandering. You contemplated on whether or not you should call your boyfriend, Nam-Gyu, for the 3rd time tonight. Yeah, he worked late some nights since he was a promoter at Club Pentagon, but you had a feeling that tonight he was busy doing something other than work. You let out a deep sigh and reached for your phone, clicking on his contact, and calling him. You waited patiently and anxiously as the phone rang. It only took a few seconds before someone picked up. Your heart raced.

“Hello?”

The voice of a woman could be heard from the other side of the phone. Your brows furrowed as you pulled your phone away from your ear, double checking to see if you clicked onto the right contact and you did.

“Uh, who’s this?”

“Who are you? You’re the one who’s calling MY boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend?” you scoffed.

“I guess he’s been lying to both of us.”

“Wh-”

With a swift click, you ended the call, leaving whoever that girl was, dumbfounded. You couldn’t believe what you had just heard. Her boyfriend? Your heart sank and it felt like the world around you began to close in on you. Your breath hitched as tears started to fill your eyes, you shut them, allowing the warm, salty, tears to rush down your cheeks. You knew something was off with Nam-Gyu, especially since for the past month he’d been coming home late, not responding to your texts, and not returning any of your calls. Honestly speaking, it was gonna happen sooner or later. He was a club promoter after all, meaning that he was always surrounded by loads of half naked women and nine times out of ten, he and the women he encountered were under the influence. Being on drugs is no excuse for cheating though, you knew that and you weren’t trying to justify his actions, you just wanted to come to a conclusion.

Why would he ever cheat on you?

You’ve been nothing but good to him for the entirety of your relationship. When he needed a shoulder to cry on, you were there. When he didn’t feel seen or heard, you were there to make him feel both of those things. You weren’t able to come to a conclusion just now and you didn’t want to spend your night crying over spilled milk so you just decided to forget about it for now. You wiped away your tears with the ends of your sweatshirt and grabbed your phone again, this time to text your best friend, Su-Bong, since he always knew how to cheer you up.

You laughed to yourself before shutting your phone off. Su-Bong was a pro at making light out of the darkest situations and that’s why you loved him. You decided to freshen up a bit before he came, changing into some cozy pj’s and just as you made your way back into the living room, the sound of knocking could be heard at your front door. You made your way over to the front door and opened it, revealing your best friend, Su-Bong, who quickly made his way into your home.

“Hi, Señorita.” he flashed a smile and raised his hands that held two bags. “Got your favorites.”

“Thanks, you’re the sweetest.” you smiled to him, watching as he placed the bags onto the table in your kitchen.

“So, what happened?” he questioned, opening a bag of gummy worms and stuffing his face.

You let out a sigh before going into full detail to explain the events that took place about an hour ago.

“Wow, he’s worse than I thought.” his face that was once full of excitement, was now blank and his eyes were full of hatred.

“Tell me about it.” you scoffed as you made your way over to the couch, throwing yourself onto it.

Su-Bong followed behind you, taking a seat on the couch as well.

“I always thought he was too ugly for you anyway.” he let out a light chuckle and you quickly slapped him on the shoulder.

“What?!”, he pouted.

“That’s mean.” you rolled your eyes.

“He’s mean for cheating on you!” he argued.

It had been exactly three hours since Su-Bong came over and most of that time was spent watching movies, making jokes, and trolling your ex. You were having the time of your life with your best friend, almost forgetting that you were going through a breakup. You look over to him, watching as his eyes were glued onto the TV. Su-Bong was so effortlessly attractive and he always made you feel heard which was something that Nam-Gyu failed to do. You wondered what a relationship with him would be like.

STOP.

Why were you thinking like that about your best friend?

Were you starting to catch feelings for him? Were you just now realizing that the love of your life had been in front of your face this entire time?

“What you thinking about, Señorita?”

The sound of his voice rang throughout your ears, ripping you away from your inappropriate thoughts.

“Nothing.” you replied calmly.

“If you’re still thinking about that manwhore, I can help you take your mind off of him. Only if you’ll let me.” he spoke softly as he trailed his hand over your shoulder.

Your eyes met his and in that moment, you realized you could no longer hold back the feelings you had for him. Your arms wrapped around him and you pulled him in for a kiss and as your lips touched his, your eyes widened, and you suddenly pulled away. You realized that what you’d just done was wrong and you attempted to apologize.

“I’m s—”

Your apology was cut short as you were interrupted by Su-Bong’s lips clashing against yours. I guess the feelings you had for him were mutual. At first you were hesitant but soon, you gave in, melting underneath his touch. His hands trailed up and down your body as he kissed you passionately. The kiss that started off so innocently was quickly turned into an aggressive make out session and as the two of you shared sloppy kisses, Su-Bong began playing with the buttons of your pajama top. He pulled away from your lips before speaking.

“Can I take this off for you?”

You nodded in response and he wasted no time, immediately unbuttoning your shirt and throwing it onto your bedroom floor. He eyed your boobs, admiring them, even though they were still confined within your bra. You made your way onto his lap and began trailing your lips along his neck, leaving behind a few faint hickeys. Su-Bong’s hands trailed up your bare back and in one swift movement, he unclasped your bra, throwing it onto to floor alongside your shirt. His hands then rested on your now bare boobs, giving them a light squeeze. You let out a light moan into his ear and trailed your hands down to the waistband of his sweatpants, you pulled lightly before being stopped.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” his eyes met yours, softening as he questioned you.

“Yes, I’m sure.” you gave a light nod as you spoke.

He then slid his sweatpants and underwear off, encouraging you to do the same. You watched as his thick cock sprang up, almost touching his bellybutton. You wrapped your hand around it and then began moving your hand up and down, drawing light groans from Su-Bong.

“Fuck.” he cursed under his breath.

You smirked, fastening your movements and watching as pre-cum started to leak from the tip of his cock. Your warm tongue licked up his shaft before reaching his tip and once your tongue reached his tip, it moved swiftly, licking up all of his pre-cum. You then opened your mouth, wrapping it around the tip of his cock as you moved your head down slowly, attempting to take every inch of him down your throat. Su-Bong felt like he was in heaven, he groaned loudly as he felt your warm mouth wrap tightly around his thick cock, it was enough to make his eyes roll into the back of his head. His hands soon became tangled in your hair as he forced himself further down your throat.

“Enough of this, I want to be inside you already. Let me make you feel better than he ever did.”

Su-Bong instructed you to lay on your back so you did just that and watched as he teased your wet pussy with his fingers, running circles around your clit and sliding one finger in, just to take it out immediately. Your back arched up slightly as you moaned and he loved this, he loved seeing you so weak under his touch. After teasing you for what felt like hours, he finally slid his thick cock inside of your warm and plump pussy, stretching you out. Your lips parted immediately, forcing your moans to flow out like a waterfall. Su-Bong eyed your entire body as he began thrusting into you, slowly, before picking up the pace and thrusting into you quickly and roughly. Your moans grew louder as he thrusted into you faster by the second, resting one of his hands against your right boob and squeezing your nipple as his free hand rubbed circles around your clit, forcing your eyes to roll back into your head.

Who knew he’d be this good in bed?

“Does it feel good?” he questioned in a whisper before leaning into you and kissing onto your neck.

“Y-Yes, it feels so good.” you responded.

“Even better than the way he made you feel?” Su-Bong questioned again, still thrusting into your tight pussy roughly.

You nodded, unable to speak to due to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Let me hear you say it.” his fingers moved faster around your clit as his thrusts slowed.

“You make me feel way better than he ever did.” you admitted, locking eyes with him.

He pulled you in for a kiss and started thrusting into you deeper than he did before and a familiar feeling began to wash over you, one that you haven’t felt in a while. Your pussy gushed, tightening around Su-Bong’s cock as a tight coil began to form in your lower abdomen, signaling that your orgasm was near.

“I’m gonna cum.” you whispered, moaning lightly.

Hearing this only encouraged Su-Bong to fasten his pace and deepen his strokes, his number one priority right now was making you feel good and he was doing a damn good job. Your walls tightened around him once again and he groaned loudly as his cock began to twitch inside of you, he was close too. He tried pulling away but you stopped him.

“Cum inside of me, please.”

He nodded and thrusted into you once again, forcing that coil that had built in your lower abdomen to unravel. Your pussy tightened around him again before you coated his cock in your juices. His cock twitched one last time before pumping you full of his cum. He slid his cock out of your pussy and watched as his cum began to drip out of you slowly.

“I love you, (yourname).” he breathed out, giving you a soft smile.

“I love you more, Su-Bong.” you smiled.

[grenadehearts]

don't forget to kiss me, or else yuji.itadori

in which your bf is even more awk then you..

authors note: f!reader so scared 2 post this.. i feel like its so ugh also not proofread! 2.2k words! m.list <3

You and Yuji were always so awkward around each other, to the point that it led to completely red faces and twitching fingers.

Sure, he was a lot more outspoken with strangers and friends, while you were always on the quieter side. And when you did get comfortable with someone, you tended to talk too much.

You envied Yuji a bit. He always knew exactly what to say, and even when he didn’t, he had the charm to make it work anyway. But it was more than that—he had this boyish charm that sent you reeling, making you kick your feet in your dorm room late at night, squealing into your pillow while playing Beabadoobee on repeat, thinking of him.

You still remember the first time you saw him—pink hair, wide brown eyes, and the cutest smile ever. You were smitten from the beginning. Too shy to talk to him, though. Then, during a mission, you had been paired up with him and Nanami. He kept trying to talk to you, making funny remarks or simply attempting conversation. At one point, he had stared at you, scrunching his face in pure confusion, as if analyzing some small detail. Then he pointed to the corner of your eye, where your glitter eyeshadow shimmered, and said, "That's really pretty." All while rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish smile.

He was the only person who ever really talked to you—aside from the forced interactions Gojo pushed onto others. You figured there had to be something wrong with you. You were too odd, always saying the wrong thing, laughing at the wrong time, tripping over your own two feet. No matter what, you never seemed to fit in or draw anyone’s attention.

That was until you met Yuji.

Even after that compliment—after the pale pink dusting your cheeks at this super cute, jacked boy noticing you—it still didn’t feel real. This only happened in shoujo anime, right? Yet, despite your awkwardness, despite the way you choked on a simple thank you like you were forcing down thick cherry cough syrup, Yuji just laughed it off. A deep chuckle that reverberated through his body and yours—light, airy, utterly intoxicating. You wanted to hear that laugh for the rest of your life.

He had rambled about makeup, specifically special effects makeup, explaining how he was a huge movie lover. Then he got super engrossed in talking about the behind-the-scenes aspects of some of his favorite films—Human Earthworm, which, he eagerly added, was a trilogy.

You barely said a word, too shy to contribute much. But he didn’t seem to mind. It was like all he wanted was someone to listen.

A few days after that mission, you had been speed-walking out of class after an awful day. Some girl from a higher-up class had made crude remarks about your appearance, and you swallowed them down like bile, trying to ignore them. But you had barely managed to hold it together because, later that morning, you had to present in front of everyone. Your hands were clammy, your words tumbling out like a mess of jumbled up alphabet soup, and the tiny class of sorcerers had laughed at your mishaps.

Then, not even twenty minutes later, some guy knocked into you, spilling your matcha all over your clean uniform. And, oh yeah—did I mention you had spent your last seven dollars on that matcha?

You grabbed your leather tote bag—buckles adorned with a Nana keychain, your purple jellyfish Sonny Angel peeking out for good luck—and rushed out of the classroom doors, heading across the open field back to the dorms.

Then, a strong hand and a voice too sweet to ignore stopped you in your tracks.

"Hey! Hey! You, uh, dropped thi—actually, I’m not sure what this is... A naked baby, it looks like? But it fell out of your bag."

Your entire body froze. Your heart pounded in your chest. You knew that voice.

Yuji Itadori. The sweetest, kindest boy ever. The boy you had a massive crush on. The boy who absolutely could not see you in the state you were in.

Panicking, you turned around, clutching your purse up to your face, burying yourself behind it in a weak attempt to hide your tear-streaked, mascara-smudged disaster of a face.

Yuji blinked, looking around the empty courtyard, then up at the clear blue sky, as if trying to understand what you were even hiding from.

"Hey, uh—"

"Ilooksgrossrightnowthatswhyimhidingmyface," you blurted out in one breath, voice muffled behind your bag.

Yuji just laughed—a full, lighthearted fit of laughter. "It's okay, but I think you’re always pretty."

Your grip on your purse loosened slightly, your face still half-hidden as you peeked at him through your lashes. "You do?"

He gave a sheepish nod. "Yeah." Then, after a beat, in a soft, hesitant voice, he asked, "Can I see your face? Um, uh—if that's okay with you or whatever."

He paused, then quickly added, "We can count to three if that helps?"

You swallowed hard and gave a tiny nod.

His hands hovered slightly before reaching out, hesitant but warm. "Can I, uh... help you with it?"

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but he seemed to hear it anyway. You nodded again.

His fingers wrapped gently around your wrists, steady and firm but not forceful. Then, with a soft countdown—"Three... two... one..."—he lowered your hands, revealing the mess that was your face.

Your beet-red cheeks. Your raccoon-like mascara stains.

Yuji’s eyes widened slightly as you hiccuped, trying desperately to suck in the snot threatening to form a bubble.

"My face is beet red, isn't it?"

He let out another laugh, this time softer. "Yeah... but so is mine."

You blinked, taking in his expression. The dusting of pink on the tips of his ears, the slight blush running up his nose, the way his eyes crinkled nervously.

You quickly began to rub at the smeared mascara around your eyes, flustered, when he hesitated—then took a tiny step closer.

"I can help?" he offered, voice quieter than before.

You nodded, unable to speak past your pounding heartbeat.

With delicate care, he lifted the sleeve of his uniform and gently wiped away the mess on your face.

Ever since that day, you and Yuji hung out more and more. He even introduced you to his friends, and you and Nobara quickly became best friends—though she heavily expressed her distaste for you dating Yuji, simply because “he’s gross, and you’re too good for him.”

Yuji was loud, outspoken, and seemingly everywhere at once, yet when he was alone with you, he was different. He was quieter—more hesitant.

Laying on your cramped twin bed, adorned with every single plushie he had ever won for you in the two months of dating, he looked so much softer. Your shabby dorm room at Jujutsu High was practically his at this point—he never left, always finding some excuse to be curled up next to you, legs tangled, warmth mingling between your bodies. Whether it was coming in late from a mission, all beat up so you sat him on your toilet to bandage his wounds because you knew he wouldn’t care enough to do it himself, or a simple, “I miss you.. and the way you smell.”

But despite this level of comfort and closeness, you were both still utterly awkward around each other. Even now, lying in bed with your pinkies barely ghosting the space between, desperate to touch but too afraid to bridge the gap. Sure, you’d wake up tangled together as Yuji hogged the covers, but that was always after exhaustion had taken over—when neither of you had the energy to be nervous. But this? This was different. You were both awake, wide awake, too aware of every movement the other made. The soft shuffle of his weight against the bed, the slight twitch of your fingers, the low whirring of the crappy fan in your room, the faint vibration of his unchecked phone.

Yuji only ever got notifications when they were important, and you both knew that. But he didn’t care. It was like nothing else existed outside this moment. Whoever needed him would have to stomp into this room and physically drag him away from the dim glow of your orange-pink lamp, from the scent of your perfume clinging to the sheets he was laying on.

When seconds felt like hours, you finally turned to Yuji to say something—anything to break the tension. But just your luck, he turned at the exact same time.

His brown eyes bore into yours like he could reach in and grab your very soul with gentle hands, rewriting your entire being if he chose. You both stared, studying every subtle movement, every shift in expression, until the weight of it became too much. Suddenly, you were both too aware of each other.

The weight of it had both of you snapping your heads away, blushes creeping up your necks.

Yuji was always an awkward mess when he was alone with you— from fidgeting with the hem of his red Jujutsu hoodie, to walking around your room picking up random objects and pretending to be interested, like a kid trying to play coy.

 He’d constantly go to grab your hand, only to let it fall last minute. He was completely different from how he was around others.

And now, here you both were—blushing, internally panicking over each other—until, when you turned to face him again, he was already hovering over you, peering down as if you were a fish in a fishbowl. You sucked in a breath, eyes wide, and whatever confidence he had for that split second disappeared in an instant. Because now, seeing you up close, so close he could count every speckle of glitter from your makeup, he lost all nerve and buried his face straight into the crook of your neck.

Which only made things worse.

Your shampoo, your perfume—the warm, sugary scent of it all sent his mind reeling. It made him want to kiss you even more than he already did, which, at this point, felt nearly impossible. He had been waiting for the right time, telling himself over and over that it had to be perfect. But the truth was, he had been thinking about it for months—spacing out in class, staring at your lips, wondering if they tasted like strawberries from the gloss you always wore.

And now here he was, completely surrounded by your scent, his hands twitching with the urge to pull you closer.

Before you could think, your fingers moved on their own, shaking slightly as they inched toward his hair, aching to tangle in his soft pink strands. But just as you moved, Yuji suddenly lifted his head, mustering every ounce of courage before blurting out in one rushed breath:

“Ireallywannakissyoucani?”

Then, immediately after, he smacked his hands over his face.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, heart hammering in your chest as you whispered, “Yuu…”

Slowly, you reached for his wrists, gently prying his hands away from his face. His skin was warm under your touch, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. You didn’t have to say the rest—he already knew what you wanted.

He pulled his hands from yours, biting at his lip as he laced his fingers with yours instead, pinning your hand to the pillow above you. He shifted, slotting his leg over yours, his other hand lifting to cradle your cheek, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin.

Your eyes flickered over his face, watching every shift in his expression as he leaned closer, breath mingling with yours.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, voice low, almost reverent.

He leaned in, inch by inch, breath mingling with yours. But before closing the gap, he hesitated. “You sure this is okay?”

You didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, you curled your fingers into the nape of his neck, tugging him forward, crashing your lips against his.

And it was everything.

The kind of kiss that made you slam your door shut before sliding down it in a fit of giggles.

His lips were warm and soft, tasting faintly of brown sugar. It sent your stomach swirling, the kind of feeling that made your chest ache in the best way possible.

When he pulled back slightly, a thin trail of saliva still connected you, his pink cheeks flushed, eyes lidded, like he needed to look at you just to make sure this was real.

Then, with newfound confidence, he kissed you again.

This time, when his tongue slid past your lips—hesitant, waiting for permission—you let him in without a second thought. The sensation sent a shiver up your spine, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped you. That sound alone had Yuji’s other hand moving from your face to your waist to grip your body closer to his. 

Kissing Yuji was like ladybugs dancing on your skin. Like the jingle of the ice cream truck on a summer afternoon. Like the mist from a sprinkler lapping at your feet on a hot summer day as a child when your only care was scoring the best popsicle flavour. Like the first sip of hot chocolate when it grazes your tongue and cocoons your body in warmth, as you come in from the bitter sting of the cold. It was like being wrapped in blankets cozied up with a book. The only sound echoing is the pitter of the rain on the window.

It was everything good, everything sweet, like the taste of cotton candy melting on your tongue.

p.s if u realized the title was a bea lyric then ily mwahhh

[deeninadream]

First Name Basis (My One Shot from Ao3)

Warnings: Bar setting, alcohol consumption, drunk reader, that’s about it I think, oh and this is my first fic!

Summary:

You go out with the team to wind down after a long week. You planed on only getting one drink...but ended up getting crazy drunk. In the end Hotch has a soft spot for you and you like using his full name. ---- This was going to be a part of my future series, "Necessary, Needed, & Wanted," but I though i just put it up first. Enjoy!

While you decided that a night out with the team, drinking, dancing, and gossiping would be a good way to forget the most recent case, you had certainly not expected to get this drunk.

Derek sat to your right; an arm slung behind you on the sticky booth. Pen sat, or really happy squirmed, to you left. At the beginning of the night, you suggested they sit together, and that you could sit with Spencer.

This was only really because you didn't want to get too crazy tonight, and you had recently read an article you would love to discuss with him. However, they insisted that they squish you in between them to protect you from any guys that came your way.

Dave sat across from you with Hotch on one side, and Spencer on the other. Emily had convinced JJ to go dancing a few minutes ago, but you're sure they'll be back soon.

Now, how did you go from getting a Shirley Temple to getting hysterically drunk? No fucking clue.

So here you are, jumping in between every conversation. Whether it's office gossip, a new scientific discovery, Jack's upcoming birthday party, or why you don’t have someone to go home to at night.

At least that's what it feels like to you, to everyone else though…they're having productive conversations, and you're randomly (and rather cutely) asking not so productive questions.

“Daaaave?!” you ask in a whisper yell. Dave looks over from his talk with Hotch to see you leaning over the table. You’re sure no one else can hear you, though your whisper yell is more at a raspy talking level.

Dave doesn’t even have to raise an eyebrow for you to continue.

“Okay, so obviously I know his middle name from the documents I look at all day loooong. But I can’t find it in me to remember his first name. What is his first name?!”

Now everyone is looking at you, not that you notice. They aren’t surprised you’ve asked such a weird question, but they are definitely intrigued.

Dave chuckled, glad that you’re finally letting loose, ”Who’s first name, darling?”

“Like I know his middle name, right, ‘cause I think it's funny that I’m the only one that can call him out on his shit like that. But it doesn’t work if I don’t know his first name,” you wine a little at the end. Like you’re five and he's not getting you ice cream.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at that, he had never seen you so delirious. He had been around you with barely any sleep for a week once, and you were more put together. Not that he’s complaining.

Now it's Derek's turn to chuckle, "Pretty girl, if you want us to answer you, you have to tell us who you’re talking about.”

You pay no mind to Derek; it's like you had a tunnel going from you to Dave. This just makes everyone laugh. Emily and JJ are coming back around, not that you have any idea.

At that Hotch puts his beer down and leans into your line of sight slightly. Your eyes immediately lock onto his. Everyone’s waiting, knowing that if anyone can get something out of you, it would be Hotch.

“Who are you talking about?” Hotch asked, surprisingly also wanting the answer.

You just stare into his eyes. If you weren't already unaware of your surroundings, you certainly aren't now.

Pen sees an opportunity to chime in, "Are you talking about that hot guy from budgeting?”

Your head snaps up, and directly to Pen’s,” OH MY GOD! Pen, please tell me I didn't say he is hot! I’m not supposed to say that!!” you wined, looking frantic and mortified.

Emily chuckled next to JJ at their chairs at the very end of the booth they now occupy, "Okay, are we talking about the mystery man, or the budgeting one?”

“I thought they were the same person?” JJ jumps in, though she's still looking at Emily. Spencer nodded his agreement with furrowed brows.

You now look towards the couple, seemingly forgetting about your momentary outburst after a sip of your drink.

“Mystery man," you say with a nod of finality, "Also ‘mystery man’? He’s your boss, Emily. How could you forget his name…? Oh wait, that's what I was asking. Dave, what's Hotch's first name?”

At that, everyone at the table excluding you and Hotch burst into a laughing fit. After a few moments of everyone trying to catch their breaths, and you looking around the table for some clue on what is so funny, Dave speaks first.

“Hotch’s first name is Aaron, you know this,” Dave helps you out, as if Hotch wasn’t sitting next to him.

“AARON BENJAMIN HOTCHNER!!” you take a small sip of your drink, "Thank you! I will be using that every chance I get!” Now your drink and pointer finger is aimed at Hotch.

Hotch looks at you with wide eyes and then smiles a smile that only seems to be for you. He then shakes his head, reaches across the table to pluck your glass from your hands.

You look up at him with a pout, ”Hey! I will use your middle name again!”

He just lightly chuckles and slides out of his side of the booth, "I don’t doubt you. Come on. Let's get you home.”

“But, but, but…” he just gives you one of his signature Hotch stares,” Oh, okay. Goodbye everyone! Mwah, mwah, mwah! I'll see y'all on Monday.”

Everyone says their respective goodbyes as Hotch helps you out of the booth. As you stand up, you trip a bit due to your heels, and your uncoordinated state. Hotch quickly catches you, putting an arm around your waist.

After standing fully up, you put your arms up in the air, and yell loud enough to be heard above the music, "AARON BENJAMIN HOTCHNER, EVERYONE!!”

Your group and most of the people around you laugh. Hotch shakes his head and starts to lead you out of the bar.

When you finally step out into the cold air, you look up into those coffee eyes. They tell you that while you may just be on a first name basis, there's a lot more than that for both of you.

Guess getting a little crazy doesn't have to be such a bad thing.

Notes:

Hope y'all liked this! I'm new to this and would love to know what you think!

[buckleyflower]

a third because my mind said yes to this combo lol;

65.) "Tell Me I'm Wrong"

&

69.) "I Just-"

When Buck first realized he was into men as much as he was into women, he would have never guessed that it would lead him to hook up with his best friend, with the best friend he’s ever had. He would have never even imagined that Eddie could be into him as much as he has found out he is into Eddie.

He is ecstatic, feeling like there’s a nice buzz coursing through his veins and an exciting thrill running down his spine every time he recalls the events of the night. Maybe he has spent so long thinking about it that he hasn’t had time to focus on anything else, maybe it’s his own business. He will never admit that.

What he knows is that he is a tiny bit nervous too. Because Eddie had to leave as soon as they woke up this morning, as his abuela called him for an emergency with her kitchen sink (Buck still thinks that the sink couldn’t be in a life-threatening situation so Eddie could have taken his time, maybe kiss him a bit more before leaving, but anyway…) and he hasn’t heard from him in about four hours.

He’s counting them, okay?

He is scared. He is happy, but what if Eddie is not? What if Eddie starts getting cold feet about this whole thing? Buck wants nothing more than to become Eddie’s boyfriend, but what if Eddie doesn’t want him?

He was a very willing participant in whatever they did the night before, but Buck is still afraid that it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. After all, he is Buck. He is the best at catastrophizing.

He decides to prepare a nice lunch and invite Eddie over. Call it a date, if you will.

He texts him and luckily Eddie agrees, so about one hour and a half later, Buck is pacing around his loft, waiting for Eddie to get inside. Which is stupid. How many times has Eddie been over? How many times have they had dinner together? Or lunch, or whatever really? But it has never been a date. Buck has never felt like his heart is on the goddamn line before.

Now, he feels like he could lose it all.

And he thinks he does when Eddie takes in the table set for two, with a bottle of red wine and a fake flower in a vase between their plates, and says “I can’t.”

“W— what— Eddie.”

Buck is pleading. His voice is pleading. He is begging Eddie to not do exactly that.

“Buck, I—” Eddie sighs and takes a deep breath, “what is this?”

“Lunch, Eddie.” Buck deadpans, even if he’s dying inside.

Eddie scoffs. “We can’t do this—”

“So yesterday night—” Buck feels rage and despair battle inside him, but mostly he feels confused, because Eddie is telling him something but his eyes are saying something else entirely.

He doesn’t expect Eddie to spit out such harsh words. “Shouldn’t have happened.”

“Shouldn’t have happened?” Buck repeats, bewildered, feeling like he’s gone completely crazy. His voice makes that high-pitched sound that it always does whenever he can’t believe what he’s saying and Eddie knows but he says nothing.

The silence stretches for seconds and yet it feels like hours to Buck.

“So you regret it,” Buck says.

Eddie will have to tell him. To reject him and use words to do it. Or else Buck won’t give up.

“No,” Eddie whispers, eyes cast downward. And Buck is suddenly confused. Then he notices that his friend’s hands are shaking along his sides. He’s trying to hide it by wringing the fingers together.

“You are scared.”

He approaches Eddie as carefully as he can, as though Eddie were an animal he is trying not to spook. He so desperately wants to take Eddie’s hands.

“What? I’m— no!” Eddie grimaces.

This close, Buck can see the veil of tears clouding Eddie’s eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong, then,” he insists.

“Buck.” Eddie is imploring. He is terrified.

“I see that, Eddie. You are terrified. But… of what?”

God, Buck simply won’t give up. “We can’t do this,” Eddie repeats.

“Why?” Buck immediately retorts. “If you don’t want that, if you don’t want me, us, then okay, I’ll forget it. I’ll do that for you, okay? I don’t want to but I will.”

Eddie seems on the verge of a panic attack but Buck goes on. “But if you’re scared, then I won’t ever give up, because—”

“I just—” Eddie stutters but he finally closes the distance between them and Buck reels when he catches a whiff of his perfume. He decides to rest a hand on Eddie’s side.

“Eddie, it’s just me,” he reminds him.

“And that’s what this is about, Buck!” Eddie bursts out. “I can’t lose you, you— you are my favorite person, and my— my— you are everything and if we date, I’ll fuck it up and you’ll hate me, and we—”

Buck cuts him off with a kiss, losing track of time and every trace of fear while their lips slide over one another.

“I love you, Eddie. How could I hate you?”

Eddie slowly opens his eyes and they are full of unshed tears and huge, soft. “You love me? Ho— how? Why?”

Buck laughs and drags him towards the stairs.

“Why?” He echoes, a bit hysteric but so incredibly happy.

“What about lunch?” Eddie whines.

“How?” Buck laughs. “I gotta show you how much I love you first, baby.”

—

this could have been way more angsty than this but I physically can’t run from a happy ending lol 💕

[animereaderinsertwriter]

part one - two - three - four -five

i saw you in a dream (bucky barnes x reader)

tags/warnings: plot with porn, fluff, a little angst, there is some mild amnesia, major plot twist, first person (bucky's) pov, inspired by this song

blurb: In this life and every life; waking and dreaming; this I swear.

These are the words inscribed on Bucky's wedding ring. A wedding ring that he doesn't remember ever having. It's not a vow he made-- not that he remembers, anyway-- but it might just be one that he decides to keep anyway.

ao3 here

“I’ve decided to call off of work for a while,” my wife explains to me over breakfast. “I’d rather be around if you need me than be at work, and we’ve got ample savings to live off of in the meantime.”

I ask her if she’s sure about that— I don’t really need a babysitter, I’ve already gotten over my meltdown about this whole thing— but she assures me that she believes it’s the right decision.

“What do you do for work, then, that they let you have time off so easy?”

She hesitates.

“I work for Tony Stark,” she replies after a moment. “As it stands, though, he’s got an excellent team, so they can share the load of whatever I’m leaving behind. Besides, it’s time I took a vacation.”

She’s keeping something from me, but I let it slide.

“Babysitting me is hardly a vacation.”

She shoots me a sly grin over her cup of coffee.

“Who said I was babysitting? Keep up the sass and I’ll call Dolores to sit with you while I go to Bali.”

I’m startled into a laugh.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I? Try me, soldier boy.”

There is a strange energy between us that makes me feel oddly playful. I want to forget about eggs and bacon and chase her around the house instead.

Gradually, though, that energy fades as we run out of things to talk about. Awkwardness subsumes us again, and since I cooked, (Y/N) offers to wash dishes, presumably to escape the weight of the silence between us.

About an hour of that tension is all either of us can stand. 

“I’m going downstairs to train,” she says, throwing a bar cloth over her shoulder. “Would you like to join me?”

I blink.

“We have a downstairs?”

“Yes— a basement.” A fond smile comes over her face. “You designed it yourself.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“I did?”

“Oh yes.” She grins. “Come on, dear— I’ll give you the tour. You’ll love it.”

She walks past me just close enough for me to feel the heat from her body, but does not touch me. She keeps going just long enough for me to see the full length of her figure, then turns back to throw at me a mischievous look over her shoulder. 

“Well? Coming?”

She keeps walking, and I keep staring. This time, though, I grin. This hint of playfulness gets a rise out of me not unlike the one from before, and I realize that this must be what normal is for us.

What a fox.

Like a hound dog wagging his tail, I move to follow her. This, if nothing else, should prove interesting.

***

Three and a half hours later, I’m sore, sweaty, and I can’t feel my face.

To be fair, we’ve only been working for most of three hours. The majority of the first hour was spent on rediscovery— and what an hour it was! Not only did I apparently stock most of the cool machines I’d used in Wakanda, but there were also some things I’d never seen before, such as the combat simulator that Shuri had apparently gifted me last year for my birthday. (Y/N) warned me that it felt real, but I didn’t believe her until those nerve stimulators of Shuri’s mimicked exactly the feeling of a bullet ripping through my shoulder. It’s unpredictable, the simulator; it generates combat scenarios at random, and not every conflict ends well even if you do everything by the book. It’s a genius invention, and I spend an hour and a half on that alone.

As fascinating as the combat simulator is, though, it doesn’t hold a candle to what comes next.

While I rest from playing with all my (new) gadgets, my wife has been working slowly and steadily, alternating between lifting weights and training with a punching bag. She’s sweating heavily, and she looks pretty fatigued, but she keeps at it with a determination that reminds me of Steve. Eventually, though, she sits down to rest too, and between gulps of water, she says,

“Spar with me.”

“What?”

The word comes out as a laugh. She smirks.

“Laugh now, Sergeant Barnes, but I learned from the best.”

“Oh yeah?” I challenge playfully. “Who?”

Her smile is radiant and warm; it feels like a house fire in my chest.

“You.”

My heart skips a beat. 

She thinks I’m the best.

It’s a stupid thought, perhaps even a silly one, but it’s there. Even so, looking at her now, moving to stand with her hair all mussed and her face all sweaty, I know I can’t seriously spar with her. 

At least, that’s what I think until she whirls a kick at my head, forcing me to block it with my forearm.

“I said,” she pants, baring her teeth in a feline grin, “spar with me.”

The word no had been on the tip of my tongue— but I’ve never been one to leave a blow unanswered.

I grin back, and the game is on.

I launch myself from my seat, aiming to use my size to my advantage and grapple her— safely, gently, of course— to the ground. All my arms catch is air. She bounds lightly backwards, as graceful as a dancer, and holds her hands up in a ready position. 

After I aim a few hits at her, missing each one, I realize her strategy. I’m bigger, stronger than her, sure, but it takes a lot more for my muscles to move my larger body than it does hers. She’s baiting me into my strikes, hoping to fatigue me before she presses what then will be her advantage. I adjust accordingly. I feint left, but move right— the motion traps her as my metal metal hand closes around her soft flesh. I think I have her until she uses the same momentum that I use to pull her to me to bash her forehead against the bridge of my nose, stunning me. She wrenches free and tries to sweep my feet, but I’m too sturdy for her. Instead, she falls with the motion, and I follow her to the floor in an unsightly but effective crawl to try and close the distance between us for a grapple. She doesn’t make it to her feet before I’m on her, and I know it’s game over now.

Size for size, strength for strength, I’ll win.

Surprisingly, though, she still makes me work for it.

In an impressive show of agility, she rolls away from me before I can grab her— but not before aiming a kick at my temple that, had it landed, might have been deadly. Frustrated, I make a grab at the foot that kicked at me, and she stomps my fleshy hand with her heel— meet punishment for the pettiness of my grab. Truly irritated now, and in sorry pain, I get my feet underneath me and throw myself at her once more.

She rolls again, and my hand misses her arm by only half an inch. In fact, she almost makes it to her feet before I finally latch both arms around her waist and bring her down hard. I win the ensuing scramble; only a few seconds pass before I have her pinned beneath me, my hands circling her wrists and forcing them to the ground beside her head. Her legs are pinned open by my knees, and I grin in fierce triumph.

“I win,” I say, and I know my expression must be wild with joy.

Her expression doesn’t exactly match mine, though. Her eyes are wide, her lips are parted, and…

And her chest, slightly exposed and pressed forth by her raised arms, is heaving.

The world slows. My awareness narrows to just the places where our bodies are touching, which is… a lot of places. My heart is racing, I can’t catch my breath— and neither can my wife. My wife, who is panting, sweaty, and beautiful, whose soft thighs are on either side of mine, and whose eyes say she wants me to close all the distance that there is between us.

“Bucky.”

She breathes my name like a sigh, and I know that in this moment, I’ll do whatever she asks of me. 

“Bucky,” she repeats, “I think— I think I need to shower.”

That’s… not what I wanted to hear.

I let her up. She dusts off like it’s nothing, but I can see the tremble in her limbs. She’s fatigued beyond fatigue, utterly exhausted— and so, I find, am I. On unsteady legs, I move to follow her, then stop.

“Eat something,” I tell her belatedly, uselessly. “I mean, to keep your strength up, you should probably eat.”

She turns. Her smile is sad.

“Thanks Buck, darling. I will.”

And thus, like a newborn fawn, she stumbles out of the room on shaky legs, leaving me to stand in humiliating silence with a raging hard-on and nothing to do with it.

***

While (Y/N) showers, I raid the kitchen. 

My own shower was short and cold. I took it in the guest room, which is just as richly furnished as the rest of the house. It wasn’t the best shower I’ve ever taken, though, since I wouldn’t exactly call it refreshing. I came out of it just as I came into it— tired, frustrated, and hungry.

One of those things can be fixed quick, fast, and in a hurry by an enterprising guy like me, though, and I place my bets on the fridge as I crack it open for a peek at its treasures.

There is everything imaginable in that refrigerator. So much that I have a hard time choosing anything at all. I settle on boiled eggs, string cheese, and an apple to start, and when that doesn’t do the trick, I manage to put together the ingredients for a simple but flavorful soup.

By the time (Y/N) returns from her shower, the soup is finished and there’s a bowl cooling for her on the counter. I serve it to her myself when she comes into the kitchen, and she thanks me tiredly as she sits at the dining room table.

“This is good.” She blows on the steaming spoonful she’s scooped up. “Thank you.”

I shrug.

“Sure thing.”

Once she’s done, I take her bowl and clean up. Her eyes are drooping sleepily, and I have to work to hide my smile from her as she yawns cutely.

“Wanda, Nat, and Bruce want to go out tonight,” she sighs tiredly, looking at her phone. “They’ve invited us, if you’re interested— although, just so you know, they likely have selfish intentions for asking us to come.”

I cock my head to the side in question. My wife blinks blearily, then clarifies.

“You can’t get drunk, so you always DD.”

“Not selfish, then.” I laugh, “just common sense.”

“Mm, maybe. Wanda gets weepy when she’s drunk, and Bruce gets cornier. Natasha stays Natasha, but sometimes her languages become… interesting.”

“And you?”

She grins.

“I have no idea what you mean. I’m a delight, as usual, even when I’m drunk.”

Oh, I can translate that pretty easily. My money says she’s worse than all three of them combined.

“So,” she continues, “you in or out?”

I consider declining— (Y/N) seems too sleepy now to go out later in the day— but then I remember our sparring earlier and decide that, super-soldier-ness be damned, a drink might be a good idea after all.

“I’m down. You sure you’re not too tired? We worked hard earlier.”

“I’ll nap,” she yawns. 

I continue cleaning up, and she shuffles in the direction of the master bedroom with a muffled thanks for the food.

A little while later, I settle in on the couch and very politely pretend that I can’t hear the distinct buzz of a vibrator through the walls as my wife, on the other side, softly calls my name, doubtless thinking me unable to hear. 

Damn that super soldier serum. Never did me any damn good. 

***

I’ve never taken so long to dress in my life.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I completely fried my brain looking at the wardrobe in front of me. There are… there are colors here. Colors and designs and textures— how the fuck am I supposed to match any of this to anything else? I have half a mind to ask (Y/N) for guidance. However, the other half of my mind would insist that I jump off a bridge before resorting to having her dress me like I’m some kind of doll, so instead of looking at the clothes and continuing to overwhelm myself, I move to look at myself in the mirror and try to imagine an outfit that I would like.

While I’m scrutinizing myself trying to find the best outfit, I realize that my hair is different than I remember it. It’s still long, but there are more layers. I like it, I think. It makes me look cleaner, sharper. 

I finally settle on a black button-up and a pair of jeans. There’s a jewelry box on the dresser that I found my socks and underwear in, and I open it to find jewelry that must belong to me: a couple medals (Jesus, they’re old!), a silver chain, and a set of cufflinks.

There is also a wedding ring.

I lift the wedding ring and examine it. There is an inscription looping on the inside of it that reads,

In this life and every life; waking and dreaming; this I swear.

I consider putting it on my finger, but I decide against it. I haven’t earned the right to wear it— not yet. I have no right to my wife; as I am, I can’t be what she needs. I’ll need to wait until I can prove to her and to myself that I can still make her happy before I can feel right about it.

I place the ring back in the jewelry box and try not to feel disappointed.

I pick up the silver chain. It might be a nice addition to the outfit, I think. I put it on, stare at it, then take it off. I peer at myself, sigh, then put it back on. 

It’ll have to do.

After much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I finally manage to meet my wife in the living room, ready to head out. I make it halfway through the threshold to the living room before my jaw hits the floor.

Her dress is champagne gold with a perfectly-draped neckline that I feel sure makes my eyes bulge out in cartoonish heart shapes. The thin straps of the halter neckline settle pleasingly over her shoulders, and when she turns, I thank God for every roll, dimple, and contour of her back. Her long, delicate earrings brush her shoulders as she turns back to me, and I decide then and there that it’s over for me. There’s no way I’m not going to spend every minute of every day trying to make this dame happy for the rest of my life. Greek statues would be jealous of such a beauty. Hell, I don’t discriminate— statues of every race, color, and creed can eat their hearts out. They could never compare to her.

“Hey handsome. Whatcha think? Will I do?”

My approval must be obvious; she smiles cheeky and adds,

“It has pockets!”

To show me, she sticks her hands in them. The motion makes her breasts jiggle prettily, and I fix my gaze on the light fixtures in the ceiling trying to will away the urge to peel that fucking dress off of her with my teeth like I have any right whatsoever to do so. 

I really don’t know what the hell’s come over me. I feel like a hound-dog slavering over a fox. I’ve always loved women— who doesn’t?— but this feels… different. I ache for her in a way that makes me want to crack open her rib cage and live there.

“You look great.” My mouth is dry. I clear my throat. “Really great. I feel a little underdressed, looking at you. I can change, though, if you— ”

She grabs my arm, right on the muscle of my bicep.

“Don’t you dare,” she murmurs, looking up at me through her lashes. “If you look any better, I’ll have to keep a baseball bat around to beat the women off of you.”

She squeezes my bicep, then releases me, her expression subdued.

Was that… jealousy? 

Interesting.

I offer her my arm— the metal one. She takes it, and I try not to feel smug.

“Ready?”

She smiles, nods, and accepts the arm I offer— but not before glancing at it and frowning. I frown too, confused about what might have displeased her, but there’s nothing I can figure out before we’re loading up in what is apparently my Jeep Wrangler. She directs me to each of our friends’ houses— “Wanda last,” she insists, “to give her time to put the kids to bed”—and then to the nightclub Natasha likes.  

The club is nice— the whole place looks like the inside of a lava lamp— but it’s full to the brim with sweating, drunk, scantily-clad people who all seem to feel entitled to touch everyone else. I personally don’t have any interest in that sort of thing, especially not this grinding business that looks little better than public dry-humping. Back in the day, I’d be spinning girls all around the dancefloor; I’d keep them on the floor until their feet hurt and even after. Now, though? I wouldn’t be caught dead doing… whatever that stuff is.

Well, if (Y/N) asked for a dance, I’d do my best. Anybody worth their salt would know better than to say no to a dame like her. But the thing is… she doesn’t ask me.

“I’m going to dance for a while,” she yells at me over the sound of the music. “Are you good here?”

“Peachy,” I shout back, propping my feet up on a rung of the barstool I’ve claimed. “Have fun, beautiful.”

Her smile glows in the blue-green light, and then she’s gone with Wanda and Natasha, who seem just as eager to dance.

Out of politeness, Bruce hangs out with me at the bar for a little while and we talk shop— S.W.O.R.D’s research and operations, Steve’s programs there— but it’s clear that he wants to dance as well. Before long, I send him off with a clap on the shoulder for encouragement, and then I’m alone at the bar, sipping surprisingly good whiskey.

A while later, a woman sidles up beside me to order a drink. I turn to look at her. She’s a dark-haired beauty with skin the color of polished bronze and hair like big, dark, fluffy clouds. Her lips are full, and they glitter with reflective golden gloss.

“Hi!” She greets me as we make eye contact. “You’re super handsome, oh my God!” 

I blink.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Say, do you wanna dance?”

“No can do. I’m here with my wife.”

The response is automatic. I shock myself with it. For a guy that’s only been married less than forty-eight hours, I’m coming to find that the “nope, I’ve got a wife” instinct sure does kick in fast.

“Oh my bad king! Have a good night!”

She turns to go, but I reach out and grab her arm.

“Wait, wait!” Jesus, fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve got to be the stupidest man alive… but this might just be what I need. “I… think I might need some advice. Do you know stuff about relationships?”

She purses her lips in thought, then nods her head.

“Bad ones, yeah. Good ones, not so much. Also, babe, I’m a little drunk so I dunno how useful I’ll be to you right now.”

“That’s fine.” Reconnaissance, I tell myself. This is just simple reconnaissance. “You mind if we talk a minute?”

“I don’t mind at all! Yap away!”

I tell her the important bits and leave out the stuff she probably shouldn’t know.

“Like I said, I just feel like I barely know her anymore, but I… I want to try and make it better. She’s good to me, and I want to be good to her. Plus, the chemistry is…” I think back to that sly smile, the press of her thighs against mine. “Off the charts. I just wanna be the man she fell in love with.”

Lani— that’s my new friend’s name— nods thoughtfully. 

“And you say you’ve only been back stateside for a couple days?”

I nod and feel a little guilty using someone else’s war for my white lie. Still, though, I don’t know what all my excuses would consist of if there was only peacetime in recent years.

“Then this is just relationship throat-clearing,” Lani tells me confidently, throwing back the shot I bought her. “Ack— that’s strong. But yeah, it’s just a phase. If you wanna speed stuff up, I recommend physical touch. Not the sex kind, you understand— just hold her. Your bodies have probably done a little forgetting even if your minds haven’t. Might be a good idea to start there.”

“But how do I initiate it without coming off.. weird?”

Lani and I talk for a long time. I lose track of how long. Before I know it, it’s been two hours, and I look up to realize that I haven’t seen my wife in that amount of time. I look around, but I don’t see her.

“Don’t worry,” Lani is telling me, “You seem like a good guy, and you’re trying. If she loves you, you’ll work it out just fine.”

A weird look comes over her face, and she adds, “Besides, if I’m guessing correctly… she’s definitely still burning hot for you, king, so good luck out there.”

I turn back to her and thank her sincerely. She pats me on the shoulder and thanks me in turn for the drinks. It’s only right, she insists, that her bad experiences should serve to help someone else prevent them. With that, she’s off, and I’m sitting by myself once more.

Tired now, but armed with a good strategy, I stand, stretching my legs. I scan the dancefloor for my wife, but I don’t see her in the immediate vicinity. When I do catch sight of her, I wish I hadn’t— her eyes are all molten fury as she squishes her way through the crowd of dancing bodies. Whatever has happened tonight, she’s not happy about it, that’s for damn sure. Still determined to act on the advice I was given, I start to make my way toward her, but before I can get very far, I see someone grab my wife’s arm and yank— hard. She stumbles, and I catch sight of the person who’s holding her. 

It’s a man. A large, scruffy-looking man with a look of trouble about him.

I start to shove through people faster.

(Y/N) tries to snatch her arm back, fails. She’s clearly a bit drunk, and stumbles when he yanks her over to him. I’m two strides away, but not close enough to help before the situation explodes.

My wife, full of righteous fury from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head, rares back and punches the guy straight in his ugly face. 

He lets her go then, but people start screaming and the crowd jostles me away from her. I’m trying very hard not to lose my patience and start swinging my elbows— I could kill someone like that with my level of strength— but I’m starting not to care as I watch her use her fists like hammers on the guy’s skull. I’ve seen shit like this among soldiers before, back in the day. She’s drunk, she’s angry— and, judging by how long she lasted against me sparring, she’ll catch a fucking manslaughter charge if I don’t intervene soon. 

I scream her name above the din, but she doesn’t hear me. Her knee connects with Ugly Guy’s nose, and I finally break free from the people-prison that had me trapped. 

“Hey!” I call out to her, reaching for her arm. “Baby, hey, he’s had it, okay, you made your—”

She whirls on me, and I catch hell in the form of a cupped hand smacking painfully against my ear.

“Stay the fuck out of this,” she snarls at me, vicious and cruel. “I’m not done here.”

Oh, but she is. I can be every bit as vicious and every bit as cruel as she can be, and I prove it by grabbing her from the back and putting her in a metal-armed headlock.

“Stand down, babygirl,” I growl close to her ear. “You don’t want to kill him.”

“I do,” she confesses darkly, struggling vainly against me. “I want his bleeding heart in my hands!”

“Then not here, not now.” Bouncers have finally noticed the commotion— too late, sadly. They’re heading for us, but I keep my voice level and calm. “Behave or I swear to God I won’t let anyone bail you out of jail.”

“You have no right to command me!” She thrashes in my arms like a trapped animal. “Let me go, asshole!”

“I have every right.” I tighten the lock.

“Says… who?”

“Says this.” I tighten my arm more, and she wheezes like a squeaky toy with the squeaker ripped out. “Now behave. I don’t wanna go to jail.”

And, let’s be real— if that stupid, ugly fuck decides to raise his hand to her even in self defense, it’ll be both of us sitting in a jail cell. I’d kill him for it.

I let her go then, and she stumbles, clutching at her throat and gasping for air. I feel an instant flash of regret, but I have no time to process it before I’m gathering her in my arms and promising the bouncers that we didn’t start it, but that we’re leaving so as not to cause more trouble. They look at us skeptically, but decide that we’re apparently not worth the trouble and send us on our way. 

Natasha and Bruce catch up with us at the doorway. They saw the whole thing, apparently, and had the same trouble I did with trying to reach (Y/N) before she caused more trouble for herself and us. 

“You guys go on home,” says Natasha, a strange look in her eyes. “We’ll catch up with Wanda and we’ll all get an Uber home when we’re ready.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, desperate for an answer in the affirmative.

“Yes, we’re sure,” Bruce says, placing a reassuring hand on my wife's shoulder. “We all get mad sometimes— and sometimes, we all need a break.”

If Bruce Banner tells you that you need to take a chill pill, you take one. 

And so that’s how my wife and I end up parked in our garage, staring straight ahead at the wall in absolute silence. I’m lost in thought, pondering how such a promising evening went to shit so fast, when (Y/N) breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry I hit you.” Her voice wavers a bit. “And that I called you an asshole. I was just so mad…”

She’s fighting tears. I want to stretch out my hand to her, but I don’t know that the gesture would be welcome.

“S’okay. You had a right to be mad at that guy. He was a total creep.”

She shakes her head.

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t mad at him. I mean, I was, but not initially.”

I turn to her, but she’s staring straight ahead, jaw clenched. With great effort, I keep my voice gentle.

“What happened? Why were you angry, then?”

Her lower lip trembles.

“I really don’t want to talk about this right now, Bucky.”

It’s not the answer I wanted, but it is an answer I will accept.

“That’s okay. We’ll talk about it later.” I think for a minute, then add, “Also, I’m sorry for putting you in a headlock and then insinuating that I have a right to order you around.”

She huffs a laugh.

“I deserved it. All you did was keep me from making a pretty big mistake.”

“Still,” I insist, “I was meaner than I would have liked, and rougher too. I’m sorry.”

“Bucky, please don’t apologize— not for this. It was the right call.”

“But I am sorry it had to happen that way. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

To my shame, there is still a red line at her neck where my arm pressed against it. It’s not bruised or anything, but the mark itself shames me.

My wife turns to me, rigid and acerbic. She says,

“James Buchanan Barnes, I have begged on my actual knees for the same thing you did this evening and worse for my own, selfish… lascivious reasons. When I tell you that no apology is necessary, I mean it. You have nothing to apologize for. No touch from you could ever be too rough for me.”

The implication she just made— that she enjoyed being in a headlock, that she… gets off on that rough and ready side of me— lays heavily between us. 

I’m utterly speechless.

“Ugh, I’m still fucking drunk,” she groans. “Don’t listen to me. I’m going to bed.” 

She clambers out of the Jeep and makes her way into the house. I sit there for a minute to process, then turn the car off and follow her inside.

By the time I make it in, the water to the main shower is running. With a loose plan in mind, I undress down to my boxers and slip between the covers of our shared bed adjacent to the bathroom and wait for her to finish. 

Then my hearing picks up on something I’m not supposed to hear— a whispered phone call that is meant to be masked by the running water of the shower, but isn’t.

“I don’t know, Shuri.” My wife is saying, her voice thick with tears. “He may wake up tomorrow and remember everything. No, the tests won’t be back for— oh stop that, you know we don’t have Wakanda’s resources. No, I don’t think international travel is a good— Shuri! Listen to me, he’s okay. Why am I so emotional then? Why do you think! Because— ” there is a pause, a shuddering breath, then, “Well, I’ve made a fool of myself. Oh, Shuri, what a jealous fool I’ve been!”

(Y/N) recounts the evening as she remembers it, and I am horrified to discover her version of events. Right off the bat, I apparently managed to fuck up by not wearing my wedding ring— apparently she saw that as a sign of rejection and not the show of respect I had intended it to be. That pain, of course, exacerbated the jealousy she describes to Shuri as me openly flirting with and buying drinks for a hot, drunk chick— a jealousy that she thinks she doesn’t even have a right to feel because I’m no longer hers— or at least that’s what she thinks I seem to think.

This account paints me in a terrible light indeed. I feel physically ill listening to all of my actions being laid out and twisted into something they were never meant to be.

“I can’t even be mad at him, Shuri,” she cries, a terrible, aching sound that wrenches my heart and roils in my gut. “It’s not his fault— he doesn’t even know me. And— I mean, yeah, I know he saw the ring ‘cause he had on the necklace, so he had to have looked in— ugh, don’t distract me! My point is, what if he never remembers? He— he may want to leave. No, I won’t stop him— I want him to be happy, even if it’s not with me. I just— I love him, Shuri. If he leaves, it will break my heart.”

I keep listening , but those words bounce around in my brain. 

If he leaves, it will break my heart.

“I don’t even think he thinks I’m pretty anymore. When he saw me in my cute little dress— you know, the gold one with the pockets?— he looked up at the ceiling as if he’d rather look at anything else. Oh, Shuri, it’s over. It’s hopeless!”

It’s all I can do not to bust the bathroom door down and correct every misconception she has. Instead, I bide my time, resting my eyes and my body as she finishes her phone call and her shower. She needs this time and space, so I give it to her until the water shuts off and she makes her way to the bedroom where I lay in apparent sleep.

(Y/N) steps softly up to the bed, then hesitates. I’m willing to bet she’s contemplating sleeping in the guest room. Without opening my eyes, I say,

“Don’t be shy. There’s plenty of room.”

Gingerly, she climbs into bed. She settles as far from me as she can get— an admittedly respectful distance in a circumstance such as this one. Still, I’m unsatisfied. 

“You can stay there if you’d like,” I tell her, “but I’ll feel terrible if you fall off.”

She doesn’t move. It’s remarkable how quiet her crying is, but I can feel the sadness radiating off of her in waves.

I sit up. 

“Hey.” I open my arm— the metal one— up to her. “Come here.”

She shakes her head.

“You don’t have to do this, Bucky,” she sniffles. “You— you’re really not obligated to comfort me. If anything, I’m supposed to be comforting you.”

“Why?” I ask. “I’m not the one who’s lost anything. From where I’m sitting, I’ve only stood to gain. I have a home, friends, and a beautiful wife where I used to have none of those things. But you… you’ve lost a husband.”

She covers her face with her hand, and I take it upon myself to close the distance between us. I pull her to me, and she buries her face in my chest while she cries.

“I’m sorry,” she says, over and over. “I’m sorry…..”

I soothe her as best I can. I rub circles into her back and hold her close. When she shifts awkwardly, I grab Kleenex from the nightstand and let her blow her nose. The whole time, I take Lani’s advice and don’t let her get more than three inches away from me. 

When she’s calmer, I begin to speak. I start with what I feel should be the most obvious fact that she has misunderstood.

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” I tell her firmly, brushing hair away from her face. “I’ve seen a lot of women in a lot of places all around the world and even outside of it, and to me, you beat the hell out of all of them. When I saw you in that dress, it was all I could do to keep my hands off of you and go back to whatever it was we were doing in the basement earlier.”

My wife blinks owlishly. I don’t wait for her to respond before I press on.

“But,” I continue, “I kept my hands to myself because I haven’t earned that yet. I’m stumbling in the dark here with no clue what I’m doing— I’m not the man you married. At least, not yet. But I’m trying to be. I want to be him. That’s why I didn’t wear my wedding ring. I wanted to be worthy of it— worthy of you— before I put it on. In retrospect, I’m realizing I must have seemed like an asshole by not wearing it— even further from the man you know and love.”

“Oh Bucky,” she sighs, tears streaming down her face, “you really are the man I married, even if you don’t know it, you sneaky, conniving, eavesdropping bastard. You listened to my phone call with Shuri, didn’t you?”

I turn pink from the top of my chest to the tips of my ears. 

“That depends on how mad you’ll be if I say yes.”

She lets out a snotty giggle that’s stupidly cute.

“S’what I get for marrying an assassin and a spy,” she smiles through her tears. “Go on, dear— you might as well finish up. You’d better have a jam-up excuse for letting that girl fawn over you all night, or I’ll still be cross with you.”

I shrug.

“That one’s easy. I was asking her for advice about you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She’s quiet for a long time after that. I keep handing her tissues and she keeps blowing her nose until the fount of her tears finally dries up.

“So?” I probe gently, taking her hand in mine, “Am I forgiven?”

“Of course.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s me who should be asking for forgiveness— I should have trusted you to start with.”

I shake my head with a grin.

“My wife can do no wrong as far as I’m concerned. Even when she does something wrong, I’ve got to assume that it’s my fault somehow.”

“Bucky,” she laughs. I lean my forehead against hers and decide to press my luck.

“Can I kiss you? I’ve wanted to since we sparred earlier, and I think it would go a long way towards soothing any ruffled— mph.” 

Her lips are soft against mine. She kisses me once, twice— and then I deepen the kiss, adjusting our bodies until my hand is threaded through her hair, forming a cup around her skull as we kiss deeply, unhurriedly, as though we have all the time in the world. Her hands roam and so do mine, and in this slow, sensual exploration, I am completely, utterly lost. 

Selfishly, I want more. I want to pull my wife into my lap and let her feel what she does to me— I want to kiss and touch her and make her feel good— but Lani had advised me against this temptation.

“If you give in too soon, somehow sex and intimacy become the same thing, which… they aren’t,” she’d told me. “She needs one much, much more than the other, and I’ll give you a hint— it’s not sex. Trust me, even if it feels right in the moment, it won’t later. It’ll feel transactional. That's the worst possible outcome, ‘cause when it comes down to it, there’s always a better deal somewhere else. Give her safety, though, and she’ll always be yours.”

So that’s what I do. I hold her and kiss her and touch her until she’s tired, and then I tuck her into my chest and wait until her breathing evens out to close my own eyes and sleep.

[daisy-01-blog]

That ain’t my baby! (FWB! Gojo x fem! reader x Sukuna) 

A/N: Mentions of sex, light angst, fwb! Gojo, smut on chapter 2

Chapter 1.

It has been a week since Gojo replied to your text. You have spent every day wondering if he will text you. But there isn’t any of that familiar chime anytime now.

It’s usually like this; you thought you were already used to it. Turns out you aren’t. Not yet. 

Something like this isn’t healthy—you told yourself you’re only staying because the sex is good. But you know you’re denying yourself. You love him. 

Love is a huge thing for Gojo Satoru, who didn’t even have one for himself. 

He leads you on, but now that you adore him, he said that he didn’t want to put labels on things. 

It kills you, because you knew that you’re not the only person that he kept around. And it stresses you out, but you love his company. 

There isn’t any ‘I love you’ thrown around; you wonder if he didn’t feel it when he caressed your hair; you wonder if he didn’t feel it like you do.

“I’m not ready to commit,” he would say. He would leave you high and dry and then come back like there’s nothing wrong. 

He knows you have no one but him, so he’s certain you will always come back.

Well, what if he’s wrong for once?

You didn’t try calling him today, even though you know he will finally answer your calls and get over to your house to give you a good dicking, treat you like he loves you, and then leave in the morning. 

You can’t have that, not anymore.

You called the number your friend gave you and said she has someone she wants to introduce to you. 

“Hello?” 

***

You met him in the restaurant, and honestly, his appearance is very striking. 

Pink hair and tattoos all over his body. He also looks intimidating. 

His clothes are a simple black shirt with a leather jacket and jeans. You didn’t know whether to be scared or turned on. 

“Hello” he said, with a baritone voice that you knew is not made up. 

“Oh, hello,” you said shyly. You wore a cardigan over a blue dress. 

“You look pretty,” he smiled softly—which surprised you despite his appearance. “I hope I don’t bother you; I basically begged your friend to give my number to you,” he said. 

You blinked. “Wait, you did?” 

His ears redden. “Yeah, I suppose she doesn’t tell you,” he said softly. “Then we should just forget about it.” 

You chuckle, “I think it’s cute.” 

The date was fine, and you enjoyed your time with him. You smile as he asks you if you’d be interested in a second date. 

“Of course,” you said to him, “I would love to,” and you meant it.

You went back to your apartment and saw Gojo sitting on your couch.

“You didn’t call me,” he said, like a pouting kid. But you hate him now.

“Should I?” You said, “I’m a grown-up now; I don’t need to beg for a man’s attention.” 

He frowns; his mind is running. He’s not dumb; he knows you’re sick and tired of this chasing game. You’re wearing something nice, a dress. So a blind date, he reckons. And he can’t do anything about this since he’s the one who set this system up. 

“Wanna fuck?” he asked you.

He’s lucky you’re not that smart.

“Sure,” you shrugged.

Or are you?

[oh-phoenixx]

"Cloak" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 903 words

@abductedhiko

-

For the first few months that they were together, Regulus showed very little indication that he truly liked James, past eagerly snogging him in the privacy of broom closets, empty classrooms, and the astronomy tower. There was this air of apathy, this cloak of indifference whenever they spoke. James did not know what to do about it. He had spent the better part of a year yearning for Regulus, for the simplicity of a relationship. It had been foolish, of course. No part of Regulus had ever been simple, James knew it was stupid to have expected quiet domesticity or casual intimacy. But whatever this was? He hated it. James was so, so full of love to give, and he wanted to give it to Regulus, wanted to shower him in it, but Regulus seemed unwilling to receive it. 

James had not seen their first fight coming, had not realised the desperation and frustration building within him. One moment, everything seemed okay. He’d had his arm around Regulus, and James could almost convince himself that the younger boy was relaxed. He made to kiss Regulus’s head and Regulus pulled out of his grip wordlessly. 

“Why do you do that?” James asked with a sigh.

“Do what?” Regulus gritted out.

“I just wanted to kiss you,” James muttered, standing up. He was not upset that Regulus didn’t want to be kissed or touched. He was upset that in the nearly three months they had been officially together, Regulus had appeared to have lost all interest in him. And while this completely destroyed James, what was worse was that Regulus would not admit it. He would pull away and would expect James to just put up with it. If it had not been for Regulus’s clear unhappiness, James thought he actually would. If he was deprived at the hands of Regulus Black, there was no sweeter torture, no prettier denial.

“I can’t do this anymore, Regulus. You clearly don’t like me as much as I thought you did. I just wish you’d said something before I…” James trailed off. “I wish you’d said something.”

“Before you what?” Regulus asked with narrowed eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” James replied, voice quiet. James did not expect protests. It hurt no less, though, when none came.

James went to bed feeling sick with his sadness, ill with it. He woke up feeling the same. The last thing he needed was to open his eyes to the sight of Sirius standing over his bed, angrily glaring down at him.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt him,” Sirius hissed, though his tone was laced with betrayal. “You said you would never fucking hurt him.”

James sighed and sat up, letting the duvet pool around him. He rubbed at his nose bridge, trying to ease some of the tension and the oncoming pounding headache. “I doubt he was hurt,” James said bitterly. “I only did it because he didn’t want to be with me.”

“You just made that decision for him?” Sirius questioned. “James, he fucking adores you. Frankly, it’s disgusting.”

“He has a funny way of showing it,” James mumbled.

“Of course he does! This is Regulus we’re talking about!” Sirius groaned. “What did you think? He was just going to forget years of trauma because you claim to like him? He needs time to believe you and to trust you. He needs you to work with him, not leave him a few months in because you can’t deal with it!”

And James was such an idiot. James was so fucking stupid. 

“Regulus,” James called as he entered the Slytherin dorm later that day.

“Potter, if you don’t leave right now, I swear to Merlin, your parents won’t even recognise your corpse by the time I’m done with you,” Evan threatened. The matching glare he and Barty wore would have been enough to deter anyone else. But James was determined to a fault.

“Regulus,” James repeated, softer this time. “I need to speak to you.”

Despite Evan and Barty’s collective protests, Regulus stood and followed James up to the dorm. As soon as Regulus had closed the door behind them, James wrapped his arms around him with the intention of never again letting him go. This did not go well, as Regulus tensed and, although he did not push James away, was very understandably uncomfortable. James took a deep breath and a step back.

“I’m so sorry, angel. Please understand,” James begged. “I love you. I love you so much, and I never would have even thought about breaking up with you if I didn’t think you were unhappy. Whatever you can give is enough for me, okay? You’re enough, Reg.”

Regulus was very good at hiding his emotions, a fact James was regularly saddened by. But right now, James could read him with ease. He knew this was intentional; everything with Regulus was. Regulus was giving up another small part of himself for James to hold close, trusting James to take care of it. And James would. James would relish in the knowledge that, when Regulus was relieved, he flexed his fingers and then clenched them into fists, over and over. James did not know why. He would learn. He would be there for Regulus and learn all those little details. It was all worth it for the way Regulus seemed to melt into James after stepping forward into his arms.

[bitchinbarzal]

Babysitting | Just Fine au

Kaia doesn’t know why it bothers her.

Clayton is single. He can go out with whoever he wants.

It’s not like she’s never thought about it before—the idea of him dating, bringing someone else into his life, into Elodie’s life. But it was always theoretical, some distant concept she never actually had to deal with.

Until tonight.

Until Clayton casually mentioned he had plans.

Until he walked out of his bedroom in a nice button-down and jeans that fit just right, looking like he belonged on a damn magazine cover instead of in her living room.

And then he said, “Don’t wait up, Kaia.”

She wanted to throw a pillow at him.

Instead, she just forced a smile and said, “Have fun,” even though it tasted bitter on her tongue.

That was two hours ago.

Now, she’s sitting on his couch, watching some mindless show, pretending she’s not waiting to hear the front door open.

Elodie is asleep, curled up in her bed after demanding three bedtime stories, completely unaware that her dad is out with someone who isn’t Kaia.

Kaia exhales, rubbing a hand over her face. Get a grip.

She has no claim on him. They’re just friends. She’s not in love with him.

The worst part is that she doesn’t even know who he’s out with. He hadn’t said. Just that he had plans.

And now she’s sitting here, staring blankly at the TV, wondering if he’s laughing at someone else’s jokes. If he’s smiling at some other woman the way he smiles at her.

If he’s thinking about her at all.

Kaia tells herself she’s not waiting for Clayton to come home.

She’s just up late. Watching a movie. Hanging out.

That’s all.

But when the front door opens and he steps inside—smirking, looking way too pleased with himself—her stomach twists.

She doesn’t want to know how his date went.

But she asks anyway.

“So,” she says, keeping her eyes on the TV. “How was it?”

Clayton pauses mid-step, glancing at her. “Good.”

She forces a tight smile. “Just good?”

He shrugs, kicking off his shoes. “Yeah. It was fun.”

Something about the way he says it—the casual ease, the total lack of hesitation—makes Kaia’s skin prickle.

Fun.

It shouldn’t bother her. He deserves fun. He deserves to go on dates.

But she also spent the night putting his daughter to bed while he was out laughing with some random woman.

And that? That’s what really gets her.

“Glad to know you enjoyed yourself while I was here babysitting,” she mutters, unable to help it.

Clayton stills, his brows pulling together. “What?”

Kaia lets out a sharp breath, finally turning to face him. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“No.” He steps forward, crossing his arms. “Say it.”

She clenches her jaw. “It’s just—kind of funny, don’t you think?” She gestures vaguely. “Me watching your kid so you can go on a date?”

Clayton’s expression darkens. “Kaia, you’re not just babysitting. You know that.”

“Do I?” she snaps. “Because sometimes, it feels like that’s all I am. Like I’m just—some built-in support system so you can go off and live your life while I—”

She cuts herself off before she says something she can’t take back.

But Clayton is already staring at her like he knows.

Like he sees exactly what she won’t say.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I didn’t ask you to wait up, Kaia.”

“I wasn’t waiting up,” she lies.

Clayton huffs out a bitter laugh. “Right.”

Silence stretches between them, thick and heavy.

And then, in a voice too quiet, too final, Clayton says, “We don’t need you, you know.”

It hits like a punch to the gut.

Kaia’s breath catches, her fingers curling into fists.

He must realize it the second it leaves his mouth because his face shifts, regret flashing across his features.

But it’s too late.

Kaia swallows, forcing herself to keep her chin up. “Good to know,” she says, voice hollow.

Then she grabs her jacket and walks out the door to go back to her own apartment.

[izloveshorses]

Okay, one more chapter, i promise

last update. they need some emotional closure before we let this one go. read on ao3 or under the cut <3

“Okay, how about, ‘Where is the dance club?”

“That’s an easy one,” Anya said. “Où est le club de danse?”

“Où est… la club…” 

“Le club. It’s masculine.” 

“Le club…” Dmitry was scribbling down the words in a little notebook, where he’d been diligently recording all the little French phrases she had been teaching him this afternoon, “dance.” 

She let out a giggle. “De danse. You keep forgetting the articles.” 

His cheeks were pink and he rubbed his face, hiding his smile. “This is a stupid language.” 

She grinned. Her head was propped on her elbow on the back of the chaise in their suite, feet tucked under her. “You have to learn it, stupid or not.” He looked up at her, still smiling, slouching to the point of reclining. “I don’t want you to be completely unprepared for when I’m not around to translate everything all the time.” 

She said it lightly, a playful and teasing spar, but his face fell, eyes serious and sad. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.” 

The softness of his voice, the earnestness of his words, made her need to take a breath. Lately he had been the cause of an emotion stirring in her gut that she couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t the lust, it wasn’t the hunger, even though both of those things were very much there and present. It was something that made her chest a little tight, an ache somewhere deep and unfindable, a longing for something she didn’t even know. The ache of missing something she never had in the first place. 

That gravitational pull between them was drawing her head toward his— just leaning down over his lips, and considering crawling into his lap so they could explore this feeling in a less wordy way right here on this chaise— when the door of their suite rattled open. They sprung apart without even looking up. 

Vlad was making theatrics, sighing and whistling away while he removed his shoes at the door. “Anyone home?” he called. “Or did you both kill each other?” 

Dmitry answered, “In here,” and fiddled with his lighter, cigarette dangling from his beautiful lips. Anya tore her gaze away from him to the book she had impulsively snagged, though she couldn’t process the words on the page. 

“Well,” Vlad eased himself into the side chair and propped his socked feet up on the coffee table. “What did I miss? Anything interesting?”

Anya shrugged. “Just wandered around, saw some sights.” 

Vlad made a disinterested hum and Anya dared a glance over at Dmitry, who was barely keeping his smile from widening. To keep herself from giving anything away she stared down harder at her book. 

The sightseeing was partially true. They really did wander the city yesterday and this morning, snagging lunch and eating dinner under the Eiffel Tower, touring one of the museums, stopping at the monuments. She just omitted the part about how they held hands the entire time. Or how they spent their morning sharing the bathtub. Or how they woke up tangled in each other's arms between her bedsheets two mornings in a row. 

A lilt in his voice, Dmitry skillfully redirected the attention, “Did you get up to anything interesting?” 

Vlad scoffed but was clearly very pleased to be asked about his reunion with the Countess. “I was being productive, that’s what I was up to.” 

“Oh?”

Anya smiled down into her book. She enjoyed her alone time with Dmitry, obviously, but she did miss listening to the banter he could carry with his friend, the way they bickered like an old married couple. 

“Yes as a matter of fact,” Vlad went on. “Lily will arrange an audience with the Dowager at the ballet on Monday.”

Anya’s head snapped up, heart in her throat. “Monday?” That was so soon. 

“Monday! Not to worry, dear. Your dress will be ready soon enough.” 

Dmitry rose to face the window, puffing on his cigarette like a desperate man, hand in his pocket. A few days ago she would’ve taken that as bored indifference, but now she knew better. He was hiding his reaction. Vlad kept going on about tuxedos and arranging a cab and the opera house’s architecture, but Anya only stared at Dmitry’s back, the hair growing over the nape of his neck, his tense shoulders. 

They didn’t go to the club again tonight, as Anya had anticipated would happen when Vlad finally returned. But they did eat at the restaurant downstairs for several hours. Which meant they had to continue the mild ruse that they weren’t sleeping together, ignore their feet touching sensuously under the table, and not lean into him as gravity commanded when his fingers grazed her knee. Which was… a challenge, to say the least, after their two nights of living open and freely and affectionately around each other. But thankfully Vlad didn’t seem to notice, too happy and content after his weekend with the Countess, delighting in the food and narrating the wonders of French cuisine. 

In the room they played cards— Vlad was desperate to teach Anya how to cheat at poker— and otherwise the evening was uneventful. Dmitry kept flicking cigarette ash in a tray, the same way his sad and baleful eyes kept flicking away from hers if she caught him staring. Like he was watching a train leave the station. Like he wasn’t allowed to look at her.

Vlad was still up reading when Anya went to bed. Dmitry was obviously waiting for Vlad to retire first, but the man was still quite content, so she decided there was no point in trying to outlast him. And she figured that would be it for the night. So she said her goodnights, took the pins from her hair, slipped into her silky new nightgown. With her lamp on she was able to focus more on reading her book. Without Dmitry there as such an obvious and rewarding alternative. 

Anya hadn’t really let herself think about the endgame of this. This… new development with Dmitry. But now she let her thoughts wander to the boy just two doors away. To the warmth he had provided. How he may have cured her loneliness. Last night and the night before were starting to feel like a dream. But it had absolutely happened, if her soreness or the smell of sex still in the sheets was anything to go by. There was something very mammalian about it. How they were acting on their instincts and urges and innate wildness without much thought. She never imagined this could happen to herself. But here she was. 

A quiet rap on her door startled her out of her thoughts. Puzzled, she lifted the blankets and set her book aside and padded across the way. 

Part of her was surprised when Dmitry was on the other side of the door. And part of her realized she had been waiting for him. Him and his pleading eyes. 

When she let him in and let the door latch shut he was on her in seconds, mouth melded to hers, hands on her face and in her hair. She should’ve expected this. That he would need to work out some emotions this way. 

“This okay?” he whispered against her lips. 

“Uh huh,” was all she could say, with his tongue licking into her mouth. She knew he would stop if she asked, so she didn’t mind. Welcomed it and even craved it, actually, with the same intensity he was feeling. “But you need to be quiet.” 

All he did was smile and kiss her again. His hands were everywhere. On her neck and hip and back and ass and chest. Already she could feel herself trying to mold her body around his, fusing soft flesh to soft flesh. His hands clung to her waist when she stood on her toes to get closer. They bumped into her bed and they were slanted, poised between standing and laying, when she finally gave into gravity, pulling him down with her. 

That’s what they were. Gravity. 

Something that transcended time and space. Something that was so natural that when it vanished, she would feel untethered and lost, drifting away. 

“You thinking about me?”

Anya snorted. “Not everything is about you.” 

“You sure?” His fingers rubbed between her legs. “Not even this?” 

She smirked. “Especially this.” 

He carefully pulled her panties down, slipping them off her legs, and she shivered. She had yet to grow used to the feeling of his hands on her skin. His mouth tasting her wherever he wanted. At this rate, she didn’t think she ever would. Even just the gentle graze of his lips on her knee made her lose her mind. 

Anya wanted to stick every single body part she could think of into his mouth, just to see what it was like for him to be able to taste all of her. She even wanted him to slowly unzip her skin, however possible, so he could taste each and every one of her organs, even the unsexy ones, like her intestines or spleen or something. She wanted him to run his tongue over her heart or gnaw her ribs. Because she knew he would do it in that tender and gentle and careful way he did everything, and he would savor every bit of it and understand the importance of it all. And then she wanted him to crawl into her skin and zip them both back up, as one would a sleeping bag, until they were both cocooned in her flesh, just so he could feel what it was like to exist in her broken body, so she wouldn’t be so alone anymore. So no one would ever hurt him again.

None of this was possible, of course. But Dmitry would hold her as close to him as he could, his fingers digging into her flesh, his mouth hungry and curious and patient, that this was just the same. She couldn’t replicate the nightmare that was her mind for him. But he acted like he wanted to know what went on in her head, and maybe that was more than enough. Maybe that was all she needed to not feel so alone. 

Her hands found the hem of his undershirt and pulled it up until it was over his head, and now she had access to the hills and valleys of his front. She ran her mouth along his chest, along all the scars scattered over his skin, tongue and teeth playing intermittently, her hands running up and down his stomach, and he sighed when she mouthed at his nipple. His hand found the nape of her neck and he angled her head so he could kiss her mouth. All the while his hands were running up her thighs, bunching up her nightgown at her waist. 

They kissed for a few minutes, palming flesh and biting lips, and Dmitry ended up on his back, with Anya straddling his torso. He gleefully tugged at her hips. “You should sit on my face.” 

Her eyebrows rose. “I don’t want to suffocate you,” she said, even though the idea was making her blush like a virgin. 

“But what a way to go, right?” He was still pulling her forward so she was now sitting on his chest, eyes locked between her legs. “Please.” 

“You sure?” 

“I can handle it.” 

So she gripped onto the headboard for balance and straddled his head, slowly lowering herself until his open and hungry mouth met her. She gasped, her hips involuntarily jerking forward, and he hummed in delight. 

“Anya,” he murmured against her, “you can sit more, I promise I’ll be okay.” 

With some hesitation— she really didn’t want to suffocate him— she allowed her weight to fall a little more on him, and the feeling did make all the difference. His hands were on her ass, guiding her back and forth, while he practically feasted. His tongue was flicking around inside her and the feeling was so divine she had to let her head fall back and eyes shut. He was as eager and attentive as he always was, but she was in complete control here, and he seemed to like that, too. 

Her hips moved a little faster against him and he matched her pace every step of the way. His brown eyes met hers, and she held onto his hair, watching him watch her. Why not give him a bit of a show? While she was still moving she lifted her nightgown off of her, now completely bare for him. He couldn’t exactly voice his approval but his enthusiasm was obvious enough. 

With one hand gripping the headboard and the other in his hair, she fell apart above him, every nerve narrowing to where he was touching her. She sat back on his chest. He was panting hard, lips parted, staring at her in awe. 

Instead of letting her recover, he moved her hips down, their centers touching. “Sorry, I just—” he sighed, shuddering, “need to be inside you.” 

A few minutes ago he had been teasing, playful. But now he was almost desperate. Even though her thighs were burning with strain she still lifted herself enough to fish him out of his pants and angle him against her. “I know, Dima.” As she sunk around him she ran her hand down his face, thumb catching on his parted lip, down his chest, down his stomach, propping herself up with her other hand. 

He thrusted his hips up, forcing himself the rest of the way in, like he would die if they spent another second apart. “You’re so good for me.” 

She hummed softly, trying to find the right angle. She could feel him everywhere. His hips kept moving up, sliding in and out of her, hitting her so perfectly she had to bite back a moan. 

“I know that feels good.” He was letting out broken breaths, just as eager, just as needy. Her thighs burned but he felt so good and he looked so handsome like this she powered through, moving faster. “That’s it. You know what to do.” 

She pressed her palm over his mouth. “You have to shut up.” He was being so noisy. 

His tongue swiped over her palm mischievously, but his smile didn’t meet his eyes. “You just feel too damn good. Can’t help it.” 

“But you don’t want— our neighbor to know what’s—” she had to let out a breathy exhale when he was thrusting faster, spurring her to pick up the pace, “to know what’s going on.” 

His hands were all over her, guiding her hips and squeezing her breasts and gripping her thighs. Like he couldn’t decide the perfect way to touch her. “Need you to come on me, okay?” he whispered. “You feel so good when you do.” 

“Dima, I don’t know if—” 

“You can. Please, come on.” She was so tired, but his voice was so soothing, so persuasive, so addicting. “I know you’re close. I got you.” 

She bit her lip, moving harder against him. His hand tightened around her hip to steady her and he met her thrust for thrust, knowing exactly where she needed him, like he knew her body better than she knew it herself, watching her attentively. She was braced above him, hands on either side of his face, her hair cascading over her shoulders, eyes locked with his. Her legs were so tired but… there. She could reach this peak, like this, with him helping her along. 

But it wasn’t until his fingers found between her legs, like he couldn’t wait any longer, that she shattered, fell apart. This would never get old. She could let herself fall apart like this because she knew he would always be there to put her back together. 

His arms came around her spine, her pelvis, her neck, kissing her hard. And then she was on her back with him still hard and needy inside of her. “Sorry, I just—” he was braced above her, already thrusting in and out. “I need too—” 

Dmtiry was unable to finish, too overcome with need. “It’s okay,” she whispered, breathing hard, her hands holding his face. “I got you, Dima.” 

He was pistoning in and out of her like a machine, eager to reach his peak, too, now that he had permission. There was a bit of darkness in his eyes, in the force of his hips, but she held him all the way, toes curling at the feeling of him, knee hooked over his hip. This was how he was working out whatever was bothering him. And she had to admit it felt good to be needed. To be loved. Even like this. 

They hadn’t said it, that word. Not out loud anyway. 

But she could pretend, right?

Finally, with a great thrust and a broken exhale, his hips locked with hers, filling her in every way. He kept moving a little, one thrust for each twitch of his body, for each wave that crashed over him. And the world stopped moving for that mere slip of time. 

He wouldn’t meet her eyes as he pulled out, almost sullen, and then he relaxed, half on top of her, leg between hers, arm over her waist. He was panting hard into her neck.

Anya ran a hand through his hair, recovering herself, thinking hard. He was still a difficult man to understand. But if she learned anything from the past few nights, it was that the only way to understand him was to test her theory. 

“Dima… you’re not going to lose me.”

He stiffened, holding his breath. There it was, then. She was right. 

Maybe she understood Dmitry more than she thought. 

Finally, he responded, “You don’t know that.”

“I do, though.” She wove her fingers between locks of his hair, her other hand resting above her head. “What makes you think I would let that happen?” she asked. He pressed his face into her chest, hiding, breathing deeply in the skin between her breasts. “Come on, Dima. Talk to me.”

He let out a heavy, long sigh. “I’m afraid,” he finally whispered, “of what will happen after you meet the Dowager.” 

“Yeah?” Her fingertips scraped his scalp. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” His nose was brushing against the scar cutting through her chest, her longest one. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean to become such a distraction— you’re the one with the toughest job coming up, I’m sorry. I should be helping you.”

“Dmitry, don’t— keep going. Keep talking. Please.” He was deflecting, being stupid, being stubborn and selfless. She tried to joke, “I’m not even nervous about it with you around to keep me company, anyway,” but it didn’t land the way she wanted. He just pressed his face even harder into her sternum. Like he was trying to bury himself. “Is it… do you think this… you and I… will end?”

He took another heavy breath. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.”

She let that hang in the air for a minute. Of course she had wondered the same thing, before she knew how Dmitry felt about her. A month ago she would’ve taken that as he didn’t want to see her again. But she knew better now. That it was some deep insecurity branded into his mind he had to work through. She whispered, “Don’t you think we deserve a say in all of that?”

“Maybe, but why—” his voice was muffled with his face pressed against her like that— “what would someone like you want with someone like me?”

“Hey, don’t talk like that.” She found his face with her hands and held his cheeks so he would look at her. His eyes were wet and it broke her heart a little bit. “Hey, Dima, hey,” her voice softened and she smoothed his eyebrows, and he nuzzled into the heel of her palm. This was who Dmitry was, deep down. A boy with his heart out on his sleeve and patches in his pants and too much pride in his chest and too much insecurity to consider that maybe she could adore him. A lost, broken, thoughtful, loving boy. Her boy. 

Dmitry looked like he was already saying goodbye. “What if the Dowager doesn’t accept me being with you?” he asked. “What if you find something better on the other side?” 

“What if she doesn’t accept you, what if she doesn’t accept me?” she challenged. “What if the con falls apart? What if the sky falls, what if the Seine floods, what if what if what if!” she shook her head in fond exasperation. One of her hands trailed down his neck, his shoulder, thumbing at one of the bullet wounds that had healed over. One of their twin scars. “Do you ever stop thinking?”

His lips twitched, as if in spite of himself. He was always so self-deprecating. And then he was looking at her with his wet eyes and upturned eyebrows. “You make things feel quieter,” he admitted. “You make it all go away.” 

She swallowed at this confession. Her knuckle brushed a tear from his cheek. “Then fight for it.” 

His jaw clenched and somehow his eyes got even sadder. “I just don’t think dowager empresses like street rats in their house, Anya.” 

She wasn’t sure how to describe it, this emotion storming in her chest, this emotion that was only invented for him. The enormity of it. It was rather scary how much she was already spiraling about him. How she was ready to scrap the con altogether, to just live like this with him, swanky hotel or no. How forever was starting to look like his smile and sound like his laugh and feel like his arms. 

She wasn’t ready to voice all of that aloud, though. And she wasn’t sure if he would understand the bit about how she wants him to literally crawl inside her skin and stay there so she could keep him. At least, not right away.

So Anya would have to think of a more tangible way to make him believe her, then. 

“First of all,” she started, “if this particular dowager empress doesn’t like you, then she certainly won’t like me. I’m just as much of a street rat as you are.” 

He gave her a weird look. 

“And if she doesn’t like you, well, then, I want nothing to do with her.” 

“Anya…” 

“I’m serious. If she can’t see…” she felt tears prick her eyes, surprised by the sudden emotion. Perhaps it was best for them both to leave that thought unfinished. “And at the end of the day, if we’re separated with no hope of reconciling, if something takes you away from me…” she rubbed at his cheekbones, still amazed by the structure of his face. “I’ll find you again.” 

His eyes raked up and down her face, holding his breath, as if not daring to believe her. She pulled him down to give him a kiss. It was soft and gentle and simple, but by the time he pulled away, he was smiling again. His smile, the one that lit up the room, the one that met his eyes. 

“You won’t lose me,” she repeated, keeping her voice stern and soft at the same time. “I promise.” 

He kissed her again. Her mouth, her cheeks, her eyelids, her jaw, her neck. So much that she started silently giggling. 

“I’m guessing you feel better?” she asked. 

“Uh huh.” He met her eyes. “I don’t know how you do it.” 

She sighed, touching his hair. “I know. I’m just so smart and wonderful.” 

He laughed, too loud for this late in the night. “You are.” He wet his lips, swallowing. “Do you want me to go…” 

“Absolutely not.” Her arms came around his neck. “Never.” 

Dmitry smiled with half his mouth, then kissed her again. Slow and lingering and sweet and everything she could ever want. “Okay, Anya,” he murmured, settling to lay his cheek on her chest, tucked under her chin, “I’ll stay. As long as you’ll have me.” 

Anya settled deeper into the blankets, understanding what he was saying. That he wasn’t just staying tonight, but for the foreseeable future. “Good.” 

so no to the dancing

dimya one shot, canonverse, 5k, M, smut, jealousy 👀 some rough and possessive sex under the cut, but like in a feminist manner so it's okay don't worry about it. i posted this two weeks ago but i was embarrassed to link it here lol but whatever. here u go. have fun ladies <3 read on ao3 or down below!

Anya couldn’t figure him out. 

Not when they met in a dusty palace, arguing on either side of a broken chaise, when she was about to pass out from hunger. And certainly not now, months later, in this crowded nightclub in Montmartre, with these glances they kept stealing, eyes burning brighter than the embers at the end of the cigarettes between their lips.

It’s not like Dmitry wasn’t… complicated. He was. He had a short childhood and a long life of hardship, he loved his city but hated his country, he revered his father but was too apolitical to follow in his footsteps. He was a walking contradiction, for sure. But she was usually pretty good at reading people. Figuring out their motive, their ticks. Nothing about Dmitry made any sense to her, though. All she had was a collection of data and observations that didn’t add up to anything. He would mess with his hair when the conversation lulled. He lit a cigarette when he was upset. He smiled a lot but she didn’t think he always meant it.  

There was a time where she hated his guts, she had to admit. And then he confused her even more by revealing his past, how he came to be the man he was now. Anya couldn’t picture him as a child. Dmitry was just. A fully formed man from the beginning. A fully formed, certified asshole, in her mind. 

Once they escaped Saint Petersburg and Russia herself she realized somewhere along the way that hatred had shifted into something milder, something fond. She found herself whispering with him in the dark, when neither of them could fall asleep, musing what they would do in Paris when they finally made it, all while Vlad snored softly on the other side of the fire she had built. He was good at telling stories. Since she had no stories of her own to tell, not with this empty gap in her memory, she clung onto his every word with white knuckles. 

Somehow Dmitry had sort of become her best friend. Somehow he was sort of the person she trusted the most in this world. 

And then they hit Paris, and something else shifted. It was almost like he was avoiding her altogether. Friendly touches reverted back to walking in wide arcs around her. Lingering smiles changed to eyes flitting away the second she looked at him. It made her feel foolish. Somewhere along the way she had thought… well, honestly, there was something… simmering between them. What that something was she hadn’t even had time to explore. But there had been a weight to his lingering gazes, a meaning behind his hand brushing her own. And now he acted like she burned him at the barest glance. A new form of loathing took shape within her.

She couldn’t decipher it. She already had so much on her plate, especially now that they were in Paris and their deadline was fast approaching— as soon as Vlad could get them an audience with the dowager empress they would all part ways. She didn’t mean to let her confused heart get mixed up in all this. 

When Vlad insisted on going clubbing, Anya had welcomed the distraction, even if her feet ached from exploring the city all day. They had traded their tired Russian winter wardrobe for a spring Parisian chic, with light and flowy dresses and freshly pressed suits and stylish chignons. Anya didn’t look his way but she felt Dmitry’s eyes burning through her skin the whole way here, his hand like fire on her lower back as they stepped from the cab, the heat of his body beside her when they ordered their drinks. 

Vlad found a dance partner impressively fast, Anya admitted to herself, and left the two of them to swim in their thick, simmering silence on their own. Fair enough. She would be sick of the pair of them, too, if she were in Vlad’s shoes.

“Want another drink?” Dmitry asked over the noise of the swing band without looking at her. 

Damn, he really was handsome. Even if he wasn’t meeting her eye and his expression was entirely unreadable, he had such a remarkable profile, with the bump in his nose and his princely chin and his stern mouth. His new suit was tailored just right, broadening his shoulders and stretching over his chest. His hair was combed but one stubborn lock fell over his left eyebrow in defiance. Anya wet her lips. “I’m still working on this one, but thank—” 

He wordlessly left her side, weaving his way through the crowd towards the bar. 

All right. 

It wasn’t difficult to piss her off, sure, but something about Dmitry would always bring her blood to a boil, and now was no exception. So when another gentleman approached her to ask for the next set, she felt no remorse when she set her half empty glass on the nearest table and accepted his hand, even if he looked a little wolfish and angular and not at all her type. 

The gentleman was a good dancer. He waltzed her through one set, and then the next, and the next, without breaking a sweat or stepping on her toes. He even made her laugh once. She wasn’t sure if it was on purpose, but she still laughed all the same. 

At one turn, though, her eyes found his: Dmitry was staring daggers at them across the crowded dance hall, sucking on a cigarette with a tight jaw. He downed his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before shouldering his way through the other wallflowers. Anya politely excused herself from her partner and did her best to escape the dance floor without stumbling. 

Anya followed him all the way outside. She hadn’t realized how hot and stuffy it had been in the club, the air thick and stifling with other dancers, until she came out here, where the cool spring evening chill was welcomed. The club was tucked away in a deserted alley, with nothing but cigarette butts and streetlamps for company. This must have been some side entrance because no one, not even a bouncer or a server on their break, was around. Dmitry was about a dozen steps ahead of her. “Where are you going?” she called. He didn’t stop. 

“Back to the hotel,” he said, barely over his shoulder. She was trying to catch up with him, but his long strides were difficult to compete with.

“But I’m not ready to leave.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

Her fists clenched at her sides. “So you were just going to leave me?” 

“I thought you found better company.” 

The words cut through her, searing. She finally caught up with him, walking side by side. He still only stared straight ahead without halting. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Nothing, it’s whatever.” Dmitry took another puff of his cigarette and blew out plumes of smoke with his words. “It’s a dance club, so go back and dance, I don’t care.” 

Anger flared up. She shoved at his shoulder. “It’s not like you were going to ask me to dance.” 

“I said I don’t care!” he lifted his hands as if surrendering. His expression was still guarded. “You can do whatever you want. I’m not your mom.” 

“What if I want you to care?” 

For a brief moment that mask flickered, his eyes darting to hers in curiosity. But then that moment was over in a flash and he scrubbed his face clean of any emotion with his palm, leaving nothing but a cool neutrality behind. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

Anya stayed planted while he was still walking away. An idea suddenly struck her, plain as day. A new angle to look at, a new method to unraveling the mystery that was Dmitry Sudayev. “He kept calling me cherie, by the way,” she tested, keeping her voice disinterested. 

Dmitry froze in his tracks. And that was when she knew she had him. She was onto something.

Her heart raced. “He even invited me to come home with him tonight. Told me he’s got a penthouse suite right on the Champs-Elysees and everything.” 

When Dmitry turned to face her his eyes were black. Smoking obsidian. “Well?” he said after a very measured breath. “Are you?” 

She shrugged, as if nonchalant. “I can’t think of a reason not to.” 

His nostrils flared, like he could fucking smell the man’s cologne on her still.

Anya lifted her chin. “Why?” she asked. “Does that make you jealous, Dmitry?” 

That was it. She had him pinned. His ears went bright pink in the low lamplight and he had the audacity to laugh. Angry and humorless, but a laugh all the same. “Jealous? Really? You think too highly of yourself sometimes.” 

“I think you’re fooling yourself if you believe that.” 

He angrily snuffed his cigarette between his shoe and the cobblestone. “You can do whatever you want with whoever you want, just leave me out of it.” 

“Do you want me to?” 

His eyes snapped back to hers, weary, angry. “You don’t need my permission.” 

“Do you want me to,” she repeated, more insistent. They were close now, not quite nose to nose, but too near each other for her to miss the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, like it pained him, and the way his eyes were a match about to burn down to fingertips. 

His nostrils flared again, muscles in his jaw flexing. He slowly shook his head.

“No.”

No. Now they were getting somewhere. She pushed at his chest. Not enough to make him stumble away, but enough to get him to pay attention. The attention she had been wanting for a really long time, she realized. “No, what?” 

His exhale hit her face. “I don’t want you going home with that guy.” 

His tone was low, dangerous, a warning. Thin and brittle and about to snap. “Then give me a reason not to.” 

Anya barely had time to suck in another breath before his mouth was on hers, crashing into her so forcefully she had to stumble backwards to catch her footing. But Dmitry didn’t let her fall, his hands pulling at her waist and the back of her neck, leveraging her against him. 

Damn, Dmitry could kiss. It was messy and desperate and frantic but it was perfect, his teeth pulling at her bottom lip, bunching the skirt of her dress into a fist. The cold air made goosebumps erupt all over her exposed thigh. Her mouth parted and her tongue swiped at the seam of his lips, which he graciously allowed access, and when her tongue slid under his he let out a moan so sinful she had to cling onto his arms to keep her knees from wobbling. She landed hard against the damp wall, and even though he was being forceful and rough he still cradled her head so she wouldn’t hurt herself on the brick. He could play tough all he wanted, but deep down he was a softie. 

“This what you wanted?” he asked, his voice still low and gruff. “Needed some attention?” 

Now that he was all in her space, crowding her and mouthing at her skin, she welcomed this feeling pooling in her lower stomach, something she hadn’t paid much attention to in a while. Sure, she was no stranger to desire. But something was different about him. A strange, darker need, sprouting from how fiery they could make one another. Her hand came up to fold into his hair. “Maybe.” 

Dmitry moaned a little when her fingers wove through his locks. Another discovery of the night. “You still gonna go home with him?” 

No, absolutely not. Anya could barely remember what that guy even looked like. But she only smiled a little and said, in her best princess voice she could muster, “I’m thinking about it.” Her words had the desired effect— Dmitry let out a gruff noise and shoved his knee between her legs, giving her access to relieve some of the pressure that had ballooned up there. 

“You don’t need him,” he breathed. “You don’t need anybody. Just ask me to take care of you and I will. Whatever you want.” 

Her head tilted back, letting him cradle her skull, while her hips, nearly involuntary, thrusted back and forth, rubbing herself on his muscular thigh. “I think you’re smart enough to figure out what I want.” 

His mouth cascaded down her neck, teeth scraping over the column of her throat. If they had done this earlier in their acquaintance they would’ve had to fumble with scarves and coats and wool to do all of this so she was grateful they had waited until now. Now all she had on was her thin, silky dress, and her new underwear, all of which the latest Parisian fashions, which tended to focus on revealing more skin than what was acceptable back home. More neck, more cleavage, more leg, which he was clearly enjoying, with his hand up her skirt and bruising her thigh and his mouth sucking on the base of her throat. Dmitry bit down at the junction between her neck and shoulder, something possessive and hungry, earning a surprised gasp. There was no doubt a bruise would bloom here in minutes. 

“You’re so sensitive…” he swiped his tongue over the mark, as if to sooth it or maybe admire his work, she wasn’t sure, “how long’s it been since you’ve let a man touch you like this?” 

Her heart was beating so fast against his, her chest heaving, face hot and flushed. His thigh between her legs wasn’t enough. “Too long.” 

His hand cupping the nape of her neck slid forward until it was around her throat, not squeezing or anything, but angling her jaw so he could kiss underneath, and also holding her in place. “I could touch you more,” he murmured, his hand gripping her thigh loosening to slide between her legs, fingers rubbing at her over her panties. Somehow he had sensed her need. “If you ask politely.” 

She squeezed the hair she was holding. “You’re in no position to negotiate.” 

“Aren’t I?” His thumb pressed into the base of her throat at the hollow of her collarbone, just a little. She knew he would never hurt her. Not even this way. But the thought of him threatening her like this was arousing and, absurdly, a little funny. 

Anya lifted her chin at him, meeting his eye, making sure he was watching her. “I don’t think this other gentleman would make me ask.” 

His nostrils flared, eyes hooded and dark and flashing with something ominous, as predicted. He grabbed her wrists in one hand and locked them above her head, all in a silly show of dominance for this little performance, and his other hand started fiddling with her underwear. He was probably looking for things to untie or unbutton but all she had on was a pair of lacy french panties. His eyebrows rose in surprise. “So accessible.” He kept playing with the waistband of her panties, just to torture her. “These new?” 

They were indeed new. She smiled a bit. “Bought them with the dress.”

Dmitry sighed. “Love this city,” he mumbled. “I could barely look at you since we got here, you’re too fucking irresistible.”

She frowned, struggling to escape his grip on her wrists. “But you’ve been ignoring me since we got here.”

“Because I can’t— I don’t think I can control myself around you right now.” 

He was so fucking confusing. This was why he had been ignoring her? She was too attractive to him? That was it? “All it took was a bath and some new clothes for you to notice me, huh?” 

“I’ve always noticed you,” he whispered. “Always. Driving me crazy since you walked into that goddamn palace all those months ago.” His lips twitched, like he thought of a joke. “But you do smell better now, I’ll admit that.” 

This made her laugh, because it was true. “So do you—”

She gasped when his hand finally slipped down the front of her underwear all the way, cupping her, rubbing at her. “Jesus Christ,” he marveled, “no wonder you’re so— this all for me? Or for him?”

Anya bit her lip, pressing herself harder against his hand. “What answer will make you shut up and touch me more?”

In spite of everything, the bastard grinned, white teeth and everything, like he figured out her game and was absolutely delighted to play. “Need me to take care of this for you?” 

His fingertips were making slow, sensual ovals, making her lose her composure a little. “Make me feel good.” 

Two of his fingers plunged all the way inside her, making her gasp, while his palm rubbed at her. His hand was so large and perfect, fingers thick and round. His other hand holding her wrists loosened its grip and slid down one of her arms and she let out a keening noise when his thumb brushed her nipple over the fabric of her dress. 

“So needy,” he dipped his head, pressing more hot kisses to her neck, “poor thing. All hot and bothered with no one to help.” His lips sucked around her pulse point behind the corner of her jaw. “You have needs, I get it. But why even bother finding someone else to satisfy you when I’m right here?” 

He had taken on a softer tone, bordering on cooing at her, and for some reason this irritated her more than anything. “You piss me off so much,” she mumbled, trying to catch her breath. 

He laughed a little, like he knew what she meant, like she pissed him off too. “Does arguing with me get you all worked up?” 

Her hands tangled in his hair. “Does picturing me with another man get you all worked up?” 

“No, it— it makes me fucking angry,” he grunted, his voice cracking. “Don’t like thinking about that.” His hand was moving a little more frantically now. Like this was how he proved himself. “You think that guy— anyone else— could make you feel this good?”

“How do you know he can’t?” she asked, just to piss him off. He all but growled in her ear. 

“Just by looking at him— he’s a fucking selfish piece of shit.” His fingers were knuckle deep, knocking against what felt like every nerve in her body, with his palm rubbing at her. It was a little difficult to focus on what he was saying. “Wouldn’t know the first thing about how to touch a woman. He’d probably just fuck you until he was done, wouldn’t care if you were satisfied or not...” The rest of his sentence trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish. Clearly he knew how to pleasure her. His fingers inside her was evidence enough.

She thought of something else. “You know,” she started. “If I’m— if I’m really her— you know I’ll have a whole lineup of suitors, right?” 

He nipped at the soft skin of her neck in warning. “No.” 

“No?” she asked incredulously. “I absolutely will. That’s how this works.” 

He lifted his head to look at her, his expression a calm satisfaction. “You know you won’t need them, don’t you?” He shook his head. “None of them could ever get you this riled up, not the way I do.”

That was true— she didn’t think anyone else existed with the perfect skillset to frustrate her so the way Dmitry Sudayev could— but there was no way in hell she was admitting that now. Even if her hips were wobbling against his hand, clenching around his fingers. “And you’d legally have to do everything I say.”

He gritted his teeth. “I don’t like being told what to do.”

A bold statement, considering he was right where she wanted him. Considering he had done everything she had asked him to so far. 

His fingers were so long, buried deep inside her, pressing every sensitive nerve she had, and the heel of his palm was cupping her so perfectly, moving rhythmically. “Fuck, Dima,” she moaned, the name slipping from her lips. Her head tilted back against the brick and her eyes had to flutter shut. “Don’t stop.” 

“Look at me,” he grabbed at her jaw, angling her face towards his. So she opened her eyes and glared at him. “I’m not loyal to princesses and kings, Anya. But I am loyal to you.”

His surprising sincerity, in the midst of how lewd and filthy he had been treating her, was a little confusing. He towered over her, surrounding her on all sides, cocooning her from the real world, eyes dark and alluring and honest. In a way, he was more protective of her than anything else. Her arms came around his shoulders and her fingers slipped into his hair again. 

He bit at her shell of her ear. “You gonna come for me or what?”

She was so close. But she spat, “Make me.” 

He growled in frustration. “You’re such a brat sometimes,” he hissed, “spoiled rotten. Mean as hell to me.” 

She yanked hard on his hair. “If I’m a brat, you’re a bitch.” 

He laughed, like he couldn’t agree more. “This mouth,” his thumb brushed over her parted lips, “don’t know how it hasn’t gotten you into more trouble.” When he pressed the finger over her tongue, like he was experimenting to see how much he could get away with, she bit him with her teeth, just hard enough to get him to react. He groaned. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” 

“Don’t I?”

A third finger slipped inside of her and it felt so good her vision went white for a second. Holy shit, she was so close. His hand covered her mouth entirely. “So fucking noisy,” he hushed. “Bet it pisses you off how good I’m making you feel right now.” 

He wasn’t wrong. But she didn’t care— all of the bickering and the tension from the last few months was piling up and she was about to earn her payoff for all of it. 

But then he suddenly slipped his fingers out of her, entirely stopping. The loss of momentum was that of tripping while running downhill. 

“Fuck you!” she hissed. All he did was laugh, sucking each of his fingers clean. “I wasn’t done.”

“We’ll finish this up at the hotel,” he cooed. 

She shoved at his chest. “No, we’re finishing this here.” 

He still wasn’t taking this seriously. “No.” 

“It’s now,” she tugged at his pants, popping the button open, “or never, Sudayev.” 

When she started palming at him, his hips thrust himself into her hand, a new noise slipping from the back of his throat. “Dirty girl.” He let her fumble with undoing his pants, neither bothering with his jacket or vest or suspenders. 

Dmitry lifted her by her hips and she scrambled to cling onto his shoulders, her back scraping on the cold brick, legs wrapping around him. His grip on her was bruising tight, but he had a forearm behind her head, protecting her from the hard wall. Suddenly she was at eye level with him and her breath caught in her throat. He really was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

He was breathing hard. “You wanna know why I’ve been ignoring you?” 

He was inside her in one, sharp thrust, taking up every possible inch of space within and around her. 

“It’s because I’m so fucking terrified of what’s gonna happen to me when I lose you,” he confessed. “Whether it’s to some suitor who wants Anastasia, or some gentleman at a dance club, or— or anyone who actually deserves you. And I knew if I let myself… I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to let you go.” He shifted her in his grip. “Didn’t want to frighten you off with how bad I wanted you.” 

He was already moving. Clumsy and needy and messy, sure, but. She couldn’t breathe for a second. She could feel him everywhere, in her gut, in her toes, even all the way up to her throat. What could she even say to that, anyway? He was basically confessing this was more than just a fleeting moment of passion for him, confirming her suspicions. It was a lot to take in. Both emotionally and physically. 

“How much?” She managed. “How much did you want me?”

His next thrust was particularly deep and hard, insistent. “So fucking much.” 

He was so close to her, fingers sinking into her flesh, his front pressing into her own, like he was trying to actually climb under her skin in every way imaginable. “Like you said…” her nails dug into his suit jacket, waiting for him to meet her eye, “I don’t need anyone else.” 

That flicker of insecurity vanished, replaced with his smug grin. “Damn right.” 

They were moving a little more steadily now, not as clumsy. There was a ferocity to it, though, an animalistic haste and speed she didn’t expect from him. A sort of desperation that only starving men had. His fingers were bruising her thigh, holding her whole body aloft with ease, moving so fast she could hardly keep up. He mouthed at the side of her neck again and she couldn’t keep the embarrassing noises from escaping her throat. 

“God fucking damn it, Anya.” His breaths came out in heavy huffs, a moan here and there. “You like it dirty, don’t you? Taking me so good out here in this fucking alleyway. Not some fragile grand duchess, huh?” 

He was mumbling, babbling nonsense. And he had laughed at her for being noisy. “You’re one to talk.” 

He nosed his way back up to her mouth, not quite kissing her but mostly just showing he was paying attention. His hips were pistoning fast, but also powerful, precise, like he knew exactly where she needed him out of sheer will. Not a single movement was wasted. Thrusting upwards, stretching her open.

“Didn’t take you for the jealous type,” she breathed. “If I had known I would’ve— tried this weeks ago.” 

He scoffed. “Come on, as if the thought of me with someone else doesn’t drive you up the wall.” 

She thought about it. Someone else getting to have Dmitry this way, being the object of his attentions. And she felt something sour in her gut. “The girls on Theatre Street?”

He met her eyes, lips twitching with a bit of mischief. “Maybe.”

Okay, she really hated that. 

“See!” He was too breathless to laugh, but he was close to it. “Does that make you jealous, Anya?” 

She tugged his hair and he hissed. Damn, they were so similar, down to every wire, it seemed. She thought of something else. “You know you don’t need them, right?” Her ankles locked around him, clinging on, keeping him close. Like no one else would get him this way, if she had a say about it. “You won’t want anyone else that’s not me.” 

He smiled then. Like he knew her game. “I knew it— the moment we met,” he breathed. “You’re it for me.”  

His hips snapped into hers at an ungodly pace now, as wild and desperate as she felt. Her heart was pounding. Dmitry wasn’t speaking anymore, just huffing and moaning and panting. Everything they’d been through— all of the angry bickering, the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the desperate dependency on one another for survival, was crescending to this. To his hands holding her aloft, his brown eyes hooded with something dark and hungry, the skin of his scalp under her fingernails, the stretch of him moving frantically inside her. 

“Look at me,” she managed. She needed to see him come undone. His eyes were shining a little, a vein protruding from his neck, face flushed from his hairline down his chest, lips parted and red. She pressed a loose kiss to them. “Say it.” 

“Fuck—” he groaned. Like she surprised him. “You’re mine.” 

She was his. She knew it for a long time, how much she wanted to belong to someone, in one way or another. “And you’re mine.” 

Dmitry nodded once. Apparently even when incapable of speech he would still take care of her. I’m not loyal to princesses and kings, he had confessed. But I am loyal to you.  

He had already built a staircase for her to reach the end of this, so it wasn’t difficult to finally let go, to let this wave crest and wash over her. When she came all over him he let out the most obscene whimper she had ever heard and within seconds he froze, shaking. All without breaking eye contact. 

Her hands came to the side of his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “You okay?” she asked. 

He nodded and audibly swallowed, still breathing hard. Her makeup was smudged all over his face, his hair was going in all different directions, his shirt was wrinkled, his face flushed pink. 

She had to bite her lip and tilt her head back. For some absurd reason she felt an urge to laugh. 

“What?”

“I finally figured out how to get you to stop talking.” 

He smiled tiredly and huffed another breath. Slowly his eyes came back into focus. “Fuck— did I hurt you?” He anxiously brushed a loose hair from her face, searching her eyes with clarity and concern. “I’m— I’m sorry—” 

“Don’t,” Anya shook her head. “Never apologize to me. You’re fine.” Her fingers pushed his bangs out of his eyes. “You’re perfect.” 

They just breathed together for a second, foreheads touching. When he carefully pulled out he exhaled slow and angled her hips with a strange sort of reverence. As he gently set her back down on her feet, he brushed a soft kiss over her mouth, helping her fix her skirt and panties, cleaning her up with the cloth tucked in his breast pocket. The gentleness and care was so different from the way he was moving in her just seconds ago. He had bit a bruise on her neck and left indentations of his hand on the flesh of her thigh but now he was kissing her forehead and wiping her clean with a tenderness she didn’t know he was capable of. And then he pulled his suit jacket off and carefully draped it over her shoulders, almost boyishly shy about it. Confusing and contradicting. 

Dmitry Sudayev would continuously be full of surprises, it seemed. 

“You still gonna go home with that gentleman?” he asked, half joking and half serious. As if, even after all that, she was still on the fence, as if it wasn’t always going to be him from the beginning. 

She tilted her head up at him. “What gentleman?”

He grinned in obvious relief and bent down, mouth hovering over hers. “Good answer,” he whispered just before he kissed her. His hands were gentle around her waist, tugging her closer, his warmth as inviting as ever. “Would you like to go back inside for a dance?” 

She fixed his collar. “How likely is it, do you think, Vlad will find somewhere else to stay tonight?”

“I don’t know. He did say he was looking for Lily, and if that’s anything how I think it’ll be…” he grimaced, like a little boy encountering his parents exchanging a kiss. “Why do you ask?” 

He wasn’t getting it. Her hand slid down his chest as slowly and sensually as she could, finding his hand, intertwining their fingers. “Because in that case, we could have the suite to ourselves…”

His face lit up with understanding. “Oh!” His entire demeanor shifted, no longer weary with exhaustion, standing straighter and bouncing at the balls of his feet. When she started tugging him down the alley towards the street, he was practically skipping. “Got it. So no to the dancing.” 

She let out a giggle. “No dancing.” She held his arm. She was still a little wobbly on her feet, but he was steady next to her, so she knew he wouldn’t let her fall. “But yes to you.” 

His face reddened, endearing and embarrassed to be so obviously complimented, but his eyes danced with something a little akin to the hunger he’d shown before. A promise of more. A promise that he was worth her time. 

Dmitry would always be complicated and contradictory. But now Anya felt, with his hand in hers, she finally understood him a little bit.