#I likely didn’t phrase much of this well

[josiebelladonna]

^that last one made me think of stranger things. Remember back in 2022 how fucking ubiquitous, pervasive, and inescapable that season was (and to the point it was starting to piss me off because none of the kids look like kids anymore, it was sneaking into tags it had no business sneaking into, and it felt like it was becoming more about the music than… actually being watchable and having a memorable storyline, god forbid—granted, it was one of the best soundtracks in a long time, but it came as a bonus in the first two seasons, so that’s not the point)? Now, I’ll see some offhand fics here and there in the fanfic tags, but that’s about it—add to this, everything I see about this final season is, um… don’t get your hopes up. In other words, I fully expect there to be an avalanche of fix-it fics and more fics surrounding Eddie Muenster whatever his name is once the season hits, and then it’ll disappear again.

I guess last year there was a rebirth of the House, M.D. fandom, a fandom which I didn’t even know existed when I was watching that show when it was going and even when it ended back in 2012. Key phrase there is “last year”: I haven’t seen anything about it since like November.

Dan and Phil is another one. I don’t have any idea who they are (I could never get into YouTubers) but every other post on my dash now is about them, and all I can think is “I won’t see them two months from now.”

You also have the strange case of me: start a previously not-catalogued fandom from the ground up and it goes well for a few months, and then something happens to me where I need to speak out, and then all of a sudden POOF! Everyone loses respect and I feel like I have to leave after a time, even if I’m still very much in the zone—especially if I’m still very much in the zone. “Ew, no, she’s obsessed and delusional and unstable, let’s start our own hub in another place and do better than her.” Yeah, and then your bullshit ____ x reader fics from last summer fall by the wayside whereas one of my longfics which I started back in 2022 is still rolling because I’m not callous enough to do it for spite.

They cannibalize the fandom and also the people who make it. They treat it like it’s a thing to be consumed and given to their peers, hence the popularity of the “reader insert” fanfic (which I hate with a passion for this reason), and someone like me, someone who’s actually a fan, is seen as a psychopath, not realizing that this is killing fandom and making the “creator” feel (ab)used. I soldier on because I’m a fan and I love the men involved, dammit.

More used feelings by calling me a “creator”, too, as that is a word that is thrown around way too lightly and shortchanges someone like me by glossing over our craft. I’m an artist and a writer and a baker, I am NOT a creator.

[akawifeyy]

friends with benefits | fic (FC43)

description: it’s six months into your relationship with formula one driver franco colapinto, but you’re still believing the delusional lie that there’s no strings attached.

tropes: no strings attached, he’s obsessed with you, playboy, girlfriend!fem!reader

face claim: none

trigger warnings: suggestive and mature content (!!), minor mentions of violence, swearing

| note: agh i love franco so much, i wish there was more f1 content with him

Franco kissed you, his touch soft as a feather while his fingers splayed across your skin, worshipping your curves. He knew every inch of you, committing it to memory like you’d evaporate in his arms if he didn’t do so. “Mmm, mi alma, I love you,” he murmured in the shell of your ear, his breath warm. “I don’t know how I could ever live without you.”

You froze, going deathly still, at a loss of words. I love you. This was the first time he had ever uttered that phrase, and you were struck dumb, unable to respond.

Noticing your distress, Franco cupped your cheek in reassurance, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he grinned. “You don’t have to say it back. I understand. I want you to mean it when you do tell me it.”

“No, that’s not it,” you whispered, face flushing with embarrassment. You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to break the spell and ruin the sweet moment. With Franco’s rapidly intensifying schedule, time between you was being whittled down more and more.

Franco’s eyebrows furrowed, concern etching lines in his face. “¿Que te pasa?”

Averting your gaze, you quickly blurted, “I didn’t realize we were so serious. I guess I still thought we were just hooking up, no strings attached. Hearing you say that…It’s just shocking.”

He reared back, dropping his hand from your face like he had been burnt. “Are you trying to tell me that there’s someone else you’d rather have been spending your time with?” His eyes hardened with hurt as he imagined you underneath some faceless man while he made love to you. In Franco’s mind, the two of you had been together since he’d taken you out on that first date in Buenos Aires, exploring his hometown with you by his side. Ever since then, you were inseparable. So why were you pretending otherwise?

You shook your head, suddenly feeling stupid. “No, of course not, I just assumed you’d find someone better and leave me. I thought all Formula One drivers were like that.”

Franco blinked. “There is no girl better than you, Y/N. And I’m not all Formula One drivers, I’m my own person.”

“Well…” You squirmed out of his reach, turning away from him as you fumbled for the right thing to say. “So, we’re… together? You want to be with me? For real?”

He nodded vigorously. “I’ve always wanted to be with you. I thought I made this clear.”

You twisted your lips, guilt gnawing at your insides. “It didn’t click. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been calling you mi novia to my parents ever since day one,” Franco said, expelling a breath. “Telling them that I’ve found my wife, I’ve found the woman I will marry and spend the rest of my days with. And the whole time you’ve been believing that we were nothing? Just fuck buddies?”

Heat permeated your skin, and you thought you might die from the humiliation. “I’m sorry, Franco.”

“You’re not just a good fuck for me, Y/N,” Franco hissed, stepping close to you and jerking your head up so you would be forced to look at him. Arousal pooled in your lower gut as you watched frustration grow in his piercing stare. “You’re my everything. Why else would I buy you everything you want? Why would I make you wear my jersey, hold your hand in public, warn other men off and threaten to chop their dicks off? Just to have some fun?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as his words sunk in. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t understand how upset I am with you,” Franco retorted. He tugged you roughly, crashing his lips against your forehead. “Mierda. Six months, and you really thought you were just another warm body for me?”

You covered your mouth with your hands, all semblances of speech eradicated.

“You’re not. Get that idea out of your head.” Franco’s eyes narrowed to slits. “We’re not fuck buddies, or some other crazy shit. We do have strings attached, because I’m in love with you. And I’m never giving you up for another woman. Not in a thousand years.”

You inclined your head. “OK, if you say so.”

“Good.” Franco touched your chin again with one finger. “Now let’s get back to what we were doing, hm?”

A moan broke free as he lowered your shirt, revealing the bare skin of your shoulder and collarbones. A flurry of kisses were embedded as his own shirt was removed and you were placed carefully on the bed. He positioned himself on top, his strong arms barricading you and muscles flexing as he began working his way down to your pussy. When your skirt was tossed on the floor along with your panties, he began his conquest, two fingers sliding in you without much difficulty.

“It’s like you’re built for me,” Franco growled. “So fucking ready.”

You swallowed back another moan as he extricated his fingers, instead replacing it with his cock.

“¿Todo bien?” he asked a few minutes later, languidly thrusting as sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. “Do I need to stop?”

You shook your head feebly. “No, please, Franco,” you mewled.

“I hope you know that I adore you, hermosa. I don’t care if this is too much, too soon, because my emotions are going to swallow me whole if I don’t tell you.” Franco groaned as he dug deeper, his entire body pulsing with unspent energy as his release neared. “You live in my every heartbeat, you linger in my thoughts. When I am away from you, I feel like I will die.”

“I...” Your breath was shaky as you continued, “I love you, Franco.”

“If my legacy is to be your lover, then so be it,” he added. “Haría cualquier cosa por ti.”

And together, the pleasure that had been steadily mounting reached its breaking point, and you unraveled together.

Two souls, in sync. The way you wanted it to be forever.

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[sincere1ystar]

i’ve been adoring protective billy lately like maybe you guys went out and some other gang members recognized billy and used you as leverage against him 👀

Only you My Girl

billy the kid x fem! reader

authors note: sorry this is a little short 😭 but thank u for requesting this emsy i had fun writing it <3

Billy knew a treasure when he saw one. He saw the lengths men would go to find gold and jewels, the way how easily greed bled into the picture when treasure was involved. That’s why he vowed to protect you with everything he had, after all you were his most precious treasure being far more valuable than any block of gold.

Your gentleness was easily snatched away by the harsh world you were brought up into. Billy had known all about it and determined that you had gone through enough suffering for one lifetime. He brought your gentle spirit back, you were allowed to take off your armor of steel around him. The world forced you into becoming rough and hard-headed, but Billy allowed your soft roots to flourish and blossom.

When you would go on trips to town, Billy would be right by your side to help you out with your errands by carrying your bags and offering an ear to listen to your little rants. He didn’t mind following you around endlessly, if that’s what made you happy.

As long as it makes you happy. The phrase rang through his head when he allowed you to drag him off to some party hosted by a friend of yours. He was never exactly fond of these types of events, but you were. He was hesitant when you first proposed the idea of going to the party, but the way your smile slowly shifted into a smaller one when he tried to reject the idea made him quickly guarantee his attendance at the gathering.

He recognized a few people during the festivity, but still remained glued to your side the whole time while you chatted excitedly with your friends. One of them joked that Billy was like one of your accessories, and he couldn’t help but smile at the comparison. He stayed close to you for most of the evening until you accompanied one of your friends to go outside to get some fresh air since she was feeling sick.

“Really I’m fine going out on my own”, your friend Charlotte said as if you weren’t already helping her to her feet.

“I know you’ll be fine, I just thought you wouldn’t mind some company”, you say cheerfully offering her your shoulder for support as you help her outside.

Without you by his side, the only thing Billy was left with was the glass of water in his hand. He wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, and the few people he did know all seemed occupied by their own distractions. He was perfectly fine with being aside by himself as he waited for your return, but of course that doesn't stop one of the men of the House from approaching him.

“Well well, I didn’t expect to see Billy the Kid at a function like this”, the man snarls as he fails to gain any sort of acknowledgement from Billy.

“And I noticed you brought your girl with you”, the man continues carrying a threatening tone. At the mention of you, Billy turns to the man but keeps his expression unreadable.

“Oh I see that gets a reaction out of ya hm? Where did she trail off to… I thought I saw her somewhere around here… all alone”.

“Leave her out of this”, Billy hisses immediately. He wasn’t dumb, the man was from the House and Billy was a part of the Seven Rivers.

The man laughs menacingly ignoring Billy’s words. “Oh there she is!!”, he says enthusiastically but fakely as he points to you conversing with one of the party guests. The man quickly excuses himself from the conversation in his attempts to approach you, but Billy quickly grabs him by the collar and drags him away to a more secluded area outside.

“Now you listen here”, he spits as he pushes the man unforgivingly against the wall, “If ya have a problem with me, you take it up with me. Not with her, leave her out of this. I swear if I find out you’ve done so much as to lay a finger on her–”

“You’ll what?’, the man taunts.

“I’ll make your life a living hell an’ you’ll regret the first second you even looked her way. ‘F course ya know I’m more than capable of doin’ that, why don’t you ask a few of your friends about it. I’m sure they got a story or two to share”. Billy's words seemed to have squeezed the life out of the man from the House. “Now… we should be headin’ on back shouldn't we? Wouldn’t want anyone to notice that we’re missin’ for too long”, he sneered abruptly before letting the man go.

He comes back to the party to find you looking for him. “Oh Billy there you are!! Where were you? I was looking all over for you”.

He grins and places a kiss on the top of your head while wrapping his arm around you, “Jus’ taking care of business, nothing to worry your pretty little head about honey”.

You absentmindedly took his hand in yours, noticing the faint bruises on his hands, Unknowingly to you, the marks came from the harsh grip Billy had on the man. You choose not to question the sight, and instead solely rub your thumb over the aching spots to provide some sort of comfort. Billy held you closer to him for the gesture, the way he held you so delicately contradicting his previous violent actions.

[dreamerdrop]

Could you tell us more about the WIP called Zebras?

Zebras is an episode related little what if based on If Wishes Were Horses, wherein Julian falls asleep reading medical notes about Bajoran war orphans and finds himself dreaming about his own childhood, and thus wakes up to a small imaginary version of himself pre-augmentation.

I need to rewrite the bulk of it, but here’s a snippet from the ending without any further context.

Julian doesn't really want to be around people, but he does want to drink until he blacks out, so he finds himself sitting in a corner at Quarks, tossing back synthehol like his life depends on it, when Jadzia approaches him, looking uncomfortable.

“You know... What I meant was, does this mean you have a secret yearning to be a father,” Jadzia says softly, almost whispering so that nobody else will hear. “I was… trying to joke about you maybe having a pregnancy fetish or something, and… maybe that was why you liked the idea that I already had a worm in my belly…?” she sits across from him, her smile is very contrite.

Julian grimaces. Of course, that had been what she was trying to joke about... Leave it to Jadzia to phrase it in the most awkward way possible, and for Julian to interpret it as incorrectly as imaginable.

They really did make quite a pair.

“So… who was he?” she asks, and Julian had so very much been dreading when that question would finally come up. His throat feels dry.

“He was… a friend. I knew him a long time ago…” he finds himself staring into the middle distance, several memories playing through his mind.

“What happened?”

Julian breathes slowly, trying not to get lost in the flood of thoughts and emotions that he feels like he might as well be drowning in.

“He died. He was... He was sick. His parents, they… it was difficult for them. Looking after him, because he was… they… they wanted to help him, to fix him, to make him…” Julian chokes on the words, crying. His face heats with shame.

“He was stupid. He was stupid, and annoying, and nobody liked him, and his parents…” he doesn't mean the words at all. He’s not sure where they’re coming from, but he can’t seem to stop them. Jadzia is looking at him in almost horror.

“They took him away to fix him, but… he didn't come back. I think... I think his parents were happier without him,” he says quietly. Jadzia shakes her head, opening her mouth to protest.

“They were. They had another child. I heard… I heard them telling their new child how much better he was. How much smarter, and easier to handle he was. They… I… They didn’t miss him at all…”

Jadzia isn’t stupid. Julian knows she can tell there’s more to this than he’s willing to admit. Julian knows he’s giving away too much. He knows he’ll regret this one day. Right now, the image of watching Jules die all over again is fresh in his mind.

“Sometimes, I think… I might be the only one who misses him at all.”

Jadzia reaches a hand out and squeezes his shoulder. She lifts her own glass and clinks it against Julian’s.

“We can miss him together, at least for tonight,” she says.

The burn of synthehol doesn’t warm him as much as the genuine kindness in Jadzia’s eyes, nor does it sting as much as the still-present pity.

He supposes that one day, she’ll look at him normally again, but just for tonight… he’s grateful that someone else can feel sorry for Jules. He’s glad he won’t be the only one to miss him anymore.

END.

I’m not quite sure what to do with the rest of it in the lead up to that yet though, since I’ve been puzzling over the character voices for a while for this… I think I’ve got Julian being too much of a jerk and being sort of too… idk, softboy-ish? Rather than like… himself. And I think it makes zero sense for me not to have Sisko and Miles more involved as well, since y’know, they’re both parents and here is Julian with a tiny kid.

Anyway, it’s been a WIP since maybe November last year and I come back to it occasionally and hopefully one day I will finish it. Hopefully. Maybe. We’ll see!

[sometimesanalice]

Morgannn!! 💖 oh I’m so, so happy you liked this! Fluffy, fun, and flirty vibes for days!

I’m so happy that it was something that made you smile! 🥰🥰

More for you!!

Oh, this was absolutely delightful and fun and exactly what I needed after this week! I broke into giggles and a smile more times than I could count! I love everything you write, but sometimes you pop off with the best little details and phrasings and it's such a joy to read your writing!—🥹🥹🥹

And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place. 

Quite literally the vibe for modern dating, and especially with how many men always forget Feb 14th is a holiday!!!!!— I just imagined her being like “are you sure??” like five times and this guy being like “it’s a Wednesday like yeah”. But truly, the amount of me not utilizing the notifications on their built in calendar is a CRIME. But especially on international hearts day!

And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Men don't appreciate good fashion. That's why we dress for the group chat and ourselves!— the girlies(gn) just want to look and feel cute! But also, you know that group chat was popping off with the🔥 emoji, lol

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

This visual this gave me! A beacon of pink! Get her a drink!— goodness knows miss ma’am needs one! She was just trying to go with the flow and have fun! But I loved trying to find ways to highlight just how out of place she was there, not only like with how she felt but also the setting!

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

STOP, THIS GOT ME!— I MEAN CAN YOU IMAGINEEEEE

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

Snaps for Selleck mention.— the OG mustache man!

Oh.

AN ITALICIZED OH, SO YOU KNOW IT'S GOOD!!!— ITALICIZED OH SUPREMACY!! (Also I’m so endlessly tickled by the amount of support the italicized oh has gotten 😂 I know I posted about it specifically, but I love how much love we all have for those two little letters!)

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

This was entirely too relatable. Those jeans are too slutty and the group chat must know! (nothing wrong with taking a lil pic either 🤫) — I was so obsessed with the idea of her being like “you guys won’t believe what happened” and her phone just blowing up the other night of her best babes wanting allll the tea! You know the brunch talk is going to be popping! (But the slutty beans and that cock walks are a lethal combo!!)

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

This whole pool scene was so fun! You captured Jake and Bradley's game with so much descriptive detail, it made me want to watch the movie again! Jake would absolutely get hustled, that man has too much ego to not get played.— ahhhh!! This is the best thing you could have said because Morgan I know nothing about pool lmaooooo 😂 I was reading as much as I could and snooping on r/billiards to figure out what was going on hahaha! All the while cursing myself for deciding her ace needed to be her sneaky pool shark skills. He would SO get played, he wouldn’t be able to help himself!

In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. 

This is quite literally one of my favourite ways a kiss has been described. So visual, yet you can feel it. It's going to be rolling through my brain for a bit, I love it!— stopppp!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 there’s always so much pressure to try and get a first kiss right, so that makes me so happy that it landed well with you!! 🫶🏻

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.  

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in. 

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own.  “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.  

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.  

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it.  But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 �� 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[taylorsfolkmoredress]

Here’s my second Derek Morgan request! Reader is also a BAU agent whose hotel room is right next to Derek’s during a case. She’s the newest addition to the team, so she’s still getting used to the intensity of their cases. Derek can tell she’s been struggling a bit lately, but he doesn’t pry until she comes knocking on his door at the ass crack of dawn cuz she can’t sleep and doesn’t wanna be alone.

Oh this is so cute I hope tumblr lets me write this one lmao!

wc: 956

tags: hurt/comfort, could be read as platonic or developing romance. not dialogue heavy but still sweet, also not as long as i wanted but its 7am and i havent slept yet :)

not edited!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

A soft knock at his hotel door pulled Derek from his dreams of soft hair and gentle words. It took him a second to understand that he had to get up to answer the door, but when he did, he made his way to the door in nothing but a pair of loose sleep pants and a well worn muscle tee that had thinned with time.

When he pulled the door open he was met with your teary face, quivering lips tugging at his heartstrings like nothing else ever had. You looked like the utter definition of the phrase “I need a hug”, and he could do nothing else but pull your soft body into his wrapping his strong arms around you in a tight, but not constricting, hug. He felt you tense for a second, but almost immediately after, you completely relax in his arms, going near boneless as the tension from the day leaves your body.

Derek hadn’t yet had the pleasure of holding you like this, the way friends do, the way people who know each other better than anyone do. He’s glad he’s one of those people, glad he’s already learned so many little tells of yours.

It started on the third day of the case. The unsub had already killed again, and they had had good reason to suspect he’d taken his newest victim already as well. The case had been particularly close to your home town, only an hours drive away, and it was clear it was freaking you out.

It would’ve freaked Derek out as well, he didn’t blame you, but he knew the feeling must be much more intense due to your inexperience in the field. You’d only joined the BAU two months prior, and every case you’d worked since seemed to weigh down your spirit more and more. He hated seeing it. You somehow retained your beautiful smile every day, but this case was too much, and he saw the mask crack from a mile away.

Which lead to now. The case wrapped up mere hours ago, two more victims dead, one injured but looking towards recovery. It wasn’t the result anyone hoped for, but it was the one you would all have to live with.

He made sure to keep his arms secure around you while he pulled you into his room, knowing you didn’t want anyone else seeing this side of you. Your shoulder trembled against his chest and it made his heart ache. He hated seeing you cry, you were so damn sweet, he couldn’t handle your tears.

His own words hit his ears before he even realized he was speaking. “Sweetheart, it’s ok, I’m here, I’ve got you.” His words were soft, murmured against your hair, but still audible. They caused a heaving gasp against his chest, and a whole new wave of tears to fall. He made no move to stop them, knowing that what you needed in that moment was to release those emotions you’d tried to keep locked away all week. It was a feeling he knew all too well.

The couch was soft when he set you down on it, moving to kneel in front of you so he can continue holding you. He presses his cheek to your temple, letting out soft reassurances and gently humming occasionally. He held you like that for a while, but he didn’t watch the time. It wasn’t important to him, all he cared about was knowing you were okay.

You were a brilliant agent, a fresh set of eyes that never failed to offer insight far above your supposed experience level. It made him feel a strange sense of pride when your observations lead to a breakthrough in cases. Beyond that, you were someone he already loved spending time with. The two of you had clicked immediately, much to everyone’s surprise. You were quite shy, timid even, and Derek was the exact opposite. Maybe thats what made you gravitate towards each other so easily. He didn’t know. What he did know was that He’d heard you crying through the thin hotel walls every night for 3 days straight, and he finally had a chance to help without feeling like he was backing you into a corner.

He gently ran his hands up and down your back and arms, doing his best to ground you and help you to calm down. Each sob became slower and slower, before turning into soft hiccups. He feels you tense for a moment as you come back to yourself, but he feels you relax from exhaustion just as quickly. He takes that as his cue to speak, not letting you overthink anything.

“Hey, pretty girl, listen to me. Okay?” He waits for your small nod before continuing. “You did amazing out there this week, and we couldn’t have found this creep without you. You protected the people in the community. I know it’s hard, but each and every one of us on this team has been in your shoes. We’ve all felt that same dread, that same fear. That same abhorrence for opening our eyes in the morning or closing them at night. But you’re meant for this job the way you handle the victims families, and you always treat the victims with such grace and dignity? It’s beautiful. I can’t see you lose that.” His words seemed to settle something inside you. You pulled away from him, but not out of sadness, you pulled away with a look of determination, albeit a tired one.

He knew you weren’t okay yet, but as he lead you to his bed and got you comfortable before moving to the couch himself, he knew that you would be, one day.

[wintericekit]

Okay, this is my first actual post but I want to say a theory I have. I was watching the Michaela Laws stream where she shows her friends Epic the musical, and I noticed how they were talking about Eurylochus and I noticed something.

It is well known that Eurylochus and Odysseus swap roles during the Luck Runs Out reprise in Mutiny, but I now have a theory or head cannon. We all see how Odysseus experienced the underworld, how it made him realize he needed to become a monster, and we all know how up until that point Eurylochus has been shown to be willing to sacrifice the crew to save the majority of them. This is why people see him as a hypocrite in Mutiny.

But why does everyone think Odysseus was the only one who saw the dead crew? What if Eurylochus did as well?

My head cannon now is that Eurylochus saw the dead crew mates aswell. But instead of it being an Oh, I must become a monster and ruthless to get home realization like it was for Odysseus, it was a different realization. A realization that they had already lost so many people.

Maybe Eurylochus realized just how many people died already, and how he almost let more die as well. How he was about to leave some of the crew with Circe as pigs. It would have made him realize he didn’t want anyone else dead, and explain his sudden change and why he was so mad at Odysseus sacrificing six of the crew. If he just realized he almost lead to other crew mates dying and that he didn’t want anyone else to die, it would make sense for him to feel so mad and betrayed at how quickly Odysseus let them die after they just saw everyone else who died on their voyage.

I’m not sure, this is mostly me trying to just say my current head cannon and theory.

[kacievvbbbb]

I think it’s interesting how as time goes on Zoro kind of becomes more and more like mihawk in some ways whether that’s just because if you spend time with someone for 2 years you’re bound to pick up their habits or a deliberate attempt to emulate him is a conversation for another time. And Mihawk and Zoro where already pretty similar at the start so it’s a little hard to notice now.

But yeah whether unconsciously or consciously Zoro is becoming a bit more like Mihawk and it’s interesting to think that while this means maturing in some ways (he’s swordsmanship for one but he’s also just quieter much more assured of himself) it also means deaging in some others.

Despite their significant age gap and general dispositions, when it comes down to it Zoro is just a lot more emotionally mature and developed than Mihawk is. And a big part of why is because he found something larger than himself to devote his life too, hell Mihawk himself even kind of acknowledges this when he agrees to take Zoro on as a student when Zoro begs for the sake of his captain and crew. He acknowledges that putting aside his own ego and dreams for the sake of someone else isn’t something he can do and sees it as a fault in himself and a strength in Zoro.

Mihawk may be outwardly mature and his skills defiently did not stagnant but I’d wager that Mentally Mihawk is still stuck at the same age he was when he took over the title of world’s strongest swordsman. Honestly maybe even younger. And it isn’t until training Zoro, letting Perona stay with him, for probably the first time in his life taking charge of lives outside his own did he finally unarrest his development.

If Zoro is purposely trying to emulate Hawkeyes, which it wouldn’t be a surprise if he was that’s who he’s trying to be Afterall, then it would honestly set him back emotionally because fundamentally as he is now Mihawk’s attitude doesn’t work in a crew. It’s too singular, too abrasive. And while that abrasiveness can be useful in Zoro’s role as Luffy’s first mate sometimes it makes him a little too callous a little too apathetic, like with his disregard for Luffy’s sadness over vegapunk.

But Zoro has his crew to temper that, they are honestly just too ridiculous to ever stay serious around. And try as he might to hide it Zoro is also just a silly dude who likes to be horrifically petty with his opponents. And zoro still has so much fire in him, so much he has too prove and so much he wants to protect to ever really fall into Mihawk’s apathy. Zoro has Luffy who even after they reach their dreams will probably still continue to turn the world upside down forever keeping Zoro in some kind of trouble and his life interesting.

Zoro can’t be Mihawk because even Mihawk can’t be Mihawk anymore. Being with crossguild and crossing with the Red hair pirates and the strawhats is going to change him, it has too. if Mihawk is going to live after losing his title he’s probably gonna have to become a little bit more like Zoro.

[dancingsmybliss]

@danceismymuse

It was something we had in common because you were always able to read me pretty well too. {I said with a doting smile. I know the phrase “scary” tended to go along with the line of “you could read me like a book,” but from our perspective, I didn’t find it at all scary. Far from it. It was endearing and flattering that Jake cared that much for me that he wanted to know me that well. Of course things had probably changed through the years… I mean, naturally we couldn’t help but to grow apart a bit following our break up, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t find a new way to have happiness together should that be something we both want. I silently considered as Elena continued with her audience. I knew in my gut that we had found our Maria, but I gave Jake a nod of agreement when he mentioned giving the others a chance with their audition. Obviously I had fully intended to, but considering how many plays I’ve done with this group of students, I knew where their talents were… I knew their strengths and weaknesses, so I already had ideas in my mind of which would fit best in which part} I was thinking this would be our Anita… {I quietly whispered to Jake as Sasha approached the stage. A smile resting across my lips in an effort to calm her nerves and in hopes of keeping her at ease as the music started to play and she prepared to audition for us. Within a few notes, my thoughts on our Anita were confirmed… Let’s hope Jake agreed with me on this}

@danceismymuse

{A smile remained nestled across my lips and my cheeks felt warm as I read Jake's text message reply} Stop it, Ally! Get it together! He's just going to breeze in and then breeze out again, so don't get attached. {I told myself as I silence my phone and then set it down onto my night stand; figuring I needed to get some sleep, since I had an early morning ahead of me} Stop thinking about Jake, and go to sleep. {I told myself once more before I shut off my light; burying my face into the fluff of my pillow before forcing my eyes to close. It took me awhile, but in time I managed to drift off to sleep. By the time the next morning came around, I got up, showered, and then worked on my outfit, hair, and make-up for the day. No sooner slipping my feet into a pair of shoes when I heard the buzzer going off through the intercom system of my apartment. Given the time, I knew it was my brothers letting me know they had arrived} Yes? {I called out through the intercom system; hearing the familiar sound of my one brother responding} "We're here. Meet us down at the truck, when you're ready!" {He called back, which prompted me to do the same} Be right down. {At that, I retrieved my purse, phone, and keys; quickly double checking to make sure I had unplugged all of my hair devices, before ultimately taking a leave from my apartment. Before long I was downstairs and outside my apartment building; greeting my big brothers with a smile as I approached them} Please be nice to him. {Deciding to just get the elephant in the room out of the way, right from the start, before we were all in the same room together. I saw my brothers both shoot me a look as if to say, "Doubtful," which prompted me to speak once more} Look, what's done is done. He knows he broke my heart, and he knows it was a mistake. He's trying here. He even said he understands if you both decide to kick his ass, which says a lot for him, since you know how much his appearance means to him. {I added playfully with a soft grin, before my expression grew a bit more serious again as I continued speaking} All I'm saying is, please just give him a chance. I promise you, he's changed for the better. {I assured them as my one brother made his way around to the driver's side of the truck, while my other brother opened the back, passenger's side door for me, so I could get into the vehicle. Once I was securely in my seat, my brother closed the truck door, and then got into the truck via the passenger's side door} "He's still a jerk, Ally. Once a jerk, always a jerk. The way I see it, his return here, and this extravagant and showy gesture of buying a studio isn't going to change that for me. If he really has changed, like you claim he has, then he's going to have to do a hell of a lot to prove that to me." {My oldest brother aired out before the other spoke up} "For your sake, we will be chill around him today, but to be clear, if he hurts you again, we /will/ kick his ass. I'd say a broken leg and nose combo would give him enough of an awakening of his pride, arrogance, and selfish choices." {I aired out a quiet breath in response as I leaned back in the back seat of the truck; knowing there wasn't anything more I could do or say to change their protective nature or way of thinking. I just hoped they would give Jake a chance, was all, since in my heart, I really did feel he had changed. I guess time would tell on all of that though} Okay, that's fair enough. {I eventually said as the truck continued down the road and toward the location of the dance studio}

[changelingeyes]

i like writing Augustus and Changeling as people who really Get each other but still occasionally talk past one another; like it is fun to write autistic misunderstanding/miscommunication as a Neutral trait instead of a Negative one, you know? just A Thing That Happens rather than the source of huge conflicts or drama

[exopelagic]

i can’t believe i managed to get fucking mono and didn’t even get it by doing anything fun

[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. 

[foldingfittedsheets]

Back when I was first leaving the mattress store in 2017 I interviewed at a few places. One was Tesla, the other a jewelry store. I wasn’t a fan of Musk, but I liked the idea of electric cars and I’ve always excelled at sales so I felt like it was worth considering.

I arrived and chatted with the sales manager who said everyone started on phones before they could work their way up. I was a little wary of that as I’m not a phone person but she laughed and said, “Well, you know. We’re still just a startup, so everyone has to put in the hours.”

I stared at her in confusion. Tesla. A startup. In 2017. What???

I laughed a little and suggested that it was past that stage of growth but she doubled down and repeated it later. I remained baffled. After the interview she offered to let me talk to an employee to see how happy she was.

I readily agreed. The manager left. I asked the employee how happy she was.

She said that sometimes pay was late, that promotions were promised that didn’t manifest for months, but that overall she liked working there and cut them slack because they were still just a startup.

I stared at her. It was like listening to a cultist repeating a phrase that was in direct contradiction with reality. I wanted to ask what she thought a startup was but I just thanked her for her time.

I got offered both jobs, Tesla or jewelry. Jewelry offered four more dollars an hour. When I turned down the Tesla lady I kindly said that I didn’t feel there was as much job security in a startup.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x medic reader, where you might as well be the sun to them)

The phrase started as a whisper.

It drifted through the base like smoke curling around corners, impossible to pin down but impossible to ignore.

“Here comes the sun.”

It bounced off walls, passing lips in hushed tones, slipping into conversations as a half-joke, half-omen. At first, the 141 didn’t pay it much attention. Soldiers had their quirks, their superstitions- rituals to keep them sane when missions dragged too long and they smelled more blood than earth. But this one stuck.

Price furrowed his brow the first time he heard it. Ghost only tilted his head slightly, filing it away. Gaz grimaced and muttered something about troops getting weird ideas. Soap, though- he took notice.

He’d caught it more than once before a mission, said like a prayer or maybe a warning. He’d asked around, but answers were vague. “You’ll know when you see it.” That’s all they’d tell him. It irritated him to no end.

Then the mission happened.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction. A quick in-and-out, but things went sideways fast. Soap had been covering the team’s six when the ambush hit. A sharp crack split the air, followed by the searing pain in his side. He hit the ground hard, blood soaking into the dirt, a familiar, burning ache travelling through his body.

“Soap’s hit!” Gaz’s voice barked through comms, panic threading through the static.

“Pull him out!” Price ordered.

But the line fizzled and died. Soap’s world narrowed- gunfire, shouts, and the taste of copper in his mouth. He couldn’t hear the others anymore. The ground felt colder than it should have. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was bad. Really bad.

This is it, he thought. This is where I die.

The edges of his vision blurred. He barely noticed the figure sprinting toward him until a flash of bright red and orange, a blazing fire, pierced through the smoke and haze.

Like the sun.

You hit the ground beside him, all motion and precision, your gear unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bright red and orange covered your tactical vest and helmet- colors that didn’t belong in a war zone. Colors that should’ve made you a target, a dead woman walking.

But instead, you looked like salvation.

“Stay with me, Sargeant.” You said, voice sharp and steady. You weren’t panicked- not even a little. It was comforting.

Soap stared, wide-eyed, as your hands worked quickly to stop the bleeding. He should’ve been paying attention to the pain, to the gunfire, to anything else- but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“What the hell are ya wearing?” he rasped, because that was apparently the only thought his brain could form.

You didn’t look up. “Bright colors make it easier to spot me. Medics don’t have the luxury of hiding- we have to be seen when it counts.”

“It’s bloody ridiculous.” he muttered- and then sucked in a sharp breath as you tightened the bandage.

“Maybe,” you said, finally glancing at him. “But it got me here, didn’t it?”

Soap’s heart stumbled. Your eyes were sharp, focused- but there was something else there too, something warm. Something steady.

Here comes the sun.

It hit him all at once. That’s what the others meant. It wasn’t just the colors. It was you. The way you moved, the way your voice cut through the noise, the way you didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Stay awake, Sargeant.” You ordered, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a single smart remark.

Much later, he woke up in the med tent, groggy but alive, and immediately found himself staring at you again.

You were restocking supplies nearby, your bright gear an almost comical contrast to the sterile white walls. The moment you noticed him looking, you crossed the room.

“You’re awake,” you said, checking his vitals. Your voice was softer now, calm and patient. He felt like he could melt. “Good.”

“You’re real.” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “What?”

“Thought I was hallucinating.” He gestured vaguely at your vest, a grin cracking on his lips. “I mean, look at ya.” Lovely. The sun has never looked better.

Your lips twitched, like you were holding back a smile. “I get that a lot.”

Before he could come up with anything else to say- anything remotely smooth- the tent flap opened.

Price, Ghost, and Gaz stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on you. And for once, Soap wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

Gaz blinked. “You’re… bright.”

“Easy to spot.” You said, beaming.

Ghost stared at you for a few seconds longer, peering, before he spoke. “…You’re the sun.”

Price studied you for a long moment as well, then nodded like something clicked into place with a sigh. “Makes sense.”

You, on the other hand, looked confused and unsure, tilting your head once more in the way kittens do.

Soap couldn’t stop staring. He barely even heard the others talking, answering your confusion. All he could think about was how you’d shown up when he thought he was done for- and how you’d looked like a fiery star in the vast expanse of a cold, dark sky.

You glanced at him again, eyes sharp and warm all at once, lips quirking in a delicate smile while Gaz talked with you.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

(… would it be possible to cradle the sun, such warmth, in his hands?)

Part Two

[seumyo]

KENJI SATO ✰ 10:43

“Working overtime really doesn’t suit you, Sato.” The teasing sentence made Kenji grunt in disapproval, slumping against his couch.

“Wow, I didn’t notice. Thank you for that valuable input, [Name],” he says, rolling his eyes at you. 

He can’t help the sarcastic reply. Kenji’s schedule was all over the place. His life has been all over the place ever since his return to his home country, Japan. And now he not only has to take care of himself—which, in his defense, was fairly simple when he just had to worry about himself—he has to worry about an infant Kaiju!

What a wonderful (not) icing on the cake.

“Ken is really appreciative that you made time to fulfill his request, or, shall I say, cry for help, [Name].” Mina’s familiar voice flurried from a distance, closing in to your right in a breeze. 

“Hey! It was not a cry for help—it’s more like a... Asking a friend for a favor,” Kenji says, trying to ease his brain with what’s coming out of his mouth (like it was on autopilot, scrambling to defend himself and the pride he had left).

“Uh huh. And the favor is? I don’t really think there’s anything I could do to her containment unit or any repairs that’re needed in this place.”

“I just need someone to watch over her.”

(“I just need someone to talk to” is a much fitting phrase.)

“Doesn’t Mina already do that?”

“There’s only so much a supercomputer like me can do to entertain a living being, [Name].”

On cue, Emi croons at the video of you singing on stage. A part time career of yours, because when you’re not developing new tech that boosts the economy, you might as well indulge in your hobbies. 

Kenji wouldn’t admit it, but he has a vinyl or two—or even a whole collection of them—that he considers as priceless as his one-of-a-kind sports car displayed in the basement.

“Would you look at that? She likes your singing.” 

He watches as you take a step closer to Emi, observing how she delightedly squealed at the soft melody being played on the holograms. This 20-foot-tall baby Kaiju reminded you of the time you took care of children at the daycare center.

“I just...” he sighs. You didn’t even notice that Kenji was already beside you, offering you a canned drink. 

“How do you do it? Juggle everything?” He murmurs. “You’re the busiest person I know. Working on your thesis, performing at various concerts, taking on charity work, and whatnot. Hell, if you could run for president, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you in the elections, too.”

A quiet laugh was returned. “It’s not easy, that’s for sure. But within time, you’ll learn just what you need and what you can handle.”

“Mm. Don’t you ever just want to run away from all the responsibilities people place on your shoulders? I can barely take care of this young lady,” he chuckles, though it doesn’t hold even the slightest ounce of humor to it.

“I wish, but then I’ll remember the kids who're so happy to see me whenever I drop by,” you say. “They may be a handful at times, but you’ll be surprised to know just how smart and caring they are. How they take in their surroundings and attempt to figure out who they are. We’re all what they have. The least we could do is give them our time and love all the same.”

Kenji lets your words sink in. Simple and touching. The kind that gets the gears in his head to start twisting.

“You really are a charm with your words; did you know that?”  

“Thanks; I try my best.”

The night continues with Kenji and Emi playing baseball on a simulated field with you by the shed, cheering on from a safe distance. Kenji doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this genuinely happy after his return to Japan. It’s a refreshing feeling that he wants to get used to again. To see the baby Kaiju successfully hit the ball with a swift swing after watching after him is a sight that tugs at one’s heartstrings.

Just like a proud father.

“Come on, girl! We gotta run the bases!”

And as the two celebrate their moment of triumph, the baby Kaiju stomps toward you and giggles happily as she hoists you in the air without much warning. You took it all in you not to shriek and absolutely lose all composure, but when you’re up in the air and are being held to a bear hug like some sort of teddy bear by a Kaiju that could probably crush your bones if not careful, it’s hard to not just scream for your life.

“Oh, ok—ok. Baby, put me down gently, please,” you chuckle nervously. 

“It appears that the little one sees you as her other mother,” Mina adds.

Kenji laughs at the sight, pulling out his phone to take a picture. This is definitely a memory he’d want to remember.

“This is not funny, Kenji. Tell her to put me down.”

“Aw, is Baby not listening to her Mommy?”

“Again, not funny. This is like an out-of-the-blue co-parenting a child with you. With you being my annoying ex-husband.”

“Specific, eh?”

“Shut!”

When you’re just about to leave for the night, Kenji suggests that you sleep over. There’s a lot of spare bedrooms in their manor, he reasons. He also doesn’t understand what came over him to offer, but he doesn’t take it back.

But it could be because he’s missed you. And he’s somewhat afraid that this may be the last time you see each other in a while due to your clashing schedules.

“You’re such a girl dad, Kenji,” you tease.

“Haha, good one,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. He took a couple of blankets from the closet and placed them on the bed.

“Just saying.”

“Whatever you say, Mommy.”

“Oh hush, Daddy.”

That ringed out a laugh from him. “Bleh, that sounds so embarrassing coming from you.”

You shrugged. “Hm? Don’t you think you’re embarrassing too?”

“I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. I will not be going back and forth like this with you anymore, Kenji Sato. Good night!”

Kenji can’t hide the smile that appears on his face. Yeah, he definitely missed this. 

Definitely missed you.

SEUMYO © 2024. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[shomatoriashi]

01/28/25; 05:41pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when they call you because they miss you ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

you were settled at your desk, simply typing away on your laptop when you heard your phone go off from beside you. curiosity paints your expression when you look down to see your lover’s name flashing across the screen.

with a wide grin on your face, you answer your phone, “well hello, mr. sylus.”

you take a moment to bask in his rich chuckles, “well hello, little dove. i see that you’ve picked up the phone within a single ring. did you miss me that much?”

letting out a hum in response, you playfully spin around in your office chair, “you could say that. or maybe i was just bored at work.”

you shiver when sylus lets out a soft coo of your name. “my poor kitten, left to her own devices while stuck at work. perhaps i can help with mitigating your boredom?”

“yes! a thousand times yes!” you nearly jump out of your seat in response, since you really could go for a nice and refreshing date with your beloved, “but i am curious as to why you called me so suddenly. i thought the leader of onychinus would have been stuck in a meeting at this hour.”

you listen to his laughter once more, “perhaps i too, was feeling bored at work and wished to… hear the sound of your voice. try not to miss me as much as i miss you, kitten. i’ll pick you up after work and shall see you soon.”

after that single phrase, sylus hangs up the call, leaving you grinning like a fool as you fought back the urge to further twirl around in your seat.

you were in the middle of washing the dishes when you heard the sound of your phone going off in the distance. shutting off the faucet, you dry your hands on a towel and made a dash toward your phone settled on the coffee table, recognizing the name as you picked up the call immediately.

“zayne! hello…” you couldn’t hide your soft giggles, leaning into your phone to hear him better, “is everything alright?”

“of course, dear, everything is fine. i just got out of surgery, and it went well.” zayne trails off, and you swore you could picture him running his hands across his locks of hair. you smile once more and ask, “well, that’s good. is there anything you needed from me? did you forget something at the house that you needed me to bring?”

“no, of course not. everything’s fine, dear.”

you look at the time and bite down on your bottom lip, “you’re an awfully busy man, dr. zayne, and i just wanted to make sure that you didn’t need me to bring something to your office, hence why you called.”

“do i need a reason to hear your voice?”

you shiver upon hearing his admission, feeling the heat settle against your cheeks while allowing your smile to widen even further, “hehe, no… you don’t need a reason to hear my voice. i quite like hearing your voice, too.”

an amused chuckle was heard coming from the other line, “then it’s settled. i can take the rest of the day off, and i’d like to spend it with you, honey. would you like to go see a movie with me and have dinner later on?”

“of course! i-i’ll go ahead and get ready!” you bask in zayne’s laughter, following his silent urge to get ready as he begins his trek back home to you.

with your plans confirmed with zayne, you hang up the phone and prepared for your much needed date with zayne.

you were simply settled within the comfort of your bed, watching a movie on your phone when a sudden call breaks you out of your immersion. seeing your boyfriend’s name, you answer his call with a breathless, “hello?”

you nearly melt upon hearing xavier’s sweet whisper within your ear, “hey, i just wanted to call and check on you.”

“aw, that’s sweet of you.” you cling to your favorite bunbun plush while smiling into the phone. “but aren’t you on a mission right now?”

there was a few beats of silence on the other end, followed by the sound of xavier clearing his throat, “i am on a mission, but it’s been a few days since i’ve last seen you, and i miss hearing your voice.”

you nearly squeal into the plush at how cute xavier sounded, and you could practically see the pout on his face. “hehe, i’ve missed you, too…” feeling playful, you then proceed to ask, “are you pouting right now, xavi?”

you hear another series of coughs on the other end, with xavier spouting off denials before eventually caving in, “okay, maybe i was pouting a little bit.”

you were grinning into the phone while telling him, “how about when you come back home, we spend the day in together and have a movie marathon on the couch? and you can take all the naps you want, too.”

you bask in the sounds of xavier’s gentle laughter, detecting the happiness in his voice when he tells you, “that sounds like the perfect plan, i can’t wait to see you again.”

a few minutes later, you said your goodbyes to your boyfriend, allowing him to get back to work, but not before hearing him say to you, “wait for my return, okay? i’ll be thinking of you always.”

you felt a little sad at the fact that your boyfriend was away promoting his latest exhibit in another country-

but alas, due to your conflicting work schedules, you had to remain back at home while supporting rafayel from the sidelines. as you head back home for the day, a sudden call stops you from entering your car. extracting your phone out of your purse, you smile upon seeing rafayel’s nickname flash across the screen.

“hello hello, my little goober.”

“hey, i am not your goober! i’m a famous artist that you love and adore.” you giggle on the other line, already picturing rafayel’s pouting face and puffed cheeks, his gorgeous eyes filled with a playful indignation at your teasing.

you continue to softly laugh at your beloved, getting into your car while starting the engine, “and you also happen to be a little bit of a spoiled brat as well.”

“yeah, but i’m your spoiled brat.” rafayel admits with an amused chuckle, making you smile in response. “how’s your exhibit doing?”

“ugh, it’s utterly boring without you here, princess. honestly, i should have brought you with me.”

you were about to remind him about how you had to work, only to stop speaking when rafayel continues explaining, “but i guess i’ll just have to make do with calling you, just to hear your voice.”

“aw rafe, you missed my voice?”

the artist lets out a scoff on the other end, “of course i do. i miss everything about you, princess.”

before you could reply, you heard a deep voice on the other line, with rafayel letting out a sigh, “sorry princess, some people are waiting to interview me, and i can’t turn them down. i’ll call you later, before you go to sleep, so wait for me?”

“of course, rafe. i’ll always wait for you.”

you giggle once more upon hearing him blowing you kisses through the phone, “drive safely back home!” he tells you before hanging up the call, leaving you smiling as warmth was felt coursing through your veins.

you had to go back home after spending two weeks at skyhaven with caleb. despite how you wanted to stay with him much longer, you had already used up your vacation days at work and had to return.

currently, you were on your lunch break, simply munching on a sandwich when your phone begins to ring. you put down your food and smile upon seeing caleb’s name across your screen, answering his call within a mere few seconds.

“caleb? hello… how are you doing?”

“terrible.” was his simple answer, yet you could picture the smile in his voice.

“aw, and why are you feeling terrible?”

“because i miss you so much already.”

your heart melts upon hearing his confession, making you sigh as you tell him, “of course. i miss you so much, too. even though we spent a whole two weeks together.”

“exactly. see, that’s why i always knew you were the perfect girl for me. we just… feel so strongly about each other. i don’t like being away from you for even a second.” you giggle a bit at his admission, “i feel… flattered that the colonel could feel so strongly about little ol’ me.”

caleb grumbles a bit at your teasing, and you swore you could picture the light dust of pink settled across his defined cheekbones. “of course, you mean everything to me…” he trails off for a moment before letting out a chuckle, “that’s why, this time i’m going to spend some time at your place. i took a total of three weeks off, just so i can come and see you.”

you frown a bit while clutching your phone tighter against your ear. this was strange, but why did it sound like caleb was getting louder and louder, with a bit of an echo heard on the other line?

“you can’t tell me that you haven’t missed me, too.” you gasp, finally noticing the tall figure that was seen from your periphery. trailing your gaze upwards, you recognized his signature jacket and boyish grin, immediately hanging up the phone before jumping into caleb’s arms.

he laughs, fully embracing you now by wrapping his arms around your frame while giving your cheek an audible kiss. “i’m here, pipsqueak.”

and you couldn’t be happier at seeing your beloved colonel again, ready to spend your days basking in the warmth of his embrace.

end notes: some fluff to destress and keep me awake 😭 my meds have been making me feel sleepier than usual so i’m writing and posting this to stay awake 🥹

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!